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potter-imagines · 3 years

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Library Confessions (George Weasley)

Summary: george fluff?? maybe like some sort of best friends to lovers kinda deal?

Notes: I've been wanting to write George for a while so I was excited to make this !! hope you enjoy x

Pairing: George Weasley x Reader

Warnings: None, just fluff

Word Count: 5.3k

It was a flurry and cold winter day, the kind of day when every breath stings the lungs and every exhale chills the lips. The frigid air, the slippery ground and the sheet of white covering the once green grass. All signs winter was here and cold times were ahead. Even in the highlands of Scotland, the winters were ferosus and unforgiving. Seeing as it was your seventh, and final, year at Hogwarts, most would assume you’d have adapted to the cold by now, but that wasn’t the case. Although as much as you despised the freezing temperature, the pulsating tick of your headache preferred the cold over the thunderous noise back inside.

The Gryffindor common room was too rambunctious- wild, uncontrolled for your desires tonight. It was Friday and tomorrow was the highly anticipated day trip to Hogsmeade. Students were understandable thrilled and you would have loved to join in, but the throbbing pain and stress of school on your shoulders masked your fun. The migraines were brought on by school, but also the idea that you would not get to join your friends tomorrow.

Your feet carried you further from the common room, the rowdy noise fading with every step. If the weight of homework wasn’t so heavy on your shoulders, the party would’ve been in your plans. You tried to stay as long as you could but after about twenty minutes, and three Weasley fireworks being set off, you decided a breath of fresh air sounded delightful.

Your best friends, Fred and George Weasley, were the cause of this chaos. They were fully sober yet drunk off the energy of the room. When you had left, Fred and Lee were orchestrating a tournament of pumpkin juice pong, and George was sitting on the scarlet couch talking to Harry, Ron and Hermione. His eyes darted to you every few seconds. Sometimes he would hold the gaze, or send you a wink, but most of the times he snapped his head back to the golden trio, pretending his attention was elsewhere.

It made your heart thump against the bones of your chest. You were sure if he had been sitting beside you he’d surely hear it, loud and clear. A deep pink blush spread across your cheeks at the thought of George. You had been close friends with the twins since you stepped foot on the Hogwarts Express and sat in the same cabinet as them. Through the years, the bond grew stronger yet developed differently with each twin. Fred was like an annoying, overbearing, proactive big brother and George, well, the affection you felt for George was not in a brotherly way.

Since your third year, you started noticing subtle things about him. Like how he arched his eyebrows when he spoke, or when he’d bite his lip when taking notes. He also had a tendency to eat his dessert first, if you got him laughing enough he’d accidentally let out a tiny snort and he always stood to your left when you walked to class together. When winter came, George was always shedding his clothes in order to keep you warm. Fred would complain that you knew it was snowing, therefore it’s your fault for being cold, but never George. Not to say that Fred is cruel, he can be a gentleman when he chooses but your relationship was more sibling bickering and competition. But George had always been a bit, sweeter than Fred.

Most wrote the twins off as one person but the differences between the twins was written out in neon signs, in your eyes. Maybe it was because you were closer to the twins than most, besides Lee. They were both your best friends, but they treated you in polar opposite ways. If Fred ever tried to cuddle you in his bed, you were sure you’d ‘Stupefy’ him into oblivion. When George did it, you could hardly croak a breath with all the rockets exploding in your heart.

The fragrance of frosted pine and butterscotch wafted through the nipping air as you approached the north entrance of the castle. Winter was finally here. The beauty of Hogwarts shined most bright during this time of the year. Snow crunched under the weight of your foot while you trudged through the courtyard taking advantage of the short cut. With the overwhelming school work piling by the second, slipping into the library didn’t seem like such a bad idea. You had two papers, a research project for Magical Creatures, and an exam in Potions. Not to mention you were expected to memorize and perfect a list of disarming and protection spells before Defense Against the Dark Arts by Tuesday.

Lost in your own stress, you hardly noticed your feet carrying you into the large doors of the library. The lighting was low and the attendance was even dimmer. A few Hufflepuffs and a handful of Ravenclaws were scattered around the room. Madam Pince nodded her head at your arrival then returned to her work behind the main desk.

Sliding into an empty table, you started to situate yourself. A stack of parchment was already waiting next to a clean quill and glass container of ink. It wasn’t hard to find the necessary textbooks and you returned back to your seat rather quickly.

A good twenty minutes had passed before your ears perked up at the sound of Madam Pince scolding a student. You didn’t have a clean view of her desk but you assumed a group had gotten too loud for her liking. Turning back to your book you faced away from the main entrance of the library. Eyes scanning the textbook, a new presence creeping up behind you went unnoticed. As you flipped to the next page in the advanced potions book, a grasp clamped down on either shoulder and a pair of lips hovered dangerously close to your ear. The unexpected warmth created a jolt on energy through your body. You practically flung out of your chair in surprise, whipping around to face your attacker. The initial glare and scowl soon washed away as your eyes met a familiar pair of warm, chocolate orbs.

George Weasley had a devilish grin, proudly basking in your shock. Not giving you a second to refuse his arrival, George pulled the wooden chair besides you out and sat in it. Throwing his arm across your shoulder, he smiled innocently at you.

“And what might you be doing in here on this eventful Friday evening, hm?”

Still reeling in shock, you placed your hand over your heart in hopes to calm down from the scare. Wildly glaring up at George, you yelled in a hush tone,

“George! You nearly gave me a heart attack- what’re you doing here?” You smacked his chest with a thud, though George remained unphased. His eyes squinted down at you while he shot back,

“Pretty sure I asked you first, love.” He said smugly. A large maroon and gold sweater adorned his frame, paired with dark washed jeans. You could smell the signature scent of pine and cinnamon that wafted wherever he followed. Folding your book on the table top, you glared playfully at the ginger.

“What else is there to do in a library besides studying?” The smart reply caused a twinkle in George’s eyes. You could practically see the gears turning as his witty side took control. His fingers tightened around the blades of your shoulder, dragging you a tad closer to him.

“Plenty of things-” An instant smack came as you knocked his side once more. George chuckled at your reaction, clearly amused by the flusterness taking over your features. Motioning towards the stack of parchment and mountain high pile of lengthy textbooks, you shook your head.

“I’ve got a lot of work due this coming week, so figured I’d get a head start.”

“Ah, you weren’t enjoying the party.” He declared knowingly. George typically never left your side during house parties. The anxiousness and suffocation of the noise that crept into your veins was always capped by the feeling of his arm around your shoulder protectively. Although tonight, George ran to the Golden Trio the moment the function began, leaving you alone in the corner with Dean and Seamus. You were friends with the boys but George was the only one who could make you feel relaxed and him being busy, escaping the party seemed like the best option.

Leaning into your chair, a heavy sigh fell from your parted lips at the recollection of tonight. “Not really I suppose. I don’t know… not in the partying mood tonight.” You admitted softly. George’s face furrowed immediately, concerned painting his features boldly. The dim lighting of the library all but hid the gleam of worry in his eyes.

“What’s got you stressed, darling?”

Scoffing at the question you picked up your book and started flipping through the pages again. For starters, you couldn’t decide where was the best place to start when it came to all your worries. There was He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named who returned last school year, the fact that the twins were planning on leaving early to open their shop (which they asked you to help run once you finished with school), home stress, school work, your feelings for George, trying to figure out your plans for after Hogwarts, and so much more. The weight of the world was crashing down on you and for the first time, you felt like allowing it to crumble you.

“You mean besides the school work I’m drowning in and the ever looming fear of being murdered by the Dark Lord himself? Eh, not much.” The sarcastic reply was all too familiar to George. Having spent the last seven years glued to your side, he started to pick up on your antics. Like your constant need to use sarcasm to hide your genuine fears. He studied you for a moment, searching for any hint on what really had you worked up.

Reaching his hand out, George plucked the potions book from your hands and started surveying it. He tilted the book upside down, pretending to read the text. Scrunching his brows, the fiery twin feigned comprehension of the material, a small ‘oohh’ and ‘hm’ falling from his lips as he did so. His silly antics caused you to giggle as he threw the book back to the table.

“Why’re you doing homework on a Friday night, anyhow? You’ve got all tomorrow morning and all day Sunday for that!”

“Technically have all day tomorrow as well-” George stopped you short as he cut into the conversation stubbornly.

“No, we’re all going to Hogsmeade and I already claimed your spot next to me at The Three Broomsticks!” He resembled a pouty child as he huffed besides you. Flipping the page of your textbook, your mouth bunched in the corner, guilt entering your bloodstream.

“I’m really sorry, Georgie. If my grades slip any further- my mum’ll have my head on a stick! Besides, I didn’t figure it would be that big of a deal, everyone else is going so I’m sure my absence will not be noticed.” Your laugh was meant to cover the tang of honest hurt, although you hoped it would slip past him. Of course, George noticed everything when it came to you and seeing you down was definitely not something he felt okay with ignoring.

“But I’ll notice- just like I did tonight.” He added with a point of the finger. It was true, George always seemed to notice when you were missing. He also always seemed to know where you were when you did sneak away.

“Thanks…” Trailing off, you glanced over to George. The honey like orbs were already examining your features. You assumed he must’ve picked up on the sadness dripping through your pores because the next thing you knew, George was offering up his entire Saturday.

“You want me to stay back with you?” Your head snapped in his direction immediately. With a bugged stare, you shook your head feverishly.

“What- no! You and Fred practically countdown the days until we get to go to Hogsmeade. I know how bad you wanna go, don’t skip out ‘cause of me.”

“We do have another trip next month so I can just wait to go until then. I’m sure Hogsmeade will still be flourishing by then. C’mon, you know you want me to stay back. You’ll bore yourself to death without me around!”

“You’d just be staying back because you feel bad-” George interrupted you, face reading bewilderment at your accusation.

“No, I’d be staying back because I want to. Y/n, when have I ever hung out with someone I don't want to be around- besides Percy seeing as I’m obligated to share a home with him. I want to spend time with you, that’s why I look forward to Hogsmeade trips. Get to spend time with you outside of the castle. So if you’re not there, I’m just gonna be miserable, love. Which means, I better just stay back with you.” A mischievous smirk rose to his lips as he finished his spiel, crossing his arms across his chest. The material of his sweater bunched around his fold and you admired Molly’s handiwork. Pressing your finger into his chest, you gave George a playful shove. He reached out for the table top to sturdy himself as he chuckled. Batting your lashes you teasingly cooed,

“Sounds like someone can’t get enough of me.” Not missing a beat, George rested his elbow on the tabletop. His chin was planted in his palm as he leered dreamily.

“Thought we already established that.” He winked over to you. Lifting up your heavy book, you sheltered your blushing cheeks behind the pages. Your forehead pressed deeply into the pages as you folded the covers around your heated face.

“You joke too much.” Mumbling into the book, you were taken aback when a hand abruptly snatched the book from your fingertips. You watched as the book went above your head, then settled in George’s hand. He snapped the cover shut between his hands, an echoing ‘snap’ invading the library. The peppermint lingering on his breath smacked against your lips. George ran his finger over the title page, then tossed it to the side. As the book slammed on the counter, he turned his head back to you.

“Never about my feelings towards you, though.” He stated seriously. Your brows pulled together in a stern line.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Your furrowed gaze rested heavily upon him.

“I just… really like spending time with you. Like just the two of us.” As he finished speaking, you watched cautiously as George’s hand sneaked over to land on top of yours. His palm was warm on top of yours. After a few seconds, he flipped your hand over so it was set inside his. That comfort feeling bursted in your chest under the weight of his eyes. It was funny how the simplest of actions from him could cause a firework extravaganza in your chest. The tension in your throat was increasing.

“I do, too, Georgie. You’re very sweet.” You smiled awkwardly, the bashfulness overcoming every cell in your body. When Fred complimented you or was too kind, it made you suspicious. Usually he buttered you up before a prank, so you never fully trusted his words but George? George was too gentle to ever set you up or put you in harms way.

“Y/n… there was actually something I’ve been meaning to ask you- well something I was gonna ask you tomorrow but seeing as you’re not going, might as well as you now.” The mumble was a notch above audible. You watched on as he fumbled with his hands, twiddling his thumbs nervously. His anxiousness was contagious as you soon felt uneasy as well. Your mind raced in worry as you wondered what was clouding his mind. As if it was second nature, your hand moved out in reaction to his worrisome state to snake his hand into your own. Softening your piercing stare, you squeezed his hand tightly.

“What’s wrong, George?”

His attention was shifted to your locked hands. It wasn’t the first time you held his hand, although it was the first time you were knocked off balance by the wave of electricity streaming down your spine from the touch. Based on his reaction, you figured George felt it too.

“Uh, would you ever want to, like, go on a date? I um, I’ve really liked you for quite some time now and I keep trying to ask you but I get nervous cause… I just needed to tell you myself before Fred does it for me.”

“Tell me now if this is a prank, George Weasley.” The sternness in your voice was something George only heard on occasion. He knew not to joke when it came to your heart so he was taken aback by your words, though understood why. You saw the confusion stirring in his brain before he settled your worries.

“It’s not a prank, love, I swear on my life. I would never lie about my feelings, that I can promise.”

“Tomorrow?” You looked up, eyes peeking over to your side. George had hardly moved and stared blankly at you. It was if his brain had hit a wall and was lagging in processing. The candle on the table flickered, orange and red shadows flashing across his face. Even in the shadows the razor sharp edges of his jaw and cheekbones popped.

“Huh?” He croaked.

Catching a Weasley twin off guard was not a common thing and George appeared baffled. Hands folded in your lap, you could feel the small shake to his grasp. In an odd way, you felt a surge of confidence knowing you had the power to make George blush. Tightening your hand around his own, you roamed the pad of your thumb across his knuckles.

“Could we go on a date tomorrow? After I finished at least two of my papers- could we go on a date then?” It was hard to shake the electric shock tingling through your bones. Never before had you basked in eyes as beautiful as his. His eyes reminded you of a pool of whiskey and shades of chestnut. When the light flashed, a honey, caramel tint soaked his orbs. Simply calling them ‘brown’ eyes did no justice.

Your voice brought a large smile to George’s lips like he won the lottery. The glistening gleam brighten the dim corner of the library. You could feel your breathing become inconsistent once again at the sight. Nodding his head, you watched with a smile as his sandy, ginger hair danced in tune.

“Yeah, yeah of course. Does uh, does that mean you like me too?”

Leaning back in your seat, you started to think back on all your years at Hogwarts. There wasn’t an exact moment you fell for him- it didn’t happen all at once. It was born as a crush, your heart leaping at the sight of the handsome boy your first year. When you started hanging out with the twins, you immediately grew close with them by the third week. Since then, you only got closer with the twins although it was undeniable that there was always a more intense gravitational pull you felt towards George. Not that Fred hadn’t pointed out the obvious connection between his twin and you numerous times. He enjoyed harassing George and yourself a bit too much.

Shrugging your shoulder in uncertainty, you admitted,

“Honestly it’s been so long I can’t remember when I first started liking you. I mean I’ve had a crush on you since first year and… I’ve always found you to be the funniest, most handsome guy I’ve ever met.” You paused your word vomit to take in George’s expression for a sign. Glancing up, you noticed he was far closer to you than he was before. The tip of his nose faintly brushing against your own. Your eyes enlarged in seconds at the lack of space between you two. “What’re you doing?”

A gulp echoed through George. His teeth dug into the skin of his bottom lip, tugging at the skin in an attempt to calm his nerves. You viewed in curiosity as his eyes darted from your lips, to your eyes, then to the floor, then back to your lips again. Your suspicions were confirmed as George locked his peer into your own. His face read seriousness as he asked you gravely,

“Are you going to slap me if I kiss you? I’ve seen you knock the daylights out of Fred for trying to. Mum says you need to take a girl out before you kiss ‘em for real so I wanna do it somewhat right. Y’know, be a gentleman and such.”

Your cheeks flared red instantly, eyes planted to the floor. George had always been sweet but you never expected him to be this sweet. There was nothing more in the world that you desired than finally getting to kiss George Weasley, but it was an incredible kind of him to take your own feelings into thought before acting. You pressed your lips together tightly, exceeding all your effort into suppressing the bashful smile threatening to breakthrough. It took everything inside to contain your excitement and nerves at his proposal.

George broke your messy train of thought as the sensation of his hand against your skin registered. His slim fingers brushed a strand of hair back behind your ear, then wrapped around the side of your cheek. Like two magnets matching up, you melted into his touch. Finally drawing your gaze back up, you placed the palm of your hand against George’s chest, grasping a light fist of his sweater for stability. The height difference wasn’t immense, but enough that you needed some sort of control to keep on your feet.

“How proper of you, Mr. Weasley. Yes, I would really like that.”

Leaning into his hand, you met George’s gaze as you slowly moved towards each other. Meeting in the middle, you were nearly knocked off your feet by the force of his embrace. Your lips connected like a perfectly mapped constellation. His kiss was warm and fulfilling, yet constantly left you wanting more. It was undeniable he had practice before, his lips moved far too calm for this to be his first.

You practically melted in his arms, kissing him softly. Your lips danced for a moment until you steadied your hand on his cheek, holding his face. You needed that sense of control, wanted to feel the hold you had under George. Taking the first leap, you dragged your wet tongue along the smoothness of his bottom lip. A tiny, almost inaudible groan fell from his mouth. You deepended the embrace momentarily, then pulled away to press one lasting kiss to his puckered lips. George giggled in reaction, a cherry red blush painting his cheeks.

“You’re adorable.” George ‘booped’ the tip of your nose when he finished speaking. You laughed at his action then extending your finger, you placed a similar tap to his nose and teased him,

“Stop talking about yourself, George.” Although before you could fully retreat your hand, George’s own wrapped around your fingers. In one swift motion he lifted your hand to his face, then pressed his lips to the back of your hand. As he raised his head, his arm was quick to wrap around your shoulder, jerking your chair towards George as a result. His fingers clutched your upper arm loving.

That smug smile was plastered across his face again, pleasantly pleased with the peach glow tinting your cheeks. Feeling the heat rising you dove to cover your cheeks in the sleeves of his sweater. George accepted your full embrace, arms moving to circle your body entirely. Suddenly a light bulb popped in his mind as he released his grip slightly to glance down at you.

“Maybe if I help you with some of your paper tonight, we’ll have more time for our date tomorrow!” The excitement in his voice was by far the sweetest sound you’d heard. You smiled back at him and nodded in agreement.

“Sure but I do the writing- I don’t trust you enough for that. Your handwriting resembles that of a child.” You laughed at your own jab while George gave you a deadpan look, clearly unable to form a comeback. He’d say so himself that his print was what the Muggles would call ‘chicken scratch’, a phrase you taught George. When George first learned to write with a quill and ink, he had a tendency to smear the ink a smudge as he scribbled away faster than the speed of light. Molly would scold George as the side of his hand would be stained a deep black shade and his paper was hardly legible.

“Rude but, understandable.” George commented. It was sweet of him, but you couldn’t help but wonder if he truly wanted to spend his Friday night stuck in the library. Raising your eyebrow to the boy, you gave him a questionable look.

“Wait, don’t you have a party you should be getting back to?” Arm still enclosed around your frame, George gave you a squeeze. A mischievous smirk now covered his lips as he confessed the truth.

“What do you mean? I only threw that party with Fred so I could spend the night around you- maybe impress you with my wicked dance moves.”

Giving him a pointed look, your chest erupted with a fit of giggles. A memory popped into your mind of the first time you got the chance to view a drunk George Weasley putting on a ‘show’ for you. Sober George was a decent dancer but drunk George was on a different level of skill. The liquid courage had left George regretting a lot of nights and quite a bit of scenarios that came as a result.

Although dancing drunk with you was never a regret of his. Especially when the two of you went to the Yule Ball together as ‘friends’. Mummers followed your every move as you waltzed with George, students gossiping about George and yourself. Not that you paid attention to anyone but George- there wasn’t a chance given to! You didn’t spend a single second resting on your feet as George had you dancing until the band was packing up. He spun, twisted, lifted, and twirling you all night long. When a slow song finally came on, the prankster king put his gentleman side on full display. It was by far one of the best nights of your life, one you still had yet to stop daydreaming over. Poking his side, you smirked teasingly at the boy.

“Georgie, darling, I’ve seen them before. You’d have a better chance sending yourself to the infirmary than impressing me with your ‘moves’. I haven’t forgotten the Yule Ball last year. My head was spinning for a month!” You laughed together at the reminiscence. George was just as mesmerized by the night as you, maybe a tad more so. For those few hours of pure bliss, George had never felt more complete. Seeing you all dressed up and glowing from head to toe- the image was captured in his mind forever. He never understood the term ‘speechless’ until he saw you walking down the stairs in search of him. He replayed that moment over and over again for a year now. Rubbing your shoulders lovingly, George leaned his head on top of yours.

“Aw, c’mon! You loved it! Twirling around like a beautiful ballerina in your dress. You looked breathtaking- everyone was staring at you. Can’t blame them, I couldn’t keep my eyes off you either.” His words made your insides feel fuzzy, kinda like the sleeve of his sweater. That of which your fingers were absentmindedly petting. George smiled down at the quirk, he loved every antic of yours.

Shaking your head, you pulled the book back that George had discarded. After all, you still had a stack of unwritten essays to get working on. You popped open the top of the ink container. George unraveled his arm from your shoulder to wrap lightly around your waist.

“Stop making me blush.” Crimson flooded your s/c cheeks, far too flustered to meet George’s eyes. That confidence from early had flown away just as sudden as it came. A sprout of warmth came as George’s finger pressed against the side of your jaw, turning your face. Sweetly, and silently, he requested your gaze to which you obliged.

“But you look so beautiful when you do, darling. Now stop distracting me- we have a paper to write, in case you’ve forgotten, love.” His lips darted forward and soon enough, his enticing lips kissed your reddening cheeks. George smirked teasingly, reaching the feathered quill out to brush against your nose. You lightly smacked it away, giggling at him as you did.

“You’re the one distracting me-” The squeal was silenced by George as he pretended to ignore your words as he continued to tease you. Pressing his finger against your lips, George purred,

“Hush, we’ve got work to do so I can take you out tomorrow, love.”

“Fine but don’t forget Georgie, I’m doing the writing.” Narrowing your playful glare, you spoke sternly. It was a sort of game you played- going back and forth with one another. Although finally that teasing crossed the line of flirting to something real. In a way, it almost felt fake. Like all those years of waiting hadn’t really paid off, you were just asleep in your dorm room, dreaming this all up.

The touch of George’s arm leaving your waist cold was enough to question; however the radiating sensation of his hand slipping into yours was confirmation it was real. The chaste kiss he left on the back on your hand still buzzed. Despite the lack of lighting, every handsome feature was distinct from his blazing locks to the scatter of freckles dotting his face. Giving you a sly wink George flirted,

“Ah, I love a woman who takes control.”

For the next hour and a half, far in the corner, behind rows of bookshelves and torches to light to way, George and yourself attempted to write your essay. The first hour consisted of stolen kisses, stolen looks, and George constantly stealing your book from your hands. He made it nearly impossible to the point you threatened to cancel your study date, which shaped him up immediately.

The last half and hour George read to you different pages from your stack of books until you got a good jump on the paper. You were feeling hopeful until Madam Pince had announced the library would be closing for the night. In a matter of seconds, George’s hand was clamped around your wrist, attempting to drag you out. You managed to scoop your school supplies together and tuck them away in your bag before allowing him to escort you back to the common room. You just hoped your study date tomorrow would consist of some actual study. If not, it’s a good thing you have all of Sunday.

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tae-cup · 3 years

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Gouache on Calculators by Kim Taehyung | Calcu-LATER (1)

Pairing: Art Major!Kim Taehyung x Math Major!Reader, Jimin x reader-ish

Summary: Math never fails you. The numbers might not always make sense, but you know there must be a solution. Everything fits together like a perfect puzzle, like your tidy life and solitary living…until Kim Taehyung spills paint all over your notebook. He, quite literally, trips into your life.

Genre: College AU, Fluff, Angst, Angst with happy ending, Light Topics, humor

Rating: Teen

Warnings: Uh, it’s not this dark i swear, slight Internalized homophobia, Drinking, Cheating, uh uh uh it’s going to be a ride.

Word Count: 2.7k Words

A/N: Ah! I’m so excited to present this absolute mess of a story! Let me know your thoughts and if you’d like to be added to the taglist! Also also also, this chapter is short, but I promise the next one is a little over twice this length!

Other:

Series List

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Previous (teaser) | Next

Mr. Erich was a slow talker. You could almost understand why Jimin was falling asleep next to you. Almost. Jimin wasn’t someone you really considered a close friend, but then again, you didn’t have many close friends.

The teacher continued droning on about number theory. You placed your head down on the desk, but your hand continued writing your notes. Staying up late last night wasn’t the best idea, but you needed to write an essay on Anaxagoras, a greek philosopher.

You hated philosophy. But you loved your mother and your mother had urged you to take a class that didn’t only involve numbers.

Jimin was snoring peacefully and you glanced over at him. It wasn’t exactly your issue so you looked away and went back to following the lesson. A few minutes later, he jerked awake and groaned audibly.

A few people in the seats around looked at him quizzically. You shrunk lower in your seat. You didn’t want to attend class, too many people and it made your heart race, but you needed to pass this class and so you, sadly, must attend.

Many knew Jimin as the son and heir to BigHit, the large business conglomerate that had wealth that made even the 1% drool, but to you he was just that guy who fell asleep in Calculus and cheated off your notes. Objectively, this was annoying. Subjectively…

You felt him staring out of the corner of your eye. He was looking pointedly at your notes. Subjectively, you didn’t care enough. If he didn’t pay attention in class, that was his problem and you didn’t feel one way or another. At the bottom of your notes, you wrote, Pay attention.

He wrote that down too without a second thought.

You were busy. You were always busy. In fact, you had an extremely important Algebra assignment to do and you knew you could get it done as long as no one bothered you-

“Oh my god.”

A man with blonde hair and a light blue beret stood in front of you. In his hands was a tray of spilled over paints; paints that were now on you. You tilted your head.

“Can you move?” You spoke up after a while.

“I’m so sorry!” He seemed unfrozen and hurried after you as you brushed by.

“Uh, can you go away?”

“I know you’re probably really mad! Do you want money or something? I can buy you new clothes or-wait that sounds weird.”

“Clothes?” You glanced down and then realized the state of your wardrobe.

You were splattered with red, green, and yellow paint. You then glanced at your notebooks, also, helpfully, coated in a thin layer of paint. More importantly, your beautiful TI-84 calculator was ruined.

You opened your mouth, furiously holding up your calculator, but the man continued rambling on. Annoying. But somewhat entertaining, you supposed.

“You got paint on my-”

“Let me take you out! Somewhere nice? I’ll buy you a coffee!” He tore off some notebook paper and scribbled some numbers down. You paused. What was he doing?

“Besides, it’s not paint, it’s Gouache.” He announced proudly, shoving the paper into your already full arms.

“But that- you still got-”

“Taehyung!” Jimin called from behind you. You turned and the man winced. “Oh, Taehyungie has never been too neat, sorry about him. Anyway, we gotta go, Tae. Yoongi just called and Jungkook set fire to the carpet again.”

“He really needs to change his major to something a little less dangerous.”

“What is this, the third time?”

“I don’t know, but we need to go, Tae-”

“What’s his major?” You questioned.

“Philosophy.” They both said in unison.

“Anyway gotta go!” Taehyung grabbed Jimin’s hand and started speed walking away.

“You got paint on my calcu-”

“Later!” Jimin shouted over his shoulder, his eyes lingered on you for a moment.

Did you have something on your face? You swiped at your cheek and he grinned, turning back around and following Taehyung.

Once they were out of sight, you juggled your notebooks around until you could successfully pick up the paper. 278-367-5433 ;). You scoffed at the numbers, something you did often, and crumpled it up.

“Art majors. What a waste of trees” You muttered and trudged back to your dorm.

“I’m so stuck on this problem, Y/N, you’ve gotta help me.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re my friend?”

“I’m not your friend, Jimin.” You moved the phone to your other shoulder and continued working.

“But-”

“Bye.”

You hung up and groaned, massaging your temple. Your room could be seen as lonely. Plain white paint sat on dull gray walls. There wasn’t a speck of trash or clothing littered on the floor. You lived an orderly life. Tidy. Your eyes strayed to your hamper.

Your clothes from earlier were spilling out of the top. A splash of color on a black and white canvas. You scrunched your nose and looked away in disgust. You had never understood the point of art. What did anyone ever see in it? It was meaningless. You looked back to your notes.

These numbers meant something. They meant the height of a ladder leaning against a building, the measurements of a bridge, and where Mary Jane would end up in 400 minutes if she’s going five miles an hour on a circular road. It was pretty deep.

You looked at your watch. Then you moved your attention to the window. Your dorm overlooked the sprawling center of campus. The place was a concrete playground, but with the extensive arts program, it was always covered in colorful murals and art pieces.

You didn’t have a roommate and you liked it that way. You had always preferred to be alone. Others called you anti-social, but, to put it another way, if there was an apocalypse and it was just you and another person alive in the entire world, you would probably leave them for dead. Life was simpler alone.

Besides, you wouldn’t have to deal with people chastising you about not picking up on “social cues” or whatever the hell those were. How were you supposed to know that when someone leans in real close, they want to kiss you? It seemed quite arbitrary in your mind.

Your phone was buzzing again.

“What do you want?”

“Please Y/N! This. Is. Really. Hard.”

“Jimin, figure it out. How are you going to pass midterms if you can’t understand algebra?”

“Ouch.”

“I mean that in the most sincere way.” You relented.

“You’re so mean, Y/N.”

Your eyebrows rose. That certainly wasn’t the first time you’d heard those words.

“I’m honest. You could go ask the teacher or something.”

“He told me to ask you.”

“That doesn’t sound right.”

You heard him let out a dry laugh on the other side and rustling of sheets.

“You’re really good at math, Y/N.”

“I hate number theory.” You objected.

“But that doesn’t mean you’re not good at it!”

“Shut up. I’m going to hang up now.”

“Wait no-”

Beep.

People were annoying. That’s what you had decided. You weren’t trying to stick out like a sore thumb, but getting in the flow of other people and understanding all the shit they wanted you to understand was hard.

You put your pencil back down onto the page and continued writing. You reached for your calculator, groaning when you realized the paint had covered the display.

“Great. Just great.”

You set the calculator aside, feeling a little sentimental. After all, you’d had that thing since seventh grade. Your phone buzzed again. Jimin jesus chr-

“Yes?” You picked up.

“What is this So ka toe ah everyone is telling me about.”

“How did you pass trig without sohcahtoa?”

“Tell me!”

“Ask Taehyung.”

“Taehyung is an art major and hasn’t had to be proficient in math since the fifth grade!”

“Sin, cosine, tan. Bye.”

Beep.

You massaged the crease between your eyebrows and your attention got caught by the darkened campus. The gross fluorescent campus lights lit up the concrete. Freshmen were running wild, happy with their newfound freedom, and seniors were leaving for clubs or parties. The lights in the dorm buildings across campus began turning on one by one.

You searched your pockets for the crumpled paper. When you didn’t find any, you made your way to your hamper and dug around the pockets of your paint smothered clothing.

“Aha.” You unfolded the paper and dialed the number. You didn’t feel like talking, but Jimin was driving you up the wall.

“Taehyung, right?” You said as he picked up.

“Yeah? Changed your mind?”

“No. I’m going to make this short and sweet, tell Jimin to stop calling me for math help. Thanks.” You hung up and went back to your work.

So, technically, you were done with work, but being done with work meant that you were free and if you were free, that meant you had no excuse not to go out. And you needed an excuse to avoid people. You opened up your textbook and frowned at the various graphs and equations. You had already done all of them for fun this summer.

“Hey, Y/N, a bunch of us in the dorm are going out, wanna come?” The hall monitor knocked on your door.

“Aren’t you supposed to be doing your job?” You looked back with a confused expression.

“Charming as ever I see.” She chuckled.

“Come on, Jasmine, Y/N never wants to go out anyway.” Another girl shouted.

“I know! I just wanted to be nice!” Jasmine shouted out, as if you weren’t right there.

“What would be nice is if you left.” You said, your voice monotone and matter of fact.

“Alright then. If you need anything, just text or call.”

“You won’t pick up anyway.” You whispered under your breath, but Jasmine was already gone.

“You forgot that this has to be positive, Jimin.” You leaned over him like an overbearing mother.

“But that doesn’t make sense!”

“You’re dividing two negatives. They cancel out.” You explained, a frown twisting onto your face.

There was a long silence as you watched him scribble down the new numbers. The library was relatively quiet. The giggles of a group in the corner would pierce the peaceful ambience every now and then, but the librarian would always shush them and they’d die down.

Jimin cleared his throat, pulling your attention back to this study session. You moved across the table and sat at your seat again. You just sat and stared at him. He was intriguing. He made silly mistakes that he should honestly understand for being a junior in college. His eyes flicked up to you three times and back to his paper.

“Well, this is awkward.” He said after a while.

“Is it?” You shrugged and continued staring him in the eye. He shifted awkwardly and looked away.

“Why are you staring at me?” He whispered.

“Oh, do you want me to stop?”

His mouth opened and closed then he looked back at his paper, his ears turning red.

“Are you coming on to me?” He murmured.

“What? No, why would I do that?” You said, disgusted, and returned to your work.

To be clear, you weren’t disgusted with him, but you were disgusted at the idea that you would come onto him. After all, you were just here for math and Jimin was just here because he needed help studying, obviously. He looked like you had just slapped him. You honestly didn’t see an issue.

“You know, my parents are pretty traditional and they want me to bring a girl home this holiday season. You’re the only girl I’m really close friends with.” He began. You felt his eyes on you and you looked up.

“Uh, alright? That sounds like a problem. Who are you going to take then?”

“You’re really dense, aren’t you?”

“I’m not dense.” You defended. “You need to expand your friend group.”

“I was wondering if you could come along?”

“What?” Your furrowed your eyebrows. “Absolutely not.”

“It wouldn’t be anything romantic, just-”

A man with mint green hair and a slim build walked past and Jimin’s eyes followed him. You followed his line of sight.

“....We can just go as friends, you know?”

You nodded solemnly. “Just friends, Jimin.”

“You’ll go?”

“Only if you promise me it’s just friends because I really don’t want to have to deal with romance.” You huffed, picking up your pencil and jotting down numbers. “You already have my number, just send me the details.”

“Thank you!”

The librarian shot him a glare and he lowered his voice.

“You’re a real lifesaver.” He whispered.

“I know.” You narrowed your eyes and then began to pack up your things. “I’ve got a lot of stuff to do. Bye.”

“What, but we just-”

“Yeah I know, but I’m sort of sick of talking to people and I helped you with your work so I’ve got to go work on Philosophy.”

“Philosophy? I didn’t take you as a philosophy person.”

“Me neither.”

Aha! You knew you recognized Taehyung from somewhere. You ran your finger over the screen. The list of student names in your philosophy class was displayed.

“Kim Taehyung. [email protected].” You murmured

“Whatcha doing?” Jasmine leaned against your doorway.

“Just...research.” You explained lamely.

“I see.” The hall monitor came inside and sat on your bed. “You never go out, Y/N. I’m worried about you.”

“Okay, and?” You glanced at her as she sat cross legged on the bed. Great. She’s wrinkling the sheets.

“Well, as a friend-”

“We’re not friends.”

“-and hall monitor, I command that you go out this weekend. Do something with your college life. I think you might regret not doing anything fun later on.” She prodded softly.

“This is fun.” You gestured to the scattered math homework pages across the desk.

“Right… well, just keep it in mind.” She stood and moved to your door.

“Jasmine?”

“Yeah?” She paused, turning to look at you. You read over your philosophy work and then your essay.

“You ever think that there are so many people in your life, but no one is really a part of it?”

“You’ve got to stop with the philosophy, Y/N. It feels weird coming from you.” She laughed.

You didn’t find anything funny in that. She looked awkwardly from you to the door, expecting you to chuckle along, but you remained silent, blinking at her. She shivered and left without another word.

The second she was gone, you stood abruptly and smoothed out the bed sheets, but as you did that, more wrinkles appeared on the other side. You felt the anxiety pouring out of you and you rushed to smooth down the other side, but more and more wrinkles kept appearing like disgusting bugs that wouldn’t die. You let out a frustrated sigh and tore all the sheets off your bed.

You took the ruler off your desk and measured out the width and height, then calculated how much extra cloth is needed on both sides for it to be perfectly centered. Then you marked it off and remade the bed. You felt yourself calming as order was restored.

You thought back to Jasmine’s words. Go out? Absolutely not. Then you looked at the crumpled paper on your desk.

“Fine, Jasmine.” You pursed your lips and dialed the number once more.

“Y-ello?” Taehyung’s voice rumbled through the speaker.

“I want a coffee, but I’d prefer to go somewhere quiet.”

“Straight to the point I see.”

“Polite niceties take up too much time. When are you available?” “Whenever you are, love.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Alright. Uh…” There was a long pause and you heard rustling in the background. “Sorry just grabbing a piece of paper.”

“Why are you apologizing? There’s nothing to apologize for.” You said quickly, eager to get this conversation over with.

“I’m free this Saturday?”

“Works for me.” You said. You didn’t need to check your calendar to know you had nothing to do.

“Great see you then.” He said stiffly.

“Yup.”

“Uh...bye?”

“Alright.”

Beep.

Now it was time to overthink the arrangement until Saturday.

Taglist: N/A

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#heartsforbts #bangtanarmynet #kwritersworldnet #castlebangtan #bangtanuniversity #bts x reader #bts #taehyung x reader #jimin x reader #jimin x yoongi #yoonmin #fluff #angst #calcu-later #v #teen #college au

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w-h-4-t · 3 years

Text

Oh Sweet Maker, there’s two of them

Basically @mfmoonbear has an OC (an elf mage named Yelisavita Lavellan) and so do I (an Qunari elf mage named Fen’Harel Adaar). Now they’re here together in a story. A n g e r y co-Inquisitor AU here. Rivalry +100.

They get along. Sometimes.

LET’S GET READY TO RUMBLE!

***

Due to its Andrastian nature, Skyhold was more than just a battle fortress. It was also a tribute to the Maker; the garden was often peaceful as the Chantry mothers swung censures while muttering the Chant of Light. However, Skyhold was also a refuge for all kind of people, including the polytheists of the Dales.

“DIRTHAMEN’S SHADOWY NUTSACK WHAT THE FUCK”

One such example rang through the courtyard as four pairs of feet kicked up dust mid-run. There was a race happening, as usual, between two very competitive people, both dubbed Inquisitor. Yelisavita and Fen’Harel got along well enough at first. Though their time together in Haven was drought with cat fighting they grew to mutually respect each other.

That, however, did nothing to stop their competitive nature.

It all started as a simple ‘race you to the War Room’ which was turning into an all-out mage battle royale. Both Harel and Yel made their way up the steps leading to the Main Hall, shoving each other before Harel caught the small elf in a headlock.

“YOU CHEATING BASTARD!” she screamed, making her face as red as her Valaslin, “LET ME GO!!!”

Harel switched her tactic, looping her arms around Yel before throwing her from the steps, “Make a barrier this time else you’ll get some bad bruises!”

Giggling like an ass, Harel continued up the stairs, hopping over several steps at a time before she felt something cold take hold of her legs. At once, the Qunari elf listed forward before catching herself, attempting to yank her legs from its new icy prison.

“You little fuckin-” Harel started.

“Fucking what? Cheater? I didn’t cheat first, remember?” Yel interjected with a smile as she jogged back up the steps, taking her time before stopping by Harel, “Aw is the Dread Wolf stuck? Do you need help puppy?”

A menacing stare shot from the half-Qunari as her body began shaking. Soon enough, the ice began hissing as little wisps of flames licked out from Harel’s skin, eating away the ice.

“I’m a mage too, you fuck,” Harel growled

Yel simply smiled, coating her hand in a slick sheet of ice before reaching up to pat the angry co-Inquisitor’s cheek, “Uh-huh, I see that. Have fun with that ice, it’s extra reinforced for shitheads like you.”

Flinching at the cold touch, Harel pulled back before focusing to burn the ice away; Yel jogged up the stairs, only turning around for one second to mouth I win.

Oh that fucking does it.

Summoning every drop of magic in her bones, Harel blasted the ice chunks away, scaring quite a few people and earning a far away cheer from someone in particular.

“BEAT HER ASS!!!!” Sera yelled from the tavern rooftop, “SORRY YEL BUT I’M ROOTIN’ FER THE TALL ONE!!!”

Hearing the aftermath, Yel turned around slowly, green eyes shining with surprise. Harel shook the chips of ice from her feet before giving her signature wide-eyed, wide grin.

“You heard her,” Harel said as she began clomping up the stairs, “I’m gonna beat YOUR ASSSSSSSS!!!!”

Now, Yelisavita was a powerful and highly dangerous mage. She survived a great deal of trauma and death. Crawling out of Haven’s ruins, she proved she was indeed walking in the Maker’s Light despite being an Alienage elf.

In that moment, however, Yel was a fennec in the eyes of a hyena. One would think she’d be careful now that she’d angered the other mage.

“Says the idiot caught in a simple ice spell.” Yel antagonized before leaping away, breaking into a sprint.

Summoning another bout of magic, Harel brought forth ice, Faade Stepping in a blue blur past the stairs and into the Main Hall. Unfortunately for Harel’s dumbass, Yel had caught on, Fade Stepping in tandem past her.

Varric had to hold down his many Merchant’ Guild letters as the two flew past, his hands gripping the many pages tightly, “HEY! Can’t a dwarf do some paper mache in peace?”

Back to shoving each other, Harel and Yel scrapped with Yel’s hands around Harel’s horns and Harel’s own trying to push the elf away.

“NO!” they shouted together at Varric, on the same page for once.

The black bones of Harel’s horns began to smoke as Yel funnelled fire into her hands.

‘YOU LITTLE SHIT!” Harel said before finally pushing her off, “Did you just try to burn off my fucking horns??!!!”

Harel in turn pushed the office doors open, noticing the absence at the desk before breaking into a sprint. Kicking in the office exit, Harel opened the door just in time to see Yel cracking the War Room entry open.

Using the opportunity, Yel took off once more, diving through the Ambassador’s office towards the War Room.

“GET BACK HERE!!!!”

Instead of saying some crude quip, Harel continued running, pulling magic from her body once more to Fade Step, meeting Yel halfway as she flew forward in a blue streak. The Alienage elf turned back at the last second, her green eyes once again wide in surprise as Harel leapt forward, grabbing Yel and sending them both tumbling through the door. They rolled, pulling each other’s hair and scrabbling like wet cats before someone cleared their throat.

“Good day, Inquisitors,” Cullen said, raising his voice to cut off the tail end of their argument, “I see everyone is in high spirits.”

For a moment, the two stayed the way they were with Yel’s hands around Harel’s throat and Harel’s hand pushing Yel’s face back.

Releasing her grip, Yel pushed Harel’s face back, shoving her into the ground before getting up. She gave a great smile as she dusted herself off, moving to take her place at the War Table.

“Good day, Commander,” she said with a smile, a light blush painting pink shades around her Valaslin.

Cullen smiled back, gripping the pommel of his sword before looking away, also blushing just a bit.

“FUCKIN-” Harel shouted as she moved off the ground, interrupting what was supposed to be a lovely moment, “I will put my foot so far up your a-”

Another throat cleared, this time, from the very end of the War Table.

“Harel,” Josephine assuaged, “I will kindly ask that you show a modicum of decorum. Thank you.”

Scrunching up her face, Harel looked between Yel and Josephine, at first settling on the elf’s smug grin before staring at the lovely Antivan.

“Lucky little fuck,” Harel muttered as she took her place next to Yel, “Damn fuckin lucky that Josie’s here or else I’d-”

“You’d what? Cry at me, wolf?” Yel replied, her smug grin only growing wider.

And once again, the flames of rivalry grew, fanning into an inferno as static crackled in Harel’s palms and fire spun around Yel’s body.

“YOU ARE NOT CHILDREN” Leliana shouted, clapping her hands, her eyes glistening like vicious sapphires, “So for Andraste’s sake, stop fighting like infants! Behave yourself!”

Yel and Harel differed in many ways but there was one thing they agreed on. Leliana was scary and when that Orlesian had enough of their shit, it was time to stand straight, shut up and do their job.

“E-emerald Graves,” Harel stuttered, looking at Yel, “Thinking we could go to the Graves to do...do that thing…”

Yel nodded before staring at the map, trying her best not to look up at Leliana, “We should go to the Hissing Waste’s actually but sure….sure….The Graves sounds...important too.”

At the opposite end of the table, Josephine sidled up to Cullen, finishing the last flourish of her letter before whispering, “ Our paramours continue to be interesting, do they not?” she dips the quill in ink, writing another line, “However, it would be preferable if they did not fight so much. It is indeed troubling for our reputation when they scrap in the public eye.”

Cullen sighs as he looks at Yel, watching her brush back a strand of strawberry blonde hair before pushing a map marker away from Harel’s hand, “ They’re not so bad, Ambassador. My sisters and I fought in a similar way, but because we hated each other. I think they’ll be fine.”

Turning away from her clipboard, Josephine looked at Harel who continued trying to pick up the map marker, only to have it shoved away, “Perhaps you are correct. Maybe they are growing to be friends.”

“IF YOU PUSH THAT MARKER ONE MORE TIME I SWEAR ON ANDRUIL’S SWEATY TIT’S I’LL SKIN YOU ALIVE!!!!”

“Oh, you want to lose again, pup? Don’t go crying to your prissy little bedbuddy -I mean no disrespect Ambassador- ” Yel stops for a moment, looking at Josephine before turning to Harel once more, “when I tan your hide faster than you can say Mythal.”

“Inquisitor-” Cullen starts before Harel shoots a glare at him.

“Don’t even try it, Curly!”

“DON’T TALK TO HIM LIKE THAT!” Yel shouts back, giving the taller half-elf a shove.

And once more, a fight broke out in the War Room as all three Advisors watched the pair roll around on the floor. One would say they were akin to a wolf and a lioness fighting when in fact they were just two aggressive nugs duking it out.

Today was just one of those days where they didn’t get along more than usual. Hopefully, soon they’d be back to some kind of mutual idiocy with Yel on Harel’s shoulders, steering the half-Qunari around by the horns before they’d both fall down some hill.

Josephine and Cullen, though different in many aspects both thought the same thing as they watched their other halves fight.

Maker help me and my competitive girlfriend.

#Harel: *breathes* Yel: (+999 Rivalry)#birds of a feather fight forever #dragon age ocs #Yelisavita Lavellan #Fen'Harel Adaar #dragon age fic #dragon ag drabble #dai fanfic #da:i fanfic #mage inquisitor #inquisitors #Qunari elf #elf inquisitor #qunari inquisitor

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ibijau · 4 years

Text

Worst engagement AU // on AO3

set early-ish during nhs’s first year in the Cloud Recesses

It takes a while to get used to life in the Cloud Recesses, but it's not so bad. Nie Huaisang kinds of like it. Sure the lessons are hell, the food is atrocious, he still hasn't made a single friend, the other Nie disciples are all two or three years older than him so they don't care much about him, and Lan Xichen makes special efforts to show he ignores him, but…

But at least the scenery is nice.

Not that Nie Huaisang is really supposed to enjoy the scenery of course. Lan Qiren always gave a lot of extra materials for his students to work with as a rule. And then, once he noticed that Nie Huaisang struggled in class, he gave him extra extra materials. It's a nightmare, especially since Nie Huaisang kind of fails to understand those as well, even though they're supposed to help him.

It is so tempting to give up. Nie Huaisang knows whether he tries to study or not, the result is always going to be roughly the same. He could slip poetry books inside his courtesy rules, he could practice calligraphy instead of copying talismans, he could skip sword practice and go out in the mountains and be alone and paint. He doesn’t. He tries hard to be as good as everyone wants him to be, and all he gets in return is scolding because, apparently, his best just isn’t enough.

Two months into his stay in the Cloud Recesses, Nie Huaisang gives in to temptation.

It’s been an awful morning, after an awful week. He’s failed his latest test, so badly that Lan Qiren had a one-on-one talk with him saying he has to do better because he’s shaming his sect. And then he crossed path with Lan Xichen who couldn’t avoid saying hello to him and looked at him as if his very existence were a personal insult.

They’re supposed to have sword practice that afternoon, but Nie Huaisang decides he’s not going. Instead after lunch he grabs an inkstone, some paper, his favourite brush, and heads away into the wild.

It feels like forever since the last time he did this. It's been impossible in the Cloud Recesses, and before that there was his father's long illness of course. It's so good to be free and just wander on a mostly unused path. After walking for a while, Nie Huaisang notices a barely visible trail going to the side of the path and into the woods, so he decides to follow that on a whim. It feels like a trail created by someone not infrequently going that way, so there might be something worth checking out.

The trail leads him up to a small clearing which feels a little underwhelming for how much he's had to walk. But that sentiment only until he sees them.

Rabbits.

A whole little family of them, coming out of their burrow in the late afternoon light. Nie Huaisang nearly squeals at the sight, barely stopping himself in time. The last thing he wants is to scare them when he's clearly intruding in their home.

Instead, Nie Huaisang carefully sits down at a respectful distance, lays some paper in front of him, prepares some ink and gets painting.

He doesn't get very far (there's only one rabbit on the page when he's planning four) before a presence makes him look up.

Nie Huaisang gasps, so startled to find Lan Xichen looking down at him that he drops his brush, ruining his work. He braces himself for a scolding, or at least a cutting remark, but none comes even though Lan Xichen looks impossibly upset.

Too upset, in fact. It’s odd to see his fiancé without that annoying polite smile of his, but that’s because it’s not actually Lan Xichen at all.

In all the time of his engagement to Lan Xichen, Nie Huaisang has never really had much reason to interact with Lan Wangji. He’s not particularly tried to, if he’s honest. It’s bad enough to be engaged to someone everyone agrees is the most attractive boy in their entire generation, and the most accomplished, with the best cultivation, and is the most perfect in every aspect. No, there has to be a second one, who is at least as accomplished as the first, a little less charmingly polite but apparently promising to have even better cultivation.

It’s not that Nie Huaisang hates his fiancé’s little brother, he has no reason to when they’ve never really even talked but… well, maybe he does hate him a bit, and envies him a lot. Everything seems to come so easily to these Lan brothers, it’s so unfair.

What’s unfair as well is being found by Lan Wangji in this place that’s so far from everything. For once Nie Huaisang was finally having some fun after all. And sure, he knew all along that his little escapade would end up in him getting punished for skipping sword practice, but it would have been nice to get a little more free time before that. Only, Lan Wangji is well known among all guest disciples for being, to put it bluntly, a snitch, so that’s it for Nie Huaisang’s little adventure.

Or at least, it should be.

To Nie Huaisang’s surprise, Lan Wangji doesn’t order him back into the Cloud Recesses, doesn’t tell him he’s going to get punished. Instead he steps closer, and inspects Nie Huaisang’s ruined painting with a critical expression. He doesn’t seem particularly impressed, though in all fairness, it might just be that his face is naturally like that.

Then, still without a word, Lan Wangji walks past Nie Huaisang and goes to sit on the ground a little further. His posture is as proper as if he were having tea with his uncle. His attention, Nie Huaisang quickly realises, is entirely on the family of rabbits. After a moment, one of the kits hops over another, a little clumsily, and Nie Huaisang swears a faint smile appears on Lan Wangji’s lips, just barely visible.

It’s kind of cute, really. Nie Huaisang wouldn’t have expected the cold brother of his frigid fiancé to have that sort of a sweet side to him. Discovering that Lan Wangji, perfect Lan Wangji who keeps being given as an example of what a second master of a major sect should be, amazing Lan Wangji who is everything that every Gusu Lan disciple strives to be, can still have that sort of secret… it gives Nie Huaisang hope.

The Cloud Recesses are going to take so much from him someday. He’s going to love his home, the places he knows around the Unclean Realm, the knowledge of which Qinghe streets have the best candies and sweets, the birds he loves so much, and he’s not going to get anything in exchange except the misery of being looked down upon by Lan Xichen for the rest of his life. Nie Huaisang is going to lose everything when he marries and in the last two months he’s started crying about that again.

But Lan Wangji is here, watching rabbits.

Nie Huaisang can’t say for sure, but it’s pretty likely that his future brother-in-law, just like him, isn’t supposed to be here. Even a person like Lan Wangji can bend the rules. And come to think of it, perfect Lan Xichen too isn’t always absolutely perfect. After all, he’s pretty mean, and Nie Huaisang, who has copied the rules of Gusu Lan until his wrist ached, knows that his fiancé should strive for kindness, especially with his inferiors, which Nie Huaisang is. There’s also Lan Qiren who never even looked for a cultivation partner, even though he should have, to secure an alliance for his sect, so that’s selfish. And that’s without getting into the situation with Sect Leader Lan.

The Cloud Recesses are going to take a lot from him, but they won’t take everything. If he tries hard, if he’s discreet enough, if he hides properly like Lan Wangji seems to do, he can keep a little spark of himself alive.

The thought is almost enough to make Nie Huaisang cry, but for once it’s from happiness.

Ultimately, he manages to stop the tears before they can start falling. He is not, as a rule, a quiet crier, and he doesn’t want to risk startling the rabbits, or being noticed by Lan Wangji. Instead, he picks up his brush, grabs a new sheet of paper, and gets back to work. A long while passes, and it starts getting dark around them. Lan Wangji is the one to get up first. Nie Huaisang half expects him to leave alone, but instead the younger boy comes to stand at his side and just waits for him to put a finishing touch to his last painting.

They go down the mountain together, without saying a word. It’s hard to say for sure, but they've probably missed the bell for dinner, and they’re going to be scolded for sure. Nie Huaisang feels awful anxious about that, but seeing Lan Wangji so calm and collected helps. Punishment is the price to pay to keep a little it of who they are, he figures.

Just as they are about to enter the dining halls, Nie Huaisang grabs all the courage he has, and pulls on Lan Wangji’s sleeve to stop him. The younger boy throws him a puzzled look, but still doesn’t say anything.

He does gasp lightly when Nie Huaisang hands him one of the paintings he did that afternoon. It has the whole rabbit family on it, as they were when they laid down a moment in the last rays of sun, lazily munching on grass.

“For… for days when you can’t go up there,” Nie Huaisang mumbles.

For letting me know I don’t have to give up on everything, he doesn’t add, because he’s not sure Lan Wangji would understand what he means. Even if he escapes to go see rabbits, Lan Wangji has never seemed unhappy with his life, so it’s unlikely he’d get how Nie Huaisang feels.

“Thank you,” Lan Wangji says, as formal as if he’d received a gift from the emperor himself. “I will take care of it.”

It’s too polite, really, and Nie Huaisang grins nervously. It’s not even that good of a painting, if he’s honest. It’s the best one he’s done in a while, sure, but Nie Huaisang knows that the Lan Jades excel at all arts too, so his little doodles just don’t compare.

Still, it’s nice that for once, something of his is appreciated. It’s just too bad that it’s the wrong brother making the effort of being this kind to him.

#xisang #nie huaisang #lan wangji #mo dao zu shi #I live for nhs and lwj getting along in a way that's specific to them and that maybe others don't get #their friendship is my second mdzs agenda #jau writes #worst engagement au

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demonboidies · 5 years

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𝓼𝓲𝓬𝓴𝓵𝔂 - 𝓽𝓸 𝓴𝓷𝓸𝔀

pt. 3

word count: 1, 802

●WARNING: mention of several mental illnesses (eating disorders, depression, anxiety, psychotic disorders, OCD, alcohol abuse, and more) I do not go into deep detail of each, more so simply mentioning the names, but if you are easily triggered please don't read. the reason I am mentioning these illnesses is because the boys(in my ff) suffer from several of them. all the mental illnesses mentioned in this chapter and their corresponding member are not based on true facts or actual evidence. this is fictional.●

"ah, well i graduated from college a while ago. majored in world language, i had this crazy dream of being a translator. but i obviously don't do that, although i've recently applied to several companies, i haven't heard from any." you ended with a neutral smile, making eye contact with the oldest who was nodding in understanding. "but i asked Jungkook which classes he took, since he still is a youngling."

you chuckle at your wording, along with the others. Hoseok even ruffling the man's hair teasingly.

"uhm, i do programming, computer stuff...yeah, it's nothing interesting like the arts b-but it's what i d-do best." a weak smile was on his lips and you chuckle softly.

"no, that sounds cute. you seem to be like a tech nerd, please take no offense. i mean to compliment you." you said, saving your mistake last second. even if they were younger than you, the level of respect and professionalism still had to be present between all of you.

red was painted across jungkook's face...he was cute to you? taehyung and jimin clenched the utensils on their hands, annoyed with how jungkook unknowingly one upped them. yoongi and hoseok sent glares to jungkook. namjoon and jin simply smiled, although they were fuming internally.

"oh, thank you..."

you nodded, biting into the food present in front of you. the taste was extravagant, even if it was a simple dish.

"my gosh, who made this? it is delicious." you moaned out, wiping your mouth. "this is so good, and home made?"

"that would be me, darling. and of course, home made. i like being able to overlook the food the boys eat, make sure they get their nutrients and stuff. i try to limit the amount of time they eat out,but sometimes i can't control it. especially if i'm in another country." you nodded impressed with the subtle fact he dropped, whether he did it on purpose or not.

"what do you guys do? i'm intrigued now with your professions." you said, resting your heaad on your hand.

"well, i graduated already...but i run my own dance studio. you should stop by sometime! we've won a couple awards, i'm very proud of my students!" hoseok smiles wide, and you could easily tell how much dance meant to him.

"i'm taking online classes for psychology. going to college is such a hassle, online is so much easier." namjoon says with a heavy sigh which you jokingly cheers to. making the males laugh at your humor.

"we, my friend, are on the same page!" you said and he laughed, making you smile widely.

"i produce music. i post my works on soundcloud...i promise i'm not like every other soundcloud rapper. i actually care about what i make, rather than the views it'll give me. i also have interest in photography, but tae is much better than me." yoongi was quiet and fidgeting when he saw the gaze of you on him. but at his last statement, you pouted a bit.

"i'm sure you two have your own styles and qualities in your work. also i've never met a producer before, i look forward to listening to your work as your career prgresses." you smiled kindly at him and he ducked his down to hide his blush. you chuckle before moving your gaze to the eldest at the table.

"oh, my turn. about time~" the boys scoffed and his attitude when you chuckled, at ease in his presence. "i mainly stay at home and do work in my office, but when push comes to shove i do have to leave the country. i'm heir to my father's company, so i have to take responsibility sometimes...and you must be wondering. so i'll answer the question now. the reason why i'm in this wheelchair is because i was in a bad accident when i was young." he nodded solemnly, although he was smiling weakly. there was a silence as you took the words in. "thank God my face was spared though."

he cupped his cheek, initiating a innocent look as everyone broke into a smile, looking over to the man with a wonder.

how could someone be so positive after such a horrific event? which was what you were thinking.

but the rest of the boys simply sighed in relief at their hyung. he was always a good liar. and they were lucky you were completely politely innocent and oblivious to their hyung's lie. he had lied more than once to you already, cheeky person he was

"yes, your face was surely spared." you said joining in with the joke.

the rest of the dinner consisted of you bonding over little things. your love for all kinds of games (including pranks) was shared with jungkook, love for animal life with namjoon, sleep with yoongi, culinary with jin, free expression with hoseok, puppies and dogs with taehyung, and family and friends with jimin. the general direction of every conversation was satisfying as it ended with everyone having a smile on their faces.

you had helped clean up, already beginning your new task as a house maid/nurse. "so what would like me to focus on as my first days?" you asked after everything was cleaned. the youngest had to go to their rooms, to begin getting ready for bed since they had school tomorrow. all their classes were in the morning which was fortunate for you since you would be driving them there from now on...and it didn't seem like fun to constantly drive back to the house and then to the university.

namjoon, who was standing in front of you, moved to the study table in the living room, and took a Manila folders into his hands. it seemed like a thick stack of papers and as you looked closer, there were a total of 7.

"no formal work, but all 7 of us saw it appropriate to give you an introduction to our needs. what exactly is wrong with us, y'know? we trust you're experience enough for this so we are confident you'll do just fine."

you took the stack of papers and thanked him. you walked through the house to find your room, which hoseok had shown you right after dinner was finished, and you still marveled at the sight.

it was a grand gray and white minimalistic bedroom with a huge bed in the center. there was also a large ledge with a window that you could sit on to see the night sky. you maneuvered your way over to the study table, turning the lap on to begin "studying" the males.

●𝖐𝖎𝖒 𝖘𝖊𝖔𝖐𝖏𝖎𝖓 / kim seokjin

disabilities/disorders: unable to move bottom half of body, a light case of schizophrenia, requires special attention on getting ready in the morning (may include dressing and showering)

meds: need daily dose for schizophrenia

your brows furrowed. that existed? you knew schizophrenia existed, but meaning a light case would specifically show what? you just shrugged and decided to what the papers were saying.

●𝖒𝖎𝖓 𝖞𝖔𝖔𝖓𝖌𝖎 / min yoongi

disabilities/disorders: OCD, severe depression, social anxiety, prone to panic and anxiety attacks in a crowd of many people, values his personal space-do not enter his personal bubble unless asked

meds: needs dose for OCD, depression

you nodded slowly, understanding the conditions and seeing the familiar names once again. you've had patients like him before, but everyone is different, so you will still be careful.

●𝖏𝖚𝖓𝖌 𝖍𝖔𝖘𝖊𝖔𝖐 / jung hoseok

disabilities/disorders: bipolar disorder, ADHD, OCD, fits of anger are dangerous, act hostile in any case and alert one of the other tenants immediately

meds: dose for ADHD & OCD

sudden shortness of his list made you a bit hopeful that taking care of 7 males wouldn't be as hard as it seemed. then again, you willingly signed up for this so you shouldn't be complaining in any way.

●𝖐𝖎𝖒 𝖓𝖆𝖒𝖏𝖔𝖔𝖓 / kim namjoon

disabilities/disorders: depression, OCD, past with alcohol abuse (currently in rehab)

meds: dose for depression and OCD

you pouted slightly, only being able to imagine how hard it must be to recover from alcoholism. and it was saddening to see such an intellectual and kind person such as Namjoon suffer from the mental illness, although that could be said about everyone you had previously read.

●𝖕𝖆𝖗𝖐 𝖏𝖎𝖒𝖎𝖓 / park jimin

disabilities/disorders: ARFID, anxiety, prone to panic and anxiety attacks

meds: none

reading the single line you let yourself think of the moment he introduced himself. he was enthusiastic about meeting you, it made you smile at the memory. you were suddenly thankful for getting such a sweet and honey-like expression out of the man.

●𝖐𝖎𝖒 𝖙𝖆𝖊𝖍𝖞𝖚𝖓𝖌 / kim taehyung

disabilities/disorders: OCD, ADD, brief psychotic disorder - periods are short and caused by stress, not dangerous unless triggered by something you do or say

meds: dose for OCD, ADD, and best if given sleep meds during pyschotic episodes

you nodded slowly, understanding and keeping the directions in the back of your mind.

●𝖏𝖊𝖔𝖓 𝖏𝖚𝖓𝖌𝖐𝖔𝖔𝖐 / jeon jungkook

disabilities/disorders: DID, psychotic, anxiety

meds: dose to limit psychotic episodes

the 3 things on the list made your eyebrows furrow. the 3 seemed to make a terrible combination and you began thinking of how calm Jungkook was before. You hoped you wouldn't encounter any bad alters of Jungkook, if he had any bad ones. and, honestly, you were a bit uneducated in the DID field, so you were determined to learn more tonight with the help of the internet.

and the last sheet in each file were filed letters to make sure you caught it :

THEY SHOULD NEVER BE KEPT UNSUPERVISED FOR A LONG TIME. MEDICATION IS IN THE CABINET IN YOUR ROOM WITH PADLOCK TO AVOID OVERDOSES. THANK YOU FOR YOUR UNDERSTANDING AND COMPLIANCE.

you took the words seriously, seeing the urgency in the message. shutting the folders, you stacked all of them in one pile and moved to freshen up. a shower was needed as you climbed into the steaming bathroom. after washing yourself, you climbed into bed and soon you were falling asleep. you fell asleep thinking about how tomorrow would be your first day of your new job.

a/n- thank you so much for the support of this book!!! I hope you guys stay tuned and enjoy the rest of the journey with yabdere!bts

oooh, curious question

》what other times do you think jin lied to you? hmmm?

♡♡♡♡♡SEND ME UR ASK ON WHAT U THINK ABT THATTTTT♡♡♡♡♡

#yandere bts #yandere #yandere bts imagines #yandere imagines #x reader #bts x reader #yandere x reader #sickly ff #ot7 bts #bts ot7 #yandere ot7 #bts sickly ff #bts ff

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cutiecrates · 5 years

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September 2019 Lucky Treat!

Well here we are guys, finally! As it turns out, I was supposed to get this on my birthday (the 15th) and it came, but at the time I was taking a nap because I was gone most of the day and I felt really tired when I got home. So they showed up around 6pm but nobody answered the door, and since I had to sign for it they left.

This isn’t the first time this has happened, I somehow miss foreign packages I need to sign for <_< my mom and I argue over this every time, and as I expected it didn’t come the next day. I wasted 2-3 hours stalking the front door and not leaving the room at all for anything. So yesterday morning we picked it up, but it just wasn’t a good day to try to post this.

It’s also the reason why my next review hasn’t been posted but you can expect to see that later today. So for now, let’s focus on this!

As a reminder I won’t be reviewing these items due to them being sent for free. I’ll just be showing them and giving my opinions.

(Note the Kawaii Box I’m supposed to review in the background...)

Okay, so as you can see this is exactly how it arrived. I initially assumed it would be one large box, so I was actually relieved to see it consisted of 2 medium-sized boxes. Both were light weight and easy to carry.

Japan Haul, for anyone unfamiliar with the name or new to the blog is the online store belonging to the branding that makes Tokyo Treat, YumeTwins, NMNL. You can find a lot of the box items, as well as some unique items on there, which is why I try to recommend you check it out if you’re ever interested in the items from those boxes. There wasn’t any special papers or anything in the box, but each of them had an “order summery sheet“ and a sheet of protective Styrofoam on the bottom.

Before I begin I wanted to mention that usually there’s a “value“ depicted in the information or picture for the Lucky Treat, but this one didn’t have it. On each box it says their values were 1000yen, so combined I think that might be $200.00? I don’t know much about foreign currency so don’t quote me on it.

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Mew Plushie & Vulpix Plushie

Anyone who reads this blog knows that I am OBSESSED with Vulpix/Rokon- it was the reason I just had to have this box, and it hasn’t left my side since I opened the one it was inside. It was true love from the day we met; I have various Vulpix items, including a smaller plush from a KFC promotion when I was a kid, a couple toy items, stickers, coloring book pages, and several TCG cards in both English and Japanese~

About a year or so back they were featuring Vulpix (normal and Alola) in Japanese merch. I’ve always wanted to visit Japan, but that was probably when I wanted it the most.

The plush is pretty big (although I know in comparison to the Mew it doesn’t look it), it’s the perfect lap size~ It’s also very soft, with fluffy material for the hair and tails that is a combination of rose swirls and tufts. The tails are one solid piece with lines between them to give them the feel of individual pieces, but the curled portions are separated. I love love love love love it~

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So as you can tell, Vulpix isn’t the only plush we got in this months box :3 in fact we got a handful more to go- including this really big Mew Plush. Currently this is the second biggest Pokemon Plush I own, it’s a few inches taller than the piplup I won at the fair a few years back, but smaller than the Meowth I got when I was a kid.

This plush is made from the same fabric as the vulpix but lacks the fluffy hair accents. The sewn details are perfect, it’s feet are properly stuffed and a little floppy, while its super-long tail is sewn to the back, so I assume it would dangle if I cut the strings. He’s great for hugs.

Flaaffy Plushie & Mini Eeevee Plushie

We got 2 more Pokemon plushies, including this very small Flaaffy plush~ It’s like the Vulpix in which it has normal plush fabric, and slightly softer fabric for the wool on its neck and head. It’s stitching and details are great, it’s a really good quality plushie.

According to its tag it’s part of a Pokemon Fit line. I never heard of it so I don’t really know what it contains- but I think it’s adorable how out of the 4 Pokemon it’s normally the biggest, and here it’s the smallest. It fits in the palm perfectly.

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Our final Pokemon plushie is an adorable, fluffy Eevee. I really like Eeevee and its eeveelutions, and I really liked playing Let’s Go Eeevee! so this was a lovely surprise; now if only I had some items to make it match mine~

It’s well made and very cute and sweet looking, and according to the tag this came out last year- probably for Let’s Go Eeevee :P It’s a big bigger than Flaaffy, but still fits in the palm nicely. I can’t decide if I like its fluffy neck fur or huge tail more~

Kopiyo Friends Cushion

This is our last plush-based item in the box, an adorable cushion themed after an adorable birdie. From Kopiyo Friends there was a variety of various birds you could get in this set, but for Lucky Treat it was this specific... parakeet? It looks like the ones I used to have when I was little, so I’ve been calling it that.

It’s a good size for a pillow (head, lap, legs, etc) and it’s stuffed enough to feel marshmallowy squishy, and it stretches a little bit. It was very comfortable, and it makes for a nice secondary pillow you can cuddle with.

Solgaleo Figure & Mewtwo Mug

If you guys couldn’t tell this box was almost entirely Pokemon oriented :3 and to go with our plushies, we have a Solgaleo figurine from the latest handheld Pokemon games (until sword and shield comes out anyway). It’s from the Moncolle-EX collection of Pokemon figures... and that’s pretty much all I can say other than it’s paint quality is great. I’m not sure about the figure quality itself because I won’t be removing it from the packaging. I might give it to my friend, who bought this version of the game.

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Now this next item goes with the Mew I got, and I think they were both made to celebrate the upgraded/updated Mewtwo Strikes Back movie. I know my picture quality of this sucks, but I was kind of on a time crunch at this point... and by that I mean, I had cats going crazy in the background trying to get in my way and play with the boxes <_<

The mug has a very detailed, mood-setting picture for the movie. I have to admit it’s not really my style (CUTIEcrates probably says it all right?), but I do like it as a Pokemon fan and I’ll find a use for it.

Gengar Mask & Pokemon Memo

Now this is an item perfect for this time of the year, as well as when I clean or when the allergies hit (where was it during summer when I needed it?!). I did have one mask from a really old DokiDoki, but I have no clue where that went.

I love Gengar (at this rate it’s easier just to say every Pokemon in this box are ones I like, nearly), so this is a cute, funny little item. It’s a nice, padded mask with two layers of filtered-like fabric over the part covering your nose and/or mouth. I’m not really sure if they serve a purpose (maybe filtering dust or scent or something?) but they have a nice clean smell.

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We can’t forget the stationery items now :3 and to go with all of our Pokemon goodness we have a notepad with 4 sets of 8 different designed papers! They easily tear apart and come from the Pokemon World Market series, featuring the various Pokemon from various regions hanging out and having fun.

Pokemon World Market Re-Ment & Colorful Ramune Blind Bag

I’m assuming the Pokemon World Market is a current series/collection :3 because next we have an adorable re-ment set. I miss getting re-ments in the boxes, so this was very exciting. Like the notepad, these were based on various regions foods, Pokemon, and activities. Such as the one I got, the Kanto region, having a bike, a Poke Flute, and a Pokemon Doll. Each one also includes a map of the specific region.

If you were curious, here are what the others had:

2. Squirtle Watering can, toy, milk, manju/dorayaki?

3. Torchic, Rice cracker, Pokeblock storage, and what looks like an envelope and ticket.

4. Piplup, helmet, shovel, what looks like chocolate, and Poffins.

5. A Pokedoll, a ferris wheel toy, and ice cream.

6. Pokedoll, food, skates, and the girl trainers hat.

7. A book or magazine with Snorlax, a toucan measuring piece(?), a bowl or fruit in a box, and an Alola Exeggutor pen with base.

Now compared to the others, mine feels pretty simple. But the detail on each piece is amazing; I could look at re-ments all day~ I really wish I could display mine, but I just don’t have a safe place or any room for them at the time. As much as I think a re-ment subscription box would be fun, I’m kinda glad they don’t have one of those :P I’d be in trouble.

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Now, this is a Tokyo Treat special box, of course there has to be a couple food items~ and first up is a Pokemon, Wobbuffet bling bag candy tin, which features 6 different designs that feature Wobbuffet interacting with various Pokemon. They’re all so cute!

But lookie lookie, did you notice which one I got~? The special mystery one :D I’m not sure if that was intentional or not, but I thought it was a fun additional surprise.

There are 3 flavors of candy, including a blue ramune/soda, yellow... I think lemon (but it could be banana? It doesn’t taste like it though), and a pinkish-red one that I couldn’t identify. It might be cola, because it tastes like a nasty cola Japanese candy DIY I tried a couple years back- one of the only cola flavors I didn’t like. But the candies are pretty good, even that weird might be cola one.

Pokemon Nori Chips & Dragonball Super Candies

Given the few Non-Pokemon items in the box, I was surprised to see this Dragonball themed candy. These come in a tin-like piece similar to old-style Japanese fruity hard candy. I’ve seen them several times but never had them before- and let me tell you, it’s a picnic trying to open these! You’ll definitely want a pen or scissors or a cornered object or something, nails are not recommended though. But maybe mine are just wimpy. The good news is that you don’t have to worry about them spilling.

Anyway, these are just cute orange spherical candies with a simple orange-ish flavoring to them. It’s not overly sweet or tangy, so it’s good if you like a mild candy.

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To kick up the snacks, we also have some curry-flavored Nori Chips/Seaweed. They come in this adorable Pokemon tin featuring Pikachu and some other impressive pokemon, and the inside is lined by pleated paper. The tin is 71.0 calories.

The seaweed/nori is thin, but in 2 layers, with curry flavored powder/substance between them. If you don’t like the taste of curry or seaweed you probably won’t like these, but if you do then you will. I actually really like eating seaweed as a snack, and curry is pretty yummy so I really like them x3 they’re not spicy, but it seems to pick up heat the more you eat of them. They’re also very crunchy.

Pokemon Tote

We also have some fun apparel, including a Pokemon Tote by the brand Outdoor Products, which has been in business since 1973 apparently. It includes a rainbow variety of colorful Pokemon from a few different generations making a variety of poses. I think there’s 2 per Pokemon. The bag also features a velcro strap to hold it shut, and it’s a medium-big size, so it would come in handy for a lot of stuff.

Pokemon Mini Bath Towel

To go with the Pokemon World Market collection, we also have this adorable and colorful mini-bath towel featuring all the different regions Pokemon having a fun time playing and checking things out at their respective hangouts x3

Despite the name, this thing couldn’t be fit into a single picture without losing a lot of detail, so I had to settle for this. It’s very soft fabric, I’m very eager to begin using it because it’ll go great with that set of Pokemon wash clothes I got a few months back.

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Okay guys, that will be it for now! What did you think, was this Lucky Treat good? I really wish the other subscribers could have won this too because it was very fun and exciting- I still can’t believe i won it!

However, I did notice an item is missing. There was also supposed to be a pair of Pokemon Socks that I didn’t find in either box. I checked multiple times, and I couldn’t find anything to say the item was removed from the box, so I don’t know what happened. I messaged them about it, but because this was entirely free, I don’t actually mind the mistake. It happens... of course, if it had been my Vulpix then heads would roll.

Just kidding :P Anyway, I’ll keep you guys updated on that. Until later, remember to hug a Pokemon!

#tokyotreat #luckytreat #pokemon plush #pokemon merchandise

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ginnyzero · 4 years

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My Fashion Connection

I’ve been trying to pin down lately why I love fashion and fashion design. Because I don’t love clothes and designing clothes and the choosing of fabrics because of the glitz and glam of high end runway shows and the glossy pages of Vogue magazine and adulation of famous design houses. Most of that I didn’t even know about until I went to school. I didn’t choose fashion because of any of those things. I really wanted to go into Computer Game Design because of games like Myst.

Growing up in a very small town in the middle of the southern tier of New York, fashion wasn’t anything that anyone in our town was interested in except the town pageant queen who had a ‘reputation.’ It’s dairy country. My town was and is much more interested in dirt bikes, hunting and fishing and kegger beer parties. There were a couple of families that were more well to do and worked at Cornell or IBM and thus wore nicer clothes but out of a town of say 50 to 100 people, there were more cows and farmers and retirees. It’s the type of town when two of the young people marry each other, the entire town becomes related.

My mother is a home sewer. I hate the term sewer in professional capacity because it has the connotations of a house wife sitting at home making amateur garments. My mother made a lot of my sister’s clothes growing up and when she started sending me to Christian schools with dress codes, she also made clothes for me. (Mostly jumpers.) Eventually she either got tired of sewing or felt that we needed to buy things to keep up appearances and she stopped. (This ended up with us shopping in budget discount overrun boutique shops. Yes. A thing. Family Dollar and Dollar General didn’t exist yet! And mother hadn’t discovered the “joys” of the Salvation Army and second hand or they simply weren’t close enough to shop at.)

In a tiny town, you have to drive almost an hour in every direction to get to anything that remotely resembles a fabric shop. Except, between our tiny town and the city of Ithaca we got lucky, because out in a nowhere more nowhere than our nowhere was a tiny fabric shop run by a petite old woman named Leona.

To get to Leona’s shop, you took this very twisty road over and through the hills and turned right when you finally hit another ‘major’ road. And then off to the left less than a mile was a huge stand of pine trees and in the middle of these pines was a dirt drive. You’d drive up the hill between these tall pines the rocks in the dirt crunching under your tires that opened onto a clearing on top of a hill that held a farm. Leona ran her shop out of her home, a one story mixture of a red roofed, white trailer with an add on to make it an L shape. The barn hadn’t been kept up and the red stain was fading and the barn was falling apart. You parked on the edge of the drive, hoped it hadn’t rained lately and it wasn’t pure mud so you could get back out. (If you got stuck, there was always the local farmer with a tractor and chains to pull you out.) You had to park on the edge because despite the fact the farm wasn’t an active farm, she rented out the land and your cars needed to be out of the way for the tractors to get through.

She had the shop in the add on built on the back of the trailer. Firewood piled up next to the screen door and cats lounged everywhere. Leona liked hoarding things so the walkway had gnomes, garden statues and benches and wheelbarrows and yes, there was a tiny garden windmill in the middle of the circular drive. If it was winter, salt crunched under your boots and you had to walk carefully across the ice covered mud slush. If it was spring or summer, there were flowers peeping up among the grass.

And once you crossed the threshold, warmth, Leona smiling with her curly short white hair and the measuring tape around her neck behind the measuring counter. Bolts and bolts of colorful and textured fabrics lined the walls and the blank spaces of walls over tables were old fashioned wall paper in dark red with ducks or cream and pink rose prints and warm golden colored wood panels. Painted sawblades provided decoration. The clock might have been a novelty item, a cow or a cat or even something with shears for the hands. I can’t remember. (There might have been all three.) It smelled mostly of sawdust, dust and in the winter, the sharp smell of a burning fire from the potbelly stoves. Leona’s help were also middle aged or older ladies like her and they weren’t quite as friendly, but they were helpful.

Leona stocked her shop by going down to NYC and buying overruns from the warehouses. (Overruns are fabrics that designers don't end up using and fabrics manufacturers make too much of because they predict more sales than they make. Most fabric retail stores are stocked by overruns.) She mostly had colorful cotton prints and upholstery fabric. There was a little fashion fabric and by the time I hit high school, she had things like stretch velvet. She mostly sold to quilters and people like my mother. Cornell doesn’t have a fashion design program, only a science textiles program, but she’d occasionally get students. Her hours were irregular. I don’t know if she ever turned a profit. She encouraged touching the fabric. (Though she didn’t like children taking bolts out of the shelves for good reason.) She didn’t mind that I wandered about away from my mother. She always remembered me no matter how much time had passed.

But every time I go into a fabric shop, there is still that bit of magic from going to Leona’s. When I returned from college, I wanted to go and show Leona some of my projects. She died before I got the chance and I still regret that.

Professional shops like Mood, Britex, B&J’s and to an extent the discount fabric warehouse that I used during college in San Francisco make me shake my head because the workers don’t always feel helpful. They don’t make you feel like every customer is important. They aren’t like Leona, as frail as she was, with her sunny smiles and slightly raspy voice, glasses, and cheerful attitude and love of textiles.

I also had Barbie. I’ve talked about Barbie and my love of Barbie. I would play with Barbie rather than with baby dolls. (My baby dolls took lots of naps according to my mother.) And I loved the clothing packs. I loved dressing and undressing her and trying new outfits out of the outfits I had. Barbie was a safe present to buy for me when I was growing up, because a) that meant my group of Barbie’s got new clothes and b) if this Barbie had different color hair or skin then I got more variety in my Barbies. (My favorite was the long red headed mermaid with the teal outfit. This was back when the tail was a “Skirt” you could take on and off.) I had maybe one Ken and I inherited a lot of clothes from my older sister who grew out of Barbie about the time I started getting interested. Some of them were homemade but I couldn’t get my mother to make more and she wouldn’t teach me how to sew to make them myself. (In fact, she said it was too hard and downright discouraged it. Guess who doesn’t really like sewing? Me.)

Today, I love Monster High and Ever After High, but if they’d existed when I was a child, I wouldn’t have gotten them because of my parents’ extreme dislike of anything related to monsters, ghosts or Halloween. (I am a November child people. This is ridiculous. Come on, I share a birthday with Bram Stoker. OKAY.)

And somewhere in that time, (1992 apparently, man, I was younger than I thought) when I was getting a pittance of an allowance and had saved money from Christmas, I had enough money to buy a new Barbie or a Crayola Fashion Design stencil/tracing kit. This was before Project Runway. This was before the idea that these Fashion Drawing kits were thought to be remotely popular. No one thought that little girls might like drawing clothes! (Go figure.) The Easy Bake Oven was still the biggest and most innovative thing for a girl’s toy. But Crayola came out with a stencil kit with a bunch of papers that had design outlines, and pattern rubbing plates and a light box. Everything in the kit was meant to fit in the light box. The light box was plastic, pink and ran on D batteries (not included bummer.) And I had just enough money to buy it or a new Barbie. (I think my only other difficult choice that compares to this was the Star Craft Battle Chest and something else and I chose the Battle Chest.)

(I can't believe I found a picture of that, someone is selling one on ebay.) Because, I mean, a new Barbie would only give me one set of new clothes, with this fashion design kit I could draw clothes, lots and lots and lots of clothes. I had always been an artistic child. I liked drawing. This had never really been encouraged except in the “here, have another set of colored pencils, pastels, watercolors, no lessons included.” So, here was Barbie in paper form! I didn’t have to take the clothes on and off. I could just trace what they had on the sheets or try to come up with stuff myself.

Pages of my Fashion Design Kit Now

I’m not going to say I was very good at it. The point was, I had fun, this was something to do that didn’t involve playing a game on the computer or reading a book or practicing my piano and I hadn’t gotten into writing at this age. So, from using this stencil, I started with encouragement of one of my friends, to try and make it more real life proportion and draw the figures myself (once again without any sort of drawing classes. The art classes at my school were a joke.) I bought sketchbooks and took them to school with me. I started writing because of this same friend.

It was frankly an escape. My allowance never grew bigger. So, it went towards buying new books to read, sketchbooks and replenishing my Crayola colored pencils. (Though Imperial ones were better but I only got those out of the colored pencil color by number kits.) I didn’t buy fashion magazines. The idea of fashion as a career wasn’t on my radar. I didn’t have a career on my radar. College was one of those, “I’ll think about it later,” things.

The girls at my school who were cheerleaders and liked fashion weren’t precisely my friends and felt like complete foreigners and strangers to me. I didn’t ‘get’ them. We had our groups and we stuck to them. Having arrived to this school after the groups were formed, I fit nowhere and living so far away from everyone else, there was no way that I could feasibly see to hang out with them after school in order to get to know them well enough to fit into one of the groups at all.

Magazines were a luxury in our house. Vogue never made it into the house ever. It took until after 7th grade and a major fight that we even got the newspaper. So by the time I hit eleventh and twelfth grade and college was ‘mandatory’ and I had a list of requirements for what college I could go to, I had to look through what the colleges offered versus what I was interested in and thought I could be good at. (Let me say that writing wasn’t considered because my mother was very anxious about me being able to have a ‘real job.’) And the practice test for the ACT in 10th grade came with this odd employment aptitude test thing to help you find the job that would be the right fit. (Goodness knows if it was remotely accurate.) Fashion design was in my “right fit” category. And between all the majors, there was a tiny college in Ohio that happened to have a Fashion Design degree under their Health and Human Services Major. And since the only computer graphics and gaming major I could find was at a Calvinist college in Michigan, I thought the Mennonite College in Ohio was probably a better idea.

I didn’t read fashion magazines. I didn’t know really how to sew. (Sewing lessons with my mother were a complete disaster.) I couldn’t make a pattern. I had absolutely no portfolio. There were three things I liked, writing, computer games and drawing clothes. And let’s be clear, I wasn’t that great at drawing clothes and my designs at the time probably weren’t that innovative. I had to make a choice and what very little information I could glean from the Ithaca Public Library (seriously, you’d think having Ithaca College and Cornell, the library would be better,) fashion seemed the way to go. It was a massive industry. It had to have work available after I attained my degree.

Oh to be that young and naïve again. Probably sheltered is the better term.

I was over a year and a half into my fashion degree at this tiny college when someone finally thought to clue me in that “to get a design degree you have to have an art minor.” Realizing that this was utterly ridiculous and that making patterns in ¼ of the size wasn’t really going to get me anywhere after trying to talk with one of the other students about whether or not we could really get work after going to this school, (I’m sorry, sweetie, I hope you realized I was trying to convince myself as well as you,) I transferred out and into the Academy of Art. (And this took another large fight.)

Where, I had a lot of credits but I essentially had to start from the beginning. So, having those credits wasn’t actually to my advantage because the numbers of credit hours earned made it appear that I had more experience than I did. This got me more scrutiny and really a worse college experience.

Let’s understand something, I grew up in New York. The Fashion Institute of Technology is part of the SUNY system of colleges. I was a New York resident. It would have been fairly cheap for me to go to FIT. My parents didn’t want me in NYC or at a secular school. Parsons was always out of the question because it’s as costly as Cornell and I understood that. FIT would have been an extremely LOGICAL CHOICE.

Oh well, I loved San Francisco. I loved the big city/small town feel of it and the ability to walk most places and the public transit. If it wasn’t so expensive to live there, I might still be there.

So, schooling wore away at me, but it didn’t dim my love of creating clothes. My love of creating clothes was never founded or predicated upon the idea that success was a runway show and a big fancy store and my name in lights. I didn’t want to be the next Coco Chanel. I didn’t know who she was and at the time I started drawing clothes, I frankly didn’t care. My going into fashion was me going “here is something I love and enjoy doing, can I make a job out of it? Yes. Yes. I can.”

No one can take that from me. I might get bored or tired, but you can’t take the love of creating away from me.

And by the way, I still don’t read Vogue. It’s out of date before it’s printed and 75% advertisements. I also still don’t care about a runway show or seeing my name in lights as a “name” of a brand. That’s not the fashion price point I do or understand. And that’s okay, despite the push by fashion schools to design for that price point and that should be your goal, there is a lot more to fashion than ready to wear. Maybe that gives me an advantage, maybe it doesn't. That's not my connection to fashion. Magical fabric shops, Barbie, Crayola, the joy of creating, those are my fashion connections. And those are a lot more tangible than a runway or a name in lights by my account.

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alamanyar · 5 years

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through the keyhole; [teen and up audience] character’s pov: martino ships: martino x niccolò summary: five times martino didn’t say I love you and one time he did chapter summary ⟶ you’re (amazing): domestic boyfriends. basically a future version of 'nel mio letto' maybe a bit more angsty (sorry)

chapter word count: 5.985 read below or on ao3 (thank you, if you do) ♡ I "Hm?" Martino was standing at the side of the bed in nothing but his underwear when Niccolò’s voice pulled him out of his trance. The black-haired boy he was entitled to call his boyfriend. He still couldn't grasp it at times.

"What did you say? Sorry." He looked over to the desk where Nico was sitting at.

The latter peered over his shoulder and perked his eyebrows up in amusement. “I wanted to know what you're up to.”

"Well", he grabbed his boyfriend's pyjamas from under the pillow at the headboard, "I was thinking of watching some clips Giò sent me."

“Yeah?”, Nico called back, his voice soft, and yet, clothed in a tremble. It was barely audible, but Martino sensed that something was off. He looked over to the desk again just as Nico turned around in the chair. "What kind of videos?" He seemed to have bounced back already, his voice as clear and jovial as ever. Maybe he misheard, Martino thought.

He decided to let it slide- not every change in tone meant something. “Yeah", his voice merely a shadow as he fumbled through the action putting the pyjamas shirt on, "he wants my opinion on his latest skateboarding skills." He laughed then. Those were his best friend's words, and he wouldn't correct them. After he finished putting the pants on, he pressed his hands to his hips and caught Nico's eyes who seemed to be disappointed that he was dressed again- or so he thought. He shot him a reproving look, his lips forming an amusing smile, however. "And you know, since we’ve studied for a good while now by your parent’s request, I think we've earned a break. You said you wanted to draw, didn't you?” He took the blanket from the bed and shook it.

“I can always draw another time, you know?”

“True. But you also said you were inspired earlier.”

Nico’s lips twitched and he rubbed over the skin above his eyebrows. “You don’t mind?”

“Why would I?” Marti lay down on his side of the bed, wrapping the blanket around him like a cocoon.

It was a few days into the New Year and school wouldn't start until next week. They had spent most of the holiday together. On some days, Martino had merely come over to sleep next to Nico since his exhaustion hadn't completely worn off. Not that he minded at all. If there was a way he could help him coping, he'd do it in a heartbeat. He finished wrapping up and caught Nico's smirk when their eyes met.

“You’ll die of hot flush, Marti", he claimed, removing himself from the desk.

“I’m wearing your pyjamas, remember? It’s fine.”

The thing was, Martino often changed into his boyfriend's pyjamas and he always wrapped himself into a cocoon blanket when he was over, loving his scent, wanting to drown in this earthy, slightly made of cedar wood, dream-like smell that surrounded him with warmth he wouldn't want to miss.

Nico was giving him a side glance as he got rid of his own trousers, and seconds later, he was crawling onto the bed.

“You know, you could just wear your underwear underneath all of this.” He waved his hand over Martino’s posture.

“Your dad is home. So, no.”

“Ah, you’re boring like that, I almost forgot.” Nico chuckled and Marti would have been offended, if his boyfriend wasn’t all adorable laughing into himself.

“You wanted to draw, remember?” He tried to sound annoyed, but he was pretty sure Nico could see right through him. "That's why you got rid of your trousers", he emphasized just for the sake of it.

“Always so bossy.” He shook his head and crawled closer. “Have fun with your videos.” He gave him a quick kiss and was about to move away again, but Marti raised his head so that he could nudge his nose.

“Have fun drawing.”

He gently rubbed his nose against Nico's before he kissed it. Ever since the morning after that eventful night on the school's terrace, it had become their thing. Martino remembered how relieved he had felt. What he had hoped in his heart all along finally became certainty. Nico's feelings were genuine; they always had been. He was positive he'd never forget this moment of liberation that had rushed over him that night. It had carved its way into his skin- as a token, and as an abiding memory. And perhaps Nico's emotions weren't as heightened compared to his owns then, but when he had woken up the morning after their reconciliation, Martino knew that all the suffering had been - and would be - worth it. Such a stupid saying actually, at least, that's what he had always thought, but Nico, despite everything, smiling his sunshine smile that day, made him realize that it was true after all. It basically came down to love having the power to conquer every burden. Both in theoretical and practical terms. He got that now.

So, naturally, he'd never get sick of kissing Nico on the nose since it always put him in a good mood. But he loved getting those kisses, too, and yet, before this thing of theirs could turn into something more, Marti drew Nico close by the collar of his jumper, gave him a peck, just so he could push him away, ever so gently, but not without smirking.

Nico heaved a sigh, but his eyes were shining and the corner of his mouth curved into a delicate smile. And so Marti let Nico collect some drawing materials which he spread out on the side of his bed. He tried not to look at his boyfriend’s bare legs which he had seen more than once, of course, but he still got all flustered when he saw them or any part of Nico’s body, that was. He still wasn't there believing that they were together for real now, even though he’s never felt this comfortable in his life. Naked skin and all.

He plugged the earphones in and clicked play on the first video while Nico started sketching beside him, legs crossed and sleeves pulled up, as per usual. His boyfriend got up from time to time, collecting all kinds of drawing utensils from his shelf. Every time he fetched something, Martino couldn't help but follow his every action. Sometimes it was something of daily use, like a rubber, a pair of scissors or another pencil, and sometimes he came back with a picture book he’d search for inspiration or pages he could use for collages. In the end, he used the sketchbook as drawing pad. Martino suggested that he'd better work on his desk, giving the fact that Nico had hoarded quite some materials which were now lying all over the side of his bed. He also didn't want his boyfriend to suffer from aching muscles tomorrow, but Nico wouldn't have any of that. Instead he came back with his next conquest. It was a kitchen tool Martino had absolutely no clue what use it held, but his boyfriend sketched it with great intensity and concentration.

It did something to his heart. He was positive he felt it flutter while he observed Nico’s aura in these moments. Brow furrowed with wrinkles, tongue sticking out merely a tiny bit, and hands guiding various pencils over the sheets of paper, emptying and filling his mind in equal measure− Martino was sure of it.

There was no doubt that he was far gone for the boy next to him, and in this very moment, he felt the devotion jumping out of his chest. He was aware, because for one, the corner of his mouth started to hurt from grinning, and two, his cheeks were heating up as well as his upper body.

Nico’s mouth moved then, pulling him out of his trance, yet again.

“What? I didn’t hear you?” He paused the video, grinning, probably looking like an idiot.

“I said stop looking at me.” Nico gave him a quick look of disapproval. “You’re distracting me.”

“Sorry, continue.” He pressed play again and chuckled into himself.

He’d be a liar, if he didn’t like the fact that he could hold such power over his boyfriend. Usually it was him who uttered those lines, so yes, this was a nice change for once. He kept glancing at the boy who was sketching in a medley of tranquillity and occasional outburst of passion. With vigorous movement, Nico guided the pencil over his artwork, or as it seemed, into his artwork, becoming one with it, so to speak. And every time Martino saw his boyfriend perform such an act out of the corner of his eyes, he smiled to himself, feeling the adoration he held for him in every fibre of his body. Giò had been right to call him a goner.

After he had finished sketching the ominous kitchen tool, Nico gathered paintbrushes and colours around him. Martino was about to ask him why the hell he’d wanted to paint his sheets, but before he could say anything, the brush in Nico's hand landed on his face. Of course it did. His boyfriend knew he was ticklish and he fully took advantage of it. What a shithead. It didn’t take long though and the utensil was forgotten, and they were making out, exploring each other’s faces thoroughly, getting rid of the blanket Marti was still wrapped in while trying to stay on his side of the bed.

"I could paint you, you know", Nico breathed into his ear.

"Don't be ridiculous."

"You're beautiful, Marti."

"Shut up."

Maybe he would let him. One day.

Nico was lying on top of him now, working on his neck, holding his face in place firmly. His grip made him feel as if he was something special. Someone special. Martino sighed.

He moved his head then so that he could capture Nico's lips into a kiss. He seemed to know what Marti wanted and started kissing him slowly, carefully even, while stroking his cheek with his thumb.

Perhaps those kisses were Martino’s favourite ones. When their tongues danced around each other, almost lazily, accompanied by his tingling skin and butterflies bustling about inside his stomach. When their hands roamed over each other, when Nico searched for his skin underneath the clothes, when he grabbed the hair at the back of his head, and when he bit down on his lower lip. The black-haired boy sent him to places he didn’t dare dream of, all in the span of seconds.

However, Marti had discovered quite recently that his boyfriend kind of responded every time he kissed the skin above his eyebrows. Oh, sweet revenge. When he rolled them over, that's when he had him. Under him, pressed into the pillow, defenceless. He took his time to tease him - first with feather-like kisses, and then, nuzzling his nose over the skin deliberately, tracing an invisible line – and watched how Nico shivered when he blew air over the sensitive spot. That was one of Martino’s favourite facial expressions on him. Eyes closed and lips formed into a content smile. If he were an artist like Nico; he'd paint him precisely like that. And so he forgot that he actually wanted to keep teasing him. He just melted into Nico's body effortlessly then, putting his hands under his shoulder blades, squeezing him and hugging him tight to his chest. Not wanting to let go. Why would he? This, sharing an embrace with Nico, was his safe haven. He's never really felt like he belonged before, not anywhere in this world, nor let alone to anyone.

Elia would have called him a lucky bastard.

They stayed like this for a while until Marti untangled himself abruptly, Nico protesting vehemently in the process, trying to tug him back to his chest, but Martino was quicker. He kissed the skin right above his elbow and pushed him back to his side before he wrapped himself into a cocoon again.

Nico rolled into some of his materials and they both laughed at that, Martino a bit more maliciously which Nico responded with flipping him off.

He was still grinning when his boyfriend put his trousers back on and continued working on his desk. He already missed him and the diverse sheets of paper beside him, but he was glad nevertheless. Just recently, Nico had told him that his creativity wasn't something that he could summon whenever he wanted. No, it attacked him sporadically. And when that happened, he had to get it out of his system before he imploded. That wasn't something he wanted for him, of course. Just the thought of the possibility made his heart heavy.

When he watched him sitting on his desk, he knew that it had been high time for Nico to get creative. His arm guided the brush over the paper- sometimes his whole upper body moved in union with it. Like a dance he had to carry out. Maybe, he thought, that dance was a battle all the same. Martino barely registered what happened on his phone anymore. He was utterly entranced until the shadow of Nico's voice burst his bubble of thoughts. For the umpteenth time today, he paused the video and removed one of the earbuds.

"Hm?"

"You're distracting me again."

"I'm not doing anything?" He claimed, his voice throaty, knowing exactly what Nico was hinting at.

"If I turn around now, I know I'll see you smiling."

"Is that so bad?"

"No, not at all."

"I'm sorry for distracting you." He really was.

Nico put the brush aside. "Let's have some coffee. I'm getting tired anyway." He turned around. "See. You're smiling."

Indeed, he was. Strangely enough, Nico's comment made him smile even brighter. "Let me help you." He was about to get rid of the blanket when Nico interrupted him with a dapper wave of the hand.

"No, no, I'm on it. You stay here. I'll be right back."

Marti protested, but Nico was already at the door. "Before you've put on your clothes, I'll be back already anyway." He scrunched his nose and slipped out of the room.

It was more or less a lie. It took him quite a while to get back. In the meantime, Martino made himself comfortable again and closed his eyes. His mind wandered to different places at the same time, and yet, he felt himself wrapped into an even warmth. Perhaps the afternoon sunbeams interloping into the room through the window were a reason for that, but Marti always felt comfortable in Nico's world. Whether it was here or at his place or whenever they were together. Hell, just thinking about Nico and how loved he made him feel never failed to amaze him. He always came back to thinking how it enveloped him, just as the rays of sunshine which were enveloping this very room with a calmness, so gentle and yet palpable.

Martino's favourite colour might be blue, but right now he was gleaming in all sorts of yellow nuances. Luchì would have said it showed.

And then, just before he dozed off, Nico slipped back into the room, his voice nonchalantly ringing in his ears, almost sing-song like. "Sorry, had a chat with my dad."

"No worries." Marti got up into an upright posture and tucked the pillow between his back and the headboard. "What were you chatting about?"

"Ah, you know, this and that." Nico positioned a trayful of biscuits and two cups of coffee on the middle of the bed. "He told me about his new project, you know."

"Which is?" Martino poured sugar into his cup and started stirring the beverage. For a fleeting moment he closed his eyes just to soak up the familiar scent. Not long ago he would have said it was his favourite smell in the world.

"Some building north the city." Nico was sitting cross-legged on his side of the bed now and took a sip of his coffee, glancing at him over the rim of the cup.

Unlike his boyfriend, he finished his coffee in one go. "You sound disinterested?"

"Naw, I just, you know, sometimes he talks for ages."

Martino chuckled, knowing exactly what Nico meant. His father's floods of words were quite endearing actually, but he wasn't walking in Nico's shoes on a daily basis. There were a few things he'd never fully grasp. He'd never know how much pain Nico actually went through, he could only ever imagine. And just before his thoughts could wander to darker places, he heard a clinking noise of porcelain hitting metal. When he looked up, a pair of curious eyes stared back at him. Martino knew that look well. Before he was able to form a coherent reasoning, a biscuit was stuck between his teeth.

“Stop that”, he giggled, while taking a bite off the sweet, leaving crumbs on the sheet.

“What? You don’t like them?”

“Don’t look so smug.”

“Why would I do that?”, Nico answered and leaned in to give him a peck on the lips.

“Your eyes don’t lie.”

“Ah no?”

“No.”

“Well, what can I say, amore, you make me feel things.” His boyfriend gave him one of his best lopsided grins. One of those that made him weak in the knees.

“Is that so?”, he raised his eyebrows, trying to ignore the butterflies in his belly.

“Oh, you haven’t noticed?” Nico took a bite of the biscuit in Marti's hand and then he gave him another peck on the lips, leaving crumbs there.

Marti laughed and wiped over his mouth with the back of his hand. “No. No, I really haven’t.”

They held their gaze for a moment. Martino was absolutely certain that he must’ve looked like a dumbstruck idiot. But it was alright. Actually, he had stopped caring about that a while ago. He knew he was one of those people who blushed easily, but Nico always looked at him with what he'd call a mix of endearment and boldness when that happened. And that made it even more okay.

Filippo would have called them sickeningly adorable.

“Will you show me your latest sketches?”, he broke the silence, being in desperate need for a distraction, but he was also curious about Nico's art, and seeing him so very caught up in it today, had gotten him even more curious.

“Huh? You’ve seen them. They’ve basically been in front of you the whole afternoon.”

He glanced at the drawings lying on the desk. He saw the early stages and knew Nico had worked on outlining miniatures of fairies once again. They were little superheroes in his eyes; sitting on one’s shoulder, always watching out for the ones in need, so he had told him. He had sketched some with a pen, and then later − after he had stopped using the brush to tickle Marti − he’d coloured the fairies in shades of green and yellow as well as the star dust around them. Nico had held up various sketches asking him which one he liked best. Martino was bad at deciding and he liked them all anyway. He always did.

“No, I meant the ones you’re working on when I’m not here.”

Nico’s eyes stopped track in time for a second. It was as if he was contemplating of what to say or give away. “Uh, I told you I’ll show you when they’re finished.” He scrunched his eyebrows. “Be patient, amore.”

“But most of the sketches from today aren’t finished either. And you’re not hiding them.”

“Listen, I don’t hide the others−“

“Yes, you are.”

He stuffed the rest of the biscuit into his mouth and looked at Nico who was eyeing him suspiciously.

“Are you taking the piss out of me?”

Martino snorted with laughter.

“You shithead!”

“Hey now, you fool with me plenty of times! It’s only fair.”

Nico’s eyes held a shine in them, twinkling almost. Martino noticed a ghost of a smile on his lips as well and started grinning when he looked back into his eyes. They told him how comfortable his boyfriend was. How happy he was that they were together and that there wasn’t anything between them that wasn’t right. That he could fool with him right in this very moment, in Nico’s room, surrounded by light yellow curtains and wooden furniture, where it was only them. Eva would have said they were a match made in heaven.

The outside world was okay, too, being with their friends and loved ones that was, but nothing came close to their moments alone. It was as if they lived in a safe house. Wrapped up in a shared blanket, waiting for sleep to take them. Even if it was merely imaginary.

“Hey, you have something there.” Marti pointed at Nico’s mouth then.

“Hm? Where?” He jiggled his head.

“Right there.” He propped his elbows up on his thighs - his boyfriend clearly waiting for him to close the distance - and slowly made his way up to kiss the left corner of his upper lip.

Nico’s lip twitched for a second. And then he traced the spot with his thumb.

“Biscotti flavoured kiss?”

“Biscotti flavoured kiss.”

He had the biggest grin on his face, and when he felt Nico's lips touching his own, he felt him smile into the kiss, too. He could say something, he thought.

“Hm-hm and a little bit of coffee, too.” Those weren't the words lingering on his mind, but—

Nico laughed. His shoulder trembled a bit and Marti melted into him. Again. His boyfriend’s laugh always did this thing to him when his cheek would just burn instantly. Not quite like fire, but with a certain warmth that was electrifying and calming at the same time.

The kiss turned deeper. Not like earlier. There was more hunger now. Tongues started grazing each other and fingers tugged at sleeves and elbows after they had gotten rid off the blanket again, this time more clumsily.

Martino took control whilst setting a slow, yet steady pace. It hadn't happened often yet, him, taking the reins. There still existed a certain shyness under all his eagerness to devote himself completely to their sexual intimacy. Nico had told him not to hold back, and it wasn't that he did it on purpose, but at times he was unsure if he was doing it right; whatever that meant. Maybe he was thinking too much about it. However, there was no way he’d get sick of Nico’s laugh. He always wanted to hear it. He wished he could kiss it away to put it in a jar that he could open whenever his boyfriend wasn’t with him. It made him all mushy and more in awe of him than he thought was possible. Yet here he was.

He rolled them around and slotted a thigh between Nico's thighs. While he stifled a laugh when they hit the tray, Nico cursed. Somehow they managed to shove it away with their hands and feet while their lips stayed glued together. He listened to Nico slightly starting to moan. It was more like puffing out air more rapidly each time their tongues parted, but it made him even more eager to kiss him absolutely senseless. Right here in this very room where he learned so much about him on one Friday afternoon. October felt like a lifetime ago.

Someway in between his attempt to make the object of his desire melt into the sheets, Nico managed to get a hand of his helix piercing with his thumb. It was enough to make him jolt. His boyfriend laughed into their kiss, his curls tickling his cheek, reinforcing the already existing tingling sensation going through his body.

“Ni, I swear...ughh.”

“Mh-mh yeah?” Nico kept grazing the metal with his thumb, slightly tugging at it.

“Ni, stop it, I swear”, he huffed in between smooches, digging his fingers into every spot of Nico's skin he managed to grasp.

“What?”

“Not now, your dad...”

“Who gives a fuck.” He felt Nico’s lips on his neck.

“I do”, he panted, feeling a throbbing heat to begin in his stomach.

“Of course, you do”, he sounded annoyed, yet his lips had arrived at his earlobe, biting down gently.

“Ah, I really don’t−“

“What?”, he asked more slyly and twirled his tongue around the piercing.

Marti's leg kicked the bed rest. He was at that point where he had lost control of his body, muscles doing whatever the fuck they wanted. He loved and hated it at the same time; especially in this very moment.

“Oh God, I swear, Ni...”

Nico ignored his plea. He really was insufferable. It wasn’t that he hated his boyfriend’s caresses on this particular body part of him, no, in fact, he loved them. It was just that he couldn’t bare Nico’s dad to interrupt them. Just the thought of that made him nauseous. How would he be able to look an older version of Nico in the eyes? They both shared the same pair of black curls and their eyes held the same shine in them. Martino was absolutely certain he'd melt in shame on the spot.

He managed to take a hold of his jumper's collar. “Ni, I swear... please...”

Nico's breath was hot and heavy on his skin, making his toes curl. “Marti... you drive me insane. It really isn’t my fault.” Another twirl around the metal followed by his leg kicking the bed rest again.

And then, a knock. Martino froze in a jiffy.

“Yeah?”, Nico called out, irritated.

“You boys alright?", a muffled voice called back.

Don’t open the door, don’t open the door, please don't open the door!

Marti buried his face in the crook of Nico's neck. It was bound to happen one day, he knew it. Perhaps he could disappear into the shielding niche of skin until the coast was clear again.

“Yeah, sure, pa", Nico called back while caressing his jaw with his thumb. Martino wished he'd stopped doing that, having trouble cooling down as hard as it already was.

“Thought I heard a dull noise, or well, something similar.”

“No yeah, Marti just stumbled against the bed...”

“Ah− you good, boy?”

He raised his head at the question, shooting a piercing look at Nico who was clearly entertained by his discomfort. “Every-everything’s fine”, Marti tried to answer with containment, but he felt his voice trembling. Nico snorted with laughter whereupon he nudged his shoulder.

“Oi!”, he cried out in fake pain.

“Niccolò?”

Martino thought he saw Nico’s dad trying to push down the handle of the French door.

No, no, no- don’t open the door! Don’t come inside!

He pointed to the door while trying to stare holes into Nico's eyes who was still terribly amused. What a shithead, Martino contemplated, trying not to grin at his own thought.

“Everything’s good, pa. Marti is just a bully, as usual.”

He nudged him in the shoulder again.

“We’re fine. Everything’s fine, don’t worry.” Nico said more earnestly now, putting his hands up in surrender.

“Okay.” A pause. “Listen, are you staying for dinner tonight, Martino?”

He turned his head towards the door, trying to regain his composure. “Um, well, actually I... I have a... dinner date with my mother tonight, so no.”

“Ah, what a shame− okay, you, uh, you boys continue. I see you later.” He listened to footsteps disappearing and heaved a sigh of relief.

Nico had started chuckling at one point and if he weren’t the lovesick puppy he had turned into, he’d truly be offended. However, it was really hard for him not to start laughing himself, so, with one final kiss to his boyfriend’s lips, he pushed himself off of him.

“I really hate you, you know”, he claimed, somehow grinning.

“Ah, you should have seen your face, amore, I swear I saw your cheeks turn burgundy in one second.”

“Funny.”

“That’s why you’re so incredibly fond of me.”

There it was again. That smug look of him, tongue sticking out for a millisecond behind his teeth, his eyes full of mischief.

“No, you got it all wrong, I really loathe you.”

“Oh really?”

“100%.”

“Okay. Then if you truly loathe me, you won’t mind that I won’t show you the sketches I am working on when you’re not here.”

“What?”

“You think I’m joking?”

“If you think you can blackmail me in any way...”

“I can’t?” Another challenge.

“Okay, fine”, he spit back angrily, almost on a level where he knew it was hard to tell he was joking.

It seemed to work, for Nico didn’t say anything. He felt his gaze, but he didn’t dare look. Two can play the game, he thought.

“Maaaarrrrtiiiii...” Nico stretched out his name, rolling the r’s endlessly it seemed.

He pretended he didn’t hear him and started looking for his phone which he remembered was lying somewhere underneath the sheets. When he had found it, he grabbed it, a sigh escaping his lips. It was really hard not to smirk, so he turned his head looking away.

“Really?”, Nico burst out, his voice an octave higher than usual.

He put the earbuds back in and was just about to get back to Giovanni’s videos, when he felt Nico grab his upper arm.

His finger hovered over the play button. “Yes?”

“Turn around.” Nico’s thumb dug into his flesh. “Look at me.”

He complied, putting the earbuds in his lap. Nico’s eyes were fixated on his and he blinked a couple of times so that he could hold his gaze.

“You didn’t mean that, did you?”

He was confused. “What are you talking about?”

“Um, that you loathe me?” His eyes fluttered and there was a crushing nervousness in his voice Martino absolutely hated hearing.

“WHAT? Why would I mean that? Are you stupid?” He searched Nico's eyes. He seemed to be dead serious and he felt like an idiot.

“Ni, I swear, I was joking. I’m... I’m sorry if it came off−“

He didn’t get to say more. Nico pulled him up by the collar of his pyjamas shirt and kissed him on the lips. Hard and frantic. Hitting his teeth in the process.

“Ouch”, he chuckled into his mouth.

“I love you, Marti. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Hey now... hey.” He took his head into his hands and pressed his forehead to Nico’s whose hands had fallen on his shoulder, gripping the shirt there.

I love you, too. It’s okay.

“I overwhelm you, I always do that.”

“Please cut the always, will you.”

“But it’s true, isn’t it?”

“No. I promise you, you don’t. Sometimes I am overwhelmed that this is real. Sometimes I can’t believe it, you know, that we’re together?”

“No?”

“You’re amazing.” He took one of Nico’s hands and gave it a little squeeze while he kept their foreheads connected. “You amaze me every single day.” He half-whispered the last sentence and tried to lift his chin up, but Nico was shaking his head no. No eye contact for now, okay, Marti knew that much. And so he snuggled his nose against his neck, kissing the spot of skin with caution right afterwards. He repeated the action until Nico spoke, his voice in a mist of shame.

“I’m sorry I’m impulsive.”

“I’m not.”

“I’m sorry I’m so needy.”

“I’m not, really.”

“I love you.”

He started to tremble at his words. He was about to open his mouth, to say them back, because only a fool would believe him if he claimed he didn't love the boy who was clinging to him. Martino was chanting the words in his mind anyway. Ever since New Year's Eve – if not before that − when Nico had first said them, casually, as if they had slipped from his lips unintentionally. But Marti knew Nico had been sincere, just as he was in this very moment.

Now, if he could only say them back.

His heart exploded, because he felt so incredibly blessed and cherished and loved and there wasn’t anything to fear, and yet, he feared to say them. Those three little words. It was the most absurd thing he’d ever experienced. Here he was, holding his boyfriend, embracing him like the treasure he was, and yet, he couldn’t say them back. He truly was a walking contradiction. Nico moved him in every way a person could be moved. He should say something, he knew that. In fact, he should have said something a while ago. He could tell him right now that he loved him. It was neither a lie, nor a bad time. It could even soothe Nico's tension, if he thought about it. Still, shouldn't he say something so significant with nothing but joy between them? He felt a knot forming its way up his lungs, and so he buried the mental image and pulled his boyfriend to his chest. As if on cue, Nico started breathing erratically. He, too, didn't seem to get enough air to fill his lungs. Martino cursed himself, this was clearly his fault. Open your damn mouth. "It's okay, Ni, it's okay. I'm here." "I'm sorry, Marti." "Shh, shh, everything's alright. It's not your fault." Don't be sad, please don't be sad. It's okay. He losened their embrace and started to draw soothing circles on his Nico’s back and planted kisses - as tender as he could - on his hair where it met his earlobe. It took a while until he felt him relax, his head on his shoulder as if he had just ran a marathon and needed someone to support some of his weight. “A nap? Before you have to go?” Nico whispered into the crook of his neck, his breath tickling and making his flesh crawl at the same time.

“Okay.”

They settled down in the middle of the bed. Nico was already captured in a sleepy trance, but he still held enough force to pull him down to his upper body, enveloping his arm around his back. Martino partly nestled down on his chest and partly on his shoulder, belly down, and face towards Nico’s middle.

I love you.

Nico's lips brushed his forehead. He shivered at that and moved his hand over the jumper until he felt his heart beating.

I’m sorry.

Some time later Nico found his hand and Marti entwined their fingers. He moved his thumb over his knuckles, trying to soothe him, or maybe he was trying to soothe himself. It didn’t take long and he felt his boyfriend puffing air into his hair.

Ten.

Nine.

Eight.

Seven.

Six...

It calmed him down listening to Nico breathing, and feeling him under him steadied him. Grounded him, yes.

He was so damn lucky, he thought, shedding a tear at the very thought, feeling relieved that Nico wouldn’t have to worry about that as well. God, Martino hoped he knew how much he wanted to be with him at any giving time. The shame he felt over not being able to tell Nico how much he meant to him made him feel small. What a fool he was.

At one point, Martino started repeating his affection towards him like a mantra. In his mind, but he could have sworn that he heard himself whisper his confession into the silence of the black-haired treasure's room he was holding on to.

I love you so very much.

The approaching evening light was creeping into the room now, absorbing the yellow aura which was one of the many things about these four walls he loved.

He reminded himself that, however dark this room might get, the warmest colour was lying in his arms, and that he needed to be brave to make it stay that way. He justthis ineeded to be brave. I do, I truly do. ☆．。．:*･°

When you move I'm put to mind of all that I wanna be When you move I could never define all that you are to me So move me, baby Hozier - Movement

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alexiss-fic-archive · 5 years

Text

The magic she loves the most

Summary: A monster shows up near Connie’s home.

Notes: Definitely not my best work, but i kinda need the show to fuel my inspiration and after 100+ days im starting to run ow on inspiration. ANYWAY, I needed to pull something out before winter and here it is.

Also available at the Ao3!

Ever since Connie and her parents moved into Delmarva, She noticed that the place had some sort of magic feeling. And she didn't thought so because of the occasional monster attack and the general activities of the Crystal Gems in the area.

She thought that Delmarva was magic in and of itself. The air was fresh, the nights were starry, the people cared for each other and the ocean breeze could be felt from a few miles inland.

This natural magic was often accentuated by the passage of time, which brought something unique to the land as the seasons pass by.

The dreamlike Winter made the air chilly and created beautiful landscapes as snow fell gently during the night. The lively Spring brought the perfume of flowers and a particular day when small flowers descended from the highest hill of the area, showering the suburban area Connie lived in pink. The warm Summer made the heat stronger, and caused the Ocean breeze to be carried further inland. It's arrival also was followed by vacations Connie would spend alongside Steven.

Finally Autumn, the season She was currently in, was a transitory period between the fun of summer and the comfy cold of winter.

The deciduous trees all around the area distorted the everyday weaker Sunlight into a yellowish reflection that gave an ambience of comfort to all the inhabitants of the suburbs. And the sight of their falling leaves as the wind gently blew through them was something relaxing.

That relaxation however was easily shattered by the sound of Steel clashing, as an insectoid Corrupted gem resembling a living yellow pages but green and made out of metal appeared nearby Connie's neighborhood.

It was about the same size as a large car, and was as fast as its slender frame suggested. It's vivid green body changed as it pleased, folding its shiny sheets into dangerously sharp appendages which tried to shred Connie and Steven in tiny Pieces. Its mantis-like visage had a few sets of compound eyes, while its shark-like maw, filled with razor sharp teeth, let out screeches so horrifying that seemed to bend the wind into its will..

Steven and Connie, The two Crystal Gems that weren’t at the other side of the world, were amazingly skilled and managed to drive the beast into a small forest near her neighborhood as Doug and Priyanka calmed down the other residents without the beast causing any damage.

Then, when they were far enough from the suburb to avoid any collateral damage, the two children engaged the creature in combat.

“This isn't what I had in mind when you invited me to hang out.” Steven said as he blocked a scythe-like claw with his shield.

“What did you had in mind?” Connie asked him before trying to deflect the spear-like tendrils that sprouted from the folds on the creatures back.

“I dunno…” He mused as the creature's attacks waned a bit. “Maybe drink some tea, Watch a Romantic comedy, play on the fallen leaves.”

“That sounds great Steven.” Connie said as the dodged a kick from the beast's absurdly sharp legs. “But I kinda want to watch the new adaptation of Dogcopter instead.”

“It’s out already?” He asked her before throwing his shield into the creature's head, which did nothing to it aside from creating a loud, metallic noise.

“Yup. It premiered last night.” She said as she tried to slash at the Creature's side. It remained unflinching as the sharp edge of Rose's sword bounced off the thin material. “Maybe we can watch it later if we figure out how to beat this thing.”

“Awesome!” He said before he created another shield to deflect a set of spears. “But how are we going to do so? It looks like paper but it is as hard as my shield.

“Hmm…” Connie mused as she tried to regroup with Steven, dodging many attacks from the monster in the process. “I think it's like an insect. It has very tough armor outside to protect his squishy inside.”

As Connie reached the boy the creature released an enraged screech, giving Steven enough reaction time to create a bubble just in time to block a powerful claw swipe that sent them bouncing across the woods, tearing their way through the few slender trees before crashing on a large tree trunk.

“Ow…” Steven said after the bubble hit the ground. “You okay?”

“Yeah. But we won't be okay if we let the fight drag on.” She said, pointing at a large crack in the side of the barrier where the beast had attacked.

“Maybe we could throw something into its mouth and hurt him from within.” Steven said as he tried to repair the light barrier.

With that, Connie's face lightened up as an Idea Struck her.

“What if you throw me there?” Connie said Confidently.

“WHAT?!” Steven said surprised. “No! That's too dangerous!”

“If we Don't stop it it might destroy my neighborhood, Steven.” She tried to reason with him. “And it could even go after everyone else.”

“But you could get hurt!” He said, worried about her safety.

“I’ll be fine, Steven. Trust me.” She said, her courageous eyes staring at Steven's.

“Okay.” He conceded. Saving his worry for later. “How do we do it?”

“If we manage to open its mouth we could come up with something.” Connie mused. “I mean, It's obvious that he must use it for more stuff than screeching.”

“Maybe he has a ranged attack?” Steven said.

“You think so?” The girl said.

“Yeah. The air gets all weird and heavy whenever it screeches.” Steven explained. “Maybe he shoots pressurised wind?”

“Did Pearl taught you that?” She asked.

“Not exactly…” The blushing boy said embarrassed. “I saw a guy doing that in the ninja anime we saw the other day.”

His comment pulled out a small giggle from Connie.

“I would lie If I said I didn't thought that as well.” She smiled at him.

Steven was about to say something as well, but was interrupted by the beast's earsplitting screech getting closer to them, followed by a rather violent gust of wind .

Upon noticing the small gale conjured by the monster, Connie said: “Well, I guess that's where the mangaka got his inspiration from.”

The two laughed a bit at the joke before Steven extended his hand towards her.

“Ready to get thrown into a monster's mouth?” He said smugly.

“Thought you might never ask.” She responded similarly before grabbing his hand. Afterwards, Steven wrapped Connie in his arms and leaped upwards, ascending gracefully into the canopy of the tree they crashed into.

Once they got a vantage point, they could see the way the withering treetops seemed to create a small sea of orange and gold, expanding all the way into the meadows where Peridot and Lapis’ barn once was.

However, despite Connie's desire to stay there and watch the sunset in a few hours next to Steven, they had work to do and instead, focused her attention into finding the creature, whose large body shaked the base of the trees as it moved..

“There it is!” Steven said as he catched a green dash in the ocean of orange. “Its coming towards us.”

A moment later, the beast reached a small clearing in the forest, where both of them saw each other in detail. It sprinted towards the kids in a frenzied manner, deciding to paint the nearby trees red with their insides.

Fortunately for them they were at a height where it couldn't reach them, the creature couldn't climb the tree, and after Steven shielded it from its sheets by dropping several constructs near the trunk to defend it and bait it to use its mouth.

At some point, the monster got exasperated and decided to end it all right there. It walked away a few meters before opening its mouth as wide as it could, forcing an overwhelming quantity of air inside that started to bloat its figure like a bloodthirsty tick finishing its meal.

“There it is!” Connie said as she readied her sword to fight. “Now, Steven!”

“On it!” He said as he lifted her effortlessly. “Please stay safe, my strawberry.”

“Don’t worry, biscuit.” Connie declared, ignoring the fact that both of them just called each other by their pet names. “I’ve got this.”

And so, Steven launched his best friend into the vacuum created by the creature's attack.

As she was pulled into the wind vortex, Connie pointed her sword in front of her, in an attempt to impale the monster's vitals with the pull and Steven's strength as her only propulsion.

Connie let out a battle cry as she entered the creatures maw, piercing the back of its throat's soft tissue, inches above the square-shaped gemstone that was the core of the creature.

With another grunt, Connie forced the edge of her sword to slide across the soft flesh, causing its green blood to pour over Connie until its body finally faltered and evaporated in an iridescent puff of green smoke, which disappeared in a flash as the stored air within the monster bursted violently like a balloon, creating a wind so strong that it managed to tear the dying leaves from the entire forest in one go.

Seconds later, a rain of brown, orange and dust fell down to the ground all at once, covering the young girl up to her knees in dead leaves.

“You okay Connie!?” Steven asked as he dangled from a branch of the tree she was on moments ago. “Did you got hurt?”

“I’m fine!” She notified him before sheathing her blade. “I have the monster's gem here!”

“Cool! I’ll be there in a sec!” He said as he flung himself off the branch towards her, using his slow descent to break his fall. The boy landed next to Connie, creating a crackling noise as he stepped on the dry leaves.

“Here.” She handed the gem over to Steven, who proceeded to bubble it and warp it into the temple.

He then gave Connie a small once-over to see if she really wasn't injured.

“So…” Connie said after she was deemed unscathed. “What do you want to do now?”

“Hm…” Steven said. “We should go back and report to your parents.” He told her. “They are probably worried about us.”

“Do you want to see Dogcopter along with me then?” She asked him.

“I wouldn't watch it otherwise.” He said smiling as the pair of children made their way back into her house.

★★★★★

In many cases, watching a new show with your best friend as you drink tea under a blanket to shield yourselves from the cold wind of autumn is something considered as ‘friendship goals’.

In some others, helping clean the mess you did along said best friend after defeating a hideous creature is a similar experience.

It turns out that after the monster popped up like a balloon, the dead leaves from the trees the wind had ripped off flew into the surrounding areas. This of course included Connie’s neighborhood, which seemed to be buried under thirty centimeters of yellow and brown.

However, this didn’t bothered Connie at all.

The point of Steven’s visit was to spend a good time after all, and she already knew that steven was one of the few persons on earth who could turn a boring task into a fun game.

And true to his nature, he made the mundane task of raking the leaves into a contest to see who could make the biggest mound of leaves, only to jump straight into them regardless. Making figures on the leaves and making a tiny amethyst out of them.

This made Connie remember that Steven was also magical. Not only magical in the literal sense, but magical in the same way the land she lived in was. His natural optimism and kindness were something that never failed to shine, even through the most dire of circumstances.

And that magic was the one she loved the most.

#connie maheswaran #steven quartz universe #steven diamond universe #SU fic #connverse #it's more platonic tho #but it works #alexis writes shit

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mi-ma-mo · 6 years

Text

Systematic Love

Chapter 1: Sick Beginnings

Characters: Kokichi Ouma, K1-B0 and the rest of the NDRV3 cast.

Ratings: T for Teen and up audiences, M/M

Summary: Teenage years are difficult for everyone, but they might be an even more confusing time for a teenage robot. Kiibo goes on a journey of self-discovery and finds the lair of a hoarder, classmates and upperclassmen with many opinions, the reason for his creation and the definition of love.

Author’s Note: I haven’t written a fic with multiple chapters since 2012, but this will be my best attempt at giving Kokichi and Kiibo and the character development and happiness they deserve in this non-despair AU!

Read it here or on AO3!

“Kiibo-kun?”

Akamatsu’s voice registered with him. Kiibo sheepishly closed his notebook as he looked up to lock eyes with the Ultimate Pianist.

“I was wondering if I could ask a favour of you as the class representative.”

The gentle smile on her face was no match for the wide grin that appeared on Kiibo’s face at being asked that question. It wasn’t every day that Akamatsu came to ask a favour of him!

“Of course!” Kiibo beamed. “Ask me anything. I will be happy to help as long as your request falls within my capabilities.”

Akamatsu put her hands together, signalling with her body language that was she was about to ask Kiibo something she couldn’t just ask anyone. “You might have noticed that Ouma-kun is absent today. Tsumiki-san told me that he is terribly ill, this time for real… it seems. I wanted to ask you to visit him today to see how he is doing and to share your notes with him.”

Of course, Kiibo had noticed Ouma’s absence. He hadn’t known this peace since arriving at Hope’s Peak Academy. In just a few months’ time, he had been dubbed Ouma’s favourite punching bag. A metaphorical punching bag, that is. The one time Ouma had punched him to surprise him, the Ultimate Supreme Leader had exposed Kiibo to some rather foul language.

“I suppose… I could…..” Kiibo mumbled, his gaze settling on Ouma’s empty desk at the front of the classroom. Ouma had been moved there recently so that the teachers could keep a better eye on him. It wasn’t an improvement. If anything he was more of a headache in the front than in the back. “Why ask me?”

Akamatsu’s smile wavered slightly as she thought of the best way to put her thoughts into words.

“You’re the only one who could be around him and not get sick also. I would greatly appreciate it if you could go, but if you’re not feeling like it I will go instead.”

Ah… Of course. Kiibo would be lying if he said that explanation didn’t hurt a little. Akamatsu was right. Whatever virus Ouma had come down with would have no effect on Kiibo. Asking him to do this favour was the obvious choice, but it would have been nice if Akamatsu had needed him for something else than his inhumanity.

“Alright. I shall pay him a visit after class.”

“Thank you so much, Kiibo-kun.”

Akamatsu offered him one last smile before she turned around and rejoined the girls. All of them were having lunch together, discussing things Kiibo had no knowledge off as they traded cutely cut bento box food items with each other. Even Harukawa, who had kept her distance in the beginning, was quietly sitting with the other girls during lunch. Kiibo detected a hint of a smile on her face as Akamatsu came to sit next to her again.

The boys were more evenly spread through the classroom during lunch break. Momota had moved his desk together with Saihara’s and was loudly talking about his future plans as Saihara nodded and chewed thoughtfully. Gokuhara and Hoshi were also sitting together, but their conversation wasn’t intelligible over the other conversations in the classroom. If Kiibo had to guess what their conversation was about, however, he would say they were probably talking about the tiny ladybug sitting happily on the tip of Gokuhara’s massive pinkie.

Shinguji was sitting alone. This was mostly to blame on the fact that Amami was abroad at the moment. Not that the Ultimate Anthropologist seemed to mind having no conversation partner. Just like Kiibo he was observing the others, although Shinguji clearly was avoiding looking at him. Shinguji’s disinterest in Kiibo had been apparent to him from day one.

With nobody paying Kiibo any mind (not even Iruma as she was in the middle of “voring” her lunch as she would say, whatever that meant), Kiibo was left alone with the scribbles in his notebook. He glanced once more at Ouma’s empty desk before he opened his notebook on the last page. Resting his head on the palm of his hand he looked over his drawings. The Ultimate Artist talent rightfully belonged to Yonaga and not to him. Still, if you were to squint and use just a little bit of imagination, you would be able to tell that Kiibo had been drawing different designs for himself.

This wasn’t to say he wasn’t fond of his current design. This was the body his creator, Professor Idabashi, had given him after all! Even so, Kiibo hoped he would have a say in what his next body should look like when he would come to outgrow his current body mentally. His mind wandered and lunch break was over before he knew it.

After class Kiibo headed to Ouma’s room in the dorms as promised. He shook his head before reluctantly knocking on Ouma’s door. To his surprise, the door wasn’t locked and his knocking made it swing open slightly.

“Ouma-kun? Akamatsu asked me to share my notes with you. Can I come in?”

No reply came. Kiibo placed a hand on the door and opened it further carefully.

Only one word came to his mind as he saw Ouma’s room for the first time. HOARDER. No matter where Kiibo looked, Ouma’s room was filled with junk. Papers were scattered all over the floor, towers of boxes were lined along the walls and there was stuff everywhere.

At a first glance all the items in Ouma’s room seemed to be random, but as Kiibo moved further into the room and had a good look around he started connecting dots. All the different items could be associated with his classmates.

Various ‘Wish you were here!’ postcards and exotic souvenirs you wouldn’t be able to find in any ordinary tourist shop for Amami. Music sheets and what Kiibo could only assume to be a piano tuning set for Akamatsu. Leftover fabric and cosplay sketches for Shirogane and just so many more things which must have belonged to his classmates previously. He even noticed Saihara’s hat which had been lost for months. Kiibo shook his head as he picked up the hat from the floor. He didn’t know whether to be impressed or disturbed that Ouma had managed to collect all of these things.

It was only when Kiibo had walked even further inside that he noticed the whiteboard in Ouma’s room. The text ‘New members?’ was written on it with a black whiteboard marker. Familiar faces were staring back at him right underneath the text. The whiteboard was filled with pictures of his classmates, all with bullet point notes and scribbles to accompany them. A few bullet points said something positive such as ‘kind’ and ‘fun’, but most of the notes where harsh. Examples would be nicknames such as ‘depression prison man’ and ‘cum dumpster’. It took Kiibo a moment to notice, but there was no picture of himself present on the whiteboard.

Kiibo’s attention was moved away from the whiteboard when he heard some movement behind him. He turned around and noticed the Ouma shaped form under the covers of the bed. Reminding himself of why he was here in the first place he approached Ouma. After seeing the state of this room he also had some questions for him he would like to have answered.

However, Kiibo had failed to notice the carefully laid out trap in the mess. After to have taken three more steps forward his right foot got stuck on something. When he looked down he noticed an invisible hanging wire stretched tightly around his foot.

Three simultaneous clicking sounds above him made him look up. Three hair blowers hung from the ceiling, each of them having a paint roller frame stuck to it with duct tape. Instead of a foam roll, all of these paint rollers had a roll of toilet paper slid on. Kiibo had only a fraction of a second to look at the trap he had set off because the now turned on hair blowers started blowing what felt like a never-ending supply of toilet paper at him.

Kiibo held up his hands defencelessly and yelped as he was assaulted. He thought of retreating, but his fear of activation more traps had him frozen to the spot. Only once he was thoroughly buried under a pile of toilet paper the hair blowers were turned off and a horse like laugh registered with him instead.

“Nee-heehee. Robots can’t even see through the most obvious traps, huh? I expected better from you at least, Kiiboy.”

Ouma’s sharp laugh returned but was quickly replaced by a bad cough. Kiibo moved all the toilet paper out of the way as best as he could and saw a slightly hunched over Supreme Leader in the middle of a coughing fit. The dark circles under Ouma’s eyes also did a lot to reinforce the idea that he was very sick. Ouma sniffled once his coughing fit was finally over and then turned his attention to his uninvited visitor.

“Did you come here to laugh at me?”

“Huh?” Kiibo momentarily stopped untangling himself from the toilet paper pile at the sudden accusation. “N-No! I wouldn’t do that… although you are pretty mean to me.”

Kiibo had expected Ouma to bring on the fake tears and call him a bully, but all he received was a half-hearted shrug. This seemed like the perfect time to tell Ouma what he was here for. Kiibo would have told him at that moment if there hadn’t been more pressing things on his mind. Kiibo managed to step out of the toilet paper pile and disapprovingly pointed at their surroundings.

“Why did you steal all this stuff?!”

“Whhhaaaatttt? Why are you accusing me? I didn’t steal anything.”

Kiibo held up Saihara’s hat, his expression unchanging. Ouma put his hands behind his head nonchalantly and smiled.

“It’s ugly. I did us all a favour.”

Taking Ouma’s comment to heart, Kiibo looked at the hat in his hand before tossing it aside into the toilet paper pile.

It was then that he managed to take a better look at what Ouma was wearing. Instead of his usual unusual outfit, he was wearing a grey fleece shirt with a slightly opened shark mouth in the middle of his chest and a horizontally striped white and grey fleece pants. The shirt was a bit too big for him, which even Kiibo could admit made for an endearing sight.

“You’re in your pyjamas,” Kiibo commented, causing Ouma to roll his eyes.

“Well, duh. I was sleeping until you barged in here. Didn’t they teach you any manners?”

“My creator raised me, but anything he didn’t teach me is self-taught as I’m a hyper-advanced artificial intelligence.”

“Figures. So what the hell did you want?”

Kiibo flinched at the curse word thrown into that sentence before opening his black, fake leather shoulder bag and taking his notebook out. Neither of them was going to like this, Kiibo thought. Akamatsu would need a lot more than just her smile to talk him into this next time.

With his notebook pressed to his chest, Kiibo watched his feet closely as he made his way over to Ouma. The few centimetres Kiibo had on Ouma became more apparent now that they were standing close to each other like this. Ouma’s face was unreadable as Kiibo offered him his notebook.

“Akamatsu-san wanted me to share my notes with you. We should go over the subject matters which were explained today together.”

Ouma was quick to take Kiibo’s notebook from him and even quicker to flip through all the pages. Ouma’s eyes went over Kiibo’s notes so hastily that Kiibo wondered if he was actually reading any of them at all. The Ultimate Supreme Leader soon arrived at perfectly blank pages, but that didn’t stop him from flipping further through the notebook. It was only once Ouma arrived at the last page and stared at it for a few moments too long that Kiibo remembered there was something in that notebook he didn’t want anyone to see.

“D-Don’t look at that!” Kiibo blurted out, already reaching for his notebook to take it back. His drawings! How could he have forgotten about his sketches for a new design?!

Ouma must have foreseen Kiibo’s sudden outburst because he closed the notebook and effortlessly danced out of Kiibo’s way. He used the notebook to hide the lower half of his face and a smug smile along with it. “Heeeh? I thought you were supposed to share your notes with me? You break my heart Kiiboy, really. Although I suppose you won’t understand such things as a heartless metal man.”

Kiibo wasn’t able to formulate any kind of reply Ouma wouldn’t make fun of in this flustered state. Saving himself some extra embarrassment, Kiibo didn’t speak as he tried to take his notebook back again. However, even while being severely sick Ouma was still too fast for him. Their strange cat and mouse chase went on for a few moments before Kiibo accepted his defeat.

“Given the circumstance… I will allow you to copy my notes, but I will need that notebook back.”

There were stars in Ouma’s eyes as he jumped off his bed and landed in front of Kiibo. The Ultimate Supreme Leader stood on his toes and brought their faces way closer to each other than Kiibo was comfortable with.

“It will be in mint condition when I return it to you tomorrow. I promise.”

Kiibo had learnt quickly that any promises Ouma made should be taken with a grain of salt. As such he figured he would probably get his notebook back, but its condition would be a surprise. “Fine.”

Despite just having promised that Kiibo’s notebook would be alright, Ouma tossed it at his cluttered desk. Kiibo frowned and opened his mouth to say something when a high-pitched sneeze suddenly escaped Ouma. His whole body shuddered as the sneezes kept coming. Kiibo watched him with concern and mild curiosity.

Ouma stared at Kiibo with tired eyes once he finally managed to stop sneezing. He sniffled and wiped his nose on the end of his sleeve before weakly gesturing at the door. “You can go now.”

“But what about–”

“Just go,” Ouma interrupted him, sounding irritated.

There were many more questions Kiibo had wanted to ask (especially about the contents of Ouma’s room), but now that Ouma was telling him to leave he had no more reason to stay. He simply nodded before turning on his heel and heading for the door. He could hear Ouma shuffle about behind him, but Kiibo didn’t look back.

“Get well soon…?” Kiibo said in a hushed voice. A groan came from under the covers of Ouma’s bed before Kiibo closed the door behind him.

The next day Kiibo found his notebook on his desk in mint condition. Or, well, it was in mint condition in one sense of the word.

“Wh-What the hell?!” Iruma loudly proclaimed, pinching her nose with one hand and picking up Kiibo’s notebook by a corner of its cover with the other. “The fuck did you do to this?!”

“Ah, Iruma-san!”

Kiibo immediately rose from his chair and he snatched his notebook from her hands. An overwhelming mint odour came from the notebook, which arguably was the worst if you could detect smell via your hands and you were currently holding it. Kiibo dropped the notebook on his desk again and waved his hands to get the smell off them.

“Please don’t touch it. I lent it to Ouma-kun yesterday and I don’t know what has happened to it since then.”

A look of disgust crossed Iruma’s face before shifting to a look of disinterest. “Pipsqueak huh? Keh! He thought he could spray this with a mint refresher and have it last? Miss me with that weak shit. I would have built–”

“Ouma-kun isn’t here at the moment, but please don’t give him any ideas,” Kiibo begged, afraid that the Ultimate Supreme Leader was somehow listening in on this conversation. Now that he thought about it, how had his notebook mysterious made it to his desk in the first place if Ouma was still sick in bed? “Did anyone see Ouma-kun?”

“Gonta asked to bring notebook, but he not make notebook smell bad. Gonta promise!”

It wouldn’t be the first time Ouma made Gokuhara go on errands. Kiibo had often wondered if he should warn Gokuhara about Ouma’s intentions, but if he was honest with himself he didn’t even know what those intentions were. At least Gokuhara seemed to enjoy himself while helping Ouma out.

“I believe you, Gokuhara-kun,” Kiibo said apologetically.

A familiar tune played to signal the start of their first class, abruptly ending their conversation. Everyone went to their seats and their teacher began calling out names to write down today’s attendance.

The mint smell quickly wore off, as Iruma had predicted, which made handling his notebook a lot easier. Fearing what he would find inside, Kiibo carefully flipped through the whole thing. He had expected to find vulgar comments or, even worse, his notes scribbled out, but other than the assault on his sense of smell he found nothing strange. That was until he arrived at the second to last page.

Kiibo “blinked” as he stared at the page. On it, there was a pencil sketch… of him. The drawing wasn’t exactly accurate, but the additional notes Ouma had written down on the design helped to sketch the image in Kiibo’s mind.

Essentially the design was similar to Kiibo’s current one with a few upgrades and gadgets added. The things which stood out the most to him were the jetpack on his back and the laser gun for his right arm. There were also lasers coming out of his eyes which seemed like a bit of an over-kill, but the comment ‘pew pew pew!’ next to them made Kiibo think that he shouldn’t take that feature too seriously.

Underneath the big sketch were a few more random scribbles and the text: ‘you will never be a real boy so try being a robot instead’. Kiibo wasn’t quite sure why, but reading that… hurt. A real boy or a robot… Couldn’t he be both? He was a robot and he was incurably proud of that, but at the same time, he was a person.

“Are you still with us, Kiibo?” his teacher addressed him directly.

Flustered, Kiibo closed his notebook and started paying attention. “Y-Yes! My apologies.”

The teacher gave him a single nod of approval before turning back to the board and continuing her explanation. He carefully opened his notebook again on the second to last page. There was one last comment he hadn’t noticed before he got interrupted. Upon reading it his gears started turning.

‘this one doesn’t need a dick’.

#new dangan ronpa v3 #kokichi ouma #kiibo #k1 b0 #mogi writes

5 notes · View notes

klcrisistine · 4 years

Text

Second Person

A short story experimentally written in second person point of view (though most of the story is still written in first person)

Ah, another quiet sunday inside. You sit on the couch, you stare blankly in the distance, you try to type something, anything, on your keyboard but your mind is blank when you attempt to concentrate on filling the empty document in front of you. Your mind wanders. It flies towards subjects you hate: work, unanswered questions, crucial decisions that need to be made. You can’t seem to relax. The page on the word processor on your laptop screen remains empty. You keep looking at the clock.

2:42 PM. Maybe you ought to go to the mailroom and check if the electric bill has arrived. It would be nice to walk, even if the way from your miniscule one-bedroom condo unit to the mailboxes consists of only a brief walk and an elevator ride. Without thinking, you rise, put on a face mask, and head out. Taking a walk seemed to be a better idea than continuing to stare at a white screen and going nowhere.

You get off the elevator at the tenth floor and walk down the hallway past a dark, tightly locked gym toward the mailroom. Shelves of around a thousand small glass cabinets labeled with numbers line the room. You turn right and search for your unit number: 3115. The room is, of course, deserted.

After a couple of minutes, you open one compartment door, grab all of its contents, and make your way back to your own unit. At the top of the small stack of envelopes is one bearing the electric billing company logo. You move the envelope to the bottom of the stack. You find the internet bill. You move it again. Then, something strange catches your eye.

The very last envelope is pink, decorated with white polka dots and a waving Hello Kitty. The address on the envelope is that of your parent’s home, the house you lived in from birth until your college years.

And the sender is you.

You stop walking. How can this be? Is someone playing a practical joke on you? Did your mother find the letter in your old house while cleaning up and decided to send it to you? You don’t think your mother or father would do such a thing. If they did find the letter and wanted you to have it, they could just hand it to you personally. You meet your parents for lunch every other Sunday, don’t you?

You return to your tiny condo unit and place the bills on the dining table. Then, you flop down onto the couch and stare at the odd letter in your hands. The flap of the envelope is held in place by a cartoony apple sticker.

Without hesitation, you tear the envelope open. Several sheets of paper folded together live inside. You unfold them. Each one is also painted pink but in a shade lighter than that on the envelope.

Your eyes widen in amazement. It’s your old penmanship, the way you wrote when you were in fifth or sixth grade. No doubt about it. Fat and neat. Easily discernible but still obviously a child’s writing.

You read the first line.

Dear Future Me,

You swallow. When did you ever write a letter to your future self? Did a grade school English teacher, or perhaps the guidance counsellor, assign you a task to write to your future self? You don’t recall any such thing. But then again, maybe your head is so full of new practical information, new worries, new to-do list items that need to be crossed off that there is no longer room for memories of your elementary school projects.

You read on.

Dear Future Me,

Wouldn’t it be a lot more useful if you were the one to send me a letter? You could tell me what I should and shouldn’t do. I bet you’re a lot smarter than I am. Maybe you know how to make at least a few good friends in class or how to pass at least the first round of the Science High School exams. If you could write me letters, would you be kind enough to do so? For our own sake? Maybe we could live a better life.

But anyway, I understand that you can’t. A teacher once told me that there are some things only children can do. I guess this is one of them. Also, time travel probably isn’t possible yet. Or is it?

Anyway, how are you? Are you happy? What college course did you take and what are you doing now? I know you can’t reply. But it’s still fun to wonder about such things. Wherever you are, whatever you are doing, I hope you are well.

You stop reading and look up. Your eyes collect water. You blink and let some teardrops fall. There are only a few. You have already cried a good deal last night.

The question of whether you are doing well or not is a difficult one. Your parents, your aunts and uncles, seem to be happy that you make a decent amount of money. Despite being so early in your career, you can support yourself and live independently. The company you work for isn’t bad. You get good benefits. The working conditions are good. Plus, you have a flexible schedule. You have friends. You have a steady relationship with a guy who treats you well and does seem to really love you. Why can’t you simply say you are doing well? Why do you always cry when you are alone?

You realize you are asking yourself the same questions you always ask. A futile exercise. You decide to read on.

Do you still remember who I am? I am turning twelve years old this year. I can’t believe I’m only a year away from being a teenager and a high schooler. I spend most of my time reading books and studying in the library. I don’t have any close friends in class. But I am one of the smartest in my grade, according to my classmates. In the yearbook, they nicknamed me a walking encyclopedia even though none of them have ever heard me quote information from any book. I am quiet and timid so I wouldn’t just blurt out random facts to my classmates unless I need to. No one really knows me well enough. I wish at least one person would try to get to know me.

You’re probably wondering why I decided to write to you. What could someone like me, someone whose memories are only a fraction of yours, possibly say to you? Is it possible for me to know something you don’t already know? Well, the answers to these questions are in the questions themselves. With all the new memories you have collected and crammed into your brain, you have probably forgotten many valuable ones. I think it is my responsibility to remind you of those memories.

There’s one in particular I want you to remember.

Why do I think you don’t remember this? Because everyone who had heard this story denied it. And I’m starting to doubt what I saw, what I heard. Everyone else’s arguments are so convincing. The only one who believed me wholeheartedly was my younger sister. But my parents say she would grow up soon enough.

I knew, of course, that I too would also grow up. Eventually, I would deny the truthfulness of the stories I deeply treasured. And once I have denied them, they would be forgotten.

And so I wrote this letter.

I wrote this letter to remind you of a series of important incidents, the very first one occurring in the library. It was late in the afternoon, after classes had been dismissed. As usual, the school bus driver was late to pick me up.

The light filtering through the glass door was soft and orange. It was nearly sunset. I stood past the drawers containing card catalogues, past the glass windows behind which the librarians sat waiting for young bookworms to borrow books, and past a maze of tall wooden shelves and shiny, wooden desks surrounded by matching wooden chairs. I stood in the back of the library, browsing a shelf, not unlike the rest that accompanied it. Above me hung a white rectangular sign: The General Fiction section.

I had just finished reading Little Women. A beautiful story of four sisters and their own experience of life and womanhood in New England in the late 19th century. There was still time before my ride home would arrive so I decided to pick up a new book.

Though there were countless books on the shelf right in front of me, it wasn’t difficult to choose one. One particular book just seemed to stand out. It was large and thick, with a leather cover that seemed to be darker than black and an intricate abstract gold pattern on its spine. The book didn’t seem to have a title. In my little hands, it was extremely heavy.

I sat down and with a sigh of relief, laid the weighty book down on the nearest desk. I excitedly opened it. The very first page was empty. Probably like the others that made up the book, it was yellowish and smelled like an old dusty house whose windows and doors hadn’t been unlocked in decades. I started to turn one page after another, searching for the title page. But after at least ten pages, I still couldn’t find any trace of writing.

Why would a book like this be in the general fiction section? No, why would it be in the library at all? It was probably meant to be somebody’s journal. I thought, picking up the pace as I continued to turn page after page. After about ten more pages, I was sure that my efforts would lead me nowhere. For some reason though, I refused to stop. I rested my chin against the back of one hand and continued to turn the pages with the other.

And then, I suddenly stopped. Finally, I had landed on a page that was not blank! The page was in fact the complete opposite of blank. Text filled the page from top to bottom, leaving no room for headers or page numbers. My newfound excitement had barely reached its peak when disappointment started to kick in. On the page, I couldn’t read a single word. Everything had been written in a miniscule font. And the letters were crammed tightly together and faded. But I wasn’t about to be stopped. I had finally found something. I refused to give up.

Glaring at the ineligible writing, I moved my chair forward. It wasn’t enough. I bent over. It still wasn’t enough. I flexed my neck and drew myself even closer to the book so that the tip of my nose was merely an inch away from the opened page. Finally, I was able to make out a fragment of the first line:

One day, in the middle of a clearing,

I paused to blink. It was a struggle to read on.

in a deep forest of tangled trees and bushes,

And the rest of the line was impossible to understand.

I heaved a sigh and decided to stretch my already strained neck. As I leaned away from the book towards the backrest, I fell to the floor. My buttocks hit the ground and I squinted in pain.

What just happened?

I looked up, searching for the chair that was supposed to be supporting my weight. But my surroundings were suddenly different. There were no longer desks or tall shelves filled with books. The ground on which I sat wasn’t the wooden plank floor I knew so well. Instead, it was bare sandy soil. And the static hum and cold air coming from the air conditioners had been replaced by the calls and chirps of birds I was not familiar with.

All kinds of tall trees surrounded me, some bore fruits -- mangos, bananas, coconuts, orange flowers. Others simply bore leaves of various shapes and colors: from mud brown and spade-like leaves to lengthy clusters of tiny bright green leaves hanging around thin stems. However they looked, the trees seemed to be eyeing me with great curiosity. They too must have been asking the same question I was...what was I doing here? Above me, the sky was cloudless and tinted soft orange and pale blue. The sun seemed to be getting ready to hit the hay.

Pshhhhh...

All of a sudden, a rustle made me jump. I turned my head toward the sound. There was definitely movement behind some tall strands of grass growing near the bottom of a tree trunk. Someone was there. I saw traces of black hair and white clothing. But one blink was all it took for me to lose sight of whatever it was that lurked behind the trees. I wondered if I had imagined it.

My heart was beating very fast. My breathing was also quick and heavy. I wasn’t supposed to be here. What happened to the library? What if the school bus driver had already arrived and was looking for me? How could I get home? How would my parents even know where I was if I didn’t have any means to contact them? I didn’t even have a cellular phone! Sitting on the ground, in the midst of an alien universe, I couldn’t help but cry. I felt helpless. I didn’t know what to do.

But maybe...I was dreaming. What was happening at the moment couldn’t possibly be real. There was no logical explanation for it. But still...everything looked, felt, and smelled too real. I could feel the grainy soil in my hands. I could grasp them and let them go. Some of them could cling to my hands, some could enter my nails. I could smell the mangoes in the trees, some traces of animal waste. I could pinch myself and feel pain. And most importantly, I could think clearly. I could wonder if I was dreaming or not. I had never done such a thing before while dreaming.

I cried again. My sobs were much louder now. I couldn’t help it. I was only twelve years old. My parents or teachers never taught me what to do if I got lost. And I never did get lost. Because my parents never let me wander anywhere unsupervised. They always made sure I was safe. If they weren’t home, a babysitter took care of me. When I wasn’t at home, I was at school. My teachers, the security guard at the gate, and my school bus driver always made sure I was right where I was supposed to be.

Now, all of a sudden, I was alone.

Or so I thought. Once again, there was a rustling and then, footsteps. I held my breath. Someone stood in the distance. I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand to get a better look. It was...a boy. A boy about my age. A boy with short, black hair with wispy bangs, and sun-kissed skin. He was wearing a plain white shirt, pale brown knee-length shorts and flip-flops. I stared at him, continuing to sob. He cleared his throat.

“A-are you o-okay?” he softly stammered.

I didn’t know what to say. I couldn’t speak anyway. I was still sobbing uncontrollably.

“Are you lost?” His voice cracked.

The question of whether to trust him or not to know I was indeed lost didn’t cross my mind. I felt desperate. I simply nodded. In the city, my mother always reminded me that it was dangerous to admit to strangers that one was lost. It was safer to lie.

“It’s okay,” he said, inching closer toward me. His eyes were averted and his movements were slow and timid. He seemed to be very ill-at-ease. “I-I’ll do my best to help you find your way home. Do you live near here?”

“I don’t think so,” I very softly replied through sobs. The boy was about two feet in front of me now. I could see his long-lashed, dark brown eyes and bony, triangle-shaped face. For some reason, I didn’t feel afraid of him. I was more afraid of not being able to return home. “I’ve never been here before. I don’t know where I am.” I explained.

“How did you get here?” the boy asked.

I began to cry louder again, making the boy panic. He held his palms up and muttered, “It’s okay, it’s okay.”

“I don’t know how I got here.”

“Y-you don’t remember?”

I thought for a moment. “I think I do remember. But I don’t understand it.”

“I see...” the boy said, tilting his head. He seemed to be lost in thought for a moment. “Can you tell me?”

“You might not believe me,” I hesitated, wringing my hands.

“You have to tell me,” he said gently. “I can’t help you if I don’t know where you came from.”

I nodded. “I was in a library. I was reading a big book. I looked very closely at it because the words weren’t clear. When I leaned back, I was here.” I felt my ears turn hot. My story sounded more absurd now that I had said it to a stranger.

But the boy’s eyes widened as I said my piece. Whether he was shocked or had made a connection I didn’t know. All he said was, “Wait here.” before he ran back toward a spot near the edge of the clearing and disappeared behind a tree. I waited for his return with bated breath.

After about a minute, he re-emerged from behind the trees with a book. Not just any book. But the book I had last opened at the library, the book I had last seen before I had found myself in a strange new universe.

“I guess this must be yours,” the boy said, handing the book to me.

I gazed at it silently, thinking. Perhaps I can repeat what I did at the library. I could look for another non-empty page and stare at the faded words with great concentration, averting my eyes from anything else around me. Perhaps that was my way home...there was nothing else I could think of trying to undo what I had done.

“I found the book on my way here. I was going to take it because I thought nobody owned it. Sorry.” the boy suddenly explained. “I should have known it belonged to you.”

“It’s okay. Thanks for returning it. I’m not sure but as crazy as it may sound, I think it could be my way home,” I replied, feeling very uncertain. “Were you the one hiding behind the trees a little while ago?” I asked out of curiosity.

“Yeah, sorry about that,” the boy apologized again. “I usually come here by myself. I was actually surprised to find someone else here.”

“So why did you run away?”

“I’m not really comfortable around strangers,” the boy uneasily chuckled, scratching his head. “Especially if they’re...” he stopped abruptly, his face turning multiple shades of pink.

“They’re..?”

“Nevermind,” the boy said, shaking his head, probably hoping he could shake the heat off his face.

“Okay,” I said, disappointed he wouldn’t tell me anything else. “Do you live near here? Why do you always come here alone?”

The boy scratched his chin and looked up. He looked as though he were debating whether he should answer my questions or not.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to tell me,” I interjected.

“It’s fine,” he smiled for the first time since we had begun speaking to each other. Something about it gripped my heart and made it skip a beat. I caught myself gaping at him and immediately fixed my eyes on the strange book in my hands.

“I...” he tried to begin his answer and failed. “Nobody likes having me around. And people don’t treat me very well so...I come here when I’m feeling sad or angry.”

“I see.” I suddenly felt like a jerk for nosing around in the boy’s personal business. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.”

“No need to be sorry,” the boy said, smiling again. “Anybody would probably be curious. I am a pretty strange boy.”

“I don’t understand why people don’t like you though,” I said.

He stared at me with wide eyes.

“I m-mean -- you’re very nice,” I stuttered. “You’re trying to help me right now even though you don’t feel comfortable around strangers and--

“Thanks,” he replied. “I mean it. Nobody’s said that to me before. People are mostly scared of me.”

“Why are they scared of you?”

The boy averted his eyes once more, keeping quiet. The silence was heavy and unbreakable. Why was I so comfortably asking the stranger in front of me so many questions.

"I'm sorry," I burst out.

The boy tilted his head again. "You apologize a lot," he commented.

I raised my eyebrows. "Really? I didn’t notice. But anyway, I think I really do owe you an apology. I ask too many questions, sorry."

“Don’t worry about it. You’re curious,” he said. “I get it.”

I bit my lip and looked down. Somehow, I didn’t seem convinced I had done nothing wrong.

“Can I sit here?” the boy asked after another few moments of soundlessness. I nodded. He awkwardly sat on the ground. Beside me.

“I’m also curious about you,” he said. “I mean, for starters, your clothes are strange.” I looked down at my clothes. I was wearing my school uniform. A white blouse with a tiny blue ribbon just below the collar and buttons down the front and a matching blue knee-length skirt. I was also wearing white, ankle-length socks and black shoes, spattered with dirt and soil. If I ever return home, my mother would blow a gasket.

“It’s my school uniform,” I explained.

“Yeah, it looks like a school uniform,” the boy agreed. “But there’s only one school nearby and the girls’ uniform there doesn’t look at all like what you’re wearing. Nobody lives near here either. My house is the nearest one and even that is at least two kilometers away.”

“Wow, and yet you said you come here a lot,” I said, amazed.

“Yeah,” the boy laughed a little. “I like walking around by myself and exploring.”

“I like exploring too,” I said, smiling. “But I do it by reading. My mother never lets me go out on my own. My school is really strict as well.”

“I’m not very good at reading. There aren’t a lot of books at my school,” the boy sadly said.

“What? How is that possible?”

“My school doesn’t have a lot of money. Books are shared by students.”

“That’s too bad...what grade are you?” I asked, rapidly changing the subject.

“Six,” he briefly said.

“Me too,” I excitedly declared. “So you’re going to high school soon too!”

“I don’t think I am, actually,” the boy replied. “I don’t think we have the money to pay the tuition.”

“Sorry,” I automatically said.

The boy laughed. “You’re saying sorry again. It’s not your fault. And anyway, I don’t think I want to go back to school. I’m not smart. And the other kids are always mean. I don’t have a lot of friends.”

“Me neither,” I said enthusiastically as though I were proud to be the class loner. But I was just relieved and oddly thrilled to find someone who was like me. Feeling so different from everyone else was a lonely life. “To tell you the truth, I don’t think I have any friends at all. I’m too shy. I can’t fit in with everyone else.”

“Actually, I don’t have any friends at all either,” the boy admitted, blushing. “I just didn’t want to say it because I didn’t want to look stupid.”

I suddenly burst out laughing. The boy’s mannerisms, the flows of his thought, and courses of action seemed too funnily familiar. They were practically mine.

The boy laughed along as well. “I don’t know why we’re laughing,” he interjected between sniggers.

“It’s just really funny how similar you are to me,” I replied. The boy abruptly stopped laughing. Darkness seemed to play in his eyes.

“Is there something wrong?” I asked.

He shook his head, smiling weakly. The setting sun was now barely visible behind the trees.

“I think I should be getting home,” I suddenly said. “Or trying to get home,” I added, realizing I wasn’t yet sure of how to get home.

“Oh yeah, we almost forgot,” the boy said, slapping his forehead with one palm. “What are you planning to do?”

“Try to use the book, I guess,” I replied, shurgging. “It’s how I got here, as far as I remember.” I gazed at my muddy shoes, feeling my face burn. I felt embarrassed to admit I actually believed a book could take me home. But it was the only way I could think of.

“Would it be okay for me to watch you try and get home using the book?” The boy asked, his eyes twinkling in curiosity and wonder.

“Sure,” I agreed, grinning. “You ask for permission a lot.” The boy frowned.

I took a deep and courageous breath and opened the book once more. Desperate to get home, I became fully focused on turning one page after another. I was determined to find the page that wasn’t blank. My heart sank every time I landed on a new empty page.

“I can’t seem to find it,” I swallowed. I was growing more and more frantic. I was certain I should have reached the page I had been looking for by now.

“What are you looking for again?” the boy asked.

“Any page that isn’t empty,” I replied, oddly out of breath. It was as though I had been running through the forest. “I don’t think it’s here anymore,” I said, my voice shrinking in fear. I was on the brink of tears.

“There!” the boy exclaimed, pointing at the book on the ground. I looked back at the book and saw what the boy had seen: a yellowish page tightly packed with small typewritten words. I heaved a sigh of relief, a little too early. You don’t know if this is going to work yet, I silently said to myself. For some reason though, gazing at the page before me, I knew my plan was definitely going to work.

I turned toward the boy once more. “Thank you for all your help,” I said. “It’s too bad I won’t be able to talk to you again.”

The boy’s eyes momentarily widened in shock. He was blushing. “T-thank you.”

“For what?”

“I’m not really sure,” he admitted, averting his eyes once again.

I smiled and nodded. Without another word, I fixed my eyes on the book and buried my head in it. The first few words instantly became clear.

Sitting on a desk in an old but tidy elementary school library.

I looked up and once more, there I sat. In an ordinary desk in my favorite place in school. As I had thought, repeating what I had initially done was all it took to find my way home. I looked at the mysterious book lying on the desk in front of me, closed and innocent-looking. It was hard to believe that the very same book had just magically and literally transported me to a different world, a world that was very different from my own. I couldn’t help but tremble slightly in fear as the book looked back at me, urging me to open it once again. Without dilly dallying for another second, I returned the book to its proper place on the shelf and exited the library as quickly as I could. Outside, the sun had just set. And the sky was more light ink blue than orange.

You move your eyes away from the letter for a brief moment. You just finished reading three pages of a child’s writing, the writing of a younger version of you. You don’t remember living through any experience described in the letter: a very good reason to believe that it is only just a tall tale, the product of a twelve-year-old’s wild imagination. Strangely though, the contents of the letter thus far seemed to have made you feel a wave of nostalgia, as though you were indeed looking back at an old and beautiful memory, as though you were re-experiencing several golden moments with a dear old friend...

But it couldn’t possibly be true...right? You read on.

The incident in the library frightened me very much. Thoughts of being suddenly removed from my little universe and placed in unfamiliar territory kept me up most nights and urged me to avoid the library for a couple of days. Instead of visiting the library, I opted to do my homework in advance during break times so I could be free to do whatever I wished once I’d arrived home later in the day: play computer games or watch the primetime shows on Nickelodeon.

But thoughts of my brief journey to the woods weren’t only fearful ones. There were thoughts that made me smile. Thoughts that made me long to return there.

I thought about the boy I had met. It was the first time I had met someone who seemed to understand my feelings. It was also the first time in a very long time I had come close to making a friend. I always wished I could meet him again. Talk with him for hours and learn more about his life. I didn’t even get to ask him his name.

One night, I dreamt about the boy and the forest. When I had arrived in the clearing in the middle of the forest, the boy was sitting on the ground, intently gazing in my direction as though he had been waiting for me to appear.

“Hi,” he shyly greeted me.

“Hello.”

That afternoon, the sun was high in the sky. Not a single cloud obstructed its warm glow. The boy and I talked for hours. I learned that his father was a farmer, his mother a cook at a small carinderia, and that he was their second child. He had six other siblings. I learned that he was rather fond of music and that, aside from venturing out into the wild on his own, he often listened to the radio. He would sing along to all kinds of tunes on the radio: from Sundo by Imago to Smile by Lily Allen. His listening would only be interrupted when his father would return home from work and decide he wanted to listen to the news.

“Listening to those weird songs will make you dumber than you already are.” the boy’s father would always tell him as he switched to one of the AM stations. He did his very best not to argue with his father.

Neither the boy’s father nor his mother made it to college. His father’s family was too poor to send him to any college while his mother was disowned by her own parents.

“Disowned?” I repeated in disbelief.

The boy nodded. Apparently, his mother had become pregnant with his older sister at a very young age of sixteen. It was a major scandal. For months, it was the only topic of discussion amongst the housewives who lived in the neighborhood. His mother’s parents were absolutely furious. They were committed believers of the Catholic faith and considered the loss of virginity before marriage to be unforgivable. They had scolded and slapped their poor daughter, kicked her out of her own home, and forced her to fend for herself and the child growing in her womb many years too early. Meanwhile, his father had ran away from home in anger after his parents had refused to take in his pregnant girlfriend. And since then, the couple had been on their own.

“That’s rough,” I said.

“It is,” the boy said. “But I think I would never be able to fully imagine how hard it’s been for them.”

“Well, we’re still kids. I think there are a lot of things we still can’t understand.”

The boy shook his head. “It’s not that. I’m just always angry at them and I think I refuse to try and sympathize with them.”

“Why are you angry?”

“Because of the way they treat me. Sometimes, I feel like they don’t really love me, like they would rather have never had a child in the first place,” he sadly admitted to me.

“What do you mean?”

The boy opened his mouth to say something but he stopped midway and stared at me with large, astonished eyes and gasped.

“I think something’s happening to you...”

“What?” I looked down at my hands. They were starting to look less real, almost transparent. They seemed to be fading away. As were the rest of me.

“I’ll talk to you soon,” the boy said, his voice now echoey and distant.

I was not able to give the boy a reply; for before I knew it, I was back in my bed. Back in the darkness. For not a single raysingle of ray of light illuminated the room from beyond the light brown curtains over the window.

The next day, I decided to return to the library. I didn’t know whether the dream I had the night before was real or not. I was lost in a sea of questions. What was happening to me? Why did I keep running into the boy? Why did there seem to be an invisible force pulling me towards him? I needed to know.

And so after school, I had, as usual, left my bag at a secured waiting area by one of the many school gates and set off towards the library, my heart beating faster and faster as I grew closer toward my destination. When I reached the shelf, the book was in the exact spot where I had last left it. I quickly pulled it out of its place and laid it on the nearest table before I could lose heart. Gazing blankly into the depths of the book before me, I took a deep breath and exhaled.

And I began to turn the pages once more.

Not long after, I found the page I had been looking for. And I read the only legible passage at the top of the page, the very same one I had read before, clutching the book in my hands as though my life had depended on it. In a way, it did. It was, after all, my only way home.

After barely a second, my surroundings had changed. As I had expected, the elementary school library I knew so well had disappeared. But the ground, the trees, the little bushes were also nowhere to be found. In fact, I couldn’t see a thing. My surroundings seemed to be darker than black. I felt paralyzed. I did not want to reach out to feel my surroundings. I didn’t want to cry for help. I was convinced that some evil creature was lurking in the darkness and I feared that I would disturb it and put myself in graver danger. A wave of great panic rose within me. It seemed to be draining all the life and color out of me. It was hard to breathe. My chest felt constricted and heavy.

Was I still stepping on solid ground? It was so dark I felt like I was floating in the middle of a vast nothingness. I stomped one foot on the ground. It wasn’t hard like hardened cement. It was firm but soft like soil. Next, I strained my ears and checked for sounds. I heard the distinct sound of crickets, the call of an owl, and leaves rustling in a cold breeze. Perhaps, I was still in the middle of the forest. But it was nighttime. I turned my head left and right, looked down and then up...

I had stopped moving. I had stopped thinking. The panic within me died in an instant. Above me was a sight so marvelous and breathtaking that for a moment nothing seemed to matter. The sky was cloudless, tinged with night blue and purple, and very abundantly dotted with the gleaming stars of various sizes. I had never seen anything like it. In the city, I had never seen such stars during the very few times I was allowed outside at night. Water began to collect in my eyes as I continued to stare above in awe.

“You’re here!” a voice cried in disbelief. In an instant, the great sight above had disappeared. Suddenly, it was no longer dark. The old forest scene had once again laid itself before me. It didn’t look like it was nighttime yet. From the intensity of the sun and the incredibly hot air, it was easy to tell that it was mid-afternoon.

“H-how much did you see?” the voice stammered behind me. I turned and saw the boy, wringing his hands uneasily, averting his eyes as though he had done something very wrong.

“Stars,” I replied, still a little bit dazed. “At first, it was really dark. But then, I looked up...and I saw the most beautiful thing I had ever seen in my life.”

The boy gaped at me, clearly in shock.

“Did you see the stars? Why did they suddenly disappear?” I asked excitedly. “I want to see them again!”

“You actually liked what you saw?” the boy asked, seeming unable to believe what he had just heard.

“They were amazing!”

The boy blushed.

“I didn’t get enough time to look at it,” I said, disappointed. The boy looked up at the sunlit sky, looking as though he were thinking very deeply about something. “Is something wrong?” I asked.

He closed his eyes tightly. And in a second, the darkness cloaked the forest and everything in it like a gigantic robe. In the sky, clusters of the brightest, most picturesque stars had returned. For some reason, they looked more brilliant than before. Gold and silver streaks brightened the sky even more.

“Do you see why people are afraid of me now?” the boy’s voice asked in the darkness.

“What?” I said, perplexed by his odd question. “Not really. Am I supposed to--”

“This darkness is my fault!” he cried, his voice cracking. “I’ve had this odd ability ever since I was born. My parents, my classmates, they all think I’m cursed.”

I didn’t know what to say.

The boy went on. “I can make it so dark so that everyone around me is paralyzed, so that everyone around me trembles in fear. I am an awful person.”

The boy seemed to be holding back tears.

“I can do it at will. But when I am angry or extremely upset, I tend to make it dark even though I don’t want to. And it happens a lot.

“I come here because it’s far enough from everyone else. Here, I can’t hurt anyone and no one can hurt me. And it’s the only place where the darkness isn’t so bad...because of the stars.”

I looked at the sky once more. The sight was incredible as ever.

“You think I’m awful now don’t you?” The boy said, frowning slightly. My eyes had adjusted to the darkness and I could see the boy as the stars lit his face up.

“I think what you can do is amazing,” I said truthfully, beaming at him.

The boy and I sat beside each other on the warm soil, talking for hours, underneath the most beautiful stars I had ever seen in my life. He pointed towards the stars he loved to gaze at: gleaming, silver specks. Some were bright and large, some small and mysterious.

He also traced the several shapes and forms that the stars made in the sky with his finger. He traced a kite, a lone flower bud on a stem stripped of its petals, and a man in mid-run. It took some time for me to turn one particular cluster of stars into a deformed crab.

“You’ve got a great imagination,” I remarked, chuckling.

The boy also pointed toward his favorite star: a star that seemed to be much farther away from the rest. It blinked at slow yet regular intervals. Sometimes, it looked brighter, sometimes dimmer.

“That’s the star I always make wishes on,” he said.

“It’s beautiful,” I said, grinning. “What do you usually wish for?”

The boy bit the corner of his lip. He seemed to be debating whether or not he should answer my question.

“Do you think my wishes would still come true if I told you?” he asked.

I shrugged. “Maybe, to be safe, you shouldn’t tell me.” I felt disappointed but I understood his sentiments.

“I could tell you what already came true.”

“Oh, yeah!”

The boy began to say something but he cut himself off before he could say anything comprehensible. Once again, his face turned red.

“Why did you stop? You were already about to tell me!”

“It’s embarrassing!”

“It’s not!”

“You don’t know that for sure!”

“You’re right,” I sighed, giving up. To me, arguments were exhausting. “I did say before that you don’t have to tell me.”

There was a pause.

“I--” the boy stammered. “I-I..wished I could meet you again. There! Are you happy now?” He said most of his words so quickly, it sounded as though he were chewing on them.

“Really?” I asked, pleasantly surprised.

“Don’t make me say it again.”

“I actually decided to come back because I dreamt that I talked to you,” I confessed.

“I did too,” the boy said softly. “I talked about my family--”

“That’s what happened in my dream too!”

“Maybe we had the same dream,” the boy said as though it were the only logical explanation to a great coincidence.

“Do you think it’s really possible?”

The boy grinned. “If I can make any place dark and you can teleport between two places very far from each other, then I think it’s possible.”

“Good point.”

The boy fixed his gaze on the stars in the distant sky once more. “I wish I could come close to those stars, you know, get the chance to explore them.”

“You could do that if you become an astronaut!”

“What’s that?”

“An explorer of space, a scientist.”

“You really think I can be one?”

“Sure! You just need to really study hard.”

The boy pouted. “I’m not good at studying. It might be impossible for me...”

“No way! You said so yourself. Anything is possible.”

The boy just raised an eyebrow. He didn’t seem convinced.

“I have an idea!” I said, bursting with excitement. “I can bring you books on astronomy when I come visit you again and then we can study them together!”

“Astro-what?”

“Astronomy. It’s what you need to study in order to be an astronaut.”

“Hmm...”

“It's worth a shot, right? What have you got to lose?”

“Alright, let’s do it.”

Since then, I visited the boy at least twice a week. We read through a colorful picture book on introductory astronomy. And when we were tired of studying, we talked about anything and everything underneath the marvelous-looking stars that only he could make visible. I described to him my teachers and told him my impressions of them. I particularly remember taking my time in describing Mrs. Santillan and how she, with her long straight black hair and sharp tongue, had always intimidated me. He talked about his father’s weird habits: complaining about the little income he gets from farming and then using up his earnings on alcohol.

On every visit, we covered a variety of topics: from parents to school life to different ways we amuse ourselves. My times with the boy were so full of life, so full of joy, that everything else in my life seemed dull: dinners with my family, history classes. I always just dreamed about the next time I could meet him again, the stories I would tell him, the new heavenly body I learned to name by reading.

But then, there came a day when things were different.

On one cloudy afternoon, I found the boy standing in the woods with the astronomy book I had recently lent him.

“Take it,” he said to me.

“Are you finished with it?” I said, surprised. I had lent the book to him only two days ago.

“I don’t want it anymore,” the boy replied curtly.

“You didn’t like it?”

“That’s not it!” The boy was suddenly angry. “I can’t be an astronaut! It’s impossible.”

“We already talked about this,” I said, standing my ground. “You can do it. It may get difficult but you can--”

“I don’t even know if I can go to high school!”

“What--”

“We don’t have the money. My dad says that if I want to go to high school, I’d have to get some sort of scholarship. Don’t you get it? I’m not smart enough!”

“M-maybe...maybe you can--”

“Stop! It’s useless. Take it back!” He furiously threw the book on the ground. “Don’t ever come back, okay? You clearly don’t understand anything!”

“Fine!” I yelled back. “I’m sorry for trying to help you--”

“Just leave!” the boy cried out as he ran farther and farther away from me, never looking back.

“I will!” I screamed angrily at the wind.

Once again, I was alone.

I didn’t dare visit the library after that. I left the strange book on its shelf and tried to clear my head of all thoughts of the boy, his problems, and astronomy. Several nights I found myself crying silently into my pillow as the rest of my family were sound asleep. I hated the boy. I hated ever meeting him. I hated all the anger and pain that were slowly crushing my heart into bits and pieces.

I started skipping lunch. I gave my packed lunch to whomever in my class would take it and ran to one of the stalls in the girls’ bathroom right next to my classroom. Inside, I tried to read books. When my concentration failed me, which occurred quite often, I cried my eyes out and waited for the bell to ring. I lost weight, people noticed. Everyone complimented me. Everyone asked me what my secret was. I merely feigned a small laugh and left that as my reply.

One night I dreamt about the boy. He was leaning against the trunk of one tree. His arms were wrapped around his legs which were folded and pulled against his body. His face was buried in his knees and he was sobbing very hard. The afternoon sun was once again high in the sky, cruelly hot and intensely bright orange.

I walked toward the boy slowly, carefully. I was afraid that he might just push me away like he did before. But I kept moving forward. I was sick of replaying my last meeting with the boy, sick of fighting a pointless battle with him endlessly inside my head.

The boy looked up once I was right in front of him.

“You came back,” he sobbed.

“Not intentionally,” I replied honestly.

The boy held his breath. He seemed to be trying to stop himself from crying any more tears. He wiped his eyes and cheeks with his shirt. But it was no use. The tears just kept coming like hard rain in the middle of a storm.

Without thinking, I knelt on the ground and wrapped my arms around him. I held him tight. Neither he nor I spoke a word. But I understood and accepted his tears and I knew he felt my words through the grip of my arms and my firm decision to stay with him. In the midst of a darkness that can’t be seen.

“I wished to s-see you a-again,” the boy confessed through tears. “I w-wanted to explain.”

I said nothing in reply. I let the silence let the boy know I was ready to listen to what he had to say.

“They l-laughed at me,” he stuttered. “I c-can’t be an a-astronaut. I wasn’t b-born lucky. I w-was jealous s-so I got angry.”

“Jealous?” I repeated, wondering who he was jealous of.

“O-of you.”

I held the boy tighter in my arms. Tears began to collect in my eyes as well.

“Y-you have b-books. You h-have a l-library.” He paused for a moment to breathe. He was crying so hard that it was difficult to inhale and exhale. “Y-you have a f-future.”

Now, I was crying with him. We wailed and created our own little waterfall of tears in the middle of the forest, beneath the sunlit sky. But somehow we knew that no matter how hard we cried no one would be able to hear us.

“It’s h-happening again,” the boy said.

At first I didn’t know what he was talking about. But I saw my arms through the haze of tears. And once again, they were beginning to lose clarity. I could see the back of the boy’s gray t-shirt through them. I tried to clutch the boy tighter. But it was no use. I was slowly disappearing. I was being pulled away. This wasn’t where I truly belonged.

“D-don’t forget me, p-please,” the boy seemed to be begging. “I-if you can, c-come back...f-for me.”

I didn’t get the chance to reply. Once more, I was back in my bed, my face wet with tears. I continued to sob into my pillows. Everyone else was sound asleep.

The next day, I finally decided to return to the library. But the book was nowhere to be found. I checked every other shelf in the room. The books in the hands of other library visitors. The books on the carts. I even mustered up the courage to ask for the librarian’s assistance in searching for the book. But she claimed to have never seen it and insisted that all library books had titles on them.

Once again, I was devastated. I cried nightly for weeks. I had lost all connection to the only friend I had had that year. And I could do nothing more for him, no matter how hard I tried.

I always came back to the library though. I came back to check the shelf I had initially found the book in and I came back to read the books the boy would have loved to read. I read books on astronomy, classic tales like Sherlock Holmes, and books on fantasy and adventure like The Hardy Boys, Island of the Blue Dolphins, and Bridge to Terabithia. I sometimes imagined I was reading to the boy in the forest, laughing with him, and listening to his silly and sometimes infuriating stories about his father.

Unfortunately, this is where this story ends. I never met the boy ever again. As I said before, I am afraid I might forget him, forget the stars whose beauty only he could accentuate.

So I wrote you this letter.

The boy is probably still out there. If you can, keep my promise. Please come back for him.

Your younger self

There are no more words left to read. But there is still one last sheet of paper you haven't looked at. On the paper is a colorless picture, drawn in a Japanese anime style. It is the sketch of a girl wearing a blouse with a ribbon and a skirt, hair tied in a simple ponytail, and a boy in a plain t-shirt and shorts, sitting side by side against a tree, laughing.

The picture draws the tears out of your eyes and sends them sliding down your cheeks onto the paper you hold in your hands. A portion of the drawing is smudged with your teardrop. You silently fold the sheets of paper and gaze at them with what seems to be a new pair of eyes. And you return to your computer, more determined to fill the blank page before you than ever before.

#short stories #quarantine days

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alysemeadfad · 4 years

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Creative drawing home investigation

The Pencil Bra

the task was to create something that attaches to your body that you can draw with, or in other words a kinetic drawing body extension, i began to jot down ideas and do rough sketches, i thought of a shoe covered in pens and dipping the foot in to paint also, i thought of a dress with paint bottles attached to the bottom of the dress and moving around by spinning jumping and other movements to create markings, my final idea was the bra, i thought it was really out of the box and nobody else had thought of it, i enjoy making my work weird and unexpected, so thats what i did. i acquired a bra that i had bought that did not fit me, and used some cheap HB pencils and hot glued them to my bra in no particular pattern.

once all 28 pencils were attached to the bra 14 on each cup, i taped a make shift a2 paper to the wall, as i only had A3 paper i taped 2 sheets together, it looked a bit botched but the same result came out, i dragged my boobs across the page and began to make marks.

i jumped, spun, swayed, stabbed, and many other movements to create creative and interesting marks on the page, unfortunately because the pencils were HB and i could not apply much pressure as it was difficult to do so and move.

The Pen Pants

after creating The Pencil Bra i wanted to create another drawing body extension and what goes with a bra? pants go with a bra. so i got some cheap marker pens in ASSorted colours (pun intended) ,i used hot glue to attach them also and once all stuck to the ass of the pants i put them on and stuck paper to the wall again.

i jumped, swayed, stabbed, spun, wiggled and other movements to also create fun and interesting markings, i was much happier with this out come as i could actually see the markings clearly and the colours just looked more interesting that the pencil, as the process was fun you could see that it was now fun through the coloured markings.

Rebecca Horn

the pencil mask by rebecca horn

DIMENSIONS

Object within display case: 650 × 520 × 400mm

Black box: 135 × 360 × 225mm

Framed photograph: 255 × 312 × 33mm

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Eh9JH7daSbg

Strapped around the face, the mask transforms the wearer’s head into an instrument for drawing. Horn has described wearing it: ‘All pencils are about two inches long and produce the profile of my face in three dimensions...I move my body rhythmically from left to right in front of a white wall. The pencils make marks on the wall the image of which corresponds to the rhythm of my movements.’ The spike-like pencils make this one of Horn’s more threatening works. However, it is linked to the feather masks, as feather quills were also once used for writing.

Drawing Practical 1

starting on a 6x6cm square section on an A1 sheet hanging in front of a window i began to listen to kiwi by Harry styles.the lines i created were very dark and ridged at the song was quite rocky and was more shouting than singing a melody.i used 9B graphite on all

my next drawing was to Heather by Conan Grey, this song is a lot calmer and has more melody so my markings on my page were much softer and more flowing and you could tell there was less pressure being used on the graphite as the markings were less tonal.on this section i had a longer rectangle area to use up so there was more space for freedom and i could use the length to go from the start of the song to the end of the song.

the third section was 6cm longer than the second section giving even more space to draw, this time we all listened to the same song on a record player from the 60s, we had no emotional connection to this song as none of us knew it, it was very 40s 50s vibes

to break out of the conventional form of drawing with pencil in a controlled manner on pencil we made drawing sticks, this caused us to be out of our comfort zone and lose some physical control of the graphite stick.

to get even more creative we changed our medium to charcoal and attached pieces to my hand, while listening to music i created markings with my hand on the page these markings were very fluid and exciting as there was more than one piece of charcoal making a mark so it created an over all more intersting drawing.

Wassily Kandinsky

Painter, printmaker, watercolorist, pioneering theorist of abstraction. Abandoning an academic law career in Russia, moved to Munich in 1896 at age of thirty to study art. Founded several progressive art groups in Munich, most notably the Blaue Reiter, in 1911, with Franz Marc. Developed artistic philosophy based on the psychology of colors and shapes. Rejected objective representation and materialism in his art and theoretical writings, favoring spiritual approach of “inner necessity,” which culminated in his breakthrough to abstraction, around 1913

.Marc gave an emotional meaning or purpose to the colors he used in his work: blue was used to portray masculinity and spirituality, yellow represented feminine joy, and red encased the sound of violence. After the National Socialists took power, they suppressed modern art; in 1936 and 1937, the Nazis condemned the late Marc as an entarteter Künstler (degenerate artist) and ordered approximately 130 of his works removed from exhibition in German museums.

Der Blaue Reiter (The Blue Rider) was a group of artists united in rejection of the Neue Künstlervereinigung München in Munich, Germany. The group was founded by a number of Russian emigrants, including Wassily Kandinsky, Alexej von Jawlensky, Marianne von Werefkin, and native German artists, such as Franz Marc, Paul Klee, August Macke and Gabriele Münter. They considered that the principles of the Neue Künstlervereinigung München, a group Kandinsky had founded in 1909, had become too strict and traditional.

Der Blaue Reiter was an art movement lasting from 1911 to 1914, fundamental to Expressionism, along with Die Brücke which was founded in 1905.

“A painter, who finds no satisfaction in mere representation, however artistic, in his longing to express his inner life, cannot but envy the ease with which music, the most non-material of the arts today, achieves this end. He naturally seeks to apply the methods of music to his art.”

These are words from the renowned painter Wassily Kandinsky that describe the influence of music on his work throughout his life – music appears everywhere in his paintings. Kandinsky believed that music could be brought to the canvas in the way it can be brought to paper in the form of notes and ultimately to melodious sound that captures almost any living being.

Kandinsky continues to perfect his theory: Abstract art creates a new inner world that, when viewed from the outside, has nothing to do with reality. It follows the general laws of the cosmic world. Kandinsky did not doubt his ‘inner world’ throughout his life from the very early ages until his death.

The sophistication and amalgamation of music and painted or written art became ever more prevalent as human artistry and creativity developed over time. If you take a moment to study this phenomenon, you will encounter famous names like Johann Wolfgang Goethe who once declared that architecture was “frozen music” or as Paul Klee famously once said, “One day I must be able to improvise freely on the keyboard of colors: the row of watercolors in my paintbox”.

Jackson Pollock Practical

the practical started on a4 paper with black and white acrylic paint, i had little to no idea on pollocks technique, thought behind his work, or him other than the fact i knew of his work and had seen some in person on my trip to new york city. the task was to replicate one of pollocks paintings, which is physically impossible as the physics behind each splatter of paint is going to be different to the next and will never ever be exactly the same as pollocks. so we interpreted our own by looking at the markings that he had made and trying to make similar markings with black and white acrylic, the lines of his work are quite long and stringy, the consistency of acrylic wouldn’t create those lines on its own, so i mixed the paint with a decent amount of pva glue to create a more runny yet tacky consistency to create the lines as close to what pollock was making.

we were then given the correct paint that pollock would of used which was house hold paint, used for things like skirting boards, banisters and wooden doors. this paint has a more stringy and controlled consistency than the acrylic allowing the lines to be thinner and you have more choice on where the paint goes unlike acrylic just lands wherever gravity pulls it and is way to thick.

once we had had some fun creating some abstract pollock like paintings with the house hold paint , the paintings had no figurative meaning, so we were tasked to create something figurative yet hold the style of pollock at the same time so i chose to create a sun flower as it was the first thing that popped in to my mind, i used acrylic and house paint as i wanted colour but we had no house paintsin any colour but white and black so i mixed my acrylic with a lot of glue to get a similar consistency as the house paint.

i then created a bee with yellow acrylic and glue and the black house paint, the proportions were a bit big for the paper as i couldn’t fit the wings in which was a bummer as the wings of a bee are what make the buzzing sound and the way the markings of the paint fall almost look like the bee is vibrating.

Jackson Pollock

picture i took at the MoMa in nyc

Pollock’s work had many other influences. For example, he liked a group of Mexican painters who made murals. Murals are large images that the artists paint directly onto a wall. Some of these painters were working in New York City in the nineteen thirties, so Pollock was able to see them work. Pollock borrowed several methods and ideas from these artists. They included the use of large canvases, the method of freely applying paint and honoring old and new traditions.

Also, when he was in his late twenties, Pollock suffered a mental breakdown. It was caused in part by depression and dependence on alcohol. As a result, he was treated by a Jungian psychoanalyst. This is a special kind of expert in emotional health who works to understand the unconscious mind, dreams, and emotions. Pollock was influenced by this kind of investigation of human relations and emotions. This “inside world” would become the subject of his paintings.

During these years Jackson Pollock started to paint in a completely new way. He created art that was very physical. In fact, his method is sometimes called “action painting”. Most artists painted on a surface that stood upright or vertical. But Pollock put his large canvases on the floor so that he could move around all four sides of his work. He also used very liquid paints so that he could easily drop the paint onto his canvases. This “dripping” method allowed him to make energetic works. His paintings are explosions of curving lines, shapes and colors. In his art you can see every movement that his arm made. You can see how he had to move his body around the canvas. Videos of Pollock painting show this process, which looks like a painterly dance.

Pollock invented a new kind of painting that changed the way the world looked at art. … When he first began painting, Jackson Pollock painted representational objects such as people and animals. However, he is famous for helping to create a whole new art movement called Abstract Expressionism.

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sunaddicted · 7 years

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Beginnings (00qad)

Happy Polyamory Day, 007 Fest! This is my fill for Prompt 43 of the Anonymous Prompt Exchange Beginnings James looked up from his book when Danny let a box slam down on the coffee table, an eyebrow arched inquiringly to prompt an answer out of the younger man while he slipped his index finger between the pages to keep his place marked. “It’s a puzzle” Danny answered, sitting down on the carpeted floor. Q let out a small but delighted noise, shaking himself out of his light dozing in order to crawl out of James’ lap and get closer to the coffee table; James gently held him by his hipbone, steadying his uncoordinated movements and making sure that he wouldn’t topple over in his half-asleep state. Danny opened the box and immediately Turing came snooping, paws curiously sorting through the coloured pieces “How do you usually sort them?” “By colour” Q hummed, absentmindedly pushing away Turing’s head, wanting to avoid the cat accidentally swallowing one of the pieces which would have made their lazy afternoon quite a lot less enjoyable “Landscape?” he asked, curiously looking at the pieces almost as if attempting at making a sense of the image with a glance - just like he did when he saw an equation and his brain wouldn’t need more than a handful of seconds to go through all the calculations and get to the result. “Even better” the other said “ It’s a reproduction of The Fighting Temeraire - I think we should keep our own copy here at home” “That blasted painting” James let out in a fond groan and sat up, leaving his book abandoned on the sofa so that he could lean over and start to sort through the pieces; he honestly couldn’t remember the last time he had sat down to put together a puzzle, probably sometime before his parents had died: James hadn’t been much for childish pastimes once he had found himself an orphan filled with resentment and grief. “You should also separate the ones that are part of the frame from the others” Alex pointed out as he entered the living room, a plate full of freshly baked biscuits in hand and Pampuria following him, clearly aiming at the plate’s content. He sat down next to James, moving the book aside after slipping a piece of paper between the pages and closing it, so that the spine wouldn't get all creased “They're the easiest pieces to isolate” Alex offered as an explanation, narrowing his eyes as he focused on the pieces in the box and grinned when he singled one out thanks to one of its edges being completely straight and held it up triumphantly “See?” James smiled; he loved seeing Alex and Q's formidable brains and logical way of thinking applied to the most simple things “So, what strategy do you suggest?” Had it been for him, James would have simply upended the box and started putting together the pieces that clearly stood out as belonging together. Which, he supposed, was quite an appropriate metaphor to also describe the different ways they went about missions and work in general - analysis versus instinct. “For tonight, we should sort the pieces in different groups” Danny piped up from around a bite of biscuit, his hand outstretched over to Pampuria so that she could lick at the crumbles sticking to his digits. Alex nodded “Four groups” “Five” Q hummed “Frame pieces. Ships pieces. Sea pieces. Clear sky pieces. Cloudy sky pieces” he listed, lifting a finger up for every main item present in the painting as he easily recalled them. Alex bumped his and James’ shoulders together “You look for the frame pieces” “Because they're easier?” “And because you don't know the painting that well” Danny added with a grin before cramming the other half of the biscuit in his mouth. James shrugged “Fine. Less work for me” Pampuria jumped on the coffee table and mewed out aloud, swiping angrily at the pieces with her floofy tail, scattering them around to attract their attention. It had taken them two evenings to separate all the pieces in five piles and, by the time they were ready to start on the frame on the third night, a mission had landed on James’ lap and, as usual, Q appointed himself his handler to make sure he'd make it back home as unharmed as possible. Neither Danny nor Alex were in the mood of starting on the puzzle on their own; without the specific intention of making it so, it had become an activity that the four of them could do together - another way to share an interest and time with the others and to deepen their bond. So, that evening - and for the following week - Danny and Alex cuddled, read and caught up on Tv series with Q whenever someone at work managed to send him home for a while. When James finally came back, bruised and too wired up to stand their touches, opening the slightly dusty box seemed the best thing they could do to spend time together without risking overwhelming and triggering James. They worked quietly, silence broken only by a few murmured words. For once, Alex had decided to let his ‘No smoking indoors’ rule slide and even if he'd done so for James in case he wished to do so to decompress a little, soon enough Q and Danny too were sharing a cigarette between them. Alex wrinkled his nose a bit at the smell of burning tobacco, but nothing could put a damper on the relief he felt at the fact that James was back at home safe. *** Q squinted at the scattered pieces on the lid of the box before shifting his gaze to the coffee table on which the frame had been proudly completely put together, looking to and fro from one to another in an attempt at finding a piece from where to start; they had decided to begin from the sky, Danny having managed to persuade them that it was the easiest part and that working their way down from that would be better - Q wasn't quite sure about the reason why, but he hadn't complained: they needed to start from somewhere, after all. James chuckled and dropped a kiss over the untidy mop of Q's tangled and unruly curls as he leaned over and grabbed a piece just from under the younger man's nose and slotted it neatly into place “Someone needs to get stronger glasses” he teased in an almost singing voice. That and an outraged noise coming from Q, they prompted a hearty laugh out of Danny who, rather gleefully, added another piece to the puzzle. “This is unfair!” Q cried out and, immediately, Pampuria jumped up on his lap as if to comfort him - though, everyone knew that she just wanted an excuse to dig her little sharp claws into someone. Or so James claimed and his judgement couldn't really be trusted when it came to Pam. “Or maybe you're just distracted” Alex said in a soothing manner, fingers steepled under his chin as he observed the portion of puzzle they had completed; after glancing at the watch on James’ wrist, Alex decided that it definitely was time for a break - it wasn't as if they had a deadline to respect “Time to go to sleep” James frowned “It's only ten and a half” he said, aware of sounding a bit like a kid complaining about curfew. “I'm horny” Alex retorted, arching an eyebrow as if to challenge the other man to contradict him. “Definitely bed time!” James concurred, tugging Q up from his spot on the floor and hurried towards the bedroom “Come on, Danny! You can put everything in order tomorrow morning!” he shouted as he unceremoniously dumped Q on the bed, who let out a surprised shriek. Alex wasn’t exactly surprised to hear that noise turn into an obscenely loud moan. “Are you really horny?” Danny inquired, studying Alex’s face to read his real thoughts in his eyes; he might have been a spy, but Alex never felt the need to keep up masks around the house, where he was safe and surrounded by people who cherished and loved him. Alex pulled DAnny in his arms, fingers gently wrapped around the back of his scalp so that he could tilt the younger man’s head upwards in order to kiss him “Well, not exactly horny but I wouldn’t say no to a little tumble in the sheets” he whispered, lips brushing their way up from Danny’s cheekbone to his temple. Q let out another indecently loud moan and Danny snorted fondly “Let’s go then or Q will have all the fun” he encouraged, standing up and leading Alex to the bedroom. Both their lovers had already lost their clothes, now strewn all over the room; James had his head buried between Q’s smooth thighs, clearly making an extremely good use of his tongue if the way the younger man was thrashing on the bed was of any indication. Admittedly, it was a sight that Alex would never tire of: it always managed to make him feel both aroused and deeply ashamed of himself, mind instantly filled by slurs he tried to drown out - Danny’s mouth sucking a hickey on the side of his neck was definitely helping and Alex let his head fall to the side, giving the other more space to work on. Now that he thought about it, between James’ mission and the puzzle, Alex couldn’t remember the last time they had sex all together and he found that he had missed the shared physical intimacy. “Come here” Q panted, green eyes wide open behind his smudged glasses and his whole torso stained a dusty pink by a flush “Please, come here. I need you” “You’re so beautiful, little love” Alex whispered, bending down to directly kiss a moan away from Q’s spit-slicked lips while Danny plastered himself to James’ back , digits tenderly fluttering over over puckered scars and faded burn marks; he had never been attracted by scars - he had never found them particularly exciting or disgusting - but Danny knew how self-conscious they could make James sometimes and, if there was something Danny really cared about, it was making his lovers feel comfortable and at peace with themselves. Only that mattered. *** James was too tired to actually focus on the puzzle, but he wanted his lovers to keep going at it so, he had his head in Alex’s lap and enjoyed the caresses to his hair while they sorted through the pieces. He hadn’t been sleeping well lately, his subconscious bringing up some truly gruesome nightmares that had forced James to spend sleepless nights on the sofa with the cats to avoid disturbing his lovers’ rest - or, worse, hurt them: sometimes, the images were so vivid that he couldn’t help lashing out in self-defence. James raised his gaze, eyes looking for Q’s face, and he felt his stomach lurch at the sight of the bruise just under the other’s left eye, glaringly purple against his pale skin; victim of a rather crude dream and somebody’s threateningly wandering hands, James had struck out in panic and almost broken Q’s nose with a single blow. As if perceiving how troubled he was feeling, Alex slightly increased the pressure of his digits on his scalp, trying to drown out the thoughts whirling around his brain with a soothing massage. It helped, a little bit. Not to the point that James could forget about hurting Q in such a way. Quietly, Danny started to hum a slow song and James, consumed by tiredness, let his eyelids fall closed. *** “And here we are, the last piece” Danny said proudly. It had taken them a little over three weeks to complete the puzzle, it felt good putting in place the last piece, even if Danny had to admit that he would miss the evenings spent together in such a way. There was a frame ready for the completed puzzle and, amidst some colourful swearwords and cursing, James had hammered the necessary nails to later hang it to the wall. Q’s eyes twinkled with mischief behind his glasses “what do you see?” James rolled his eyes at the cheeky question, remembering in every detail their first meeting “A bloody big ship” he obliged, prompting a delighted chuckle out of Danny as he slotted the last piece into place. “We need one of Lambeth bridge too” Q observed “We can always go and take a picture, if we can’t find a puzzle: there’s loads of places where they print pictures on blank puzzles” Danny cocked his head to the side with curiosity “Why?” “Because that’s where we met the first time, Danny” Alex realised after a second “That’s where we began”

#team00 #007 fest #00qad #00q #dannylex #007 #james bond #Q #quartermaster #danny holt #alex turner #my writing #my fic #london spy #bond verse #fluffy #emotional h/c

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