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alilbihh · 5 years

Text

hocus pocus — 3

masterlist previous part next part

pairing: maknae line x reader

summary: jungkook wags his tail and his eyes look like truffles. jimin drinks blood out of juice boxes and bendy straws and tries to wink but ends up blinking both his eyes closed. taehyung likes the ocean and all kinds of art and apologizes to rocks. you don’t know if they want to take you out the date way or the assassination way and somehow you think it’s both.

genre: werewolf!jungkook, vampire!jimin, hybrid!taehyung, witch!reader; humor (??); poly!au (in the future!)

words: 14k

There’s a caw by your window, a fluttering of feathers. A knock on the glass. You lift your head warily, eyes squinted, still stuck in a sort of dissociative post-morning state. One, two.. Eight. There are eight crows outside your window.

Crows are often seen as bad luck, omens of death - but people forget they could mean good news. Upcoming wealth. New beginnings.

You watch them for a long while, still under the comforting weight of your quilt, until there’s a sound and the flock flies away with a flourish.

There are eight crows by your window. A sign of a life altering experience soon to cross your path.

You close your eyes and burrow deeper into your pillow.

You think you fall in love the same way you fell into Petz. Accidentally and while making a fool of yourself.

Namjoon comes running over, phone in hand. He frowns. “Did you just trip and I didn’t see? Dammit. This is what happens when I volunteer to take cute pictures of puppies for Jin-hyung. Do it again.”

“I will not.” You say as you right yourself, walking inside the pet store properly this time. Namjoon steps inside behind you, cleaning his shoes over the carpet for more time than necessary.

The pet store is large and cozy and has puppies. It’s everything you expected but you’re still caught by surprise. Namjoon looks around in wonder, only really here under the pretense of wanting a fish but when you turn he’s cooing at a barking labrador, his hands and cheek pressed to the glass.

“Do you think Kimbap would mind if we got a dog?”

Your brows furrow, watching the labrador from beside Namjoon. The dog paws at the glass, and Namjoon boops at where its nose is.

“Kimbap is a cat.”

“He is.” Is all Namjoon says and that’s that.

You leave him to his fantasies as you walk around, not a worker in sight. No one in sight, really. By now you’d expected to be jumped by someone with a Petz logo on their shirt and convinced to buy an entire alpaca farm and multiple chew toys for a dog you don’t even have, but it’s completely void of people.

You pass by puppy cages and reptile tanks and find the fish, too, before you find a single person. You wonder if you came to the wrong pet store. Jimin said he volunteers here, but maybe it’s another Petz entirely. You suddenly hear a commotion somewhere in the back rooms, so you head there, hoping to find someone.

And you do find someone. His back is facing you and there’s no logo on his shirt but there are, like, three to four kittens clinging to his arms, so he’s either thinking of adopting all of them or you’re witnessing the beginning of an abduction.

The kittens are clutching at his arms and emitting tiny meows as he sets them into their little cat houses, muttering something to them but you can’t make out the soft words and you’re distantly aware you’re staring. Not just at the kitten’s heads poking out through the arms but at like- the actual arms. They’re tanned and muscular and have kittens on them. This is just devastating.

He looks up and straightens and it’s three seconds before he turns to you that you notice the antlers on his head and the boxy smile. Oh no.

The boy suddenly stands as straight as a board as his eyes meet yours. His hair is as blue as the ocean he loves so much. There’s a streak of kohl over his lashes that’s a bit smudged on one side, as though he forgot about it and wiped his eye.

There’s only one kitten on his arm now, black fur tipped with brown and almost dozing off, all curled up and comfy. He raises its paw in a little wave. “Hi.”

You don’t know what to do. He doesn’t mention that he knows you, doesn’t even look too surprised, only smiles like this was inevitable. It makes you smile, too. “Hi.”

“Are you here to adopt?” He says- Taehyung says, your mind supplies even though you didn’t ask it to- tickling at the kitten’s tummy as he does, “A kitten, maybe?”

No you are not, you’re definitely not. "Um. Maybe,“ you answer, stepping in closer.

Taehyung stares at the kitten cradled in his chest for a little while longer before turning, gingerly placing it with the rest. He brushes a finger lightly over its head before stepping back and you’re now absolutely devastated.

The boy bites at his lower lip, considering you with narrowed eyes. "A reptile, maybe..” He mutters, more to himself than anything. “Come!”

He takes your hand, quick and excited but soft as he tangles his fingers between yours. Good god.

The deer hybrid leads you to the reptile tanks, pauses by one, tap tap taps at the glass and you both watch as one of its inhabitants comes padding out with surprising agility.

“That’s Guac! She’s a bearded dragon and is also very much pregnant. Me and Jiminie consider stealing her every day.”

You laugh, staring at the reptile’s beady eyes as she blinks, one eye then the other. “She’s pregnant?” Guac doesn’t look at all pregnant at first glance, but there’s a slight bump on her stomach that you have to squint to even notice.

“I was surprised too! She was alone in her enclosure and we still have no idea how the dude got in there to impregnate her. Kookie said something about horniness surpassing all boundaries, but, well. I have no comment on that.”

“He is a menace I am so sorry.” You say but you’re laughing and it makes him laugh, too. “You know Guk?”

Taehyung makes a soft sound as he opens the enclosure, like a hum and a yeah all rolled into one. You watch as he picks up Guac as he would the kittens, soft and gentle and fond. You think he’s like that with everything. You think you’re looking at him like that, too. “Kook visits every so often. He’s cute and funny and has a boopable nose and gave me a rock. Oh!” He startles, raises a hand over his mouth. “Not a rock. Sorry. Crystal,” he corrects.

He’s rocking the bearded dragon softly like he would a baby, bouncing it lightly in his arms. Guac doesn’t seem to mind. You’re fully endeared.

“Did Guk tell you that?” You tickle under Guac’s chin and it makes Taehyung giggle.

“Yeah,” he smiles, bordering on fond. Kisses Guac’s head before placing her back in the tank, watching as she scampers back to the little cave by the corner. Too fast for a pregnant lady, you think, but who are you to judge. “He talks about you a lot, you know,” He whispers, like you’re being let in on a secret. Turns to you with an expression you can’t quite decipher.

You don’t know what to say to that and you don’t want to regret it if you do, so you only nod.

There’s a shout and Taehyung’s head jerks up, smiles something wide and giddy, spots Jimin before even you do. He dashes past you before he’s jumping half on Jimin, tugging him towards you, and then jumping half on you too for no reason except maybe that he can, pulls Jimin in for a soft kiss that goes long and flushes both their cheeks and leaves them both breathless and giggly and there it is-

a little pang.

You scratch at your chest, look around, spot Namjoon idling by the tanks where a school of fish whiz by. Namjoon’s a doctor. A sorta-doctor. An actual witch. A little bit of a seer, if he thinks hard. He knows cardiac arrest and medicine and sickness symptoms and the like. He’ll know you’re dying.

Or he’ll catch you staring, turn, and send suggestive eyebrow raises before scampering back towards the puppy section. Great. Amazing.

“You look happy,” Is all Yoongi says as you slam your stack of books onto the table, sitting opposite him with a huff. He looks soft today, an earring shining from the peak of one pointed ear.

He’s joking, he has to be. Your clothes are a wrinkly mess and your hair’s disheveled and you think you need, like, a mint. Maybe two. But he’s looking at you like he knows something that you don’t. So you don’t say anything, only blow a few raspberries in his direction.

You open a spell book, skimming through it with hasty eyes. The photographic memory potion would be really useful right now, its side effects maybe even more.

“Don’t you have finals soon?” Namjoon mutters beside you, and you look up with a start because you hadn’t even seen him get here.

When did he get here. “When did you get here?” You ask out loud.

“I was always here,” is all he says. You think you’re in a fever dream but you’re not too sure.

“Huh,” You breathe out, looking into the distance.

You look back down at your book. Phoenix feathers, lemon, dragon liver… Dirt? Graveyard dirt? Where are you supposed to get graveyard dirt?

“Namjoon. Joonie. Buddy ole pal.” Looking up at the man from beneath your lashes, you flutter them a bit for a better effect. The man, very much gay and very much in a committed relationship, doesn’t really look amused. “Do you wanna go to a graveyard with me?”

Yoongi looks up with a start, “Oh shit, who are we killing? Who are we burying?”

“What? No one, you absolute heathen. I need it for a potion. Witchipedia says so.”

“It’s not a reliable source,” Namjoon exclaims with a frown. “I gave up on it after it made me burn my frying pan.”

“How does one burn a frying pan,” You deadpan. The man shrugs.

It’s as you’re flipping through pages absentmindedly that your thoughts stray to your dinner not-date. Should you bring drinks? You should probably bring drinks. You wonder what kind of drinks they like.

“Should I bring drinks?” You mutter out loud. The duo’s heads turn towards you.

“For your dinner date?” Namjoon grins, and of course Yoongi told him. You glare at the faerie, and he smiles cheekily. Namjoon continues when you don’t bother correcting him, “You should buy wine. It’s a sexy drink.”

“Namjoon!” You exclaim, horrified. He giggles a bit sporadically. Yoongi just keeps smiling at you, just a bit too close to looking fond.

Faeries can sense auras better, even, than witches. Faeries can see it with only a glance, blues or reds or pinks hovering just over your form. Pinks can be admiration, confidence, love. Yellows can be envy, lust, cruelty. Wine red means only one thing; a red, ugly fury. It’s Yoongi’s least favorite color.

You can’t imagine what it’s like to see an overwhelming amount of colors every day against your will, but Yoongi likes to joke that there’s at least a little color to his life.

Witches are different. Witches sense auras completely based on a whim, a hunch. Sometimes you walk past a complete stranger and are keenly aware of what they’re feeling - and sometimes when Jungkook laughs too hard you taste something akin to cherries, hidden just under your tongue.

Yoongi’s a bit like mangoes. Hoseok is a little bit of everything, a little bit of cinnamon here and a little bit of blueberries there. Jin is a bit like cookie dough and Namjoon is a lot like chamomile tea. Jimin -

Jimin is sweet. Something sweet you can’t quite describe. Like sweaters straight out the dryer and the first spring morning where there’s no frost, only dew. You wonder what Taehyung’s happiness would taste like, wonder if it’s just as sweet.

“Your aura’s pink.” Yoongi mutters with a knowing smile, lips curled just the slightest bit. You slam your book closed with more force than necessary, and he laughs heartily as all the blood rushes to your cheeks.

“No it’s not shut up.” You grab a random book you’d separated and hide underneath it, hoping your cheeks aren’t as pink as your aura.

It’s a while later that you find the solution, only after reading through multiple ingredient guides (including the advantages of using dirt), three books for safe potion usage and two potion textbooks. It’s nestled under a glossary for everyday ingredients, and the pages are printed in the obnoxiously indecipherable cursive that witches tend to use.

Namjoon is long gone, carrying with him a stack of books that go past his head and nearly tower over his form. Hoseok appeared seemingly out of thin air, sat between you and Yoongi and flip, flip, flipping through his book, not quite reading like he’s supposed to but it’s okay. He doesn’t read a lot, just tends to learn in that intuitive way of his.

Hoseok laughs heartily at something Yoongi says and hops excitedly in his seat, the pixie perched on his shoulder squealing and gripping onto his shirt sleeve helplessly. He turns, coos, plucks a petal from the posy of daisies in the vase on the center of the table, delicately offers it with pouted lips. The pixie playfully nips at his thumb before snatching the petal from between his offering fingers and taking a bite– tiny hands smaller, even, than the size of his thumbnail.

The merman laughs and you’re absolutely enamored. With what, you don’t know. Maybe with how easy it was for them despite their difference in size, despite their lack of communication. It continually amazes you how important words can be and how at times they’re not needed at all.

The liquor store is big and intimidating and has one too many wines.

“You looking for something specific?” the lady behind the counter asks. She has soft eyes and her hair’s tied in a bun.

“Uh, wine, I guess.” You stammer.

“Can’t pick?” She’s rearranging the bottles on display behind her as she speaks over her shoulder, the glasses clinking together almost melodically. “Any special occasion?”

“Um.” You pause. “No?”

She quirks a brow.

You feel all the blood rush to your cheeks as you elaborate, “It’s for my familiar’s friends, that I guess are also my friends now, and I wasn’t going to bring anything but my other friend said I should bring wine, and I don’t want to look like a complete scrub in front of them but I don’t know anything about wine so I guess I am. A complete scrub.”

The lady laughs and you guess that your moment of oversharing is the moment you blacklist the liquor store and everything it stands for.

“What about sparkling wine?” She offers. She continues at your confused blinks, “It has bubbles.”

“Um. Sure. I mean. I like bubbles.”

So you show her your ID and pay for your wine and she packs it neatly into a bag. “Good luck with your familiar’s friends,” she says with an almost knowing smile as she hands the wine over, and you just nod because you don’t trust your voice not to squeak at that.

It’s another day. The day. You blink slowly awake and when you look outside your window it’s still dark out and you think you can feel Jungkook somewhere nearby, probably lying restless in his room.

You blink. The crow outside your window blinks back. There are nine crows outside this time, sitting around and staring as if they’re waiting for you to notice them. Nine crows. Positive recognition.

You groan and squeeze your eyes closed so hard you see colors.

(Love. Nine crows could also mean love).

You look at the door number. Then back down at the address on your phone. Then back up at the door. Down again.

Jungkook groans from beside you, tail flicking in slight irritation behind him. Or maybe it’s nervousness. Maybe even excitement. “Can’t we go in already?” He groans, crossing his arms over his chest.

You nod and nod and nod but don’t do anything. Jungkook uncrosses his arms at that, sighs, pats your head fondly but you swat his hand away anyway. “Are you nervous?” He asks, his hands combing through your hair now and you let him. You nod. “Well we can’t stay out here forever, you know.”

“We can try.”

Your familiar shakes his head, “What’s the point of that?” You grunt but don’t shift your gaze from the door. “I’m gonna ring the doorbell now, okay?”

You wonder when the tables turned. When it was you that was nervously skirting around them, when Jungkook was the one confident enough to get close.

You nod because there’s no point in delaying it, anyway. No point in you getting nervous, either.

Jungkook rings the doorbell and you look down at your shoes when you hear approaching footsteps, like they were just by the door and waiting. Their doormat says "enter if you dare" and has a little skeleton on the bottom. You stifle a laugh.

The door swings open and Jimin’s head pops out first, smiles at you both, opens the door wider. “Hello, hello!”

Jungkook greets him first, only smiling before handing over the bag in his hand. While you (read: Namjoon) had the idea of bringing wine, Jungkook wanted to bring juice, so he did.

“We brought stuff!” He smiles, and you hand the bag of wine over as if on cue.

“Wine!” Jimin cheers, quickly followed by footsteps and “juice!” from Taehyung.

You slip off your shoes and hang your coat by the wall hook, stare at a mustard colored peacoat and wonder whose it is.

The floorboards creak as you pad farther inside and you like that, the creaking - it means the place is old and lived in and you like old and lived in places.

Then there’s this rush of vanilla and strawberries and warmth and then the shyest boldest most beautiful boy half in your arms tugging you in whispering

hello, hi, Y/n, c'mere, it’s nice to see you again! sorry for the mess, Y/n, wait how did that get on the ceiling Y/n, Y/n.

Smiles this smile so big it hurts, cracks something big across your heart.

You’re dragged into their kitchen and Jimin is there, Jungkook close by sipping on something warm in his cup. Jimin is watching him, smiling something small and giddy, playing with the long earrings dangling from Jungkook’s ear. Jungkook flushes.

You thought you were ready for this softness. Early this morning you’d drank a soothing potion mixed with some sugar– you even bathed in lavender and rose water and a bit of neroli, just to soothe some smaller nerves. Standing here, you think it didn’t do much of a difference. You’re feeling everything all at once.

“Rule number one is that you have to ask Tannie if you can sit on the couch. I don’t have a rule number two because I haven’t thought that far, but please regard rule number one with utmost respect.” Taehyung exclaims with exaggerated hand gestures just as the dog in question trots towards you, angry eyebrows sizing you up despite his size. You feel very much intimidated.

Everything is great. Yeontan sometimes lets you sit on the couch and Jimin and Jungkook are laughing and Taehyung is telling you of this strange dream he had and of this strange album he listened to and of this art museum he went to that was absolutely terrible. Jimin interjects to agree that it was, in fact, terrible, the kind of museum where everyone’s a snob and thinks that art has to look and be a certain way.

Then when Jimin and Jungkook disappear somewhere Taehyung appears beside you, asking if he can take you somewhere, tangling your fingers together just as gently, as if to say you can let go if you want, you can say no if you want. But you do want it, so you let him tug you into their hallway.

His and Jimin’s shared bedroom isn’t particularly big, but it’s soft and smells like them. Almost but not quite like sugar and strawberries and lavender. There’s a cactus on one of their nightstands by the corner, a little bow on its pot, sitting by an over-filled vase of sunflowers. There are dried flowers by window ledges and framed prints and hanging by their headboard.

You’re both sitting in a corner, sharing earbuds, flipping through a poetry book you’d recognized the second he picked it up. The one Jimin bought from you that must have been for Taehyung. You smile at the thought.

“They don’t know we’re here,” Taehyung says suddenly with a giggle, tapping his feet to the song in his earbuds a bit out of rhythm. He says it like you’re sharing a secret. You find yourself grinning.

Then Jimin comes stumbling in, Jungkook not far behind, both of them giggling and tripping over their feet as if drunk but they’re not, they’re just giddy and excited and maybe a little bit in love.

Jimin looks over at you two in the corner and you freeze. You freeze but you don’t know why, feel as if you’ve been caught but that’s not right, you and Taehyung weren’t doing anything, there’s no reason to feel as if you should apologize.

Yet you feel an apology on the tip of your tongue, even if Jimin and Jungkook’s faces are—aren't—

“There you two are,” Jimin says, nothing short of fond.

Jungkook behind him grins, pads over to plop his head on your lap. Jimin follows, bending down to press a kiss to the crown of both your and Taehyung’s heads before sitting in front of you three and you feel—

You feel warm. Loved. Safe. Sandwiched from both sides, Taehyung curling in closer, Jungkook’s hair tickling the exposed skin of your leg, Jimin taking a hold of your hands, teasingly pressing a few kisses to the back of it.

You play games after that and argue for over ten minutes on which movie to watch. There’s only the living room and it’s already a small space to start, so you all end up pressed together on the couch, but no one seems to mind. You get winks whenever you meet someone’s eye and everything is warm and makes you feel sleepy. You feel adored and cared for and think your worlds are colliding in the most wonderful of ways.

Except sometimes you feel as if you’re intruding, as if you shouldn’t be there at all. It’s hard to think otherwise, with them being in love and whatnot. But it’s unfair, unfair to think that you’re being left out when there’s nothing to be left out of, so you sit and try to convince yourself that these almost-feelings are thoughts of

wow, what a kind bunch of people I know, how lucky I am to have them in my life, what a great group of friends this is.

“Are you feeling okay?” Namjoon asks the second you walk inside his shop. You don’t remember walking here, don’t remember at all. “Because everything suddenly tastes icky and I literally just ate some of Jin-hyung’s lemon pie so you better get happy quick.”

The inside of the store still smells of sage and rosemary and butter cookies, and there are still objects lying around in places they shouldn’t. Namjoon picks up a copy of Alice in Wonderland that appeared on his desk this morning and tucks it away neatly between the shelves and shelves of other books. You wonder how he finds space for it.

There are no light switches anywhere, no bulbs hanging overhead. But there’s a fire crackling by the fireplace that never seems to go out, and there are lanterns floating just the tiniest bit, hovering just above the tables, burning with green alchemical fire and tinting everything a warm emerald color. The lanterns seem to stick a bit closer to whoever is nearby.

The interior is surprisingly lush, probably (definitely) courtesy of Jin. Carpets are layered one over another. There are heavy wooden tables and chairs, vines curling around their legs, their stems a vivid green. There is nowhere to sit that doesn’t seem to be crawling with plants.

You laugh and he smiles but there’s still a pinch of worry somewhere in his eyes, in the crease between his brows - just more on the edges now. “m'fine, Joon,” You say, then immediately want to swallow your words back in. You don’t want to give such an answer, not to Namjoon. "At least, I will be.“ you add.

The witch is about to interject just as Jin walks in, Kimbap striding behind him with his tail just as high as his head. "Joon-ah, the chimney smoke is blowing south.”

Namjoon nods, like there’s more to the phrase than just the direction the smoke is blowing. He stands up, and you have no choice but to follow. “I’ll deal with it later, hyung. Y/n-ah, do you wanna join us for pie?” And so you do.

You’re at a pleasant level of tired, the kind in which everything is just a bit funnier than usual, where walking feels like you’re wading through knee-deep water. Jin slices you some of his lemon pie in a piece that ends up breaking apart, and he releases a gut wrenching scream when some of it falls onto his jeans that has you and Namjoon laughing so hard you see colored spots.

“So what’s got you in such a mood?” Seokjin asks as he shoves a forkful of pie into his mouth that’s way bigger than necessary, the man barely even managing to chew it. He’s wearing shorts now.

“It’s her failing love life, hyung, keep with the program.” You flick Namjoon on the forehead at that and he laughs, quick and sharp. He tries to hide it but his smile keeps slipping.

“No it is not.”

“Lies, your shoulders are all scrunched up.” Jin points out through a mouthful of pie, and it’s then you notice your shoulders bunched up into an irritable shrug. You try to relax but it’s too late.

“Did they say something to you?”

“No!” You’re quick to say. “No. They didn’t say anything to me.”

Namjoon and Jin look at you, then look at each other. Squint. There’s a second of silence, and then a quiet, “Let’s curse them.”

“What!” You snap.

“Not a malicious curse! Just a tiny one.” Namjoon nods, proud of himself.

“May their phones run out of battery quicker.”

“May their socks always step into puddles.”

“May they forget a family member’s birthday.”

“Oh, that’s a little mean,” Namjoon frowns.

Jin looks sheepish. “Was it too mean?” He pauses, rubbing a hand over his chin, wings fluttering a bit. "May they burn their toast more often?“

A smile, and they high five. Namjoon sits up, his chair scraping backwards. "I need, like, five candles. And hyssop. Hyung, do we have hyssop?”

You watch these two adult men scramble around their own house with narrowed eyes. “Guys! I don’t want to curse anyone! They didn’t do anything, really!”

Namjoon turns, candle in hand as he sighs, places it back in its shelf. He walks back towards you, places a comforting hand on your shoulder. “Are you sure? You can tell us, you know. We’re here to help.”

“I know.” Is all you say, and you do. You do know. They’re always trying to help, always are. “Thank you. I just need to sort my feelings through, I think.” Namjoon is frowning but nods, pinches your cheek, laughs at your squeal.

Jin walks in, dry bay leaf in hand. “So we don’t need this?”

“No.” You deadpan. His shoulders slump, and you laugh when he trudges back out the way he came.

Everything seems a bit off, a bit odd - like the universe shifted one centimeter to the right, everything off kilter.

Jimin picks you up after your afternoon classes that day, arms crossed and leaning against a wall like they do in all those books and movies and dramas. He’s wearing skinny jeans and fake glasses. It’s kinda unfair that people like him exist, people that can see without any visual aid whatsoever.

He smiles when you reach him, ruffles your hair, kisses your nose - the very tip of it, lips barely even grazing your skin.

“Hi, hello,” he says, grins, pinches your arm like it’ll distract you from his own embarrassment, laughs when it works.

The vampire takes your hand, tangles his fingers with yours, swings your intertwined hands softly.

“Taehyung’s making pasta,” Jimin says, pauses, “well, Taehyung's watching the pasta, actually,” he corrects with a chuckle.

“Am I invited to your pasta endeavors?”

“Do you want to be? You’re going to have to spend, like, hours with us.” His tone makes it sound like it’s the most terrible thing but his smile says otherwise. The breeze is teasing him, fluffing his hair like a baby chick.

“Oh no. Oh no, not hours.”

“Hours.” He says dramatically, giggles– really giggles, even though he’s vehemently opposed to the term whenever you bring it up.

Jimin is charming, haphazard all around the edges kind of charming. He smiles a lot, smiles at everyone, smiles like he has an infinite number of them to offer when you have, like, seven in a day at most. He smiles at the ice cream vendor and at the bulgogi vendor across from it. He smiles at the stray cats in alleyways and apologizes when he nearly bumps into a trashcan. Smiles at you, too.

“We’re home!” Jimin yells out when you both arrive, his fangs poking out through his smile and you know he must be talking to Taehyung but for a second it really feels like you’re home. Not because of their home, exactly, even with the streaks of paint on the ceiling and sprawled out video games on the floor and a bonsai on the windowsill that you just know is Taehyung’s, but just because of–

them.

And it all feels like so much.

You’re all watching Ponyo like Jungkook wanted to so much and him and Jimin are half asleep on the futon just below the couch, all curled into each other and warm and comfortable.

(You try to cover them with a blanket like they do in every romance ever known to man, but Jungkook immediately kicks it off with a might you’ve never seen before, and you blankly watch it flop to the floor. Taehyung muffles his laugh as much as he can manage).

Taehyung shifts closer to you somewhere between the credits rolling and Jungkook’s particularly loud snore, and something about his hesitation and the little smile almost makes you coo.

You don’t comment, simply crawl closer to Taehyung on the couch. He shifts so he’s closer and his antlers just barely graze over the armrest before he settles, nuzzling into the throw pillow. He smells like Jimin’s body wash and shampoo; citrus mixed with something boyish, something like honeysuckle and cedarwood, something that just might be Taehyung.

“Is this okay?” he mutters sheepishly, his hand grazing over yours as he shifts, shifts, shifts positions.

You swat at the couch a bit before finding the bare skin of his arm. His inner elbow, most likely. You tap twice, not willing to speak, not willing to break the sweet sweet cotton candy of this moment.

A moment of silence goes by. A quiet one. Quiet moments with Taehyung are nice, like there’s nothing needed to be said, no need to fill the silence. It’s quiet in a loud way, a thousand words to say and not a single one good enough to be put into words. But it’s nice, even though it shouldn’t need to be.

Taehyung suddenly turns, takes his phone from the nightstand, unplugs the charger from it before turning, settling, squinting at the screen’s brightness. You laugh, a breathless thing, and he smiles.

He type type types before pausing, glancing at you from beneath his lashes. You’re so close you can count the number of eyelashes he has, the number of freckles, the little mole by his nose and his bottom lip that would look unnecessary on anyone else but on him it’s just right.

He hands the phone over. Taehyung does this sometimes, tells you things through the phone despite how close you might be, says it helps him think his words through, helps him not say things he’ll regret.

There’s something on my mind, the phone says, short and simple, and for a second you think that this is it, he noticed your sticky feelings, they all did, you messed up. Either in many little ways and one big way or many big ways and one little way, you don’t know. He’s here to be mature about it, here to say

stop looking at my boyfriend like that please

and the worst part is that they have every right to.

Because you don’t have a right to think of Jimin’s boyfriend like this, you don’t have a right to think of Taehyung’s boyfriend like this, that you don’t have a right to think of Jungkook like this- sweet Jungkook in love with them both.

Your mouth is dry and tastes like salt as you curl up, type tell me? before handing the phone over. You just hope they don’t hate you. You wouldn’t be able to handle them hating you.

Sometimes you think there’s something wrong with you, to think like this, to think of all three of them like this. That maybe you’re doing this wrong, doing something wrong. You googled it once, just to see - and some of what you saw hurt, hurt a lot. A lot of people, a lot of what you saw said that you can’t love more than one person, that you can only fully give your heart to one person. But that’s not right, you don’t believe that one bit, don’t want to believe that, because there’s nothing wrong with it, it’s just love, and there’s nothing wrong with love.

Jimin and Taehyung and Jungkook are so gentle with their love for each other, all this patiently impatient love, their sweet tangle of fingers and gentle smiles. Jimin and Taehyung with their lingering kisses that shouldn’t linger because they’re fifteen minutes late for class. The two on either side of Jungkook on the couch, one messing with his hair and the other falling asleep on his shoulder and you love it. Love them together.

And you don’t know what to do with this not-jealousy, with this almost-jealousy, with this-

love.

You watch Taehyung’s fingers move as he types, pauses, deletes. You think it’s better this way. To end things before the sticky feelings clogging at your insides spreads until it hurts too much to hide.

He hands the phone over. You hope your fingers aren’t shaking. I think I’m sad is all it says. You feel relieved even though you know you shouldn’t.

do you wanna talk about it?

His hands clumsily brush against yours as he takes the phone from you.

could u talk out loud? if you don’t mind? i like ur voice.

“okay,” you whisper, feeling small and warm in all the right ways, and he laughs that ehehe laugh.

He motions for you to get closer. You comply, curling in closer to read over his arm as he writes. sry my spellign sucks, i’m bad even tho i need to know how 2 communicate

“You used both the number two and the word two in that one sentence,” you exclaim with a muffled laugh, mindful of the still sleeping Jimin and Jungkook, and you feel him smile before he even does, big and unreserved and then you feel it, the little pang in your chest, warmth warmth warmth spreading through your veins.

i think i like many someones, but i don’t know how to tell them!!!! this is then followed by a stream of emojis, only some of them resembling anger. You almost snort at the sight of a weirdly placed clown emoji and a little gray haired grandma.

There’s a moment of silence as you think of what to say that you won’t regret later. “I think you need to tell them,” you continue right as Taehyung starts typing a drawn out nooo, “They won’t treat you any differently, honey boy.”

Taehyung visibly recoils, shivers, takes a hold of your hand and types with his other, dont use logic ur mortal rules do not apply 2 me, he writes, only erases it when you’re done laughing, types again with shaky fingers, how do u know that?

You inhale a shaky breath. “Because if they really love you, romantically or not, they’ll want to see you healthy and happy regardless of whether they reciprocate your feelings.” You pause. "Which I’m sure they do.“ You attempt a knowing smile at him but he doesn’t get it, only stares blankly at the screen, thumb still tracing patterns on your skin.

im scared

You wriggle forward so that your brows are pressed together with his. He shivers. "You shouldn’t be. People that are meant to find each other will, remember? So people that are meant to stay with each other will, too.”

Silence. Taehyung stays still and for a moment you think you messed up, gave too much away, but then he leans down and presses his lips to your temple. Almost kissing you but not quite. “Thank you.” he murmurs against your skin, “Goodnight, baby doll.”

His head plops onto the throw pillow before he pauses, sits upright to lean dangerously close before nuzzling his head into your shoulder, hiding his face in the pillow quick. Scenting, you consider, then dismiss the thought.

You can’t see his face but there’s a faint taste of strawberries on your tongue. Ah, you think offhandedly. So that’s what his happiness tastes like.

You stay wound up in each other even as the heat is sweltering, and you wake up on a bed with Jimin pressed behind you and his legs tangled with yours and Jungkook somewhere between you and Taehyung, his cheek pressed to your collarbones and snores loud enough to reach the heavens and it all feels a little disorienting. Just a little bit too right.

You hope things with Jungkook will go well.

Even when you wake up before the sun, it’s warm.

Everything is warm, feels like lavender and rosemary and something soft all around. You think you can taste cherries and strawberries and something sweet, everything sweet.

And then you open your eyes and it all makes sense. Because that’s just how Jungkook and Jimin and Taehyung are, soft and sweet and floral until all the edges are safe enough to press against, all sugar spun words and sugar spun smiles. It makes you long for it, long for their sugar scrubbed lips against your skin.

But that’s not right, it’s not right to think that, so you steel yourself and peel open an eye and think that it’s best to get it over with quickly, like jumping into cold water. It hurts less that way, you learned.

“Guk,” You mutter first, softly, the man stirring only slightly beneath you. He turns and nestles his head deeper into your neck, his lips dragging a bit over the skin and you shudder because you can’t help it. “Kook,” you repeat but it’s even softer, your hands combing through his hair.

He hums a bit, and Taehyung shifts from behind him. The man opens his eyes in a sort of dissociative state but he still smiles, eyes meeting yours over Jungkook’s head, and you both share a knowing kind of smile, like you’re being let in on a secret. Jimin shifts from behind you, his touch cold in a way all vampires’ are, but oddly warm as his arms tighten around your middle, nose nuzzling the back of your neck.

You close your eyes and sleep a bit longer. You allow yourself just that. It’ll be the last time, you tell yourself, even though you’ve said that for way too long already.

When you wake again, it’s just you and Jungkook. Unsurprising, since Jungkook is the one that sleeps in the most, sleeps whenever he finds the chance. You look at the time, the clock blinking 10:36. You realize you’re not on the couch anymore, that someone must have moved you while you were sleeping. Heart aching at the thought that you must have been a bother.

You just lay there for a while in thought, reverting between looking at the ceiling and looking at Jungkook. The little constellation of freckles and blemishes on the apple of his cheeks. His cupid’s bow. The tangle of his eyelashes.

Laughter trickles through the closed door, bouncing around and fitting itself into all the corners and crevices, soft and warm and sweet. That’s the thing about them. You hear their voices, their laughter, and it burrows itself somewhere in your chest and makes itself at home and you don’t think you’ll ever get it out. You find trails of their laughter everywhere, find it when you open cabinets and it comes tumbling out, find trails of their smiles under cushions and fogging up all your mirrors.

You brush away Jungkook’s hair with your palm, lightly press your lips to his forehead in an almost-kiss. You think he shivers, but you were busy untangling your legs from his so you can’t be too sure.

When you close the door softly behind you and pad further into their apartment, you hear a noise of exasperation by the couch.

“The creature has risen,” Jimin remarks ominously.

“Amen.” Taehyung says, feigning surprise when you turn to look at him.

“You all suck,” you say and watch as they burst into a fit of giggles, your heart dangerously warm. “Sorry for staying over, I wasn’t planning to.”

“No, no, no,” Taehyung’s the first to reassure, gesturing for you to come closer. You comply, standing hesitantly by the back of the couch, and he turns to take your hands into his, his thumb drawing circles onto the back of it. You almost shiver. “S'okay, not your fault. And it’s nice having you here.”

You don’t comment. Try not to stare at his hands tangled in yours, try not to think of how warm he is. “Guk’s still sleeping,” you start, if only as a distraction, "I would wake him, but I don’t have the willpower.“

Jimin bursts from the couch, muttering an excited mantra of "I’ll do it!" as he does so. He almost passes you by but pauses, presses a kiss to your temple and a hand trailing softly down your arm and then— "Good morning, my little love.” before he disappears down the hallway. You try to steel your expression into something less soft and fond but when you turn Taehyung’s looking at you like he caught you in the act, his eyes and smile all giddy and warm. You look away quick, speed walking into the kitchen.

Their kitchen is a normal kitchen by all means, nothing overly exciting there. But when you turn there’s a teapot with a little cartoon bear and their oven mitts have polka dots on them and there are reminders glued to the fridge with little magnets that look like cats.

Dance practice at 2!, one says in cute cursive handwriting; Buy pickles at the grocery store!!! the other says covered in scrawls and doodles and too many exclamation points. You remember last night, remember the way Taehyung texts and just know it’s him, and feel hopelessly endeared.

The man in question suddenly trudges into the kitchen, and you try to purse your lips to keep yourself from smiling even as he pats your head and grabs a carton of juice from out the fridge. You catch a glimpse of several bags of blood in there and wonder what Jimin is up to with Jungkook. Jungkook’s sleepy noises and pursed lips and puffy eyes. Jimin sitting on the edge of the bed, combing through the werewolf's hair and looking down at him with a smile. Good god.

Taehyung grabs your wrist and leads you toward a cabinet, grip hopelessly soft. He opens it, takes out a mug with a printing of a dolphin jumping out the water. There are too many colors and it kinda looks like a Picasso painting. “Jiminie bought it for me from the last time he visited his family back in Busan. It’s the ugliest mug we own and also my favorite.”

He places it on the counter, pours juice into it as you laugh. The hybrid reaches to grab another mug, hands you one with a smiling Cinderella on it. “Thank you,” you mutter, soft.

He lunges forward abruptly, and there’s a smack on the center of your forehead when his lips meet your skin. He pulls away just as quick, shuffling away with his mug, but it’s still warm where he kissed you.

God. You’re so far gone.

You steel yourself as you approach Taehyung. He’s sitting on the far end of the table, pouring cereal into a bowl. You laugh lightly, going to sit opposite him, but he pulls you by the sleeve of your shirt to sit beside him, so you comply with a laugh.

There’s silence as you sip on your drink and as he eats his cereal. Then suddenly you mutter, just for the heck of it, "What’s your favorite color?“

The boy looks up, blinks, and you’re suddenly reminded of why you called him honey boy in the first place. He’s so, so pretty. "Hm?” he hums at first, chewing slowly at his cereal. “It, uh. Starts with a b and ends with a loo.”

“Ah.” You nod, “I like purple, too.”

Taehyung laughs, quick and sharp, then covers his mouth with a hand because otherwise he’d spit cereal all over the counter. You grin in delight because how could you not?

“Not funny,” The hybrid mutters after the laughter stops. He tries to keep a poker face but his smile keeps slipping.

“You laughed, though.” You point out but he doesn’t say anything, moves the cereal box between you both so you don’t see his face. You laugh.

It’s quiet again after that. A nice quiet. Like the ones you experience with family members and friends, people you’ve known your whole life. You haven’t known Taehyung your whole life - haven’t known him for much time at all, actually. You’d like to, though. Like to know where he’s most ticklish, what makes his brows furrow, what makes him laugh so hard he’s in tears and has everything tasting like strawberries.

“Hey, Taehyung?” You speak up for the first time in a while, Yeontan’s tail tickling your legs from under the table. He hums for you to continue, so you do, “Is it Jimin that dances?”

Taehyung’s expression contorts into so much open admiration your heart kinda aches a bit. “Yeah,” he says a bit breathlessly, “He’s really good at it, too. So pretty.”

“Oh.” You nod, because it makes sense. He’s graceful and slim and his legs are a bit too muscular, but you thought that had something to do with him being a vampire. Protein and all that. “I can imagine,” you say because you really can.

Taehyung nod nod nods and it’s then that the wood creaks, and you turn to find Jimin standing nearby, like a hell-beast you summon using words of praise. Jungkook is standing behind him, and you look down and see their hands intertwined and Jungkook’s face a bit flushed.

“They’re cute,” you hear Taehyung mutter, and you nod because it’s true. They’re good for each other. And if the way Taehyung stands up and throws himself on top of both of them says anything, all of them erupting into giggles and everything tasting sweet - he’s good for them, too. They all are. So good.

“Noona!” You blink blink blink and look up and Jungkook must have materialized beside you or something because he definitely wasn’t there before. “Jimin-hyung is complaining that Tae-hyung only fed you juice so now he’s making food! Don’t worry, it’s not some lame cereal or anything.”

You nod and he nods back. Ruffles your hair. Doesn’t kiss the crown of your head like he does sometimes, on some mornings where he’s cold and soft and half-asleep.

Jungkook coaxes you out the chair and leads you to the stove where Jimin is making eggs. Taehyung is there, too, and your familiar suddenly lets go of your hand just to burst into a sprint and slap the hybrid’s butt, says something about him having a perky bum before Taehyung is chasing him around the table while Jimin is laughing and you’re laughing and it’s a mess.

It all kinda feels like true love.

You really want it to be.

You’re in an aquarium. You’re not usually in aquariums, not without company, not with the children chasing each other around and the occasional happy couple that walks by to stare at an octopus or something. The things people do for love.

“I wanna be a marine biologist,” Hoseok says, chewing on a shrimp cracker. He’s wearing swim trunks and a navy blue shirt with a little fish on his chest. The gills on his neck are swaying softly. "I get to see fish and maybe show them to little kids sometimes. Oh, and swim in the big tanks after hours.“

"You can do that?”

He turns to you, something knowing glinting in his eyes. “Nope.” He says, popping another cracker into his mouth.

“Do all mermaids like to swim?” You ask, turning to him expectantly. He offers you a cracker from his little packet and you politely decline.

“Not really,” he hums in thought. “Some just prefer the land, ya know? I’d like to think their soul will always be tied to the ocean, though.”

You hum. “Yeah. I like the way you put it.” Is all you say. When you turn to look at him, he’s smiling.

Hoseok lets you look over his shoulder as he shows you pictures of him with his tail, blushes a pink just as bright as his tail when you compliment him. He pauses at a picture of him with purple seashells over his chest like Ariel, bursts into laughter with you.

You appreciate it. Appreciate that he’s not asking why you’re really here, sulking at a school of trouts.

“Hoseok-ah,” you say, pause when he hums in acknowledgement. He doesn’t push, just waits. His hair’s a bit wet, you notice. Smells a bit like chlorine and something soft. He’s shining with pixie dust and something else. “Um. At what point did you know you were in love with Yoongs?”

His whole body melts, human fondue. “It wasn't really a big revelation. At one point I just made a face at him and watched him laugh then thought ‘oh shit, do I love him' then I couldn’t unthink it, couldn’t undo it.” You watch as everything about him instantly melts with his smile. It was just the tiniest bit of tension, so small you couldn’t even notice it until it wasn’t there, that’s what melts away.

“Huh.” Is all you say, because there’s nothing you could say to that. “Then what made you tell him?”

“Red bull,” He says, laughs, “And tears, too. Can’t forget about those,” He looks at you and softens, looking impossibly honest. “And the thought that maybe I’d regret it if I kept it to myself.”

The mermaid turns and watches the same school of trouts pass by with you. Doesn’t say anything until you hear a gasp and he says all too loudly, “Holy shit that dude totally just winked at me.”

And you laugh, slapping lightly at his shoulder, “It’s a fish, they can’t even blink.”

“I swear that one just did.”

“They don’t even have eyelids!”

And maybe things are just a little more okay.

It’s another day. Another day that feels like an early morning but it really isn’t. A time of day in which the air is not yet cooled by autumn and the sun lines the side of your face lovingly.

Except the curtains are drawn and the air conditioner is at full blast, and Jungkook is napping on your bed when it’s five in the afternoon and his own bed is, like, down the hall.

“Guk,” you whisper, spot a blob of blankets that must be Jungkook and only a nose sticking out of it, as if he were under the covers until recently but had to get out for some air. You’re so fond. “Gukkie. Time to get up.”

You try to gently shake him awake but he only groans, trying to shuffle away from you on the bed. Breathing out a chuckle, you place the drink in your hand onto the bedside table before plopping yourself completely on top of him, hear it when he lets out a low oof.

He whispers a mantra of drawn out noo's under his breath before you see his head pop out, chin propped over the blankets as he watches you with his brows furrowed. You laugh in delight, catch it when he purses his lips to fight back a smile.

“What’s that smell?” The werewolf asks, voice low and groggy from sleep, his arms bursting from out of the covers to wrap themselves around your middle. You shuffle from on top of him until your cheek is laying on his chest, warm and comfortable, feel it whenever he draws in a breath, the rise and fall of his chest.

“Potion,” your voice is muffled from where your cheek is laying on his collarbone, but you know he hears you when you feel rather than see his face scrunch up in adorable disgust. You continue before he can voice his concerns, "But! It’s sweet. I put in some honey and a chocolate bar and some maple syrup. The syrup needed a little more persuasion to dissolve but a little flirting did the trick, I think.“

"Sounds like it tastes very sweet,” Jungkook says with a toothy grin, sitting up without letting go of you so you’re forced to sit up, too. You watch as he slowly moves to grab his drink, other arm resting on your hip, as if to stop you from moving, to keep you close. Or maybe that’s just wishful thinking. “What’s it for? I don’t know what Tae-hyung told you, but I don’t have bowel problems, I swear.”

You laugh, tucking the comment away for another time. “Nothing like that, I think. It’s just warm.”

He hums, blowing ripples in his cup as steam wafts upwards and around. You watch-- feel – as he sips at his cup, as he shudders a bit when the warmth flows through his veins, as he presses the cup to his chest with half-lidded eyes, breathes out a little sigh.

You get up before you can stare any longer. You almost do, shuffling back and untangling your legs from his, but Jungkook startles and stops you with a hand lightly gripping your arm.

“Dinner- Guk, I gotta make dinner-” You say but it’s only to convince yourself, only to stop yourself from getting closer— but it hasn’t worked before and it isn’t working now.

Jungkook drags you back to bed, grip hopelessly gentle, as if to say you can go, you can leave if you want—but you don’t, you never do, so you let yourself be dragged; helpless for him, for this pretty boy in your bed.

His legs are around your waist and pulling you closer and you want this, you want this but you don’t want to want this, don’t know how to get closer without the words spilling—I like you I like you, like you so much, liked you for ages.

A chin is propped over your head, both his hands resting on your hips. The silence sticks, gentle with sleep and afternoon fog.

“Noona,” he murmurs, and you hadn’t realized when he started rocking you gently back and forth. “Noona, s'okay, right?”

You hum but it sounds distant, like you hadn’t said anything at all. It’s a pretty dream, you decide. It’s a pretty dream and you’ll sit here while Jungkook tells you pretty things.

His hands are trailing up and down your arms and you shudder, feel each individual line, and it’s skin that will never be the same now that it remembers what Jungkook’s touch feels like. It’s too much. Not enough.

(Jungkook had kissed you once before, back when you were both tipsy on secrets and laughter and a bottle of wine, alcohol no longer in any of your systems but you were both pretending it was. He'd leaned over, unthinking, when you’d laughed at something he said, had pressed both your lips together. You hadn’t reacted at first, were still for enough time to make him reconsider, make him recoil back, but then you were slipping your hands into his hair and tugging him back and he’d kissed you again, softly, soft enough to make you ache for it for weeks afterwards, like a bruise that wouldn’t heal.

“Guk,” you’d started the next day, finding him hunched over the couch, “could we talk, maybe-” but he’d cut you off cheerily, much too cheerily, “it’s okay, noona, I get it, it’s fine it’s fine it’s fine—”)

“Shit,” Jungkook says, sounding pained, almost. You look up at him but he’s already looking. He’s close. So close. Not close enough. “This is okay, right?”

You nod, not sure what he’s asking about but sure that it’s okay. With Jungkook, it always is.

He makes a soft little sound, like a hum and a growl and a sigh all mixed into one. It burrows somewhere in your chest and you don’t think you’ll ever get it out.

You’re not sure when the dam breaks. Not sure who moves first. But at some point you both do, meeting in the middle, angle off, teeth clicking. You kinda want to break it off just to laugh, just to blink and make sure this is all real, but Jungkook’s hands move to cup both your cheeks and keep you in place and then

then you’re kissing.

He doesn’t taste salty with wine. He tastes of lip balm and something sugary sweet. Just like you remember. Just like you dream of, sometimes. You think of this and smile so hard your cheeks ache and feel him smile back. It should be an awkward kiss, if anything- practically all teeth- but it isn’t, it’s nice, gentle.

Jungkook pulls back to breathe, to mutter something that sounds like oh, god, before he’s swaying back, back to you, pulling you close, impossibly close. He presses his lips to yours again and again and again—eyes shy and determined, lips careful and caring.

You pull back and Jungkook growls, something raw and oddly feral, but when you look up at him, startled, he looks equally surprised. "I swear that wasn’t on purpose.“ He sounds a bit out of breath. His too long bangs brush against his eyelashes and there’s a little bit of stubble on his chin. You laugh and kiss him there, right on his chin, hear it when he makes a soft little thing that sounds like a sigh. You wonder how many more sounds you can get out of him, how many more sighs you can steal from his lips and eat like summer cherries.

He does taste like that, though, you think. He tastes like cherries. Like happiness.

Jungkook gets closer still, whispers a breath against your lips, this is okay, right? this is okay? and you feel it even without words, feel it in the gentle press of his lips to yours. Feel it even when it’s not gentle, when it’s something deeper and hungry, sweeter and messier and open. It’s embarrassing how easy you say yes each time, but he doesn’t comment. Only smiles. Swallows the embarrassing sounds you make.

There’s a gentle press of a tongue to the seam of your mouth, to your bottom lip, let me in, it says, let me in, if you want. And you do, you do want it, so you let him, feel as he melts and sighs and sinks into you deeper still. He’s so pretty. You say so, when you both part, watch as he blushes the same color as the cherries he tastes like.

You don’t realize when you’re being set down softly on a pillow, Jungkook hovering over you, pressing kisses from the apple of your cheeks down to your jaw down to your collarbones. So beautiful, he murmurs, suddenly shy, and it makes you both smile and you can’t come back from this. Can you come back from this?

Dark eyes meet yours when you look up, round as truffles. Jungkook smiles a toothy grin, something giddy in his eyes that widens when you smile back. Then he’s leaning down and kissing you so softly it melts you down to your bones. You can’t come back from this.

You want this. You want to kiss him until he’s trembling and his bangs are sticking to his forehead. You want to hold his hand when he’s sad and have your hand held when you’re sad and sometimes hold hands just because. You want to have baths, sexy ones sometimes, with candles.

But you also want early mornings. You want to wake up to the sound of keyboards and Jungkook ushering you out of bed, noona let me help, noona look at what I made, noona let’s go outside, noona, noona, noona.

You want Jimin and Taehyung. You want to make them smile, want them to make you smile, want to wake up to their smiles. You want to give them presents and watch their faces contort into gentle surprise. Want to hang ornaments on Taehyung’s antlers and watch him smile when they jingle.

You can’t come back from this.

"Wait,” you gasp, “wait, wait, wait.”

Jungkook sits up so fast he looks dizzy. “Noona?” His voice sounds small and panicked. He comes to when you sit up, too, shuffling away from you quick, “Oh god. Oh god, I—I’m sorry, I don't—Oh, oh god.”

He tries to get out of bed but you grab him quick, “Wait, don't—don’t go. Just give me a second,” you’re breathing too quick. You breathe more slow, the way Jimin taught you how; three seconds in and three seconds out. “Just… give me a second.”

Jungkook looks up then down then up again. “Okay.” He sits back. Not close like before. There’s still a bit of panic in his eyes, just more on the edges now.

He holds his hand out to you wordlessly, looking down at the sheets. You accept the offer, intertwining your hands softly.

“You don’t, like, owe me an explanation or anything,” he speaks quick, “we don't—have to do anything,” he grimaces, "obviously. We obviously don’t have to do anything. If you wanted to before but don’t want it anymore, that’s fine, that’s fine too—"

“Guk,” You interject softly. He’s breathing too quick, too. “I want to do those things with you—I do, I really do. Wanted to for some time,” he’s looking at you now, and you try not to flush but fail miserably. “I just—wanted to get some things straight, and thought, um. WWND, you know?”

Jungkook smiles, the curl of his lips slow. “…What Would Namjoon Do?”

“Exactly!” You huff. There’s more to be said but you’re both smiling, so maybe that’s something.

“Um,” The werewolf says as the silence drags on, ears drooped against his head, “I’m still confused maybe a little.”

“Sorry,” you murmur, “I just need to know of, like. Feelings that may or may not be happening.”

“Feelings.” He mutters softly. His thumb is rubbing circles on the back of your hand. Looks at you shyly. “I like you,” he says all too easily—looks relieved at saying it, too, like the words have been waiting a long time to get out. “Those are my feelings.”

His words spread to the pit of your stomach, heavy and sweet, like how honey seeps into tea. It’s so fast. Everything is happening so fast you can’t wrap your head around anything. “Me?” you breathe in and breathe out quick. “You like me?”

Jungkook nods and nods again, hair bobbing with the movement. He shuffles a bit closer, hesitates, shuffles further away.

“Hey, no,” you almost coo, pull him so he can get closer and he does. “I like you, too. Liked you for ages.”

“Yeah?” He smiles slow, something big and giddy, teeth and all, shuffles closer still, “Yeah?” He asks again, almost nonsensically, not sure what he’s trying to confirm.

You smile just as big. “Yeah.”

Then Jungkook melts, turns to mush, shoulders drooping, “Oh, thank god. I just went through, like, nine stages of grief over our friendship that I thought I’d just ruined by making out with you.”

“Five—” you manage through your laughter, “Five- There are only five stages, Guk-ah.”

“Oh my god,” He looks at you, unimpressed, “I had, like, extra ones. I was that distressed. I like you so much.”

There’s silence and you both settle, let today’s events sit and simmer for a bit. It still feels unreal. Jungkook’s hand is still in yours, tethering you back to earth, and you feel the calluses of his skin as he trails nonsensical patterns on your hand.

“But,” you stutter when the silence drags for too long, “But I thought you were in love with Jimin and Taehyung?” You sound too vulnerable, you think. Too small.

“I am. I am,” He breathes in too quick, too sharp, breathes it out shakily, “but before I fell for them, I fell for you. It was always you.”

You want to say something, want to interject; and you’re about to, lips parted and everything, "But—"

You startle at the high pitched squeal Jungkook suddenly emits. He’s staring at his hands now, uses his free one to tug at his hair. “The hyungs! We planned to all talk together—Shit, dammit. Argh.”

You blink. “What.”

“Um!” He turns towards you resolutely. He lets go of your hand, regrets it, reaches back for it. “There are words that need to be said but I can't say them. Yet. And—” He makes another noise of frustration. “I wanna do this right. Will you let me do this right?”

You don’t know what he means by that. You’re still half expecting to wake up, to realize this is all a dream. It wouldn’t be the first time. Wouldn’t be the last, either.

You let yourself daydream sometimes, tell yourself it will ease the hurt. It never does, never eases, but you let yourself do it anyway. It’s all three of them in your daydreams. All three of them in this pretty world you created, in this little house where all four of you could wake up surrounded by warmth and everything is safe and soft enough to press against.

So you don’t know what to do. Don’t know what there is to do right. But you agree because it’s Jungkook, and you trust Jungkook, and sometimes he knows more than he lets on. “Okay.” you murmur.

You stay wound up in each other like it never happened, speaking softly to each other, Jungkook occasionally wrestling you for the blankets. You don’t talk about anything specific, just tiny things; that’s when I knew, that’s when I realized, that’s when I hoped. Sometimes Jungkook holds your hand while he talks and sometimes he doesn’t but that’s okay, too. When he lets go it’s cold but a sort of gentle one, makes you think,

look, look at how warm you can be.

There are still things to talk about but it’s fine. You have tomorrow and the day after tomorrow and so forth. For now, you’ll stay here where everything tastes like sugar. Spun-sweet.

That day didn’t come.

It’s been tomorrow and the day after tomorrow and even the day after that. Three days of you and Jungkook toeing around each other, three days of seemingly eternal suffering, only three days and now you’re in another person’s home sipping on another person’s cup of juice.

“Hey!” Namjoon frowns even as you give the cup back with a sheepish smile.

“Sorry.” You say, not apologetic in the slightest and he knows it, too.

There’s a month and a half left until Jin and Namjoon’s anniversary and they’ve both consequently used it as an excuse to bring everyone together. Again. Jin had said something about making use of our youth, even baked a cake and everything, and him and Hoseok are currently in the kitchen decorating it. Or, at least, they were.

“Jin-hyung, I think we failed a bit.”

“We? We? Oh no, you’ve got it all wrong! There is no we! What is this blasphemy! Where is your sense of propriety!” Seokjin shrieks while flailing one of those icing bags, and Hoseok ducks just in time to avoid getting nailed in the head by it, cackling loudly.

Yoongi intervenes, stepping between them, looks down at the cake and promptly bursts out laughing.

You follow and laugh lightly at what you see.

It’s a round vanilla cake and on top — written all too messily — are some almost indistinguishable handwriting written with some kind of blue paste. It says “happy anniversary na" then, as the space obviously wasn’t enough, the mjin is squeezed in at the side.

Namjoon doesn’t seem to mind and you all know Seokjin is only pretending to be annoyed, so you shuffle through the cabinets and hand Hoseok the single candle you’d found, watch as he sticks it in on the top. An act of redemption, on his part.

You all squeeze out of the kitchen after Yoongi as he carries the cake into the living room, sets it down onto the dining table. You feel oddly proud. Or maybe you’re just feeling what they’re feeling, simmering a bit in the pit of your stomach.

You all gather around on the couch where Jin pops a musical Hoseok had recommended into the TV. You somehow fall asleep somewhere between him dancing along with the characters and Namjoon belting out the lyrics and wake to a little bit of drool trickling down your chin and a bit onto someone’s shoulder.

You sit up with half-lidded eyes. Pat the person’s arm in sympathy for them, hear a deep chuckle in response and then — and then—

And then you look up and it’s Taehyung. Taehyung, whom you hadn’t even seen walk inside. Taehyung, who willingly sat next to you and let you sleep on his shoulder.

You drooled on him.

Drooled.

You stand up quick and panicked and try to mask it by wiping off your clothes and strolling into the kitchen like it never happened. You kinda either feel like questioning all your life decisions up to this point or letting out a long-winded shriek and you don’t know which to do first.

The latter option will be first, you think as Taehyung follows you into the kitchen.

"Um,” he mutters at first, clutching at the hem of his sweater. It’s beige and has a little chicken on the top right corner and is a pinch too short on him. You briefly wonder if it’s Jimin’s. “Hello.”

You blink and your tongue is suddenly ten times too big in your mouth. “Hi.”

“There’s icing on your shirt.” He grins.

You look down and there really is. You hadn’t even eaten cake, there was no way for it to get there. “There is.” you agree.

He hums. You hum back. Sometimes people associate your social failures with the fact that you’re a witch, and although you’re mildly offended, you mostly just like to roll with it.

The air’s a bit tense and you wish you could just go back to when talking was easy, when you’d ask where he got his belt and it would release the floodgates — that the belt was, in fact, a tie, of which he painted over to mimic the colors of Van Gogh's Starry Night. Which he then said is how he wanted to paint his wall, paint the wine shelves he’d keep beside his bed for when he wants to classily watch anime. He has big dreams. Makes your heart hurt.

Today, Taehyung’s eyes are painted a brighter color than usual. Makes your heart hurt, too.

He has nice eyebrows. You say so out loud, and he laughs. “Thank you. You have nice eyebrows, too.”

What is this. What is happening. Why are you complimenting each other’s eyebrows. “Um,” you start, “what’s up?”

“Oh!” He says, as if he’d just now remembered. “I just wanted some, um.” He grabs a cup out the drawer, one that’s red and made of plastic, not cute like the ones he has at home, the ones he’s so fond of. “I just wanted some punch.”

Taehyung pours some grapefruit punch into his cup, pale-pink in color. “You should dye your hair that color,” you start, almost regret it when he turns to look at you, but he looks curious so you continue, “it’d look nice on you.”

His cheeks are that color, you think. Pale-pink. “Yeah.” He says and that’s that.

You two walk back and the credits are rolling and everyone’s spread around separately. Jimin’s here too, you notice, see him laughing in a corner with Hoseok. Convince yourself it’s not you he’s looking at when you pass him by.

You and Taehyung end up sat together on the couch, curling in close. This is nice, you think, startle when he turns to face you. “What’s nice?”

“Uh,” you panic and hurry to elaborate, “being close, I guess. With someone. S'nice.”

For a second you think he might laugh but he only turns, considering. His arm is around you, hanging loosely over your waist. You feel cocooned and safe despite yourself.

“Do you want that?” You face him but he isn’t looking at you, only looking ahead intently as if deep in thought. “Do you want someone to be close with?” His eyes are open and soft and somewhat unsure.

You can’t help but bark out a laugh. Taehyung turns, frowns. “Do I?”

“What do you mean?” He murmurs, and your smile droops at how hesitant he sounds.

“What do you mean?” you retort, brows furrowing.

Jimin pads over just then, as if sensing the slight commotion. You half expect him to ask what’s going on, half expect yourself not to know how to answer because what is going on?— but he doesn’t, doesn’t do that, only sits on your other side, places a hand on your knee.

“This, see, you do this,” you start, gesturing to Taehyung’s arm over your waist, to Jimin’s hand on your knee and his hand on your back, thumbnails dragging softly over your spine. “But it’s not real, I know it isn’t.”

Taehyung’s looking at you a bit too intently. Jimin is, too, his eyes glinting gold. You see the surprise cross both their faces.

“Who says it isn’t real?” Taehyung says with a frown.

“Y/n, love, we like you.” Jimin adds, voice hushed as if he’s telling a secret.

“..I know,” you start, brows furrowed in confusion. You know they like you, at least a little bit, otherwise they wouldn’t have invited you over to their home so many times. Then why are they looking at you like that? “I mean, I like you, too.”

“Baby, what Jiminie means is that we’ve been trying to court you for, like, two months.”

Your mouth is dry. You try to swallow once, twice, taste salt and feel your throat get icky.

“Should we settle this at home?” Jimin asks, more to Taehyung than to you but you answer anyway,

“No! No. I just—need some air.”

Outside is a bit cold and Namjoon’s windowsill has too many potted plants he most likely can’t care for and the sky is softly settling, clouds hanging gently overhead. You look up and Taehyung’s face is a bit blurry but his antlers are easy to spot. They make him look taller, softer. Sometimes when you’re talking his ears flicker towards you and that’s when you know he’s listening even without saying anything at all.

Right now, he’s shifting from foot to foot as if he’s uncomfortable in his own skin. But that’s not right, Taehyung’s not one to be uncomfortable in his own skin, so this gentle rocking of his makes you feel strange. Seasick, almost.

Everything seems sort of suspended, like the world is hanging by a drop of nectar, waiting.

“Let’s talk, my little love.”

You almost startle at the term. Jimin looks proud at having said it, too, pretty grin and all. You need to focus. “Okay.” You nod. Taehyung gestures for you to continue, so you do, “You said you were, um. You were courting me?”

Taehyung nods. “Yes.” He says with so much confidence your heart kinda ached a bit.

“So.. what does that mean?”

“It means we want to date you.” Jimin’s the one to say, a nervous but firm whisper.

The silence drags on like a lip being dragged through teeth, slow and deliberate. Your organs feel wobbly inside. They’re doing that thing where they communicate with their eyebrows. They all have impossibly expressive eyebrows.

You feel the immense need to sit down, so you do. You sink to your knees and they’re reaching out quick, ready to console, but freeze when you let out a long-winded shriek. “WHAT?" you sputter, ”WHY?“

"Why?” Jimin says, hums, considering. “Because we like you. Maybe not love yet. But we’d like to,” he crouches so you’re both face-to-face, smiles soft, “we’d like to love you. If you let us.”

“But—” you feel the need to say something, but don’t know what. “But Jungkook?”

“Baby,” Taehyung’s crouching now, too, almost taking a hold of your hand but stopping himself, “we talk about this, like, every wednesday.”

“What? It’s, like, a reunion sort of thing?” You sputter, mouth agape.

Jimin huffs out a small laugh, almost of disbelief, slapping lightly at Taehyung’s shoulder, “No, no, Taehyung-ssi here doesn’t know what he’s talking about.” Taehyung tries to look serious, fails, and Jimin is smiling when he turns back to look at you. “We talk about it at least once a week, though.”

You still feel the need to say something but you feel like you’re running out of things to say. “But you’re all,” you run out of words then, gesture wildly at them from top to bottom.

Taehyung looks delighted. Jimin waits for you to elaborate, bites at his bottom lip when you don’t, asks tentatively, “…Yes?”

“You’re all— so pretty.” You mutter, exhausted. “And nice. And funny. And I’m just—” your arms drop to your sides.

“Little love,” Jimin’s the one to say, the one to get close, not afraid to get his clothes dirty as he shuffles towards you, “you’re also absolutely pretty, and nice, and funny, and beautiful.”

“I am?”

They grin. “You are.”

“Oh.”

The three want to date you. The three have wanted to date you for a while. The three are pretty and kind and make you feel seen, think you're pretty and kind, care enough to talk about it at least once a week and it all feels a bit unreal.

Your throat goes tight. You pick at your nail beds. Feel your blood pump the wrong way, its gentle waltz out seemingly of rhythm, one, two, three, one, two—what goes next?

“I–okay. Okay,” you stand up quick, rub some dirt off your knees, see Jimin point at them and giggle a bit. “Can we tell Jungkook? Do you wanna tell him now? I just. Don’t want him to feel left out.”

Jimin coos, takes a hold of your hand, kisses your temple after a second like he couldn’t help it. You think you hear Taehyung laugh from behind you.

They walk you home and you let them inside, their hands lingering on your back and on your shoulder, and Jungkook sputters when he sees you three, sitting up from the couch with a start. “Huh?” Is all he says.

“Hello!” Taehyung says with the biggest grin before getting straight to the point, "We confessed!“

"Y/n said yes!” Jimin adds, equally giddy.

“I’m a little drunk on punch!” You say, “But I still want to date you!”

Jungkook looks like a gaping fish for a second before there’s a twitch of his lips and then he’s smiling, slow and deliberate, pretty pretty pretty. He stands, pads over slowly and then quick, knocking the breath out of you, his arms tight. The rest join in and you’re all laughing and you’re all hugging and it feels like the beginning of something.

I want to be with you all,

then they’re all on you, soft and sweet, and

are you sure, and liked you for so long and are you super sure, don’t you need time to think, don’t you need more time to think, and smell so nice, you smell so nice, wait is that weird, and noona and little love and baby doll and—

they taste like love, like could-be love, and they feel like

y/n

home.

Jungkook’s planting tangerines in your backyard, spurred on by Jimin’s love for them. Taehyung’s there too, energetic and wild in a way only Taehyung can be, but gentle when he volunteers to fill up the watering can, patting and smoothing at the humid soil. He dyed his hair again. It’s the color of pink hyacinths now, the color of the punch he’d drank — pale-pink.

You’ve grown even more fond of your store. Or maybe you’ve grown more fond of what’s inside. Who’s inside. You like how it smells like licorice tea now, how Jimin always opens the windows to let the warm spring breeze inside, the vines and buds and flowers spilling inside like overeager children. You like the music that Taehyung plays on the speakers, jazz and Kehlani and the occasional Girl’s Generation. You like how your sheets always smell a bit like Jungkook.

Yoongi’s staring at you. He stares at a lot of people, but he’s been staring at you the most these days. You tear your gaze from the window, raising a brow at him as he occupies the entirety of the love seat in the corner that’s actually meant for two people. “Why’re you looking at me?”

“Ah.” Is all he says at first. You wait for some sort of sheepish smile, but it never comes. “Your aura. It's prettier these days.”

“Oh.” You blink. “What color is it?”

He turns, gaze shifting to the window you’d just been looking out of. You stare, too. Taehyung looks up just then, waves at you, a streak of dirt on his cheek. You smile lightly, wave back with the same amount of enthusiasm. When you look at Yoongi again, he’s already looking at you.

“You know when the sun is just about to set, and the sky is a mix of pinks and blues and oranges?” He smiles, a soft thing, and stands up. Touches lightly at an invisible barrier around you that’s not at all invisible to him. "That’s what it looks like. Like the gold of the sunset.“

a/n: here it is folks!! i didn’t like some of the scenes but i tried my best. some parts didn’t fit well here so i had to rearrange them a lot, and others i fit into the epilogue!! hope you enjoyed! spaced out is next i swear

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bosooka · 4 years

Photo

some of y’all might’ve noticed me reblogging like,,,cliche lesbian stuff no offense to lesbians to a weird cryptic tag--no? you didn’t? ok well nevertheless...behold the explanation! if you like:

- farmcore lesbians

- queer stories that aren’t love, simon + do not end in suicide

- books you can tell were an ordeal to research

- ~character-driven~ novels

this may be the wip for you! reply/send an ask to be added to the taglist :D

transcript under the cut:

[Image 1: an all-white powerpoint slide with text in comic sans. the title reads, “no mercy left for god,” and the subtitle reads “a wip intro by isaakandreyevs.” the surrounding rainbow text reads, clockwise: “mormons! gays! mormon gays!” “researching this made me extremely concerned for the safety and wellbeing of christian LGBT teenagers: a novel by me” “this is either the stupidest thing or the best thing i’ve ever written” “the lesbian adoption fantasy every rejected queer kid had at 14 except 900% more christian” “born entirely out of my insane parental instincts” End image 1.]

[Image 2: powerpoint slide titled “what’s in here???” a bullet-pointed list reads as follows:

“- farm lesbians who are moms - Gayngst™ - adoption plot - chosen families!!! - livestock with personalities - teenagers doing stupid teenager things - responsible adults - the jesus christ church of latter day saints (we’ll get there)” End image 2.]

[Image 3: slide titled “trigger warnings.” text reads as follows:

“- major: homophobia, conversion therapy, abuse, self-harm, mental illness, faith crises, suicidal ideation - minor (kind of): farm-typical animal death, bullying, foster care, alcohol use, underage”

aside adds: “yeah this is one of those books but dw there’s a happy ending lmao” End image 3.]

[Image 4: slide titled “plot?? no plot just gays.” text reads as follows:

“1998: farm country, idaho - catholic baby butch joey di angelo meets mormon annie haywood, who is pioneering new levels of lesbian repression - Romance Ensues but annie has really shitty parents - wild mormon stuff happens - and also a roadtrip kind of

2016: dc/virginia bc fuck idaho - joey & annie are now married and agree to foster a mormon girl, bailey, who got taken from her family after she was outed and her dad put her in the hospital - bailey is a trainwreck of a person and has been through three foster families and a group home - but dw the lesbian moms have come to save the day? - idk guys this is a character-driven novel - there’s also a goat” End image 4.]

[Image 5: slide titled “cast, pt. 1″. First drawing shows a woman with curly brown hair and amber eyes. she’s smiling. she has tan skin and freckles, and is wearing a white shirt with a red hoodie. her description reads:

“josephine ‘joey’ di angelo - dumb farm jock - likes rocks (gives cool ones to annie) - catholic but like. a normal person primarily - dad jokes - takes in pathetic life forms - personality is “soft puppy”

the second drawing shows a woman with long, dark hair. she has blue eyes and glasses and is frowning. her description reads:

anna ‘annie’ haywood di angelo - needs a hug - mormon and gay, fucked up about it - no coping mechanisms we die like repressed christian lesbians - loves joey an embarrassing amount - world cold and hard. titty soft and warm - would rather cut her own hand off than drink coffee” End image 5.]

[Image 6: titled “cast, pt. 2″. first drawing shows a Black woman with very dark skin and braided hair. she wears glasses and is holding a starbucks drink. her description reads:

“adanna ‘dani’ bankole - joey’s best friend + self-preservation instincts - bailey’s case worker - isn’t getting paid enough for this shit - patience of a saint - aroace but a Lesbian Magnet™”

second drawing shows a young girl with blonde hair and green eyes. she has heavy bags under her eyes and is frowning. her description reads:

“bailey park - would rather close a door on her head than admit her feelings - prays for the sweet release of death - really, really needs a hug - hasn’t slept since her baptism - a girl smiled at her and she cried for two hours” End image 6.]

[Image 7: slide titled “cast, pt. men”. first drawing on the left shows a young man with brown hair and blue eyes. he’s wearing a suit and tie and is growing the valiant beginnings of a beard. his description reads:

“bennett ‘ben’ haywood - annie’s youngest brother - actually nice - came back from mission to find his family in flames”

the second drawing on the left shows a slightly older man with pale skin, brown hair and blue eyes. he has a full beard and bags under his eyes. his description reads:

“hiram haywood - annie’s younger brother - fuck this guy - Complicated - reason the haywoods are a goddamn ordeal”

the first drawing on the right shows a man with curly brown hair like joey’s, a full beard, and dark brown eyes. he has sunglasses pushed to the top of his head. his description reads:

“anthony ‘tony’ di angelo - joey’s twin - Softe - a good boy who tries his best - let’s go lesbians”

the second drawing on the right shows an older man with grey hair and a beard. he’s wearing wire-frame glasses and a beige cardigan. his description reads:

“nonno - joey’s grandpa - gay magnet (since the 50s) - family sauce recipe will die with him - fought fascists and won” End image 7.]

#writeblr #wip intro #comic sans wip intro #queer fiction #ofcolourtracking #explo writes #wip: nmlfg #if anyone needs me i will be Up To The Shoulder in mormon scripture #this book has been...a fucking nightmare to research #thankfully my vod'ika has the patient of a saint #pun not intended #i donated like 50 dollars to queer youth shelters in slc after like...2 days of research #also i learned a lot about goats #and apple orchards #we'll get there #explostential crisis

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playersleft · 3 years

Text

You can never be too careful when it comes to getting close to people.

Motives are hard to spot. Undercurrents can and do twist every expectation. You can be close to people without becoming vulnerable to these things -- That idea sits strong, but it’s still.. saddening... to think anything might be fake.

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... It’s a stupid thing to try to measure though, isn’t it? Even the blades of grass occasionally gifted underfoot are synthetic. Every star up there was painted on by a bored hand plastering up the decorations. Balancing what’s fake and what’s real here is a fool’s errand... You can only take what you’re given.

She’s.. lucky. In a place like this, to have found people who... For whom she’ll build a stupid ice rink on the offhanded request of, and then find herself so excited to show to two other particular names, even knowing their reactions tend to be small~ To have people she can look forward to playing with so much, instead of feeling anxiety as with others. To have a string of people that even come to mind when the words ‘best friend’ pop up, whether or not reciprocated, whether or not meaningful...

Honestly.. She’s lucky to have people that make her heart betray itself and its promise to not pick favorites.

“That’s what you’re telling yourself now?”

“.... I know...”

He sat, crouched, pressing hands together in a way that hung between his knees. It’s been a while, since she’d seen one seated in a way that felt just so y̸̖̾o̷̰͒ͅu̷͙̍̚._..

“That you’re lucky? That they’re your friends?”

“...”

“They’re not even the ones tricking you. 9687308742546408436.

“844707933802630282259022809680788066047076084733. 43806837096877353. 9687306858432238330270269663. 968033350428305878054530269663.”

“Look, I just... don’t like you that way... I don’t mind if you’re gay, just... Can we just be f̶͚͈̞͚̓͆r̸̳̠̓͛̕ͅi̶̺̘̲̊̄̇̍͜e̷̻̻̅̽̃̕ṇ̶̨͓̽d̵̯͈̲̓s̵̏̍͗̓ͅ...?”

“You’re really so mixed up over a stupid heartbreak? Who cares if you got dumped.

“What if she’s watching right now? You think she’ll be flattered or creeped out?”

“...”

“Look, there’s a thousand and one other paths out there” He shifted to sit beside her, and lifted a hand to point out the broken glass. “Maybe in one of them, you’re married on a farm with her. In this one, you’re broken up about her long after she forgot you existed. Who cares? There’s other things to worry about.”

His hand rolled around to palm-up, and curled into a fist. “If you keep wasting time on these things, you’re gonna get crushed~ Is that how you wanna go?”

“... No... I know...”

“Other people’s opinions don’t matter. This whole ‘show’ doesn’t matter. The world begins and ends with you, so if you’re gonna survive it, you gotta let these things go.”

“... Why do you hang out with me, then..?”

“... Heh~ You’re the only one that listens.

“Plus, you keep coming to me~”

“I’m not sure... We should keep hanging out so much... I’m sorry-?”

...

... You were... right, is the worst part.

Tons of people probably find me annoying, just like tons probably find me appealing.

I get fan letters all the time, and people around here usually seem happy to see me, even though all they do is see me...

Even if I don’t talk to anyone like I did with you, anymore... Even if a lot of things are on the surface, that’s where the water feels best. It doesn’t really matter.

Your harsh tones bring to light the same things I already know. Just, the truth tastes really bitter sometimes. You seemed so comfortable with it... Your entire self was bitter, though. I wanted you to be happy-- I rarely made you happy...

You still kept talking to me, though. That was enough. You seemed.. to both love and detest me at once. Like I was your pesky little sister or something. You had... so many bitter truths in you to share with me. I’m still trying to swallow them all down, but you had something to say. Something you really wanted someone to hear.

Who cares.... It doesn’t matter .... In your own world, what really matters is yourself. Without that, there’s nothing.

So... Why did you kill me, then...?

... ‘Lucky’ ... Or maybe dumb... But who cares. To me, to my world.. I just can’t get away from the value of these connections. Good and bad. I want to play with them, I want to have fun and hug and love, and I want to listen to everybody’s words. You.. had something to say. You haunt me, but I’m still glad I heard you. I’m glad I can carry your messages with me, I’m glad I still think about them and what they could have meant... I’m glad I try to do that with others, too... ... I want to carry as many as I can hold.

To make up for a lack of ‘me’? You’d suggest something like that... Maybe it is the case. But everybody has something to say, and I have a lot of room in myself to carry the words and ideas.

I don’t know.. if I have anything to say.. I don’t know what people will hear after I’m gone. I don’t know how they see me, what they take from me... If they care to take anything...

.. But... If it’s as ‘surface-level’ as laughter and hugs and this feeling of ‘love’... Well... The most comfortable place is at the surface of the water. Where sunlight hits and we can bask in the warmth.

And personally, I rather like the sunshine I have found myself in-

#P.32 #... Deep breaths

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ticklishraspberries · 5 years

Text

A Day (Or Six) in the Life

Note: This is from Richie’s POV sorta, so fair warning, there is some vulgar language from time to time. Hope you like it!

Sometimes there’s just too much shit going on in Richie’s head.

And like, don’t get him wrong – he loves the weird crap his brain comes up with. Makes things entertaining, a little spicy, a little zesty. The only problem with it is that he can’t find the damn remote that turns off the six different brands of Looney Tunes going on up there.

(He’d once spent an entire lecture assigning different Voices to the markers his professor used on the whiteboard, to the point that he hadn’t retained a single iota of anything the man actually wrote down.)

Man, that red little minx was pretty sexy though.

He snorts to himself as he comes out of his dozing, shoved back into the real world for the present. He can feel the hot line of Eddie at his back, leg hooked over his hip like a seat belt. His lil jet pack.

Richie reaches blindly for his glasses and pushes them onto his nose, sniffling. It’s still fairly early by his standards, but he doesn’t glance long enough at the digital clock to tell for sure, choosing instead to take one of Eddie’s hand and squeeze like it’s his own personal communications device. “Ground control to major Eds, come in, major Eds?”

No response.

Richie huffs, squeezes harder. “Psht. Major Eds? What’s your mission status, major?”

Maybe Eddie understands what he’s saying, maybe he doesn’t, but Richie receives a huff of hot breath at the back of his neck for his efforts, followed by what feels like a cheek smushed against his head. “S’too early, Rich.”

Flabbergasted, Richie turns over completely to grip a disgruntled, squinting Eddie by the front of his sleep shirt. “It’s never too early in outer space, Eds! Did the academy teach you nothing? I’m ashamed.”

And Richie doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to seeing Eddie so ruffled in the morning. Slow, blinking away sleep from his eyes with those impossibly long lashes, yawning around perfectly white teeth that look like little moon rocks, and - and it definitely seems like there’s a theme going on in his head today, doesn’t it?

“What are you even talking about?” The question sounds irritated, but that’s never stopped Richie before. If anything, it means that he has to go and run his mouth harder, because that’s his default reaction to any indication that someone might be upset with him.

(Except they both know that if Eddie really felt like it, he could just pick up his hot little self and go back to his own bed across the room. Hasn’t happened yet, so. Free game.)

“What am I -? I’m talking about the great race, major!” He pokes Eddie’s side, smiling knowingly at the resulting yip and defensive curl. “Space ain’t some pre teen with a secret collection of skin mags, babe-be, it’s not gonna explore itself.”

Eddie wrinkles his nose but can’t bury his smile in his pillow fast enough for Richie to miss it, sighing a long-suffering breath. “You’re so gross.”

“I try.”

“Where am I going, anyway?”

“Hm?” Richie kinda shifted out of the moment there, it’s gonna take him a second to catch up.

“You know,” Eddie yawns again, gesturing to the ceiling with a limp hand. “Space. Tell me where I’m going.”

“Oh, yeah. Uncharted territory, actually. Forgot to mention that.”

“Mmm…”

A moment of silence passes between them, which is really fortunate for Eddie because it gives Richie an opening for just about the best joke ever.

Gathering him in his arms slowly, he kisses his cheek, nuzzles up to him, and whispers, “To infinity… and your mom!”

Eddie, who had resettled peacefully in the crook of Richie’s arm, stiffens instantly and snaps one angry eye open to glare at him something fierce. Before Richie even so much as smirks, he finds himself pushed down into the squeaky mattress, two hands digging into any spot they can reach.

“Wait- W-wait!” Richie tumbles back with the force of it so hard he thinks he might get whiplash, but it doesn’t matter because he’s laughing around his next breath, tilting his head back and squeezing his eyes shut.

Eddie’s like a freight train when it comes to this, hands jumping from sides to ribs to neck to armpits to stomach - it’s all Richie can do to hold on to his wrists, tickle-weak and letting it happen.

“Yeah, laugh it up, Trash mouth.” Eds hisses, though Richie can see through a few tears that he’s grinning, biting at his tongue in concentration. Richie loves it, loves how Eddie can just reach into his head and jumble his brain until his thoughts whirl around like confetti in a snow globe.

At any rate, those insistent little fingers wring every last one of them out of him by the time he stops, looking down at Richie’s flushed excuse for a face and beaming like he won a prize. Always a competition with him, hoo-wee. “You done yet?”

Richie blinks, drudging through the mud pile that is his brain for a witty retort. “Uh… I…”

Eddie leans down and kisses his nose. “Good. Let’s go get breakfast, I’m starving.”

——————————

“Oh. My. Fuck.” Richie pulls off his hat and tosses it aside the moment he’s through the door. He stops only to kick off his shoes, one landing near the rack and the other hitting the wall. He doesn’t care, though, limping into the living room. After an eight hour shift, he has no fucking business being vertical and wants no part of it, no sir.

He collapses face first into the cushions of their couch and breathes in. It smells like Bill’s cologne. Richie’s back fucking hurts.

“Owchie mama, that’s sore.” He complains out loud as he stretches to the full length of his gangly limbs, feet nudging the arm of the couch. He doesn’t expect his legs to get lifted up though, hello?

“What’s sore?” A voice asks curiously as the couch dips under his weight, Richie’s legs falling back down across a certain someone’s lap.

Mike. A godsend, for sure. “Oh Micycle, is it really you? It’s been decades since I’ve heard that macho voice, I almost forgot what it sounds like.”

“It’s nice to see you too, Rich. How was work?”

How was work? How was work?? Richie’s gonna combust, but he’s too tired to go all out, so he settles for a small tantrum, flailing. “Never mention that word to me again. If you do, we’ll have to get a divorce, and then who would look after the children? The traumatized little lads, fuck.”

“That bad, huh?” Mike chuckles, and it’s deep and fond and warm, and Richie looks over his shoulder just so he can picture it better. Mike’s holding a book in one hand, and the glass sitting on the table means that he was definitely sitting there before Richie got back, but now he’s sharing his seat like the fine friggin Georgia peach that he is, holy shit.

Richie whines. “I thought being a barista would be sexy! Like, a wet dream soccer team of sweaty Brazilians asking me for juice and my number, but instead - pardon my French - I get a bunch of douchebaguettes complaining how I spelled their names wrong. I’m gay and illiterate and I didn’t fucking ask them, did I? Stop laughing at me, Mike n Ike, this is serious business.”

“I’m sorry,” he chuckles again, chest shaking with it. “Douchebaguettes?”

“You’re making fun of me. I’m wounded. Way to kick a man when he’s down, M- ah… never mind, I love you. Keep laughing at me.” He groans outright when a warm hand wraps around his foot and squeezes, eking out the ever-present ache that Richie had gotten used to ignoring.

“I love you, too.” Mike snorts, and Richie doesn’t have to look to know he’s shaking his head. Fine by him, as long as he keeps touching him like that.

“Mm, your hands are the best,” he slurs into the couch. He will abso-fruitly say anything to encourage him at this point, not that Mike seems to want to stop anyway. His palm pushes delicious friction along his arches, pulling satisfied purrs from Richie with each pass until he’s a good and proper puddle. He might actually be drooling, a little bit.

It’s only when his touch lightens that Richie jerks, and the hand pauses. “Is this okay?”

Bless Mikey’s farm boy heart, asking for consent. Richie’s heart’s gonna burst. “Y-yeah, m’good.”

And he is. Mike’s fingers trace, feather-light, and it’s like there’s shivers buried underneath Richie’s skin, waiting for Mike to pull the trigger. It feels good.

It also really, really tickles.

He snags a cushion to bury his smile in, the muscles in his leg going taut every time Mike’s fingertips venture down towards his toes. More than a few times, Richie’s foot twitches away from the tingly zaps before he can stop himself, choked off mirthful noises tightening in his throat until a few burble out.

Each time Mike waits patiently until Richie resettles his foot back in his lap, and then his drifting touch returns, slow like tree sap and unbearably electric. It’s an awful game that forces Richie to expose how much he really wants it, but then again, Mike never plays like that intentionally. He just does what seems right because he’s perfect and a gentleman.

Richie loosens like an uncoiled spring when Mike rubs his thumb over his heel, whining his loss.

And because he’s a fucking gem, Mike picks up on it right away and huffs softly. “Sorry.” He scribbles gently at the arch of Richie’s slender foot in apology, earning him a muffled snicker and scrunching soles.

“Mihihike.”

“Mhm?”

“Tickles.”

“Do you want me to stop?”

Pfft. Richie shakes his head, laughing harder into the cushion when Mike’s fingers drag down to his toes, scritching repeatedly. It’s not fair. He’s still wearing his socks with the pineapples on ‘em, and it’s worse than if he’d gone bare foot. He guesses it’s true that standing around for too long makes them more sensitive, but then, he’s always been this way.

His knees jerk far more often now that Mike’s put some gusto behind it, albeit a very small amount, but Richie thinks he does a damn decent job at keeping his feet from wiggling away, all things considered.

Still, eventually, he hears the sound of the book getting set aside. Mike stops his gentle tapping at his soles, and Richie realizes as he sags back into the couch that he’s… tired. Like, stupid sleepy. He yawns and stretches again, humming his surprise when two strong arms turn him over.

“Well hello, handsome.” Richie grins back at Mike’s amused half-smile, more than happy to be the center of his attention for a while.

“C’mon, Rich. It’s late, time for bed.”

“Don’t gotta tell me twice.”

He doesn’t fight it when Mike uses those absurdly strong arms to lift him up, despite being taller than him, wrapping his legs firmly around Mike’s hips and holding on to his shoulders. “Onward,” he yawns with enthusiasm. “Quick now yungin’, before we die of dysentery. Go on now. Git.”

Mike rolls his eyes and adjusts his grip as they head for the stairs. “Yeehaw.”

——————————

Richie tosses his controller on the couch beside him with a pout, watching the letters ‘game over’ flash across the screen. “Man…”

Behind him, he can hear the sound of the kitchen door opening and closing, and with a furrowed brow he gets up to investigate. “If you’re here to rob us, take Eddie first. He’s the easiest to carry.”

Around the corner, Ben smiles up from where he’s taking off his shoes by the rack (careful, because Stan insists). He’s beaming, actually, and still in his hot little karate outfit that makes him look like a formal dumpling. “You’re so mean to him. What if I wanted to rob you instead?”

“Everybody wants to rob me, Benny boy, get in line,” He hops up onto the counter to watch Ben’s face in the refrigerator light as he goes rummaging for a smoothie. “I’m just saying, if you’re any good at this, you gotta take the valuables first. Bottom shelf.”

Ben chuckles, leans down, and reappears, drink in hand. Richie nudges the door shut with his foot and grins back. “Who says you aren’t valuable?”

“Aw shucks.”

“Besides myself, I mean.”

“Benjamin.”

Ben laughs at him around a sip of his drink, and Richie couldn’t stay fake mad at him even if he wanted to. It’s really nice that the cheeky fuck has some confidence now, since he’s been losing some extra pounds here and there. He’s not afraid to brush past people anymore, doesn’t shift uncomfortably when his thighs touch someone else’s, and he hip-checks them on purpose with a sly look every now and then. He’s not afraid to take up space now, and all of the losers are proud of him for it, including Richie.

(He’s just, like, super jealous that he can’t have that sorta weight transferred over to himself. Just a little bit, so he’s not all jabby angles and pointy bones. Also? He’s going to miss Ben’s love handles.)

“You seem extra bold today. Care to share anything with the class?”

That happy look from a few minutes ago returns like Ben just remembered something important. “Yeah, actually - hold on…” He turns, fishing in his bag for something before turning back, fingers clutching a bundle of blue fabric. “I, uh, I got my blue belt today.”

“Holy shit!” Richie adjusts his glasses, leaning in to run his fingers over it when Ben offers it up. “You’re pullin’ my leg.”

“I’m not.”

“You’re making it up.”

“I’m not!” Ben’s voice just brims with infectious joy, like a little kid excited to show their first ever drawing from art class. He even has the little jump in his step, too.

“Benny, that’s awesome, dude!” He jumps down to punch Ben’s shoulder, smiling wide at the other’s shy but obvious pride. “And you know,” he thumbs at his upper lip and sniffs. “Not to fuck my own ass or anything, but I’m something of a dōjō master myself.”

“Really?” Ben smirks, pushing back when Richie continues to push at his shoulder with his knuckles, bouncing on his heels anime fighter style.

“Really really. Call me Sensei, ‘cause I’ll teach you to mess with me.” He dodges with a surprised bark of laughter when Ben grabs for him, ducking and bringing his hands up to defend himself as they tussle right there in the kitchen, play-wrestling – Richie’s favorite thing.

Well. Almost favorite.

“Oof!” Richie hurumphs when the quick scuffle ends with him caught in a headlock, twisting back and forth fruitlessly. “Oi! Unhand me you fiend! You scoundrel! I’ll have you nicked, I will!”

Ben, not even winded, slaps his hand away. “Admit that I won and I’ll let go.”

“I’d rather bloody perish.”

“You’d rather perish?”

“Aye.” Richie grunts, straining against the hold. It’s like trying to empty a lake with a bucket. It just ain’t happening.

“Okay.”

Ben’s free hand digs into his side and Richie collapses back into him instantly, like a buck learning how to walk, except he’s really fucking bad at it and giggling maniacally. “Ben!”

They crumple to the ground together, though Ben anticipates it, wrapping a solid arm around Richie’s waist as his other hand snakes up under his shirt to scribble at his ribs.

Richie himself is a pale pile of squirming limbs, pushing back into Ben’s chest and squeaking with each sneaky pinch to his side. He tosses his head back against Ben’s shoulder in helpless snickering, tugging at his arm. “Ch-cheater!”

“I don’t hear you complaining!” Ben shoots back, fingers darting to where his shirt rucked up at his stomach to lay ticklish waste there. They move in a constant clawing motion, gentle because Ben is always gentle, but sadistic in the best worst possible way.

Richie convulses with how hard he laughs. He’s trapped in the most backwards tickle hug to exist, socks slipping on the tile of his kitchen floor, getting tortured by the group’s designated teddy bear.

A wayward finger brushes over the curve of Richie’s hip, sending him jolting even farther into Ben’s lap, tittering.

“C’mon, Trash mouth. Fess up.”

If Ben thinks he’ll ever tap out, he is sorely mistaken.

“Never!” Richie cries, and then dissolves into cackling when Ben goes straight for his momentarily unprotected armpit.

Neither of them notice when Stanley steps into the doorway and promptly turns to walk back out, not once looking up from his phone.

——————————

Every now and then, Richie forgets that he might actually come off as attractive to the other losers. He’s always jokingly attractive, obviously. ‘Who wouldn’t want a piece of me?’ or ‘Golly, buy me dinner first!’ Are a few easy phrases to throw around, usually with a suggestive cock of his hip or an over exaggerated flutter of his eyelashes, which gets him a laugh now and then.

But like, for realzies? Richie isn’t hot hot, not like Mike or Bill with their big shoulders and mouth-watering biceps, Jesus Christ on a stick. He doesn’t have that cute allure like Eddie or Ben, either. Richie’s just a scrawny friggin beanpole, lanky, unlike the elegant way that Stan and Beverly manage.

Being so gay is hard sometimes. Everyone looks hotter than you.

“Rich?”

He startles out of his musings and comes firmly back to himself where he’s reclined next to Bill on the trampoline, reminded of how his train of thought had gone that route; they’d been messing around until they weren’t, until Bill had cupped his face and brought him into a kiss, and then a fuzzy little parasite called insecurity reared its fugly head.

Richie squashes it down around a dazed smirk, seemingly quelling the momentary unease on Bill’s face. “Yowza.”

Bill snorts and rolls his eyes, plays with the hem of Richie’s “Support Whale Sex: Use Shampoo” shirt. “I thought you weren’t in the mood, for a second.”

“Vat?” Richie cries incredulously, shifting upwards and straddling Bill’s lap. “Bullsheet. Lies.” As if Richie could ever resist a man with legs like that. Damn.

Bill’s smile is genuine when he pulls Richie back down into another kiss, their lips meeting sparking a whole new wave of something in Richie’s chest, so intense that he’s pulling back within a few seconds, “Ven you look like zat? You lift, yes? Vat kind of –“

A hand covers his mouth, and Rich realizes that Bill is furrowing his brows at him. “Why are you doing a Voice right now?”

“…I’m nervous.” He apologizes, muffled.

Bill snorts again as if to say ‘yeah right,’ but his expression softens when Richie doesn’t say anything else. “Nervous, huh?”

Richie nods, then licks Bill’s palm. He pulls it away with a disgusted chuckle, and then.

Then Richie is suddenly on his back, looking up at two dark, mischievous eyes. “Hoo shit.” He whispers. They are not in Kansas anymore.

“You should be.”

That’s all the warning Richie gets before devilish fingers attack his sides, letting loose a bout of hysterical giggles from somewhere deep in Rich’s stomach. It’s like opening the floodgates every time. A head rush and a half. He squirms immediately, laughing harder when Bill drags him back down and pins him with one forearm against his own.

“Where are you going?” He muses, fond, and Richie’s face blushes ten different shades of crimson.

“B-Bill, please!” He wriggles, fingers clawing uselessly against slick fabric. If he struggles any harder, there’s a good chance the trampoline might start bouncing them for real.

“Please what?” His fingers are skittering up his ribs now, because Bill knows Richie just can’t stand that, and he’s smiling down at him like Richie makes him the happiest he’s ever been, and Richie can’t stand that either.

He squeezes his eyes shut, laughter coming freely the more that Bill tickles up his sides and over his stomach, curling up. Bill doesn’t seem to mind his lack of answer or the way Richie’s knees jerk into his hips, content to pull an endless amount of loud snickering from his partner.

It’s only when Richie arches away with a desperate wheeze that Bill stops what he’s doing, hands rubbing firm circles into the hips he’d just been scritching at - probably a routine he knew well from getting revenge on another particularly bony little shit they knew.

“You’re so - so mean. Gah. I’m taking you out of my will, Billiam.” Richie breathes, reaching up to wipe behind his glasses.

Bill just chuckles at him and leans down, and they share a soft kiss that makes Richie’s heart flutter in his chest all over again.

——————————

Kerplunk, sploosh. Kerplunk, sploosh. Kerplunk –

“Fuck!” Richie jolts with a quiet hiss of surprise, shifting his attention from the lake to the offending pen that had just jabbed his side. Bev, sitting next to him, giggles and points to his textbooks with it.

“Focus.”

Richie sticks out his upper lip, dropping his handful of pebbles in the grass at his feet. It took him, like, a whole twenty seconds to find those. “I was focused.”

“Focus on your homework, ding dong.” She gestures with her pen again, not looking away from her own book, which she holds easily in one hand. Show off.

Richie grumbles and hunches over, scrubbing a hand over his face. He makes it through two paragraphs before he fidgets again, making to reach in his shirt pocket for a smoke before he realizes, oh, yeah, I’m giving those up. Shit.

Sometimes character development is just not worth it.

Bev appears to notice the gesture though, because she gently elbows Richie this time, gesturing to the book. “It’s really not so bad. You’ve already gotten through a few pages.”

“Yeah, with like, a bajillion more to go.” He huffs, flipping through the pages one more time before sitting up straight and slapping the table. “That’s it! I quit college.”

“Mhm.” Beverly is far too nonchalant but she can afford to be, since she’s heard the exact same statement fourteen times since the beginning of the semester. Two weeks in and going strong.

“I’m serious this time! I don’t need a degree to be funny, I’ve got that part in the bag. Also, capitalism? Who needs it.”

“Do you really hate classic mythology that much?”

Richie groans and drops his head against the picnic table. “Yes.” He’d thought that it would be cool! Gods and Goddesses and monsters (oh my), but instead he has to bear through three whole paragraphs of a list of men, all sons of other men, because any of that is just so integral to the understanding of the Trojan war. Everyone knows that Achilles was the only real bitch on that battlefield, okay? Literally nothing else matters.

He jumps again, this time snickering, when Bev scribbles at his side. “Hehehey!”

“Cheer up, Tozier. Your vibes are ruining our study date.”

Richie eyes her up, adjusting his glasses. “Are you saying that my vibes are off, Marsh?”

She nods sagely. “They’re atrocious.”

“I’ll have you know that I’ve never failed a single vibe check in my life.” And that isn’t going to change today, no sir. Just ask Eddie, the last time he tried to pull something.

“You’re gonna fail more than just this vibe check if you don’t do your reading.”

“Not true! I know the stuff, I just… don’t like it.” He’s of the philosophy that memorizing shit just makes it harder to remember. Richie can go over some of the professor’s notes online and be just fine.

Heaving a sigh, Beverly gets up. She pushes at Richie’s back. “Scoot in.”

“If you say so, ma’am.” Though Richie just complies because he wants to see where this is going. When Beverly slides in behind him, legs on either side of his, he can kinda feel her boobs pressing against his back. Nice.

“Oh hello.” Richie grins, feeling free to press back into her. She smells nice - changed her perfume for some reason - and her presence is a welcome warmth, inviting and –

She blows a raspberry against the back of his neck.

– and a fucking trap!

“Bev!” He jerks forward instantly, shoulders hunching. She follows, nuzzling into the space behind his ear, and Richie shivers violently. “O-oho my gawd, why?!”

“I’m just making sure you pay attention.” She teases, weaving her arms around his chest so that her fingertips rest at his sides, making Richie tense. But nothing comes, yet.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Tickling him is definitely not going to make him want to read more. It’s going to make him want to be tickled. It’s like trying to punish an addict with cocain.

Bev snorts, fingertips wriggling briefly enough to get a squeak and a weak squirm out of him. “Just keep reading. If you slack off, I’ll bring you back!”

Ah! So simple! Haha! Wow. Genius.

Richie sighs heavily to indicate how much he turns his nose up at this frankly childish behavior, but reluctantly opens his book back up to where he was before. Admittedly, having Bev close might help his attention span, just slightly. He can feel her cheek resting against his back, ankles brushing his every now and then, and her arms are a soothing weight against his chest. Like the fancy weighted blanket that Eddie uses on his more fidgety days.

That doesn’t stop his attention from drifting occasionally, of course. When he takes a little too long to turn the page, Beverly tweaks his ribs or snuffles at the side of his neck until he lurches forward in a bout of giggles, holding on to the wooden table for support. And sometimes, when his leg starts bouncing of its own free will, she smooths her hand down his thigh and starts squeezing his knee, earning stronger fits of squirming and yelping that even gets her to laugh. What a meanie.

“You have your own stuff to read, you know.” He huffs after a brutal attack to his hips, having nearly torn his page in half. Richie immediately regrets it though, because he doesn’t want her to stop. He silently prays that she doesn’t move, and whoever’s listening grants him a little mercy.

“I know.” She says, nudging his head with hers. Richie reaches for her hand, thinking he might off himself if she doesn’t take his back, but she does, and they sit like that together for a while, listening to nature do its thing.

“Hey, Rich?”

“Yeah?”

She uses her free hand to get at his stomach, and Richie chokes.

“Do your fucking reading.”

——————————

They’re barely three steps through the door before Stan is on Richie like strippers to a pole, pushing him up against the wall and staring him down with so much intensity that Richie doesn’t have enough breath left to ask the obvious question: what the fuck?

He grips his bag with his work outfit inside of it and tries to remember if he did anything particularly annoying on the drive home, but nothing comes to mind other than when he tried to poke Stan’s jaw and he swatted him away. Richie wasn’t actively pursuing anything because that never works with Stan. He’s like a fucking cat that way; if he gets even the slightest bit ruffled, he leaves the room, all indignant and huffy.

Hence, his confusion at this particular stunt.

That doesn’t last long though, because Stan shakes his head slowly and pulls Richie’s hat off his head, tossing it aside without even looking to see where it goes, which is a very unlike-Stan gesture.

“Stan –?“

“Shut up.”

“Shutting up.”

They look at each other, and Richie nearly trips over himself when Stan starts moving them both backwards, towards his room. Normally that might raise some flags, but they’ve been through scenarios like this before. Richie doesn’t really mind getting pushed around (in fact he might even like it a little bit if his first childhood crush is anything to go by) but not knowing the reason is… fishy.

Stan kicks the door closed behind them, still walking Richie backwards, but grabs a hold of his shirt before he can go tumbling back on the bed. “Here’s how this is going to work.”

“Uh –“ Richie’s already on board.

Stan’s grip tightens, and then Richie’s world goes scrambled for three seconds when he gets pushed - fucking pushed, the nerve - onto the bed, Stanley following after him easy as pie and hovering over him, predatory, focused. “I’m going to tickle you.”

Richie can’t hide the way his body almost seems to curve up at that statement. If his body was a temple, it was a temple to some very traitorous limbs. Stan deciding he wants to do anything even close to roughhousing is a special treat, but this one in particular has Richie’s name on it

He realizes after a beat that Stan is waiting for him to say something, and Richie, in true Richie fashion, momentarily forgets the English language. “Uhm - yes?”

“Good. Put your arms up.”

That’s not going to last, but Richie does it, and Stan leans in like the sexy Mr. Rogers that he is and… plucks his glasses off his face, sticking them in his shirt pocket. Friggin thief. When did everyone in this house get so bold? “Hey –“

“Can’t risk breaking them.” Stan answers, fingers already slipping under Richie’s shirt to flutter at his sides. Richie wiggles and his complaint trails off into a snicker. Can’t argue with that anyway he guesses.

Stan tickles him like he does everything else: thoroughly, and with dedication. Quick and nimble fingers drill into the spaces between Richie’s ribs, blunt nails scritching down to his sides, then pulling at his jeans just enough to expose his hips, and Stan’s ducking his head and Richie can fucking see those curls, almost, through his blurry, tear-stained vision, helpless with laughter already, grabbing at the head-board -

– And they pause. Stopping is so much than starting. Richie can feel Stan’s breath against his stomach, where his shirt is rucked up, when he speaks. “When’s the last time you took a shower?”

Through giggle-heavy breath, Richie struggles to answer. “Uhm, like, y-yesterday? Wh- fuhuhUCK!”

He squeals when Stan’s tongue joins the mix, starting at his belly button until he meets the curve of his hip, nibbling along his V-line with so much enthusiasm that Richie thinks he must actually taste like the coffee he smells like. That’s the only explanation for such an assault.

Richie curls in on instinct, hands going for Stan’s hair, but he must anticipate this because he sits up instantly, grabbing Richie’s wrist and glaring at him. Or, he’s probably glaring. He looks like an angry blur at the moment.

It’s…. pretty hot. Not gonna lie.

“I said keep your arms up.” He growls. When Richie slips obediently back into place without question, Stan moves down even further, hoisting Richie’s calve over his shoulder and setting to work again.

The sweeping motion of his fingertips is not as aggressive as before, though it’s probably because they don’t need to be. Even through the denim, that light swishing motion from his thigh to his knee and back again has him cackling, all reserve flying out the window as he scrambles, pulling at the sheets.

Stan pulls at him in response, taking a firm hold of his ankle and scribbling in a relentless, spidery motion at the back of his knee.

Richie 1. Screeches, then 2. Does his best impression of a hula dancer having a seizure.

Apparently breaking the arm-up rule no longer matters at this point, because Richie is just beside himself in the agonizingly sweet, tingly jolts running through his nervous system, spasming on the bed and doing anything within his physical power to get away from it.

Stan doesn’t let go, though, only moves with him, tickling and tickling. Yes, Richie thinks. Please don’t stop. This has to stop. Don’t stop. Don’t let go. Oh god, this is the fucking worst this sucks this is so good, don’t stop, don’t stop –

By the time Stan has thoroughly decimated Richie’s thinking capabilities, having seen to it that both legs have received proper attention, Richie is a curled ball of silent, wheezing laugher in the center of the bed. He takes a deep breath only to let out another fresh peal of laughter, shaking, as Stan lays beside him to rub his shoulder.

“Don’t.” He sighs after a few moments of cool down, as if exasperated, but it sounds fond.

“Oh I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to laugh while you were killing me, I’ll take note of that for next time.” Richie snarks, sniffling and wiping at his eyes.

“No, I mean don’t whine like that.”

Richie whined? “Like what?”

“Like the minute someone stops touching you, it’ll never happen again.” Stan explains patiently, like it’s obvious, twisting one of Richie’s curls around a slender finger and, for now, neglecting to mention how he needs a hair cut.

Oh, that… that – “You don’t know that.” He defends feebly, accepting his glasses when they’re pushed into his palm. Sometimes he forgets how easy it is for Stan to just look at him and see him. It’s unnerving how perceptive he can be, and possibly just as unnerving how much Richie wants to be seen, scary as that might be. He’s had killer clown dreams that terrify him less, and yet.

“I do,” Stan disagrees, making room for Richie to turn over. Neither of them are surprised when Richie ducks his head to hide his face in Stan’s button-up, cheeks burning pink from more than just exertion. “You make it painfully obvious, but it’s a ridiculous fear. There’s six other people in this house. No one’s going to stop touching you unless you ask them to.”

Richie snorts into Stan’s chest. Fat fucking chance.

Still, there’s always that lingering Voice - the one that sounds most like himself - asking him if six people will be enough. Richie Tozier has not one, but six partners and he still wonders if that attention is enough. Talk about high maintenance.

Richie closes his eyes and just enjoys Stan’s hand in his hair, trying not to think about that too much, even as he counts down the seconds to that touch stopping too. “Is it…annoying?”

“That you like tickling? No.” Stan scratches at the base of his neck and Richie hums, pressing closer. “It’s only annoying that you think it’s going to go away.”

Well fuck him, Richie can’t just control how he feels about it, okay? It’s not like he hasn’t tried before. It’s hard, he doesn’t want to think about it, he doesn’t want anything good in his life to ever end, and he especially doesn’t want Stan to stop tracing the curve of his ear like that.

Two fingers tilt his chin up, and Richie blinks back at Stan’s surprisingly soft eyes. “It’s not going to stop.” He murmurs, then kisses Richie’s forehead.

It hits him harder than a baseball bat to the gut. How did Richie Tozier die? It was the curly twink in the bedroom with unconditional love.

That being said, it’s not like he doesn’t appreciate the reassurance, even if it makes him the slightest bit vulnerable. Just a little too open. A little too raw. Tickling allows him to be like that for a short while, and maybe that’s why Richie likes it so much. Instant satisfaction, zero commitment, and it’s fun too. No arcade game or cold shower can scratch an itch for something like that.

He smiles back up at Stan and took his hand so he could kiss the back of it. A moment of mushy, romantic weakness if you will. “Aw, Staniel. You make me blush. If you wanted to woo me so badly you could have put on some judge Judy and those cute little pajama pants, maybe with some ice cream - no, definitely with some ice cream -“

Stan sighs but indulges Richie in his rambling, fingers trailing through his hair all the while. Things have already shifted back into normal territory, but there’s this new, unspoken truce between Richie and this obsession of his - the confirmation that each of his partners knows what he needs, when he needs it, and that they’re not going to drop-kick him out of their lives for asking for it one too many times. It’s nice to have something consistent in his life.

But if those six losers think they don’t have the same exact fate lingering over their heads, they have no idea what force they’re reckoning with. Richie is nothing if not a giver, and he intends to deliver their due retribution.

In full.

#submission #submitted fic #umbrella-babies #I LOVE THIS SO MUCH!!!!! UGH THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THIS #i love love loved it #everyone check out her blog and give her all the love and attention #fic trade #save #for me #tickle fic #ticklefic #poly!losers #poly losers #polylosers #the losers club #it #it 2017 #it 2019 #it fic

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chestnut-b · 5 years

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Himawari - Chapter 1

Try not to get too attached.

A warning, Kakashi later realised, that he should have taken a bit more seriously.

Chapter 1 of a Kimetsu no Yaiba-verse AU

Kakashi sighed as his feet found the ground.

He looked up, squinting as the breeze brushed past him. He’d been standing on the branch of a huge oak seconds ago, and before that, the edge of a cliff; but before him now was a sea of blue and yellow, split against the horizon. Among a seemingly endless field of sunflowers, a pair stood on the path before him. A youth, who couldn’t be much older than 17, and a child, whom he knew for certain had just crossed his 7th year.

The squirming boy holding the youth’s hand tightened his grip and stared at Kakashi warily, a living reflection of their surroundings with a head of blonde, and eyes as blue as the skies above them.

Really, Kakashi couldn’t have made a better clone of his former mentor if he tried.

He shifted his scrutiny to the lanky youth before him. There wasn’t much to note, though he felt the nagging of something familiar; tanned skin, dark hair in a ponytail, wearing the standard blacks and drop earrings of what looked to be sea glass. He had a stark scar across the bridge of his nose that looked more delicate and deliberately placed than the typical battle scar, but for demon slayers, a facial scar or five was nothing to write home about. This one in particular seemed almost decorative compared to the damage he’d seen in his years as a Pillar.

Upon seeing Kakashi, the stranger broke into a wide grin. Almost too bright, Kakashi thought.

“Hatake-dono! I see you’ve finally made it. We were getting a little worried so we came to get you, didn’t we, Naruto?” The youth said, dipping his head towards the child beside him, who merely shrugged in response. There was a slight teasing tone to it; a greeting that was a little less reverent than he was used to receiving, but Kakashi didn’t mind.

“Yes, well, the wards were changed since I was here last. Getting past the new ones took a little more time than I expected.” He didn’t let the irritation he’d felt leading up to this point seep through. This bounded field was already half a day’s travel from their headquarters, and Kakashi understood and at certain points, even grudgingly admired the security measures that had been put in place. The journey towards the first barrier was routine, but he didn’t expect it to take half that time to find his way through the rest of them. The annoyance he’d felt was at himself really, for having taken so long to break in.

“Ah, I’m sorry about that,” the youth smiled sheepishly. scratching at his scar. The gesture seemed to imply that Kakashi’s delay had been his doing, but the Pillar couldn’t say for certain yet. “but now that the wards recognise you, I don’t think you’ll have any issues for your next visit. Please follow me, you must be tired from your journey. We aren’t too far from the school now.” He kneeled down and offered his back to Naruto, who climbed on enthusiastically. A few minutes later, the pair were singing a butchered rendition of a local farming song as they continued on the path. Kakashi followed, silently amused.

“I didn’t get your name.”

“Oh!” The youth turned back to him, beaming. As if being asked for it was something of a pleasant surprise.

“I’m Umino Iruka. It’s my great honor to meet you, Hatake-dono.”

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

It turned out that Umino Iruka had been in fact, the person responsible for his delayed arrival to the Slayer holding school. He’d surmised as much when one of the youth’s fellow teachers, another silver-haired fellow who introduced himself as Mizuki, had come up to him, apologising profusely with feigned sincerity for the perceived inconvenience caused by his colleague. Kakashi however, held a firm disdain for boot-lickers and snitches, and thus, had felt the need to correct him.

“Quite the contrary, it means Iruka’s barriers are effective. I hope you’ll been teaching them at the school, they’ll be appreciated on the field.” It was a comment that had left both Iruka and Mizuki flushed, though for entirely different reasons. Naruto, who was now standing next to Iruka, nodded approvingly, though Kakashi doubted he’d understood the deeper meaning of their conversation. A request was made for accommodations to be prepared for the Lightning Pillar, before they parted from Mizuki as Iruka led them deeper into the school.

Kakashi mused; even though they called this housing facility a school, considering the majority of its inhabitants, it may as well have been called a Slayer orphanage. He’d spent a short stint in a facility like this; his mother had died in childbirth and his father, a former Pillar himself, chose to end his own life after having been turned a demon in an encounter with their destined enemy; the Progenitor Serpent - Orochimaru.

No one staying here did so in fortunate circumstances, but he did end up meeting some of his closest comrades, Obito and Rin, even - shudder - Gai, so his days here were not entirely without merit. While not every person in the care of the school would become a warrior of repute, much less a Pillar, those who passed the Slayer selection exams would go on to be, at the very least, a part of the invaluable support corps.

Iruka paused at the entrance to a smaller room, then turned to kneel before the boy behind him. “Naruto, could you go play with Lee-kun for while? Hatake-dono and I have some things to discuss. I won’t be long, promise.” He smiled as he mussed the boy’s hair, and the child tried his best to sound petulant with feigned annoyance, but took his instructions and ran off to find a playmate.

He then motioned Kakashi into the room, and after drawing the shoji doors closed behind them, attached a ward to their combined frames. There would be no unwelcome observers here.

“You seem to be rather good with those.”

Iruka smiled as he settled on the tatami floor before him, placing his sword to the side as he did so. He started a flame on the small hearth nearby and began to make preparations for tea.

“Everything I know, Sarutobi-sama was generous enough to teach me.”

That made Kakashi raise an eyebrow. The retired Flame Pillar wasn’t known to be a particularly difficult man, but he was notoriously picky when it came to students, more so than other instructors. To have received training from someone who’d lived to even retire as Pillar; it meant that Iruka had more potential as a slayer than probably the youth himself realised.

With a subdued gaze, he observed Iruka. A seemingly innocuous act; making tea, but one he performed without a single wasted movement, In his concentration, the embers in the flame flickered gold in his eyes, which were a tide of black and deep earthy brown. Despite his relaxed appearance, Iruka’s awareness of their surroundings even beyond the sealed room never faulted even for a moment.

“My parents...they’d been killed by the Fox, and he was kind enough to take me in. He seemed to think it would come in handy once he found out I would be assigned here.”

His smile took on a tinge of sadness as he offered a filled cup to the man before him, who accepted it gratefully. He then lowered his gaze again to the flame, allowing Kakashi a moment to lower his mask to drink unhindered. A student of Sarutobi indeed, the tea was just as he’d been served the last time he’d met the esteemed ‘Professor’.

So Iruka had been assigned to the school...and to Naruto specifically, if he dared to guess. He’d seen firsthand how well they got along, but it didn’t escape Kakashi’s eye, a minute strain in his smile as the youth interacted with the boy. But his affections towards the child were genuine, that much he could tell. The strain he saw was more likely than not, directed towards himself.

His thoughts turned to Naruto, and memories from years ago bubbled to the surface. It had been a real cause for tension once it had been revealed that his mentor, the late Wind Pillar, Minato, had fathered a child with an Uzumaki clan member. The Uzumaki clan had been few in number, and despite having fought alongside one another for generations, their existence had been merely tolerated by the Slayer organisation, and that was putting it kindly.

Many of them were Marechi, and in their descendants slept the ancient Fox demon, Kurama. Unlike the deliberate maliciousness of Orochimaru who was, relative to humanity’s history, a recent plague, Kurama’s origin stretched back thousands of years, and its fury was more akin to that of a natural disaster.

It made the Uzumaki the very definition of a double-edged sword. Their blood would attract scores of crazed demons, but their innate power and vitality made them a trump card in their fights to repel them. Their skills were only witnessed in the abyss of night, such was their nature as vessels for demons, and their aversion to the Wisteria, while not as strong as full-blooded demons, also meant they were almost never seen at the Slayer headquarters, further adding to the division and tensions.

That was part of the reason why Kakashi would be spending the next two months here, he lamented. If i’m even that lucky. He placed his empty cup onto the floor.

“Hatake-do-”

“Kakashi’s fine.” The formalities were getting a bit tiring, and the constant reminders of his father were not going to be terribly useful.

“Um, well. Kakashi...san.” Kakashi gave the barest nod he could produce.

“Jiraiya-sama told me what he could before his departure. He said you’d be taking over his duties here to observe Naruto.”

Unfortunately, Iruka wasn’t mistaken. It seems that the old man had been needed elsewhere, and the sly toad had nominated him for his replacement, despite the fact it was well known that Kakashi operated alone, and acted more as an informant as he roamed the cities hunting for traces of Orochimaru together with his eight canine messengers. His eye twitched as he recalled Pakkun delivering his mission details. As displeased as he was at the time, one simply did not question orders from their leader. Jiraiya was himself, a retired Pillar, and Minato’s former master. His nomination hadn’t been taken lightly.

“Between you and me, Iruka-sensei, Naruto’s development has been an issue of contention back at headquarters for a while now. No one seems to be sure what to do with him.” Kakashi stated plainly. Now he was the one feeling awkward. Iruka was not only younger than him, but younger than any teacher would normally be. But a teacher he was, nonetheless.

“Naruto...he’s just like any other child here. Prone to the occasional outburst, has some trouble concentrating in class, but it’s nothing unusual for kids his age. He’s shown no signs for concern so far.” The young teacher gently clenched the fists he had resting in his lap.

“That’s what I was told, but he’ll be making a move soon. Naruto needs to be prepared for the worst.”

“Orochimaru?” Iruka whispered.

“Ahh. They’re worried. Worried that Kurama might come under his control. If he ever does...it could spell the end of us all.” It would be a quick end, at least, Kakashi mused.

Iruka’s complexion turned a shade paler.

“Then why isn’t he being housed at the Headquarters? Surely he’d be much more secure there...”

Kakashi paused. He was certain Iruka already knew most of the answers to his own question. Firstly, it wasn’t known for sure if Naruto would survive the trip past the Wisteria fields. Even if he had, and he’d been compromised at their base, it would surely be an attack that would end the Slayers as they knew it. It was the very reason this outpost had been set up. Iruka, having been specifically trained to set up advanced misdirection barriers and then posted here, had to have known this. So, Kakashi grimly thought of one more answer to satisfy the young teacher’s question.

“I’m afraid, sensei, the majority of our comrades...if they knew about Naruto, would rather see him dead.”

“No. You think they’d-”

“I don’t just think, sensei. I know this for a fact.”

Iruka was stunned into silence, and Kakashi wondered if he had been a bit too honest for his own good. But it would do no one any favours to be in denial of their situation. His main job here was to evaluate Naruto, to see if he’d add anything to their efforts. His second job was to guard him, should it be necessary. What he’d spared Iruka the knowledge of at least, was that if Naruto were in any danger of being compromised while Kakashi was here, his duty would have been to -

A pained sound from across Kakashi prevented him from finishing that thought. He looked up to find Iruka, bowed over, trying to control irregular, pained breaths as a hand clenched his chest.

“Iruka? What’s wrong?” He crossed the room quickly and knelt at the teacher’s side. He was struggling silently, shaking his head. Kakashi placed a hand on his shoulder and rubbed his back, hoping to lend some kind of support. Now that he looked closer, under the uniform was a build slightly smaller than he’d expected.

“It’s fine, Kakashi-san. I’m ok.” Iruka said, having finally managed to pull himself together.

“If you say so.” Kakashi slumped onto the tatami where he’d been kneeling beside the teacher, breaking any semblance of formality between them. “Happens often?” he asked.

“Runs in the family.” Iruka sighed. They sat in surprisingly comfortable silence for a few moments, before Iruka turned to him, his eyes filled with determination and sharp like flints.

“Kakashi-san, whatever your job is here...all I ask is that you give Naruto a fair chance.”

So the young sensei wasn’t completely naive after all, Kakashi thought with some relief. He patted his junior’s shoulder casually, trying to dispel some of the serious atmosphere that had been building up to this point. It resulted in a few surprised coughs from the sensei, but quickly turned into warm, quiet laughter.

“Well, you have my word, sensei. I have my reasons, but it’s not as if I came all the way here to see him fail.” Naruto was, afterall, the last legacy of a mentor that had been dear to him.

“I’ve just realised that, yes.” Iruka sighed with humor, as if the last few minutes were something of a revelatory experience. He met Kakashi’s eyes and smiled, with none of the dissonance he’d observed earlier that day. The warmth he felt made Kakashi wonder if the stove had been going for a little far too long for a day like this.

A few seconds later, a voice outside the room called for their attention.

“Senseiiii! Are you done yet?” Naruto had obviously had enough of waiting.

“Well. Time for work, Kakashi-san.” Iruka joked as he got up from his seat. He walked towards the doors and lifted the paper ward from the wooden frame. Turning back to the Pillar, who was still seated, he smiled again, a bit more playfully this time. “I hope you won’t find your stay here too traumatic.” Iruka teased. With that, he slid the doors open, only to get tackled by a very noisy Naruto as soon as he stepped out onto the corridor.

Kakashi observed them for a few moments in quiet amusement. Then, a familiar presence reached his senses, and in trotted a rather pleased-looking Guruko, holding a piece of paper carefully in her jaw. After patting her head and giving her a well-deserved scratch, he took the letter from her, unfolding it carefully to reveal the written script of the person who’d gotten him involved in this in the first place. Judging from the last place he’d sent Guruko, he must have just missed Jiraiya by a couple days. Late as usual, he could hear Jiraiya laugh at him. That just meant he wouldn’t have the opportunity to voice his displeasure in person.

He started reading:

-----------

Yo.

Thanks for agreeing to this, I trust your judgement completely, as you know. I’m sure you’ll do fine. To be honest, it’s not the boy I’m worried about. There’s been some activity in the northern regions, so I’ll be heading there to check things out. I’ll send a messenger once I’ve cleared it, though it may take a while. Thought it would do ya good to interact with something that wasn’t a dog for once, no offense!

-----------

Kakashi rolled his eyes at that. Even the one under the eyepatch. Offense taken. He gave Guruko another scratch behind the ear.

He’d read the letter in Jiraiya’s typical lackadaisical tone. He hadn’t written any names as a precaution, but it couldn’t be hard to figure out who he was referring to. It was the next line though, that gave him a bit more cause for concern.

They’re good kids, really. You could even pick up a few things from the teacher. The monkey’s trained him well. It’ll be tough, but try not to get too attached.

Try not to get too attached.

A warning, he would later realise, that he should have taken a bit more seriously.

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

Author’s notes

That’s it for chapter 1! It’s been posted on A03 as well in case you’d prefer to read it there.

The focus will be on Kakashi and Iruka, so don’t expect anything really expansive. I haven’t written anything this long in years, but it’s been fun to explore KnY’s setting using these characters. (They do have quite a bit in common) All this started with Iruka and Muzan sharing the same seiyuu, and just spiraled from there.

Any comments/reblogs you have will be joyously appreciated.

See you next chapter!

#kakairu #iruka #Umino Iruka #iruka umino #naruto

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seven-oomen · 4 years

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Happy Halloween, Ben! I hope you are continuing to feel better! Do you expect any trick-or-treaters tonight? (Is that a thing in the Netherlands?) I hope you find lots of good candy at the grocery store! I myself have two bags of dark chocolate Kit Kats to hand out to all the kids I foresee coming by (*wink wink*) Your pumpkin is adorable, by the way. I wanted to do some cool faces with mine, but my friends that normally host a Halloween party decided to just hold their Costume and Pumpkin Decorating Contests online, and the theme was “2020”. I thought “well, I’ll just get two pumpkins, and use one for the contest and one for whatever." Then one of them started molding, which seemed very on brand for this year, so I just went with it, and ended up with meme pumpkins. I included a color pic, so you can see just how gross the one got. Fun fact: the top of it is held on by being skewered with a dowel rod and set in place along the rim. In case you were curious (you probably weren’t, but oh well), trying to scoop out a moldy pumpkin is indeed deeply gross. Imagine a physical manifestation of the sensation most people seem to feel when you say the word "moist”. Just…so gross and squishy… *shudders in remembrance*

My costume attempt turned out okay given that I managed to pull it together entirely out of things I already had. In case you don’t recognize the symbol, I was one of the more recent comic versions of Black Canary (this one at least had proper shorts). Let me tell you, trying to free hand draw that goddamn bird outline with no printer or projector was an adventure. I had to do it backwards, essentially, too, because I realized that pencil marks are extremely difficult to erase off of craft foam.

And I just wanted to show off that I’m the kind of classy bitch who drinks wine out of a can (also, it’s an awesome can.) To be fair, it was actually surprisingly decent (I say, as though I know shit about wine). I sent a picture to a friend, and she started teasing me, and I said “it’s a rainbow can, how was I supposed to pass it up?”, and she was like “you know what, fair, I would have done the same thing." I also got some kind of sparkling red wine to drink tonight for proper spooky effect. The cashier commented on it being good as I was checking out, so here’s hoping.

I know what you mean about endless plot ideas, too. I started a couple of smaller pieces to work on when my longer WIP gets overwhelming, got on a roll, and have almost finished one. I got super excited when I finally got to a few of the lines that were among the first I thought of for it months ago, then realized "fuck, now I have to write the smut, don’t I?" So, hopefully the wine will offer some inspiration there, too. XD

By the way, I totally wasn’t kidding about the Chris Evans/Henry Cavill rom com idea. I totally went and found it in my FB messages and screen-shot it so that I can now inflict share it. Buckle up, here we go: So, Chris’s character’s great-aunt (played by Angela Landsbury) talks him into coming to stay with her along the English coast after his divorce, and help her run her mystery book shop. Only, less than a week in, she runs off to go on vacation with her boy toy (Christopher Walken). By this point, he’s already ended up in an unexpected rivalry with the co-owner of the comic shop next door (Henry), who’s been trying to get the great-aunt to sell him part of the bookstore’s storage space to build a table-top gaming area. The woman (Natalie Dormer) who runs the little bakery/tea shop attached to the other side of the bookstore has a running bet with the other co-owner of the comic shop (John Boyega) on how long it will take for the two men to realize just what type of tension there actually is between them. Chris could wear hipster glasses, and skinny jeans, and cozy sweaters/cardigans, that he could remove at strategic moments to reveal the ridiculousness that is his arms and chest. Henry could wear tight jeans and fitted nerdy t-shirts and SET THE CURLS FREE GODDAMMIT. And of course at least one encounter would have to happen at a dog park, because both their RL dogs are absolutely adorable and deserve a moment in the spotlight. Please, Netflix, I’m begging you. Make it happen. (If you curious, this particular moment of inspiration struck during a discussion over "if Evans is America’s Ass, is Cavill Britain’s?" My friends are also classy like me. XD )

Well, on that note, I’m gonna shut up for a while, and go wash the color out of my hair, because I think it’s been on at least half an hour longer than it should be, technically. Enjoy your sugary findings, and I hope they and your coffee give plenty of energy for writing your various projects! :D I hope you continue to feel better, and that things keep looking up! Take care! *Properly socially distanced and seasonally spoopy hugs to you both!*

Okay 1: omg I need that gay wine. (Rainbow wine, whatever.) That is amazing, I love it. And I totally get why you needed that. I don’t have any wine for myself tonight. But I have some Budweiser (Or well “Bud” as it is called here), cans of coke and Jack Daniels, so I should be good.

And I think your jacket turned out pretty well! Looks awesome. (Though I get what you mean about craftfoam. It is a bitch to work with when you only have pencils and no stencils.)

Halloween isn’t much of a thing here I’m afraid, aside from some witches who celebrate samhain and the uprising of general pop culture there aren’t many people who really celebrate Halloween like in the US. So no, I don’t expect any trick or treaters tonight (also because COVID has us on a 8 pm curfew).

I think the Netherlands celebrates Saint Martin far more which Wikipedia explains pretty well as: Saint Martin's day, also known as the Funeral of Saint Martin, Martinstag or Martinmas, as well as Old Halloween and Old Hallowmas Eve is the Funeral day of Saint Martin of Tours (else Martin le Miséricordieux) and is celebrated on 11 November each year.

The day is celebrated on the evening of 11 November (the day Saint Martin was buried) in the Netherlands, where he is known as Sint-Maarten. As soon it gets dark, children up to the age of 11 or 12 (primary school age) go door to door with hand-crafted lanterns made of hollowed-out sugar beet or, more recently, paper, singing songs such as "Sinte Sinte Maarten", to receive candy or fruit in return. In the past, poor people would visit farms on the 11th of November to get food for the winter. In the 1600s, the city of Amsterdam held boat races on the lake IJ. 400 to 500 light craft, both rowing boats and sailboats, took part with a vast crowd on the banks.

But other than that we don’t really have a holiday where children go door to door to ask for candy.

It’s getting more popular now in recent years to do so on Halloween, as well as Halloween parties, but it’s not very widespread.

Yeah I was really excited to write some fanfic for Love and Monsters and then today I started doubting that. And now I’m leaning towards writing more Petopher fic where Chris gets turned?

I blame @for-the-love-of-wolves for that one because I read their fic and now I’m like: that’s a good idea. I want to write that too. And now I can’t shake it.

I should really finish things but urgh... part of me just wants to write more teen wolf fanfic.

I’m really curious about your wip though, I hope that when you’re ready to share it, I get to read it too. ^^

Honestly, Netflix needs to make this idea happen. I insists. I wonder if my friend who works their customer service can pitch ideas but I don’t have much hope for that. Would be pretty awesome though to see this come alive because it’s GOOD! Holy moly I want that to happen now XD. Brittain’s ass is it, UK Vs US ass fight!

Wait is that too gay?

Ah who cares XD

I’m still snivelling with a cold but it’s only stuff coming out of my nose, for the most part, I’m doing pretty good and can focus somewhat on things again. And no real pain aside from the general ones.

So I’m gonna wish you Happy Halloween, have a good night and lots of socially distanced hugs from me and Mo.

#ben says stuff #my convos with anon #B #halloween #submission

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yikeshetalia · 4 years

Text

The Red Rose

If I want to write about the cats choosing Alfred for Arthur Imma write about the cats choosing Alfred for Arthur and there is NOTHING you can do about it.

Turns out this is gonna be a multiple chapter fic, Idk how long but hey it’s gonna be fluffy. Bitches love fluff.

Don’t expect it to be update on Mondays or anything like that, chapters come out as I finish them.

“ And this is the Red Rose Cafe. Their coffee is the best in town, but they don’t take meal plan so you gotta use your own money.” Gilbert explained, leading Alfred into the cafe. Alfred looked around, noticing a wall of vines. “ Are those roses?” Alfred asked as they waited in line. Gilbert nodded “ The owner loves roses, so the rose wall was all grown in house by him. He’s one of my exes and I used to work here, so don’t expect him to be very pleasant. He’s an asshole.” he grumbled as they were next.

When Alfred looked to the guy, he couldn’t help but freeze up a bit. Standing behind the counter, taking orders and making drinks as if it was easy as breathing, was a very cute man. His bangs were pinned back to keep them out of his eyes, but it also revealed that he had massive eyebrows. His green eyes flicked from Alfred’s face to Gilbert’s, neutral face changing to one of slight anger. “ Did you just call me an asshole, Gilbert? Last I remember I wasn’t the one who cheated and ruined our relationship.” he said, putting in an order for a latte without even being told. “ Usual amount, $3.50.”

Gilbert handed over the money with a huff “ We were on a break, let it go.” The barista rolled his eyes “ Sure. I’ll let it go when you stop trying to walk out with Crumpet or Hero. God, I hope your university isn’t letting you show this poor sap around.” He held out his hand to Alfred “ I’m Arthur. If you’re planning on hanging around Gilbert I suggest you heed my warning that he’s just as much of an ass as he’ll make me out to be.” Alfred laughed, shaking his head. “ I figured that one out on day one... Hey, you’re hiring?” Alfred asked, noticing the flyer on the counter.

“ Well, in some sense yes. As the school year starts we get busier and we need someone to only run the till. I make all the drinks and my cousin Oliver makes all the pastries. If you don’t have classes until later, it’s a good gig. We pay reasonably, and there’s a chance for you to get a raise if you turn out to be more helpful than the prick next to you.” Arthur explained. Alfred was about to say something, then heard a loud yowl from the floor. “ Don’t look down at him. He takes it as a welcome to climb up your legs. He usually only does this to me at closing.” Arthur warned, but the yowling got louder and louder.

Alfred couldn’t help it and looked down, a very large Maine coon began to climb up his leg. “ God damn it, Hero, not again.” Arthur ran around the counter and took off the huge cat. Alfred was just laughing the entire time, especially since Arthur was basically engulfed by the large cat. Alfred petted the cat’s head, earning a loud purr. “ Huh, usually he doesn’t take head pats from strangers.” Gilbert pointed out, reaching for the cat. Upon seeing Gilbert reach, Hero swatted at him with his claws out and hissed.

“ Ah, nope. Fucker still doesn’t like me. I swear you trained him to do that.” Gilbert held his hand to his chest, though Hero hadn’t actually gotten him. “ No, he just can tell who’s good people and who’s not.” Arthur put Hero on the cat tree and he took off across the cafe by the many shelves in it. “ Welp, looks like I gotta apply here now.” Alfred joked, waiting for Arthur to get back behind the bar. “ I guess I’ll just take a medium iced coffee.”

Arthur punched in his order, pouring out Gilbert’s quickly “ Total is $2, please.” Arthur did Alfred’s order faster, iced coffee being easier than the latte and getting distracted by a chunky boi. Alfred heard a meow from the cat tree besides him, figuring it was Hero again. He didn’t look over, but tapped his shoulder in a welcome for the cat to step on. Instead of the Lynx sized cat, a much lighter one hopped onto his shoulders and laid down with a purr. Gilbert was staring at him like he’d just said he killed a man, and Arthur was smiling watching him.

“ Is this a different cat? What’s wrong?” Alfred asked, noticing lord chunk on the cat tree. “ Oh, I figured it was him...” Alfred blushed a bit, but held his hand to where the cat’s head would be to let him sniff it. The cat instead bonked his head into Alfred’s ear, purring happily with his new spot. “ The cat you currently have on your shoulders is Crumpet. Hero will let anyone pet him, but Crumpet is my cat. He isn’t very fond of other humans, even my cousin gets him angry.” Arthur explained “ Looks like you actually have to apply here now, here.” He passed over his coffee and an application form, as well as a cat treat. “ He’ll jump off before you go into the bathrooms or try to leave, but expect him to climb right back on as soon as you come back out.”

Alfred sat at the table with Gilbert, filling out the application and drinking his coffee. “ $10 an hour? This place must get busy.” Alfred chuckled. “ Are you sure you’re going to be able to get up at 4 every morning? Arthur used to make me get up with him and it’s awful.” Gilbert rubbed his face “ Lived with him over the summer and let me tell you. It was awful.” Gilbert took a sip of his coffee and yawned. “ Bro, I wake up at 3 in the morning. I lived on a farm all my life, animals gotta eat before I headed into school.” he shrugged. He took the cat treat and lured the purring cat off his shoulder, gasping quietly.

In front of him stood a Scottish fold, who had eyebrow marks on his face. The cat was tiny compared to Hero, but he was considerably softer than Hero. The cat carefully took the treat as Hero leapt onto the table and started sniffing Alfred’s hand. The cat whacked Hero on the head once and he ran off, leaving the cat on the table. “ They’re gay as fuck, Arthur rescued Crumpet from the gutters and after he opened this place Hero started hanging around. Arthur shooed him off thinking they’d fight, but each cat fight isn’t actually a cat fight.” Crumpet sat down, leaning back against Alfred and starting to groom his chest. Gilbert laughed and took a picture, and Alfred picked up the cat and turned him to look at him in the eye.

The cat stared Alfred in the eye, then began gently swatting at his glasses. Once put back down, he curled into a ball in Alfred’s lap and purred loudly. “ Damn, that cat loves you. Maybe you should ask Arthur out.” Gilbert teased, which actually made Alfred blush “ No! No, I barely know him and he’s gonna be my boss maybe! I couldn’t.” Alfred said, starting to finish filling out the application. “ Psh, Arthur always dates the cashiers. How do you think I got a job here?” he laughed, finishing his coffee “ Also, the cats like you. He’s gotta say yes.”

Arthur whistled and Crumpet launched from Alfred’s lap and trotted over to him, and Hero launched from shelf to shelf and jumped on Arthur, who stumbled a bit as he caught him. He put Hero down, putting the cat food down after. Arthur caught Alfred staring, and Alfred’s breath caught for a second as they stared at each other. Arthur smiled softly at him, heading back behind the bar and heading into the back kitchen.

“ Oliver, we’re out of scones and there’s a cute man.” Arthur called and Oliver headed over to his cousin, wiping his hands on his apron “ Oh? Cute guy? Where?” he asked, grabbing a tray of scones. “ Blonde sitting with Gilbert, the cats even like him.” Arthur was blushing, taking a deep breath as they both headed back out. “ Now you mean cat, right?” Oliver asked “ Because Crumpet is a little brat.” As Oliver started to put the scones in the case, Crumpet ran up and started swatting at his leg with his ears back. Arthur picked Crumpet up and closed the behind the bar, and Crumpet ran over to Alfred’s table and jumped up and onto his shoulders. “ I said and meant cats.” Arthur motioned to the dining area.

Oliver looked over at Alfred before heading into the back with Arthur again. “ Well, looks like your cat has decided on a guy you’re allowed to date, poppet.” Oliver giggled as Arthur kicked at him. “ Shut it, he’s adorable. Did you see how much Crumpet loves him?” The bell on the counter rang and Arthur poked his head out only to see Alfred standing there with Crumpet on his shoulders. “ Hey, I wanted to give in this application before I headed out.” Alfred smiled and Arthur internally panicked. “ Of course,” he looked at the top of the application “ Alfred. My older brother helps me look over the applications so I’ll be sure to contact you as soon as I can.” he smiled back.

#Usuk #College/Cafe au #usuk fanfic #in 2020??#Wack who let me write?#Feel free to ask me stuff about the fic #please actually it'll help me hash out shit lol

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fluorescentpipedream · 4 years

Text

For Ali pt 2

Deacon woke up this morning and took in a slow, deep breath, inhaling the warmth of the sunlight that was pooling into the room. They had finally made it to his “cottage” the night before and had gone straight to bed. There had been soft touches, an hour or so of pure intimate bliss, lying in bed beside Aliviya, trailing his fingers over her body and carefully kissing the bruises and pain away. Getting her here had been a feat but now that he had her here, he was already feeling as though he didn’t want to let her go again. Whenever she went back to the States, Deacon had decided, he was going with her. He didn’t care if he had to uproot his entire life at this point.

Slipping out of the plush bed as quietly as he could he pulled the colorful knitted quilt over Ali and kissed the top of her head gently before patting his leg to get the attention of his massive dogs. Augustus and Brutus raised their heads from their individual beds and paused briefly at the foot of the bed to watch Ali as she lay nestled into the bed. Deacon pulled the bedroom door shut a bit behind Brutus’ tail and walked down the stairs, carefully skipping the creaky last one by stepping beyond it onto the main floor. His cottage was an elegant mini-mansion set in the back of the little village of Bibury, England. It was two hours outside of London’s metropolis and hidden away into what could only be described as a picturesque, fantasy village. You would expect to find faeries in his garden, and honestly, it wouldn’t surprise him either.

Crossing the main foyer of his sitting-room he led the boys to the back of the house and released them into his grand backyard and garden. They bolted out the door and instantly found places to relieve themselves before Brutus playfully tackled his older brother and they tumbled around in the freshly cut grass. The backyard was more exquisite than the front, with an in-ground pool situated directly in the middle, the castle aesthetic extended into the courtyard and made the area feel equal parts open and protected at the same time. High fences on both sides were laced with growing ivy and pockets of wildflowers peeking through as well as bright white and pink rose bushes along the grounds. In the back of the yard, beyond a small stone wall, were large trees, originally planted for privacy though since no one lived behind him for several years it rounded out the look of the yard. He always felt safe when he came home. And after the last few days, safety was what was needed more than anything else. Safe and quiet. Deacon watched the boys tumble around in the yard for another minute before he walked away from the arched wooden door to the back, leaving it open for them when they were ready to come in again and walked across the room and down the hall to the front of his house.

The inside was elaborate, with high ceilings and a combination of natural and synthetic light. There were bookshelves everywhere and a small desk near the front door where he usually deposited his keys, wallet, and any mail he’d gotten when he came home. At the moment, the roll-top was down, shielding his personal belongings behind it. Opening the antiqued wooden door with its metal bracers, much like the one you’d see in medieval English castles in some BBC program, he looked down to see a basket and a small metal rack containing six glass bottles of fresh milk. With a soft smile, he picked up both, pushing the door shut with his foot and walked into the kitchen. Inside the basket as a small egg crate containing 12 farm fresh eggs, a small container of strawberries and ½ of a wheel of cheese, wrapped in brown paper. The cheese he placed in the fridge, setting five of the six bottles of milk in there as well. He left out the eggs and the milk, moving to turn on his kettle and filled it with water. This was part of his routine whenever he was home and for all its simplicity, it was one of his favorite parts of being here. Picking up three of the eggs, he cracked them in a bowl and mixed them around with some cinnamon and sugar, setting the mix aside as he moved to get out a few thick slices of brioche from his bread box. As he started working on breakfast Deacon’s mind was awash with the goings-on that had brought them to this point.

Aliviya had handled meeting his family with a grace he’d not seen in hardly anyone in a very long time. Especially dealing with his aunt Amelia, his mother’s younger sister. She was never a fan of the Moore men, even her own nephews seemed to irritate the woman and she liked to bring up how they were wasting their time with each and every one of the women or even men that they chose to spend their lives with. His mother had told him once that Amelia was jealous she’d never found the kind of true love her sister had and to some degree, Deacon believed her. She was a terrible woman but even without using Mike as a distraction, Ali had been able to deal with the woman with the tact of a hostage negotiator. Watching it had made Deacon fall even further in love with her. It was her handling of one of his former friends, Langston, that had really won him over, however.

Langston and Deacon had been friends since they were old enough to know one another, meeting when they were only children in primary school and continuing their friendship clear into the early years of university. He was still friends with Deacon’s sister, Charlotte, though the relationship with Deacon had soured long ago. Several years back, at some non-essential party, the boys had attended, Deacon had a few too many drinks and Langston, who was a flamboyant gay man that would put Mike to shame with his behavior, had taken what he’d always wanted from Deacon, despite the first man wanting no part of it. He was too drunk to protest and Langston had taken advantage of the situation. The other man had always been determined and aggravated in a way when Deacon had told him that while he was supportive of his lifestyle, he would never love the other man the way that he wanted. “You’re family Langston, I will always love you like a brother.” Apparently, that had been the wrong set of words to describe the man because Langston had lashed out at Deacon and ultimately stole his ability to protest or fight back. When he’d come around again, Niall had been the one to tell him what had happened and a mortified and disgusted Deacon had told his former friend to stay away from him, if he was going to take what was never going to be offered to him because he couldn’t show Deacon the same type of respect he had been given, then there was no way they could continue to be friends.

Deacon hadn’t dealt with Langston for a few years and the time apart had not been kind. He knew that the other man had been dealing with a situation in his family, his father had cut him off and when he’d gotten sick, Langston was expected to put everything he’d ever been and ever wanted to the side and stand beside them, giving them all of his time, effort and love in tumultuous seas surrounding them. For all his extravagance though, he was actually doing quite well being a representative of the Pearce family at events. To some degree, Deacon had been impressed but he had told Ali only the bare minimum about what had happened between the two of them, just to be sure to reiterate that they were -not- friends any longer.

Sometime during the dinner party at the house, Deacon had lost track of Ali and had finally found her sitting with Langston of all people, not just talking but getting him to laugh and actually participate in the conversation. She was leading it slightly but the other man seemed to be genuinely enjoying what they were talking about. He only overheard part of it but it was something about her life and what she liked to do when she was with her friends, how she’d come to be in Deacon’s good graces and how having him love her was the best thing that had ever happened to her. While Niall had later pointed out that Langston was likely looking for anything he could exploit, as he does, it was nice to see his chicken manage to soothe the raging beast Langston could be.

The party had been a grand event, with all manners of people coming and introducing themselves to the Moores and now to Aliviya, since she was going to be part of the family as everyone seemed to see it, she needed to know how these kinds of things go. As they were standing off to the side watching the likes of Christian Marcone and his wife Emma, Killian McLeod, and his fragile wife Camilla, Deacon had tried to explain how this little game works.

“This is a bit like that biopic we watched on Miranda Priestly, we have to acknowledge each of these people by their names as though we not only know them but know a bit about their lives, and they do the same to us out of respect and hope that we will continue to do business with them in the future.”

He motioned to Ajay Patel, who had arrived alone as usual and then did the same to a handful of other people. “We may not work directly with them, most of them are partners of my father or people who we keep close so we can see them betray us from a closer vantage point.” He nodded his head towards Embry Powell as he’d said this. Deacon had told Ali about enough of the situation with Langston that he’d wondered if she was actually doing just as the rest of them were…keep your enemies close. Langston had eventually gotten bored of the conversation and had bowed out, leaving Ali alone for only a few moments before Deacon had swept in to save her from the vultures once more. The days that followed the party, before they were heading out to Greece were spent taking her and Mike around London, showing them the sights and some of his favorite places to go, as well as introducing her to the Moore family stables where they kept some of their prized horses as well as rescued farm and exotic animals including Mabel the Alpaca and a rather ornery cassowary named Dirk.

The stables and surrounding lands were overseen by another friend of the family and almost a brother to the Moore children, a man named David Cotterill. He and his father had been in charge of taking care of the Moore Estate for generations and though David was a highly attractive man and Langston had attempted to sew the seeds of doubt within Deacon by telling him that Ali was probably down at the stables flirting with the muscle man he had enough faith in her and his true friends to know nothing was ever going to come of it.

Deacon frowned as he carefully dipped the buttered brioche into the egg and cinnamon sugar concoction he’d been working on. He had been hopeful that enough time had passed between him and Langston that the other man had grown up. Behind him, he heard the clattering of paws on the hardwood as both of the boys came inside once more and sat down in front of their named bowls. Deacon smiled back at them, telling them he’d get their breakfast in a few moments, they had to wait. A soft whine from Brutus told him the younger was going to be in a protesting kind of mood today, but he ignored the dog and returned to his cooking and his thoughts. As the bread sizzled on the pan, he took the strainers off of both cups, tossing in a splash of fresh milk to both cups before adding in two cubes of sugar to one of them. Breakfast would be done in no time and the tea would be at the perfect temperature as well to drink without having to wait for it to cool too much.

---

The day before the Moores were departing for their private plane to Greece, Lord Moore senior had pulled Aliviya into his office to talk to her. Deacon had asked his grandmother for her family heirloom ring and while she was willing to give it up, Harrison wanted to find out more about the young woman. Deacon had no idea what they had talked about but considering he had heard laughter coming from his father’s office a few times, it must not have been anything too serious. Harrison was a strong man, he put up with very little and was very direct about who and what he wanted for his children and if he liked Ali then it was a good bet that Deacon was going to be permitted to do as he pleased carrying on this relationship. One thing that had caught him a bit off guard was when Roman had come out with one of his father’s special whiskey glasses in a bag, making it, undoubtedly to a lab to be analyzed. Of course, it wouldn’t have been so easy to just accept whatever Ali had told his father about her life before she’d become St. Michael, he would have to test her and find out for himself.

Deacon had wanted to say something about it but there was something in his father’s dismissal about it that had sparked a bit of confusion in him but he’d let it go. If Harrison wanted to tell him, he would but right now there was nothing to really go off of. Deacon didn’t know what that meant and at the time it hadn’t mattered. Now though, he made a mental note to ask his father about it, considering there was something about the whole situation.

Once out in the international waters, guests had started pouring into the massive Burgess Octopus superyacht. This particular model could keep 26 people in 13 luxury, individual rooms, and had two helipads, one of which was reserved for a medical helicopter should one ever need to be called. The yacht had two pools, two very large dining areas one inside the lower deck, and one on the top deck. The rest of the eight decks of this 414ft ship housed anything from jet skies to a private high-speed boat his father often used for fishing, and its own fleet of cars to a glass-bottomed observation deck and its own entertainment center. It was an extravagance most people would balk at but the Moore family had two of them and at any given time they could be either in the waters around Santorini, Greece, or in the Mediterranean waiting until they were needed. The guest list for the event included dignitaries, celebrities, and anyone who may have considered themselves of a higher caliber than others. As he’d given the two the grandest of grand tours, Deacon had to stifle a laugh several times. They weren’t being particularly funny, but it was so different having people who were genuinely surprised by the lavish lifestyle the Moores and their equals lived.

Deacon had taken Ali and Mike out on the jet skies in the first few days of the trip, introducing them to the type of life Ali was going to have just at the tip of her fingertips. He knew she wouldn’t need to have it but sometimes it was nice to disappear into the lap of luxury for a while. Deacon had taken Ali onto the mainland one night for a particularly romantic date set up to look exactly like a picture she had shown him once of her mother’s favorite place.

“I wanted to give you the chance to see the world as I do, so long as you’re in my life, Chicken, I’m never bored, never alone, and never unhappy. I love you, more than there are words to tell you, and more than there are hours in the day to try to show you.”

Deacon had proposed to her there on the beach of Santorini, down on one knee, alone and away from everyone else and everything. He’d been planning this for some time, and while Ali had told him once that she wasn’t ready the look on her face had said it all.

“Oh, Deacon…I told you, as long as it’s an appropriate time, I’m always going to be yours. But…”

“No chicken, no buts. We’ll make it work. I want you in my life, every hour of every day for the rest of my days.”

The tears that had come to her eyes had made his heart swell and as he’d put the Cartier diamond on her finger, he felt like his entire life now laid out before him and he was the luckiest man in the world. He had been, as they had spent the night together overlooking the port in Santorini, the windows open, a warm breeze blowing in and making the curtains around the bed dance to their own beat. They had lain together, a tangle of arms and sheets together, forgetting there was anyone else alive in the world as the glow of the city took over the dimming light in their room. For that moment, they were the only thing that mattered.

Harrison and Francesca’s anniversary was two days ago though it felt like it was a lifetime ago. No one throws a party quite like the Moore’s and especially not Francesca. Because of her fashion career she has gotten to rub elbows with the best and brightest in film, music and everyone in between so the guest list had included everyone who had been at the estate party a few days prior as well as Hollywood’s elite actors and actresses, dignitaries from as many countries that could attend and in the middle of it all, Deacon, Aliviya and Mike.

Deacon had done his best to prepare his chicken for the insanity that the party was going to be, loud music and a lot of conversations and bodies everywhere, and probably some people that would have her on her toes. “Nana will be here, of course, she’s never missed one of mum’s parties” Deacon had said over breakfast.

“Nana?”

“Well...she’s no one here’s actual grandmother..” Ben began as he sat down beside Ali, his eyes falling on the ring before he overlooked it. If they weren’t going to say anything, neither was he. “But it’s easier than saying Her Majesty every time. When we were little she had insisted”

“Did you say, her majesty?” Mike balked, looking down at the eggs he was served and nodded to the waiter. “As in, the Queen?”

“Of course, who did you think I meant?”

Deacon pinched the bridge of his nose before continuing to go down some of the guests with them. “The good thing is, it’s unlikely you’ll meet everyone, considering how many are actually going to be here tonight, that would be impossible!”

“Watch me. I want to meet Kris Jenner, that woman is a legend” Mike quipped and everyone at the table laughed. As the morning had gone on, however, Ali had started feeling under the weather.

Deacon had spent much of the day in the secondary private deck with her but after the second time she had thrown up and she was complaining of an itch in the back of her throat he had called the ship’s doctor to take a look at her. Somehow, she had gotten something fishy in her breakfast which was causing her to have an allergic reaction. No one really knew how it happened, it must have been a mistake but the type of oil wasn’t even anything in the kitchens. While Ali was relaxing in their room, Deacon had gone topside and was watching as the chefs and staff were arriving for the party. Most everyone was coming from the mainland through some kind of mode of transportation, there were a lot of pickups and drop-offs happening on the far end of the ship where generally no one was going to be. Every year, the Moores hired a musician and live band to perform at their celebration and this year was no different, except this year the entertainment was one of the youngest performers to earn a Billboard Music Award. Her name was Tiana, her music had a haunting tone to it but her vocal range was amazing, especially for her only being 17. Deacon nodded his head to her and the rest of the band as they disembarked and began getting their equipment off the boat that had brought them.

As the new chefs were brought onboard for the party and everyone was caught up in the special diets, allergies and otherwise, Deacon had been watching over them all hoping that whatever had happened earlier wouldn’t be risked a second time. The hired chef this year was Nikolai Wolfe, a Michelin Star rated chef that usually worked out of France or Norway but also had a restaurant in Las Vegas and was soon to be opening one in New York. Deacon was looking forward to his dinner, it was going to be heavenly. He hoped.

Mike was down in the room with Ali keeping her company and trying to take her mind off of what had happened but all he could really come up with to talk about was how her breakfast had been veritably poisoned.

“I don’t want to be that guy right now but, my money is on Langston.”

“Why woulb you say thabt?”

“He doesn’t like you and Niall was telling me that nice guy act is just his way of getting what he wants. Of course I can’t really go accuse him in front of everyone but...”

“I can’t belieb I have to miss the parby!” Ali’s puffy eyes welled up and Mike pulled her into his arms, rocking her softly.

“You won’t, I’ve seen your recover from worse. Remember the Halloween party we went to?” That got a pained laugh and he snuggled up to her tightly, playing with her hair until she fell asleep. He managed to wiggle out of the bed with her and left enough room for Deacon to replace him. A few hours passed before Deacon was sitting up again looking back at her as he fumbled with his tie.

Leaning down over the bed, he kissed Ali softly, using one knee to steady himself on the bed. She was looking better but still seemed too uncomfortable to do much else but lay in the bed. He was upset, but not necessarily at her. This wasn’t her fault, she wanted nothing more than to be up there with him, wearing the dress his mother had given to her and hobnobbing with the rest of the guests. Sighing, Deacon had say back on his knees and looked at her.

“Are you sure you want me to go up without you chicken?”

“No...but you need to be out there with your family instead of down here with me. I might start feeling better soon and I want you out there to show me around to everyone.”

Deacon kissed her again, nuzzling her softly before he left their cabin and joined everyone on the main deck. Finding his way to his parents through the throngs of people he apologized for not being around but inwardly he really would have rather been downstairs, not dressed up like this and enjoying the quiet.

“How’s Aliviya?”

“A little better, the redness is going down finally, she said she was going to try to come up in a little bit, hopefully before the real festivities begin.” Deacon let out a sigh and Harrison smiled softly, moving over to him and gripped into his shoulder with a firm but comforting grip.

“You’re the same way I am whenever your mother is sick, so let this hopeless romantic give you some advice, hovering only makes the missing her worse. Aliviya is a strong headed woman with a big heart, she doesn’t want her own situation to overshadow our day, and I respect that from her. If she can make it, she will and I honestly believe she will do anything she can to make it” Deacon smiled and hugged his father, allowing himself to relax, especially when he saw how everyone else was enjoying themselves. Mike had been surprised by his...well considering how close they were dancing at the moment Deacon doubted Travis was the ex any longer, and Colin was snuggled up close to Rachel as the music shifted to a slow dance.

Deacon drifted from one foot to the other, changing partners a couple of times between Kim Kardashian to his niece Tess and eventually to a beautiful blond woman he felt like he recognized but he couldn’t quite place. She was striking with a shoulder length bob haircut and bright green eyes. Her dress was Valentino from what he could tell and she moved with a grace one would expect from a dancer. Her name was Roxanne, she was a friend of...someone, Deacon hadn’t really heard, and with so many people on the ship tonight, it really wouldn’t matter.

After dancing for a few songs and mingling with some of the people he would consider acquaintances rather than friends, Deacon had been almost elated when Colin had appeared at his side and told him that Ali was on the top deck and looking for him.

“I worked some magic, Ali’s up above” Colin had stretched the word a bit as he’d noticed the other woman who had her hand on Deacon’s shoulder but disregarded her entirely when Deacon had thanked her for the dances and went to find his love. Ali was standing on the veranda above the party looking stunning in an ombré pink to deep purple spaghetti dress and her hair pinned up in a bun with small butterfly pins wound up in it. For a moment, all he could do was look up at her in awe before ascending the short stairs to the side of her and scooped her into his arms, kissing her deeply.

“Chicken, you look amazing.” His mother had made the dress especially for her to wear tonight and though it had looked nice on the hanger, seeing it on her now, beneath the soft lights of the ship’s decorations and the moon above, if he hadn’t known better he would have thought her an angel in that moment.

“Feel like mingling?”

“I think I can do that...” Deacon wrapped her arm around his and led her down into the fray, introducing her to a few handfuls of guests, the most important being Christian and Emma Marcone and his “nana”, the Queen herself. Giddy as she ever was at these things, the Queen had spent a good few minutes examining Ali, her dress, earrings and her choice of “sensible shoes” before letting them go but extending an invitation for them to cone to tea. As she disappeared into the crowd, her like green hat bobbing through the masses, Deacon barked out a laugh.

“Well...what do you think?”

“I just met the Queen of England. I...me, no one...I just. Wow! I love her!”

“She likes you, which is truly something, if I’m honest...”

Deacon smiled and showed Ali off to a couple more people before they found themselves off to the side of the ship, in one of the quieter areas; they were few and far between but there was enough privacy for the two of them to breathe without a million people around them. With a few minutes alone with her, Deacon leaned into her, kissing her neck under her ear and ran his hands over her hips, pulling her into his arms.

“I love you, and I’m glad you felt like you were able to come out finally.”

“Me too. I might not last much longer though, starting to wear out.”

“It’s just about time for the cake and fireworks, why don’t I go find us something to nibble on until then?” He leaned in and kissed her deeply, feeling his heart swell as he did so. Walking away, he hadn’t even noticed Roxanne off to the side. Once Deacon was gone, she came out and looked over Ali, almost as though she was trying to study her before coming out to talk to her. Or else she was playing her lines, that was half the fun.

“You look exhausted, are you alright?”

“Hmm...oh. Hello. Yes, I’m alright. Who are you?”

Extending her hand, Roxanne smiled brightly, still trying to keep this up for as long as she could though her patience was running thin with this little game. When Ali had taken her hand, she’d seen the ring and for a moment, forgot herself. “.....Roxanne.” She trailed off before catching hold of her thoughts again. “Lord Moore is a very big catch, how in the world did you manage to convince him into marrying you?”

“....I didn’t catch him. And I don’t see how that’s your business.”

“Well. I’m just trying to figure out what he would see in someone like you. You really have no place here, haven’t you figured that out by now?” Ali looked taken aback for a moment and tried to excuse herself from the conversation, she was upset, obviously but to have someone call her out on her relationship with Deacon, again...

For their part, Roxie could only smile at her, and it wasn’t the most comforting of smiles. Stepping back from her, Roxie reached up and pulled off the wig, looking down at Ali and dropped the fake accent to her voice too. “I had really hoped you would have just stayed in your little room so no one would have to deal with you but it seems you just can’t take a hint.”

“Langston. It’s you that can’t take a hint. Deacon isn’t interested in you, and the way you keep trying to insinuate yourself into his life, making him think you’re some beautiful woman...forcing yourself on him....You don’t want what’s best for him, you just want to control him.”

Langston snarled at her and stepped closer to her, closing the gap between them. Putting his hands on either side of Ali and boxing her in he looked down at her. “I love him. I have always loved him, and who the hell do you think you are? You came from nothing, you’re no more than something shiny he’s playing with...you’re just going to end up taking him for all his money and leaving him miserable.”

“You really are crazy, aren’t you?” Ali had flinched, Langston knew he was bigger than she was and the ring had only made him see red. He knew, in his heart that Deacon would never love him but it felt like every man he’d deemed worthy enough for his attention would rather fuck each other than dare to touch him. With everything swimming around in his mind, seeing the Cartier ring on Ali’s finger only drove the proof further home than he was prepared to deal with emotionally. He wanted to be happy for Deacon but all he wanted to do was erase this hideous little spot from his side.

Deacon still wasn’t entirely sure how the next part had played out. He had been walking down the stairs with a few small plates of snacks for him and Ali to share when he had seen Langston strike her across the jaw and in doing so he knocked her off of the ship. She had been trying to scoot away from him and wound up with her back to a small opening in the ship, near one of the emergency exits. Ali had lost her balance but before she’d fallen over, she grabbed hold of Langston and pulled him over the side of the ship with him. Deacon had dropped the plates he was holding and run to the side, hitting a button on the panel closest to him which served as an emergency alert signal. The ship was already stationary, at the very least but that was still an impossible fall to have survived and with it being near twilight he could hardly see anything.

Roman and a small security team were the first ones to him, after that it was a small handful of people, his mother and father, brother and of course, Mike. Deacon had been poised to jump in after her when he saw Christian Marcone take off his coat, rolex and step out of his shoes before diving over the side, trying to search for Ali in cold water. Deacon was beside himself, and watched as a few others went over as well. Harrison took hold of his son and told him to head below deck to the very lowest level, they’d be able to get Ali back in the boat from there. It felt like slow motion as it had happened but everything had actually gone quite quick.

When Deacon had reached the lowest level where the loading areas were he saw Marcone and Callahan dragging two bodies back. Panicked, Deacon had taken hold of Aliviya’s arm, helping them get her back onto the ship. Mike was being held back by Travis as Evan performed CPR on her and only stopped when she coughed up water. Harrison had moved to do the same to Langston, who looked a bit ridiculous now in a drenched dress, no heels and makeup smeared across his face. In his anger, Deacon had charged the other man to kill him, potentially but he was stopped by his brother who turned him around to see Ali start to breathe on her own. The whole of the party seemed to be watching this drama unfold but none of it mattered, so long as she was breathing. Harrison had been the one to lay a blanket over Ali as the EMTs that were on staff began to strap her to a board to be air lifted back to the mainland. Deacon had only given Langston one final, over the shoulder look before he followed the men up to the helipad and told Mike to go with her, he would meet her there.

Six hours in a hospital in Santorini while she was checked out for broken bones, luckily she had none, whiplash, which she did have, and hypothermia. Deacon had been sitting beside her, holding her hand as she was wrapped up in several blankets. In all of her fear and sadness, when Ali had come around she had still apologized for ruining the party. All he could do was snort, it wasn’t her fault but she was unconscious again before he’d been able to say anything. When things had managed to calm down and Ali was sleeping more peacefully, Deacon had a chance to sit with her. He was taking her out of the hospital as soon as she could be moved and would be recovering with him, alone in his own private home. He felt guilty for not seeing that the ‘woman’ he’d been talking to, he’d been trying to keep from getting too handsy had been Langston the entire time.

For his part, Langston was gone. No one was certain where he had gone but he’d been in the hospital for a few hours himself and when someone had gone to find him, he was just...gone. Deacon’s anger for him was so great he hadn’t even cared. Hell there was part of him that would have wanted the man shot where he stood, but while that was the way of the Marcones, that wasn’t how a Moore dealt with their problems. As soon as she could be moved, Deacon and Ali were gone too. Harrison promised to deal with this situation and their PR people were trying to control the insanity that was taking place on social media around the whole thing.

Deacon carefully took the stairs back up to the master bedroom with a tray in his hands. He had sliced the fresh strawberries and topped the homemade French Toast with them and a light dusting of sugar. As he came into the room, he set the tray down delicately, so as not to spill any of the tea and sat down on the bed, running his hand through Ali’s hair. She was going to survive, of course, her body was bruised and looked as though she had fallen through a solid piece of glass rather than the ocean, it was amazing that she had survived the fall honestly, but she was hard to get rid of. No matter how badly some people wanted her gone, it would seem. He couldn’t make sense of Langston’s hatred of her, she was the woman he loved more than life itself, why wasn’t that good enough?

Leaning over her, Deacon softly kissed her forehead, and then both of her cheeks, her nose and finally her lips. It was a soft tease at first before he deepened it when he’d taken her mouth finally. “Chicken? Can you wake up for me, love?” Ali’s eyes fluttered awake and Deacon smiled at her as he settled against the pillows behind him.

“I made breakfast.”

@musesnotebook

#Richard Armitage #character

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hiddendreamer67 · 5 years

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The Sanders Games- Part 4 (Enemies are Made)

(Find a link to previous parts in my reblog, and updates are on Fridays.)

Summary: In the 75th Hunger Games, only one male* tribute is chosen from each of the twelve districts. As the tributes begin their training, alliances are formed and enemies are made, including what may be a change in the all-so-important annual career alliance.

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The third day of training was more focused. Thomas could feel it in the air, a sense of finality to it. With every hour the games were drawing closer, and many tributes scrambled to find the one skill that would allow them to survive.

Of course, looking around the room, Thomas couldn’t help but think about how only one of these children would be alive in, what, two weeks? It was a smaller group, so maybe even sooner.

He wondered how Patrick had viewed his fellow tributes, or how they would compare to Thomas’ own enemies. Of course, it was hard to think of the twelve-year-old with purple hair as his ‘enemy’, or the two farming kids who kept laughing while painting camouflage on each other.

Thomas sighed, shaking his head. He just hoped he wouldn’t have to witness their deaths first hand.

“No, you’re doing it wrong!”

Thomas glanced up, noticing the careers were fighting again. They seemed to have welcomed the boy from three into their ranks. Thomas had no idea why, considering all he and the boy from 1 did was fight constantly.

“You are not an instructor.” Logan ignored Roman, following his sparring partner’s technique at the sword station. “Spar yourself if you think you’re so clever.”

Roman smacked Logan’s blade out of his hand with his own, and immediately a swarm of Peacekeepers were breaking the two apart.

Thomas shook his head, taking stock of his other opponents. The other two careers were just as dangerous, one all muscle and one with a snake-like gaze. This one hissed at him as he walked by, and Thomas was quick to pick up his pace. There was another muscled dude, Peter from 7. Right by his side was Magenta, the bright-haired purple short stack that seemed glued to Peter nowadays. Then Remy, a boy who was getting worryingly good at tying knots. Virgil, the recluse from 12, Ethan, the cute one from 6…okay, make that the really cute one from 6…Good Lord, Thomas was so gay.

Thomas took a second look, watching the agricultural pair transfer from camouflage to the knife throwing station. It reminded Thomas that despite their carefree, friendly attitudes, the pair would likely not hesitate to kill someone outside their alliance. Districts 10 and 11 were resilient and not to be disregarded.

Patton and Emile. His brain supplied, finding it difficult to refer to tributes simply by district as time went on. The friendliest faces here. If the situation was different, Thomas would have loved to get close to them too. But with a glance towards Ethan, Thomas remembered how dangerous it was to get attached.

Thomas wasn’t sure if it was better or worse that he was learning all his victim’s names. It reminded him that these tributes weren’t just targets; they were people, stripped of their potential to all live a fulfilling life of happiness and contentment. It felt far too personal, and when it came down to it Thomas wasn’t sure if he could go through with this.

Thomas shook his head. No, he couldn’t think like that. He had to survive, his family needed him. He thought of his brothers, Shea and Christian, waiting back home with his loving parents. He thought of Patrick, and how Thomas had to make his brother proud by succeeding where Patrick had inevitably failed. Thomas owed it to them and himself to live on. Whatever happened, Thomas knew that family came first.

But…didn’t these kids have families, too?

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Logan sat alone, just as he had every other lunch session. Despite being a part of the careers now, he found their company tedious. Instead Logan was content to get to lunch early, eating in solitude and then training with his new allies.

Of course, the boy from 11 had other plans, slamming a muffin down in front of Logan. He looked up at the intruder over the edge of his glasses. For once, the peaceful boy looked almost furious. “Can I help you?”

“Why are you teaming up with the careers?” The boy asked, sitting across from him.

“That’s none of your business.” Logan replied, getting ready to move tables.

“It is too my business!” The boy’s tone turned almost to pleading. “You’re trying to slaughter the rest of us!”

“...Yes?” Logan confirmed, watching his opponent deflate. “It seems you are unfamiliar with the rules of this particular event. This is not a social event and frankly the way you’ve been treating this like one is demeaning to everyone involved, including those who will perish. Take this seriously.”

The boy- Patton, was it? - seemed to stare into his eyes for an uncomfortably long time. “I am taking this seriously.” Patton said finally. “But I don’t believe innocent children should be killed. If we all banded together, maybe we’d stand a chance. Or at the very least, I think I owe it to everyone here to help make their last moments as pleasant as possible in this horrible place. I am taking it seriously, in my own way, because I’m a good person.” Patton stood up, pushing the muffin towards Logan with a sad sort of finality. “And I was starting to think you were one, too.”

Logan looked down at the muffin, unsure what to make of Patton’s little speech.

“Oi, Dawdle Dork.” Roman gave whistled at him, arms crossed as he leaned against the doorway. The other careers were with him, looking annoyed. “Let’s go, we don’t like to be kept waiting.”

Logan sighed, gathering his trash and throwing it out as he followed Roman out towards the training area. “Name calling, really?” Logan muttered under his breath. “It would be more beneficial if we appeared to be a cohesive group to intimidate the competition.”

“Aww, is the techie feeling embarrassed?” Nate teased, harshly ruffling Logan’s hair. Though disguised as a jest, Logan knew it was just another excuse for the career to try and intimidate him. It seemed common among the careers for them to try and ‘flex’ on each other, and subsequently now that included himself.

Logan found the whole ritual tedious. It was just an animalistic instinct to try and establish a pecking order within the pack. Still, disregarding this pomp and happenstance, Logan knew he was fortunate to gain stronger allies than himself. He didn’t feel particularly safe in this group, but Logan had the comfort of knowing he wasn’t an immediate target. He would do his part, assist the careers until it was no longer in his best interest, and then as the game progressed Logan knew there would be a tipping point where he too became prey and would need to hightail it away from these predators. No matter, such was the way of the games.

“Logan’s right.” Deceit spoke up suddenly, surprising Logan. “We need to keep up appearances.”

“We’re not in the arena yet.” Nate reminded him.

“No, but practice makes perfect.” Deceit glared at him, and Logan wondered if Nate’s comment qualified as insubordination.

“If we show up in the Arena acting like this, no one will take us seriously.” Deceit continued. “But by all means, if you’d like to make a fool of yourself, keep it up. I’m certain your parents will be proud when your coffin arrives on their doorstep.”

“Ouch.” Roman hissed. “Jeez dark and brooding, lighten up.” Nate went unusually quiet, not bantering back as he usually would.

Though Deceit was less vocal about his superiority than the other two, Logan knew not to underestimate him. There was something fishy about Deceit that went beyond his nautical roots. Often it appeared that Deceit was weaker than the others, yet he held the uncanny ability to keep them in line as an undeclared Alpha. It gave Logan pause, wondering what the snake-like figure was hiding.

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Roman bounced his leg up and down, anxiously watching the screen. He could care less about all of the Capital tabloids scrolling across. All he was waiting for was the scores- earlier in the day, each tribute had a private session with the game makers where skills were showcased so you could be judged on how worthy an opponent you were. Of course, none of it really mattered, the only true title of any worth would be the victor title given to the winner of the games, but nonetheless Roman hoped to outrank every peon he was matched with.

“Be patient, Roman.” His mentor advised, watching Roman twitch.

“Be patient, Roman.” Roman mocked. As if that advice would do him any good. His mentor had been feeding him terrible advice the entire journey, almost as though he wanted Roman to fail. No matter- Roman didn’t need him. Roman didn’t need anyone.

The district 1 tribute leaned forwards, watching the news channel change to the familiar score screen. Being from the best district- why else would it be number 1?- Roman would get his score first. He waited, folding and unfolding his hands and wishing the news anchor would just get on with it already.

Finally, the big number appeared on the screen, broadcasting to the whole world Roman’s score.

“...a ten?” Roman felt his face fell. Certainly not a terrible score, the highest being twelve, but Roman had truly thought he earned higher.

“It’s just as I told you.” The mentor looked almost bored, picking at his nails. “They don’t care about some fancy sword swinging.”

Roman huffed at him, watching the rest of the scores appear on screen. He tied with Nate, the big lug getting a decent score wasn’t surprising, but it did make Roman’s spirits sink. Still, tied for first was acceptable, and he still did better than the other allies. Deceit earned a nine and Logan scraped by with only a seven.

Honestly, that didn’t surprise Roman. Logan was clearly not made for hand-to-hand combat, so he had no idea why Deceit had brought him onto the team. Frankly, it was a bit embarrassing, especially considering some of the other lesser tributes beat Logan’s score. Particularly that Peter fellow, who pulled out with a solid eight. He could be a threat, but Roman was certain the group could easily overtake him.

The boy from district 9, Remy...his score was more surprising. How on earth had he managed to earn a nine? If Roman didn’t see his picture on screen, Roman wouldn’t have even recognized him. That could be a challenge. Roman must have missed something when he was sizing up his opponents.

No one else on the leaderboard came close to beating Roman’s score...until, district twelve, when all of Panem had nearly turned off their televisions of boredom and Roman himself was hardly paying attention. Roman’s eyes widened, not believing what was right in front of him.

“An ELEVEN?!” Roman screeched, standing up so fast his chair tipped over. “I- but- how- ? How could a nobody from a loser district like twelve beat me?”

“Well he wouldn’t have, if you actually took this seriously.” The mentor lectured, although he too seemed impressed by the score. “Guess you underestimated him.”

“I did not!” Roman insisted. “There must be some mistake.” Roman refused to believe this was anything more than a pathetic mishap. He deserved to hold the top rank. No matter; Roman would just need to prove it, out in the games where he would spill that little coal miner’s blood himself.

#the sanders games #hunger games au #sanders sides #sanders games #hunger games #roman #nate #logan #deceit #thomas #elliott #peter #magenta #remy #emile #patton #virgil

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djinmer4 · 5 years

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More headcanons

From the Church AU, list of the 2nd generation kids in order of birth. Culturally, most children in the Church take their mother’s last name except in unusual circumstances. For the sake of keeping things straight, I am using Kurt’s age when they were born to determine their age. He’s the oldest person (besides Logan) to appear onscreen in the fic so he’s a good benchmark for how old everyone is.

1. Talia Josephine Szardos (Sister Nocturne)

Parents: Kurt Szardos (born when Kurt was 16) x Wanda Lensherr. Talia has Kurt’s last name because Wanda left the Church to marry Vision when Talia was 5, but Kurt kept full custody of Talia.

Powers: Has a carbon copy of her father’s vampire powers.

Appearance: Straight black hair, blue skin, yellow featureless eyes, fangs, pointed ears, no fur, no tail. Has Kurt’s hands and feet. Her features mostly come from Wanda though, and so does her height; she can look her father in the eye easily.

Talia is very much a Daddy’s Girl and idolizes her father. She’s the most obedient of all his children, but also very outgoing and social. She’s not very ambitious though and has no interest in rising beyond her current position in the hierarchy. Talia adores Kitty, but she’s more a friend than a step-mother and they’re all fine with that dynamic. Talia has no children, having been rendered sterile from a miscarriage during her first pregnancy.

2. Blue Kurt Keller (Prelate der Zweite)

Parents: Kurt Szardos (born when Kurt was 22) x Mara Keller

Powers: Touch psychometry

Appearance: Probably looks the most like Kurt out of all his children, except he has brown hair instead of black and needs to use glasses.

Blue was conceived during a three month period when Kurt was investigating some embezzlement at the Winzeldorf Convent. His mother Mara was obsessed with the Inquisitor and hoped that by conceiving his child she could convince him to stay in an ‘arrangement’ with her. Kurt thought of it as a fling, and while happy to provide Mara with a stipend, he didn’t even ask to see the child. Due to her obsession, Mara has done her best to turn Blue into a carbon copy of his father, giving him his name, dressing him up in similar clothing, even forcing him to join the Inquisitor branch of the Church. Unsurprisingly, this has left Blue cold, bitter and resentful of his entire family. (Had Blue his choice, he probably would have become a musician.) Since reaching the age of consent, Blue has cut off all contact with his mother but remains in the Church since frankly, he has no idea of what else he would do. He remains an inquisitor and actually rises to the rank of prelate at an abbey (not Winzeldorf). He’s met one of his half-sisters, but the meeting ended in a screaming argument and has made no further efforts to contact anyone from his father’s side of the family. He has no children by choice (pretty much scaring anyone off during the Choosenings through hostility).

3. Dwayne Martin Luther King (no alias)

Parents: Kurt Szardos (born when Kurt was 25) x Linda King

Powers: None

Appearance: And now the kid who looks least like Kurt. Dwayne strongly resembles both his paternal uncle and his paternal grandfather, being tall (almost 2 meters), with a long face and dark, almost teak-colored skin. He cuts his hair into a short afro. The only feature he inherited from Kurt, and his only mutation are his eyes, which are human-shaped, but bright gold in color with black scelera. Since he lives in Ultramar, he usually covers this up with sunglasses.

Dwayne was conceived during a one-night stand during the same trip where Kurt recruited Katie into the Church. Linda is a prominent civil rights lawyer, and she and Kurt were celebrating the repeal of a law that barred mutants (or the Blessed) from voting in Ultramarine elections. Like Mara, Linda also received a stipend during Dwayne’s childhood from the Church, unlike Mara she was fine raising Dwayne as a single parent with the help of her extended family. Upon growing up Dwayne decided to follow in her footsteps but prefers a less legal method, working with an organization that smuggles mutants and sometimes their families out of Ultramar to countries more friendly to them (either west past the Mississippi River to the Corridor or overseas to the Church). Friendly and highly charismatic, he also participates in ‘Robin Hood’ operations designed to get funding for this version of the ‘Underground Railroad’. He knows who his father is, and while he admires him, he has no desire to follow in his footsteps or contact him. He hasn’t met any of his half-siblings, but if he did, he’d probably get along best with Talia.

4. Evan Sabah Nur (Brother Messiah)

Parents: Technically none, he’s a clone of the Church’s founder, En Sabah Nur. He was created when Kurt was 28.

Powers: Many and gaining more all the time.

Appearance: Blue-grey skin, dark eyes, bald but coves it with a black wig.

Evan is essentially a ‘proof of concept’ clone, part of a project backed by Priest Szardos. After proving their Messiah could be cloned (and no one got struck by lightning for blasphemy), Evan was raised by Betsy Braddock and Jean-Philippe outside the Church, in the hopes of giving him a normal childhood and keeping him hidden from organizations hostile to the Church. Betsy and Jean had intended to tell Evan the truth of his background when he turned 18, and have him join the Church for a career then, but when Evan was 16, the Friends of Humanity (an Ultramarine political party) discovered his existence and did a bombing run of the farm where they lived in Gallicia. Betsy and Jean died, and Szardos essentially picked him up and hauled him to St. Xavier’s for his own protection. Needless to say, when last seen, Evan was not handling the change in circumstances very well, but currently has no other place to go (not that the Church would let him leave). Szardos wants to formally adopt him, but Evan wants no relationship with the man he feels has destroyed his life. (Intellectually, Evan knows it’s more the fault of the Friends of Humanity, but Kurt’s manipulative tendencies mean Evan already has to fight for what freedom he has. Adoption would just put him more under Kurt’s control.)

5. Mikhail Cameron Pryde (Father Freedom Fighter)

Parents: Piotr Rasputin x Katie Pryde. Kurt’s adopted son, born when Kurt was 30.

Powers: Melding with solid objects. With practice, he can bring other people with him.

Appearance: Completely human in appearance, with pales skin, freckles, straight dark hair, and blue eyes. He was very short and looked a lot like Katie when he was young, but a late growth spurt shot him to about 190 cm tall when he was 17.

Mikhail grew up thinking he was Katie and Kurt’s first child and was very surprised at age 12 when he learned that ‘Uncle’ Piotr was actually his biological father. Kurt had initially trained him to follow in his footsteps in the Inquisition, but a gruesome rescue mission traumatized Mikhail into not wanting anything to do to with that branch of the Church. Instead, he followed his mother’s path into IT, and eventually became the head of that department at the Sanctuary of St. Xavier’s. Mikhail had five children by the time he was 25 (only two of whom he’s met), then opted out participating in Choosenings ever again. Kurt thinks this is due to being gay, like his biological father, because Mikhail is currently in a relationship with male Acolyte. In fact, Mikhail is asexual and decided that having his ‘5 for Forever’ was the best way to never have to have sex ever again. Of his family, only his mother knows that he’s asexual.

6. Bluebell Christine Pryde (Matriarch Lorelei)

Parents: Kurt Szardos x Katie Pryde. Born when Kurt was 32.

Powers: Very, very weak receptive empathy

Appearance: Essentially the reason Mikhail didn’t know he wasn’t related to Kurt. She resembles him greatly, with curly black hair, blue eyes, pale skin and also looks completely human. She looks mostly like her mother but inherited Kurt’s cheekbones. Unlike Mikhail she never had a last-minute growth spurt and remains at 167 cm.

Bluebell has the weakest Blessing of all of Kurt’s children (except for Dwayne), and initially thought she was the ‘failure’ of the family. When it became clear that she was never going to develop another Blessing or strengthen her current one any further, Kurt took a sabbatical for a year to help her work through this issue. During that time, it was discovered she was essentially a musical prodigy, with a genius ability for singing. Using this talent, she’s rapidly risen through the ranks, becoming the Pope’s favorite vocalist and a celebrity even outside the veil. She has fraternal twin children (a boy and a girl) who she takes with her on tour.

Bluebell is the older twin by about 50 minutes.

7. Edelweiss Terry Pryde (Prelate TRON)

Parents: Kurt Szardos x Katie Pryde. Born when Kurt was 32.

Powers: Technopath

Appearance: Like her twin sister, she mostly has Kitty’s features, but with Kurt’s tail, hands, feet, blue skin, and fur. She’s the only child to inherit Katie’s brown hair and eyes. She’s also a little taller at 175 cm which she lords over her older sister as much as possible.

Initially, when they were born, Kurt wanted the older twin to be named Edelweiss and the younger one to be named Bluebell. The twins both agree that they were very lucky that Katie talked him out of it. Edelweiss is the one child who has inherited Kurt’s ambition, although she’s also proud enough to try to make her own way through the world with as little help from her father as possible. In order to facilitate this independence, she actually transferred out of Albion to become the Prelate of an abbey in Bavaria. While she lacks a genius intellect, powerful Blessing or unique talent like some of her other siblings, Edel is a very capable administrator and it is pretty much a given that’s she’ll eventually become a Matriarch, even if not as quickly as she might like. Edel is also known for having a contrary, aggressive personality. She has a long-running (friendly) argument with Mikhail over the pros and cons of free will and is the sister who had the screaming (extremely hostile) fight with Blue. No children currently, but not due to lack of trying.

Edelweiss is the younger twin by 50 minutes.

8. Damien Carmen Pryde (Commander Black Sheep)

Parents: Kurt Szardos x Katie Pryde. Born when Kurt was 36.

Powers: Pyrogenesis and pyrokinesis.

Appearance: Has Kurt’s blue skin and yellow eyes, but no fur. Also has his hands and feet, but no tail either. Features are closer to Kurt’s but somewhat softer and rounder. The same height as Kurt but noticeably more muscular.

Growing up, Damien was the child most likely to argue and fight with his father, which contributed to the fact he decided to join the military branch of the Church and moved all the way across the Mediterranean to join the Crusade against the Sub-Saharan African Confederacy. It was essentially as far as he could get from Kurt while still being in contact with the rest of the family. (Yes, he did get to pick his own code name.) And eventually, even that wasn’t enough. Damien had one daughter who died when she was six from childhood leukemia after that Damien faked his death and defected to the SSAC. Unsurprisingly, he has not been in contact with any member of his family since that point.

9. Theodore Joseph Pryde (Acolyte Firebird)

Parents: Kurt Szardos x Katie Pryde. Born when Kurt was 41.

Powers: Seer, with fire as a medium.

Appearance: Fairly short, about 150 cm. Has Kurt’s eyes and blue skin, but otherwise is mostly human (no pointed ears, tail or fangs). Still growing, but facial features resemble Kitty, albeit slightly elongated.

Theodore Joseph gets his name from Talia, who joked that she wanted at least one sibling named after herself. As this was soon after her miscarriage that rendered her sterile (and this was going to be her last child) Katie obliged, although she couldn’t think of what the male form of Talia would be, so she chose Theodore instead. Like most of his siblings and his mother, Tedd was groomed to follow his father in the Inquisition, unlike them he hasn’t been traumatized by watching Kurt torture or kill anyone, so it looks like he’s finally managed to find a successor. Tedd’s pretty on board with this plan, he likes the investigative part of it and while like the others he finds the bloodier bits unpleasant, he considers them a tolerable minor drawback, after all, it’s not like Kurt spends most of his time torturing people. His current goal is to figure out a way to use his Blessing to fly since he can’t teleport people the way his mother can with hers.

10. Dominique Nell Thurman (no alias)

Parents: Piotr Rasputin x Neena Thurman. Born when Kurt was 44.

Powers: Metal-shift skin

Appearance: Tiny. Black hair, brown eyes, pale skin, remarkably chubby for her age, but considered very cute.

Dominique was conceived as a favor to Kurt by Prelate Singularity, essentially so Piotr would have his ‘2 for Time-Off’ and Katie wouldn’t have to keep monitoring him to make sure he was fulfilling his duty to ‘multiply’. Once again, Kurt offered to adopt the girl once she was born, but Prelate Singularity prefers to keep her with her in Ultramar.

#Headcanon #procrastination #Church AU

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cherry-slushie-cosplay-blog · 5 years

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Freshman Year Quotes

Ok so I did a list of all the stupid shit I heard in my Freshman year of high school. Enjoy.

(T) - Teacher (AP) - Freshman Assistant Principal

FRESHMAN YEAR ----

"Any weeb brethren, see me after class I want to be friends." *class is totally silent* "*loudly* I have a seven inch penis." "I'm a farmer bitch I will throw my crops at you." "You can teach tiny cil- chilr- chilud- chiluden, wait what?" "I'm telling Jesus!" "Jesus already knows." "(T) Use your 5 sols! Haha, get it? Like soul?" "Bold of you to assume I have any at all." "HE CALLED ME THE N-WORD, HE CALLED- oh shit you're a girl my bad I'm just messing around trying to get someone in trouble. Have a nice weekend!" "Eins, zwei, drei, vier, fünf, sechs, sieben, acht...FUCK!" "How do you make an equilateral square?" "I think my back has scoliosis." "I've got a bag of chicken." "Why do you have a bag of chicken?" "Because. Why do you have a bottle with mangos on it?" "This- this is mango-flavored tea!" "AND THIS IS CHICKEN-FLAVORED BAG" "...and some condoms have spermicide which kills off the sperm. Don't ask me how I know all that, Mrs. ********." "Are you from Russian?" "Sit your ADHD-filled ass down." "If we were in hell, do you really think I would be here?" "(T) Yes." (T) "Is stupid written on your forehead?" "I don't know, is it written on yours?" "His forehead's big enough for it." "That looks like an orgy pile over there." "Why do you guys always sit behind me?" "If we want to kill you, you won't see it coming." "Is this what Julius Caesar felt like?" "You're so tiny! You look like a doll!" "And you look like a cock-riding motherfucker." " Technically, time is a construct." "Technically, none of this matters and we're all gonna die soon." "Will you two shut up please?" (T) "My 2019 has been completed, I made a student cry." (This was January 10th btw) (T) "As long as you do your best and turn that in, you'll be fine." "What if my best sucks and I get a bad grade?" "Ok that was good I'm gonna give you that." "I'm gonna put on black lipstick and go to sleep." *Aggressively singing Dream Daddy For Me* "What's that?" "A grapefruit." "Bitch that ain't a grape." "No, grapeFRUIT." "It looks like you put Kool Aid in an orange." "Dude it's called a grapefruit." "No, fuck you and your Kool Aid orange." "I ate a mouse dongle." "Why the fuck would you do that?" "I don't know, I just did." "Racism is my bitch. I bend racism over and take it from behind." "A function is an input and a function...oh wait hold on I messed up- stop laughing at me I got this." "James Charles did one of Bob Ross's tutorials on his forehead." "So he has a big forehead-" "Shut the hell up ***** no one cares." "The answer was D! D as in 'Dinosaur chicken nuggets'!" (T) "What are the first ten amendments?" "I know the ten COMMANDments." "No one cares, we're not in Christian school." "YES WE ARE HAIL MARY" (T) "Do your work or the Lord may strike you." *this was at the religious girl from the previous quote* "What time is it?" "It's fuckin uhhhhh noon o 5." "Noon o 5?" "I forgot the word twelve." "I SEE HEADLIGHTS" "Hm?" "Headlights is nipples." "If this is a test I'm gonna throw myself out the window. I was about to go to the hospital this weekend and I'm still gonna make it happen." "I won't T-Pose for dominance but I will screech and make your eardrums bleed." "Does anyone remember Llamas With Hats?" 4 people: "caAAARRLLLLL" "Pagans terrify me." "Why?" "Every pagan I know of is a furry." "sKeDaDdLe SkAdOoDlE yOuR dIcK iS nOw A nOoDlE" "NO NOT IN MATH CLASS" "Doodlebops." "shUT THE FUCK UP" "I watched that yesterday, I have it on DVD." "WHY THE FUCK DO YOU HAVE DOODLEBOPS ON DVD" (T) *random Chewbacca noise* "My brain is smaller than my dick." "If you feel stupid, you should." "What about King Solomon?" (T) "What has Solomon ever done for America?" "What have YOU ever done for America?" "Nothing should be in your mouth unless it's a banana." "What type of banana?" "A yellow one, duh." *laughter* "Or a green one, whichever you like more." (T) "For the people who I'm signing these for: are you going to the farm-" "YES WE FINNA BE COWBOYS" (T) "What y'all playing over there?" "Chess." (T) "I hope you lose." (T) "If you're stupid, it's your fault." (T) "Let's go guys!" "hoLD ON I'M SAVING MY POKEMON GAME" "There's people taking pictures down there - should I pour Monster on them?" "When you gave me my pencil I was like 'I like Zoe, she's nice' in my brain and then my brain somehow connected that to 'You tryna smash?' and another part of my brain said 'No, stop, she'd cut your dick off'." "That's the strangest intrusive thought I've ever heard from a friend." "How many of y'all think I'm gay?" *about 6 people raise their hands* "Ok then." "May I please go to the bathroom?" (T) "You just have to get out of here at any chance you get, don't you?" "I'm serious, I'm really hungry, does anyone have any food?" "I have lotion." "Fuck you." (T) "OH MY GOD SHE HAS TAP SHOES CAN YOU DANCE???" "...no" (T) "YOU STILL LOOK GOOD" *watching Sorcerer's Stone* "Who's at the window?" *ta-da it's Malfoy* "Oh it's a blonde-headed lesbian." "Shit fuck goddammit bitch pussy fucking Jesus Christ." "I have ibuprofen, you know." "Nah, I'm good." "I'm a lil loli short and flat~ My head is for pat- wait fuck what was it" "Hello~ my fuCKING HIP OW" "Are you ok?" "I popped my hip...Hello, my name is Elder Price~" (T) "Here, it's legal to marry your 2nd cousin twice removed." "I'm doing it." (T) "******** no-" "Fuck (insert name of school district), man. On my mom." "I wanna fucking die I hate this class." "No. I look like Jesus, I'm telling you no. Therefore, Jesus says no and you're not allowed to die." (T) "How else could we have solved this?" "With a calculator." "Did Diego steal his money from Dora?" (T) "I don't know, moving on." "All y'all talking about how your souls are dark black, mine is baby blue. It's brighter than your hair." "uwu my stomach hurts" "I'm serious I'm not on my phone." (T) "Oh really?" "I swear to GOD she wasn't!" (T) "Oooooohhh" "Holy shit Zoe you're gonna send **** to hell." "You were staring at me for like 20 seconds before calling on me!" (T) "No, my glass eye was staring at you. My real eye was over there seeing that stuff, and over here I didn't see sHIT." "I heard there's G-Spots in your ass, why don't you shove it up there and have some fun." "How about no?" "Suit yourself." "I don't like raw fish — it makes me sad." "100 senators!! Come ON, Sen - a - tors!" "Shut up go stick your head in a dick." "I want that Mormon Milk." "I'm begging you to stop talking." "I'm salivating for that salvation." "Shut the fuck up."

BONUS: SCHOOL'S POWER OUT

"My god that sun is brighter than Kirishima's smile." "Zoe is turning into Trina." "I'm breaking down~" "Come over here anyone who wants to take 'Golden-Hour Mental Breakdown' selfies and/or get Pocky." "Anyone who refuses to let their anxious child come home will be personally smacked by me with Zoe's copy of 'Half-Blood Prince'."

NORMAL SCHOOL

"Stab me in the ovary or whatever you said." "CORRODED ARTERY YOU ARE MALE" "Same difference." "Perfect boy lookin-ass- no homo." "What the fuck" "People think that Sherlock Holmes isn't real because he was written in a book. God was too but you don't see people denying HE exists, do you?" "Ok do a burpee." *burps loudly* "No a- you're a fucking idiot." "Heyyyyy Zoe, can we- holy shit is that Pornhub?" "How do you make a baby crawl in a circle?" "I don't fucking know." "Ok...do you know how to make one stop?" "When did you get here!?" "Couple minutes ago." "???" "I'm quiet and people generally don't notice I'm here." "...do you need a hug?" (T) "What'd you do this weekend?" "Some sewing." (T) "What'd you sew?" "Robes…" (T) "For what?" "*increasingly embarrassed* A costume." "From what?" "*very red by now* Harry Potter…" "Which character?" "*wanting to crawl into a hole* Draco Malfoy…" "*polite clapping from entire class*" (T) "He's on the road to alcoholism." "I'm doing a 21-Day challenge of not talking, if I do - punch me." (T) "Oooohhh this is gonna be fun." *knock at door* (T) "*presses face against door window* What's the password?" "bitCH GIVE ME BACK MY CAPRI-SUN" "It's not Capri-S-" "IT'S BOOTLEG CAPRI-SUN GIVE IT BACK" "Holy shit you turned the Jesus-freak gay." "What happens if you don't deletus the fetus?" "Then the abortion isn't completus." (T) Can you see where I'm going?" "To hell." "Oh look, a wasp." "KILL THAT SHIT" "Oh man I can't hear my eardrums." "How the fuck would you hear your eardrums?" "That's the POINT." "I like a p p l e s ~I like 'em big and juicy-" (T) "NO." "Everyone raise your hand if you want Mr. **** out of the room." *80% raises their hands* (T) "Even you?" "What do you mean 'even me'!?!?" "******? ******!!" "What?" "If I ask you a question will you be a douche?" "Probably." "Understandable." "What the hell am I reading?" "Words." "Mr. **** do you like donkey ducks?" (T) "I'm not even going to answer you." "I'm scared of homophobes." "Homophobophobia." "If gay is a slur does that mean that African American is a slur?" "Who has my mcfreaking phone? WHOMST HAS MY PHONE" (T) "Ooh free charger! *wraps cord around neck like a scarf*" "Whee whee mone me jam apple laff-yeti" "If someone is being homophobic, give them dyslexia." "Troom Troom life hack: if someone is harassing you — eat them." "Troom Troom banana hack: if someone is harassing you — shove a banana up their ass." (T) "Take that hat off." "I'm a gangsta." "I'm never gonna use this shit. Do you think I'm gonna go to McDonald's and say something like, I don't know, 'Oh riddle me dubious'? NO." "I'm gonna meticulate you until you get dyslexia." "What the fuck does that even mean?" "I'm gonna meticulate your rectum." "Please stop." (T) "See that girl? She likes bad boys." (T) "Ask her, she has tape." "What the hell has made you think I have tape?!?" "I don't care if you have 106% in this class, you can kiss my fat ass!" "No, PICasso." "I like Costco-" "No." "Holy shit *points at red train in movie watched in class* it's the Hogwarts Express." "Stop it." "Choo choo bitch we goin' to magic school." (T) "Guys Mr. ***** is in here, quick make it look like you're doing math." "3 + 7 = 9!!!" "Are you serious?" "MOVE IT, MUNCHKINS!" *shoves us apart and runs off* "Excuse-moi, I'm gonna beat her ass." "Oh my god someone's weave is on the floor." "Only at (insert school name here)." "THERE'S MORE THEY THREW IT OUT THE FUCKING WINDOW" "*handing out books* Take this dick, *throws book on student's desk next to me* and here you go. *places book gently on my desk*" "waIT TAKE THAT BACK I WANT A 'HERE YOU GO' WTF" (T) "-and so the corn salsa would be 20...thaaaat's not one of the answers oh no." "You fucking whore, happy birthday." (T) "How do you know you are college and career ready?" "Because Jesus loves me." "Last time I shit my pants was in middle school." "rePEAT THAT?" "I'm gonna show up tomorrow with AIDS." "Did you just say you'd show up with AIDS?" "Yeah." "Why??" "Cause HE put his spit on me." "I'm borrowing your chair. To sleep." "I'm straight as a line." "Oh? *makes loop-de-loops in the air* You mean THIS line?" (T) "I will decimate you. I will wipe your name from the earth." "Is the government making us take this test?" (T) "No, the district is making us take it." "Well the district can suck my ass." *calling every white person in a certain scene of Ernest Green a toothpick* "Is it just me or does ******** seem like he'd end up having a job at Chuck and Dale's?" "GIVE ME BACK MY PHONE I WANNA WATCH MERLIN" (T) "You boys don't know how to chop down a tree, do you? You wouldn't be able to do that." "Yes I would, I do it in Minecraft all the time!" (T) "Ok, remember to put your name on your paper." "No. I have no name. She-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Voldemordita." "Stop it." "Shut up, both y'all gay, always smackin' each other's asses in class." (T) "Easy, Luigi, we're not watching a movie." (This was a sub for Civics class and he had just walked in 2 minutes prior. The student's name was not Luigi) "Hold on I'm gonna be Oprah: YOU GET A CALCULATOR, YOU GET A CALCULATOR!" "Y'know ***** still needs one." "F R I C K" *girl walks into a desk* "There's a desk there ****." "I KNOW fuck OFF" "I feel like we need to warn her about everything when she walks." "Watch out for life, ****." "Can we do it on paper?" (T) "No, this is not Burger King." *leaving the room* "Remember, cocaine is not your friend. I'll kick your ass." (T) "Wow! It's Good Friday, and you're talking about your baptism and stuff like that, and you said 'oh my fricking god'? For shame." (T) "I'm on a lot of drugs and alcohol right now and I can't feel anything." "Oh my GOD USE A YARDSTICK" "No." "MR. ******** I'M GONNA HURT HER" "Gonna stab her with the yardstick?" "I need bail money." "I need money PERIOD." "DRAW. A STRAIGHT. L I N E." "NO, FUCK YOU" "You know you're gay when it takes you 3 tries to draw a straight line." "DON'T TAKE MY JOKE" "You definitely know you're gay if it still isn't straight after 3 tries." (T) "What would you do if someone came into your neighborhood?" "Who's neighborhood? Mr. Rodger's?" "I have 15 pets." "I have 13 siblings, does that count?" "No but it does mean that your parents need to learn how to use a fucking condom." "Hi my name is J. Michael Tater Tot welcome to the Dairy Dome." "Dyslexia? I thought you said...cannibalistic tendencies." "What?" "I couldn't think of anything that rhymed." "You need to flex seal your anus closed." "If you don't fucking shut up I will shave off your eyebrows using my toenail as a razor you cunt." "Sippy Cup looks depressed." "Sippy Cup, you going through some shit?" "Hit or Miss, I guess they never miss, huh? You got a boyfriend-" "Yep." "I bet he doesn't kiss ya!" "Haha nope." "Ew I look like Casper." (T) "...and we're going to write a paragraph." "Oh you're FUNNY." "I think I'm switch. Like, I'm good with being sub, but I'd like to dominate my bitch too. Like F.B.I get on the ground open your legs." "Ms. ******* that's really bright-" (T) "YOU'RE bright." Video: *talking about how important this song is to them* (T) "I don't care stop talking." "I peed on the desk again." "Key word: AGAIN???" "You should send ****** and I to get them." "That is a HORRIBLE idea." "What do you mean it's a horrible idea? You don't know me!" "What do you mean 'I don't know you?' We have gone to school together for almost 4 years." (T) "Look, I know you're obsessed with me, GET TO WORK." "He's harassing me." "You harassed me first. It's not harassment if you do it in self-defense." "You can have the benefit of my middle finger." "It's the progression of the climb of the rocket." (T) "Oh my GOOODDDD JUST SAY IT LIKE A NORMAL HUMAN BEING" "Fine. The speed." (T) "ExACTLY." "Oh look a firetruck's outside." "Whee whoo whee whoo- oh my god you're serious. Oh god it's (crappy fire department) jesus christ." "I think we need to potty train our classmates again." "AGAIN???" "Well, yeah. They're supposed to be." "'Supposed to' and 'are' are two different things." "Mr. **** can I put mascara on you?" (T) "No." "Whyyyyy?" (T) "Do I look like a Barbie doll?" (T) "Mascara girl is the one who's talking." "You act like I don't have a name!!!" "Do you?" "What the hell are you doing?" "It makes your eyelashes look nicer." "Yeah; easy, breezy, beautiful: Covergirl. Get with the program." "James Charles is QUAKING." "Sister shook." "Give me my paper." "Bitch I'm gluing my fingers together, I didn't fucking take it." "Do you have a charger?" "No, but I have a notebook full of English notes." "I don't have any round characters, all of mine are gay and sad."

BONUS 2: BIRTHDAY

"I'm sorry I don't have anything for you for your birthday all I have is Reese's and duct tape." "Wait it's your birthday??? HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO-" "NO STOP SHE DOESN'T WANT THAT" "Thank you." "You're welcome." (T) "Pay attention my dudes." *collective groaning from entire class* "*asking for tampons*" (T) "*holding a marker* I can throw another red one at you." "I don't get it. *sudden realization*" (T) "***** pick your jaw up off the floor, I was joking." "I'm tired of the word 'domain'." "Oh yeahhhh me too, cause we hear it a lot in physics now." "Domain, domain, domain; I hate it." "I'm in a domain of hating myself." "I'm joking, I love you." "I'm not joking, but I love you too anyways." "**** don't lose your Crocs again." (T) "Get that earbud out of your ear." "No, this is keeping me sane." "Why is my name 'desire'??? I put it as 'pee pee poo poo'!"

NORMAL SCHOOL

"I've finally done a fraction! I flipped it over, turned it around, smacked its ass and had it call me daddy." "PARDON???" "What?" (in Physics talking about electricity) "Ok positive top, negative bottom-" "ME?" "He said you can't learn if you burn but you do learn. You learn fire is hot. Also the sensation of being burned alive as you are consumed by flames." "*shows Thanos smut* Spoilers for Endgame that no one asked for." "Legend has it that if you work at the Dairy Dome, you get free tickets to Domegame." Have a marvelous Monday, a Terrific Tuesday, a Wonderful Wednesday, a...Thesis Thursday. I couldn't think of anything." "You look like a frog." (T) "And you look like a squid." "Someone today said I looked like a drug dealer magician. Would you like *sweeps off hat* MARIJUANA??? Or...*pretends to pull something out of hat* COKE??? Perhaps some *flourishes* *whispers* acid???" "I'm gonna Detroit Smash him to hell." "LGBT, let's get this bread." "My hero academia as in Aizawa can shove my ass up his head- wait hold on" "*talking about Ariel* She's hot but that doesn't excuse the fact that she put her entire species in jeopardy for some dick." (T) "Does anyone not have medicine in their bag that ******* cannot have while I look down at the floor because I dropped my pen?" (T) "*reaches for paper*" "Ah ah **** no swipin'." *in science class* "Nothing's happening but I saw that bitch SPARK and I'm terrified." "I'm basically teacher today, your assignment is to do nothing. YOU get an A." "SHUT UP MOTHERFUCKER I'LL EAT YOUR ANUS THEY DON'T CALL ME RECTUMUS PRIME FOR NOTHING" "EXCUSE ME" "What was the word again?" "David Hasselhoff?" "What, no???" "This is why you shouldn't scratch yourself, here." "*instantly shoves necklace in mouth*" "I wouldn't use that as a chew fidget, I got it off the ground in Louisiana." "*chews even more aggressively*" (T) "Don't mess with me I will throw something at you, I played softball for 14 years." "Really???" (T) "Yeah. I was the captain biatch." "James Charles looks like the dragon from Shrek." "***'s touching my wenis." "Gay fantasies don't really matter." "Yeah, I mean, did you see the way that Tony and Cap looked at each other in Endgame?" "When he was, a young boy, his father, took him to the dark lord, to kill the principalofawizardachool" "He said son when, you grow up, will you b-" "HE SAID WILL YOU, GETSHANKEDINABATHROOM-" "Watch out: I have peanut butter and a knife!" (T) "All you need is at least a 60% to pass the test-" "BOI I GET 40S AND 30S IN YOUR CLASS AND YOU KNOW IT" (T) "So you used to go to (other school name)?" "Yeah. But people growling and barking at me was a little much." (T) "Were they furries?" "Dude, tornadoes in Kansas are no joke." "But you go to Oz." "THERE AIN'T NO YELLOW BRICK ROAD AFTER A TORNADO" "Uh, yeah! Yellow brick road to HEAVEN." "Toto isn't god” "You awakened something you didn't want to awaken." "Is it god??? Is it Totoro? Remember to pay your taxes or Hong Kong will come eat you." "Today's weather is cloudy with a chance of rectal prolapse." (T) "Who's at the door?" "It's ***." (T) "Who's ***?" "***. Your student." (T) "*opens door* Who are you?" "I'm nobody." "Who is commander in chief of the military? My p e n i s" "Are those grandma shoes??? Can I e a t them???" "She sounds like a fetus screaming for extra guac at Chik-Fil-A." "WHAT DOES THAT EVEN MEAN" "*singing the Boku No Pico theme off-key in a loli voice*" "I will hit you." "I'd feel bad for you but you have a 69% and that causes you to get a D and I can't look that over." "Do you ever wonder where babies come from? Cause I don't. All you have to do is pee into a lady's Digornio." "rePEAT THAT??" "Don't forget to degrade your dog." "Imagine a world: where you have 2 fetuses hanging from your eyebrow."

BONUS 3: GIANT, END-OF-THE-YEAR CIVICS TEST

"Why the fuck is Christmas a national holiday???" (T) "Ok, the president during WWII was...Roose-" "-A PARKS" (T) "Are you even paying attention?" (T) "What happened on September 11th, 2001?" "9/11!" (T) "We're gonna need you to be a little more specific, buddy." (T) "What's a state that borders Canada?" "I deadass was about to say Arizona, I need sleep." "WHAT is your name?" "*****." "WHAT is your quest?" "To clap the best pussy out there." "*through laughter* What is your favorite color?" "The color of the next pussy I'm gonna crunch." "I got a Voltage from the ROTC room, and I dropped it and someone said 'OOH', picked it up and yeeted with it." "WHAT THE FUCK I'D SHIT ON THEIR HOUSE" "Can we play a song after our presentation?" (T) "As long as it's not like 20 minutes like an Allman Brothers song." "Huh?" (T) "You know how when you have an acid trip, people tell you to listen to the Allman Brothers?" "..." (T) "I'm old." (T) "If this eye starts drooping, there was something in the brownie." (T) "*teaching us Piccolo Mini*" "You just made me feel dyslexic." "YOU GUYS WANNA KNOW THE TEA??? I'M THE REAL HOE" *applause from class* "BITCH WE BEEN KNEW" "*unintelligible*" (T) "What?" "*still unintelligible*" (T) "I still didn't hear you." "You talk like your handwriting." "I WILL THROW THIS CROC AT YOU" "I will literally pay a dollar for one." "I will literally eat these." "Petunia is not a phone." "Electronic device, then." "She's not an electronic device, I gave birth to her." (T) "**** that's the whitest you've ever sounded." "My dingaling is messed up." "Mine too." (T) "Ok so say you wanted aides-" "I DON'T WANT AIDS WHAT THE HELL" (T) "IN THE CLASSROOM. CLASSROOM AIDES. HELPERS. "Can we talk while doing this?" (T) "No, this isn't Burger King." "What is your obsession with Burger King????" "HE'S SPRAYING IT DOWN. HE'S SPRAYING IT DOWN. HE'S PUTTING THE WHITE NECTAR ON THE RAMEN SINK" "Have you ever seen a 14 year old looking badass?" "Have you ever seen a beaver chomping down on a carrot? Cause I wanna see that." "I don't wanna go to Papa Louie's Arcade, Papa Louie can pop a cap in your ass." "Micheal does a Thanos Snap in season 14." "Cas, I don't feel so good." "NO" "Your Crocs are in sport mode." "My cock is hard." "THAT IS NOT WHAT I SAID" "It's ok lil diglett I'm gonna evolve you." (T) "Stop it." "I'm gonna evolve you it's fine, you're weak but you're gonna get better. *throws stress ball at teacher*" (T) "******* looks like Ted Bundy" (T) "He's falling asleep. Hey, ****, are you sad you can't have an abortion?" "What???" (T) "If you don't like high school relationships, who's that guy you keep making out with in the hallway?" "*pointing at random places on the map in the civics classroom, threatening to deport each other to random places*" "You're jiggling my titties." "*half the class is singing I Write Sins Not Tragedies*" "I love you!" "Shut it, I'm doing a presentation." "I love you!!" "Stop." "I love you!!!" "God damnit, *******, I'm gonna hit you." (T) "If you drop any f-bombs during the presentation, I'm gonna kill you." "Bottom, take the apple." "I'm not black, I'm O.J." "Balls. That was the word." "HOW THE HELL DID YOU GET 'BALLS' FROM 'THE BUCKS ARE WINNING THE FINALS'??" "Who's this? Tom? No I don't wanna streak with you. Stranger danger." "Why is it called Field Day if it's only 2 periods?" (AP) "I- That's actually a good question." "ALRIGHT THIS IS WHAT WE NEED TO DO-" "*gets literally kissing distance from him* *salutes* Yes sir?" "We're playing cornhole." "Stop laughing, how is cornhole inappropriate?" "Mr. **** this is the type of yardstick that could take your kneecaps. Do you want me to take yours?" (T) "I'd like to see you try." "Is that Ratatouille?" "Ratatouille isn't the rat. That's Remy, you insolent fuck." "I'm gonna call you the 'G' word." "What's the 'G' word?" "Jew." "That's…porny." "...send it to me." "Where you going?" "To hell." "WHY" "*shrugs* Seems fun." "You see, this is why I need to work with you. I'm your insurance."

BONUS 4: FIELD DAY

(T) "Are you part 1 or part 2?" "Uh…" (T) "Top line or bottom line?" "Bottom- no, top- uhhhhh…" "He looks like a top." "I still don't understand why we fucking dropped Bohemian Rhapsody for a song from fucking T W I L I G H T." (T) "*throws a marker at the Assistant Principal*" *various cheers and "OHHHHHH"s from the class* (AP) "Are you actually serious." Not a quote but in the 2nd to last week of school, we spent almost the entirety of 4th period Algebra (including the teacher — he started it) throwing dry-erase markers at each other and didn't even stop when the AP (seen above) came in. (T) "*walks through the middle of the room*" "FIRE" *8 people pelt markers at him* "Wait you guys realize he's gonna throw all of those back, right?" "I have a D I'm hanging on the edge my dudes." "I did a math? I did a math!!!" "You did meth?" "YES!!!" "*gets head shoved out of window* OW! FUCK, ****** MY TIT" "You exude strong Kenny energy." "Why?" "Cause you die a lot? Cause your heart was replaced with a baked potato? Cause your family's poor?" "*laughing so hard we can't breathe*" "*leaves the cafeteria to calm down from laughing too hard*" "I'm having elementary school flashbacks." "Shut your social justice warrior ass up." "You ok?" "I stabbed myself." "Sorry, only girls get it. Also, this is my last customer today." "Hold on, if it's only girls, why does HE get it?" "Hi." "OH SHIT YOU'RE A GIRL MY BAD"

NORMAL SCHOOL

“Did I just witness a drug deal?” "Why do you look like a dad?" "I need some weed in my system again, I'm fucking drained." "There's a fucking big-ass run in my tights — I'm gonna eat my own ass and then some." "Hi I'm ***** and Mr. **** can suck my 13 inch dong. My Long John Silver." "This ignorant pickle of a person can die." "This cashew of a long dong. Cashews look like telephones." "A shirt says Mr. **** can suck my magnum horse, my stallion." "His mom should've fucking swallowed." "Spit his ass in a Dixie cup." "I will tattoo my eyes shut." "I'm talking about this mongoose man that's called Mr. ****." "Can you speak some Spanish?" "Hola, como estas, sugma." "Sugma?" "Suck my fuckin' balls lmao" "It's your sugar daddy. *shows picture of Andrew Jackson*" "It's Mr. **** as a woman." "That's fucking Christopher Columbus." "*howling laughter*" "I was just thinking 'have it stop raining so that I don't have to walk in it', but then I remembered I have work today so it should keep pouring. The more the sky cries, the less I cry. Unless I'm on drive." "Excuse me sir, *raises leg* my penis has fallen off." "I pray you get AIDS." (T) "Please throw away your sheet music, it's illegal to copy sheet music and I don't wanna go to jail." "*loud smack* I am so sorry, I didn't mean it to be that loud! Come here baby boy, let me give you the sweet taste of my mother milk." "It's not mother anymore, it's daddy now." "Dude what if you were born with a set of words that if said, would implode your testicles." "Bomb go boom, Mormons go extinct." "MR. **** YOU TOOK OUR NOODS" "DON'T TAKE THE NOODS" "NOT THE NOODS!!!" "****, I thought you were Catholic." "The pencil's black." "Like my ass-cheeks." "Someone stole it!!!!" "Like ****'s virginity."

BONUS 5: WATCHING INSIDIOUS (FOR SOME FUCKING REASON)

*kid falls off ladder* *various banshee screeches from students* "They're kissing AGAIN. This movie is NOT appropriate." "I'm hearding weeeesssst~ I don't know what to dooooo~ " That's not how you make a superpowered baby. You kill the mother and put her on the ceiling." "Wait, pause. What the hell?" "F.B.I, open up." "IT'S DALTON." "PUT A CHAIR ON THE DAMN DOOR" "HOW WOULD A CHAIR WORK AGAINST THE DEMON" "He's in a deep sleep. Wake him up with true love's kiss." "It's a pedo-demon! Everyone run!" "He's cheating on her." "What if this was linked to Supernatural?" "Ooh she's echoing now." "My legs are shaking bruh." "Is that blood on the window?" "No, it's a tree." "SMACK THE CHILD"

NORMAL SCHOOL

"I figured out why I'm so quiet today." "Oh, really?" "Yeah, *shows trembling hands* I'm on vibrate." "I can't wait to go to church."

BONUS 6: LAST DAY OF SCHOOL

"The first thing I ate when I came to this country, it was in the airport and it was Doritos." (T) "They gave me the shortest teachers' gown they had. I have a baby gown." "That isn't a happy little bush." "IT'S. TREE." "Hello ladies, *winks* *blows kiss*" "I'm GAY." *I Will Survive playing really loudly* "******* you're not in our friend group so get the FUCK OUT." "Now I can swear! FUCK Y'ALL BITCHES I'M GOING TO EAT YOUR KNEECAPS" "Oh shit it's an end of the year fight!" Four kids got into a fight at the same time and one got tazed."

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