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adapted-batteries · 4 years

Text

Making Art

Fandom: The Librarians

Rating: General/sfw

Relationship: Flynnstone

Word count: 7274

Summary: Instead of never leaving his hometown, Jacob goes off to college under the guise of getting the only degree his dad values, petroleum engineering, but of course also majoring in art history. In “Survey of Native American Art,” he meets someone who he only knew before as “guy who basically lives in the library stacks.” Of course, Fate decides he needs to suffer through a group project with him.

Alternative summary: What would happen if Jacob Stone went to my alma mater and met Flynn there?

Also posted on my Ao3.

-----

Jacob thought well and hard about how he was going to convince Issac to let him go to the University of Tulsa. There were several hurdles he had to overcome: Pa was a University of Oklahoma man, and here he was wanting to go to the nerdiest school in the state; he already knew more than enough to run the oil business, why would he need to waste his father’s money on a useless degree; if Jacob went to Tulsa for four years, he couldn’t keep cleaning up his father’s messes, and there was a real risk of Isaac running the company into the very ground it drilled.

He had solutions to all of these things. The University of Tulsa had the best petroleum engineering degree in the Plains, and he’d always be a boomer sooner fan. And, while his high school grades weren’t too spectacular, his test scores and essay application for the Presidential Scholar program at TU got him a full ride. All he needed was Isaac to let him go and then not kill his company, and he’d be set.

Isaac didn’t need to know about Jacob’s ulterior motives. Tulsa was over 100 miles further from home than Norman was, for one, and Tulsa had a budding humanities program that Jacob really wanted to get invested in. He’d suffer through the engineering degree, but what was going to get him through it were the other courses he had in mind to take out of the humanities, languages, and arts departments. If he was lucky, he’d weasel himself a position of some sort at Gilcrease Museum just so he could learn even more from their displays and get into their archives.

When his acceptance letter came in the mail, Isaac read it with disdain. “When’d ya apply to that place? OU not good enough for you hm?”

Jacob kept the kitchen counter between himself and his father. “No I, well, I wanna do good for the business, and TU’s got the best oil program in the state, you know.”

“I didn’t need no fancy engineerin’ degree to make money,” Isaac countered, eyeing Jacob.

He kept himself from flinching from his father’s glare. “No, but now days you gotta have one to get started. Besides, couldn’t hurt to have one to spread our reach.”

Isaac tossed the nice letterhead on the counter. “Hmph. Well, how’re you gonna pay for that? I can’t just shill out that money.”

“I’ll, I’ll figure it out,” Jacob supplied. He’d already sent off his extra application for a full ride scholarship, which he hoped his more than qualifying exam scores and a 15 page, single-spaced analysis on Choctaw artwork and mythology would be convincing enough to award him.

“Fine, but I’m not co-signin’ any loans.” Isaac fished around in their refrigerator for a beer. “John’s off takin’ care of Sylvia, I need you on the rig Saturday.”

“Alright,” Jacob said. He had planned to spend the evening reading some books he had picked up from the town library, but that’d have to wait. After his dad wandered over to his worn recliner and he heard the click and buzz of the TV, Jacob sighed and set about making them dinner.

---

That August couldn’t get there quick enough. There were many, many times he thought about not going. He’d miss all his friends, his home town, and his pa. But, by the time he loaded up his truck and drove two hours northeast, there wasn’t any backing out now.

When he arrived on campus, he felt very out of place, but that feeling quickly faded once orientation week started. By the time classes started, he didn’t ever want to leave. His experience from oil rigging he already had carried him through his engineering classes, so he could devote himself to his other pursuits. Language courses, literature, history, art, those were the subjects he spent near all his time on. This also meant he spent a fair time in the library.

During his second year, a new student seemed to be competing with how many hours they could clock in the library. He was a nerdy sort, Jacob thought, which meant he was going above and beyond the above-average level of studiousness the student body already had. They quickly established a routine around each other. Jacob would go to his study carol he’d staked the previous year, the leftmost one in a set of three in a forgotten corner of the stacks no one except this new person seemed to want to go to. The newcomer took the study carol two down from him, rarely acknowledging Jacob’s presence.

Their schedule he figured out within the first two weeks of class. Mondays and Wednesdays Jacob would get there first, the new guy coming about an hour later and staying while Jacob left for class. Tuesdays and Thursdays the newcomer was there before him, and would leave around two hours into Jacob’s studying. Fridays the guy wasn’t there at all, at least not when Jacob was, but he practically lived there Saturday, no doubt not going to the football home games.

The beauty of studying in the stacks was that no one talked like they did in the study areas. The hum of the air vents, the scratch of his and the other guy’s pencils, the flip of books, and occasional footsteps of a seeker of knowledge comprised his sound track. He and the guy even alternated who stood and waved their arm to reactivate the lights when they timed out.

Without realizing, he had learned a fair amount about the guy from just studying near him. He was either dressed like a stereotypical professor, or a bedraggled grad student, which predicted how late he had stayed up the night before (confirmed by how prominent the circles under his eyes were). He had notebooks for every subject, and he studied near every subject, though a good amount of the books he hoarded were Native American ones. When he was frustrated, he might mumble under his breath, but most certainly made his hair even more wild by running his fingers through it. When he was hyperfocused, he'd sit on one foot, scratching furiously in a notebook.

Jacob never learned the guy’s name until the next semester when he had a class with him. Jacob had gotten himself into an upper-level Native American history course, filled mostly with history majors finishing their degrees and grad students. Not wanting to seem too eager, he chose a desk one row back from the front row. People he knew from previous history courses meandered in as it neared time to start the class, and some he chatted with, asking how their breaks were and such. The professor walked in right on time, a stack of syllabi on top of a binder in one arm, an insulated travel mug in her other hand.

Dr. Mashunkashey had begun going over the syllabus when the door to the classroom opened, revealing the guy from the stacks. He looked a bit disheveled, running late from somewhere it seemed. “That’s a two for two for not showing up on time to the first day of my class, Flynn,” the professor said, but she didn’t seem that annoyed by it.

“Sorry, I stayed up too late reading,” Flynn replied. “I got a bit carried away following sources referenced in Reclaiming Diné History.”

“Of course you did,” Dr. Mashunkashey said with a laugh, handing him the last syllabus. “Go on and have a seat.”

It turned out the easiest seat for him to take was the one right in front of Jacob. Jacob gave him a nod, which Flynn returned quickly, and then sat down. Jacob focused himself back on the syllabus on his desk, but his mind kept drifting to the man in front of him. He’d caught glimpses of the books Flynn read in the study carrel, and they were quite all over the place in subject matter; any given day he might have had a botany book, or a German biography, or something on Egypt. And now here he was, sitting right in front of him, apparently having spent the previous night doing the same thing Jacob did, though at least Jacob’s morning gym sessions meant he was never late to class like Flynn was.

The sound of a bunch of pages flipping snapped Jacob back into reality. The professor was explaining the main project of the class. “You’ll each focus on a particular tribe’s art, and an era within that. The paper requirements are in the syllabus, standard format. Images are welcome, but don’t shirk on your words because of them. Then, for the second part of this grade, you’ll work with a partner to make some form of art, combining the styles of both of your papers.”

Flynn raised his hand, but Dr. Mashunkashey shook her head. “Yes, Flynn, you’ll have to work with a partner.” Jacob stifled a laugh when Flynn’s shoulders slumped, but apparently not enough as she glanced at him before looking back at the syllabus. “The art component can be anything. Music, painting, writing, whatever, so long as you both incorporate themes from what you highlight in your paper. Since art can take time, and you might want to coordinate what art styles you’ll be using, go ahead and pick your partner.”

Jacob started thinking through the people he already knew in the class, but Flynn startled him out of his thoughts by turning around. “Do you want to be partners?”

“I, uh, sure,” Jacob stuttered. The professor had apparently been watching Flynn to see who he’d pick, and Jacob saying yes surprised her, based on her raised eyebrows. "Do you know what you're gonna do your paper on?"

Flynn didn't hesitate to respond. "Hohokam culture."

"I'd been thinking of doing Pueblo myself, so that should work well," Jacob said.

Dr. Mashunkashey cleared her throat, getting the class to quiet down. “Okay, now that you all have partners picked, we’re gonna get started.” She moved behind the computer and proceeded to give her introductory lecture on Native American art.

---

When the class came to an end, Jacob packed up his notebook and walked around the side of Flynn’s desk. “Hey, since we’re doing a project, we should exchange numbers.”

Flynn had been still scribbling something down, so it took a beat before he looked up at Jacob. “Phone number, yes, that’s a good idea.” He fished out his phone from a worn messenger bag stuffed with books and notebooks, handed it to Jacob, and then went back to writing.

Jacob waited for him to say more, but he didn’t speak, so he opened the phone and texted this is flynn’s number from Flynn’s phone to himself. Flynn was still writing, so he cleared his throat to get his attention. “Uh, here’s your phone.”

Flynn looked up a bit faster this time and took the phone. “Great.” He looked as if whatever was in the notebook was reaching out and trying to drag his head back to it, but he was now trying to fight it, looking at Jacob like he was trying to memorize Jacob. “Um, I’ll...see you around, in the stacks.”

He hadn’t imagined Flynn would be so awkward. “Sure, probably will.” Taking it as a cue, Flynn gave in to the pull of his notebook. Jacob wandered up to the professor; he had a habit of chatting up his professors after the first class, and today was no exception. Dr. Mashunkashey had just finished talking to another student when he walked up.

“I’ve heard good things about you, Mr. Stone.”

“And I’ve heard good things about you, too,” Jacob replied. “I wanted to take your class on Osage history last semester, but it conflicted with a class I needed to take.”

“I’ll be teaching it again in two years, so you’ve got some time,” she replied. Mumbling came from where Flynn was, making them both glance at him. “So you’ve got Flynn as your partner...that should be interesting. Do you know him from somewhere?”

“Yeah, I met ‘em in the library,” Jacob replied.

Dr. Mashunkashey laughed a little. “That sounds like the place to find him. Well, I look forward to your paper. Daniel, Dr. Griffith, liked your final paper so much he couldn’t quit talking about it.”

Jacob’s ears reddened a little. “Oh, well, I’m glad he enjoyed it.”

“Are you considering grad school?”

“Well, I’d uh, been thinkin’ about it, yeah.” He wasn’t about to tell her that he was also doing an engineering degree to take back home.

“If you want to talk about it, stop by my office anytime. There’s definitely fellowships out there for students like you, if finances are a concern.”

Jacob couldn’t help but perk up at that. “I’ll take you up on that. See you during office hours.”

---

Flynn, it turned out, was kind of the worst. Jacob wasn’t in a rush to get the project going, considering it wasn’t due until April anyway, but Flynn wanted to get started right away...at 3am apparently. Jacob hadn’t seen the string of texts until the next morning.

Flynn 3:04 AM: Can you do pottery? There’s a ceramics studio in Phillips Hall, I think I can get access to it.

Flynn 3:05 AM: There’s a few designs that would work for my time, depending on what works with your era.

Flynn 3:07 AM: You could decorate half and I’ll do the other.

Flynn 3:15 AM: Are there specific techniques your people used in their pottery making? We should use a traditional method.

Jacob didn’t reply right away. He went about his morning routine, and was on his way to the gym when his phone buzzed again.

Flynn 8:07 AM: What do you think about woodworking for our project?

Jacob groaned out loud, no one close enough to hear him. No wonder the professor was shocked he said yes to Flynn.

Jacob 8:08 AM: We have months to do this project. There’s no need to start so early.

Jacob shoved his phone in his pocket on do-not-disturb, intending to ignore any messages for the duration of his workout, but now that Flynn got him thinking about it, he sent off one more text.

Jacob 8:09 AM: I think pottery would probably work best. I’m sure we can manage it between the two of us.

Flynn responded almost instantaneously.

Flynn 8:10 AM: That’s what I was thinking. Though if we really wanted to incorporate both, we could also include the woodworking.

“Lord,” Jacob hissed, earning a confused look from the bleary-eyed student working the desk at the gym. He took his student ID and apologized. “Sorry, thanks.” It wouldn’t be that bad, so long as he didn’t let Flynn get under his skin.

Despite his efforts, Jacob’s workout was overshadowed by his loud thoughts. It wasn’t that he hoped Flynn would be cool, but, well, from months studying silently next to each other, Jacob had wondered what he would be like as a friend. He wanted to know what went on in Flynn's brain, what made him tick, what he did outside of class and studying. But now, he realized, Flynn was a brilliant mess of an academic who breathed school 24/7.

---

Flynn hadn’t been in the library Monday afternoon, and Jacob hadn’t gone to the library Tuesday. He hadn’t gotten any texts from him either, so by their second class on Wednesday, Jacob was curious what Flynn had been up to. That curiosity grew when Flynn showed up with a new notebook he hadn't had on Monday, already a quarter of the way filled with notes. "Jacob! So I talked to Kelly, er, Dr. Mashunkashey, and she talked to the art department, who then talked to the main ceramics professor, and he emailed me back saying we could do our project in his studio."

Jacob was kind of shocked at how fast he’d contacted people. “Well, that’s good.”

“I think we could start working on it, hm, next week?” Flynn looked down at Jacob expectantly, as he’d yet to take his seat.

For whatever reason, Jacob got an odd feeling in his stomach, but he ignored it. “I wasn’t plannin’ on gettin’ goin’ so soon, but I guess it wouldn’t hurt. I’ve only read about their pottery techniques, not done them, so extra time might be a good idea.” Flynn was practically vibrating with excitement at his response, which made Jacob laugh before he could stop himself.

Flynn thankfully didn’t think he was mocking him. “Great! The studio is open for us Friday afternoons.”

“I can do that,” Jacob replied. Flynn somehow smiled at him even more than he was, and well, Jacob couldn’t deny it felt nice to have that joy aimed at him. It didn’t last long though, as Flynn sat down when Dr. Mashunkashey walked into class. Flynn turned around in his seat and started going through his notes on the techniques he wanted to try until the professor had her powerpoint up and running.

Flynn wasn’t as insufferable as he thought, his excitement contagious, but Jacob realized this project was gonna be tough for another reason: he was falling for Flynn.

---

Jacob hadn't done any ceramics since art in high school. Flynn said he could, as apparently he minored in art to add to his many degrees, Jacob found out. It unnerved him a bit, to know that Flynn already had 2 Ph.D.'s and 3 masters in Egyptology, two ancient languages, Chinese history and physics, and that Flynn had no plans on stopping from acquiring more. All Jacob had was a high school diploma, though he had a lot in his head from the books he devoured and the time he spent out on the oil rigs.

The ceramics studio was thankfully empty when they arrived. The room was open, old windows hinting at a time when the space used to be an engineering workshop when the art building used to be the engineering building, which the engraved stone above one entrance still said. Shelving with a variety of in-progress and complete works lined most of the walls, with tables in the center of one half of the room, and space for throwing wheels in the other. It smelled like wet earth, and for a moment, Jacob imagined he was out on a new rig after a rain.

The professor who taught ceramics classes gave a basic rundown of the room, clearly with the dual purpose of informing them of where things were and sussing out just how skilled they were. Flynn's rambling at various points about technique and clay types seemed to satisfy the professor, who left them to their devices.

Flynn took a hunk of clay out of the plastic bag and started rolling out coils on top of a drywall square. "Okay, were there specific techniques you need to incorporate from your time period?"

"Well, it was coil-based, like yours, though the clay they used had a different composition ‘cause of where they sourced it," Jacob replied. Flynn had set him on making the base, so he was rolling out a slab to index finger thickness with a rolling pin.

It was clear Flynn had worked with clay before. He already had several coils made and covered to prevent drying out while Jacob hadn't even gotten to the right thickness yet. "Dr. Kanhg couldn't get clay with the mineral composition we needed, but he does have matte glazes we can use to make the clay look the right color, give it the more reddish hue," Flynn said. His eyes then flicked to Jacob's work, brow furrowing. "You're rolling it too thin."

Jacob had been paying attention to his clay, but then he had gotten distracted by Flynn working, how delicate yet firm he rolled out the coils under his palms, the way his hair flopped a bit with his head bent down. Jacob had rolled his clay out all right, to about an ⅛ inch thick divot in the middle with over an inch thick edges from not flipping his slab. If he was making a mini half-pipe, he would've done a fine job. "Uh, sorry, I'll start over." He went to smush it together when Flynn yanked the clay out from under his hands.

"If you do that you'll dry it out with the oil from your hands," Flynn snapped like Jacob was supposed to know that. Flynn folded it twice and then started slamming it on the drywall slab to combine it.

"I've only done ceramics once in high school, man," Jacob retorted, puffing himself up a bit on the stool he was sitting on.

"Clearly it shows," Flynn replied, salt in Jacob's wounded ego. Flynn, not very gently, shoved the drywall square with the now condensed clay over to Jacob. "Pay attention this time."

Jacob grunted at him, not trusting himself to say anything good, and rolled out his slab again. This time he kept his eyes glued to his work, ignoring the pinprick sensation of Flynn's judgemental gaze on him. He rolled it out well enough, and used a large yogurt container to trace out a circle and cut it out.

No sooner than he finished sliding the knife around the trace he made and started to pull the excess clay away, Flynn snatched the circle and started working it to attach the coils. "I was gonna do that," Jacob growled, watching Flynn flip the edges up with more speed and evenness than Jacob would have.

Flynn didn't look up at him. "And I'm sure you'd have to do it twice too."

"You don't know that," Jacob muttered, watching Flynn. He looked around the studio, feeling useless, so he said, "Is there something I can do? It's half my project too."

Flynn stopped working, glaring at him for a moment before softening his expression. "Have you made a coil pot before?"

"No...but I think I can do it from watching you," Jacob said.

Flynn narrowed his eyes a bit, but gently slid the partially done pot across the table to him. "Pinch and smooth down on the inside to connect the clay, but don't push too hard or you'll warp the coil below."

Jacob got halfway done with the coil before he punched through accidentally with his finger, making a hole. "Well fuck," he said as Flynn let out a frustrated sigh. It was going to take forever if he kept working, so he passed it back to Flynn. "Sorry."

"Since you're just going to mess it up, let me make it," Flynn said with exasperation. "You can decorate, if you won't mess that up too."

"Just ‘cause I'm not some genius like you and I mess up sometimes doesn't mean I can't do it," Jacob barked. For an instant he reminded himself of his father, and he cringed a little. He’d startled Flynn too; where Flynn had been repairing the hole Jacob made, there was now a rip again. “Sorry, I, uh, look. It took a lot for me to get here, and I wanna learn just as much as you do, but if you’re gonna treat me like I’m an idiot, I’m just gonna leave.”

Flynn didn’t respond at first, so Jacob started packing up his things and leaving. “No, wait!” Flynn grabbed his forearm; thankfully Jacob hadn’t rolled down his shirt sleeve yet. “I’m not good with people.”

Jacob huffed. “You don’t say.” He glanced at Flynn’s clay-dusted hand, still holding him, which made Flynn release him.

“I mean, school, learning, it’s everything to me. I don’t want to mess this project up. It has to be perfect, everything does, because that means I understand it.” Flynn went to rake a hand through his hair, but at the last second realized his hands were not clean, and stopped himself. “I just want one group project to go right. I hate group projects, but I need you to prove to Dr. Mashunkashey that I can work with people. She says I need to be able to do that if I want to be a professor.”

Jacob was not expecting Flynn to open up to him like that. Nor was he expecting the warmth in his chest when Flynn said he needed him, but he pushed that aside before he did anything reckless. “I’m willing to put in the effort if you are, but you have to let me do some of the work. I’m not gonna flake out.” Jacob hadn’t realized just how spooked Flynn was until he relaxed, tension released from his shoulders.

“Okay.” Flynn looked at the in-progress pot for a moment, then said, “I’m going to finish fixing the hole, then you can try again. You have to be gentle with it.”

“I know.” Jacob sat patiently, waiting for Flynn finish the repair. Once he did, he pushed the pot to Jacob. He started adding a new coil, but after a couple pinches, Flynn stopped him.

“You’ve got to be gentler than that,” Flynn said. “Can’t you feel when the clay is giving too much?” Without warning, Flynn took Jacob’s hand, looking at his fingers. “Oh, of course you can’t, you’ve got calloused fingertips.” He glanced up at Jacob. “Guitar, I assume?”

Jacob was doing all he could to contain himself. “Uh, yeah, and probably from years of working on an oil rig too.”

Flynn nodded thoughtfully at the addition, clearly filing it away wherever he was storing facts about Jacob. He hadn’t let go of Jacob’s hand, and this time Jacob wasn’t going to do anything to make him. “You’re pushing too hard, and thus thinning the clay too much at the join, that’s why you punched through,” Flynn explained. He then moved Jacob’s hand back into position, but this time, keeping his hand on top of Jacob’s. Their hands together almost didn’t fit into the pot, but Flynn made it work. “I’m going to press down so you can feel how hard you can go without breaking it, okay?”

Jacob nodded, not trusting words at the moment. Flynn proceeded to work the clay through Jacob’s hand, somehow just as good as he was before. Part of Jacob’s brain noticed that he didn’t push near as hard as Jacob had been when trying to be gentle, and filed it away, but most of his brain was focused on how intently Flynn was watching their hands work, and then how intently he was looking back at Jacob when he stopped. “Did you feel the difference?”

“Uh,” Jacob cleared his throat when it came out husky, “yeah, I did. Thanks. You really know your stuff.”

He noticed Flynn blush a little at the compliment. “Good. Uh,” Flynn realized he was still holding Jacob’s hand and released him, “now you try on your own.” After Jacob satisfactorily did a whole coil, they alternated until they reached a stopping point a third of the way through. “We need to let it dry to leather-hard before we add any more, otherwise it will collapse.”

Jacob vaguely remembered that leather-hard was a term to describe the texture of somewhat dried clay. “Alright. How long is that gonna take?”

Flynn considered the room a bit, thinking. “Today’s a humid day, so it would probably be best to wrap it with a paper towel and leave it in a plastic bag, then check it tomorrow.”

“Alright.” Jacob went and gathered the plastic and paper towels while Flynn fiddled with a coil. “I guess we can come back Monday afternoon?”

“That should be good, yes,” Flynn replied, swaddling the base of the pot with paper towels. He took a strip of plastic and wrapped the rim, and apparently noticed Jacob watching him. “This will keep the top fresh so when we come back, we can continue working it.”

Jacob nodded. He helped Flynn clean their area, replacing tools and wiping down the table. Done with their tasks, they awkwardly stared at each other across the table for a few moments before Jacob said, “Well, guess I’ll see ya Monday then?”

“Yes...see you then,” Flynn said, and then without warning, he rather hastily left the studio.

Jacob watched him go, then sat back down on the stool he’d been sitting on. “Oh Lord.”

---

He felt kind of guilty when he pulled up Clayton’s contact on his phone. He’d not been great about calling like he’d promised when he left Lawton, but Clayton always told him he knew college was hectic and to not worry about it. Still, as the phone rang, Jacob felt bad about calling just to talk about his personal life.

“Hey, long time no call, eh?” Clayton said as he answered.

“Yeah, sorry man. Some of these engineerin’ classes I should’ve tested out of, but they don’t really do that here,” Jacob replied. He was in his apartment, laying on his bed.

“I bet you could test out of half of that degree,” Clayton said with a laugh. “So what’s new with you?”

“I was gonna ask you that first,” Jacob said, feeling his face heat up already.

“You know I’d tell you the same as a few weeks ago, ‘cuz nothing new’s happened,” Clayton replied. “Plus,” Jacob could hear the smile in his voice, “I got a feelin’ you’re gonna ask for advice about somethin’.”

“How’d you, ugh, never mind,” Jacob scoffed, really blushing when Clayton laughed at him again. “Yeah, I got a...situation.”

Clayton sighed. “And who is he?”

Jacob sighed. “He’s in my Native American art history class, we’re partners on the group project, but I actually knew him before it.”

“...Wait, is this the same guy who you studied with in the library?”

Jacob shook his head, yet again surprised by how well Clayton could read him, even over the phone. “Studied near, but yeah. Turns out he’s doin’ a Ph.D. in Native history.”

"So he’s closer to your age?”

“I think so, though he might honestly be younger than me. The man’s got like five degrees already,” Jacob said, not bothering to keep the contempt out of his voice.

“So you went and fell for a genius, huh?”

“He’s a smartass,” Jacob said, but after a moment he added, “yeah, I have.” He was super fortunate to have such a good guy as Clayton he could call his best friend. He’d fallen for him too, briefly, but Clayton didn’t feel the same, and then Clayton decided it was his job to be Jacob’s wingman.

“And does he feel the same?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t think so at first, but now…”

Clayton chuckled. “Then tell me what happened.” Jacob explained the happenings in the ceramics studio. “Well, he sounds awkward, but I think it’d be best to ask him directly.”

Jacob knew Clayton was going to say that, but he still felt shocked. “I can’t just ask him!”

“Why not?” was all Clayton said.

“‘Cause, well, if he doesn’t, this whole project is gonna be awkward.”

“Isn’t it already though?”

Jacob thought a moment. “Well, I guess, yeah. But I also don’t wanna get distracted before we finish this project. It’s worth half our grade.”

“So you’re just gonna pine away in silence for three months?”

“It might not be three months...Flynn’s too focused on doing this project as quick as we can.” Jacob hadn’t really considered that until now. “If we get the project done quick, then there’s nothin’ stoppin’ me from askin’ him after.”

“That’s the spirit. Let me know how it goes, you know I wouldn’t mind drivin’ up if you needed it.”

“Thanks, Clayton.”

"Anytime, Jacob."

---

Jacob decided that getting the project mostly done was the priority. This meant he had to suffer through two more equally awkward handbuilding sessions before their pot was ready for the first firing. At least in class, Flynn’s back was to him, except when they had class discussions. By the time they started glazing their pot, Jacob swore Flynn knew exactly how he was making him feel.

Glazing was just as messy as he remembered in high school. Flynn didn’t care about the state of the table, or himself, so long as his strips on the pot were perfect replicas of various designs he picked. Compared to the pot making, Jacob turned out to be the better painter. The hardest part for him was picking the designs he wanted to use.

Jacob was halfway through a strip when Flynn asked, “Where did you learn how to paint?”

Jacob snickered a little. “Same as most everything else, self-taught.” He glanced at Flynn, who currently had smears of blue underglaze where he’d wiped his forehead. “Are ya goin’ for war paint too?”

Flynn narrowed his eyes, confused. “What?”

“You got underglaze on your face,” Jacob said, pointing at Flynn’s forehead with the brush.

Flynn swiped at his forehead, making the smear worse, which just made Jacob laugh harder. “Oh yeah? Well-” Flynn decided to go for direct retaliation and swiped at Jacob’s face with his orange-covered brush across the table “-Now we match!”

Jacob tried to dodge, about fell off his stool, and Flynn’s brush ended up tapping the end of his nose. He knew better, he really did, but Flynn had worn him down the past week, so Jacob got off his stool, holding his brush out like a rapier. “You’ll regret that,” he growled.

Taking the challenge, Flynn got into a much more trained en-garde stance. “I rather think you will!” Then, without warning, Flynn jumped around the edge of the table at him.

Jacob realized that he was outclassed, but gave a valiant effort anyway. Quickly, Flynn had him giving up ground, forcing him to the sink that sat in the middle of the room between the tables and throwing wheels. “You’ve taken a class on fencing, haven’t you?”

“Lessons, when I was a kid, but yes, I’ve been trained,” Flynn replied, spying for an opening to tag Jacob. Just as Flynn lunged, Jacob dodged left, letting Flynn catch himself on the sink. Flynn shook his head, a mischievous grin on his face. “You, you’ve got some fight experience too.” He took a swipe, forcing Jacob closer to the finished projects shelf. “But not formal, no...brawls, that’s what you get into.”

Jacob took a jab at Flynn, gaining a foot of ground, but Flynn quickly forced him back two. “Not been in a scrap in a while,” Jacob said, trying again to swipe himself some room.

Seeing Jacob essentially pinned, his left blocked by the stoneware clay reclaim bin and a table, Flynn went for the killing blow. Jacob knew how to read people in fights, and Flynn had gotten to the “confident of a win” stage, so Jacob ducked at the last possible second. This meant he was out of range of the brush, but Flynn was now barreling straight for the shelving. Without thinking, Jacob jumped back up, wrapping his arms around Flynn’s waist as he did and pushing him back away from the shelf.

“I was going to stop myself,” Flynn quipped as Jacob released him.

“I know overshooting when I see it,” Jacob retorted. He hadn’t stepped away from Flynn, nor had Flynn stepped away from him. They were less than a foot apart. Flynn’s eyes were dark, no doubt from the adrenaline of the fight; Jacob assumed he looked a similar state of riled up. He caught himself glancing at Flynn’s mouth without thinking, and was about to step away, until Flynn mimicked him, glancing at his lips.

Jacob closed the distance between them before he could think of reasons why he shouldn’t.

Flynn kissing him back made him forget any of those reasons.

An odd wetness on his forearm made him pull away. Flynn’s paintbrush had made an orange stripe on his arm. He looked back to Flynn, eyes even darker than they had been. “Guess we should finish the pot.”

“Uh, y...yeah,” Flynn said eloquently. “I didn’t know you…”

Jacob laughed under his breath. “You’ve been driving me crazy the past three weeks.”

Flynn’s eyes went wide. “I thought you were angry at me.”

Jacob closed his eyes, a smile on his face. “You really weren’t kiddin’ when you said you’re bad with people.” He opened his eyes when he felt Flynn shaking his head, nose brushing against Jacob’s. “Well, maybe I can teach you a thing or two,” he murmured, giving Flynn a tease of a kiss before pulling away again. “But we really should finish the pot.”

Flynn took a moment to adjust his focus. “Right, yes.” He stepped away, smoothing out his shirt in an effort to make himself look less flustered. He walked over to the pot, but turned back to Jacob following him. “So, we’re doing this?”

The fact that Jacob was now finding Flynn’s awkwardness really endearing was a testament to just how hard he’d fallen for the genius. “I am if you want to.”

Flynn nodded...and nodded some more before he responded, “Okay, good, yes, I very much want to do that again.”

Jacob laughed. “Well, we can make out as much as we want after we finish this pot, ‘cause the next firing is two days from now and it needs to dry before then.”

The motivation of more set a fire in Flynn’s belly; he attacked the pot with his brush, clearly caring less about perfect replication and more about finishing in the same general design so he could go do better things. Jacob put a little more effort into his, and thus was still painting when Flynn finished his underglaze design and cleaned his materials up. Flynn managed to sit there for 30 seconds before he interrupted Jacob. “How much longer will you take?”

Jacob glanced over at him, an eyebrow raised. “Why, you got somewhere you gotta be?” Flynn squirmed on his stool, making Jacob feel the heat of satisfaction in his chest. “I’ll be done when I’m done. I might just reward ya for your patience,” Jacob said with a smirk.

Flynn practically melted under his gaze, ears going red. “Okay...fine.”

It was just too fun seeing the effect of his words on Flynn. “Can you wait a little more for me?” Jacob rumbled, letting his voice get low and gravelly. “I’ll make it worth your while.” Flynn shuddered, making Jacob smile.

After Jacob slightly more hastily finished his strips, Flynn practically threw himself at him. Jacob had to make himself shove Flynn off him. “Hey, I didn’t say you could do that,” Jacob growled more than he had meant to; Flynn shuddered a bit. “We need to clean up, and not make out in a public classroom.” Flynn looked like he was enjoying getting told what to do too much, red flush on his face and neck, but eyes definitely staring Jacob down. “Look, once we clean up, we can go to my apartment, alright?”

Flynn, also very aware of how he was affecting Jacob, moved back into Jacob’s space. “You took entirely too long to say that,” he said, voice low and a bit breathy. Flynn leaned–not to kiss Jacob again, but to grab the dirty paint brushes on the workbench, making Jacob lean into empty air. Flynn looked at him expectantly. “Well? We better clean up then.”

“You little…” Jacob shook his head, smiling deviously. Flynn preened as he dramatically walked to the sink, knowing full well Jacob’s eyes were on him.

They could’ve been perhaps more thorough in their cleaning, if they weren’t both busy imagining what they were going to do to each other once they got to Jacob’s apartment.

---

The next class, Jacob had intended to play it cool, meaning acting like nothing unusual happened between him and Flynn. That fell flat when Flynn, arriving just barely on time as usual, strode over to Jacob with a dopey grin on his face. For a moment Jacob was terrified Flynn was going to kiss him in front of the whole class. Thankfully, Flynn just patted Jacob’s hand, purposely drawing his fingers away sensually, and then sat in his seat.

Once his brain restarted, Jacob looked around as discreetly as he could manage. No one seemed to have noticed, expect Dr. Mashunkashey, who was watching him with curiosity. Thankfully, she started class, and Jacob did his best to take notes and not reach out and pet the back of Flynn’s head.

On the way out of class, Dr. Mashunkashey stopped Jacob. “Jacob, can you talk for a moment?”

Jacob looked to Flynn, who was all but dragging him out of class to “work on the paper” which Jacob knew wasn’t what he was planning. Flynn didn’t seem to think anything amiss, so he said, “I’ll meet you outside,” and left the classroom.

“Everything okay with your project?” she asked, glancing at the door. “I know Flynn can be a bit...much, so if you need me to talk to him, I can.”

Jacob went a bit red, but tried to power through. “Oh, uh, nah, everything’s good. We’ve even started making our art piece.”

Dr. Mashunkashey seemed a bit surprised with his response. “Well, that’s certainly a change. I look forward to seeing what you two make together.”

Jacob’s brain of course heard “seeing you two together” and had to blink a few times to refocus himself. “I, uh, think it’ll be pretty good. It’s been a long while since I worked with clay, though that’s apparently one of Flynn’s many damn talents.” Jacob kicked himself internally, cursing in front of a professor like that.

Dr. Mashunkashey, to Jacob’s surprise, gave a hearty laugh. “I wouldn’t say it’s often I teach students who have more degrees than I do children. Though I think you could put Flynn in his paces from your papers so far.”

“Oh, I don’t think I could be as good as him,” Jacob retorted, pausing as he briefly considered what that would entail, “I’d have to quadruple major or something.”

“Well, I don’t want to keep you. Flynn seemed pretty eager to get to work.”

“Yeah...he really likes to work on things when he’s focused on them,” Jacob replied, pointedly making his way towards the door so he didn’t have to directly look at the professor. “Have a good day, Professor.”

“You too, Jacob,” she said with a wave.

Flynn was apparently waiting to pounce on him in the hallway, which Jacob had briefly pondered if he would, so he braced his arm to keep Flynn off him. While it did keep Flynn from macking on him, Flynn also took his arm and entwined his own, and started walking down the hall. “What did she have to talk about?”

“Oh, uh, she asked if we were doing okay–I mean, our project,” Jacob stammered, glancing down at their arms.

Flynn didn’t seem to care and just kept walking towards the stairs. “Oh, well I bet she was surprised to hear I’m not procrastinating on a project for once. Speaking of projects,” Flynn leaned to speak lowly into Jacob’s ear, “I was thinking we could move our research to your place, or mine.”

“Uh huh,” Jacob chuckled. “Well, I suppose we could do that.”

They did not, in fact, work on their project that morning.

---

In the end, they got an A on their papers, project, and presentation of said project. And Dr. Mashunkashey won her bet against her colleagues that Jacob and Flynn would get together by the end of her class.

-----

Post Notes: Sorry for the quick ending, I’ve been sitting on this fic since February and never finished it, so I figured making an ending and getting it out was better than it sitting in my google drive forever. Also, when it comes to ages, I saw them both as a bit older than your usual 18-22 college students; for both they’re at least 23 or so, Jacob from working with his father, and Flynn from doing other degrees.

The University of Tulsa doesn’t have a Native American studies program (they really should though given location and history of the school), but they do have a well-known petroleum engineering program, which is what gave me the idea of how to get Stone to school. Considering Flynn’s all about ancient history studies, surely the ancient American people he knows about too. And I’m assuming Jacob grew up somewhere out near Lawton, OK, based on the mileage he gave in “And What Lies Beneath the Stones” since the actual town Wagoner (Wagner was what they used in the episode) is about 45 minutes southeast from Tulsa.

#the librarians #the librarians fic #flynnstone #flynn carsen #jacob stone #librarians fanfic #fanfic #a. l. writes

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carryonsimoncarryonbaz · 4 years

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Little Secrets

for @nightimedreamersworld from the prompt list and tags you posted. Thanks to @ninemagicks for leading the way.

From a tumblr prompt list by @mraculous and sent to the Carry On fandom by @nightimedreamersworld : ‘a mutual friend tried to introduce us, but we already knew each other from LARPing but we’re both too embarrassed to admit that so I jokingly said we used to date and oh god now our friend won’t stop interrogating us about it’ AU

Little Secrets, a Snowbaz LARPing AU (2774 words)

Simon

“Do you want to come over Friday? I can order in curry and I’ll even watch that Netflix thing you’re obsessed with, if you like,” Penny says, before taking another bite of her sandwich. I’ve already finished mine but I take the chance to steal one of her crisps. She never finishes them. I hate seeing them go to waste.

No one should ever bin salt and vinegar crisps. It’s a crime against humanity.

It’s been harder to coordinate our schedules this term. Even meeting for lunch is a treat. We’ve not had a night in for weeks. It’s not as easy, now that we don’t live together.

And it’s not often that Penny offers to let me decide what we watch. Says she’s got standards and I watch too much “brain numbing rot.”

Castlevania is not rot. It’s fucking brilliant. My costume for this campaign is based on Trevor Belmont. It’s wicked good.

I’m gutted to have to turn her down though. Friday’s going to have to be a no. We’ve been gearing up for this campaign for weeks and I can’t miss it.

“I’m sorry. I can’t Friday.”

Penny looks at me over the top of her glasses. “Why not?”

She doesn’t know about this. About the LARP club I joined. It’s something I started doing over the summer, when she was away in India with her family.

I was bored. And lonely.

I don’t know why I haven’t mentioned it. It’s not that I’m embarrassed about it. I’m not. It’s a hell of a lot of fun swinging a sword around and taking part in campaigns. Even the costume workshops are entertaining.

Everyone’s so friendly. Well, most of them are, at any rate.

Penny tends to frown upon things like this. Things that don’t serve a purpose. Making new friends doesn’t count as serving a purpose. She’s told me more than once that having too many friends is an unnecessary burden. “There’s only so many hours in a day, Simon. Two, three people, that’s all any of us have time for.”

That’s all Penny has time for. I’m lucky to be one of her three people.

Telling her I’m spending two nights a week LARPing with near strangers while dressed as a medieval monster hunter likely won’t go over too well.

Especially as that amounts to two nights a week I’m not doing my coursework or revising. Sacrilege.

“Uh. I’ve got . . . uh, there’s a study group.”

“On a Friday night?” Her eyes widen.

“Yes.” The shorter the answer the better with Penny. I can’t get caught in a lie if I’m barely saying anything.

“For which class?”

Fuck it all. I can feel my leg starting to jiggle. She’ll know the gig is up if I don’t answer soon.

“Medieval Literature.” Thank fuck I’m actually taking that class this semester or she’d be onto me.

It’s not that far off, anyway. Most of the costumes qualify as Medieval.

“Dedicated lot.”

“Quite.”

“It’s good to see you being so devoted to your studies, Simon, what with applications for graduate programs coming up.”

As if I needed the reminder.

“Maybe we can try to find some time next week, then.”

“That’d be great.” I reach out to steal another crisp. She smacks my hand away. “I do miss you, Pen.”

Penny pushes the bag of crisps over to me with a sigh, but she’s smiling. “I miss you too, Si.”

It’s not until the next week that we manage to make plans. And it’s not for curry and Netflix.

We’re at Foyles, having spent the last hour listening to one of Penny’s favorite poets do a reading and a Q & A. Penny’s dead gone for Nikita Gill. I thought it was mostly because she’s a femininst and Indian but I see the point, now that I’ve heard her read from her latest book. She’s brilliant.

Penny’s in line to get her book signed and I’m just sort of shuffling along with her, feeling like a bit of a tit, seeing as I’ve not got a book myself.

Should I? I feel I ought to at least have something, but it’s too late now, we’re almost to the signing table.

Predictably, Penny gets into an intense conversation with the author while I stand there, shifting from foot to foot uncomfortably and nodding every so often. The store clerk finally gets Penny to shove off. She drags it out for another minute and then we’re finally clear of that scene.

I’m ready to head to the pub for a bite, but Penny stops down the line to talk to someone from her seminar and I’m left at loose ends again. It’s mostly uni types in the crowd, nearly all of them intense and bright eyed as they talk over each other now and indulge in some excitable hand waving. There’re a few blokes here and there, moody looking types with man-buns, horn rimmed glasses, and oversized jumpers. I recognize one or two from my classes but no one I know well.

Penny stops to talk to another person and I’m in despair over dinner. I wander over to a book display and idly flip through some paperbacks as I wait for her. Thankfully it’s not more than a few minutes later when I hear her call out to me. “Simon!”

I trot over, more than ready to make a run for the pub but her first words aren’t “let’s get out of here.”

“Si, I want you to meet my friend.”

Oh, fuck. We’re never going to get to the pub at this rate. I plaster a smile on my face and turn to say ‘ hello’ to whoever it is Penny is bound and determined to have me meet.

And I freeze.

“This is Baz. He’s in my Modern British Poets seminar and he’s almost as keen about vampire lore as you are.”

I raise my eyes and meet Baz’s cool stare, that one eyebrow of his arched as he meets my gaze.

Fuck. I don’t need to be introduced to Baz. I know Baz. He’s the Mage in our campaign. He’s a fucking ruthless one too, dead brill with his spells, even though he’s a bit shit when he’s got to do any swordwork.

That was my main job on the summer campaign--give him cover so he could cast his spells and decipher his runes and whatever else it is that Mages do.

I’m front line offense now--cut down anyone in my path, long before they can get near the rest of our party. It’s up to Gareth and Niall to have Baz’s back this time around.

I can’t very well pretend I don’t know him, but I really don’t want to be explaining that I’m in a LARP club to Penny in the middle of this bookstore, not in front of Baz.

Fuck.

I give Baz a pleading look which I’m sure only confuses him, based on the way his eyebrow arches up even more. I don’t know how to convey “don’t tell Penny you know me from the Dragonknight campaign” with just my eyes.

“I’m well acquainted with Simon, Bunce.”

I am well and truly fucked.

“You two know each other?” Penny gives me a penetrating look.

Baz keeps talking. “Yes, we’ve been--” but I interrupt him before he can say anything more.

“He’s my ex.”

I have literally no idea why I said that. And there’s no taking it back, now that it’s out there.

Two sets of eyes goggle at me, both of Baz’s eyebrows reaching for his hairline now. Penny looks scandalized.

“Your what?” she asks.

“My ex-boyfriend,” I clarify, literally begging Baz to go along with this with my eyes. I probably look like a gormless twat. Just go along with it, I try to broadcast that thought across the two feet of space between us.

“Your ex-boyfriend,” Penny says flatly. “How do I not know about this, Simon?”

Baz looks just as curious, but thank Christ he doesn’t say anything.

“Oh, you now, summer romance, short-lived fling, gone but not forgotten.” I’m literally babbling.

“Very short lived,” Baz says drily. “So short lived I’d be surprised if he had mentioned it, Bunce.” He’s smirking, the smug bastard. Arms crossed over his chest, that one fucking eyebrow mocking me now.

“Yes, ah, you know, summer.”

“I’d say I don’t know at all, Simon.” Penny’s looking between us, a suspicious look on her face. “Why don’t you fill me in. I’d love to hear about my best friend and my study partner getting together and me being none the wiser.”

Baz is full on grinning now. “Yes, why don’t you tell her, Simon? Unless you’d rather I did?”

I think the fuck not.

“Ah. Well. You know we met . . . ah . . . at the library.”

“What on earth were you doing at the library?”

What the fuck was I doing at the library? I never go to the library and Penny knows that.

Fuck.

“Wasn’t that when your laptop was being wonky?” Baz chimes in.

I scowl at him. Only one of us needs to be fabricating this tale and that someone is me.

“At least that’s what I remember you saying, when you came in that night.”

Bloody hell.

“Uh, yeah. That’s what it was. Had to come in and do a lit search on premises.”

“It’s a good thing I was working the desk that night,” Baz says, uncrossing his arms and sliding his hands into his jeans pockets.

My eyes follow his hands down and keep going.

I don’t think I’ve ever seen Baz in jeans before. Tunics? Yes. Majestic robes? Yes.

Elegant, fitted jeans that are snug all the right spots? Well, I’d remember seeing that before, is all I’m saying.

I drag my eyes back up to his face. “Uh, yes, um, good thing.”

I didn’t know he worked at the library.

“Simon came in, just before closing time, with the idea that he was going to do a search and print it all out in mere minutes.” He’s really warming to the subject and I’ve lost control of this whole situation.

“Typical,” Penny says and I’m outraged.

“What?” I sputter.

She nods her head at Baz. “He gave you those puppy dog eyes and that crooked little smile of his, didn't he?”

“Now, see here, I’m the one telling the story and–”

But Baz steamrolls right over me. “Oh, you know he did, Bunce.” He gives me a fond look that makes my face heat up.

What’s he playing at? I rub at the back of my neck, feel the clammy sweat starting to form there.

“Got you to do the whole thing for him, didn’t he?”

This is pure slander. I’m not going to stand for this.

“I couldn’t resist his roguish charm.”

“Listen, now--”

Baz just keeps talking. “I had no idea he was such a shameless flirt.” He shakes his head at me and actually manages to look almost mournful, the lying bastard. “Charmed me, wined me, dined me. But once his laptop was functional and the research project complete, just a few short weeks later, he dumped me without a second thought.”

“Simon!” Penny’s glaring at me now. She’s bought his whole fabrication and I’ve got no one but myself to blame for this farce.

“Just wait a bloody minute!” I yelp.

Baz hunches his shoulders and lowers his head. “By text, no less.”

“Really, Simon, how could you?” Penny’s all righteous indignation, her hand coming to rest on Baz’s arm, eyes blazing as she rakes her gaze over me. “I go away for a few weeks and you not only manage to seduce my friend but then unceremoniously dump him by text? You know better than that. You were a bloody wreck when Agatha did that to you!”

And now she’s airing my entire sordid dating history to Baz in the middle of a bloody Foyles on a Thursday night and I’ve not even had dinner. This takes the biscuit, I swear to god.

“Penny, listen, it was nothing like that, really, I swear.”

She’s got her arms crossed over her chest. “Then how was it, Simon?” Cold as ice. You’d think Baz was her best friend and confidant, not me.

This is a fucking disaster. I’d have been better off telling her about the LARPing.

I am going to tell her about the LARPing. It’s the only way out of this mess.

“Listen, Pen, I’m sorry. I thought you’d be upset I was wasting my time--”

“Wasting your time?” Baz interrupts. “Is that what you’re calling our two weeks, then?”

“That’s not what I meant!” I’m going to let a berserker just go by me and wreck Baz this week, I swear I am. Won’t even brandish my sword at him, I’ll just point him in Baz’s direction. It’d serve the bastard right. “Listen, Penny, I was going to tell you, but I was a bit embarrassed--”

“As well you should be, the way you behaved.” Penny interrupts me this time and I have reached my fucking limit.

“Would the two of you let me finish one bloody sentence?”

Two expectant faces meet mine but I swear there’s a glint in Baz’s eyes and his lips quirk like he’s trying to keep himself from laughing. Arsehole. I may go after him myself this week, if he’s not careful. Go rogue. It’d be worth it, just to wipe the smug look off his face.

He’s got his hair down tonight. I don’t know why I didn’t notice that earlier. He’s usually got it up when we’re–fucking hell, why am I thinking about his hair right now?

“Ok, so let me finish what I’ve got to say or I swear to Christ I am going to go off.” Baz inclines his head and waves a hand at me in a ‘have at it’ gesture. Penny frowns but holds her tongue. “So, while you were gone this summer I got a bit caught up in LARPing.”

“You did what?” Penny asks.

“LARPing. Live action role play.”

“Whatever for?”

“I don’t know. For something to do.”

“And why are you telling me this now?”

I pull at my hair and groan. “Because that’s how I met Baz. He’s not my ex. I’ve never gone out with him. I just made that all up, rather than tell you about the whole LARP business.”

“Why on earth would you concoct all that nonsense, Simon?” Penny’s looking completely perplexed but Baz has this cheeky grin, the absolute wanker.

He’s got a dimple in his left cheek.

Fuck.

“Because I thought you’d be irritated. It’s not something that serves a purpose.”

“Why would I care what you do with your free time?”

Oh my fucking god.

I give my hair another yank. “Aren’t you always telling me I should spend more time on my studies? Keep my social life a bit more contained?”

Penny has the audacity to shrug. “I’m not your keeper. If you need to swing a sword around to let off some steam, far be it from me to argue.”

She turns to Baz and smacks him on the arm. “What were you thinking, going along with all this nonsense of his tonight? I’d not expect that kind of foolishness from you, Baz.”

Baz leans against a bookshelf and flashes her a grin. “Let’s just say my curiosity was piqued, when he threw that ex comment out there. And you know how I love to spin a good story, Bunce. He certainly wasn’t going to pull one over on you by himself.” His eyes light on me and there’s something smouldering in the depths of them. Something I’d like to get a closer look at.

“Well, you’re ridiculous, the both of you,” Penny says. “You deserve each other, honestly.” She shakes her head. “Anyway, I’m starved. It’s past time we went to dinner.”

“Enjoy the rest of your evening.” Baz’s eyes never leave mine. “I’ll see you Friday then, Snow?”

He used my LARPing alias.

I liked it better when he was calling me Simon.

Penny hooks her arm around his. “Come join us, Baz. Since you and Simon already know each other so well.”

He adjusts his book bag on his shoulder. “I suppose I could do with some dinner.”

Penny keeps her hold on his arm and leans back to look at me behind Baz’s back.

And then she winks.

I think I’m the one that’s been played.

And when Baz’s knee knocks into mine as he squeezes into our booth at the pub I realise I don’t mind one bit.

also on ao3 Little Secrets

#LARPing AU #prompt list #my writing #my fics #thank you for this list #this one leaped out at me #fun list and fun prompts #non magical AU #of course Simon watches Castlevania

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friendly-neighborhood-kinnie · 4 years

Text

Perfect-Miraculous fic

A/N: Here’s the first chapter, this is going to be a one shot based off a pov series I saw on tiktok (kenna..acting_) I asked permission to use the idea and here we are! I hope you all enjoy this!!

Warnings: This will have overdosing on pills on purpose, crying, and worried friends panicking, and telling someone they should have taken more. Let me know if I need to add more!

(No One’s POV)

Marinette screamed in frustration as she threw her backpack against the wall in her bedroom. Lila was getting worse, she had turned everyone but Adrien and Chloe against her. Everyone constantly gave her dirty looks, Lila threatened her every moment she could and tried everything in her power to make her miserable but she was still class representative because she could handle all the pressure of it according to them. What made all of this ten times worse was that Hawkmoth was letting out three akumas a day for the past three weeks. So she had barely slept, she was behind on homework and commissions and she was supposed to help at the bakery a few times a week. She was so close to snapping at everyone, but she knew she couldn't.

“Marinette, you need to stay calm. You can risk Hawk Moth akumatizing you if you don’t.” Tikki told her concerned.

“Well then, let him! Because then maybe I will actually get people’s attention and i won’t have so much on my plate!” She shouted at the kwamii. That jumped back and watched her helplessly.

She looked over at her vanity and walked over. She opened the draws and rummaged through them before she found what she was looking for. She took a bottle of pills from her drawer and grabbed her water bottle. She poured a handful out and put them in her mouth. She quickly drank water and swallowed them all.

“Marinette! What are you doing?!” Tikki shouted rushing over.

“Leave me alone. I’m going for a walk.” Marinette mumbled, she went downstairs and told her parents she was going to take a walk and left.

Chat Noir was patrolling early. His dad was getting more and more strict about his schedule and he needed a break. So after he had eaten dinner and was told he had the rest of the night off by Natalie he quickly jumped at that opportunity. He was jumping from roof to roof as quick as he could. He relished in the adrenaline of it, he beamed as the wind hit his face and blew his hair back. He was in a more secluded area of Paris, there were mostly abandoned buildings in this area. Barely anyone walked over here or drove over here or anything. He was watching things from above when he saw a familiar pair of bluish-black pigtails walking along and a smiling, relaxed Marinette. Too relaxed Chat noticed. So he bounced down in front of her quickly noting the minor wheezing that he heard from her.

“Hello Princess!” Chat beamed at the girl who jumped back slightly when he first landed.

“Hello Chat!” She hummed out, she sounded as if she were in utter bliss from something, he didn’t know, but he wanted to. Something wasn’t right with her and he knew it.

“How are you?” He asked as he walked with her.

She hummed for a second before looking over, “I took a shit load of pills.” She replied, closing her eyes, her head lolling around for a second.

“Pills...Princess, What pills?” Chat asked quickly, panic flooding over him. He stopped them both from walking and looked over at her. He held her arms as he looked over her.

“Oh you know, pills!” She sighed out, she fell slightly and Chat led her to the ground gently.

“Marinette?” He asked quickly, he watched her eyes slip shut and her head loll around again.

He gently shook her, he put his ear to her chest and listened for her heartbeat. He sighed in relief when he heard it. it surprised him Hawk Moth hadn’t tried to akumatize the girl. Chat assumed he must have some form of a heart and wouldn’t akumatize someone when they weren’t mentally okay. He gently picked her up and began running to the nearest hospital.

Marinette groaned slightly as she opened her eyes. Things were still blurry, but she was managing. She thought over everything she had done before it hit her. She took a handful of pills without care and that had effects. That was dangerous.

“Chat, I’m Sixteen years old…” She croaked out, tears began forming in her eyes.

“I know Mari.” He whispered, his voice broke slightly as he ran faster.

“I-I don’t want to die…” She whimpered as a tear slipped down her face.

“I’m going to save you Princess, I promise.” He told her before grabbing his Baton and extending it.

“Please. Help me.” She sobbed out.

Chat landed on a roof and immediately began jumping buildings and rushing to get her to a hospital.

He tried calming the sobbing girl in his arms as he ran over the top of buildings, using his baton when needed. He had somehow yet to notice the little red Kwamii that rested in her jacket. Tikki had small tears in her eyes as she was overwhelmed with worry for her holder.

“We’re almost there Princess I swear, we’re almost there.” He told her, he blinked away tears as he landed in front of the hospital, “Excuse me? I really need help. I found her on a walk and stopped to talk and she said she took a bunch of pills and I need help!” He yelled hysterical to the poor lady at the front desk.

The woman immediately picked up the phone and paged doctors and nursed. The doctors rushed over with a bed he quickly set her on it not looking away as the doctor began asking questions.

“When did she take the pills and do you know what kind?”

“I don’t know and she wouldn’t tell me. Is she going to be okay?” He asked voice breaking, he looked over at the doctor for a second before watching the roll her away.

“We’ll try our best. Do you know the patient's name?” The doctor asked him quickly.

“Marinette Dupen-Cheng.” He replied quickly, taking a breath, “Can I wait in her room? Or outside it?” He asked quickly. He was panicking slightly.

“Yes, of course, I will lead you there.” The doctor responded, he led him to the room the doctor told him they were still working on stabilizing her so Chat sat against the wall across from her room. He waited for a doctor to come out and say she was going to be okay and that she was alive and stable.

He called Ladybug to tell her a little of what happened but it went straight to voicemail so he told her he had an emergency with a friend as Chat Noir and had taken her to the hospital and was waiting to make sure she was okay before leaving. He waited quietly for someone to come out of the room, he felt something drip onto his hand and he looked down. He realized it was a tear, and he wiped his face quickly.

“She’s stable. She’s sleeping right now, but we predict she’ll wake up soon. You can go in. We’re about to call her parents now.” The doctor told him as he walked out of the room. Chat nodded and went in quickly.

“Mari, what made it come to this?” He whispered, he sat slowly on the edge of the bed, a few tears slipping down his face.

“Chat?” Marinette whispered, shifting in the bed and groaning slightly.

“Yeah.” He sighed out.

“Why am I in a-Oh god. I’m so sorry.” She teared up quickly as she remembered what had happened.

“It’s okay, everything is okay now.” He told her softly.

“Oh god. I fucked up.” She sobbed harder, squeezing her eyes shut.

“Hey, no it’s okay.” Chat gently took her hand.

A knock was heard from the door causing the two to look over. Marinette let out a strangled gasp. She immediately tried to blink back tears before they fell. She took quick breaths before turning to Chat Noir.

“No, no. Everyone thinks that I’m perfect. Please, don’t let them look through the curtains.” She replied before hearing the door open. She wiped her eyes quickly and put on a small smile. Missing the look of hurt that crossed Chat’s face.

“Oh my god, Marinette, are you okay?!” Alya asked quickly as soon as she went in.

“Yeah, I’m okay, It was just a little accident.” Marinette replied softly.

“We were so worried, I brought Lila, she wanted to check up on you, even though you don’t get along. Your parents called me and asked me to check on you because they got a call from the doctors but are at an event they can’t leave. They said they’d be here as soon as they could.” Alya explained to the girl who looked over at Lila.

“Oh Marinette, I was so worried as soon as I heard you were in the hospital. Especially because of the reason!” Lila exclaimed, rushing over and hugging the girl. She put her mouth near her ear before whispering. “You should have taken the whole thing.”

“I think you guys should leave.” Chat spoke up. “I’m just saying because she looks exhausted and I’m sure she needs all the rest she can get.”

“Why are you here, anyway?” Alya asked, confused. Lila went back to standing next to Alya.

“I found her and brought her here. She must have gone one a walk or something.” he told them.

“Doesn’t explain why you’re still here though.” Lila responded glaring slightly.

“Just making sure she stays okay till her parents get here. Bye.” he waved at the two, he was being passive aggressive he knew it, but Lila would not get away with what she said and he needed her to leave as soon as possible.

They left waving goodbye to Marinette. Chat watched the door close and stood up and hugged Marinette as she began sobbing. He held her gently, brushing the hair from her face as he rocked them a bit.

“Don’t listen to her. She’s just a lying bitch.” Chat told her quietly as he held her.

“I’m so sorry.” She sobbed, her breathing became more erratic as she panicked. “I almost left my partner, and best friend with no explanation as to why I disappeared.’ She thought to herself, this caused her to sob harder. She held onto her partner even tighter burying her face in his chest.

“Hey, hey, shh. It’s okay, everything will be okay.” He whispered to her.

“I need to tell you something because I can’t not tell you it wouldn’t be fair and-I’m so sorry.” She told him quickly as she let out another sob.

“Okay, okay, let’s first take a deep breath, yeah?” Chat asked the girl who nodded and breathed deeply. He waited for her to release the breath before speaking again. “Alright Princess, what did you need to tell me?”

“I’m...I’m ladybug.” She whispered looking at him with wide eyes, she was crying more thinking about loosing her partner.

“What?”

“I’m Ladybug, and-oh god where’s Tikki?” Marinette panicked again until the red Kwamii flew in front of her. She let out a relieved sob when she saw the small kwamii.

“I never left you Marinette.” Tikki told the girl as she nuzzled her cheek.

“I’m so sorry.” She sobbed out.

“It’s okay now.” Tikki told her, she placed a tiny kiss on her holder’s cheek.

“you’re...Ladybug...I almost lost you both.'' Chat whispered letting out a quiet sob. He bit his lip trying to bite back any more sobs that tried to slip past his lips. “Plagg. Claws in.” He whispered.

“Adrien…” Marinette whispered softly as she watched him.

“I almost lost you both.” He mumbled, he hugged her again, just holding her,

“I’m sorry.” She whispered, she had no tears left, so she just hugged Adrien tighter.

“It’s okay, It’ll be okay. I’m not angry, I’m hurt, but that’s because I didn’t notice you were struggling. It’s not your fault”

They moved, so they were both lying down, Adrien cradling her. They didn’t talk, they just laid there in silence. Adrien occasionally kisses the top of her head. He played with her hair, taking it out of the pigtails that were still intact. Tikki and Plagg sat on the side table as they watched their holders, being wary for any butterflies. They had a feeling that Hawkmoth knew that this would be too far though.

“It’ll be okay, I promise I’ll make it okay.” Adrien whispered to her.

“Thank you for staying.” Marinette sniffled.

“Always Little Bug.”

A/N: Hey all! So that was the story! It is a lot shorter than I wanted it to be but I had this idea after watching those videos and wanted to write it while it was fresh and while I have motivation.

Love You All!

-Dallas Marie

#miraculous ladybug #ml ladybug #chat noir #cat noir #adrien agreste #marinette dupen chang #hurt-comfort #angst #ml angst

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revwinchester · 7 years

Text

Centerfold - Epilogue

Summary: Dean stumbles across an interview and photoshoot starring his high school crush (and younger brother’s friend) Castiel. He decides he’s going to stop at nothing to get back in touch with the boy with the blue eyes who used to sit in front of him in homeroom.

Genre: Mostly fluff with a touch of angst

Pairing: Destiel

Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Castiel

Word Count: 2066

Series Warnings: AU - No Supernatural, Porn Star Cas, Mentions of Sex (but no depictions), Bastardization of SPN Lines, Scenes, and Episode Titles

A/N: This whole series came out of a prompt for @thinkwritexpress-official‘s Back To School Challenge! The fic is based on the J Gelis Band song “Centerfold” in which a man finds his high school crush on the pages of his favorite porn magazine. This is it, friends, we’ve reached the end of this little ride. I hope you’ve enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!! And be aware, there’s a time jump here - you (probably) didn’t miss a chapter ;)

Find it on AO3

Centerfold Masterlist

Centerfold - Epilogue -

The sights and sounds of Las Vegas were among Dean’s favorites. He and Sam had been making yearly pilgrimages to Sin City since the winter after Sam’s 21st birthday but, lately, the trips had been more about business than pleasure. Then again, business was pleasure when your partner was a porn star.

Dean was charming the pants off of anyone who was in the line for Castiel’s autograph, working the merchandise table and talking to the fans about the different items they could buy or sometimes just talking about Castiel’s work. It had been an adjustment, at first, knowing that everyone Dean interacted with at a convention like this had seen his boyfriend naked and had watched him have sex with a bunch of other actors but once he had gotten over the initial shock of that, Dean found he enjoyed the events. Specifically, he loved watching Castiel at these things.

Cas, or really Jimmy, interacted with his fans with ease, snapping selfies and signing DVDs, posters, and the occasional dildo. Most of the fans wanted to fawn over his work and some were brave enough to ask for a lewd pose in their photo. A couple asked Cas about his partner.

Castiel had revealed in a recent interview that he had begun dating someone just after his spread in Hot Rod Hotties and that now, two and a half years into their relationship, things were rather serious between them. Cas had said that they weren’t someone in the porn industry but, besides that, he hadn’t shared any more info about the mystery partner but, of course, fans were curious. “What’s their name?” and “Do they watch your movies?” were the two most common questions, though Cas only ever answered the latter, and no one ever gave the attractive merch guy a second glance. No one besides Cas, that is. Whenever he had a spare moment, he’d catch Dean’s eye and send a smile his way.

The pair had discussed going public with their relationship but Cas had suggested waiting until he retired from being on screen. Dean didn’t need that kind of attention, he had reasoned. “After all,” Cas had joked, “there are a lot of weirdos out there and not all stalkers get their happy ending.” After he had finished scowling and pouting at Cas, Dean had agreed to wait. He was still able to attend most events with Cas, since he ran the sales portion of his boyfriend’s booth, and he had learned that it was fairly common for the talent to travel with the same entourage from one convention to the next rather than having to train new people in each city.

As the day wrapped up, Dean began to put away the unsold merchandise. He was organizing a stack of photos when he felt familiar arms wrap around his waist and a warm chest press against his back.

“Don’t drool on the goods,” Cas laughed, “I know that Jimmy guy is pretty hot but you can’t sell the pictures if you’ve slobbered all over them.”

Dean spun around and out of Castiel’s grasp. “You gotta be careful, someone could see, Cas,” Dean chastised but Cas just smiled and winked at him before he picked up a handful of DVDs and packed them away. They cleaned up the rest of the booth in companionable silence and then made their way back to the hotel room they were sharing.

Dean stashed the box while Cas headed into the bathroom. The AVN Awards were that night and he was nominated for Best Actor for his work as two characters in The Big Empty and for Male Performer of the Year. He was predicted to with them both but, if everything went well, those two awards weren’t the only thing Cas would be celebrating.

Cas showered quickly, knowing that Dean would want to take one as well. He got out of the stall and dried himself off before wrapping the towel around his waist and stepping back into the hotel room. “The shower’s all yours,” he told Dean, who had situated himself on the bed and was flipping through the channels on the hotel’s tv. Cas pulled his towel off and rummaged through his bag for a fresh pair of underwear.

“Nah, I’m good here,” Dean replied.

Cas turned around and looked at Dean. The man, who had clearly been staring at his ass, was not unapologetically raking his eyes over Castiel’s naked body. Cas arched an eyebrow at him. “Dean, go shower or you won’t have time.”

“I was enjoying the show,” Dean mumbled as Cas pulled his underwear up over his hips, covering his groin from his boyfriend’s view. He rolled off of the bed and continued grumbling as he made his way into the bathroom, pulling the door shut and starting the water.

Cas finished getting dressed, putting on his favorite suit and shirt, opting for a blue tie that he knew brought out his eyes. He finished tying the tie and tucked the little box he had been hiding all week into his jacket’s inner pocket just as the shower shut off. Cas smiled at his reflection; he needed to look good tonight - at the very least, he’d likely be all over YouTube in a couple of hours.

Dean came out of the bathroom surrounded by a puff of steam and crossed the room st stand behind Cas. “You look gorgeous,” he assured the man who he had caught fidgeting with his tie, before pressing a kiss onto Castiel’s cheek and turning to his suitcase to find the beginnings of his outfit for the evening. His towel was drooping and Dean let it fall, wiggling his ass when Cas let out a wolf whistle.

Once Dean was dressed, they made their way down to the awards ceremony. They were brought to their seats by an usher but before they sat, Cas turned to Dean. “Do you mind finding us some drinks? I need to go and have a quick chat with my manager before the show.”

Dean smiled and winked before he headed back out of the theater and towards the open bar in the lobby.

Cas watched him go before he tracked down someone who could get his message to the person running the camera crew during the show. If he won both awards, he wanted the camera that would have been broadcasting his face onto the big screens in the room to stay put. Once he was assured that the message would be relayed, Cas joined Dean back at their seats just as the lights dimmed for the show to begin.

Awards were given and speeches were made and, after about an hour, it was time for the first category in which Cas was nominated, Best Actor.

The awards weren’t being broadcasted on any television, but Cas knew that a couple of the major porn sites would be live streaming, so there were cameras in the room, one of which was pointed at him. He smiled at the camera when the presenter said his name and then schooled his features into a gently anticipatory expression.

“And the winner is…” The presenter opened the envelope. “Jimmy Novak in The Big Empty!”

Cas stood, as did all of the people around him. He hugged a few of them, giving Dean an extra little squeeze, and then made his way to the stage.

“Thank you, thank you so much. There are so many people to thank… Thank you to the team behind The Big Empty, especially my costars and Director Dick, Thank you to my manager and to Dean.” Cas paused for a second and winked. It was the first time he had named Dean, though he didn’t pontificate on who Dean was. “I’m so excited to win this award, especially because it’s always fun to go out with a bang - pun intended - and I,” Cas paused again, waiting for the little bit of laughter to die down, “and I am announcing my retirement tonight. I’ve got one more shoot scheduled and then I’ll be transitioning into the next phase of my career. Thank you all, for this award, and for making the last 20 or so years amazing.”

Cas retreated back stage as the next presenter came to the microphone. He cut the interviews short with the promise to sit down for a longer interview after the show ended, wanting to get back to Dean. The retirement announcement had been a surprise for his boyfriend and Cas didn’t want to leave him wondering for too long. As soon as he could, Cas sat down beside Dean again. “Hi,” Cas whispered, a small smile on his face. “Surprise!”

Dean surreptitiously grabbed Castiel’s hand. “You’re doing this because it’s what you want, right?” he asked quietly, looking at Cas. “Not because you think it’s what I want?”

“Yes, Dean,” Cas replied. “While I won’t lie and tell you that you didn’t play a role in this decision, this is what I want. I have a few ideas as to what might come next for me and we can talk about them soon. The one thing I need to know now, though, is if you still want to be open about our relationship with the porn world now. If I win the next one, can I thank my partner?”

Dean squeezed Castiel’s hand and brought it up to his lips. “That would be perfect, Cas.”

The pair settled back into the seats, Dean still holding his boyfriend’s hand as the awards progressed. As the night went on, Dean noticed that Cas was starting to get more and more nervous. It was odd. This wasn’t the first time he had been up for awards and he had never gotten this riled up over it before. Dean did what he could to calm Cas and quietly reassure him but by the time the presenter was announcing the nominees for Male Performer of the Year, Cas was practically buzzing with nervous excitement.

“And the AVN for Male Performer of the Year goes to… Jimmy Novak!”

Cas rose from his seat again. This time, he didn’t hug anyone before Dean. He pulled his boyfriend in and held him tightly. “I love you,” he whispered, kissing him before making his way to the stage.

“Thank you, this is truly an honor. I don’t know if it’s possible to top my last speech, but I’m certainly going to try,” Cas laughed. He took a deep breath and centered himself, allowing himself to be Castiel for one of the first times ever in the presence of his colleagues. “There are so many people to thank and I promise I’ll call you all tomorrow. Right now, I want to use my time to say this: Dean, I love you. The past two and a half years have been among the best in my life and I am so glad that your brother and I let the air out of my tire in an attempt to orchestrate our meeting and that you took me to dinner instead of to the police station… We always said that we would share our relationship with the porn world once I retired so I can’t think of a better time to do this.” Cas reached into his jacket and pulled out the box he had hidden there. “Dean, will you do me the honor of marrying me?”

The crowd erupted into applause as Dean’s face was displayed on the large screens to the sides of the stage. He looked shocked but then started laughing, one of his hands rubbing his eyes and then swiping down his face before he nodded and Cas saw, rather than heard, him say “Yes.”

Cas left the stage, adopting his Jimmy persona for the final time as he went to meet the media for the interviews he had promised them earlier. He was just as eager to get back to Dean and to his seat this time but he knew that playing nice and answering their questions would be the quickest way to do that.

Cas made it back to his seat just in time for the final award of the night but neither he nor Dean would be able to recall who had won that prize because as soon as he was seated, Dean pulled Cas in and kissed him soundly.

If you would like to be added to (or removed from) one of my tag lists, please send me an ask and let me know!

Centerfold Tags: @shutupiminlooove

ALL THE TAGS! (forevers): @deathtonormalcy56 @supernaturalyobsessed @roxy-davenport @sumara62 @ginamsmith @gallifreyansass @samwinjarpad @hexparker @thinkwritexpress-official @atc74

Destiel Tags from @mrswhozeewhatsis: @mrswhozeewhatsis @thinkwritexpress-official @deandoesthingstome @manawhaat @thegleegeneration @SinceriouslyAmellPadalecki @ferferelli @fangirling-instead-of-working @chrisatplay @faith-in-dean @mamaimpala @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @curliesallovertheplace @skybinx-blog @purgatoan @impossible-box @deansleather @faegal04 @sunriserose1023 @dr-dean @jelly-beans-and-gstrings @saving-things-hunting-family @jotink78 @i-dont-know-how-to-write @notnaturalanahi @howmanytuesdaysdidyouhave @mysaintsasinner @besslincoln-bruh @shelovesallthethings @klaineaholic @hexparker @rockhoochie

#twx school challenge #supernatural fanfiction #spn fanfic #Destiel #dean winchester x castiel #dean winchester #castiel #Sam Winchester #fics by Rev

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babybluebanshee · 7 years

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Heavy Rains - Chapter 1 (TF2)

Being stranded at Teufort during a raging storm with a gaggle of homicidal mercenaries isn't Miss Pauling's idea of a relaxing vacation. The group tries to make the best of it, but when a mysterious illness starts making its way through the barracks, it's a race against time to find a cure before it's too late. And that's not even bringing the emotional baggage into things.

Rain was not a common occurrence in Teufort. The town got around fifteen inches of precipitation a year, and even then, most of the townsfolk blamed that on a witch’s curse.

Most of the time, it was bone-dry and hellishly hot, a barren wasteland only fit for a few determined souls and the likes of the Mann. Co mercenaries, men too tough and too damn insane to register things like heat stroke and dehydration.

So naturally, when the local radio weather station predicted bizarre torrential rains headed directly for the small New Mexico town, accompanied by thunder, lightning, and winds reaching at least sixty miles an hour, the townspeople blamed the witch and burned effigies in their front yards. The Mann Co. mercenaries were simply confused.

And although Miss Pauling counted herself among the confused, she had very little time to dwell on it. She was currently overseeing the shipment of various supplies to the men at the Teufort base, to tide them over until the storm had passed. She had put them to work loading the boxes off the truck, so they could sort them in the loading bay later. It was best to keep the nine men occupied during something like this. Each one was a volatile whack job in their own special way. Something about being stuck together in close quarters brought all that out in full, destructive force.

She didn’t need another incident like the one in Coldfront. It’d taken three days to clean up the mess, and most of the mercs still complained about ringing in their ears because of the explosion.

With black clouds looming on the horizon, the project couldn’t be completed fast enough for her liking. Sadly, the mercenaries seemed to be in no big hurry, and kept distracting themselves by bickering and trying to loot through the boxes like a bunch of excited kids, eager to see what they’d gotten for Christmas.

“I ain’t lifting that one,” Miss Pauling heard Scout shout. Looking over the rim of her clipboard, she saw him standing next to a large box, and staring up at Soldier. Scout’s face was scrunched up in what he probably thought was an intimidating glare. Miss Pauling thought he just looked constipated. Soldier carried two boxes, one on each of his shoulders, and didn’t look too happy to have Scout in his face, managing to pull off a legitimately intimidating look, even with his helmet obscuring his eyes.

“That box weighs twice as much as me. I try to lift that, I’m gonna snap in two,” Scout continued.

Soldier snorted like an angry bull, and said, or rather yelled, “Back in my day, we didn’t have Sallies like you running around. We were strong and lifted boxes all damn day. And then we threw those boxes at the Nazis and we LIKED IT.”

“Pardon me if I ain’t gonna take my history lessons from a certifiable head case like you,” Scout yelled back, jamming his tiny body as close to Soldier’s as possible. It wasn’t exactly the dominant stance he’d hoped for, since he did only come up to the bottom of Soldier’s chin, but he held his ground nonetheless.

“Oh, son, your mouth is writing checks your butt will find uncashable. Uncashable, you hear me!?” Soldier growled, lobbing the boxes he carried to the ground. He shoved himself even closer to Scout, and continued his tirade. “Insinuate that I am crazy one more time, and your butt will be escorted from the bank, am I understood, private?!”

As the two men continued to scream in each other’s faces, Engineer, Heavy, and Sniper walked by them, each carrying a box on their shoulder. Engineer cast a look between Scout, Soldier, and the three boxes lying on the ground, and then, shaking his head, picked up one with his free hand and slung it under his arm. Heavy and Sniper quietly did the same.

Miss Pauling felt a headache coming on as thunder rumbled in the distance.

It was soon drowned out by a loud, celebratory “Woooooo!” that sounded from inside the loading bay. Suddenly, Demoman came rushing out, a bottle of Mann Co. beer in each hand, and a few on the bandolier that usually held his grenades. Miss Pauling didn’t want to think about where the grenades were now.

“Feast yer eyes on this, lads,” Demo called, using a thumb to pop off the cap of a bottle and take a swig. “The lass was good enough te bring us a whole case of the stuff. This wee squall will pass in no time if I have my way about it.”

“Ya best take it easy there, partner,” Engineer said, setting his boxes by Demo’s feet. “Otherwise that case ain’t gonna last you two hours, let alone the entire storm.”

Demo paid him no attention, simply tipped his head back and drained the open bottle. After he’d gotten every last drop, he let out a long sigh of satisfaction before he pointed to Miss Pauling and said, “Bless ye, lass.”

Miss Pauling gave a small smile and said, “I figured you guys might as well have some small comforts while you’re shut up during the storm. It’d get pretty boring around here otherwise.” After a moment’s consideration, she added, “Just please don’t overdo it. I do not want to come back to another Coldfront.”

Medic came up behind her, carrying a box of bottled water in front of him, and huffed, saying, “It was not so bad, Miss Pauling. I managed to reattach Scout’s thumb completely after all.”

Before Miss Pauling could register that nobody had ever mentioned any thumb reattachments, another rumble of thunder, much closer than the last, made the ground tremble beneath them. “Alright, you guys,” she said, taking her lavender pen from behind her ear. “Looks like the rain is ahead of schedule. We need to get these last couple boxes in the base before we all get soaked. Heavy, Engie, can you bring them in? There should only be a few more, mostly more water and stuff.”

The two men nodded and started their way back over to the truck. Miss Pauling continued, “Medic, Sniper, get inside and help Demo, Pyro, and Spy sort through all that stuff. Try to keep Pyro away from the paper products until Engie gets back in there to distract him.”

Medic and Sniper did not look at all happy about their assignment of dealing with the firebug, but they obeyed without a fight, although Miss Pauling swore she heard Medic mumble something she knew for certain to be a German swear. She didn’t bother herself with it at the moment. Soldier and Scout were still arguing a few yards away, and Soldier had managed somehow to find his shovel. This needed to be taken care of before first blood. Tucking her pen back behind her ear, Miss Pauling walked over to them, and managed to catch more of their ridiculous argument insults layered on top of each other so only snippets could be heard at a time.

“...think your shovel scares me, ya lunkhead?”

“...and we lived on falcon eggs and rocks…”

Miss Pauling’s head ached harder. “Guys, that’s enough!”

“He started it!” Scout said, jabbing an accusatory finger right into Soldier’s helmet.

Miss Pauling saw Engineer and Heavy out of the corner of her eye. Their arms were loaded with boxes, and they cast a wary look up at the sky before dashing inside, the added weight of the supplies nothing to them. She heaved a silent sigh through her nose. “I don’t care who started it,” she said evenly. “I’m here to finish it. Now quit screaming in each other’s faces and get inside. If you don’t hurry, you’re gonna get -”

There was a blinding flash of lightning, following by a deafening crash of thunder. Then, the sky almost seemed to open up, and the torrential downpour hit them like a tidal wave beating the shore. All three of them were sodden in a matter of seconds.

“...soaked.”

Soldier and Scout looked at Miss Pauling like a couple of scolded children. Miss Pauling merely jabbed a finger in the direction of the loading bay, and they both began marching toward it. Miss Pauling followed behind them, regretting with every step that she’d decided to wear pumps that kept getting stuck in the sucking desert mud.

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

As soon as Miss Pauling was inside, a towel was draped over her shoulder courtesy of Engineer. She gave him a smile, set her clipboard (which had thankfully managed to stay mostly dry) to the side, and furiously started rubbing herself down. As she pulled off her glasses to wipe the rain off, she saw Sniper throw a couple of towels to Soldier and Scout, managing to hit Scout directly in the face. The towel muffled Scout’s indignant yelp, which Sniper was ignoring anyway to pull down the loading bay door.

Throwing the towel back over her shoulders, Miss Pauling slicked back the strands of hair that had come loose from her bun and pulled out her pen. “Okay, guys, time for some inventory. Just wanna make sure that everything is here. I can already check off the beer…”

Demo gave another hearty “Woooooo!”, before throwing back another bottle.

“So let’s crack open the rest of these and get them put away.”

To her side, Heavy nodded and grabbed a nearby crowbar, jamming it under the lid of the nearest crate and jimmying it open in one swift motion. He tossed the lid out of the way, and it landed with a thick clunk. Engineer tapped Pyro on the shoulder and motioned for him to help him sift through it, while Heavy moved along the line of boxes, cracking each of them open like a powerful machine for a pair of mercs to dig through. For once, Miss Pauling felt as though things were going to go smoothly.

Another crack of thunder made her jump. The noise was as clear as if they didn’t have concrete walls surrounding them, and that made Miss Pauling nervous. She didn’t like being nervous. Nervousness meant a lack of control.

“Sure would be nice if we had a radio,” she said, thinking out loud more than anything.

“Oh yes,” Spy suddenly said, pulling himself away from the box he and Sniper rifled through. “I almost forgot.” He ducked down, and pulled up a small, beat-up black baseball radio. “I’m sure this will be sufficient. Assuming it still works.”

“Hey, that’s mine!” Scout shouted as soon as he set eyes on the radio.

“Don’t be such a child. I merely borrowed it for a greater purpose,” Spy said, setting the device on a nearby chair. He flicked a switch on the side, and a small burst of static began emanating from the speakers, nearly drowned out completely by the rain beating intensely against the metal roof.

“You coulda just asked,” Scout said, the pout evident in his voice as he went back to pulling paper towels and toilet paper out of his box. “Didn’t have to go through my room and swipe my stuff.”

“Oh, don’t act so scandalized. I go through everyone’s rooms,” Spy said dismissively as he fiddled with the knobs. For a minute or two, it seemed that the radio wouldn’t be able to do anything but spit static at them because of the rain. They got snippets of a drawling political discussions and a very garbled classical music station (which seemed to disappoint Medic immensely), but finally, Spy managed to find the Teufort weather station, although it was quite faint, and interrupted by the occasional burst of static.

“...citizens wisely preparing for what promises to be a very brutal storm, possibly the *bzzzzzt* of Teufort has ever seen. There *bzzzt* reports of mass flooding, especially along the road leading out of the town and to the highway. All *bzzt* redirected, and many of the roads closed down until the end of the storm. Civilians are advised *bzzzzzzzzt* leaving Teufort, as it is currently incredibly unsafe.”

Miss Pauling’s headache returned with a roaring vengeance.

She was stranded here. She was stranded with a group of nine mercenaries who, last time they’d been cooped up together, had caused explosions and apparently lost thumbs.

“Well, ain’t that a kick in the teeth,” Engineer muttered. “I’m real sorry, Miss Pauling. Looks like you’re stuck with us for the next couple of days.”

The rest of the mercs looked up at her apologetically. Well, except for Scout, who looked quite pleased at this turn of events. In an obvious attempt at smoothness, he said, “Yeah, that’s definitely too bad. But hey, I’m sure we can make the most of it.” He flashed Miss Pauling a crooked smile that made him look like an excited puppy. Miss Pauling had to bite back a frustrated groan.

Spy, letting out a quiet huff, rolled his eyes and shut off the baseball radio. Taking two long strides, he reached Scout’s side and shoved the radio into the boy’s hands. “Yes, we’ll certainly make the most of it,” he said, his tone borderline scolding. “Which is why Miss Pauling will be staying in my room. On the opposite end of the base from yours.”

A titter rippled through the group of men. Scout’s face reddened, and he shot Spy a glare very suited to a sullen teenager.

“Oh, Spy,” Miss Pauling said. “I don’t want take your room.”

“Nonsense,” Spy replied, waving off her concerns. “I insist. I’ll stay in my smoking room. The chairs there are as comfortable as any bed.”

Miss Pauling gave him a grateful smile. “Well, thank you, then. I appreciate that.”

Another crash of thunder made the base tremble around them. Engineer nearly dropped the case of Bonk he was pulling out of a crate. “Sheeeoot,” he muttered. “Always hated storms. Got the worst back home. Least you don’t gotta worry about twisters here. If we had to deal with one of those, I’d be heading for the hills.”

As soon as Engineer set down the case, Scout tore into it, pulling out a can and popping it open. It fizzed merrily. He tipped it back, draining the contents in seconds. Crushing the now-empty can in his hand and tossing it over his shoulder, he said, “You think a twister is bad, hard hat? Try a hurricane. Not only do you got rain, thunder, and lightning 24/7, okay? But you gotta worry about floods too. I remember when I was nine, we got hit with a really bad one. Any of you guys ever heard of Hurricane Esther? Worst one that I’ve ever been through. We got stuck inside for days. Couldn’t leave, couldn’t nothing. Made one of my brothers cry. That was actually the one bright spot of the whole thing.”

Scout’s light-speed chatter tapered off as he pulled out another Bonk and cracked it open. The other mercs seemed to deflate with relief at the silence.

The reprieve did not last, as the loudest crash of thunder the storm had offered up yet once again shook the base. It felt like a bomb had been detonated right outside the loading bay door.

And then the lights went out.

“Well, hell…” Miss Pauling heard Engineer grumble.

From somewhere in the dark, Pyro let out a frightened whine. Engineer once again spoke, this time in a much gentler tone “It’s okay, Smokey,” he said. “I can get those back on, no problem. Just gotta find a flashlight…”

There was a sound of something heavy colliding with a body, and someone let out an “oof!”

“Shit, sorry, uh, whoever that was…” Engineer said.

“No worries, mate,” Sniper ground out. “Ain’t like I need all me ribs anyways…ow...”

There was a sound of footsteps, then a cry of pain from Spy. “That was my foot, bushman!”

“You try getting a metal arm to the gut, ya bloody spook,” Sniper hissed back. “Think it’d take your mind off your shoes getting a bit scoffed.”

“I doubt it, considering these shoes cost more than that repulsive van you sleep in.”

Someone fell backwards into one of the crates, apparently grabbing Medic on the way down. Miss Pauling heard him cry out, “Scheisse!”

“Jesus, hard hat,” Scout grumbled. Miss Pauling heard him scrambling to get back to his feet. He must have been the one to fall into the boxes. “You’re gonna kill somebody with that thing.”

“Well, it’s damn dark, son. I don’t know what to tell ya.” Another thud of metal against flesh, but this time the flesh sounded much more solid. Engineer must have hit Heavy. “Sorry, big guy…”

“Is no problem,” Heavy said casually.

“Did anyone actually see a flashlight in any of the boxes?” Miss Pauling asked. She stood as still as she could. There was no need to contribute anymore to this unfolding chaos.

No one answered her. They were heading towards another Coldfront at full speed.

Then, suddenly, a tiny light filled the space. It drew everyone’s attention simultaneously. Sitting cross-legged on the floor, sat Pyro. In his hands, his lighter, burning brightly.

Engineer grinned and said, “Well, ain’t you a smart little bug?”

Pyro merely let out a sheepish giggle.

Miss Pauling did a quick survey of things - Sniper was still gingerly holding his ribs, though he looked like he wasn’t in too much pain. Spy, now that he was actually able to see them, seemed to be inspecting the damage done to his shoes. Scout hoisted himself back up into a standing position, while Medic glared daggers at him for pulling him down. Engineer was roughly an inch from Heavy’s gargantuan torso. Demo took advantage of the light to pop the top off another bottle of beer, which he handed to Soldier. Both watched the others fumble over each other from a safe distance. Miss Pauling heard them chortle.

She took a deep breath. Things were okay. No one was injured. No one was dead. She could work with this.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Engineer slap Pyro’s hand away from a roll of paper towel stick out of a crate, which he’d been slowly moving the lighter closer and closer to. Pyro let out a defeated whine.

She could mostly work with this.

--------------- It took Engineer two and a half hours to restore the power. “Would have gotten it sooner,” he said as he came back into the loading bay, wiping the sweat away from under his hard hat, “but there were a few times when I had to back off ‘cause of the lightning. Don’t wanna get cooked if it strikes here again.”

“I thought lightning didn’t strike in the same place twice,” Scout said. He’d found his baseball and was lazily tossing it in the air and catching it as it came back down.

Engineer grinned a bit and replied, “That’s just a myth, son. Been through enough storms to know that lightning tends to do strike wherever it damn well pleases.”

Scout seemed unimpressed by this fact. He merely turned his attention back to his baseball, his expression bored and, oddly enough, sleepy. Miss Pauling didn’t even know it was possible for Scout to run out of energy.

Then again, looking at the seven other men lounging around the loading bay, she couldn’t say she was surprised. In the two and a half hours Engineer had been fiddling with the power, they’d been cleaning out the crates of supplies and putting everything away, seeing only by flashlight. It had surprisingly taken a lot out of them. Demo and Soldier were both on the edge of sleep, sitting back to back, still holding bottles of beer in their hands as their heads dipped every so often. More bottles were scattered around their feet.

Sniper had pulled his hat over his face, and she noticed his body slackening every so often as he dozed. Spy took a lazy drag of his cigarette. Medic had fetched his chessboard and had coaxed Heavy into a game. Pyro was practically curled up on the floor like a kitten, napping.

The rain had eased up a bit, though it still hit the roof with rigid consistency. Miss Pauling listened to it for a minute. She supposed that the sound would be enough to lull even hardened mercenaries to sleep after a stressful day of work.

“What about the rest of the stuff in the control room?” she asked. She tried not to yawn. Confound that rain, it was soothing.

“It’s pretty much all shot,” Engineer replied. “Communications are down, and the respawn is just...out. And crawling in there to fix it while this storm is still raging is outta the question. Lightning strikes while I’m in there, I come out looking like bacon left on the skillet too long.”

Miss Pauling couldn’t help the groan that escaped.

No communications. No respawn.

Normally, that wouldn’t bother her. As concerned as she was about the mercs eventually snapping from the confinement and inflicting bodily harm on each other, she at least trusted them enough to not kill each other. They feared Medic and his particular brand of “healing” enough to try and keep themselves in one piece for the next few days.

It was just one more thing to worry about. One more thing that could make things worse. One more thing out of her control. One more thing that she’d have to write up in the mountains of paperwork that were inevitably going to follow this whole debacle. Her head throbbed again.

Spy stood up, pulling her from her increasingly anxious thoughts. Taking one last drag of his cigarette and stamping it out against one of the discarded crates, he said, “I don’t know about the rest of you, gentlemen, but I find myself all ‘funned’ out. And if no one is interesting in cooking dinner…”

A collective groan rose up from the exhausted pile of mercenaries.

“As I expected. With that, I believe I shall retire for the evening.” He turned on his heels until he was facing Miss Pauling. “Shall we?” he asked, motioning towards the hall.

“Oh, yeah, sure,” she replied. She had been so wrapped up in her own thoughts that she’d almost forgotten Spy offering his room. She found herself a little too wired for sleep just yet, but she honestly couldn’t think of anything else to do to kill time until she was. Maybe she could just lay down, stare at the ceiling, and wonder what antagonistic gods had thought it amusing to strand her here.

She let him lead down the hall, past the dining hall and respawn room, and into the barracks. They passed eight doors, one for every man in the base - except, generally, for Sniper. Like any outdoorsman, he preferred sleeping outside, and made a habit of sleeping out in his camper van whenever the weather permitted. Weather was most definitely not permitting now, and Miss Pauling had gently persuaded him to remain indoors for the remainder of the storm. Although the suggestion had made him stare at her like she’d grown another head out of her abdomen, he’d grumbled an agreement.

And Miss Pauling’s mother wondered why her daughter seemed so lukewarm on the idea of children.

She nearly collided with Spy’s back as he stopped in front of the final door, near the end of the hallway. They had reached his quarters. Miss Pauling made no comment about how close it was to a large exit sign, leading out of the base.

“If you need anything, please don’t hesitate to ask me,” Spy said as he opened his door, motioning for Miss Pauling to enter ahead of him. Ever the gentleman, even when motioning a lady into the spartan barracks of a military base.

Looking around the room as she stepped in, she realized “spartan” might even be too generous for Spy’s room. The place was almost completely bare. She knew for a fact that most of the other mercs had some personal things in their rooms - photos of family, posters, calendars, even the occasional pin-up picture in Scout’s case.

Spy’s room was completely spotless. His thin bed was made, blankets smooth and pristine, pillow propped against the wall and looking like a human head had never made contact with it. Minimal personal effects. Hardly a hint about what kind of man lived here, as much a mystery as Spy himself.

The only indication a person was ever in this room was the desk, which held a line of books, pressed against the wall. Moving closer to them, Miss Pauling realized they were very well-thumbed, having obviously seen multiple readings. One book was set aside from the others, a scrap of paper stuck between the pages to act as a bookmark - A Pocket Full of Rye by Agatha Christie.

Spy was reading a cozy mystery?

A quick look at the other books on the desk revealed similarly unexpected titles, at least the ones that weren’t in French - seven books all featuring “Austen” embossed in gold lettering on the spine. A few more Christies thrown in. The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes. Even a dime store copy of The Andromeda Strain.

“You are more than welcome to read those.” Miss Pauling jumped a bit. She’d almost forgotten Spy was in the room, and with his infamous cat-like quietness and grace, he’d walked up to her side to see what she’d been gawking at. He’d pulled out a cigarette in that time, and had managed to silently light it.

“I simply ask that you be careful with Mr. Crichton,” he continued. “A few of the pages are falling out. Cheap glue does not last in New Mexico heat, as it turns out.”

“Yeah…” Miss Pauling muttered, feeling the heat rising to her cheeks and ears. “Um, sorry for being nosy. I just...ya know, never pegged you for much of a reader. Let alone Miss Marple.”

Spy chuckled a bit. “Things can be tedious around here when there are no battles to fight. And Dapper Cadaver is only a monthly subscription, after all.”

Miss Pauling smiled back. Though she’d never say it to Spy’s face, these books offered a look at a side of him he did his best never to show anyone - a human side. It was strangely endearing that this man, who prided himself of his suavity and mystique and ruthless efficiency at putting knives in backs, could be content with reading a quaint story about a spinster turned amatuer sleuth.

She cast another glance at the books. “I don’t get much time for reading these days,” she said. “Demands of the job, ya know? I don’t think I’ve sat down and read a full book since I was in college.”

“I would go mad,” Spy said, pulling a face of mock horror. “Surely we must catch you up. After all, you have plenty of time to fill presently.” He ran a finger down the line of books, humming curiously to himself as he did.

“Really, Spy, it’s fine,” Miss Pauling said. “I’m sure I can find something to do to pass the time.”

“Oh yes,” Spy said. He didn’t look up from the line of books. “I’m sure that Scout would be more than willing to let you ‘hang out’ with him. Sounds positively riveting.”

“...give me the damn book.”

A sly smile spread across Spy’s lips as he pulled out one of the Austen books and held it out to her. Gold lettering on the cover read Pride and Prejudice. She recalled being threatened with the book in high school, if she had chosen to take the AP courses. All the upperclassmen girls had complained loudly about it. She’d stuck with the regular English course and only had to read Huck Finn.

“I dunno, Spy…”

Spy gently set the book in her hands and closed her fingers around it. “Just give it a try, and if you don’t care for it, bring it back. I have many more in my smoking room to choose from,” he said. “I know it seems daunting, but believe me, she is worth it. Besides, I believe you’ll find...a bit of kinship with Miss Elizabeth Bennett.”

“Yeah?”

“She too often finds herself the only voice of reason amongst less than sane persons.”

Miss Pauling couldn’t help but laugh. “Okay,” she said. “I’ll give it a shot.”

“Excellent,” Spy said. She didn’t miss the excitement evident in his voice. “Perhaps we can even discuss it once you’ve finished?”

“Don’t push your luck.”

“Ah, well, it was a noble effort, no?” Spy said, his grin slightly devilish.

Miss Pauling chuckled again.

Spy’s grin softened a bit as he said, “I realize this was not the way you intended to spend the next few days. And I know the others and I...we can be a bit overwhelming.”

“That’s not…” Miss Pauling trailed off, the bare-faced lie dying on her tongue.

“I appreciate you not thinking you had to spare my feelings,” Spy said. “Although we may not act like it, all of us are fairly self-aware. We are forced to spend every day around each other. We know what we are like. I promise you, Miss Pauling, I will try and make this as uneventful as I can.”

Miss Pauling felt a warmth rise in her chest. She clutched the book a little tighter as she said, “Thank you, Spy. For everything.”

Spy bowed slightly at the waist. “You’re quite welcome. Goodnight to you, and enjoy the book.”

And with that, he grabbed up the Agatha Christie and walked out, shutting the door softly behind him.

Miss Pauling looked down at the book in her hand again. It didn’t look too terribly long, and besides, Spy had offered other stuff if she didn’t like it. There was no harm in humoring him, not after a promise like that.

Especially when a glance at her watch showed it was only a little past nine, and she didn’t feel in the slightest bit tired. Who knew, maybe a boring book would be the best way to help her fall asleep.

She sat down on Spy’s bed and removed her mud-caked shoes. She tossed them under the desk, so they’d be out of the way. Then came the nylons, which she pulled off gingerly and folded neatly. At two pair for a dollar, she wasn’t taking any chances with them. She pulled out the four bobby pins and the rubber band that held her bun in place. She tossed them onto the nearby desk. She gave her now-free hair a quick tousle. Then she pulled her arms into her blouse and undid her bra clasp, pulling it out and tossing it on the floor with the shoes.

Fuck it, she was basically in for the night, and she liked to think no one would come in without knocking first. She was willing to put up with a lot of things, but sleeping in her bra wasn’t one of them.

She laid back, propping herself up a bit on Spy’s pillow, and nestled the book on her chest. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw something small and white at the far end of the desk.

Upon further inspection, she realized it was a bottle of aspirin. A water bottle sat on the desk next to it. She hadn’t even heard Spy set them down before he left.

Well, now there was no two ways about it. She’d have to read the book. It would only be polite.

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

Medic felt his eye give an involuntary twitch when he heard Scout’s loud, obnoxious groans just outside the doors of his lab. And here he’d been hoping to spend the evening in relative peace and quiet, cleaning up around the lab or doing paperwork or tinkering with some Uber upgrades, to the tranquil sound of the rain outside. Another groan, obviously meant to sound piteous, echoed through his lab as Scout stumbled in, slamming the swinging door so hard it banged into the wall and frightened many of the nearby doves into fluttering, in search of less dangerous perches.

Medic’s eye twitched again. He pushed his glasses up and said, “What is it Scout?”

He lifted his head to look at the younger mercenary, who stumbled over to his desk, clutching his stomach as if it were ripping him apart from the inside. “Doooooooc,” he moaned. He sounded like a toddler crying for it’s mother when it wasn’t getting enough attention. “I’m dying, doc, you gotta save me.”

Medic rolled his eyes. Scout was, to be perfectly frank, the biggest baby he’d ever known when it came to physical maladies. Skinned knees got him grinding through clenched teeth that he was sure to bleed out in moments. A black eye had him wailing that he was blind now, worse off even than the black Scottish cyclops. Stomach cramps got him in the fetal position, crying out that it was cancer, it had to be cancer, tell his mother he loved her. Every time, Medic checked him out, submitting him to a full physical exam if that’s what it took, simply to silence the bellyaching. He never found anything more wrong with Scout than the typical bumps and bruises that befell every other man in this God-forsaken base.

He wasn’t about to entertain Scout’s incessant whining tonight, not when the weather already had him in a less than ideal mood.

“Scout, I do not have the patience for you tonight,” he grumbled, standing from his chair and walking out from behind his desk. Perhaps if he put distance between himself and the little twerp, Scout would get the message and leave him be.

“Aww, come on, doc!” If anything, Scout’s whining got even more pathetic. “Feels like I’m gonna keel over any second. Have a little sympathy, will ya?”

“I rarely have sympathy for the idiot who comes in here every time he stubs his toe,” Medic snapped.

Scout opened his mouth, probably to plead his case again, but he quickly shut it and let out another choked moan. His arms pulled even tighter around his abdomen. If Medic hadn’t known better, he’d almost call that genuine pain on Scout’s face.

Medic didn’t have any illusions about his position. He was not what many called “a caring professional”. To him, the healing was a rather tedious side effect of his experiments. After all, it was easier to poke someone’s atrophied liver if they weren’t in danger of dying on you before you could put it back. But you just didn’t figure out the secret to cheating life-threatening injuries by being a bleeding heart to every whining toddler that came limping through your door with stomachaches and broken bones and the entirety of their blood on the outside of their body. It just cut into the amount of hours you could spend finding reasonably priced Loch Ness hamster hearts.

But he wasn’t entirely without compassion. While his comrades tended to give him funny looks when he asked for volunteers for his more...ambitious projects, they did still volunteer. The wild success of his Ubercharge was proof of that. And the biggest reason for it was because he tried his damnedest to do it as painlessly as possible. It didn’t take a dubiously achieved medical license to know that people didn’t like pain, not even mercenaries who were used to be shot, stabbed, and blown to bits.

Medic was many things, but a sadist was not one of them. It just wasn’t conducive to his curiosity.

Which is why, after another pained groan from Scout, he sighed heavily, opened one of his desk drawers, and pulled out a bottle of white tablets. He tossed them to Scout and said, “Take two of these tonight and get some sleep. If you don’t feel any better in the morning, come back. Then I’ll see what else I can do, ja?”

Relief blossomed on Scout’s face. “Thanks, doc,” he said. He turned the bottle over in his hand, the tablets clacking together against the glass. “So, these penicillin or something?”

“It’s aspirin, Scout,” Medic said, turning his attention back to his papers. “You probably will not need penicillin any time soon. Unless you have a case of syphilis you haven’t mentioned. In which case I have been working on a super vaccine from some spare bits of the bread tumors. You will never guess where that gets injected…” For added effect, he looked up slightly and gave his best maniacal grin.

What little color was left in Scout’s face drained away, and he muttered a “Night, doc” before tucking the bottle in his pocket and stiffly walking out.

Medic chuckled once he was alone. He may not have been a sadist by nature, but he seemed to becoming quite cunning in his advancing age.

#team fortress2 #tf2 #fanfic #miss pauling #tf2 scout #tf2 pyro #tf2 soldier #tf2 heavy #tf2 demo #tf2 engineer #tf2 medic #tf2 sniper #tf2 spy #heavy rains

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the-master-cylinder · 4 years

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SUMMARY Keneely and Farrell are detectives with the LAPD vice squad. Although they show great talent for breaking up prostitution and drug rings, many of these enterprises are protected by crime boss Carl Rizzo, who exerts his influence throughout the city and the department. Evidence is altered before trial, colleagues refuse to help with basic police work, and the detectives are pushed to pursue other cases—mostly stakeouts on gay bars and public lavatories. After personally confronting Rizzo, Keneely and Farrell are brutally beaten while investigating one of his prostitutes. Frustrated but without any legal options, they resort to harassing Rizzo and his establishments, warding off customers and following his family around the city. Soon, Rizzo is rushed to the hospital for a heart condition. Realizing that he also used a medical emergency as an alibi during a previous drug sale, Keneely and Farrell head to the hospital and discover that drugs are trading hands there, hidden in flower pots. Rizzo escapes in an ambulance, while Keneely and Farrell make chase in another. The chase ends when both ambulances crash; although Keneely holds Rizzo at gunpoint, Rizzo laughs that the evidence against him is circumstantial—and, at most, will result in a light sentence.

The film ends on a freeze-frame of Keneely’s face as Rizzo dares him to shoot. In a voice-over, Keneely applies to an employment agency, claiming that he doesn’t know why he left his job at the LAPD—finally concluding that he “needed a change.”

DEVELOPMENT/PRODUCTION Robert Chartoff wanted to make another film about vice cops after The New Centurions. They hired Peter Hyams to write and direct one off the back of the success of his TV movie, Goodnight, My Love. “I’d made a TV movie of the week that people had liked, and people started coming after me,” he recalled. “The producers Robert Chartoff and Irwin Winkler came to me and said they wanted to do a film about vice cops. I said okay, and spent about six months researching it.” Hyams later said “like a journalist, I went around to New York, Boston, Chicago and Los Angeles and spoke with hookers, pimps, strippers and cops and DAs. Every episode in the film was true.”

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In February 1973 Ron Leibman was cast as Gould’s partner. However he was soon fired. Hyams says, “It turned out the contrast between Ron and Elliott Gould was not the same contrast between Robert Blake and Elliott, so it was suggested we go with Robert and I listened.” Gould says that while he respected Leibman as an actor it was he who suggested Leibman be replaced. “I just had a sense that I don’t know if he’s the right partner for me.”

Filming started in February 1973. The film was shot over 35 days.

“United Artists was a dream studio,” said Hyams. “Once they thought the script and the people making the film were good, they really didn’t intrude. They were very encouraging, and fabulous for filmmakers.”

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Gould was cast here after writer/director Peter Hyams saw him and his attitude on The Dick Cavett Show. He wore Converse low-tops and for some reason took one of them off mid-interview. “He [Cavett] sort of made a joke with the audience that my feet had an odor, which they didn’t. I was really taken back and so I insisted that Dick Cavett take his shoe off.” The host declined, but Gould pressed saying that he was offended and wanted them to be on equal footing. Ron Leibman was originally cast as Gould’s sidekick – “a fabulous actor, one of our finest and best actors” – but Gould had him replaced. “I just had a sense that I don’t know if he’s the right partner for me,” he says. He went to see David Picker, the head of United Artists, and softly suggested as such, and Picker replied “I knew it! I knew it! When Ron Leibman plays tennis with my 11 year-old daughter he hits the ball back to her like a rocket!” He went on to suggest either Peter Boyle or Robert Blake.

Hyams suggested Garry Marshall for the character of Carl Rizzo, but the idea apparently fell on deaf ears – including Gould’s. It was nixed, but in retrospect Gould sees his error. “Garry Marshall in that part would be genius, would be a total fucking surprise,” he says. The role instead went to Allen Garfield, “and Allen, bless him, Allen is such a good actor but completely predictable.”

Peter Hyams Directing Busitng

Interview with Director Peter Hyams

Do you think your first theatrical feature BUSTING benefited from your documentary and journalistic experience? Peter Hyams: It came in handy in terms of my years of research. Before I wrote BUSTING I spent six months on the road going to L.A., Boston, Chicago and New York, talking to cops, hookers, pimps and the real people. The fact is that every single episode in BUSTING was based on something that actually happened. Whatever training I had as a self-impressed asshole reporter, the most important thing I learned was research. There was a great satirist called Tom Lehrer who wrote very funny and perverse songs. One of his quotes that I always remember was about Nicolai Lobachevsky. He said ”I’ll never forget the time I met the great Lobachevsky. It was he who taught me the secret of great writing -plagiarise. Only don’t call it ‘plagiarise’, call it ‘research’. ” My approach to a story is always research, and then try to make drama out of it.

What fascinated you about the world of vice cops to make the film? Peter Hyams: An esoteric and artful thing – I was asked to write a movie about vice cops. The producers were Irwin Winkler and Robert Chartoff, who had done a very successful film for Columbia called THE NEW CENTURIONS (1972). They caught me at that point where I was about to break into features. GOODNIGHT, MY LOVE had gotten more attention than it deserved and was incredibly highly praised. Irwin came to me and said ”We would like you to make a movie for us. ” Irwin was spellbinding and terrific, the greatest film school a young filmmaker could ever attend. The charter was to make a movie about vice cops.

Was it difficult to cast the leads? Peter Hyams: Elliott Gould was at his apogee, and he wanted to do it. He had made MASH (1970) and GETTING STRAIGHT (1970). United Artists was a dream studio. Once they thought the script and the people making the film were good, they really didn’t intrude. They were very encouraging, and fabulous for filmmakers. David Picker was head of UA at the time.

How close did Ron Leibman come to playing the Robert Blake part? Peter Hyams: Pretty close. We weren’t sure if it was going to be Ron or somebody else. It turned out the contrast between Ron and Elliott Gould was not the same contrast between Robert Blake and Elliott, so it was suggested we go with Robert and I listened.

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Was the shoot-out in the market a learning curve for you? It’s one of the great action scenes. Peter Hyams: I spent a lot of time plotting that thing out. This was not the days of Steadicam, where you could run around and do what you wanted. You had bigger cameras and all those movements on dolly tracks where things were upstairs and downstairs. I just drew out the way I wanted to do it.

How long did you spend filming the scene? Peter Hyams: The whole film was a 35 day schedule. We spent maybe a day or two on the shootout. The more you’re prepared and the more everyone else is prepared, the quicker things go.

CONCLUSION The film was criticized for homophobia on the grounds of its depictions of gay characters and the attitudes of the lead characters towards them. In an essay for The New York Times, journalist and gay rights activist Arthur Bell condemned the film for derogatory language used by characters to describe homosexuals, as well as a scene in a gay bar that he called “exploitative, unreal, unfunny and ugly” for its presentation of gay stereotypes. Hyams defended this on the ground it was accurate to the milieu depicted.

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CAST/CREW Directed Peter Hyams

Produced Robert Chartoff Irwin Winkler

Written Peter Hyams

Elliott Gould as Det. Michael Keneely Robert Blake as Det. Patrick Farrell Allen Garfield as Carl Rizzo Antonio Fargas as Stephen Michael Lerner as Marvin

CREDITS/REFERENCES/SOURCES/BIBLIOGRAPHY money-into-light. Wikipedia

Busting (1974) Retrospective SUMMARY Keneely and Farrell are detectives with the LAPD vice squad. Although they show great talent for breaking up prostitution and drug rings, many of these enterprises are protected by crime boss Carl Rizzo, who exerts his influence throughout the city and the department.

#70scops #70sFilms

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bts-love-sweat-tears · 7 years

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Life Eclipsed, Part 1

Name: Life Eclipsed

Type: Vampire/Supernatural!au, College!au, ANGST, some fluff & humor. It actually turned out really dark-where did this come from?

Pairing: BTS x Reader (I know who Y/N will end up with- who do you think? Let me know!)

Rating: Mature. There is no smut- there are plenty of blogs that can do that better, but a lot of dark themes. See warnings below. I do not endorse any of these things in real life.

Warnings: Language, underage drinking, (sort of controlling friends), eventual bloodshed (it IS a vampire fic). Also, let’s be real, the biting scene isn’t romantic at all, and kind of painful so read with caution. Disclaimer: Consent is sexy. Anything else is unacceptable. Only bite if they say yes!

Word Count: 4,946

A/N: I’m sorry that Third Base didn’t make it up last week-it’s long and unwieldy and I need to get some inspiration to do some serious editing. So, to stay somewhat on schedule and not become a total Tumblr recluse, I’ve decided to post this vampire fic.

A/N 2: This was supposed to be a one-shot, but it is so long! It’s over 11 full pages single-spaced on my computer. So, I’ve split it up and made it into at least two parts. Get pumped <3

The knock at your door startles you from your textbook. You always ended up procrastinating during the daylight hours, which meant that at night you often studied into the wee hours of the morning, after everyone else had gone to sleep. Everyone except for one person, that is-Park Jimin. You get up from your desk, joints popping, a sure sign that you have been sitting for too long. You casually fling open the door, already on your way back to your desk. Before it seemed possible, Park Jimin is clinging to your back like a koala, almost knocking you off balance.

“Yah, Jimin,” you half-shouted, half-sighed, knowing that no amount of protest on your part would change his mind. Not that you really minded- he was one of your oldest childhood friends, and it was a stroke of luck that you had ended up in the same college dorm (him on the floor below you) to face college together.

He clung closer and you knew that your studying was over. You got up and moved to your bed, where the two of you turned on your favorite show and snuggled platonically. During middle school and high school, you had been completely smitten with Jimin, but he seemingly never reciprocated your feelings. So you figured that it was better to have him in your life as a friend than as a romantic partner.

And it was a lucky thing that he was still in your life, because it helped you to grow your social group. You did like people, but tended to the serious and studious side. Jimin could seemingly read people like a book, learning what made them tick and all of their secrets. But being the person that he was, he never shared this information or caused any kind of social drama.

Through Jimin, you had been able to make many new friends, and there were six others in particular that you frequently hung out with. If Jimin was your childhood best friend, Taehyung had become your college best friend. Whenever you were too stressed or serious, he would always know how to make you laugh. When your head was full of class material, he would bring you back to the real world and make every day an adventure. It was easy, it was comfortable, and he was a calming presence in your life. And despite whatever drama or teen novel may have predicted, there was no drama between your old and new friend. They each had their time and place in your life, and the three of you often hung out together, forming a complementary trio.

The others- Jungkook, Hoseok, Yoongi, Namjoon and Jin also hung out with you, but not as much. Jungkook was two years younger than you, Jimin, and Tae, but had somehow finished high school early and was here on a football scholarship, so he was often busy with practice and his sports buddies. You had made small talk but never had any in-depth conversations- he always seemed to be flustered and would run off after a few minutes. You would cringe inwardly-maybe he didn’t like you. Jimin was always so good at making small talk, but you always felt that it was like pulling teeth. But he kept hanging out with everyone so maybe your company wasn’t too unbearable.

Hoseok and Yoongi were upperclassmen. The juniors (third-years) liked others in the group, but it was a known thing that they were a package deal. Their friendship was on a different level than the rest. When Hobi wasn’t practicing dance for his performance major, and Yoongi wasn’t recording for his music production major, they could be spotted going for runs around campus in matching orange jumpsuits. It was very “The Life Aquatic” and you loved it. Secretly, you hoped they were more than friends, but you had no indication either way, and didn’t want death glares, so you kept your fangirling (mostly, you hoped) to yourself. They definitely seemed too cool for school, so while they were a part of your group, you were a little intimidated by them and didn’t hang out as much except as a part of the group.

If you were intimidated by them, then Seokjin was absolutely unapproachable, but in a completely different way. He was insanely popular with the female (and male, and everyone, really) segment of campus, constantly smiling and making jokes. He somehow made turtlenecks sexy and dressed like he had just stepped out of the pages of a magazine. Even when he wore sweats, or a Mario t-shirt, he made it look like haute couture. He was one of those people who could look amazing when they just got out of bed. On top of that, the senior was friendly to everyone, and smart, and apparently wanted to take over the family business. It was just all too much. You always got flustered around him, feeling completely underwhelming in comparison. He never did anything to encourage that feeling, but it just happened. Despite that, he would always smile and wave when he saw you around campus, and would stop to say hi. He always asked if you would be coming to whatever party was happening that weekend, and genuinely seemed hopeful that you would say yes. You couldn’t decide if you should feel flattered (oh, how a girl could dream), or if he genuinely hoped that everyone would come to the party. Sometimes, the amount of time you spent second-guessing your interactions was exhausting.

Namjoon was the centerpiece that held the group together. Equally friendly with Jin, Hobi & Yoongi, the sophomore business student was involved in every club, president of his class, and representative of all students to the administration. Somehow, he also had a 4.0, was involved in 3 different language clubs, and found time to party and hang out on the weekend. He would tutor you sometimes, and the two of you had a similar sense of humor….and klutziness. The others would laugh, and say that you were made for each other. You both laughed it off and smiled. If Joon had helped you with school, then you had helped him socially, giving him insight into the mind of girls. Plus, you knew for a fact that he only wanted to date someone older, so the two of you had an elder brother-younger sister vibe.

Pulling you out of your thoughts was another knock at the door, and you knew it could only be Tae. Your room had become the defacto hang out spot- you had a single, and being somewhat of an introvert you were very into “nesting” and making your room as cozy as possible, since you spent so much time there. You had twinkle lights draping outward from a central point in the ceiling, plenty of soft blankets in calming neutrals, and enough tea to run a teahouse. When people needed to talk or hang out, they knew where to go.

You opened the door, only to have the air squeezed out of your lungs by a tight hug. Just as quickly, you were released, and Tae was headed to your bed.

“I am HURT,” he laughed, dramatically looking pained. “How could you traitors watch an episode without me?”

Jimin acted even more indignant. “I texted you like 15 times…you snooze, you lose! Where have you been?”

Tae wiggled his eyebrows as he settled onto your bed. “I was helping the hyungs plan the Halloween party-you know it’s a big deal for us,” he said, looking pointedly at Jimin.

Jimin’s smile dipped a bit, but he quickly smiled again. “Tae, it’s a big deal on every college campus. Y/N, have you thought of your costume? You should go as little Red Riding Hood hiding from the wolf” he laughed again, not so subtly changing the subject.

“But with a shorter skirt,” Tae smirked.

You couldn’t figure out what was with the weird atmosphere, but told yourself that you were overthinking it. You decided to call them out. “You guys are being freaking weird right now, you know? First of all, it’s still a week away, and second of all, I told you that it was a surprise.” You squeezed in between them, grabbing the computer and starting another episode. They settled down, and as the episode dragged on, you felt your eyes slowly closing. You heard them murmuring quietly to each other on either side of your head, but you were too far gone to process the words.

The two were already awake and gone when you woke up. They always did this, and somehow you were always the first to fall asleep, and the last to wake up. How they looked as good as they did irked you. You always woke up with bags and felt tired, but despite the fact that you literally never saw any of them sleep, they always looked better than you. You knew that Jimin had struggled with insomnia ever since the two of you had turned sixteen, but he never really looked worse for the wear. You were happy it didn’t seem to impact his quality of life too much, but you wished you could look as glowy without like six pounds of highlighter.

With that you got out of bed, and went through your morning routine. An hour later, you found yourself in line at the campus coffee shop, wondering if you should get 3 or 4 shots of espresso in your drink. You had a full day of classes, a lab report to write, and a tutoring session with Joon. It was going to be a long day. You hear your name being called and struggled to lift the metaphorical fog and act normal. Hobi & Yoongi were at the table in the corner, books and laptops spread out. They gestured for you to join them, and you went over a few minutes later, latte in hand.

“What’s up, guys? How’s it going?” you asked, as they shuffled their papers and made room for you.

“Not much, just getting ready for the week,” Hobi smiled. “Can it be the weekend yet?”

“Lemon, it’s Monday,” Yoongi deadpanned. You chuckled and took a sip of your drink.

“So, I hear you guys are planning a Halloween party this Saturday,” you mention, hoping this is an appropriate topic of conversation. “Did my invite get lost in the mail?” you joke, comfortable enough to rib them a little.

An awkward silence settled over the table, and you started to second guess yourself. “Y/N-ah, we would love for you to come,” Hobi started, sounding unsure. “You’re one of our closest friends, but we know you aren’t into super huge, loud parties, and it could get a little wild…” he trailed off.

Yoongi cut in. “It might be better for you to come celebrate with us on Friday-Joon is having a séance to celebrate Samhain. He’s convinced that it will be easier to communicate with spirits, since it symbolizes the arrival of the darker half of the year.” You struggle to figure out whether he is joking or serious- he always talks in the same deep monotone, no matter what. Like he’s experienced a thousand years of boredom, or something.

“Jungkookie also told me that the football team is having bonfires on Friday too, which could be fun for you,” a voice from behind you chips in. “He mentioned that he hoped you would come.” Yoongi and Hoseok seem unsurprised, but you jump when you find Jin’s arm on the back of your chair as he settles into his own, which is far too close for comfort. You try to put a little more distance between the two of you, but there’s not much room and his shoulders are illegally broad. He’s wearing his glasses, a black turtleneck, and a camel-colored wool jacket. You’re glad that the café is always a bit drafty, or you might have overheated just looking at him. He gives you a strange look, and for a brief moment, you are worried that he can hear your thoughts.

“So I can’t party with you guys, but I should crash a football party? Where I know literally only one person? You guys are giving Jimin and Tae a run for their money in the weirdness department.” You sigh and run your hand through your hair. “I’m going to go to class. See you guys this weekend, hopefully.”

You try not to be too petty, but why are they all being so weird about this? You literally hang out all the time. Maybe you were just tagging along in Jimin’s friend group and they put up with you but didn’t really like you. You hated feeling this insecure, but what could you do when your favorite people didn’t want to hang out on one of the main social weekends? The day dragged by, and when you met Joon in the library for your tutoring session, he must have seen immediately from your face that something was wrong. Even though the party itself wasn’t that big of a deal, the fact that it was playing on larger insecurities meant that he had to listen to you cry, and he hugged you, patting your head and rubbing circles in your back.

“Y/N, sweetie, don’t doubt that they like you. They love you. They just want you to be happy and safe on a night that is known for being crazy,” he said, his rhythmic voice calming you down.

“But Joon,” you sniff, “isn’t it my choice? Don’t they respect me as a person with agency? I’m not theirs to protect, and I’m capable of making my own choices.”

“Of course, Y/N-ah. But if you thought any of us were in danger, wouldn’t you try to dissuade us?”

“In danger?” you scoff, sadness dissipating and anger returning. “Don’t you think you’re being a bit dramatic? Our campus may be big, but we still all mostly know each other, and there is a sense of community. Plus, you know they amp up campus security this weekend anyway.”

Joon had an unreadable look on his face. He was so logical, calm and collected, and knew how to explain things clearly. So his vagueness was confusing to you.

“Halloween, All Hallows Eve, All Saints Eve, All Hallow tide, Samhain, the equinox: call it what you will, but it is the start of the darker half of the year. Various world religions acknowledge it as a time to placate spirits and to celebrate the dead, and you don’t know what else could be out there that night.”

Your eyes turned to saucers in disbelief. “Who are you? What have you done with the ever logical, scientific, there-is-an-explanation for everything friend that I know and love?” You pack up your books. “Sorry, Joon, but I don’t think I have it in me to listen to more bullshit reasons about why my friends don’t want to hang out with me. I’ll see you later.”

“But Y/N-ah, we haven’t even studied at all,” Namjoon’s voice echoes after you, but you are already halfway out the door and headed to the hall. You head directly back to your dorm room, lock the door (you have zero energy for Jimin or Tae today), and brew yourself some calming tea. You turn on a meditation channel on YouTube and try to cleanse your mind of the toxic thoughts that have been haunting you all day. You finish and decide to burn some incense, hoping that it will add to the calming atmosphere. You settle into bed, in an oversized well-loved hoody, and in a pair of boxers from who knows where. A knock at your door makes some of the calmness you worked so hard for evaporate.

“WHAT. If you’re Jimin, I don’t want to see you tonight. If you’re Tae, I don’t want to see you tonight. Actually, if you’re Jin, Namjoon, Hobi or Yoongi, I also don’t want to see you tonight.”

“What if I’m Jungkook?” a quiet voice asks. You debate in your bed a moment longer, before getting up. When you open the door, he flinches back.

“Looking that rough, eh?” you laugh. “It’s kind of been a shitty day, so spare me your judgement.”

“No, noona, I would never think that,” he stumbles over his words. “What were you burning in here? It smells disgusting. It’s making my skin crawl.” You move to the side, but he says in the doorway.

“It’s supposed to be cleansing, and to keep away negative energies. I went to a pagan supplier somewhere and it was given to me.” The door is still open, but Jungkook remains in the hallway.

“Are you waiting for an official invitation or something? Come in.” you climb back into bed. Jungkook does enter, but lingers by the door, looking any minute like he’ll make a run for it.

“Just wanted to make sure you know about the party on Friday night,” he mumbles. “The football team is having a bonfire party, and I’d love for you to come with. It would make it less lame.”

“Wow, you’re really selling me on this…” you mutter into your pillow.

“Come on, noona. You hang out with Jimin and Tae all the time, I see you with Namjoon in the library 24/7, and just this morning I saw you, Hobi, Yoongi and Jin at the coffee shop as I was on my way back from practice. How come we’re the only ones who never hang out together?”

You debate answering Because you’re acting like a little shit right now, but instead settle on “Stalker much? But fine, I’ll see you Friday night.” He practically jumps on your bed and tackles you into a hug. “It will be so fun, noona! Be sure to wear your best flannel shirt. Or I can let you borrow one of mine!” He sounds far too pleased at this, so you kick him out of your bed and guide him back to the door. “Alright young man, back to bed. Noona needs her sleep.” Though he could easily stop you, he lets you lead him out the door, where you wave as he walks down the hall.

Tuesday morning comes, and you are awakened by another unpleasant surprise. Mother Nature has decided to pay you an unwelcome visit. You stumble to your small en-suite bathroom, looking for your stash of supplies. Your hair is sticking everywhere, and you feel bloated and gross. You opt for one of Jimin’s old oversized sweatshirts that he has left behind, and your comfiest pair of yoga pants, and your black Converse. You throw your hair up and debate staying home from class, but decide it’s not that bad, yet. You are definitely craving some kind of carbs, and know you will need caffeine to get you through the day. You decide you will buy another three-shot latte, and possibly a blueberry muffin. You grab your bag, and head out the door, only to run directly into Jimin.

“Yah, you scared the shit out of me,” you say, heart pounding loudly. “What are you doing lurking outside my door?”

Jimin pouted, sticking out his lower lip more than was strictly necessary. “I didn’t even get to see you yesterday, and this is how you treat me? Can’t I want to grab a coffee with my best friend-hey, is that my sweatshirt?”

“Possession is three-fourths of the law,” you say simply, locking your door.

20 minutes later your dreams of a muffin and coffee have come true, and you and Jimin have snagged the much-coveted table near the bay window. It seems like today will be better than yesterday. Jungkook passes by the café, waving as he walks by. He has his gym bag, so you can only assume that he is on his way to practice. His eyes pan over you and his expression changes. He and Jimin exchange a look, and mochi Jimin is gone. His face settles into a smirk as he watches the freshman continue on his way.

“You know, I think you should keep that sweatshirt. It looks way better on you than it does on me,” he winks, getting up to throw out your trash.

You scoff at his sudden grease. “Yes, because looking good is what I was going for when I got dressed in my athleisure chic this morning.”

“I’m serious right now, Y/N,” he intones, moving closer. For half a second, you feel entranced by his gaze, but then you blink and the moment passes. You wonder if you’ve imagined it, or if it’s your hormones running rampant. You are not ready for this weirdness from your childhood friend, so you push past him and head out the door, waving back without a second glance. You hear his quiet laughter before the door swings shut, so you know he’s not too offended by your brusque exit.

The rest of the week passes quickly, and though you are still kind of salty about Saturday’s party, you’ve decided that you will deal with it when the time comes. Your entire friend group has been extra attentive the entire week, so you feel your icy anger melting away. Maybe they are just being overly protective. Which still isn’t cool, but at least they’re not shunning you. It’s Friday afternoon, and you’re wondering how long you have until you need to leave your bed and get ready. But if you’re going to the party with Jungkook’s football friends, you need to make a good first impression.

While you’re not sure what to expect from the bonfire, you heard from some classmates that it is a costume party. You want to be comfy, since it’s outside, but Halloween is a big deal. You decide on a red dress, black tights and sneakers, and some devil horns. You do your makeup as dramatic as possible, opting for a red lip and smoky eye at the same time. Simple, but dramatic.

Jungkook shows up later, dressed in a flannel shirt and jeans. Just as you’re starting to feel insecure about being overdressed, he compliments how good you look.

“Your alter ego makes an appearance,” he smirks, looking at the devil horns.

“All good superheroes need one,” you shoot back. “What about you? Any alter egos I’ll be seeing tonight?”

His smile lessens into a grimace. “Let’s hope not. It’s too soon for that.”

You arrive to the scene of the bonfire, and before you can ask him what he meant, his teammates are jostling him and shoving drinks at the two of you. You crack your beer open, and settle onto a bale of hay that has been arranged in a ring around the fire. They really went all out with the theme. You look up at the stars, and notice how full the moon looks. Despite your hippie tendencies, you are not one for astrology, but it seems foreboding. You take another sip of your beer. Jungkook sits down next to you, own beer in hand.

You were worried that the night would be awkward, since the two of you rarely hang out without the rest of your group, but he has you laughing the whole time. Whether it’s the fire or the beer, you can’t tell, but your face feels warm and you find yourself staring at his mouth as he talks. His own eyes seem to be drifting downward, and linger on your neck. Though you like Jungkook only as a friend, you start to wonder what this moment would be like if Jin were here. A girl can dream, right? You laugh at your own absurdity. He’s probably at a posh club somewhere-well, as posh as our college town can be. Or home for the weekend, or busy modeling turtlenecks or staring at his reflection in the mirror somewhere. You don’t think he’s quite that narcissistic, but frankly you wouldn’t blame him if he were.

You and Jungkook slowly drift off from the rest of the party, and into the quiet woods that surround the clearing. Before you can even process what is happening, the two of you are kissing frantically. Though you had just reminded yourself that he was your friend, you have to admit that he is a phenomenal kisser.

“I can’t believe this is actually happening-I’ve liked you for so long.” he mumbles, lips crashing against your own. You’re flattered to say the least, but how do you kindly tell someone that these are just meaningless, drunk kisses between friends? So you say nothing.

Your hands are in his hair, as peppers kisses along your collarbones. Right as you’re about to tell him not to leave any marks, you feel teeth against your skin. He glances up, eyes, glowing, but you convince yourself it is just the moonlight reflecting in his eyes. You shiver slightly. This isn’t something you’re usually into, but what harm could it do?

The answer, as it turns out, at least in this particular case, is a lot.

It is Jin, who finds you a few hours later, curled up at the base of a tree, shivering from both cold and fear. In the back of your mind, you know that you would be embarrassed by him seeing you like this, but you are beyond caring. All you can focus on are the glowing eyes, and the image of razor sharp, bloodstained teeth. Not to mention the blinding pain in your neck. It doesn’t seem to be subsiding, and the small, logical part of your brain is surprised that you haven’t passed out yet. You can feel wetness trickling down the side of your torso, down your arm, and to your fingers, and you idly wonder how much blood someone can lose before it becomes a medical emergency.

Jin moves slowly, so as not to startle you, but you still flinch when he drapes his coat around you. His face, which is fading in and out of focus, looms closer.

“Shit, Y/N, stay with me, please,” his voice sounds frantic. You flinch back again at the sound of his voice, and at his sudden closeness. “Don’t be scared, I promise I’ll keep you safe. You have my word.” His hands are placed gently on either side of your face, forcing you to look into his eyes. It looks like his eyes flash, lighting up briefly as he says those words, but you are so far gone it is hard to tell. The longer you look into his eyes, the heavier your limbs become, and soon you fade off into oblivion, something you would have thought to be impossible just a few moments before.

You feel someone pick you up, and it feels like you are floating. You are set down on something soft, and you can hear voices, but they sound like they are under water.

“Joon, that bastard chewed the shit out of her. He didn’t even seal the wound. By the time I found her, she had half bled out. I don’t know if she’ll make it-you have to save her! As the leader of the coven, you’re the only one with enough self-control to pull it off.” It sounds like Jin, but you’ve never heard him so agitated in real life. It must be a dream.

A pause, and then a sigh. “I’m not sure I should. I’d be condemning her to an eternity with us. She would have to see the people that did this to her every day for the rest of her ‘life.’ You know that the survival rate is low for those who are turned, and she wouldn’t have the family support that those of us who were born with this…condition… have.” Namjoon’s voice sounded deliberative.

“Joon, you have to do this! For me. I won’t ask for anything ever again, I swear. But I promised her that I would keep her safe. I made an oath. I will be her family.” This must be a dream-Jin would never be so heavy and serious. The campus flirt? When you wake up, you will 100% do a dream analysis to figure out what this all means. There is silence again, and you begin to drift back off.

“Yah, there isn’t much time! You can hear her heartbeat slowing.”

An exasperated huff- “Fine, but you will take full responsibility. Call Yoongi and Hoseok to stabilize her while I do this.”

After a few moments, you feel cool, strong hands on your arms and legs. Before you can ponder who they belong to, the white-hot burning in your neck explodes into a supernova, and your screams block out everything else.

A/N 3: Ahh what is this? I’m scared to put it out into the world, but I hope you all like it!

#bts fanfic #bts imagines #bts angst #supernatural!au #vampire!au #college!au #bts x reader #bts x you

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inknpaperlove · 7 years

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Embrasse moi, dis moi que tu m'aime

Miraculous fanfic, platonic ladynoir, friendship

also on ao3

SUMMARY: What’s a better way to spend time with your best friend than a lazy evening patrol. With no akumas on a rampage the two Parisian heroes talk about silly family traditions, complicated friendships and Eurovision.

There’s also singing.

It was an early May evening, the sun just starting to set over Paris. Soft breeze ran along the buildings, encouraging the young heroes to run faster over the roofs. Ladybug and Chat Noir usually didn’t patrol on Sunday, but this time they made an exception, both claiming to be too busy yesterday evening to make it.

They didn’t patrol too often - both their schedules didn’t allow them to spend hours daily looking through every nook and cranny Paris had to offer, seeking out dangers in the shadows. And akumas very rarely didn’t make a fuss about themselves, alerting the whole city to their presence, and fighting akumas was what they were here for. But they did make a point of patrolling every so often and while their presence did lower the crime rates in Paris a bit, they still came across enough trouble that detaining and handing over the culprits to the police tired them out.

This evening though was fairly calm, nothing much happening to require their presence, so Ladybug and Chat Noir caught themselves getting distracted. From short races to stopping by to marvel at a particularly nice balcony garden, they enjoyed the evening in all it’s rarely calm beauty.

In between of the wind rushing by her ears, Ladybug caught snippets of Chat humming to himself. He often did that when he was feeling content. He really liked music and even confessed to playing the piano in his civilian life. She tried to convince him to play for her on one of those public pianos, but he declined, citing inexperience playing with claws that could get in the way.

Ladybug tried to guess what song was he humming, but couldn’t catch more than a few notes at a time and often it seemed he was switching between songs, most of them fast upbeat numbers. She let it be after a while, besides, she could always ask him afterwards.

Running over the roofs, at a much slower pace than they would if there was an akuma, Jumping over the streets and swinging by people’s windows, they enjoyed the feeling of freedom that came from the run across Paris. They never planned their routes beforehand, always deciding in the spur of the moment to turn this or that way, sometimes splitting and then coming back together. It might not have been the ideal for a systematic search of the city, but when Ladybug first suggested the patrols to Chat, she was mostly worried about them falling into a routine pattern, making it easy to predict when and where they’ll be, not only for criminals and nosy reporters, but for Hawkmoth too.

When they finally stopped in Parc Monceau, it was already dark, the few stars visible through the light pollution twinkling in the sky.

Ladybug sighed and seated herself on the top of the park colonnade. It was surprisingly sturdy for what it looked like. Chat laid down on her left, head by her side, bent legs pointing towards the sky. This was one of the few places they visited fairly often, the atmosphere of the park luring them in. Though the day was pretty warm, the evening breeze running over water got quite chilly, nipping at their cheeks.

Chat started to hum again. This time it was a full melody, and after a few lines Ladybug recognized the song. She smiled at him, his eyes closed and tail flaying lazily in the wind.

“Embrasse-moi, dis-moi que tu m'aimes,” he sang, his voice barely above a whisper.

Ladybug blinked in surprise. That was new. She knew her kitty liked to hum, but he sang too?

“Fais-moi sourire au beau milieu d'un requiem,” she continued the verse, her voice just as low as his, as if to not disturb him.

A smile grew on his lips and he opened his eyes, bending his head backwards to look at her as she leaned back on her hands.

“Embrasse-moi, dis-moi que tu m'aimes,” he continued, a bit louder, bolder, a quirk to his eyebrow playfully indicating to the song’s lyrics.

She joined him, their voices falling into a harmony.

“Fais-moi danser jusqu'à ce que le temps nous reprenne. CE QU’IL A DONNÉ!”

„Will you take-“

“Un an, deux ans-“

They looked at each other and started to laugh, the sound fluttering through the park.

“How come you like the revamped version better? It’s just ... not,” Ladybug said through the last of her laughter.

Chat sighed and looked up at the sky.

“It’s not that I like it better, the album just had this one, so I just got used to it, I guess.”

“Well, I might have illegally gotten the full French,” said Ladybug sheepishly.

“The great Ladybug is a music thief, then? What would Paris say if they knew their favourite superheroine is secretly a criminal.” Chat quirked a smirk, and rose a hand over his head to poke his partner into her ribs.

“Well, it would be a cat-astrophy, that’s for sure.” She swatted his hand away, but smiled back.

“So, my lady. Feel like dancing on the rooftops?” Chat gave her a lopsided grin.

“Not sure that’s the best idea. With my dancing skills we might end up hanging from a gutter. That aside, guess we found out why neither of us could make it yesterday.”

“Oh yeah. Eurovision is a big thing for me and an ... old friend of mine. We grew up together and this is, like, our thing. Could never skip out on her,” Chat sighed.

“Even though...,” he trailed off.

Silence filled the air as Ladybug waited for him to continue.

“I watch with my family,” she said finally, when it was obvious Chat won’t say anything more.

“It’s a tradition, ever since I was a little kid. Papa even makes special tiny Eurovision beignets for the finale, Maman and I make little flags to stick in them and make up stories about what they taste like based on the country’s act.”

“Yeah?” Chat cocked up his head to look at her again.

“Mhm,” she nodded. “Switzerland tasted a bit burned, baked too close to the Sun. Bulgaria on the other hand, so moist you could wring it and water would rain down.”

He chuckled. “What?”

“It sounded funnier in the heat of the moment. Papa actually make one less by accident, so Italy had an honorary non-materialistic beignet.”

“What was it like?”

“Delicious.” She laughed. “Think I should have made an IKEA meatballs joke for Azerbaijan or is that too mean?”

“Probably. Sounds great, though. The tradition, I mean.”

His eyes swayed away, to the city lights reflecting on the waves.

“It is. So... you and your friend. Have any special tradition?” Ladybug tried.

Chat didn’t answer for some time. Then he sat up and shifted to her side, his legs dangling from the top of the colonnade alongside hers. Softly, he laid his head on her shoulder moving a little so he could get more comfortable.

“We... I don’t know, not really. I mean, we get lots of snacks, it’s a cheat day for the both of us, and we turn the sofa into a blanket nest. Dress up. We pull up the lyrics so we can sing along. Not really traditions, just small things we do. We always take turns at whose house we’re having a sleepover for the semi or final. And she has a speech prepared in case our parents try to pull out the ‘you have school tomorrow’ card. It’s a good speech, works every time. She’s very ... insistent.”

He frowned.

“Isn’t her insistence good if you end up having a fun time with a friend?” Ladybug tried to look down on him, but for his fluffy bangs couldn’t see his expression.

“In that case, yes, of course. But the problem is she’s insistent about every single thing, all the time and tends to get pissed if something isn’t the way she likes it and can throw a bigger temper tantrum than a five year old. Ironically, she was pretty nice as a kid, really.”

Ladybug frowned and started to lightly thread her fingers through his hair. The effect was immediate as Chat relaxed against her and leaned in more.

”We used to play together all the time when we were younger. Sometime over the years she just changed and not for the better. And she can get real mean too. I don’t even know when that happened. We’ve been friends forever, but lately, this part of her is bothering me more and more. I’ve tried talking to her about it, but it’s like talking to a wall.”

He sighed.

“But other times she just gets me the way no one else does and it’s like we’re back when we were eight. And I don’t know what to do. I don’t want to lose what we had and I like her, but the way she acts ends up hurting a lot of people and I don’t want to, I don’t know, endorse that by being her friend.”

Silence spread between them. Ladybug didn’t stop playing with his hair, mostly absentminded strokes as she mulled over what he just told her.

“I’m... I’m sorry to hear that, Chaton. I wish I could help you, tell you what to do, but honestly, I have no idea.”

“That’s alright, my lady. I didn’t expect you to whip out a magical solution, as great as that would be. You listened and that helped a lot. It was good just to talk about it to someone, who wouldn’t be biased by knowing who my friend is.”

He looked up at her from his position on her shoulder and gave her a small, kind of watery smile. Ladybug looked back at him, returning his smile.

“Well, I’m always here if you need to talk.”

She looked away, down at the tiny waves dancing on the lake with reflections of the city lights. The night has fallen around them and the slight wind swinging the waves started to bite on their cheeks with more fervour.

“You know, I have a friend. And... I’d say he’s in a similar situation? I mean, there’s this girl in my class, and apparently they’ve been friends since they’ve been kids and while he’s probably the nicest boy I’ve ever met, she’s... pretty much the opposite.”

Ladybug started to gesticulate with her hands in a manner that made leaning on her shoulder neigh impossible, so Chat straightened up, leaning forward and bracing his hands on the edge of the colonnade. He turned his head slightly, so he could watch her expressive face when she talked. He always loved the way her face made the most accurate expression of her feelings, making her as easy to read as an open book.

“I can tell it bothers him - well. He’s kind of closed off and really private, and I understand why he’s like that, but it means he doesn’t really talk about his problems with us, so I can’t be sure. But he does tell her off sometimes. He’s also too kind to just ditch her. Anyway, what I wanted to say is, he doesn’t know what to do either, but if he comes up with something I could tell you about it? And maybe it’d help?”

She looked at him and made a vague gesture with her right hand and smiled in a nervously awkward way as if to convey an inner commentary going along the lines of why the heck did I say that that’s not helpful at all, why do I always do this. A smile Chat would be very proficient at if he wasn’t taught his model smile instead.

“I... I’d like that. It’d be nice to know how someone else dealt with this. Right now it just feels like it’s impossible to solve it.” He chuckled.

Ladybug gave him a relieved smile and patted her lap lightly as an invitation. Chat didn’t hesitate to lean his head on her, letting her pet him. It was a calming experience for the both of them and their way of comforting each other when all words failed. Well that and the occasional cuddle or impromptu patrol picnic. Chat felt his eyes closing in contempt, a light purr rumbling in his chest. Soon he could hear Ladybug’s quiet singing.

“Des amours meurent, des amours naissent, les siècles passent et disparaissent ...”

#ink wrote a thing #miraculous ladybug #ml fanfic #platonic ladynoir #eurovision #i actually wrote a fanfic guys

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mistleto-3 · 8 years

Text

Crying for the Moon: Part 17

MikoTotsu Werewolf AU

Pairing: Mikoto/Tatara

1,902 words. For MikoTotsu Week 2016.

Previous part | All parts | Next part

AO3

I’m sorry for the hiatus! Rarepair week ate up all my time, but I’m hoping to return to my usual posting schedule now! I hope the little Chiho/Sakura ficlet I wrote for this universe based on the chapter 15 exchange between Sakura and Tatara makes up for how long it took me to finish this chapter ;w;

Note: Tatara’s name for his father is based on this translation from Tatara’s K: All Characters short story, in which the translator points out: “Tatara calls his dad おっちゃん ‘occhan’ which is a very familiar and loveable form of おじちゃん ‘ojichan’ (’old man’).“

Over the few weeks that followed, it seemed that the prediction Tatara had made to Sakura about people losing interest in his relationship had come true faster than he’d expected (and incidentally, it seemed she had taken his advice, and shortly after their conversation, he spotted her holding hands with Chiho in the corridor outside their homeroom). After the first week, the gossip and the funny looks he and Mikoto had been the subjects of had subsided completely, and things for the most part went back to normal, except for the obvious increase in affection between the pair, and the rapidly growing amount of time Tatara had been spending at Mikoto’s house. He went home with Mikoto after class at least three afternoons a week, and passed the entirety of almost every weekend there with him- seeing as Mikoto lived alone, it was more convenient to spend the time at his rather than Tatara’s, as there was no fear of disruptions. Not that they had anything illicit planned, but Tatara wasn’t fond of the idea of having his father, drunk and down from a losing streak, burst into his room while they were watching movies or making out; it seemed like it would be a bit of a mood killer.

What had surprised Tatara the most though was that his father had actually noticed the frequency of his absences- he was used to looking after himself in between the unpredictable comings and goings of his supposed caretaker, and to having little attention paid to him by his father the times he was home (often having gotten back too late for him to have the energy to ask about Tatara’s day). Though Tatara supposed his father was used to his son being around during the little amount of time he was back in the house himself, which was perhaps why he’d taken note of the fact he wasn’t there, but even so, it had still taken him almost a month to mention it.

One afternoon after class, Tatara got back to the house to find his dad in the kitchen, cooking dinner. For once, he seemed completely sober, and in good cheer- it was one of his rare better days. By the looks of it, he’d gotten lucky with his gambling that day- all the food packaging on the kitchen counter was name brand, and the house was warm- they usually couldn’t afford to put the heating on, so it was obvious he’d come into some money somehow. Tatara couldn’t help but smile as he set his school bag down on a kitchen chair; it was times like this that reminded him of being a kid, before his father’s gambling got out of hand and drove his mother away. Things used to be like this all the time, and seeing his dad like this instilled him with a pleasant sense of nostalgia, no matter how temporary this inevitably was.

At the sound of the backpack hitting the wood, Tatara’s father turned around with a fond look on his face. “Tatara, you’re home.”

“Mm, why wouldn’t I be?”

“You’ve been spending a lot of time out and about recently- I haven’t seen you at the weekends for a while, and you’ve been getting home from school quite late a lot.”

Tatara blinked in astonishment- he hadn’t expected his father to pick up on his habits, but it was a pleasant surprise that he did. “Yeah, sorry…” he said sheepishly.

“It’s alright. It’s nice to see you finally making friends and getting out a bit.”

Tatara smiled, taking a seat at the kitchen table.

“Is it that redhead boy I saw around here once that you’ve been spending time with?”

“Yeah, Mikoto, and another boy from the year above me at school, Izumo.”

“That Mikoto isn’t the type I imagined you getting along with,” his father said light-heartedly, crossing the kitchen to sit opposite Tatara at the table.

“He looks a bit scary on the outside, but he’s quite sweet under that stoic exterior.”

His father nodded. “That’s nice…” Then, he paused for a moment, and an odd smile crossed his face. “So not been spending that time with a girl then?”

“Huh?”

“You’ve been gone overnight a lot, and you’re getting to that age… is there a lady in your life?”

“Ahh, not exactly,” Tatara said sheepishly, then hesitated for a moment. He didn’t think he’d have another opportunity to talk to his dad about Mikoto any time soon, and he supposed he might as well get it over with sooner than later- admittedly he was a little nervous, but he didn’t think his father was the type to react terribly to having a queer son. He took a deep breath, chewing his lip, then looked up at his dad. “Well, there is someone…”

“Oh? Who?”

“Mikoto, the boy I just mentioned…”

“Hm? Does he have a sister or something?”

“No… I’ve actually been seeing him for about a month now, you know, as boyfriends.”

A look of surprise crossed his father’s face. “You’re gay?” There was no anger in his voice, thankfully, just mild shock, and a little confusion.

“Not exactly… I like girls too, as well as guys, and everything in between… I guess I prefer other guys though,” he admitted.

His father nodded slowly, seemingly processing the information. After a moment, he said: “Well, I suppose it’s not so much of a surprise…”

“How so?”

“Well, you’ve always been… soft-hearted, for a boy. You never liked sports, and you’ve always been a little feminine.”

“I guess…” It was hard not to cringe a little at his father’s stereotyping, but he was glad he was accepting, even if he was a little misinformed.

“So… you really like this boy?”

Tatara nodded firmly. “It took me a long time to work up the courage to say anything to him… but I’ve never felt like this about anyone before.” As he spoke, he could feel himself smiling, and it was a struggle to stop himself from gushing about how perfect his partner was, but he managed to hold back the gooey flood.

His smile was mirrored on his father’s face, who clapped him gently on the shoulder. “I’m glad you’re happy,” he said, then got to his feet and returned to the stove. “Dinner’s almost ready.”

And just like that, the conversation was over, and Tatara was amazed it had gone so well.

The weekend after Tatara had spoken to his father was the weekend of the full moon, which fell on a Sunday, so Tatara once again spent the day preceding it at Mikoto’s house. While he had brought homework that he’d intended to do, he ended up getting none of it finished- it was difficult to concentrate on making notes from a textbook when Mikoto was lying with his head on his knee, and Tatara couldn’t resist stealing kisses from him every few minutes or so, before continuing to fight to keep his gaze on the page. Barely an hour passed before Tatara accepted there was no way he was going to be able to concentrate on his schoolwork and gave it up as a lost cause, submitting to the urge to cuddle up to his rather handsome boyfriend and put on a cheesy romance movie instead.

“So, I told my dad about us,” he said casually as he settled into Mikoto’s arms.

“How’d that go?”

“Really well, actually. He was having a good day, I think he had a big win because he’d bought some nice food and he was cooking for us, and he mentioned to me that he noticed I haven’t been home much, asked if I was out with a girl, and I told him we were together. He pretty much just said as long as I was happy, that’s fine.”

“Good.”

The pair turned their attention back to the movie after that, however even that was difficult to focus on, mostly because Mikoto was acting a little… off. It was difficult for Tatara to put his finger on what exactly seemed strange about him, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was bothering him. It wasn’t long before he couldn’t help but ask:

“Mikoto… you seem a little distracted, everything okay?”

Mikoto grunted noncommittally.

“You know you can talk to me about anything, right? You don’t have to keep secrets from me.”

Mikoto let out a sigh, then was quiet for a moment, before finally saying: “’S about my mother.”

Tatara blinked in surprise- Mikoto had only mentioned her once, when he’d said she had been disowned by his grandfather, and he knew nothing more about her. He remained quiet, waiting for Mikoto to expand further.

“Mizuomi mentioned her a while back, said he knew her. I didn’t pay much mind to it ‘cause of everythin’ that happened with us gettin’ together, but you mentionin’ your dad just reminded me of it.”

Tatara nodded slowly. “What did Mizuomi say about her?”

“Just that she dated a werewolf, ‘n’ the wolf remembered himself around her, like I do with you.”

“…Was the werewolf your father?”

“He didn’t say. Conversation got cut off before he could mention anythin’ else.”

“And that’s what’s been bothering you, wondering about your mother?”

“Mm.”

Before Tatara could say anything else, however, they were interrupted by the sound of his phone ringing. The number on the screen was his father’s, and he was about to hang up to call him back later when Mikoto said:

“You should get that.”

“Are you sure? It can probably wait.”

“Might be important,” Mikoto said with a shrug,

“If you’re sure…” Tatara replied tentatively, then answered the phone and lifted it to his ear. “Daddy?”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Mikoto smile faintly at the juvenile way in which he addressed his father.

“Tatara… There’s someone outside the house, he keeps knocking on the door and he won’t go away and he won’t answer my questions until I go out there. You need to come, you’re better at smooth talking than I am, come and ask him what he wants.” His father’s voice was shaky and slurred on the other end of the line as he spoke hurriedly into the receiver, and Tatara frowned. He sounded drunk again.

“Are you okay?”

“You need to come home right away.”

“Alright daddy, I’m on my way. Stay calm, okay? It’ll be fine.”

“Okay.”

Tatara hung up the phone and sighed.

“Somethin’ wrong?” Mikoto asked.

“My dad, he’s gotten himself all worked up about something or other, says there are people outside the house. It’s probably nothing, but he sounds a bit spooked, so I’m going to go and see if he’s okay.”

Mikoto glanced at the clock, then nodded slowly. It was mid-afternoon, with perhaps two hours until sundown.

“Don’t worry, I should be back well before the moon comes up; it won’t take me long to calm him down. He does this sometimes, it always goes the same way. He’ll have gotten himself worked up over nothing, I’ll speak to him and get him some tea, he’ll calm down and I’ll go about my day.”

“Alright.” Mikoto seemed satisfied by the explanation. “Do you need a ride?”

“Nah, it’s okay. I’ll cycle there.”

Mikoto nodded, watching Tatara grab his coat and his shoes before giving him a kiss as he hurried out the door.

#mikototsu #k project #suoh mikoto #totsuka tatara #mikototsu week #k fanfic #fic: cftm

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violetsystems · 6 years

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#personal

I’m writing on a Friday night again only because I have to work orientation tomorrow. It’s been about a year of this routine, staying home on the weekends and reflecting. With school starting again it’s pretty much the end of summer for me. This summer was pretty much like last summer I think. Except since I got back from Asia in May things have been surreal. They were surreal before that mind you. I’ve been writing about it enough on a consistent basis where I look back a year later and just shrug my shoulders. I think the one thing that everybody noticed was a lot of personal growth through adversity. At least the right people noticed. I think it culminated last Saturday in some poetic way. I was walking out the door to do laundry late afternoon when this girl approached me with some flyers. I’ve seen her around but never officially met her. She lives in the building next to me. It’s the building where the older Mexican woman dropped me an oregano plant awhile back from the fire escape. My porch is fenced off so it’s like a maze to get back to the coach houses on this street. If anything this year I’ve gotten way better at talking to people out of the blue. She explained that she was giving away a couch for free if somebody could move it. Kind of like a sword in the stone sort of proposal I guess. She was moving to Colombia on Sunday. I thanked her for the flyers, wished her a safe trip and went on to do my wash. There I was staring down at the couch on the xerox paper. The description detail said it was “perfect for cuddling.” I thought about my couch. I thought somebody cuddling with me on it. I think about my ex girlfriend’s cats I adopted when we broke up who peed on that sofa relentlessly. I texted her back and called a few friends. Sunday morning I got a text from her asking if I could come and see it. She was worried it was too heavy. I said it was like Tetris. As I walked out and saw the hex screws in the other side of my fence I got an idea. I got a sofa too. My friend and his girlfriend went back up to check out some other furniture. They told me when they came back that she kept saying “Tim is amazing.” I try to be at least even if nobody notices it for years. I think that’s the lost art of being genuine. I’m stubborn with that to the grave sometimes.

I put out that ep and didn’t tell anybody. It was free but a decent amount of people bought it or the discography. They didn’t have to. But it was nice. I wanted to get it out because I wrote it for a friend. I’ve been thinking more about her than the ep. I’ve also been working a lot. In a strange way I’ve been working for so long. I started a workout routine this week. I run two days and weight train four. You could say the couch inspired me. It is perfect for cuddling. Mostly my controller during Dark Souls 3. But really I’ve come to a weird sort of realization lately. At least a sort of clarity from all these years about what I’ve done for people and what that’s worth. I do try to be amazing. A lot of the time it goes unnoticed. I tend to think when someone doesn’t understand you being genuine it’s for the best to forget about it. I don’t like to force anything in real life. And somehow my natural state these days of staying home on the weekends and enjoying my neighborhood seems like a rewarding place to live. It’s been a lot easier to talk to people. I don’t feel like people are scared of me. They might still be intimidated. I’m starting to learn to tone that down as well. It seems when I’m more open and understanding to the natural flow of my life good things happen. I do still get mad at the world. I can’t stay mad very long. When I think of whatever angel is perched on my shoulder I take a deep breath and rethink my emotions. There’s always this tendency to think you aren’t good enough in this city. There’s always someone to downplay your success or write it off completely. I think helping my neighbor really had a sort of hidden poetry to it. Why I left for Asia in the first place. Nobody here treated each other with any sort of respect or care. I felt trapped by it. I spent years flying back and forth wandering trying to find something. I didn’t really know what. And here I am back on the block sitting in the same exact spot sort of year after year. Except now my rent is lower and my eight foot reclining sofa is a lot better than the situation I was living in prior. Everything is a lot better. And here we are almost a year later of me staying home writing love letters into the void. Has anything really changed? No actually I’m sorry to inform you that Tim is still pretty fucking amazing to this very day.

It’s not like I have a fat head about it. I do have a really long neck. I’m pretty sure my head is pretty big too. But I’ve been working out my deltoids and I’m pretty sure I can support the burdens and stresses of everyday life again this year. As far as following the light and listening to the universe I don’t really want anything to get in the way of that anymore. And sometimes in the past I’ve been terse or mean. It never really helps the situation to bark people off every day on twitter or in public. I don’t even really want to communicate like that. I don’t want to be angry and sometimes people cross the line. This whole summer was about me setting up very clear and concise boundaries for myself and real life. I started putting everything in the calendar now. If I get to work around seven and start my run I can usually do six miles. I started going to the gym on my lunch hour instead of sitting at my desk. It’s just wasted time for me really. And sometimes I feel like I’ve wasted so much time dealing with people who don’t ever really listen to what makes me live and breath after all this madness. You just have to get over it sometimes. Block off your schedule. Make sure your routes are predictable. That’s the kind of life I lived for awhile. All sort of people bothering me. I never knew where it was coming from. Music is always kind of shady these days. I already have a job. I feel like people trust me there. I feel like people trust me here. And I feel without that trust I wouldn’t be sitting here feeling so matter of fact. I know what is a constructive use of my time. I know the value of helping a neighbor move a couch out of nowhere. Walking a blind lady to her campus. That’s every day shit for me. It’s how I’m wired to react naturally. To be tender. To be focused. To care and listen. How can anyone think they can base a relationship off of anything but those things? How could they hope to grow and become even more amazing as partners? I know the answers to those questions myself. That’s my business I guess. I like my business very much. There isn’t really anything to prove. I’m just letting it into my life and living with it. And it feels really nice lately. Even if it’s just me on the sofa for the time being. <3 Tim

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metawitches · 7 years

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And Maybe a Few Predictions…

Okay, after watching as many movies as I can cram into my brain in a relatively short period of time (actually, The Florida Project is still playing), I’m ready to make some choices here. I don’t want to name any names, but I was slowed down in my viewing by a certain usual movie-going companion who informed me at the last minute that he was abandoning me for the Winter Olympics, and would not only be watching every Men’s Hockey game this year, but the Women’s Hockey as well. How could I, as a feminist complain about that? Yay, for women’s sports equality! Boo for it interfering with Oscar movie viewing season, and viewing partners who don’t schedule their time wisely!

Anyway, I eventually gave up on him and mostly went on alone, and the US Women took Gold in Hockey. 🎉 They were able to do because people have made equality in girl’s and women’s sports a big deal and fought hard for decades, and the federal government has required public schools to provide girls with equal opportunities since the seventies. Sports are viewed as important to male development in many ways, so it’s obvious to argue that access is an important aspect of female equality.

Now it’s time to find out how many women will get the gold in their chosen artistic fields in the film industry. After last year’s ceremony, I was struck by the lack of women at the podium who weren’t presenters or accepting as actors. No one was talking about it then and that post received VERY few hits. Thankfully, it only took a few months for brave women in the industry to start speaking up, and we’re in a different place today.

But the arts in general don’t get the societal support that sports do, and the federal government doesn’t require arts education, so there’s no requirement for equal opportunity. The arts community has remained stuck in a different era, with the casting couch of the early twentieth century intact, men exclusively at the top of every field and women doing the grunt work when they’re allowed in, and men needing to be reminded, over and over, that women aren’t there to be playthings.

The gender bias is obvious if you actually look with an objective eye, starting with who gets taken seriously in childhood, continuing with who gets favored in film and art school, and culminating in extreme bias in hiring and employment practices. Given the male cronyism that women have faced since the film industry began, I’m not going to feel bad about favoring female nominees where I can. Token nominations, then being told to shut up and go sit quietly in corner until next year aren’t enough. Especially when the awards are given to men who only pretend to make feminist films, or to films that would like to forget women even exist. If people of color and trans people need to be allowed to speak for themselves, so do women, thanks.

Now that my female rage has been expressed, let’s get on with what we’re here for.

Best Picture

It’s a tough choice between The Shape of Water and Lady Bird for me. Like Birdman and Whiplash a few years ago, they are both very, very well done, but at opposite ends of the spectrum as far as moviemaking goes. I picked Whiplash that year, but I’m going with The Shape of Water this time, because of its overall artistry and message.

I think the Academy is choosing between the Shape of Water, Three Billboards, and Get Out, with Lady Bird as a dark horse potential surprise winner. The Shape of Water is my prediction, because Three Billboard’s controversial flaws have been exposed as the film has played to American audiences. With so many other choices, there’s no reason to go with a potentially offensive choice this year. Guillermo del Toro is loved, and The Shape of Water hits a lot of buttons. Get Out made white people the enemy (the Academy is overwhelmingly old and white), and follows Moonlight winning last year, while Lady Bird is probably perceived as too inconsequential. Get Out and Lady Bird are the best written and constructed films of the nominees, so they could pull out the shocking win.

Call Me By Your Name Darkest Hour Dunkirk Get Out Lady Bird Phantom Thread The Post The Shape of Water Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri

Best Actor The hands down, no point in discussing it, favorite to win is Gary Oldman, but I’m going to be a heretic and choose someone else! Gary Oldman was amazing, but I always knew he was Acting, and probably choosing which Shakespearean character he was emulating, throughout the entire thing. Timothée Chalamet in Call Me by Your Name is my choice. That movie lived and died based on his performance as a 17 year old boy going through a romantic and sexual awakening, first love, and the loss of first love. He played the role with a dignity and subtlety that’s rarely seen when teenage boys and sex are shown on film. Chalamet’s performance was open, brave and vulnerable, raw and passionate in a way that Gary Oldman’s wasn’t.

Timothée Chalamet (Call Me By Your Name) Daniel Day-Lewis (Phantom Thread) Daniel Kaluuya (Get Out) Gary Oldman (Darkest Hour) Denzel Washington (Roman J. Israel, Esq.)

Best Actress These performances were all amazing, and they all deserve to win in some ways. Frances McDormand has swept the preseason awards and is the favorite here, but my choice is Sally Hawkins. While McDormand’s performance is all sound and fury that in the end signifies nothing, Sally Hawkins owns her film without ever saying a word. She’s the heart and soul of the story, and we can’t take our eyes off of her. Her performance is both open and mysterious, expressive but secretive, mischievous but fierce. She turns a woman who’s been overlooked by everyone into a heroine who can outwit the US government’s finest, and we wholeheartedly believe she’s capable and cheer her on. It’s hard to imagine anyone else accomplishing what Hawkins did with the role.

Sally Hawkins (The Shape of Water) Frances McDormand (Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri) Margot Robbie (I, Tonya) Saoirse Ronan (Lady Bird) Meryl Streep (The Post)

Best Supporting Actor

pending!

Willem Dafoe (The Florida Project) Woody Harrelson (Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri) Richard Jenkins (The Shape of Water) Christopher Plummer (All the Money In the World) Sam Rockwell (Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri)

Best Supporting Actress

Alison Janney is the favorite to win, and has won, over and over as the other awards have been given out. I think Laurie Metcalf deserves the Oscar, for her tense, bitter, hardened, restrained, but loving performance. Allison Janney was incredible, but she was able to let loose with her vitriol and become a monster, while Metcalf had to walk a very fine line and accomplished it.

Mary J. Blige (Mudbound) Allison Janney (I, Tonya) Laurie Metcalf (Lady Bird) Lesley Manville (Phantom Thread) Octavia Spencer (The Shape of Water)

Best Directing

I gave Best Picture to The Shape of Water, so I’m going to split the difference and give Greta Gerwig Best Director. There’s just nothing wrong with Lady Bird, and that’s down to Gerwig’s vision, artistry, and direction of the people she worked with. She brought out the best in her cast and crew, which is an achievement that deserves to be recognized.

Christopher Nolan (Dunkirk) Jordan Peele (Get Out) Greta Gerwig (Lady Bird) Paul Thomas Anderson (Phantom Thread) Guillermo del Toro (The Shape of Water)

Best Adapted Screenplay

I loved Mudbound. Really, really loved it, and think it was snubbed for Best Picture and Director. It’s a no brainer to give it Best Adapted Screenplay. I have no idea what the Academy will pick.

Call Me By Your Name The Disaster Artist Logan Molly’s Game Mudbound

Best Original Screenplay

I’ll give this one to Get Out, which was very original, had a great script, and deserves some Oscars. I’d be fine with any of the nominees winning, except Three Billboards. I don’t think that The Big Sick paid enough attention to the wife’s journey, but it was a good film (would have rated it 3.5, had I gotten around to writing the review). The Academy will give it to either The Shape of Water or Three Billboards.

The Big Sick Get Out Lady Bird The Shape of Water Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri

Best Animated Film

Didn’t see any. 😦

The Boss Baby The Breadwinner Coco Ferdinand Loving Vincent

Best Cinematography

Oh my gosh, this is the toughest call of all! Can I declare a three way tie between Blade Runner, Shape of Water and Mudbound? Of course I can, it’s my website! LOL. Or give it to Altered Carbon? No? Okay, if I have to choose, it goes to Shape of Water, with Mudbound as my sentimental favorite. The Academy will choose between Shape of Water and Dunkirk, and who wins will depend on whether the old white guys or the artsy youngsters prevail. That’s basically my prediction for most of the technical awards.

Blade Runner 2049 Darkest Hour Dunkirk Mudbound The Shape of Water

Best Costume Design

The Academy will give it to Phantom Thread, because they love couture and appearing classy. I’m giving it to Shape of Water, because those costumes were so perfectly and precisely tied in with the artistic vision of the film, managed to flatter the actors’ bodies, and were still appropriate to the period.

Beauty and the Beast Darkest Hour Phantom Thread The Shape of Water Victoria & Abdul

Best Documentary Feature

Didn’t see.

Abacus: Small Enough to Jail Faces Places Icarus Last Men in Aleppo Strong Island

Best Documentary Short Subject Didn’t see.

Edith+Eddie Heaven Is a Traffic Jam on the 405 Heroin(e) Knife Skills Traffic Stop

Best Film Editing

I,Tonya, with Dunkirk as a runner up. I, Tonya switched between mediums, and Dunkirk switched between air, sea, and land, and both did it with great timing. The Academy will choose Dunkirk.

Baby Driver Dunkirk I, Tonya The Shape of Water Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri

Best Foreign-Language Film

Didn’t see.

A Fantastic Woman The Insult Loveless On Body and Soul The Square

Best Makeup and Hairstyling

The Shape of Water. I don’t understand these nominations and refuse to acknowledge them in my own choices. Darkest Hour will win.

Darkest Hour Victoria & Abdul Wonder

Best Original Score

The Shape of Water, absolutely no contest. The score was as essential to that film as it is to a silent movie or a musical, and as effective. No clue what the Academy will choose.

Dunkirk Phantom Thread The Shape of Water Star Wars: The Last Jedi Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri

Best Original Song

Mystery of Love. The music was part of the sweetness of the love story in Call Me by Your Name, and Sufjan Stevens’ songs blended seamlessly with the atmosphere of the film. The Academy likes to go big, and will choose Mighty River or This Is Me.

“Mighty River” (Mudbound) “Mystery of Love” (Call Me By Your Name) “Remember Me” (Coco) “Stand Up For Something” (Marshall) “This Is Me” (The Greatest Showman)

Best Production Design

The Shape of Water. That movie was a visual feast of care and incredible detail, without hitting the viewer over the head with its stuffy Artistry, like some of the other nominees. No idea what the Academy will choose.

Beauty and the Beast Blade Runner 2049 Darkest Hour Dunkirk The Shape of Water

Best Animated Short Film Didn’t See.

Dear Basketball Garden Party Lou Negative Space Revolting Rhymes

Best Live-Action Short Film Didn’t see. The Silent Child is a sentimental favorite.

DeKalb Elementary The Eleven O’Clock My Nephew Emmett The Silent Child Watu Wote/All of Us

Best Sound Editing Blade Runner had so much subtlety in the sound, and it was so important to the film.

Baby Driver Blade Runner 2049 Dunkirk The Shape of Water Star Wars: The Last Jedi

Best Sound Mixing

See above.

Baby Driver Blade Runner 2049 Dunkirk The Shape of Water Star Wars: The Last Jedi

Best Visual Effects

Guardians of the Galaxy. Gotta get in one Marvel pick. 😉

Blade Runner 2049 Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 2 Kong: Skull Island Star Wars: The Last Jedi War for the Planet of the Apes

Metawitches 2018 Oscar Picks And Maybe a Few Predictions... Okay, after watching as many movies as I can cram into my brain in a relatively short period of time (actually, The Florida Project is still playing), I'm ready to make some choices here.

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