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berrynarrybanana · 4 years

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pink lemonade

A/n: I...had a cliche moment of I wrote this and it got deleted bc my computer had a hissy fit while I was trying to find a good pic to use. All I want to say is that I spent weeks agonizing over this piece because I wasn’t sure that it was good enough and that it touched on bi!reader as much as it should. I started it out in Harry’s POV and it kind of just took off from there. This is very heavily based off a song from one of my favorite bands. It’s called pink lemonade by the wombats and it really gave me inspiration to write this whole fic and for my reader and flatmate!h. I hope that I did this justice, because as a bi woman, I know how little representation we get in media and in fics. So thank you to the beautiful @bopbopstyles and @harrysclementines for hosting a challenge that made me feel included. I really appreciate and love you both so much!

warnings: smut, drug use mention, angst, harry’s pov

word count: 4.3k+

Please enjoy and feel free to tell me what you think!

Friday Night

Harry remembers the day he met his flatmate.

She was a little shorter than him, but her personality definitely made her seem much taller. She had her hair up in a messy bun, her Rolling Stones shirt tucked in, and her jeans cuffed at the bottom. She introduced herself to him with a dazzling smile and a witty joke about being a stereotypical bisexual being. It made him laugh, pulling her into a hug (after asking her permission) because they were going to be flatmates and she needed to know he was a hugger. He didn’t want to start off on an awkward note with a person he would be spending so much time with. He suggested they order some pizza and drink wine on the floor of their living room on their first night.

Their furniture hadn’t been delivered or moved in yet, so they had to settle for putting a few of y/n’s pillows under their bums while they watched comedy specials on Harry’s laptop. A majority of their evening was spent giggling and sharing stories about their previous experiences with old girlfriends. He found it oddly comforting that the beautiful girl was a little bit different, because he had always felt that way in life. With her, he didn’t feel so alone in being different. Perhaps that was one of the things that made him fall in love with her. She was a bright, radiant soul that brought him more joy than anyone else ever had. But she could be a bit thick, sometimes.

As he watched her prance around their apartment in her tight mini-dress, he tried his best not to let her see his obvious attraction to her.

The pillow on his lap would seem obvious to just about anyone else, but not to his precious flatmate. She practically floated through life, oblivious to how people looked at her when she moved. She was like a walking porn ad, her beautiful hair and gorgeous smile nearly impossible to ignore. He tried not to focus too hard on what she was wearing, but christ, it was hard not to. Her legs looked a little longer due to the black heeled booties she’d put on and she was most definitely wearing tights with little sparkles in the fabric.

He hated seeing her dressed up like this, knowing that he wouldn’t be the one sliding his hands up her dress in the backseat of the taxi on the way home. He wouldn’t be the one gripping at her thighs while she straddled him on their shared couch. He wouldn’t be the one making her scream, unable to contain herself as he pulled orgasm after orgasm out of her. He hated that she was wearing the perfect shade of red on her lips, a shade that painted the walls of the prison cell in his own personal hell inside. He wanted to smear it off her lips with his own, kissing her until she was breathless and begging.

Instead, he flipped through the channels on the telly, pretending to pay attention.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come out, Harry?” She stood in front of him, pouting her lips out as she tilted her head to the side. He shook his head as she crossed her arms, the gesture pushing her breasts up just a little. Fuck me, Harry thought. “You love going out!”

“I know, love.” He grumbled, glancing behind her as if she was in the way. “But I’m not really in the mood to party tonight and I don’t want to bring the mood down.”

“Well, I don’t feel right going out without you.” She sighed, dropping her arms to the side, causing Harry to look up at her. “Maybe I should stay home? We can order takeout and-”

“Absolutely not.” He shook his head. “You have a date. You can’t stand him up!”

“He’s just some rando from Tinder, I really don’t care about his feelings.,H.” She snorted out a laugh, rolling those perfect eyes as he tried to fight off a smile. “I’d rather be with you if you’re feeling down.”

“Don’t give up the chance for a good time because I’m a grumpy old man.” He shook his head. “I really want you to go out.”

“Okay, okay.” She let out a heavy exhale, stepping farther away. “How do I look?”

“Perfect.” He didn’t tear his eyes away from the telly, knowing he would overshare if he actually looked at her right now.

“You didn’t even look!” She laughed around a playful groan. “Boys.”

“I’m a man, love!” He called out as she walked into the kitchen for her keys. “If you’re too drunk, call me. Don’t go home with your random tinder date and-”

“Lock the door when I’m home.” She nodded. “I know the rules, dad.”

“Please do not ever call me that again.” Harry narrowed his eyes at her. “Go, get out of here and go have some fun. Tell everyone I said hi.”

“I will!” She smiled. “Bye, roomie!”

“Bye!” He waved, his heart sinking as the door shut behind her. “Guess I’ll be having a sad wank about that later.”

Harry grumbled, sinking further into the cushions of their shared couch.

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

Saturday Morning

The guy from Friday seemed to be a keeper.

He was there the next morning when Harry was making a hangover breakfast in the kitchen for his flatmate. He strutted in without a shirt or a word, reaching for a coffee cup as if he owned the place. Last time Harry checked, only two people paid rent here. Harry watched from the stove, spatula in hand as he glared at the man’s back. What a sodding prick. With a quick roll of his eyes, Harry pushed around the potatoes he’d chopped up earlier. Of course she brought him home. It had been weeks since she’d had a proper shag and it was bound to happen sooner or later. And even if Harry hated to admit it, the man standing in his kitchen gave it to her proper. Harry closed his eyes, cringing at memory of her moans melded with the banging of her headboard against the wall last night.

He hadn’t heard her moan out like that in a long time. Halfway through orgasm number two out of god knows how many, Harry shoved his headphones in and tried not to cry. He hated that someone else was making her feel so good that she was screaming the bloody walls down. He wanted to sink into her, to have her screaming out his name instead. But that wasn’t going to happen. Not even in his dreams could he have her, always cutting off right around the time his hands landed on her hips.

“Oh, didn’t see you there, mate.” The guy turned around. “M’Alfie.”

“Harry.” He grumbled, reaching up to the heat down. “Y/N’s roommate.”

“She told me about you.” Alfie nodded. “Said you’re a right laugh when you’re drinking.”

“Did she now?” Harry hummed as if he was actually interested in the conversation.

“Shame you didn’t come out with us.” Alfie said. “Y/N was a fucking animal. Have you ever had sex with her? I mean she’s amazing when she’s high.”

Harry wanted to vomit.

This guy was a total prick.

“Yeah, what a shame.” Harry cleared his throat, glancing over at Alfie. “When Y/N wakes up, let her know that breakfast is here. She’s going to want two pieces of toast with butter.”

“I will tell her.” Alfie sipped out of the bright pink mug and Harry’s face grew hot. That was his mug, the one that Y/N got him for Christmas last year. The little lamb on the front with a comical smile was mocking him now. “You alright, mate?”

“Yeah, I’m stellar.”

Harry stormed out of the kitchen and down the hall.

He nearly made it to his door when she stumbled out of her bedroom.

“Morning, Harry.” She yawned before smiling at her roommate.

He didn’t respond, ducking past her and into his bedroom.

Maybe he didn’t really know the girl he loved after all.

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

Another Magical Friday Night

Alfie, as it turns out, wasn’t a keeper.

During their second escapade, Alfie shouting to the top of his lungs pulled Harry out of his half-asleep state. His heart sank and his blood ran cold as he sprinted out of his bedroom to Y/N’s. When he got there, Alfie was storming out of her bedroom, half dressed with a red face. Harry stood in Y/N’s doorway, avoiding her gaze as she struggled to put a t-shirt on. After a few moments, Harry couldn’t stand to hear her soft whimpers and loud sniffles. He tore his own shirt off, walking over to where she was sitting on the bed with her legs crossed in front of her.

“S’alright,” He cooed, sitting down in front of her as he slipped his shirt over her head. “It’s okay, love.”

“I’m sorry we woke you up.” She leaned forward, pressing her forehead to the column of his throat as she cried. “I know you have an early yoga class tomorrow.”

“Please don’t apologize.” He said softly, rubbing his hand over her back. “Tell me what he did?”

“He didn’t do anything.” She shook her head, pulling back as she wiped at her cheeks. “I just...Alfie dabbles a bit in drugs and I tried some with him last week, but I didn’t like it. I told him I didn’t want to do it again and he called me a whore and a tease.”

Harry’s jaw tensed as he watched his best friend hiccup, swiping under her eyes again.

“You are not a whore.” Harry reached up, gripping her chin between his thumb and forefinger, demanding her attention. “Don’t ever let anyone make you feel like you need to be ashamed of yourself.”

“Thank you.” She sniffled. “Sleep with me tonight?”

“Yeah.” He nodded. “Let’s go to my room instead, okay?”

He didn’t have the heart to tell her he couldn’t sleep in her bed right now.

Not after Alfie had been in it.

“Okay.” She gave him a wavering smile. “Thank you, H.”

“Anytime.”

Harry held her that night, his heart pounding against his chest as she cuddled into him.

As he drifted off, he mumbled out loud, “This must be what heaven feels like.”

He hoped she didn’t hear him.

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

Harry decided that if Y/N was going out this Friday, he was too.

He couldn’t stand the thought of her going out without him by her side after last week’s incident with Alfie. There was no Tinder date for her to meet up with, just Harry and a few other friends who wanted to have a good time. They got ready in their shared bathroom together, pre-gaming with whatever they had left as they sang loudly to Harry’s pre-game playlist. When she spritzed her perfume over her neck, Harry’s mouth started to water.

The warm vanilla and citrus hybrid was damn near a love potion to him.

“Alright,” She nodded, giving herself a once over in the mirror. “I’m ready.”

“You look perfect.” He smiled, trailing his eyes up from her vegan, leather combat boots to her black skinny jeans, finally settling on the lacy bodysuit that she had recently purchased. “S’a bit like lingerie, innit it?”

“Yeah.” She shrugged her shoulders, pursuing her lips as Harry looked at her eyes. “But it’s nice and light and extremely sexy.”

“One of those nights?” Harry’s brows quirked up and he forced a little smirk to settle on his lips as she nodded. “Good, you deserve a bit of fun.”

And he actually meant it, this time.

She did deserve to have a little fun after Alfie

He could suck it up for one night if the girl he loved would be happy at the end of it.

“I do.” She giggled, reaching down to grab the bottle of tequila set on the bathroom countertop, wiggling it around. “One more shot for good luck?”

“Pour it up.”

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

Harry bucked his hips up as the girl above him rolled her hips over his denim clad cock.

This time, he brought someone home.

Granted, Y/N brought someone home as well, he now had a distraction to keep his mind busy and his cock wet while his flatmate got off. The girl he’d met at the club was so sweet, her hazel eyes enticing him the moment his gaze met hers. Her lips were so soft and they tasted like strawberries. He wondered what Y/N tasted like? They were normally covered in gloss when she went out, shiny and peachy. Did her lips taste like peach? Harry closed his eyes, taking a deep breath as the girl dug her nails into his stomach.

“Can I take your pants off?” She asked, timid and soft. Nothing like Y/N demanding the naughtiest of things on the other side of the wall. “I’m ready to...I want to ride you.”

“Okay, yeah.” Harry opened his eyes, sitting up as he wrapped his arms around her. He pressed a few soft kisses over her jaw before catching her mouth in his. “Just a second, love.”

“You’re sweet.” She pressed a kiss to his forehead, swinging her leg over his thighs as he reached for his buttons.

“Fuck, yes!”

Harry rolled his eyes, fumbling with the zipper on his trousers as the girl next to him slapped her hand over her mouth, trying not to laugh.

“She’s loud.” She giggled, reaching down to start working on her heels.

“I know.” Harry sighed. “I’m really sorry about that. I...I didn’t know she would be bringing someone-”

“Right there, y/n! Yes baby yes!”

“Jesus.” He let out a huff, reaching his hand up to tap the wall with his fist. “Oi, other people are trying to have fun here.”

“Oh my god.” The girl tossed her head back, barking out a laugh. “You don’t have to do that, it’s fine.”

“Sorry, H.” Y/N called back. “We’ll keep it down.”

“I just don’t want to ruin the mood for us.” He shuffled out of his jeans and boxers, tossing them to the side before he looked back at her.

“I’m okay.” She climbed on top of him again, her shoes now tossed aside and her dress hiked up to her hips. “I really, really don’t care about anything else but fucking you right now.”

“Oh.” Harry’s cheeks were surely tinged pink as she gripped his cock in her hand, stroking up with gentle movements. “Fuck, that’s nice.”

“Good.” She leaned forward, pressing her free hand to his shoulder. He fell back onto the mattress, dropping his hands to her thighs. “I promise I’m gonna make you cum so hard, you won’t even know there’s anyone else in the world besides me.”

Harry dropped his head back, digging his nails into her thighs as she lined herself up with his cock. It had been so long since he’d fucked anyone, his emotions for Y/N a huge cock-block that he couldn’t seem to shake. Other girls just didn’t do it for him anymore. But tonight, the alcohol in his veins and the vision of Y/N nearly fingering some girl in the back of the club reminded him that he was free to fuck whoever he wanted, despite his love for Y/N.

“Y/N!”

Harry let out a heavy sigh through his nose, the sound of Y/N’s one night stand screaming making the fire in his belly dim just a little. He didn’t even care that his own girl was sinking onto his cock, soaking wet and tight like a vice. He barely even remembered that she was on top of him until she moaned his name out.

He opened his eyes, watching her face contort as she settled onto his thighs.

“You’re huge.” She whispered, tilting her head back. “I swear I’ve never had...never had someone so big, fuck.”

“Yeah?” He licked over his bottom lip, sliding a palm up to her belly. “Feel me there?”

“Mhm.” She whimpered, gripping onto his wrist. “M’so full.”

“Y/N, please let me cum.”

Harry let out a frustrated sigh, reaching his hands up to rub over his face.

“Are they bothering you?” The girl asked softly, lifting off of his cock. “Because it seems like they are.”

“A little, yeah.” Harry nodded, wincing as his cock slapped against his stomach. “I’m really sorry, it’s not that you aren’t amazing-”

“I get it, it’s okay.” She fell next to him as his cock started to soften. “I would be kind of wigged out if my roommate was fucking while I was too.”

“She does this every Friday night.” Harry said. “And...not to continue ruining whatever we had going between us, but I’m kind of in love with her.”

“Oh.” The girl whispered. “That would really turn me off.”

“Yeah.” He nodded. “And I was trying to have fun for once, you know? Because she seems to go about life oblivious to my feelings and I’m stuck pining for her while she’s fucking whoever she wants to.”

“Do you think she knows that you like her?” His date asked.

“I don’t know, probably not.” He mumbled, turning his head to look at her. “You don’t have to listen to me moan on about it, I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s okay.” She turned on her side, pressing her palm to his chest. “I have a feeling you haven’t talked to anyone about this and it’s not very healthy to keep things bottled up.”

“You’re right about that.” Harry smiled. “You know, I have a friend who would absolutely adore you.”

“Is it Y/N?” She giggled. “Because I don’t swing that way.”

“Oi, you think I’d let you shag the girl I just told you I’m in love with?” He laughed, his brows crinkling together as he reached over to pinch her hip. “It’s not her.”

“Good.” She laughed with Harry, sliding closer to him. “Would it be weird if I stay?”

“No,” He shook his head. “It’s the least I can do after wasting your time.”

“And...what about a cuddle?” She asked. “Because I do enjoy a good cuddle session.”

“I can deal with that, I think.” He leaned forward, pressing his lips to hers. “Thank you.”

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

The next morning, Harry was livid.

He sent his date, Halle was her name, off with a sweet kiss and a coffee to-go. Maybe in another life, she would have been perfect for him. A soft, sweet girl with kind eyes and a willingness to listen to him. Unfortunately for him, he was too far up his obnoxious flatmate’s ass to see anyone else. And even if it made things awkward between them, he had to tell her how he felt. There was no way he could keep going on like this if there was a way to prevent it.

“Good morning,” She chirped, her hand linked with the girl she brought home last night. “Are we having breakfast?”

“You can do whatever the fuck you want.” Harry snapped, taking his coffee mug and his breakfast plate from the counter. “I don’t care.”

Y/N’s jaw dropped and the girl’s eyes grew wide.

Harry didn’t say another word, walking past the two girls.

He hated being a dick, but lashing out made him feel the tiniest bit better about what happened last night. He pushed his bedroom door open with his hip, settling back into bed as he flicked through his options on Netflix. He wasn’t even thinking of Y/N, his mind struggling to remember whether or not he’d seen the last episode of the Great British Bake-Off. When he realized that he hadn’t, clicking on the title to start the episode, his bedroom door flew open and his roommate stormed in.

“Fuck you!” She snapped, reaching for his remote, standing in front of his bed with a scowl on her perfect lips. “I don’t know who pissed in your cheerios this morning, but you don’t get to talk to me like that! Especially not in front of guests.”

“Okay.” Harry shrugged. “Can I have my remote-”

“No, you can’t!” She shouted, tossing her hands up as she let out a noise crossed between a groan and a growl. “What’s your deal?”

“I haven’t exactly finished my coffee, love.” Harry was trying not to relish in the sight of his roommate frustrated and adorable. The feeling she was experiencing now was a fraction of what he felt every time he heard her through the wall. “Maybe come back later?”

“Are you upset because I fucked someone last night and you didn’t?” Her brows shot up. “I know you didn’t cum last night and neither did the girl you brought home. Are you mad because you’re shit in bed?”

“Maybe we were quiet. You know, decent and considerate of other people,” The smile he gave her was sarcastic. “Or maybe- and this is a good one- maybe, I had a girl sitting on my cock, ready to fuck me so bloody good I would cry, but I couldn’t let her because all I could think about was how much I love you. ”

“What?” She asked, her mouth falling ajar.

“Maybe when I was kissing her at the club, I was thinking about kissing you.” He set his coffee mug down on his nightstand, continuing on. “And maybe when I had my fingers in her cunt, I was thinking about you. And maybe, just maybe, every time you fuck someone so loud that it keeps me up at night, I wish it was me instead.”

She didn’t say anything, watching as Harry moved forward. He snagged the remote from her hand, proud of his little confession. He turned the show back on, ignoring his roommate as she stood there with her eyes wide. He smirked, crossing his legs before he settled his hand on his stomach.

“You process that and I’m just gonna watch Noel and Paul bicker.” Harry said.

“You’re an asshole.” She whispered. “You...you can’t just be upset with me because I didn’t know that you liked me.”

“I’m not upset with you,” He said. “I’m a little upset that I was trying to have a good time for once and you ruined it with you and your girl’s pornstar moaning, but I’m not upset with you. That would be extremely unfair of me.”

“Why have you never said anything?” She cleared her throat, fidgeting with the hem of her oversized shirt. “We’ve been roommates for years, Harry.”

“Because I love you as a friend, too.” He started. “I didn’t want to risk it.”

“And now?” She squeaked out. “You’re willing to risk it now?”

“Yeah.” He nodded. “I’m tired of wishing that it was me on the other side of this wall, Y/N. So...take some time to think about what I said and let me know if you’d be willing to give it a try. No hard feelings if you don’t want the same thing, I completely understand and I’ll respect your choice either way. We’ll just have to work out some arrangement where you let me know when you have someone-”

“I want to try.” She said quickly, kneeling on the edge of the bed. “Because I really like you, Harry. Like, the only reason I’ve brought so many people back home with me is because I couldn’t have you. I knew that there was no way in hell you would like a girl like me. I’m obnoxious and boisterous and just...I didn’t think I was your type.”

“You’re kidding?” His brows shot up. “You thought...oh my god, we’re both bloody idiots.”

“You’re telling me.” She laughed, falling on her ass in front of him. “This whole time I’ve been fucking people that loudly to make you jealous and the entire time you’ve been listening, imaging it was you?”

“I guess so.” He let out a breathy laugh, shaking his head. “Well, I guess that leaves us with two options.”

“And what might those be?” She asked, a soft smile settling on her lips.

“I take you out for brunch, maybe a nice walk in the park, and then I bring you home and fuck you so hard you won’t even remember the orgasms you had last night.” He lifted one finger up, smiling as he watched her inhale sharply. “Or option two, I fuck you now and we go to brunch later?”

“Wouldn’t it just be lunch by then?” She tilted her head to the side, playfully narrowing her eyes at him. “I mean...that defeats the purpose, yeah?”

“Really, that’s-” Harry let out a laugh, shaking his head. “You’re missing the point.”

“I’m not.” She leaned forward, sliding her hands over his thighs. “I see it clear as day.”

“And what does your heart tell you to do?” He licked over his bottom lip as she moved closer, her nose nearly bumping against his.

“To take you up on option two.” She whispered. “Because it’s really not fair that I came five times last night and you didn’t come, not even once.”

“Fuck.” Harry sputtered out as she brushed her lips over his. “Kiss me?”

She pressed her lips into his, moving his body back onto his pillows. She moved over him, straddling his thighs as she deepened the kiss. When her tongue slipped over his bottom lip, his mouth fell open in response. His hands fell to her hips, digging into the soft flesh as his mind tried to catch up. The girl of his dreams was sitting on his lap, in his bed, and she wanted him. She wanted him just as bad as he wanted her. He couldn’t believe that this was happening, sure that he was just a fever dream or a nightmare that he would wake up from any second. But he was brought back to reality when her tongue slipped over his.

And at that moment, Harry knew he was right.

She did taste like peach.

#hsbificathon

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ducissa-animi · 2 years

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A Stupid Idea (Au)

Chapter Nine

A sunny morning, and our non-entity demon walks to his old school.

It should be noted that it was an important exam he had to take that day.

February 12, 1929

That test would decide whether Bendy would enter another high school or not.

On his way home, he was curious about his results, there were more than 30 questions on the test, he had to pass.

As he was walking back, he saw in the distance two silhouettes in front of the building where he lived, it was in full deterioration with some broken pipes, but it was his home.

As he reached the end of his destination, he saw the two mugs in front of the entrance door, they did not look happy.

With trepidation he approached the door, thinking what did he do now, when he walked in, so did the mugs.

After a long talk, Bendy realized what was going on, he was incredulous at what he heard.

They would take him to his real parents, the boy sat there for a moment, analyzing what happened a couple of minutes ago, looking at his suitcases at the entrance to his room.

-This is a nightmare," he thought, bewildered and frightened.

- They will come to pick you up, feel lucky - the older brother felt sorry for the boy, it was not his fault that everything happened so fast, he was just a child gifted with knowledge, his maturity did not reach the limits of intelligence like those of a teenager.

-Who? - he asked, he felt anxious to know what his parents were like, maybe some ink demons like him, his brain processed stereotypes of what they would be like.

-You'll see.

They set out to eat to say goodbye to the boy, they rang the doorbell as many times as they had agreed.

In all that time, Cuphead didn't talk too much, if he had a neck, he would have a lump in his throat, in this case, he was attacking his heart, he was fond of his boss's son, he raised him as a son.

Helping with the heavy load, he leaned both suitcases on the mobility.

They did not take too long, they needed to go as soon as possible.

On the way, the boy sees the window of the luxury car, he was in nostalgia, tapping the paws of his fingers against the glass, a certain disdain grew in his chest, feeling in disaffection and disagreement with the decision of his "parents".

However, they arrived at the large Casino, Bendy didn't understand, they came to their presumed home, not to drink.

-Follow me- from the driver's side, out came a hunched demon with stones on his arms and legs, stuck to his body, he walked with an awkward and brutish pace.

The boy wanted to ask him about his things, what about his suitcases, when he turned to them, they were gone.

He had no choice but to go with him.

They looked out the back of the Casino, a garden full of roses and flowers, comfortable for a nap.

The cobblestone floor gave it a special touch. Three knocks on the main back door were enough for a large demon of dark brown colors, yellow and worn eyes, along with two ruby pupils, a tail and horns suffering from years of age, to open the entrance door.

With a few signs, he pushed aside the demon accompanying his son.

Despite the appearance, a soft, warm voice attracted Bendy's attention.

-Look at you, how much you have grown," spoke the Devil, he seemed to be lamenting, or he was just shocked to see his son, in his look he saw fear.

-Who are you, sir? - he asked, taking charge of the matter.

-I am your father, Bendy, don't you recognize your own father? - the demon with burnt skin, knelt down a bit towards his son, to reach his height and continue speaking, "we made you, boy; you should see your brothers, they are anxious to meet you".

VERSIÓN EN ESPAÑOL

#art #my art #a stupid idea #a stupid idea au #devil #the devil #bendy #snake eyes fanchil #snake eyes #history #story #chapter nine #chapter 9

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blueluneacy · 4 years

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Monsters of the Alley

I did it folks. It’s a dedicated sorbet/gelato/reader fic, written by me. I’m supposed to be studying for finals.

I got this idea from @j0succ, so you should check them out! Their blog gave me minor character disease-

It’s a Not SFW Werewolf!Sorbet x Human!Reader x Vampire! Gelato! wow

Words: 3k

Warnings: NOT SFW, implied stalking, predator/prey play, breaking and entering, violence, rough play, biting, bloodplay, SERIOUS dubcon, kidnapping, all around yandere, just a bad time for the reader

You knew that walking alone at night was a bad idea, but what could you do, really? It wasn’t like the world was going to wait around for you, cater to your every need. In a world full of monsters, you knew that it was dangerous to be a human, alone and fragile in the dark, but hey. They say that humans were the most common and that attacks from monsters were actually pretty uncommon, yadda yadda, whatever. It didn’t matter how many warnings you were given, you weren’t the type to listen to you. Maybe it was stubbornness, or just plain need that kept you moving through the dark streets. After all, you had done this probably hundreds of times before. If you stopped working, who knows what would happen. It was well worth the risk.

So, you kept walking, kept moving through the dark streets in hopes that slipping through an alleyway here or there would get you home faster. While maybe this wasn’t the best idea, you weren’t exactly the type to care. You had pepper spray, after all. Everything would be fine.

That’s what you continued to tell yourself as you walked down the alleyway, ignoring every sound you heard down the street. Because it was always a stray cat in a dumpster, or a drug deal you weren’t about to get in the middle of. It was basic Italian sentiment to mind your own business, and you had at least picked up on that rather well. So when you passed the two men at a corner, you didn’t really give their glances two thoughts, just gripping your purse tighter and walking a bit more quickly. You let them rake their eyes over you, because that’s all you thought they would do. After all, no men would hang out around these parts of Naples unless they were up to no good. When you were a few steps away, you turned back just to see if they were still looking at you, only to find that they had walked away. Good. It was always nice when things were easier for you. Maybe they thought you would get in the way of some meeting or whatever. You didn’t care enough to find out. You just kept walking, taking your usual route home.

And maybe that’s where you should’ve been worried. After all, you took this route home every day, rarely changing your routine. Have you seen those men before? You weren’t sure, but you could’ve sworn something was familiar about them. Like, the darker haired man’s nose felt quite sharp, or the teeth of the smaller man looked like they almost glistened in the light. You tried to shake the thoughts away as you opened the door to your small, shitty apartment, fumbling with the key a bit in the darkness. This was hell, working late into the night like this. You knew you weren’t going to make yourself anything healthy to eat, so you didn’t even bother to kid yourself anymore. You just swung open the door, pulling off your shoes and practically flinging yourself onto the couch, sinking into the cushions as you already felt your eyes fluttering shit.

And yet, something wasn’t right. Something didn’t feel right about something in your home, but you didn’t know what it was. You sat up, looking around but you couldn’t find a thing to really put your finger on. A certain uneasiness in your chest, like you could feel yourself being watched. You got up and moved to check if your door was locked, sighing a bit in relief when you saw it was. Good, you were just going crazy. It was much easier for you to accept that you were a lunatic than you were in danger, after all. And yet, when you heard a floorboard creak behind you, you turned in fear, swallowing as you looked over what had to be an illusion.

“So nice of you to lock the door for us, cara.” You heard the smaller man practically snarl to you, but the sound was faint over the sound of the blood pumping in your ears as your breathing picked up. They were… The men from the alleyway? But how did they get here faster than you, and what was the deal with…. You noticed the large teeth and muzzle of the darker haired man, the way his eyes looked over you as if you were just meat, and maybe that’s all you really were to him. Or maybe it was seeing how pale the other man’s skin was in this light, the way you could see him baring his fangs, his tongue drifting over them idly.

Oh god. Not only were these two monsters, but they were the most stereotypical combo to murder you. Your death was totally going to look like a joke. Still you swallowed a bit, trying to show a little bit of strength in this dire moment.

“G… Get out of my house, and I won’t call the cops.” You snapped back, letting the heavy pause linger in the air. The two of them stared at you, almost shocked at your defiance, before laughing. Well, maybe you should’ve seen that coming. Not only were the both of them stronger than you, but everyone knew that the police would take their time coming here, ready to solve a crime but not stop one. That was the way things were. With the weak being devoured by the strong.

“I told you, Sorbet. She’s a fighter, wouldn’t it be a lot more fun that way?” The man purred, leaning his head against the taller man, who you could only assume was Sorbet, leaving him to wrap an arm around him, but not take his eyes off of you.

“This should be interesting enough.” Sorbet replied, leaving you to gulp. Fuck it. Fuck it all. It was now or never. You would rather die knowing you gave a proper fight than just let yourself be devoured by these… things. You gripped the doorknob tightly, flinging open the door and bolting out, hoping to get as far away as possible. You had no idea where or how you were going to get there, but it didn’t really matter in the long run, did it? After all, you only got ten meters out the door.

You yelped as claws dug into your shoulders, grabbing onto you and dragging you back into your apartment. You tried to fight, but it became quickly clear that if you got away from Sorbet’s hold, it would be without your shoulder. You noticed vaguely how the vampire’s nose seemed to flare up as you were thrown to the ground, your head slamming against the shitty hardwood. You groaned, trying to pick yourself up off the ground as you heard the door slam shut, only for a boot to be slammed into your back.

“You look hungry, Gelato. Maybe you should take a bite before we get started?” Sorbet spoke out, but his teasing seemed much more sadistic that Gelato’s. Well, they were both sadistic assholes, but at least Gelato’s words had a light quality to them. Either way, Gelato just leaned down and grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at him.

“That was quite a cute stunt you pulled, ragazza. We really do look forward to seeing what other tricks you attempt to pull.” He purred. You squirmed in his grasp, but his hold on you was bruising, leaving you just to snarl.

“Do you always play with your food, or am I just special?” You spat back, leaving Gelato to give you a sick smile as he let you go, only from Sorbet to thread his head through your hair and pull you up, his claws digging into your scalp.

“You’re just special, troia.” Sorbet growled into your ear, roughly using his other hand to tear off your clothing as if it were just paper. You gasped and tried to cover yourself, only for Gelato to grab your wrists and pin your against Sorbet’s body, the two of them giving you little room to move. You felt the bulges against you, and you gulped, your eyes widening a bit. Oh god, they weren’t planning to kill you. They were planning to do so much worse. You just squirmed, trying to fight your captors but to no avail. They were both just too strong, enjoying the chase a little too much. Gelato leaned down to your shoulder wound, inhaling sharply before dragging his tongue over it. You gasped at the sting, gritting your teeth as you heard the breathy purr that came from Gelato’s throat.

“I’d prefer if you didn’t fuck around with the killing me part.” You spat back, trying to kick to get the two of them off of you, only for Sorbet to growl as he dug his nails into you, the pain leaving you to whimper a bit as you were a bit more still for Gelato to suck and lap at the wound. You were certain that it was going to leave a nasty scar at this rate.

“You’re lucky I’m not the one who’s starving, or else you’d be torn to shreds. Be good for my Gelatino, now.” He breathed into your ear, and you could feel how hot his breath was, smell the blood wafting off him in a way that just made your most primal instincts tell you to run, to escape from these predators. And yet, you gasped when you felt the two of them grind against you. Adrenaline was one hell of a drug, and that was the only reason the heat was starting to coil in your belly. Whatever helps you sleep at night.

Gelato finally pulled away from your shoulder with a soft hum, letting go of you to work on tearing off your pants. The two of them really had no care for your clothing, to the point where it was pissing you off. You could at least undress yourself.

“H-Hey, what the hell?! I had to pay for those, you know!” Well, it was easier to bring up smaller concerns in your attempts to be defiant in all of this, doing your best to ignore the hot feelings coiling inside of you as you felt Sorbet wrapping his arms around you as Gelato more tenderly took off your panties.

“You’ve already soaked through, troia. I guess a needy slut like you will do anything for a cock inside of her.” Gelato teased, shoving a finger inside of you. It easily slid in, but you still jumped at the roughness, a bit of fight still in you. It was quickly quelled with a tight grip from Sorbet, his nails drawing blood in a way that made Gelato lick his lips.

“Behave, or I’ll make you.” Sorbet growled, leaving you to whimper and nod just a little bit, Gelato just rolling his eyes a bit. He pulled his finger out, shoving it in your mouth with expectation to suck. With Sorbet’s threat still in the air, you didn’t hesitate to wrap your lips around his finger.

“She’s spread enough. Besides, a slut like that will enjoy the pain anyway, there’s no need.” Gelato complained, not looking at you but up at his boyfriend. You could tell that he was impatient, clearly used to getting what he wanted rather quickly and not wanting to work for it. Sorbet thought for a moment, before leaning in to press a kiss against Gelato’s lips over your shoulder. You never felt like such a third wheel before.

“I indulge you too much.” Sorbet replied, relenting as he let you go for a moment, leaving you to wobble for a moment as you got your bearings. It might be easier to run from one rather than two, but a sick twisted part of you kind of just wanted to see where this would go. I mean, even if they were two twisted bastards who most certainly would kill you after this, well… This familiarity, you just still couldn’t quite understand what it was.

Almost as quickly he let go though, Sorbet was grabbing you again, dragging you over to the couch and onto his lap. You gasped as you felt your bare back against his chest, the fur that covered his body much more prominent. You gasped as you felt Sorbet’s cock rub up against you, realizing how big it was, and how much you fucked up by not trying to run away.

“W-Wait, it’s too big! It won’t fit, please!” You cried out, only for Sorbet to simply scoff at your pleas.

“I don’t think you’re giving yourself enough credit.” He growled, giving you no chance to protest before pushing into you with one harsh thrust. You screamed out, tears falling from your eyes as your body tried to adjust to the length inside of you. You gasped and heaved, barely noticing how Gelato was coming closer to you, like a fox towards an injured rabbit.

“Look how pretty the two of you are together. I feel left out.” Gelato purred, brushing a piece of hair from your face. The tenderness was unnerving, leaving you to fear what exactly he was planning to do next.

“I never said you couldn’t join us.” Sorbet replied, and you craned your head to see a smirk on his face, the same plan forming in both their minds that you were helplessly left out of. It only clicked when you started to feel Gelato rub up against your full entrance, leaving your eyes to widen as you realized exactly what was going on.

“So kind of you to invite me. You don’t mind, do you, carina?” Gelato asked, but his voice was dripping with vitriol, clearly having no intentions to stop no matter what you said. But still, you pleaded.

“W-Wait, please, I’m too full, you can’t, p-please-” You were cut off by your own breathy gasp and Gelato pushed past your limits, thrusting himself inside of you in a way that you didn’t think the human body could actually handle.

“Such a bad liar, puttana. It’s clear that your body was made for our cocks.” Sorbet growled, allowing you no time to adjust as he started to move, Gelato gladly taking the cue to start fucking into you with vigor. There was nowhere for you to escape, leaving you to groan, grabbing onto Sorbet’s thighs to try and give yourself something to hold onto. Gelato grabbed onto your chest while Sorbet held your hips.

“Do you like this? Like being fucked by the men who’ve been watching you all this time?” Gelato teased, and you whimpered, realizing to yourself that you did like it, quite a lot in fact. Something about the way they were fucking you seemed to scratch some primal itch, leaving you to squeeze down on their cocks heartily, moans and gasping pouring from your open mouth.

“Che brava coniglia… It’s a good thing we got to you first.” Sorbet huffed into your ear, and god, you could feel him nipping at it lightly, subconsciously tilting your head to give the man more access.

“Any other monster would’ve devoured you by now. But you’re ours, and we like to make sure what’s ours stays right in our sight. You should be grateful.” Gelato’s tone and words were threatening, but you were too far gone to care. The two of them just felt so good inside of you that you could barely put together a coherent thought, leaving you to simply babble.

“P-Please, fuck, Sorbet, g-god, Gelato, please, I’m so so close-” You whined out, trying to buck against the two of them, but Sorbet held you far too tightly. The two of them just seemed to speed up their thrusts into you at your warning, leaning in to the opposite sides of your neck to worry at the flesh.

“Cum for us then, piccola puttana sporca.” Sorbet growled, before the two of them sunk their teeth into the sides of your neck. You moaned out loudly as you came, the waves of ecstasy washing over your body quickly leaving you just to shudder in their grasp before going limp. Lucky enough for you, the way you milked their cocks while you came seemed to be enough to push them over the edge, and you felt the heat of their mixed fluids deep inside of you. It felt so much hotter than you would’ve anticipated. They held onto your neck for a bit, before pulling away and lapping up the blood they drew, taking pleasure in the small winces and whines you gave in return.

When they finally pulled out, you felt yourself immediately lose balance and collapse in a heap on the floor. That took a lot more out of you than you expected. You looked up drearily at the pair, thinking about how this was it, how they were going to kill you. Well. It was a good run, at least. You can definitely say you went out with a bang.

But, Sorbet just scooped you up in his arms, carrying you like a sack of potatoes. “W-What? What’s going on, what are you doing?!” You started to squirm, but Sorbet paid it no mind, turning to Gelato.

“See anything you like here?” “Not really. It’s honestly just full of a bunch of knick knack crap. She won’t need any of it anyway.” Gelato replied, leaving you to cry out as you squirmed.

“What, can’t just eat me here?! Got more plans to torture me?!” You spat, but Gelato just smirked, shaking his head.

“Do you really think we’re going to kill you? You really are dense. Maybe we will, later. But I think I want to see how far that pretty little will of yours goes. You don’t mind, do you?” Gelato replied, and god, you had learned to hate that smile on his face. Sorbet just patted you on the back, his tone smooth but ultimately as terrifying.

“Oh, carina. We have so many more plans for you.”

#sorbet/gelato/reader #sorbet x gelato x reader #sorlato/reader #sorlato x reader #NOT SFW #dub con #writing #My writing #mine #jjba imagines #jjba x reader #jjba/reader

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cxmetery-gates · 3 years

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OBSESSIVE TEACHINGS - DARK!TOM HIDDLESTON

CHAPTER ONE: FAKING IT

SUMMARY: Lynn Moore dreads the beginning of her greatest fear: the first day of senior year. WORD COUNT: 2.3k NOTE: Get ready for typical teenager angst. Let’s all bully Lynn. WARNINGS: dark!tom hiddleston, teacher!tom hiddleston

OBSESSIVE TEACHINGS MASTERLIST

JUST LIKE EVERY YEAR AROUND the middle of August, my mom tells me the same advice; have a good first day. Of course, most mothers, fathers, or whoever tell their child this, but it's as pointless as a circle. Whoever has a fantastic first day of school? There are new teachers to impress, you're stuck with the same bunch of losers you sit with at lunch, and there are more jerks and morons to pick on you, despite the status quo you fall under. High school is frankly really awful all the way around and there's no way someone can deny or even try to argue that. These are the four years of utter hell and we're all dying to get out. I've stepped through those heavy doors, resembling the gates of hell, on a first day three times now. My anger and hatred have only been fueled rather than dying down. I'm sure nothing will ever change.

"Don't forget--" Mom tries to tell me from the porch in sweats and a maroon t-shirt. Her unnatural dirty blonde hair piled on the top of her head with an old red clip. There are tears welling in her eyes, seeing her only child almost grown up. I have one last year of school and mere months until I'm an adult. For me, it may pass by far too slow, but I bet it's a whole different story for her. In all honesty, it's ridiculous that the woman is so upset and not to mention annoying. I have done this routine twelve times now, for Christ sake, she should get a grip on herself by now. I don't mean to belittle my mother but one of her greatest achievements is being able to replicate every single stereotype women have, including having no control over her emotions. An outsider looking in may say I'm a bit to harsh. All I can say to that is no one has loved with her for almost eighteen years like I have.

"I got it!" I yell against the wind as it smacks my face while I walk across the grass. "Christ on a bike," I curse tossing my messy light brown hair from my field of vision.

The bus would take another five minutes to get the corner, but I'd like to not look stupid on my first day by running to catch up with the metal rectangle of devilry Peter Parker style. Well, maybe it would turn into an interesting story at the least. Spiderman is my favorite superhero of all time after all. Despite this, I only allow an angry face to part my path. It's totally fake but faking it is the only way to survive.

Down at the intersection, there are already kids waiting. I think it's safe to assume that all of the puberty-sicken teenagers are freshmen or sophomores since most junior and seniors are still asleep at this early hour, knowing the good majority are able to drive. I take a good look at all of them. The fact that they find throwing bits of gravel at squirrels or birds makes me want to go over and smack them upside the head. That thought crosses my mind a lot. The world is so full of morons; it's hard to pick out which ones are actually tolerable. They're almost as bad as kids in letterman jackets with expensive sports cars. Those fuckers are the worst. All they care about is their ego and how much money they can wave around coming right from mommy and daddy's wallet.

Take the kid in the striped shirt tucked into his hand-me-down jeans. He looks like a nice kid; after all, he's got nothing to brag about. His parents are probably office workers or maybe nothing too difficult. Nothing too important. That's all we are, right? I mean, once we're dead and gone. No one is gonna care what car you drove or what brand your plain white shirt is. People who think they're hotshots or something special are the real morons.

Besides, who thinks it's cool to spend thirty bucks on a t-shirt?

An old car passes, a teenage girl in my grade sits in the driver's seat. I sort of duck out of the way. Not James Bond-like, but I move my already shitty hair in front of my face as if it's going to help hide my identity. The chick probably didn't even see me. I watch the car drive on, kinda imagining what sort of car I would drive once I get one. I suppose I would have to learn first. I personally am not a fan of getting behind the wheel. Hell, I can't even ride a bike without falling over. I'd rather move to a large city and order cabs to get me places. They seem more convenient and, if you get in a wreck, it's not your fault and it's not your money coming out of pocket. No car equals more money. Then again, no car also is equivalent to no freedom and taxis and Uber's can get expensive. It seems like each idea is flawed these days.

Upon scanning the area again— this time ignoring the idiots— I notice only one person who seems excited out of the group. Her dark brown hair and dark skin contrast to the majority of our town, including those waiting nearby. Her curled hair bounces with each stride she takes, happier than the step prior.

Some say it's strange that the girl and I are such good friends. You don't see God and Satan going out and having coffee every weekend or anything.

"What's got you in a good mood?" I question as I readjust my dark blue shirt underneath the flannel. Flannels are my favorite personal quirk. I own at least fifty, most being cool or dark colors. I don't have an obsession; just an interest that I care way too much about. Flannels are to Lynn Moore as controversy is to famous influencers. Looking back up, my eyebrow is still raised. I'm shocked to see her here, assuming her parents would have given her a lift. After a second, it dawned on me that this, riding the bus to school, was her punishment for getting into an accident she won't take responsibility for.

Posting memes and vines references are fun and all, but doing it while going 60 down a highway isn't the smartest. Forgive me for not following the strict millennial handbook but I don't actually want to die nor do I want my friends to.

My best friend, Ellie Graves, gives a small glare. "Why does it always seem like you're on your period?" I shrug my shoulders, and played with the wire choker I always wore. As my fingers slip underneath the necklace, it is evident how to lose it has gotten since I bought it a few months ago. I make a mental note to take a quick trip to the shopping side of the internet sometime soon.

I click my tongue before answering. "Probably because I'm closer to hell than you are," I say, referring to my obvious lack of height. I'm only five feet and just barely three inches off the ground while Ellie is at least five feet and seven inches. Personally I think we would make a cute couple given our attitudes and the extremities of our heights, except for the fact that dearest Ellie is not interested in people other than men. What a party pooper. For me, anyway. "But lets do our best to not reinforce stereotypes," I say referring to her comment.

She nods her head. "Yes, mother." I snort at her sass, leaning my body weight onto my right leg. "But hey! We have one year left! That's something to be excited about, am I right?"

Yes, I would say she is right. Freshmen, sophomore, and the dragged out junior year have come and passed, full of useless information and embarrassing memories with it. It's mostly embarrassing if I have to be honest. School isn't my thing, however falling up and down the main set of stairs apparently is. Who knew?

"Yeah, I suppose so. At least we're considered adults now," I reply trying to find some positive about the situation.

Ellie begins to lightly laugh, "True. That's kinda a scary thought, though." Her body shudders, either because a breeze just blew passed or out of what she just said.

The age of freedom is so close, I can nearly touch it. Despite my longing to finally buy a lottery ticket and spray paint, the fear of adulthood gnaws at the back of my mind. With eighteen comes responsibility, something I lack to a high degree. I muse the idea of getting a degree of irresponsibility. However, I don't think such diploma could help me get into a creative writing career.

I make a thinking face and bring my shoulders to my ears preparing for an exaggerated response. "Well, you aren't wrong," I reply in a forced high pitch noise, catching the attention of the guys. Now I notice they are all matching in basketball shorts and a jacket. Men's fashion, ladies and gents. Ellie chuckles at my utter dorkiness while I continue to make some weird face I'm sure she will get a picture of sometime within the next few seconds.

It's crazy how time is able to fly. Just last week, so it seems, the outgoing, beaming chick I have as a best friend and I were in third grade, the year I moved to a new house, a different school, and a very different town. Although my eight-year-old-self hated it at the time, I'm glad I left the northern state of Maine, all the way across to the midwest. That is if you consider southern Missouri part of the midwest. If I hadn't, who would have the privilege of being my first smack in the face? Or first sleepover (with an actual girl)? Who knows, and I honestly wouldn't like to. Ellie's my best friend; I would be dead if she didn't have my back. And I'm honestly positive she would say the same about her tiny best pal.

Little time passes after the picture was indeed taken and posted on Elle's Snapchat before an ugly shade of yellowish-orange appears entering the neighborhood. Ellie is practically fidgeting, fighting the urge to run up the bus even if it is some distance away. My eyes roll trying to not say anything to kill her spirit but I do let out an accidental groan as its loud hum draws nearer. The bus came to a screeching halt and I already want to turn on my heel and head home. When I step on, I notice there is a new driver this year. After Ellie got her license and could legally drive me around, I never bothered with the bus unless I needed space or she was busy, which was hardly ever. Ellie and I mostly spend our time together with our group of friends. Despite this, I still easily took notice of a different person in the seat. Instead of a balding old man with a face like alligator skin, a woman sat in the brown leather seat and looks roughly in her forties. She, like all of us except for Ellie, looks tired but fakes a smile anyways. The same rules apply; middle school and junior high in the front and high school in the back. It seems as if sitting in the back always made you cool of some sort. Every time a kid got away with it in middle school, he or she was automatically the bad kid, the cool kid, or the king of the bus. God, how stupid is that theory? These thoughts remind me how annoying and stupid we all were at ten and eleven years old. I'm sure if I had a duplicate of myself at that age, I'd shoot either one of us to cease me from the utter pain.

Instead of going all the way to the back, I turn to sit in the seat half way down the aisle while plunging in an earbud, leaving one open to listen to Ellie. I instantly scroll through an select a playlist that mixes rock, punk, and even some emo. Given today being my last first day, I figured early morning jams would be appropriate to get me pumped up even though I tend to listen to this genre quite often as of lately. I enjoy the heavy guitar and double bass pedal and lyrics I can either relate to or wonder who hurt the singer so bad. Needless to say, I'm definitely more of a rock person however there's still a lot of other types of music on my device, including orchestra and folk or indie. I don't like to limit what I listen to; whatever makes me feel good ends up on my phone. Simple as that.

"So, Lynn," Ellie says sliding in right next to me. I look in her direction, which was to my right, waiting for her to respond. She looks at me, but nothing came out of her mouth. Slowly, I arch a brow. Still, there was nothing. "I had nothing to say, I just wanted your attention." Ellie gave a stupid grin while I glare kindly at her if there is such a thing.

My head shakes and I reach out to pat her cheek, "You, my darling, are an absolute dumbass."

I feel her grin grow against my hand since I haven't moved it yet. "Not as big as you, though." I can't argue; she has a point.

As the bus lunches forwards, I look out the window and watch the world go by. Something settles in my gut about then, the feeling both familiar and foreign. I can't tell what it is, but as I watch the clouds roll in over the sun and birds flying through the sky, I only hope my last year of high school will be memorable.

#dark!tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston x ofc #tom hiddleston fanfiction #teacher!tom hiddleston #loki #obsessive teachings #high school #stalking #obsessed love #obsessive #dark!fic

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chiyohsrifle · 4 years

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Got tagged by the marvelous @hvnnigram and I can't wait to bare my soul to you guys. this is a long one, so let's go!!

Rules: Tag people you want to get to know better 🖤

Your name and then what you would've named yourself: My full name is Montserrat (I'm Mexican, in case you couldn't tell. Well Mexican-American but anywho) but I typically go by Montse. Mainly cuz people struggle to pronounce my full name hehe but I also just think it's less of a mouthful. Idk, I honestly really love my name and don't think I'd change it given the chance. Maybe something shorter just cuz paperwork can be a bitch. I like Rene but otherwise, I'm pretty attached to my name lol.

Astrological sign (sun/moon/rising if you know them): I'm a sun Pisces, a moon Aries, and a rising Virgo, I believe :)) All in all, I'm an emotional, empathetic bitch

When did you join Tumblr and why?: Was going through my emails yesterday and I've been here for a year?? apparently. So yea, I joined Aug./Nov. of 2019 and I'm almost certain it was cuz I wanted to see more Good Omens fanart lol. But I got more active this year cuz quarantine do be forcing me to have some wack coping mechanisms. Also BBC Merlin had me reeling and I needed somewhere to scream.

Top 5 fandoms: Hannibal (obviously), BBC Merlin, Killing Eve, Good Omens, and The Umbrella Academy 😊

Top 5 favorite films: (oh Lord, the cinema buff in me is Panicking rn) God, there's so many I love but I'll try to give varietyTM. But I'm a Cheerleader (1999), Parasite (2019), The Wind Rises (2013), Little Shop of Horrors (1986), and Hector and the Search for Happiness (2014).

Go to song when you wanna Feel something: if we're talking like emotionally charged, TALK ME DOWN by Troye Sivan always sends me reeling. Endorphins wise, Ahora Te Puedes Marchar by Luis Miguel always makes me wanna jump and move around. And La Vie Boheme from RENT, just pure serotonin

What's your religion or faith, if you have one?: I was raised with a heavy Catholic background but I'm agnostic, I believe is the term. Basically, I don't think there's not a God or higher power(s). I just don't align with anything specifically. But I do believe there's something running things, whether that be spirits, the stars, gods, etc. I can't say.

A song that makes you feel seen: Not to be a theatre kid on main but, Breathe from In The Heights. That song and whole musical hold such a special place in my heart, esp with Nina's character cuz I'm Nina. Every part of that song just Gets Me and i ugh, can't articulate it but yea, that song be me.

If you could pick a career: A writer or painter. Anything creative/artsy really cuz crafting is just so calming to me.

Do you have a type?: ngl, I'm kinda the 'falls in love with their best friend' stereotype but beyond that, not really. I kinda just see attractive people and mentally short circuit

What does your soul/heart yearn for?: Not to sound like a character from Hannibal, but to be understood. To be cared for and feel supported. To allow myself to rest and be comforted/loved. Just to feel safe ig. Whoop, that got personal, anywho

If you had to describe yourself in 5 words to someone who doesn’t know you: intelligent, caring, awkward, Very Queer, and chaotic

Favorite subject in school: English and History!! I think they're absolutely fascinating and I'm gay so obviously I connect way too much with literature

Where does your soul feel most at home at?: Close to someone that I love, in comfortable silence. Or any situation where I have wind blowing in my face, it's super comforting and idk why

Top 5 fictional characters: Rowena from SPN, Bella Crawford, Beverly Katz, Eve Polastri, and Jack Crawford

Top 3 moments in a show that made you ugly cry:

1. The ending of Your Lie In April. Idk if any of yall have experienced that, but let me know if you have cuz shared trauma. I was crying so hard, I couldn't breathe. Dry heaving and everything, it was Not Pretty

2. Like literally all of One Day At Time. I know, it's cheesy but that show means a lot to me and I get so emotional watching it cuz I connect to the characters so much. Anything with Elena makes me sob cuz like she's me but also my baby, ya know

3. Um Queer Eye in general but specifically the episode with the gay pastor. That hit close to home on so many levels and boy, was I sobbing the entire time.

(Before y'all ask, honorable mention to Mizumono, TWOTL, and the ending of BBC Merlin cuz I may have been too tired to cry, but trust me, I was emotionally wrecked after all three)

The earth, the sun, the moon, or the stars: Ooh, I'm gonna have to go with the stars but I love that lesbian space rock too

Favorite kind of weather: Thunderstorms, rain, cloudy, grey weather. Fall, I love the fall, give me autumn pleASE

Top 3 characters to kin you with: Guinevere Pendragon from BBC Merlin, Vanya Hargreeves from TUA, and Abigail Hobbs from Hannibal

Favorite medium of art: I love all art very much but I guess drawing and film especially

Introvert/Extrovert/Ambivert: Gonna say ambivert cuz I can be shy but buckle up, cuz the second I'm comfortable around you, it's absolute chaos. You will learn too much about me and that's okay 😌

Favorite literary quote: If poetry counts, it's something like "And if the devil was to ever see you, he'd kiss your eyes and repent". Idk who wrote it but it's an Arabic love poem. Actual book quote tho, "But I'm tired of coming out. All I ever do is come out. I try not to change, but I keep changing, in all these little ways." from Simon vs. The Homosapiens Agenda cuz damn me too.

Some of your favorite books: Simon vs. The Homosapiens Agenda by Becky Albertalli, the Carry On series by Rainbow Rowell, When I Was Puerto Rican by Esmeralda Santiago, Fun Home by Alison Bechdel, All The Bright Places by Jennifer Lee, Autoboygraphy, and Copper Sun

If you could live anywhere in the world, where would it be?: Europe or New York. No real specifics for Europe, defiently leaning more towards Western Europe and the Mediterranean cuz they just seem so pretty. And NY cuz I want a studio apartment hehe and also I adore NY. I went a couple years back and just fell in love. Although live is a loose term cuz I've always thought of moving around a lot. I like traveling and settling down isn't really convenient for that so these are kinda just ideals lol

If you could live in any time in history, when would it be?: Oh, defiently 60s/70s. Also, anytime matriarch societies were common cuz I wanna see what that looked like

If you could play any instrument masterfully, it would be: the acoustic guitar and piano. Maybe violin, but those two for sure

If you have one, which god or goddess do you feel more connected to?: I've always really vibed with Athena so her. But also Diyonuses cuz man's is the ideal.

And finally, your favorite recent selfie in your camera role:

(Excuse the eye bags and look in general, I was sleepy when I took it)

Whoo, that's all folks. I'm just gonna say that any of my followers/mutuals who want to do this, feel free to say I tagged you. Thanks for tag, once again, babe!!

#thanks for the tag!#luv u babe #mwah <3 #get to know me #about me

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blake-belladonna-defence-force · 4 years

Note

If this is okay, how about Yang reminiscing on her days at Signal and how all her old "friends" were with her. And just has a sudden moment of sadness because of it (ya know tears and shit) and Blake chooses that moment to show up is instantly worried and protective, before Yang tells her what happened. Also you're so amazing and a huge inspiration of mine (to keep writing and such)

Asbsnksks awww! Thank you, that’s really sweet 😭

And uh. I’m not going to lie... this is my personal headcanon for Yang’s Signal friendships. She was never close with them. They laughed and had fun, but they were never meaningful for her. They were shallow and conditional.

And being as smart as she is, she’s probably recognise how they treated her but who knows? Maybe her anxiety regarding abandonment took over and that’s why she wore a mask.

///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Yang leaned against her wall as she sat on her bed and frowned at her scroll, eyes once more re-reading her group chat messages from her Signal friends.

Lately, she felt like a ghost among her own group, blending into the background as they made their inside jokes and laughed. She could feel the way that she was slowly losing the already shaky connections with them and it hurt.

But that wasn’t anything new. More often than not, she found it difficult to form serious connections with them. They expected certain things of her. Be funny. Be pretty. Don’t talk so much. Be more fun. Love shopping. Don’t be serious. Don’t be smart.

It was like every time that she hung out with them, she had to abide by a set of unspoken rules just to feel wanted. And when she went against those rules, she faded away.

Yang didn’t know what she did so wrong that she was being ghosted. She didn’t know why she let it get to her. She knew that people who didn’t accept the real her weren’t worth her time. She knew that people who put conditions on their friendship and love weren’t people she should bother with.

But it still hurt.

It hurt knowing that she was nothing more than a pun making, skull cracking blonde to them. It hurt knowing that, in their minds, she existed to be hot and that was all. It hurt knowing that all they saw was a stupid, blonde bimbo and nothing more. She was a cutout, a stereotype. And God, did it hurt.

“I swear if that woma-“ She hear Blake cut herself off as she entered the room and saw her. “I- Yang… are you- are you crying?”

“What? No way, I’m great!” Yang quickly wiped away her her and tried to smile at her partner. An act. That’s all she was. Acting and playing a role so that nobody would leave her. So that she was worth staying for.

“Don’t give me that.” Blake said, quickly taking off her shoes and jumping onto Yang’s bed and grabbing her jaw with one hand, carefully angling it and examining her. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt? Do I need to go get Gambol Shroud and tie somebody up so you can use them as a punching bag with your semblance activated?”

Yang, despite herself, let out a laugh. She pulled her head away from Blake and caught the pleased look on her face.

“You’re such a dork.”

“Hmm. You’re right. We should get Nora in too. You might get tired.” Blake said thoughtfully, making Yang snort. “Oh! Pyrrha would definitely be in, you what that girl can be like when you challenge her.” Yang bit her lip to stop the laugh that was trying to bubble its way of her chest. “And I could definitely convince Velvet to get her team to help out. They act tough, but they have such a soft spot for her. One pout and they’re all in.” Yang was shaking now, restraining her laughter was taking such an effort now. “We could even break their legs.”

That did it. The old comment that had become an inside joke among the two teams caused Yang to dissolve into laughter, leaning against Blake as giggled burst from her lip.

“Oh my gosh.” She snorted, wiping the mirth from her eyes as she sat up and looked at a very satisfied Blake. Apparently, making Yang laugh was something to be pleased about. “Why are you so dramatic, you nerd?!”

“Aw, and here I thought that you liked it when I was feisty.”

Yang snorted and pushed Blake, a slight blush coating her cheeks. That was happening more and more often, she had noticed.

“Whatever.”

“Do you need to talk about it?” Blake asked softly after a moment, placing her hand on Yang’s shoulder and tilting her head to meet Yang’s eyes, a small and concerned smile on her face.

Yang paused, debating within herself. She wanted to say no. To keep her mask up and stop her friend from seeing underneath and seeing the girl that was afraid.

“I’m just…” She sighed heavily, hands tapping nervously on her thighs as she and Blake settled against the wall. “Do you ever feel like you have to put up a front? Like, to stop people from seeing something that they might not like?”

But God, was she tired.

“Like a mask.” Blake said quietly, a heavy exhale leaving her. “Removing it will just show how many cracks exists underneath. They’ll see each imperfection and be scared off.”

“You get it.” Yang murmured, squeezing her eyes shut and lightly thumping her head against the wall. “I- My friends from Signal. They’ve more or less ghosted me. I tried reaching out but it’s like I don’t even exist. And every time I’ve ever tried to take off the whole blonde stereotype mask, I’ve always been left out in the cold and I’m so tired of it.”

“Anyone who’d leave you out in the cold just because you’re more than they expected is a complete dumbass.” Blake said bluntly, ambers eyes shifting to a dangerous, molten gold. “You’re kind. You’re strong. You’re funny. You’re intelligent. You have so many qualities about you that make you so wonderful and anyone who reduces you to a stereotype is not worthy of licking your boots.”

“I- um.” Yang coughed awkwardly. She hadn’t been expecting this. Sure, a gentle reassurance would have been nice. But the fire in Blake’s eyes and the passion with which she spoke… it took Yang by surprise. She really cared... didn’t she?

“You’re like a book. You can be judged by the cover and ignored. Or bought but never read. Some people may even only read the parts that they like.” Blake curled her fingers around one of Yang’s hands and smiled kindly at her. “And I know that I’m only a very short way in to your story, Yang. But I like what I’ve read so far and I look forward to continuing to discover new parts of it as we go. You’re my partner and I can easily say that you’re my best friend. You’re the kind of book that has a special place on my shelf. One that I’ll come back to, again and again.”

Yang felt her chest tighten with sentimentality, her heart swelling and shifting into place as she pulled Blake into a tight hug, nuzzling into her neck as the slightly shorter girl curled her arms around her and pulled her close, rubbing one hand up and down Yang’s back soothingly.

“You have a place on my shelf too, Blake.”

Who knows. Maybe one day, they might have a story together.

#yang xiao long #bumbleby #blake belladonna #rwby #fanfic

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boonki · 4 years

Text

Draco was not a dramatic man.

Sure, he’d given in to the stereotype over the years, laughing about it with his friends and letting them neatly label his erratic behaviors and eccentricities as such, and at times, had even leaned into it, getting away with actions and ideals because of this simple belief his friends had in him.

But the thing was, Draco was not, in fact, dramatic.

There was just a certain order to things. Things were meant to be the way they were meant to be. And as any civil and educated member of society, he trusted and upheld that those practices, ideologies, and traditions had meaning to them. That they gave way to a more poignant, established, and refined lifestyle.

Which was why, under no circumstances, he was making this man’s order.

“But,” the man practically sputtered, “I’m the customer.”

Draco hitched an eyebrow. “And I’m the owner, and I say absolutely not.”

The disbelief and uncertainty was almost comical, had it not been leading to his coffee shop’s financial decline. Well, not a fatal decline, given it was late into the evening and most of the seats were still occupied, surely assisted by the decline in weather and onset of exam week. But still, every dollar counted. To someone poorer than him, Draco speculated. But still, on principle.

“But it’s what I want, and I’m paying you to do it.” The man pushed the money closer to Draco, as if bribery were going to suddenly peel away his sense of morality. He’d like to see this man try and break down Draco’s strict sense of self.

“You’re asking me to make you a latte with five shots of espresso and about half the bottle of vanilla to compensate. If you’re this desperate into your exams and are in need of a heart attack, I would recommend letting your marks come out and having things run their due course, no?”

Draco was impressed with this man’s persistence, if anything. His glasses hung crooked on his nose, drawing attention away from his rather startling green eyes, and Draco, though strongly disinclined to touching strangers, was fighting back the urge to smooth down his great tuft of hair. Instead, he feigned clearing a smudge off the face of the register.

“Fine.”

Draco looked up, quickly relaxing his face to veil the shock. His mouth pulled to the side, and he shifted his stance.

“So what’ll it be?”

“Just a latte then, I suppose.” The man, to his credit, didn’t look as frustrated as Draco was sure he felt.

Draco did end up putting an extra shot in, out of pity.

____

The night after, he was back.

“Okay, listen, I know it’s a bit unconventional, but I have not slept in weeks, and I need to pass this class. My friends like this place, so I can’t go elsewhere. Can I please have a five shot latte with extra vanilla syrup?” He was breathing a little harder than he should’ve been, impassioned by his short speech, his ragged flannel undulated with the rise and fall of the man’s sturdy-looking chest. Draco, although amused, was a hard man to crack.

“No.”

“Please.”

“Still no.”

The man pursed his lips, looking up at the sky. He turned on his heel, and back to his table, where his two friends, one a young woman with bushy hair and an air of efficiency, and the other looking hopelessly lost with his material, looked up at him, and then right at Draco. The young woman stood harshly, letting the legs of the chair scrape against the floor, drawing the attention of the nearby customers, and stalked over to the register.

She took a deep breath before talking. “Can I have a-”

Draco was doing his best not to smile. “No.”

She looked taken aback, eyebrows furrowing together. “But you haven’t even heard what I’m asking for.”

Draco gave her a level stare. “You’re going to ask for the drink that I won’t make your friend, and my answer is still no. It’s not even coffee at that point, just a stroke waiting to happen.”

“This has got to be illegal.” She stated, very matter-of-fact.

“If you can find the law, then I’ll follow it. Best of luck.” He countered.

She pursed her lips, letting out a sharp breath through her nose. “Fine. I will.”

He almost believed that she actually would, too.

____

The next time the man came, he came alone, and sat with his head buried in books for the better half of the night.

Draco was nearly intrigued. Why come here with no friends if he couldn’t even get his order?

The customers were fairly sparse tonight, and Draco was getting a bit tired of wiping down the same mugs and rinsing out the same milk pitchers. So, he decided to take a chance, deviate from himself for a bit. Just to see what would happen. Not because he wanted to. Naturally, he would never tell anyone about this, lest his reputation be completely ruined.

Five shots and half a bottle of vanilla it was, if that would allow him to sit across from this man and ask him what compels him to bring on his own early demise.

He made the drink, reeling with disgust the entire time, almost threw it out on two different occasions, but found himself placing it on the man’s table before Draco really had the time to figure out what he was going to say. He stood there, like a complete nitwit, while the man looked down at the cup and then back up at him.

“I’m Draco.” He said.

The man hesitated, uncertainty and confusion written clearly in the open mouth, cocked head, and wrinkled forehead. “Uh… Harry Potter.” He finally settled on.

Draco made a face he hoped came across as pleasant. “What are you studying for?”

Harry blinked at him, and then startled down to his textbooks, as if he forgot they were there. “Oh, uh, business.”

“Business, good.” Draco said, like a fucking idiot.

Harry nodded, just a small nod, and gave a flash of a smile that was really more polite than welcoming.

“Right. Well. Enjoy.”

Draco sauntered back to his counter, wanting to dissolve into the ground and melt right into hell. That was terrible. God, where did his wit go? He might as well close up shop and move locations.

Not that, under any circumstances, Draco was dramatic. This was a completely normal reaction to making a fucking buffoon of oneself in front of someone that might, objectively, be considered attractive.

____

“But you made it last time!”

“No.”

“Then why did you make it in the first place?”

“You looked so pathetic, sitting there all alone. I was hoping the caffeine would make you do something worthwhile with yourself.”

Harry took a deep breath, the kind that is more a warning, a threat, than just a breath. “You know what? Fine. Okay. Just give me a regular vanilla latte then.”

Draco made his special drink, and said absolutely nothing of his own atrocities. God, who was he turning into?

“Here’s your latte.”

“Thanks for nothing.” Harry grumbled.

“Anytime, Potter.”

Draco watched the back of Harry as he walked away, watched his stupid sweater stretch over his broad shoulders. Maybe he should throw in some whip-cream next time.

___

“He fancies you, you know.” The bushy-haired friend was back, this time with a much more agreeable mood. She handed him her card, and he mindlessly swiped it through his machine.

Draco’s stomach muscles clenched. Why on earth would he do that?

“Why on earth would he do that?” He said, holding her card out between them.

She took it, and laughed. “I don’t know either, not to be rude," she added, after looking at his face, "but you should say something, I don’t think he will. He’ll just keep coming here and be miserable the whole time.”

“Hmm, that sounds like a personal problem.” It was an interesting development. He wasn’t quite sure what to do with the information.

He placed her coffee on the counter--"thank you"--and went back to wiping mugs, totally not purposefully avoiding looking over at his table, but rather… circumstantially always finding things to do that required the back wall.

Draco nearly-- nearly, because he’s fucking good at his job-- messed up the next drink that came through, and blamed it on the fact that he didn’t get much sleep the night before. Can insomnia cause a racing heart?

___

Draco was not a dramatic man.

He simply believed there was a way to do things properly, and that you couldn’t casually ask someone out over coffee at your own coffee shop. Things like this required dinner, maybe flowers, a candle or two, hair gel, and some confidence.

Which is how he found himself closing his shop early, turning the sign to Closed hours before he normally did, and waiting on his own front steps for nearly a fucking hour before the golden trio came trekking to his store, bags heavy and books in hand.

“What are you doing?” Harry asked, as if it wasn’t obvious Draco was waiting for someone. Harry’s scarf was hanging askew on his neck, and Draco wanted to stand up and fix it for him.

“Waiting, obviously.” Draco said, looking him dead in the eye, expression perfectly neutral.

“For…” Harry dragged out the 'r', leaving the question mark behind, waiting for Draco to finish the sentence.

“Well, you.”

Harry’s bushy-haired friend’s eyes widened, and she tugged the red-headed boy’s arm fervently, who looked altogether baffled. “We, uh, I actually need to run to the library quick. Bye, Harry!” The red-head sputtered a rather futile protest before being swept away. Draco was secretly grateful for her rather poor excuse.

“Wait--” Harry started, turning his head in between Draco and the now-vacant spot where his friends had previously stood.

Draco stood up, suddenly conscious of the empty space between them where a counter usually occupied. “If you can make it one night without studying, would you like to go to dinner?”

Harry’s eyebrows shot up on his forehead, just about reaching his daft mess of hair. He simply stood there, books in hand, scarf askew, breathing in the cold air as if Draco hadn’t said anything at all.

“Hello?” Draco tried again.

“Yes, I would… yes. Tonight?” Harry said.

“That was the plan.”

“Uh, okay. Sure. Where are we going?”

Draco smiled, just a turn up of one side of his mouth. “I know a place. You just can’t order anything stupid and ridiculous. And no coffee, god, you’re probably going to die of a heart attack.”

____

Draco was not a dramatic man, nor was he prone to making rushed decisions and leaping to conclusions.

He was methodical, careful, calculating, and did not take kindly to strangers invading his personal space. He valued his privacy, his sanctuary at home that was undisturbed by the outside world. He usually didn’t date, and would never consider adopting a pet. He liked being alone.

But he was pretty sure he was going to keep this man.

(And never, ever make him a five shot latte again, not if he wanted his boyfriend alive.)

#drarry #draco malfoy #harry potter #coffeeshop au #because the world is shit and i needed some #fluff #ao3 #no beta we die like men #no editing either #this actually happened to me as a barista #well not the cute romance #but a five shot latte with 11 pumps of vanilla #like are they okay #are they dead yet

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thingr1 · 4 years

Text

oh well, i guess we’re gonna pretend

Rating: T

Warnings: Blood and Injury, Torture (non-graphic, mostly implied)

Characters: Tim Drake, Jason Todd

Summary: Robin!Tim gets caught and help comes from an unlikely source.

Cross posted: FFN and AO3. (A/N found on both sites)

For: @lurkinglurkerwholurks for the prompt: A character flipping into hardcore MINE mode over another when the latter is in danger or threatened (bonus points if the two characters are currently on the outs but nevertheless go totally Ride Or Die)

~o~

This was bad.

This was the kind of bad that Tim had managed to avoid so far since taking up the role of Robin. He’d only hit the streets officially for the first time three months ago, post-many months of intense physical and mental training. This was exactly the second time Batman and he were apart for longer than a couple of hours at a time.

It was almost funny, actually, how fast Tim managed to screw everything up. After all, he took on Robin in order to stop Batman from spiraling into a hole he would likely never escape from alone after the death of his partner. The death of his son.

As far as Tim was concerned, he had one job: Don’t die. He would also be the first to admit that that was harder than he’d thought it would be.

He’d made a mistake. He’d gotten caught. He’d been—was being beaten. And he wasn’t sure if Batman even realized he was gone. They’d separated earlier in the night, exactly according to plan. Tim on recon on one end of town, Batman on the other, chasing two different leads on the location of a major arms deal that was supposed to go down the next night. They would then continue on their normal patrol routes, Tim flying truly solo for the first time, and meet back in the Cave afterwards. It was a first flight. A test of trust on the Bat’s end and independence on Tim’s.

Problem was, the empty warehouse Tim was supposed to investigate hadn’t been empty when he’d arrived. Either someone tipped the mooks off that the Dynamic Duo was onto them and they’d moved up the date, or Batman’s information had been faulty. Tim was leaning towards the former. However, before he could comm the Bat and warn him of the change, someone had clubbed him from behind.

Tim wasn’t supposed to check in for…maybe another hour? Two? He wasn’t sure. Time seemed to be dragging by unnaturally slow, and there wasn’t exactly a clock he could check himself on. He’d passed out a few times, too, which didn’t really lend itself to accurate time keeping.

His only frame of reference?

The bruise count. Turned out, baseball bats hurt when they were swung into flesh and bone rather than rawhide. His ribs could attest to that. The more time passed, the more aches and pains he accrued.

The other hint that he’d overstayed his welcome: He could no longer feel his hands. They were strung up somewhere above his head, metal cuffs digging into exposed wrists and holding him up so his bare toes barely grazed the ground. Come to think of it, he couldn’t feel those either. Which was…concerning.

But on the plus side, if he couldn’t feel them, they couldn’t hurt. Unlike his rib cage, twinging and protesting at his current position and every subsequent movement. Actually, his cheek hurt now, too. Which…ow. Ow.

Tim’s head snapped to the side with the force of the next blow, and he groaned as that set his whole body rocking, reigniting the pain signals through to his brain.

“—listening, brat?”

Tim blinked his eyes open—when had they closed?—squinting under the pale yellow glare of the stereotypical bare bulb abandoned warehouse lighting and into the leering face of his captor.

Miles Bandini’s gold tooth glinted a tad too bright in the dim light. A greasy combover made his forehead appear entirely too large, and a domineering sneer that could put Two-Face to shame completed the mob boss look.

The best part was, there really wasn’t anything special about this guy. He wasn’t a psychopath, didn’t have a PhD in some random field, and hadn’t assigned a colorful, inappropriate persona to theme his wrongdoings. He was just another crime lord who’d taken a shine to Gotham and the ease of criminal activity therein.

And Tim, like an idiot, ran straight into his trap.

Noticing Tim’s attention, Bandini’s sneer somehow deepened. “I guess you’re still alive, then. For now.”

Tim remained silent, mustering what energy he had left to raise his head and glare.

This seemed to amuse the crook. He patted Tim’s cheek, right on the bruise one of his goons had left behind. “Wonder where your big friend is, hmm? It’s a shame he’s left you alone for so long.”

The henchmen chortled behind him.

“Look, Robin,” Bandini drawled. “You seem like a nice kid. So I’m going to give you one last chance to walk out of this building alive. Answer two questions for me, would you? Just two, and you get to see the sunrise.” He leaned forward, hook nose only centimeters from Tim’s. “Where is the Batman? And how much does he know about us?”

Tim licked his cracked, bloody lips. Tongue working in an effort to muster up what moisture he had left. He opened his mouth.

Bandini leaned forward eagerly.

Tim spat in his face.

The man recoiled with a cry, hand flying up to where a mixture of Tim’s blood and spit now coated his cheek. Beady black eyes met his, a murderous expression twisting the man’s features.

Tim barely had time to think “uh oh” before the crook pitched a roundhouse into his stomach. Something in his chest shifted.

Pain exploded as every broken bone, every abused muscle, every organ screamed in protest, even as his voice choked out nothing more than a strangled unf.

Tim couldn’t breathe. Tim couldn’t breathe. What air he managed to pull through his mouth came in short gasps and wheezes, not remaining long enough or deep enough in his lungs to perform the appropriate gas exchange. Spots danced before his vision, fuzzy black creeping in on the edges.

Bandini was yelling, the words distant and muffled as if through fabric, gesticulating wildly with something suspiciously shiny, silver, and gun-shaped at Tim.

With a detached sort of panic, Tim realized he was going to die. Either from his injuries, or from the bullet the crime lord was prepped to gift him, didn’t matter.

Only a year into the job and he’d already failed his main objective.

Something cold and achingly familiar pressed into his forehead. The barrel of a gun.

Tears prickled in Tim’s eyes. I’m so sorry, Bruce.

The gunshot echoed through the warehouse. Tim flinched. The gun barrel slid away from his forehead.

Wait…Tim shouldn’t have been able to flinch. He was…not dead? For sure, everything hurt too much for him to be dead.

A low, ominous chuckle burst through the ensuing silence, echoing through the warehouse and sending a shiver down Tim’s spine. The sound of something heavy landing on concrete slammed into his eardrums.

Welp. Only one way to find out. Reluctantly, Tim pried his eyes open, blinking in an attempt to bring the world back into focus.

The first thing he noticed was Miles Bandini collapsed on the ground at his feet, blood pooling around him from the hole in his chest. The second thing was the bright red helmeted figure standing in the center of the room, back towards Tim.

“Well, well, well,” the Red Hood drawled. “What do we have here?”

Whatever shock Bandini’s mooks seemed to be in began to wear off, half pulling their weapons, the other half taking an uncertain step back.

“Get him!” a voice—ah, the second in command accountant in the tweed jacket—screamed.

Quick as lightning, the Red Hood swung in Tim’s direction, gun hefted in one hand, knife in the other, and Tim flinched. If he wasn’t dead before, he was definitely screwed now. Hood pitched the knife in his direction. But instead of slicing into Tim’s chest, it collided with the cable holding him up, cutting through the metallic fiber like butter.

Tim hit the ground with an oof, what little air he had managed to suck in abandoning him in one pained puff.

Ow ow owowowowow.

Fire lanced up his arms and shoulders as they were released from the strain of holding his weight, joining the steady inferno of what had to be at least two or three broken ribs in his chest. His vision whited out as agony encompassed every inch of him, making him uncomfortably aware of every little hurt he’d received since being strung up.

Okay, Tim. Breathe. Breathing was good. Breathing was life.

It really shouldn’t have been this difficult to pull in air.

Around him, gunshots rang off the walls and old shelving as round after round was shot off at the lone figure devastating their ranks. Despite everything, Tim’s inner fanboy lit up. This was as cool as it was dangerous—for the crooks and Tim alike.

It had been years since he’d last seen Jason fight. Rather, fight in a way that didn’t involve Tim actively defending himself. Jason was all muscle, visible beneath even the thick leather jacket, and yet he had the deadly precision of an expert marksman and the grace of a martial artist. He used all of those things to his advantage as he tore through the mob, laying waste to everyone within his rather large range. After all, how many people could claim to have been trained by Batman and the League of Assassins? These amateurs didn’t stand a chance.

Tim just wished he had his camera.

And then, as quickly as the bloody battle started, it ended. The Red Hood loomed in front of him, hovering almost protectively, gun pressed against the forehead of the last perp standing.

“The only one who gets to take a potshot at my replacement,” Hood hissed, “is me.”

Tim shivered. From Hood’s tone, or the blood loss, he wasn’t sure.

Then Hood leveled a kick into the man’s rib cage, an audible crack sounding through the warehouse as the man fell to the ground with a howl.

“Tell your friends,” Hood said lightly. Then, when the man gaped up at him: “Unless you’d rather join them…?” He gestured at the limp forms of the bullet-riddled, definitely dead crooks scattered around them.

The guy was gone next time Tim opened his eyes. Huh. That was fast.

A brief thrill of panic shivered up his spine as Hood’s blank lenses suddenly leveled down at him. Tim silently cursed himself. He should’ve used the distraction to escape, should have unpicked the cuffs and scooted out of here before Jason turned on him. Problem was, he didn’t think he could move even if he tried.

Jason cocked his head—almost considering. He sighed, the sound echoing strangely through the filter and voice modulator. “Guess if you bled out now, there would be no point, hm?”

Tim stared. Not quite comprehending as the former Robin crouched beside him, rolling him over onto his back. Which actually helped the breathing issue, but….

“I’m going to move you, Pretender,” Jason warned. “This building’s rigged to blow, and that perp’s got the trigger. Try to stay loose.”

One arm tucked under Tim’s neck, the other under his legs, and wow, okay, apparently they broke his tibia.

Tim blacked out.

He came to blinking up at the stars through a fire escape in an alley he recognized to be near the docks. His body instantly protested his very existence, screaming as though he’d been dropped into a compactor and then thrashed in a woodchipper. Dimly, he became aware of a shadowy figure over him, of gloved hands tightening a pressure bandage around his thigh.

It all came back in a rush—his capture, the fight, Red Hood—and Tim instinctively scrambled back from the man looming over him, heart pounding out of his chest. He regretted the movement instantly as it jarred his broken body, his wrist apparently some degree of broken as it caved under his weight so he flopped gracelessly back against the pavement.

“Oi, hold still,” Jason snapped, “you’re making yourself worse.”

Tim froze at the command, staring wide-eyed at the crook who had himself beaten Tim to a bloody pulp only a few months ago.

This image didn’t fit. It didn’t make sense. There had to be some ulterior motive to saving him, perhaps some mind game to mess with Bruce. What else would motivate Hood to help him out of the blue?

Resolve flared, hot and fast. Tim wouldn’t allow himself to be used against the Bat again.

But Jason just continued twirling the fabric around Tim’s leg until he was apparently satisfied, snipping off the end and tying it off. He snagged another pressure bandage and began work on Tim’s shoulder. Not speaking. Not even looking at him.

Slowly, Tim allowed himself to relax, mind spinning in confusion.

“W—Why?” Tim wheezed. Wishing he could muster something a little more intimidating than the dry, barely audible croak that squeezed out of his throat.

Jason continued wrapping the bandages, quiet for long enough Tim figured he hadn’t heard him.

But then, “No one deserves to die without having a chance at fighting back.” Quiet. Angry. And…if Tim didn’t know better, a hint of the growl Batman always got when he was feeling particularly protective.

Jason tied off the last bandage with a couple quick motions and stood. He unslung Tim’s utility belt from over his shoulder, pressing the emergency tracker embedded in the side. How did he know where—?

“Bats should be here soon,” Jason said, voice flat, which didn’t match the gentle pat he gave Tim’s uninjured leg. “Don’t wait up.”

The older teen stood, his combat boots retreating down the alleyway the last thing Tim saw before his eyes closed against his will.

“Oh, and Replacement?” Tim heard, almost as if through a tunnel. “Don’t expect a repeat performance. This doesn’t change anything.”

Despite his swollen cheeks, Tim grinned against the pavement. Of course not, he thought. Inexplicably giddy. Why would it?

Tim passed out to the sound of a grapple fun firing off into the distance and the rumble of a familiar engine echoing into the alleyway.

#my fic #batfic #r1fics #RascalJoy #Tim Drake #Jason Todd #batfamchristmasstocking2019 #Torture #Implied/Referenced Torture #it's not too bad but there is description of blood and injury #Blood and Injury #Tim!Robin #timeline what timeline #bcs2019

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worldcakecakecake · 4 years

Text

On Deutschland and Italia by Lovio Valenti

Lovino writes a series of blog entries on the relationship between Germany and Italy as he deals with a move to Hamburg, his brother’s wedding, and his budding romance (which he denies) to the infuriating Gilbert Beilschmidt.

Chapter 4

On Deutschland and Italia.

Division and Unity.

It’s Happening.

I believe that in no other two European countries are you going to see such division in its country itself.

We like to divide Italy as north and south, while Germany in west and east. It’s the kind of thing that helps create a crisis of national identity to the people, and we continue to feed it with media, accents, clothes and even foreign stereotypes, and no such ending can be expected soon. Yet, Germany and Italy supported the idea of a European Union even before other countries thought about it. You can find writings about it in Nietzsche and Mazzini’s work. Germany and Italy luckily got to see it happen and it was rather fruitful for both countries during a certain number of decades. After the harshness of unification, the passage of monarchy to republic, two world wars and the heavy presence of communism, Germany and Italy could focus on flourishing their economies and once again found themselves being a very important part of Europe.

But even so, were dealing with two completely different countries here.

The obvious first thing is the language, different views of politics, economics, culture, and of course, memes.

Germany and Italy are the opposite on a girded scale, yet despite what I’ve written in my past entries and what it seems, Germany and Italy don’t actually have a rivalry and there’s no competition…well…in a political sense.

In my next blog entries, I will be speaking more about this, but some of you had questioned about my brother’s soon wedding and want to hear more about it and my growing opinion.

I still completely disapprove of it, but, my brother is expecting my help and since I am a good brother, I do intend to be a part of it…even if it involves having to meet with stingy face Gilbert here.

We are constantly being told to stand each other for the sake of our brothers, but I’m thinking they’re only doing it to annoy us…or they actually want us to get along so this can go as smoothly as they want.

I am not going to make it easy for anyone.

“I’m going to touch… this salami.”

“No!” Feliciano saved the plate, moving it in such theatrics from the counter.

“Let me! Maybe it can poison him!”

“Lovino! You’re not going to try and kill Gilbert with my food!”

“Our food! I was the one that brought and boiled that spaghetti you really like.”

Feliciano came to a realization, going to check the readied pasta.

“I’m joking! I didn’t poison anything,” he found himself having to clear.

Feliciano still tasted some of the readied noodles…adding a bit of the sauce…taking from the bread.

“Don’t eat it all before they even get here!” Lovino scolded.

“Just checking! It’s all delicious,” Feliciano signed as he cleaned whatever drops had fallen in the meantime.

It was just as the familiar knock came, getting Feliciano to shriek, to rid of his apron and fix himself as quick as possible. He practically tripped as he made his way to get the door.

“Careful!” Lovino scolded, not minding in taking his own taste from the sauce.

“Lieben.”

“Amore.”

The two greeted to each other as disgusting as ever, with a deep kiss and a wrap of their arms around one another that left the brothers in the back silent and awkward.

“Gee, Feli, thanks for inviting me in,” Gilbert interrupted, getting a groan from Ludwig but a smile from Feliciano.

“Come on in, both of you.”

Ludwig followed Feliciano to place a beautifully wrapped plate of colored meringue cookies in the table, both going on excited with conversation of how it was made, in each other, leaving Gilbert standing awkwardly still near the door, with nowhere else to lay his eyes but on Lovino, mixing the sauce to keep his eyes focused on something and not glare daggers at the older Beilschmidt in the room.

“What ya’ making?” He dared ask.

“Go sit down on the couch and don’t ask me questions,” Lovino commanded and Gilbert shrugged, not knowing what to expect, but followed his order and took seating, beginning to look through his phone in the meantime.

The four of them enjoyed from dinner together, the ones mostly conversing being Ludwig and Feliciano, a comment here and there from Gilbert and Lovino, always a small temptation calling to fight over the smallest thing, but luckily Ludwig and Feliciano would stop it before it could escalate and heat the table in anger and hatred.

Ludwig unwrapped the meringue cookies and they all dug in, Feliciano bringing in a hard-covered notebook, along with a folder full of financial information of both him and Ludwig.

“So,” Feliciano clapped his hands to begin.

“We’ve been researching, finding out everything we need to know about planning a wedding, and many sources suggest, before anything, to establish a budget,” Ludwig explained.

“And why do you need us for that?” Gilbert wondered.

“Control.”

“To make sure we’re not exaggerating and that were not choosing a very low number either,” Feliciano continued.

“We don’t want anything too lavish. We want simplicity, small, something for just us and our closest friends and family to attend.”

“But beautiful, special and to remember,” Feliciano wanted to add.

“Both your jobs, as we have chosen you each to be our best men, is to make sure we don’t exceed the amount we’re going to decide now.”

Both the elder brothers shrugged, not seeing it such a difficult job.

Feliciano opened the books and numbers, something that Ludwig was immensely proud about him doing, wrapping an arm around his waist to let him know, Feliciano smiling up at him.

The elder brothers wanted to barf.

“So…this is the amount we’re willing to use,” Feliciano pointed, professionally with a pen.

“2,000 euros only?” Lovino raised an eye.

“Yeah…is it still too much,” Feliciano worried.

“No, that’s too little!”

“I…actually have to agree with him here. I doubt they’ll be much you can do,” Gilbert said, earning Lovino another raise, not expecting that at all.

“What number would you better recommend?” Ludwig leaned to them.

“4,000!” At Lovino’s loud acclaim, a sudden idea began to settle in Gilbert’s mind, one that made him oddly smile for the moment, but he decided to push it and see.

“6,000!” He suddenly shouted with Lovino, the younger brothers looking between the two in deep question.

“That’s…uh…” Feliciano wanted to say.

“Still too little, you’re right! How about 8,000 instead!”

“No, no, 10,000!”

“Hm…10,000 sounds about right,” Lovino had to agree with Gilbert.

The younger couple was still too startled from the numbers to actually pay attention to how their brothers actually agreed and worked together to arrive at that final count.

“10,000 euros?” Feliciano wanted to faint.

“Yeah, it should be enough,” Gilbert shrugged it like it was no big issue.

“That’s…too much.” Ludwig had written it down as a choice, looking at it as if it was a hideous monster to fear.

“Trust me, people usually use more than that on a ‘simple’ wedding,” Lovino pointed.

“There is no such thing as a beautiful and perfect wedding that was done cheap.”

“But it…shouldn’t matter…we just want to get married. Everything else is just…making it more special,” Feliciano added shyly.

“Yes or no, do you want it to be special?” Lovino went to the point.

“Yes.”

“Then you have to pay more than what you two were expecting.”

The two gazed between one another with that deep question if to agree.

“Should we…risk it?” Ludwig asked.

“It’s your wedding!” Gilbert shouted.

“You’re not going to get married and have a day like that again. So, I suggest you go full at it and enjoy it as you should be,” Lovino found himself backing Gilbert.

It was working, the couple slowly coming to its agree.

“But…we don’t want to go bankrupt either,” Feliciano brought sense again.

“You two will have pretty good jobs. I’m sure the money will come to you easily. I think you should be thinking about what an amazing outcome it will be more than anything,” Gilbert continued and with those words, the two smiled between one another and decided on the 10,000-euro limit, writing and circling it in decision.

Gilbert and Lovino smirked, evil intentions hidden underneath it.

As the night went on, Ludwig and Feliciano made sure that they had the 10,000 euros available, working with checking their savings and loans, signing and calling, while Gilbert and Lovino settled on the couch, way apart from each other, looking at some random movie Lovino had chosen from Netflix.

“You should have put footloose,” Gilbert complained.

“Fuck you.” Lovino raised the volume of Annie.

“Come on, now you should help us with the guest list,” Ludwig called.

“Already?”

“Isn’t that for later?”

“Knowing the amount of people who are coming will help us decide the size of the venue, of food, seats. Just come on,” Ludwig told, helping Feliciano in writing down the obvious of their grandparents, parents, brothers, close uncles, aunts and cousins.

“Should we invite Laura?” Feliciano wondered happily, while Ludwig flinched.

“You want to invite Ludwig’s ex to your wedding?” Gilbert laughed.

“But she’s super nice to us! And she’s always bringing us waffles and I love baking with her. She’s also a really good friend of Lovino’s.”

Lovino smiled, expecting of her company on such a dreaded party.

“Are you sure it won’t start drama?”

“Highly doubt so.”

“What happened is in it the past,” Ludwig wanted to remind.

“All right, go ahead!” It had Gilbert wondering of any other person in their lives who was bound to create disaster.

“Okay, so, Carlos.”

“Mhm!”

“What about Martin?” Lovino smirked.

“Oh yes! Let’s invite Martin!” Feliciano excited, in ways that made Ludwig ignite in fury and vengeance.

“No!” Ludwig practically shouted.

It brought sudden startling silence in the room.

“Why? What’s wrong with Martin?” Feliciano wondered innocently.

“Everything, absolutely everything! I don’t want him near the ceremony and party!” Ludwig was decided, even if he looked like a pouting child, Lovino and Gilbert having to hold themselves from laughing.

“But…he’s a really good friend of mine. He’s super nice and buys me very nice things…like that golden bracelet with the really pretty heart in it.” Feliciano indeed thought it any other innocent gift, while Ludwig burned, Gilbert and Lovino having to hold their own laughs by getting pillows to muddle their possible sounds.

“Please…don’t tell me you haven’t noticed it at all…” Ludwig worried.

“Noticed what?”

Ludwig didn’t know whether to give a breath of relief…or worry on how Martin could take advantage of Feliciano’s occasional naïve self.

“You know what, I’m decided, he’s not coming,” he decreed.

“Well I’m deciding that he is coming!” Feliciano denied in turn.

The glare, the fury that sparked between them, had Gilbert and Lovino actually sharing impressed expressions, both eyes and mouths widened, ready for the big show that was sure to take place. Feliciano, in a show of disobedience, took the list and wrote the dreadful name, making it sure now. Ludwig huffed, a large intake of breath that many thought the release would make winds blow across all the apartment, but what came out was simple, given up…as the usual to make his lover happy. He let it be, not questioning, but he was visibly angry, not bothering to even speak and add to the list of visitors that Feliciano, Gilbert and Lovino continued to do by themselves.

Gilbert added annoying family members, unwanted friends or relatives that they had long forgotten about, and Ludwig didn’t add a word. Lovino in turn added his own horrible suggestions, Feliciano too kind to deny. By the end of it, they had more than a hundred guests.

“Are you sure…this is okay?” Feliciano for once questioned, facing the number and having second thoughts.

“The more, the better!” Lovino assured.

“You want everyone to celebrate, don’t you?” Gilbert suggested.

“Yeah…but…”

Lovino placed a finger against Feliciano’s mouth. “Don’t think about it!”

“Think about the party!” Gilbert excited, raising himself and already celebrating as if it was to take place that very moment.

“Uh…okay.” Although clearly unsure, Ludwig was stuck in his inner anger to really answer, just shrugging and so Feliciano sighed, forcing himself to accept.

“Is that all you need us for then?” Lovino questioned, already beginning to get his things.

“Yeah, I guess,” for once Ludwig answered.

“Awesome! I’ll be getting my ass elsewhere too.” Gilbert joined Lovino in his own stuff picking, both cleaning the apartment of themselves on the way, running off as if they were escaping from something heinous.

They left the apartment in awkward silence.

Heading down the stairs was like a charge, and when they both headed out into the air, it exploded in loud laughs, echoing surely in the street and perhaps even their brothers could hear in their own flat.

“I gotta give it to you! I gotta give to you!” Gilbert shouted, pointing and clapping.

“You played along good!” Lovino shouted in turn.

They both released, twisting in the area as they let it all die down, in a calm to match the night despite being in such a city. Then came a realization, one that hit them with the passing alarms of an ambulance making its way pass them.

They actually…laughed and agreed on something…together…it was…horrendous.

As if erasing its passing, as a try to ignore it, they stood straight, looked away, walking to their respective directions and not even wishing a single goodbye.

On Deutschland and Italia.

Tensions.

It is ongoing, and even traditional, that Germany and Italy continue to settle meet ups for events, institutions, activities and diplomatic visits. As I mentioned in my first entry, Germany and Italy’s relationship has ancient roots and our government and people try to keep it alive as I’m sure the Romans and Germanics would have wanted. The biggest Italian cultural institute is in Germany, while its counterpart, the Goethe institute has its own achievements in Italy. Politicians though, still think the relationship has its tensions and that it’s even declining.

Germany and Italy, to my disgust, have a relationship like that of an old married couple, no problems but lacking the love and passion one would expect from a country like Italy. What needs to be rekindled is that desire, that want to try and improve relations so they can be yet another stronghold of Europe.

For my brother and his fiancé, on the other hand, I would rather that they wouldn’t try to find such ailments to their problem.

In a sudden, rare…and even disgusting, work of companionship, Gilbert and I managed to find that downfall to create that tension and oh we will celebrate and try to make it last for what is needed.

“To be honest, I doubt you’ll get it,” Lovino told his brother as they reached the steps of the symbol church of the city, tall, charming, but not well placed or the majesty of the ones in Italy. In Lovino’s opinion. Sadly, Ludwig and Feliciano had decided that they will marry in Hamburg and the St. Michaelis church seemed the most appealing to do so in for now.

“It doesn’t hurt to try.” Feliciano was too confident, a wide smile and jumping steps as they entered.

“You’re too sensitive, anything hurts you,” Lovino had to remind, any other words halted in the wonder that fell on his eyes as he took the interior, beautiful despite its simplicity. Feliciano joined him in that contemplating as well, taking a small tour to gaze out further golden details and architectural forms, silent, the few who were there but tourists or perhaps devoted followers sitting in the banks.

“Are you sure you want to go through with the embarrassment though?” Lovino asked in his most silent whisper, pulling Feliciano to his side, keeping his hand on his arm. They were now turning back, nearing the office and for once, Feliciano held question in his expression, a slight slowing in his steps. But this was his wedding, this was his union to Ludwig, and he was determined to do whatever to make it the dream they had wanted.

“It won’t hurt to try,” Feliciano repeated.

“This is a protestant church,” Lovino reminded again.

“Why would it matter? As long as were united spiritually, the religion is of no importance to me.”

“I don’t know how nonno and mamma will feel about that,” Lovino warned.

“Can’t you help me by saying more positive things,” Feliciano exasperated, his hand having found reach of the door.

“You’re marrying Ludwig Beilschmidt. It’s really hard to find positives.”

Feliciano rolled his eyes and groaned, entering and ready to begin the process.

Ludwig liked the fresh air here, the comfort, relaxing, quiet, a wonderful view to a lake and the city in the distance.

“Wow…this place is actually pretty cool,” Gilbert admitted, spotting the couches in the terrace and taking instant sitting, letting out a deep sigh and pooling himself down in its comfort. “Definitely chose this one,” Gilbert seemed decided for Ludwig.

“It is really nice…I just…to be honest, would have preferred to celebrate at Antico.”

“At the restaurant?” Gilbert couldn’t believe, raising an eye as if with insult.

“Originally, it was supposed to be a small get together. Antico had just the right size. It’s familiar, meaningful, beautiful, and I know the Valenti would offer us the best service and food.”

“But we’ve already been there so many times! I think I had five birthdays there!” Gilbert groaned loudly, letting his head hang from the back of his chair.

“Exactly, it’s special.”

“Don’t you think kind of dull?”

“Of course not.”

“Do you really want to remember celebrating your wedding there?”

“I really would not mind. Usually when I dream of a wedding, it’s always dancing with Feliciano in the restaurant.”

“Oh god, that was sappiness I wasn’t expecting from you.” Gilbert had to sit up.

“Yes! It just proves my point that we should go with the restaurant.”

“No. None of the people we invited would fit there,” he had to remind, much to Ludwig’s distaste, grimacing at all the hated, uncaring, dull and criticizing guests they had recently added to the list. It didn’t make him as excited as he would have been. His thoughts went back to Feliciano, to how shinning, beautiful and happy he would surely be that day no matter, and it would be enough to get him to the task at hand.

“Plus, it would just be too much for them. It wouldn’t look fancy enough and maybe people will even forget they’re at a wedding reception,” Gilbert tried to find as many excuses as he could.

Ludwig sighed, “fine, I guess this is good. It’s better than some of the other places we’ve seen.” Despite everything, indeed it was beautiful, with space and profession.

“Great! Want me to call them so we can get to booking?” Before Ludwig kept thinking and changing his mind.

Feliciano rummaged the calendar, making all kinds of notes having to do with business, their coming move to Santo Domingo, how the season will react, keeping in mind length of preparations and just a time that can be comfortable. He was surprisingly silent, Ludwig sitting beside him, focused on his coffee and going over his last bank statements, trying to hide the grimaces of the toll his accounts will take with the new budget they had settled.

“Do we really need to use that much?” Ludwig had to say, had to try and fight it.

“I believe it’s what it’s normally used on a wedding,” Feliciano thought. If he minded, it was not shown to Ludwig.

“Are they really supposed to be that expensive?”

“I think so,” Feliciano sighed in disappointment.

Ludwig neared, letting one arm wrap around, pulling him closer. “If it’s for you…then I really shouldn’t mind the amount.”

“I think the same. I mean, Gilbert and Lovino were right, this is a day we want to remember, and we have to make it as special as we can, no matter what it costs,” it seemed like Feliciano was still trying to convince himself.

Ludwig nodded and sighed, pushing himself more to having to accept, putting his phone away, keeping his mind from his accounts. To be near Feliciano, having him, got his mind in beautiful clouds and colors.

“It’s rare that they agree on and actually work together to get us to do something,” Ludwig noticed.

Feliciano laughed, beautifully shaking in his arms. “You’re right! We really do have to take their advice then,” Feliciano smiled in true happiness, one that rubbed off on Ludwig.

“Perhaps this wedding planning could serve good for the both of them.”

“Yes, it’ll get them to get along! They’ll be able to talk to each other and we won’t have to worry about them fighting so much!”

“They could maybe even become friends.”

Feliciano gasped at a sudden idea, “or lovers!”

And Ludwig hurled in laughter, in a rare show of red and falling breathless. “Don’t get too carried away there.” He needed a moment to relax and breathe again. "For me it's enough that they can at least agree on something.”

“But wouldn’t it be beautiful if they could get together too,” Feliciano dreamed.

“It’ll be too weird really.”

“No! It won’t be! Nothing is weird about love when it’s made right!”

“I doubt they’ll love each other…that way.”

“Well, who knows,” Feliciano shrugged, leaning more into Ludwig’s chest, quite a blush and smile on his face that made Ludwig feel more fortunate of having him. “Maybe the old Beilschmidt-Valenti magic can work on them like it did on us.”

Ludwig hummed, “it’s quite a funny thing to put to mind.”

“They’ll still be really sweet together, I know it!”

Ludwig let him dream that idea as he let his hand traverse his hair, still not finding sense or chances of it actually occurring. “Don’t try to do anything.”

“I won’t.” That’s when Feliciano focused his attention on a singular date, perfect between all, in spring, with space, sure and he knew many would be able to come. “April 27?”

Ludwig took his own gaze at the calendar, smiling and agreeing along with him. “April 27.”

They had a wedding date.

< chapter 3 chapter 5 >

#on deutschland and italia by lovino valenti #prumano #prumano fanfiction #prumano fanfic #prumano fic

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fangirltrash18 · 5 years

Text

Best Friend (Jason Momoa x Reader)

Imagine Request: The reader and Jason have been friends for a long time so about 10 years and they are now older (reader is about 30 ) All of their friends are getting married and settling down but they haven't. The reader likes Jason and has for a while but hasn't told him because she doesn't feel like she has a chance with him because she's different from him and he has never really shown interest in her and the girls he normally likes are very stereotypical. But it all changes one night when she gets a phone call from him asking to pick him up because he's drunk. Then when she brings him back to her apartment to take care of him he confesses - @blumluxy

Rating- T

Warnings- Mentions of drinking, angst

It was the perfect cliché. You were hopelessly in love with your best friend. But, just like every other story like yours, the feeling wasn’t mutual. You would think that after so many years of friendship, and going to so many of your friends’ weddings, something more would blossom, but no. The two of you remained ‘just friends.’

You were at a complete stand-still in the relationship department of life. Him on the other hand, tended to have at least two hook ups a week. They were always drop dead gorgeous and usually models. They all sported long legs, flat stomachs, and hair only seen in Panteine commercials. Despite their good looks, they were all either total snobs or too preppy for their own good. You couldn’t stand to be in a room with them for more than 5 minutes; you didn’t know how Jason spent more than one night with them.

It was always the same routine with each girl: he’d buy them a drink, spend a night or two with them, then tell them “he’s not ready for commitment.” And make a clean break. Then, of course him being your best friend, he would come over after and tell you everything about his most recent fling. You would sit and listen like a good friend about those girls for hours. It was a miracle your head hadn’t exploded yet.

All you had ever wanted since the first day you met him, was for him to show some sort of interest in you. But of course, life isn’t a fairytale and dreams don’t just come true. Yes, you could just tell him your feelings, but the chances of that conversation going your way was slim to none. Plus, you weren’t his type anyway. You weren’t snobby, you didn’t like to be rude to every person you saw, you weren’t by any means famous, and you didn’t laugh at every single breath Jason took.

Even if you couldn’t have Jason as more than a best friend, you were glad you had him in your life at all. It was going to be hard, but you would have to get over him and move on if you wanted to continue your friendship with him. The first step to that: get him off your mind.

It wasn’t an easy task, but binging episode after episode of The Office certainly helped. It worked like a charm; at least, until your phone began to ring that oh so special ring tone that made your heart flutter every time you heard it.

You picked it up and contemplated wether or not you were going to answer or not. It was 1:39 a.m. which probably meant he’d just hooked up and wanted to talk about it. You decided to be a good friend and answered the call.

“Hello?” You said and crossed your fingers that this was a butt dial.

“Y/N?” His deep voice was slurred.

“Yeah, what’s up J?” You asked.

“I um- could you come get me?” He sounded drunk and upset which made you worry.

“Where are you?” You swung your legs over the edge of the bed and rushed to slip on some sandals.

“The bar closest to your apartment. I think.” He said. You nodded to yourself, knowing which bar he was talking about.

“Okay, I am on my way. Sit tight and try not to get into trouble.” You said and unlocked the door to your apartment. You heard his deep chuckle from across the line and smiled.

“No promises.“ After that, he hung up.

After about 10 minutes of driving, you finally reached the bar. You pulled up in front and saw Jason sitting against the wall, staring at the sidewalk. Quickly, you got out and jogged over to him.

“Wow.“ You said when you said in front of him. He looked up and gave you a small smile.

“You came.“ He mumbled and tried to get up. You rushed beside him and put his left arm around your shoulder.

“Of course I did. Did you expect me not to?” You asked, taken aback by his words.

“I thought you might’ve changed your mind.“ He slurred and stumbled to your car with you as support.

“I would never. Let’s just get you home though, you’re in pretty bad shape bub.” You said and opened the passenger car door. You helped him get in and buckled up before getting in yourself. The drive back to your apartment was relatively quiet, the radio being the only noise. Jason looked out the window and watch the city pass by. It wasn’t until you right back at your apartment that he said something.

“Thank you, Y/N.” It was quiet, but you heard it none the less.

You’re welcome.“ You said and exited the car and helped him get out before taking the elevator to your floor. Once you’re in your living room, you set him on the couch and brought him a glass of water and a couple of Advil.

“Thanks.“ He mumbled and took a sip when you handed it to him.

“Mhm.” You sat across from the intoxicated man and took in his drunken state. “So what happen tonight?“ You asked. He sighed and sat the glass down beside him.

“I don’t know.“ He said quietly. He leaned back and scrubbed a hand down his face. “I’ve been having a problem.“ He finally admitted. You say up further, interested in what it was.

“With what?”

“Well, I’m really into this girl.” Your heart dropped, and your throat got tight but you ignored it and continued to listen. “Honestly, I think I’m in love with her.“

“Wow, she must be pretty special.” You played along, trying to ignore your breaking heart and the tears threatening to make an appearance.

He nodded and smiled. “She’s the most amazing woman in this whole goddamn planet has ever seen. She smart, funny, adventures, and absolutely breathtaking.” He exclaimed with a wide smile on his face.

“So what’s the problem?” You asked, your voice slightly shaky.

“She’s not interested in me.” His smile faded and he looked straight into your eyes, making your heart skip a beat.

“She must be an idiot then.“ You said and stood up, deciding you were done listening to him ramble on about a girl he was ‘in love with.’ He watched you with soft, dreamy eyes as you began walking to your room. You tried to keep the salty tears back but felt a few trickle down your cheeks.

“Y/N.” You heard his deep voice say from behind.

“Yes J?“ You sniffled and wiped away at the fallen tears. You heard the rustle of clothing, and the slow saunter of footsteps approaching you from behind. A hard chest hit your back and his mouth hovered above your ear. There was a heavy moment of silence before he said anything.

“It’s you.”

Those two words made your heart stop and your brain freeze. You managed to turn around and look up at the man who just confessed his love to you.

“J.” You said breathlessly, tears still running down your face.

“You don’t have to say it back, I just want you to know.” His words were slurred which reminded you exactly how drunk he was and how he wouldn’t remember any of this in the morning. You slowly turned to look at him.

“You’re drunk.” You whispered and stared into his hazel eyes.

“But I mean every word.” His large fingers grazed yours and intertwined them. You closed your eyes and cherished the moment. “Y/N, I love you.“ In that moment, you believed him. You wanted to believe him anyway.

“I love you too.“ It was barely a whisper, but he managed to catch the words. You opened your eyes and peered up at him. He wore a smile and tired eyes. He slowly leaned down and pressed your foreheads together. His lips hovered over yours in anticipation.

“Can I kiss you?“ He asked, his voice unsure and drowsy. You knew it probably wasn’t a good idea, but you nodded in consent. A second later, your lips met his for the first time. It was slow and unsure, but perfect nonetheless. It was like a dance, filled with grace and passion; slow and intimate. Pulling away for breath, your mind raced with a million thoughts. ‘Did he really mean all this?’ ‘Or are you just going to be another one of those hook ups?’

You gently placed your palms on his chest, his cotton shirt soft under your fingertips. You pushed away from him to look at his face. “I’ll get you a pillow and a blanket. We can talk more about this… Us in the morning, when you’re sober and can’t remember any of it.” The last part you said was a whisper but he nodded and understanding and stumbled back to the couch. You turned away and went to fetch his things, all the while thinking: are my dreams coming true, or is this going to break my heart?

Oh. My. Gosh. I can’t believe this is finally up. I hope y’all enjoy this. Let me know if I should do a part 2 or leave it as a single.

I’m going to do my best to post as much as possible today. Wish me luck haha. <3

#Jason Momoa #jason momoa imagine #aquaman #aquaman imagine #Arthur Curry #arthur curry imagine #Khal Drogo #imagine #Declan Harp #declan harp imagine #angst #love #bestfriend #drunk #drinking

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girls-scenarios · 5 years

Text

Risk It All

Idol: Tzuyu (Twice)

Prompt: h o w d y !!! I think I remember that admin Kiwi loves harry potter so i was wondering if there could be a slytherin!tzuyu (like how she's described as pureblood and stony in the Idols That Would Be In Slytherin post) au where she's a double agent, snape-style, and has to blow her cover to save her hufflepuff gf when their paths cross on separate missions.

Writer: Admin Kiwi

A/N: Sorry for taking so long with this, I do love Hogwarts au’s so I really wanted this one to be perfect. As a disclaimer, I haven't read the books or watched the movies in a while so if something is weird I apologize- I hope this was what you had in mind anon!

Tzuyu knew she was a stereotypical Slytherin. She was a pureblood, first of all, from one of the most well-known wizarding families, who only got the best supplies from her parents. She was cold, mostly towards other houses but to some other Slytherins too. She knew how to get what she wanted and could slip her way out of any uncomfortable situation. Most of all, though, she had a sharp tongue that lashed out at any poor fool who thought it would be a good idea to upset her.

But anyone who actually knew her knew that she only acted that way because it was what was expected of her. Her friends knew that her teasing was playful and that she was actually shy, which was why she acted so cold to her fellow classmates. She even had a cute smile that only her closest friends knew. But that meant nothing. She was still the perfect pureblood Slytherin, expected to do everything her parents instructed of her.

So she wasn’t really that surprised when her parents called her home, and she came only to find the Dark Lord standing in her living room. Her parents had long been extremists, and it was hardly a shock to her that they would join the dark forces. Still, there was something in her usually uncaring heart that made her want to run away as her mother motioned for her to sit down.

“Tzuyu, honey, there is someone we want you to meet.” Voldemort smiled, his sunken face contorting to reveal even uglier teeth, and she did her best not to recoil in disgust.

“Chou Tzuyu. What a gifted student you are. Your parents have told me all about you.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Lord Voldemort,” she said, shoulders poised and face settled into a look of feigned attention. She’d had to pretend to like her parents acquaintances before, and she could easily do it again.

“Tzuyu, as you know, we believe that Lord Voldemort has brilliant ideas on how to fix the tattered and despicable state of the wizarding world. So we have decided to join him. And we want you to do the same.” She watched in mild horror as her parents rolled up their sleeves to reveal a mark she knew all too well. The mark of the Death Eaters. Of course, she’d expected this, but it didn’t make her any less sick in her stomach to see it, because she knew what her parents meant. She had no choice. She was to join the cause.

“Of course,” she said, tongue heavy in her mouth as she watched her parents smile at their perfect, obedient Slytherin daughter.

Voldemort’s voice sent chills up her back as he chuckled. “That’s what I was hoping you’d say. It would be brilliant to have someone as talented as you within those school walls.” It was over. She couldn’t go back. But still, bile climbed up the back of her throat as he took her arm and pushed up her sleeve.

Instinctively, she began to quiver, and her mother, mistaking her disgust and fear of the Dark Lord for fear of the pain, wrapped an arm around her her shoulders and pressed her lips up close to her ear. “Don’t worry, dear, it only hurts for a moment.” Voldemort’s wand touched Tzuyu’s skin, and she bit her lip, closing her eyes as a searing pain ripped through her arm. It only lasted for a moment, leaving behind a numb burning sensation on the skin, and she let out a gasp as he dropped her arm, not wanting to look down at the mark that now sullied her arm.

Her father cleared his throat and she opened her eyes to look up at him. “I’m proud of you for making the right choice, Tzuyu. Now, back to school you go. And remember, not a word of this to anyone.” She was still a little dizzy, but she nodded, standing up and stumbling a little as she left the room.

She didn’t even think about what she did next. There wasn’t even a pause to look down at the mark. As soon as she was back at the school, she went straight for Dumbledore's office, marching in and throwing out her arm for him to see before he could even ask her to explain herself.

“My parents joined the Death Eaters and forced me to join as well. But I don’t want to work for them. Tell me what to do.” She clenched her jaw in determination as Dumbledore looked down at her arm in shock. He gently touched her wrist, and she wanted to jerk away, the sensation of Voldemort’s touch still lingering on her skin. But she trusted Dumbledore, so she stayed still.

“Chou Tzuyu. You made the right choice by coming here.” Had she? She’d had two adults tell her she’d made the right choice by doing different things today. But this was the one she felt was right, and she didn’t care what her parents might think. “How do you feel about becoming a double agent?” She blinked. Looked up at him. “You’ll pretend to work for He Who Must Not Be Named, and give us information on the Death Eater’s movements and whereabouts. Just be careful, you mustn't let them catch you.”

“I cant do it,” Tzuyu said, lifting up her chin. She was the perfect Slytherin, after all, cunning and sly. She wouldn’t let them catch her.

Dumbledore smiled down at her and let go of her wrist, and Tzuyu knew that she’d just entered a new chapter of her life. Nothing was going to be the same now. “You’re a bright student, Ms. Chou. I’m trusting in you.”

Being a double agent wasn’t hard for Tzuyu. She had no special feelings for her parents, as she hardly spoke with them anyway, and she certainly had no ties or loyalty to Voldemort. There was also no need to worry about getting anyone hurt. Her Slytherin friends knew how to take care of themselves, and probably had ties with the Death Eaters anyway. She doubted they would be hurt, so really, she had no special ties to anyone that would make her worried about her involvement in the fight.

Until she met you, that is.

It was one evening after classes had ended that Nayeon pounced on her, begging her to go to the library with her.

“Come on, don’t you need to study?”

“When have I ever needed to study to get good grades, Nayeon,” Tzuyu said, turning around to shoot a look at her friend. “Why do you need someone to go with you to the library anyway?”

Nayeon flushed and quickly looked around to make sure no one was listening before leaning in close. “I’m meeting with Momo.”

“Momo? The Hufflepuff?”

“Shh, not so loud! Yes, Momo the Hufflepuff.”

“Why are you meeting with her?” Tzuyu, now intrigued, turned around with raised eyebrows, crossing her arms. “Don’t tell me you actually fell for a Hufflepuff.”

“Shut up! I did, okay? She’s really pretty and nice and she makes me laugh, what’s so wrong with that? I know you’re the perfect model Slytherin, but I thought you could maybe put house politics away for your friend!” Nayeon gritted her teeth, obviously upset, but before she could spin on her heel (or pull out her wand and knock Tzuyu out) the younger girl reached out and put a hand on her shoulder.

“Calm down. I was just asking a question. I’ll go with you.” Nayeon’s shoulders deflated with relief and a smile came back to her lips.

“Really? Thank you so much! We agreed that we’d bring friends so that people wouldn’t think it was a date, so I was worried that you wouldn’t come.”

“She’s bringing a friend too?”

Nayeon grinned and wiggled her eyebrows. “Yeah! Hey, who knows, maybe you’ll hit it off with her friend and we can double date.”

With a snort, Tzuyu rolled her eyes. “I doubt it. But I’ll come with you. Hurry up, though, the more you keep talking, the less time you’re going to have with your Hufflepuff boo.”

The library wasn’t very busy, mostly because tests were still a while away and it was almost the weekend, which meant everyone was more interested in relaxing. Still, Nayeon led her past their normal tables and towards the darker back of the library. One turn past a bunch of shelves with a layer of dust on the books was a table tucked back into the corner, and there sat Momo. As soon as she saw Nayeon, she beamed and jumped up to wrap her into a hug.

“You came!”

“Of course I came, did you think I was going to stand you up?” Nayeon still had the snark in her voice, but it was a lot softer and more affectionate now, and Tzuyu couldn’t help smirking. If only their Slytherin friends could see her now.

“I just didn’t think you would be able to convince a friend to come, honestly.”

“I was nervous about that too, but my best friend agreed to come with me.” Momo looked away from Nayeon and her eyes landed on Tzuyu, who waved awkwardly.

“Hey.”

“Oh wow, Chou Tzuyu?” Momo let out a little nervous laugh and moved away from Nayeon. “I seriously would have never expected you to come.” The ‘I thought you hated Hufflepuffs” was obvious, even if she didn’t say it, and Tzuyu just shrugged, shoving her hands down into her pockets.

“Nayeon’s my best friend.” Nayeon beamed and wrapped an arm around Tzuyu’s shoulders, getting up on her tip-toes to do so.

“It’s fine, she won’t rat us out or anything. I know she seems scary and everything, but she has a soft spot for me.” Tzuyu rolled her eyes, but didn’t bother refuting her best friend because it was true, mostly. She also really didn’t care about house politics, she just had to pretend to. “I promise she doesn’t bite.” Momo glanced back at the table, and for the first time, Tzuyu noticed you, and her heart stopped.

You were gorgeous, which was saying something, because she’s seen plenty of beautiful people in her pureblood lifetime. But your beauty was something different, something she’d never seen before. You were nothing like the purebloods she’d met, who’d probably gotten their good looks from their parents, who assured via potions and spells that their children would be good looking. Everything about you was real, and that captured her, pulled her in and left her staring with her mouth slightly agape.

“Well, as long as you promise. This is my friend, (Y/N). She doesn’t bite either, obviously.” Tzuyu snapped her mouth shut and swallowed. (Y/N). She liked that name.

“Um, nice to meet you,” she said, but this time, she wasn’t faking it. You gave her a shy little smile in return and moved further into the table to make room for her to sit beside you as Nayeon and Momo took their seats across the table, hands intertwined.

“Nice to meet you too, Tzuyu.” From your voice, she could tell that you were nervous, and for the first time ever, she regretted being the perfect Slytherin. Suddenly, she was hyper aware of her actions, sitting down as softly as she could and gently setting her books down on the table, much different than how she typically tossed them down.

Nayeon gave her a look from across the table, eyebrows raised and a smile playing on her lips as she leaned her head on Momo’s shoulder, and she could feel her face heating up slightly as she glared down at her textbook. What was going on with her?

Licking her lips, she tried to ignore the display of affection from the two girls in front of her and turned to look at you. “Um. So did you actually want to study, or?” You let out a nervous giggle and shifted the textbook in front of you.

“I guess I should, since I’m almost failing potions.” Tzuyu raised her eyebrows. This was something she could help with.

“I’m pretty good at potions, I could help you study, if you want.” Your eyes lit up.

“Really?” You looked shocked, almost in disbelief, and Tzuyu found herself smiling one of those rare smiles that were reserved for her closest friends only. You were cute.

“Really. I promise I don’t bite.” You glanced from Momo and then back to her before nodding.

“Well. If it’s really no trouble, I’d really appreciate your help.” Tzuyu flipped open her own potions textbook and took out her quill, spinning it through her fingers.

“It’s no problem, really. Now, what do you need help with?” You perked up and leaned forward, opening your own book and scooting closer to her, and she considered herself successful.

“Well, I stopped understanding things a couple weeks ago...”

These library meetings became routine, and eventually they actually started feeling like double dates. Nayeon took the opportunity to tease Tzuyu about it, revenge for the years of teasing from the younger girl, but Tzuyu didn’t really mind. For the first time ever, she had someone who she looked forward to seeing, someone who distracted her from everything else going on in her life. She’d never met anyone who made her feel like you made her feel. And for the first time, she started to worry about being a double agent.

She’d told nobody about what she was doing, shown no one other than other Death Eaters and Dumbledore her mark. But for some reason, she felt like she should tell you, both because she didn’t want you to get hurt because of her, and because she didn’t want you to get attached to her, only for her to die. It was a dark thought, but a real one, that kept her up at night. She’d never loved anyone before, not any more than a friendly sort of love that she had for Nayeon and some of her other friends, like Yeri or Xiyeon. But she knew that she loved you, and that changed everything. It suddenly made what she was doing very, very scary.

She came to the conclusion that she could never tell you, because if you knew, it would only put both of you into danger. She also realized that she should start to distance herself from you, for your own good. But she was still trying to figure out how she’d do it without hurting you when it happened.

You asked her out.

She stood there mouth agape, staring at you. You sat in your normal spot in the secluded library table, except Momo and Nayeon were nowhere to be seen, and you had a blush dusting your cheeks, twisting your hands together.

“I’m sorry, I know you might not want to date me because I’m a Hufflepuff, and I probably made you uncomfortable, and you probably don’t like me-.”

“It’s not that,” she said, finally getting her mouth to work as she surged forward, making you jump. “It’s none of that. I don’t care about your house and I’m not uncomfortable and I do like you. It’s just....” Her heart sunk as she looked at your wide eyes and your lip caught in your teeth. She loved you. And she wanted to tell you that. But she couldn’t. “I’m sorry, I can’t.”

“Why?” Your voice broke as you leaned forward, reaching out to grab her hand. “If it’s just about your house, that doesn’t matter! We can keep it secret, just like Nayeon and Momo! If you like me too, it shouldn’t be a problem.” Her heart surged in her chest, and she had to sit down, slipping into the seat across from you.

“I.... I have a secret. I’m not doing this because of me. I’m doing this to protect you.” Your face twisted and she hung her head.

“You’re a Death Eater, aren’t you. I knew it, Slytherins can’t be trusted, I can’t believe I feel for your façade.”

Tzuyu’s heart dropped and she shook her head, reaching out to grab your hands back. She couldn't take it if you thought she hadn’t been sincere in everything she’d said, and the words came tumbling out before she could stop them. “No! Please, (Y/N), listen to me. I’m not one of them.” There were tears in your eyes, but she kept speaking. “My parents, they are, and they forced me to join, but I’m working for Dumbledore instead, I swear. But it’s dangerous, both for me and for anyone close to me. And I don’t want to see you get hurt, (Y/N). You mean too much to me.” Her voice was soft now, and you were fully crying now, squeezing her hands.

“I’m sorry I assumed the worst.” She swallowed and moved over to join you on the other side of the table to wrap you up in a hug, awkward with affection but wanting to hold you. “But I can take care of myself.”

“I don’t doubt that, but I don’t want you to get hurt because of me.” You sniffed and reached up to cup her face gently in your hands, looking her in the eyes.

“Tzuyu, I love you. I really do. And I’m willing to accept that danger because I love you. I’m already in danger being a student here, what’s a little more danger?”

“And what if I die?” The thought had never scared her before, but now it did.

“I’ll just have to take that risk. I want to be with you, Tzuyu.” You had already made up your mind, and now it was Tzuyu’s turn. She stared down into you earnest eyes and took a deep breath.

“I want to be with you too. But you have to promise me you won’t tell anyone about anything we’ve talked about tonight.”

“I promise.”

And so the two of you started to date. For the first time ever, Tzuyu felt truly happy. And for a while, nothing happened and everything was fine.

That was until the war finally started. Although Tzuyu was now a secret part of Dumbledore's Army, she still had to help her parents and the other Death Eaters pull off their crimes. Crimes that made Tzuyu sick to her stomach, unable to watch as her own parents tortured innocent victims after playing good to the Ministry. No matter how much she relayed information to the other students in Dumbledore’s Army, there were plenty of things that they couldn’t stop, and plenty of things that Tzuyu had to play a hand in to keep her cover.

The more she saw of what the Death Eaters could do, the less she wanted you to get involved. Her own parents wouldn’t hesitate to kill her if it was shown that she was the traitor relaying information to the other side, so there would be no mercy towards you, a halfblood Hufflepuff that went against everything the Death Eaters believed in. But no matter how much she begged for you to stay out of it, you refused.

“Everyone is out there fighting,” you said, the day you officially joined Dumbledore’s Army. “You’re risking your life. I can’t just stand by and do nothing. If they get their way, my family is in trouble.” At that moment, Tzuyu knew she wouldn’t be able to convince you otherwise, because you were just as fueled to fight as she was. So she stepped back and let you, hoping with everything in her that nothing would happen to you.

But this was war against some of the most ruthless wizards the wizarding world had ever saw, and you were part of the only force standing in their way. Something was bound to happen.

The day that something happened, Tzuyu was frantic. Although she’d relayed to Dumbledore’s Army that they were heading straight into a trap as both sides tried to reach a piece of the Dark Lord’s soul, the other students had decided to go in anyway, putting themselves directly in harms way in hopes of surprising the Death Eaters by knowing what the trap was and avoiding it.

“You don’t know how dangerous they are,” she hissed from under her cloak, slamming her hands down onto the table. The group was hidden away in a secret room in Hogwarts, the only place where Tzuyu and a few of her Slytherin companions could meet with the group without fear of being seen. “Even if this mission goes well, someone is going to get hurt! They have no mercy, I’ve seen it with my own eyes. You can’t meet them head-on like this.”

“We do know how dangerous they are,” Nayeon challenged, “my parents are Death Eaters! We saw Cedric be murdered! Sorn’s parents were tortured until they went insane, Momo was almost killed on our last mission. Chaewon might never be able to use her arm again because of them. We know. But we have to stop them, so we have no choice!”

Tzuyu’s face twisted. Why didn’t they understand? “All I’m asking is that you come up with a better plan! There’s only so much I can do on my side, and I care too much about all of you for you to get hurt!”

“Tzuyu, calm down.” Jihyo spoke from the head of the table and everyone turned to look at her. “We understand the risks of this mission. But that piece of the soul cannot fall into their hands. We will take your advice and go in the back way so that we only encounter a few Death Eaters instead of all of them. But this is something we have to do.” Jihyo was right, and Tzuyu knew it, but she still let out a sigh and slumped down. “Don’t worry. Nayeon, Suyeon, and I will lead the group and we’ll put our other strongest on the sides, like Sowon and Irene.”

“Just be careful.” Her voice cracked, and you reached over to press a hand to her shoulder, eyebrows furrowed with worry. She was no longer the perfect Slytherin. She was just a scared kid who didn’t want to lose any more friends, and as the room fell quiet, she knew that everyone else was the same. And she couldn’t wait for this war to end.

The day the trap was set into motion, Tzuyu could hardly concentrate on what her parents were telling her to do. She knew that you were coming in on this mission too, and that scared her.

“Tzuyu, dear, are you listening?”

“Hm? Oh, yes. Sorry, I was just thinking.” Her mother raised her eyebrows and crossed her arms.

“I expect you to listen to me when I am speaking.”

“Yes, ma’am. I’m sorry.”

“Lord Voldemort wishes for you to be lookout at the other entrance.” Was this fate? Or did he know something? Tzuyu was glad she was so good at staying stony, because her heart was beating like crazy inside her chest. “I expect that you won’t give any mercy to your classmates if you do see them. Your loyalty lies with Lord Voldemort. Do you hear me?” Tzuyu nodded.

“Yes, ma’am. I understand.”

“Good. Now go. They will be here at any moment.” Tzuyu nodded once more and ducked away, wand clutched so tight in her hand she was afraid she might snap it in half. Even as she approached, she knew. There were other Death Eaters positioned at the back entrance with her. Biting her lip, she desperately wished that she could warn her friends somehow as she climbed into position, nodding at the other wizards. She needed a game plan. But what could she do?

She could always pick off the wizards on her side when the students came in and caused confusion, but if anyone saw it was her, she would be outed. She could send a warning flare, but that would be the same issue. Her plan had originally been to be nowhere around them when they came in, but that wouldn’t work now, and the other students would be no match for the wizards that surrounded her, not even Nayeon and Jihyo. There were too many, too strong.

As she agonized over the situation, she heard it. The sound of brooms flying through the air. Clenching her wand again, she stood up, only to almost collapse back down. You were almost in the front, right behind Jihyo, Nayeon, and Suyeon. She couldn’t let this happen, you would be an easy target. As she stumbled back, looking frantically around at the Death Eaters raising their wands, Jihyo charged in, wand raised and jaw clenched in concentration with the rest of the group following her. Tzuyu held her breath, watching as those on the sides did their best to hold off the spells. And then Nayeon fell, leaving you open, and her eyes landed on one of the Death Eaters pointing his wand at you, opening his mouth to utter the killing spell.

She didn’t even think.

“Ventus!” It was a spell that she wasn’t supposed to know how to wield, a spell not taught at Hogwarts that she’d found deep inside a spell book tucked away in her manor’s library. At her words, the air erupted into a wind that threw the Death Eater’s from their perches and wobbled the brooms of the students even out of its range. There was a yell from one of the Death Eaters below her, but she didn’t even pause, throwing herself down onto the ledge below to point her wand at him. “Stupefy!”

Her cover was gone, but she tried not to think about it as she climbed down to run to Nayeon’s side. “Go inside,” she yelled, “and hurry!” Jihyo nodded and pulled full-stream ahead, but you broke the line and flew down to dismount on the ground beside her, shaking slightly.

“You saved my life,” you said, and she bit her lip, nodding and leaning down to check Nayeon’s pulse. She was still alive, so she’d probably just been hit by a stupefy spell. Still, she needed to be seen, she’d fallen from a high height. “But now your cover is blown.”

“I wasn’t going to let them kill you,” she said, voice stern as she stood up and looked around, wary for any other Death Eaters.

“I knew you were a traitor.” She spun on her heel, wand at the ready, to see her mother standing at the corner, watching her with cold eyes. “You’re a disgrace to the family.” The other students should have been able to get the horcrux by now, and Nayeon’s broom lay on the ground near her. If she could just hold her mother off long enough for them to get back....

“Voldemort is a tyrant,” she said, voice level as she stared back at her mother. “You couldn’t have expected me to sit by and let his actions go unchecked.”

“I expected you to be a loyal daughter.” Her mother’s wand moved from her to you, and Tzuyu gritted her teeth. “And you’ve picked up a halfblood pet? Disgusting.”

“She isn’t a pet, mother. She’s a witch just like me.”

“She is nothing like you. Your blood is pure, your lineage is proud. How could you sully your own family name?”

“I don’t care about the family name, I care about the people who actually love and care about me!”

“You’re a traitor!” Her mother leveled her wand at you and began to utter a curse, and Tzuyu jumped in front of you, eyes hard.

“Crucio!” Her mother dropped to the ground, screaming and writhing in pain, and you gasped.

“Tzuyu, that spell-.”

“We have to show them that we’re willing to fight back. That was for all my friends who have been hurt,” she said, face stony as she bent to pick up Nayeon. “Hurry, everyone is coming back. We have to go before more come.” As she hoisted Nayeon into her arms and picked up the broom, Jihyo emerged, the rest of the group following her.

“Is Nayeon-?”

“She’s alive, I’ve got her! Keep going, we’ll catch up!” The broom was unfamiliar, and it was hard to ride with Nayeon in her arms, but Tzuyu was determined. And as she flew up into the air, you right beside her, she looked back down at her mother.

“Tzuyu, are you okay?” She swallowed and turned her gaze back to you and the rest of the group. She knew she would never be able to see her parents again. She was no longer their daughter. But they had never really loved her anyway.

“I’m okay. You, Nayeon, and the rest of the group, you’re my real family. And I don’t mind risking everything to make sure you’re all safe.” The air was quiet, the chaos of the fight long behind, and you flew close to her side. Everyone had gotten out okay, and Nayeon was still breathing. The war still raged on, but they were all one step closer to victory. And Tzuyu knew this would all be worth it, as long as she could keep protecting the people she loved.

“Thank you. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

#twice #tzuyu #chou tzuyu #twice scenarios #tzuyu scenarios #girl group scenarios #kpop scenario #twice scenario #tzuyu scenario #girl groups #kpop girl groups #hogwarts au

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harryandmolly · 5 years

Text

i could write it better than you ever felt it - FINAL

summary: fuck growing up. this is freedom, this is life, this is youth – 2007 Warped Tour style.

warnings: Language, vintage Something Corporate, oversugaring tea amidst Londoners

word count: 5.2k

A/N: this is it, fam! thanks for coming along in my time machine. I hope it’s everything you dreamed it would be. Shawn’s song is “As You Sleep” by Something Corporate, highly recommend a listen. thank you for everything you are and everything you give me. I love you guys.

Lucky 13.

The emblem of the 2007 Warped Tour has surrounded her all summer, but it feels especially present today somehow, on the last day of tour in Carson, California.

It seems a contradiction in terms, lucky 13, which Val supposes is probably the idea. She knows it’s a cheeky nod to the counterculture vibe that Warped Tour represents, but it also feels representative of her in some ways.

Val’s had a very contemplative and quiet three weeks since she gathered her things and walked out of that hotel room, leaving the scribbled note on the pillow behind her. She’s turned inward, no longer hounded by her conflict with Raf or Bea, able to focus on herself for the first time in a few months. And she’s picked out a few things that coincide with the theme of the summer.

Val is often reckless, and sometimes maternal. Val is book smart, and also street smart. Val embraces academia, but sometimes thinks she could drown herself in music and never read books again. Val is vibrant even when she is broken.

Humans are made up of contradictions, Val knows that as well as anyone. She is not suddenly realizing that she is not only one thing -- her dichotomies are not really news to her. But as she thinks about the people she loves most, she sees the way certain parts of their personalities bump up against other parts and fight for dominance, and she loves them more richly for it.

Humans are made up of contradictions and Val is embracing that from here on out. She arrived on the first day of Warped wearing a blink t-shirt with a textbook on Ming dynasty art in her trunk. All summer, she studied the ways she doesn’t fit in here in the scene anymore like she was looking for reasons to make a clean split and join her adult life across the pond. But the truth is, she failed. She looked for the ways that made her feel different from this world that she helped in her small way to build, but it’s as much a home to her as academia is and it will never truly feel foreign, no matter how many hours she spends crouched over a 9th century vase with a tiny brush. So her biggest contradiction, her inner strife over choosing academia over pop punk, it fades into her skin like her tattoo, as much a part of her as the dimple in her chin or the curls in her hair that she decided not to straighten today.

Val walks the grounds as the sun begins to fade. The last sets of the day are in progress or being set up. With earbuds in playing Boys Like Girls, she strolls between booths of merch people clinking beers and congratulating each other on a summer well done, between groups of kids comparing signed merch, between crew guys beginning to break down and pack away equipment to be pulled out next June for another go around.

She imagines who she’ll be next June.

She walks slowly on her way to Smartpunk. It seems her body is just as hesitant as her mind to attend this one last set, but she’s doing it anyway. She’s not sure why -- to prove a point to herself? To indulge in the talent one last time? To try to believe in a miracle?

She doesn’t like any of those options. She settles on curiosity and keeps her feet moving in uncharacteristically small steps.

She stands at the back, nice and far from any moshing action, by the All Time Low booth so she can sit on the edge of the table without getting grief from Vinny Vegas.

She wears a small smirk as the space around her fills in. It seems every Warped attendee is a Forefront convert now. She doesn’t blame them. But damn is it a far cry from their first sets in June.

They’re announced over the yelping cries of fans wearing out their last screams of summer. They hustle out in a group, with their tall, gawky frontman bringing up the rear as usual. He plants himself in front of the mic and swings one powerful arm above his head with a wild grin to wave as his adoring fans.

And it begins.

They put on a hell of a show. It’s not a given -- just because you’re good in the studio doesn’t mean you have the chemistry or energy to do well live. There are special bands that make a live concert a nearly religious experience -- her friends in Paramore and All Time Low among them. Forefront has gotten their sea legs this summer and won’t easily lose them now.

She takes the time to notice each member -- passionate, goofy Francis on rhythm guitar, hard-hitting, soft-spoken Seth on the drums, raucous pretty boy bassist Bobby. And then Shawn, switching between his keyboard and guitar effortlessly like he was born with a damn instrument in his hand, charisma leaking out of him all over the stage, making everyone in a fifteen mile radius certain that he’s born to do this.

She closes her eyes through the end of “Open End” and waits for “Swim” to start. When Shawn switches back to the keys at this point in the set, he usually engages in some chit chat with the boys or yammers on to the fans about how much they inspire him or whatever. But he’s quiet and the air around the stage is tense because everyone knows something’s up.

Val opens her eyes. He’s where she expected him to be, propped at the edge of his bench with his fingers resting over the keys, looking down at them frozen.

“We’re gonna play you a new one today.”

Val’s stomach falls out and flops into the dirt at her feet. She’s glad she’s sitting on the table because she can’t feel her legs. She overwhelmed by certainty that whatever’s about to happen, it’s going to be personal. And it’s going to hurt like hell.

Shawn is quiet for a few more electrically charged moments before he closes his eyes, rolls his shoulders forward and leans into the mic, singing before the instruments join him.

“Close your eyes and I will be swimming, lullabies fill your room, and I will be singing, singing only to you. Don’t forget I’ll hold your head, watch the night sky fading red.”

His fingers work furiously against the keys. The piano line is so intricate and shows off his talent for the instrument in a way she’s never seen. He keeps his eyes down at his hands as they dance, distracting him enough from the content of the lyrics so he can get through them without breaking down like he did when he wrote it.

“But as you sleep, and no one is listening, I will lift you off your feet, I'll keep you from sinking. Don't you wake up yet, cause soon I'll be leaving you. Soon I'll be leaving you, but you won't be leaving me.”

Val closes her eyes again and lets herself fall back into their last night, into their frantic lovemaking punctuated by irresponsible, unkeepable promises. She thinks about the weight of his legs between hers as she drifted off with him in the last full night sleep she got on tour. She remembers the way she let her hand rest on his side of the bed to try to tell when he left by how cool to the touch it felt.

“In the car, the radio leaves me searching for your star, a constellation of frustration driving home, singing my thoughts back to me, and watching heartache on TV.”

It feels so good to get this out, Shawn thinks as he hits each note just the way he wants it. This song came spilling out after their last night together in a way that felt too easy. After all that he put her through, he doesn’t deserve to have his art come easy. But art is never fair.

By the second chorus, Val knows the words. It’s hard not to zero in when you know they’re about you. She notes the way the crowd reacts, arms in the air waving at him like he’s Jimi Hendrix, cheering along, eating up everything he gives them.

Good, she thinks, he deserves it.

The lead into the bridge is still piano heavy, but his fingers know the strokes of the keys as well as his heart does, so he gets to sit up and look around, grinning as their fans cheer, watching the sky explode vibrant summer watercolors over the trees on the horizon. A thick, soothing breeze passes through.

He looks back through to where he saw her a few songs ago. He lets his gaze stay there long enough that she knows now that she’s been spotted. He licks his lips and leans into the mic, but keeps his eyes up at her, perched on the ATL merch table like she owns it.

He repeats the lyrics even though each word feels like tearing at scabs that won’t be healing for a while. He pours it all in, everything he has left, every piece of I’m sorry, every hint of thank you, every whisper of I love you, it soars out over the heads of the fans who love the words but don’t know the boy that wrote them.

They’re for her.

As the final note fades out under sweeping cries of gratitude from the scene kids that came to celebrate their home and community, Val stands, brushes the dust from her skinny jeans and secures her earbuds back in place. With a final nodding smile to Vinny, she turns from the stage and walks off in gigantic, loping steps to read about John Singer Sergeant and listen to Dookie on repeat.

+++++++

December 18th, 2017

Shawn doesn’t often fit most musician stereotypes -- he doesn’t drink too heavily, he doesn’t do any drug harder than weed, he’s kind of a serial monogamist.

But he does love a moody walk along a body of water.

With a pair of good headphones, a carefully curated playlist and a path along the water, Shawn can figure out anything. When he gets stuck on a song, he goes to the water. When he’s in a weird spot with someone he’s dating, he goes to the water. He doesn’t like to get too spiritual about it, but it does feel somehow clarifying.

So one afternoon in London when the sun is out and the Londoners are out with it, Shawn decides to join them. He’s there on business promoting the latest Forefront album with a Live Lounge performance on BBC Radio 1 with Nick Grimshaw. He’s jetlagged and a little turned around by the Underground system like he usually is when in London but he’s otherwise feeling just fine. He just needs a walk by the water today. He tries not to look too closely at why.

He bundles up in the Barbour jacket his mum got him last Christmas and sets off down the stairs into the opulent Savoy hotel lobby decked out with a Christmas tree in every corner and fresh garland wrapped around every non-moving object in sight. He smiles at it -- nobody does Christmas like the Brits. He’s looking forward to going home in a few days to see his mum and the rest of his family and decompress for a few weeks before heading back over to the UK to write and record their next album.

He gets reflective like this -- the combination of the water and the music offer him perspective he can’t usually reach otherwise. He tucks his hands in his pockets and sets off through the garden that opens up into the Victoria Embankment Gardens, usually lush and green in the spring and summer, full of life and people. He likes it like this, though, cold and quiet and almost like a little secret.

2017 has been good to him. Forefront played seven new countries this year on their world tour in celebration of their sixth studio album. He’s gotten a little better over the years about being more present in those moments rather than looking forward anxiously to the next album and the expectations that surround it. That attitude really spoiled the last few records, but the new friends he’s made in the industry have helped guide him through that. He’s even becoming friends with the Irish guy from One Direction now, though they had very different paths to the music industry. He seems like a cool guy.

Personally, 2017 wasn’t really a banner year. He broke up with Jess in April after almost a full year. He’s had a few of those lately -- relationships that start hot and don’t make it past a year mark. He should take a closer look at that and figure out why he can’t seem to stay in a relationship for longer than 11 months, but he’s too tired to think about it now. It’s been a long fuckin’ year.

It’s been a long ten years, actually, since Joy Ride. He thinks back to the show they played at home in Toronto over the summer to celebrate the big anniversary. They played the whole album start to finish, something they’ve never gotten to do. Being immersed in it like that brings back a lot of memories of that summer when everything really kicked off. Not all those memories are ones Shawn likes to think about.

He doesn’t think about Valentina much. It’s by design. He doesn’t even play “As You Sleep” as often as it’s requested. It just… doesn’t feel healthy for him. He’ll pull it out every once in a while when curiosity gets the best of him, when it’s been long enough that he forgets how sharply he still feels every word of that song. He usually regrets it.

He lets himself wonder about her sometimes, like today when he’s knee deep in nostalgia anyway. He still sees Raf and the other Streets guys. They went on a hiatus for a while around 2013 but are back again recording a new record somewhere in Malibu, from what Shawn’s heard. When he sees them, he doesn’t ask about her. He doesn’t want her knowing he’s asking. And he thinks sometimes he doesn’t want to know what she’s really up to, he’d rather imagine.

He falls into his favorite daydream. He likes to think she stayed in the UK (he always felt like that was the place for her to end up). Maybe she got a job in conservation at Oxford or Cambridge or some other hoity-toity university. Maybe she met a nice, polite, skinny, bookish English guy who looks at her like a miracle every time she speaks to him. Maybe they had a small wedding at his local church and his family loves her because she’s colorful and articulate. Maybe they have dogs -- sheepdogs or setters or something, good country dogs. And maybe they’ve had a little girl.

That’s where he usually shuts the daydream down. For obvious reasons.

But when he doesn’t, he thinks about her and who she might be. He thinks about thick, lush curls flopped over a tiny forehead. He thinks about pouty little lips and a chin dimple that matches her mother’s. He thinks about little feet that kick hard because she’d have to be strong, of course.

Now that he’s letting himself think about it, he thinks maybe she’d look kinda like the kid that’s staring at him, reaching out from her pram that’s parked next to the bench he’s strolling past. He smiles at her and she beams back with a grin that has only two teeth. It makes Shawn laugh.

He glances over at her lucky mum or dad.

And it’s almost like he expected it, like it had to be her. I mean, this kid really couldn’t have been anyone but Val’s. She’s just… so Val.

So when Shawn looks her over, from her sweeping dark curls and her leather trousers and her ankle boots, he’s barely even surprised to see her. He just tips his head back and chuckles at the universe.

“Hey mister,” she calls, and her voice sets his skin rough with goosebumps, “Can I have your autograph?”

Shawn lets go of where he’s holding on to the wrought iron fence above the banks of the Thames and walks over, his chelsea boots scratching at the frosty stone.

She doesn’t stand to greet him. She’s got a similar look on her face, bemused acknowledgement of fate and its tricks, like she was thinking about him too and they both somehow willed this to happen. Her long slender legs are crossed. She has one black leather-gloved hand in the pram in the grasp of her little girl who’s chewing on her finger and no longer paying Shawn any attention.

“Hey, Vally,” he sighs. He doesn’t mean to call her that, it just happens. She doesn’t visibly react beyond a slightly deeper dimple in her cheek, so he figures he scraped by with that one.

“Were you on your way somewhere?” she asks, glancing back as if she realized she might be taking him away from something.

He shakes his head. “No, I just-- I’m staying at the Savoy and I like these gardens. I just wanted a walk.” He has enough presence of mind to pause his music. He doesn’t bother to mention it’s an old Streets song. That she wrote.

“We like it out here. We live over by the Farringdon stop but we take the train out here because we like the waterfowl.”

Val looks down at the pram as she speaks. Shawn takes that as an invitation to acknowledge her more formally.

“Who’s this?” he asks breathlessly.

“This is Alice,” Val replies with as much pride as he’s ever heard from any mother, “Alice Fernanda Moreno, she’s nine months old and very hefty for her age because we run a body positive household and she loves mashed carrot and swede.”

Shawn lifts a hand and waves in that open-close way he does like he’s a big toddler himself. Alice kicks hard and squeals at him.

“She’s… so beautiful,” he marvels. Val’s smug smile tells him she agrees. Shawn doesn’t share his next thought because it feels like a line and he doesn’t want to go there.

Because she looks exactly like you.

“I picked out a real pretty one,” she jokes, tightening the wrap of the thick wool blankets around Alice as she yawns.

Shawn continues staring at her openly, trying to pick out features that could belong to any potential father, but as far as he can tell, Alice is simply a clone of Val. It’s Val’s throat clearing that brings him back.

“Sit, Mendes,” she suggests, patting the warped wooden bench. Shawn lowers himself on the other side of the pram as Val rocks it back and forth with her foot.

“She’s been fussy today, but it’s naptime. She has to give in eventually,” Val mutters like she’s reasoning with herself. Shawn grins.

“You have a daughter.”

Val doesn’t look up from the pram as she rocks it. She just nods and snuggles into her prim peacoat.

“I have a daughter.”

Shawn can’t bring himself to ask. She’s wearing gloves so he can’t see if she’s wearing a ring. He stays quiet and studies her instead.

She looks largely the same, barely even older than she did at 22. Her sense of style is maybe the only thing he can see that’s changed in the ten years since he’s seen her last. There’s something comforting in that.

He wonders if he seems different. He works out more now, eats right. He’s definitely put on a whole lot of muscle since he was scrounging for burger scraps on Warped. He’s gotten a few more tattoos she can’t see. He also has an actual stylist now, which is sometimes weird, but he’s elevated the black skinnies, Vans and band tees to black skinnies, $800 boots and silk button-ups. So there’s that.

He’s still got that lip ring though.

But… he wonders if he seems different. If he carries himself differently. If he comes off more confident, more calm, less wide-eyed and wondering.

Because she seems the same. She’s always glowed from the inside out like this. Maybe the glow feels a little stronger now. Or maybe it’s just because she glows through herself and her baby girl all at once. Shawn sits back and watches them -- he could bathe in it all day.

“You know it’s been ten years?” she breathes.

Shawn nods slowly. “I know. Kinda feels like 40.”

She laughs and a piece of him astral projects back to nights tangled up in her bunk kissing her neck and trying to keep her quiet so her brother won’t come mock them from outside the bunk curtain.

“It does,” she muses, “But sometimes it feels like fifteen minutes ago, too.”

Shawn tips his head back and sniffs, looking up through a tall pine as its needles shiver.

“Has your decade been good to you?” she murmurs. He lifts his head back up. She’s staring down at the baby.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s been great. We’ve toured a lot, done a few more albums. The guys and I, I mean, you know us, we’d push each other in front of a bus most days, but we’re brothers and maybe obsessed with each other, too. We’re on a great ride.”

Val lifts her eyes to his briefly, all too knowingly, and lowers them back to the pram. “That’s good.”

Shawn shakes his head. “That’s not even at all what you meant, was it?”

“Nope.”

Shawn goes quiet, contemplative. Val waits him out until he’s ready.

“It’s harder than I thought it would be,” he chokes finally, “Everything about it. Writing after Joy Ride, it was… it got bad. I mean, I was ok, like fundamentally, but I didn’t feel good. We had so many eyes on us. We had no idea what to do, just like no one else does. Some tours were great, some were bad. And the whole deal makes everything else harder. It’s hard on my family, my friends. I… I haven’t been in an actual good relationship in… five years, at least. This year was better. We’ve gotten our feet back under us. I let it all out in the last album, and that helped.”

“I know, I heard it.”

Shawn looks up from Val’s hands in the pram. For the first time all morning, he’s really, truly shocked to the bone.

“You did?”

Val doesn’t answer him exactly, just mutters something about needing to get the baby inside and announces they’ll head down the lane for a cup of tea. She leads them to a little corner coffee shop made for hipsters, not for women with very expensive prams, but Val doesn’t seem to care and parks in the corner by the fire. She layers down, stripping off her scarf and coat to a black turtleneck. Her cheeks go warm as she settles in and orders for them.

Shawn keeps his mouth shut and tries not to do the mental math of how many of the songs he’s released in the last ten years have been written about her, and exactly how many of them she might have noticed are definitely, totally written about her.

She folds her manicured hands together and looks up at him. His brain mercifully shuts off.

“It took a while after that summer for me to get there, but about three years later, I was around Oxford with some friends and I saw your latest album, on vinyl no less, in some indie record store. I suddenly got this feeling that I had to stop my whole life for a minute and go in and buy it. I bought it and the one that came before it, I said goodbye to my friends and I shut myself up in my flat for a couple days with a bottle of whiskey and just… let it happen.”

Shawn winces. “Wish you’d have just skipped over Making Midnight.”

Val smirks. “I wish I had, too.”

Shawn scoffs and leans back in his chair, mock offended. Val giggles and dumps an ungodly amount of sugar in her Earl Grey.

“I was glad to just hear your voice again, actually. I’d done a good job of avoiding it. Too good, maybe, because it was a real shock to the system when I heard it again.”

Shawn knows how that feels. He went through a Val cleanse too, a much shorter one because he doesn’t have her willpower. And then he heard a song she wrote with Alex Gaskarth for All Time Low’s Dirty Work and he let her back in.

“From then, I just bought your records when they came out. I really loved this last one. It really… I dunno, it just really felt like you, I guess.”

Shawn keeps his head down as he stares at his tea. He hears Alice coo. He looks up to see Val lifting her out of her pram to bounce her in her lap, baby in one arm, cup of tea in the other.

“God, it’s so fuckin’ good to see you,” he croaks, shaking his head a little, “Especially…”

He trails off, unwilling to finish. He ducks his head again.

“Especially with a kid I wasn’t sure I’d ever get to have?” Val guesses.

Shawn glances up and nods.

“Do you want to hear about this?” Val murmurs, ignoring Alice as she yanks at some silky curls.

Shawn chews on his lower lip. “Yeah, I think I do.”

It’s Val’s turn to look down. She stirs the mountain of slowly dissolving sugar at the bottom of her mug and sighs.

“She’s just mine. Last year I started to get a little anxious about my biological clock, especially given the last time I got pregnant. I saw a fertility specialist and we discussed my history and she agreed if I want to have children, it’s probably better to start now. So I went in for IVF. On the second cycle, I got pregnant with Alice. The pregnancy was complicated, but my doctor was a saint and did everything absolutely right. The birth went perfectly. So now it’s me and Alice against the world.”

Shawn slides his tongue against his lower lip, taps his foot impatiently against the leg of his chair. “Just you two?”

“Just us two,” Val replies easily, “There were a couple guys in and out before her, but I haven’t gone out with anyone since I got pregnant. I didn’t feel the need. I just wanted to focus on her. I’m glad I did.”

They’re quiet for a few minutes, reflective. Then Val stands and looks down at him.

“Would you mind holding her for a minute? I need to use the loo.”

Shawn bites his lip and nods, standing to complete the transfer. Alice is asleep in her mother’s arms, but, as Val explains with a chuckle, “she’s a snuggle whore -- she’ll go with anybody for a little cuddle.”

Shawn sits. Alice curls up against his chest and pops her tiny lips in her sleep. She radiates warmth from her little swaddled bundle. As he stares down at her, Shawn fundamentally understands why Val hasn’t needed anyone else in her life since Alice arrived. He thinks if Val let him, he’d never put her down.

Alice stretches a tiny arm out in her sleep and punches Shawn in the chest. He snickers, jostling his little bundle, but it doesn’t wake her. He starts to get comfortable, sliding down in the chair a bit so he can rock her, but Val’s hand on his shoulder startles him.

“It’s ok,” she says, “Keep her, if she’s not fussing. I’d rather she stay asleep.”

Shawn nods eagerly and strokes Alice’s back with his long, rough fingers. Val sits across the table with her elbows propped up like she’s physically restraining herself to keep from snatching her child out of his arms. It makes Shawn grin.

“You ok over there?”

Val blushes, caught. “It’s usually just the two of us. I don’t ever have to share her. I’m not used to jonesing.”

“I’ll give her back if you want,” Shawn mumbles reluctantly. Val giggles.

“No, it’s ok. She looks happy.”

Shawn hums. She does look happy.

“So are you working?” he asks quietly, not wanting to wake Alice.

Val nods. “We are, we work at the V&A in the medieval department. We just started back about a month ago after my maternity leave. The museum’s been very generous. They let me walk around with her strapped to my chest all day. She helps consult on various matters, charms my coworkers into letting me leave bottles of breastmilk in every fridge in the museum. I shifted from conservation to curation a few years ago, which is a steadier, more lucrative track. I think it’ll be better for us.”

Us. We’re working at the V&A. We started back at the museum. Shawn’s enamored. He goes pink and brushes through the curls on the back of Alice’s neck.

“Sounds like you’ve got a great partner here,” he quips.

Val is quiet for a minute. “We’re very happy together. But we get a little lonely sometimes. Like when it’s cold and mummy really doesn’t want to get out of bed but Alice is screaming bloody murder. Those are the only moments when this isn’t the greatest thing in the whole world.”

Shawn looks up. Val is watching him carefully. Before he can speak, she swallows and lowers her gaze.

“But we get along, you know. We’re ok.”

“Yeah,” Shawn says, “I know you are.”

They chat. They talk about Raf and his wife Rachel and their little ones -- Val and Alice will be heading across the pond to spend Christmas with them and her parents. They talk about Bea and how she’s spent five years with the same guy up in Edinburgh and she seems actually happy. They talk about their near miss at Alex’s wedding last April -- she came for the ceremony but had to skip out of the reception, Shawn the opposite. They chat through several more cups of tea, an array of pastries, and another nap cycle until it’s dark and quiet outside. Val stares mournfully out the window as she puts on her jacket with Alice back in her pram, gurgling quietly.

Shawn is silent, brow furrowed. He pays the tab with a ghost of a smile and thinks about walking back to his hotel to sit in his room with the TV to try to drown out this day. It’s… unappealing to say the least.

They walk to the door. Shawn holds it open for Val and Alice and considers that they probably look to anyone else like a young family that spent the day together and are headed home to a warm dinner and a cozy night in.

Val’s heart pounds in her ears faster than their boots’ steps on the crunchy ground. She wants to swallow the words, but she doesn’t think she can. Not with him.

“Would you like to walk us home?” she breathes.

Shawn’s smile is extraordinary. He looks up from Alice’s curious brown eyes.

“Yes, please.”

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yourmandevine · 5 years

Text

Come on, come on, come on: get through it

NOTE: A lot of people who have read this have shared their condolences and well wishes, which is really nice. Some have also asked if there was anything they could do for Sean’s family, which is amazing. If you’re able and feel moved to, there is: There’s a college fund for Winnie. Thanks to everyone who has reached out.

***

One of the best friends I’ll ever have died on November 29, after a fight with cancer. He was 36, and he leaves a wife and a young daughter, all of which is an infuriating sin. I’ve been trying to find a way to sit with that. I’m not sure how well I’ve been doing.

I gave the eulogy at his funeral mass. Whenever I’ve talked to people about that, they have apologized to me, have said they were so sorry that I got asked to do that, that I had to do that. It’s weird: I never looked at it like that.

I feel so lucky that I got to know Sean Enos-Robertson -- to really know him, what he cared about, what he loved, what made him so special. You rarely get to know anybody like that, and when you do, sometimes you don’t wind up liking what you see. That never happened with Sean; he was a font of joy, someone who lived to make the lives of others just a little bit better. His wife asked me if I’d write something down and talk to people about this beautiful, amazing person I was so lucky to know. That wasn’t a burden. It was a privilege. An honor.

And now, a few weeks later, as I’m trying to figure out how to process this, I keep thinking that I’d like to share that.

You guys won’t get to know Sean, which is so, so decidedly your loss. But maybe this lets you know how much he meant to me, to us, and to so many other people, and it makes you think about the people who mean this much to you. And maybe you tell them.

Maybe you tell them while you have the chance, because telling people you care about them, and who they are in your life, and why you love who they are full stop is one of the best things there is, and there’s never a wrong time for it so long as it’s before the end. I got to tell Sean how I felt before he died, and I got to tell his family, and his friends, and his students -- my God, his students -- and now I’m telling you. Sean Enos-Robertson was brilliant, the best, a light in a lot of lives. I miss him, and I love him, and I always will. Here’s why.

***

Hello, everybody. My name is Dan Devine, and I'm a friend of Sean's. I am a friend of Sean's. I'm not going to use the past tense for that; it didn't stop being true last Thursday, and it's never going to.

On behalf of Courtney and Winnie, and of the Robertson and Enos families, I'd like to thank you for being here. In a broad sense, Sean believed in community: in the power of people uniting for a common good. More specifically, Sean believed in love. He loved his family — his wife and daughter, his parents and in-laws, his brother and grandmother. He loved his friends. He loved his students and colleagues. He loved the people he leaned on, and who leaned on him — those of us here today, and many others who couldn't make it, but are sharing their love, and our grief.

Sean was one of my favorite people. He was magnetic. He was invigorating. He was cool as hell.

Sean radiated. He was a candle: someone who lit up and warmed every room he walked into, every person whose life he touched. This ... this is a tough room to light up. So we're going to have to do it together.

Before we do it, though, I want to acknowledge a hard truth I've been sitting with, and that you might be sitting with, too. It is deeply, impossibly unfair that Sean is gone — that he was taken from us so soon. Too soon. Way, way, WAY too soon. That's real, and it's OK to feel that.

In my better moments, though, I can set that aside and make room for gratitude — that Sean walked into my life in the first place, that I got as much time with him as I did, and that I got so much exposure to such a shining example of how to love.

There's a song by Tom Petty that I really love called "Walls." There's a line in the chorus that goes, "You got a heart so big, it could crush this town." That was Sean. Sean loved openly, fearlessly, completely — he hugged like you could win medals for it. He loved with everything he had, with his whole body. And if you don't believe that, then you never saw my man dance.

He loved music, and especially sharing it — I don't think anybody made me more mix CDs to try to put me onto something that I hadn't heard. (I'm pretty sure I have about five different "best of Blur" mixes. Sean really loved Blur.)

youtube

I met Sean at Providence College in the fall of 2000, right near the start of our freshman year. I'd seen him around at meetings for people who wanted to apply for shows on the college radio station, WDOM, but we didn't become friends right away. I know exactly when that happened: October 29, 2000. (I looked it up.)

That night, Mike Doughty, the singer from Soul Coughing, played a solo show at the Met Cafe in downtown Providence. I took the PC shuttle downtown by myself to catch the show, and somewhere around the weird acoustic cover of "Real Love" by Mary J. Blige, I saw that tall, skinny dude again. We awkwardly sidled up to one another to watch the show, and wound up walking back to campus together. We talked about bands and school and the station and whatever else two 18-year-olds talk about, all the way back home, and that was that. From that moment on, that was my man.

We hung out a lot, as evidenced by the staggering number of old photos I've looked through recently in which one or both of us had extremely tragic haircuts, facial hair, or sideburns. We lived together for two wonderful years in an awful apartment in Cranston, R.I.

The first year, we lived with our friend Todd. We had two parking spots for three cars, so one of us would always be blocking somebody in. Whenever it was time for the blocked-in person to get out, he'd ask, "Are you behind me?" And always, every time, Sean would answer, "100 percent, man."

It was this small, dumb thing, but it always made me laugh. Sean was really good at that.

We learned how to be adults together, finishing school and trying to figure out how to pursue our passions. After searching a little, Sean found his. In 2007, he took a job teaching history to middle schoolers at Harlem Academy. He shared with scores of students his belief in civic responsibility, in actively engaging with our nation's past, in interrogating history to learn about how we got where we are and how we might make decisions about our future. He loved teaching, and he was incredible at it. In 2016, the Gilder-Lehrman Institute of American History named him the New York State History Teacher of the Year, and they don't just give that out.

Sean's commitment to his students went beyond the classroom. I got a much clearer picture of that when Courtney sent me a note she received after his passing from one of his students, sharing both condolences and her memory of Mr. Robertson as someone who "would always reach out to me when he thought I needed it." One day, in eighth grade, this student confided in Sean that she thought she wanted to be an artist. She braced for stereotypical adult dismissal, the classic speech about "getting a real job."

Instead, she got a giant smile and an inspiring conversation about Courtney's job as a graphic designer, about that being a real path, and about how she might be able to realize her dream. Courtney invited her to visit her job to see firsthand how it was done, and that it could be done. She's kept that dream throughout high school, and now into college, thanks in part to Sean's willingness to listen, to care, and to open his life to a student in need. I'm willing to bet there are a lot more stories like that.

The student concluded her note with a beautiful sentiment: "I pray that you and Winnie and the rest of Mr. Robertson's family and friends are able to find peace and comfort, and I pray that you are able to think of him and feel peace and joy, because I genuinely think that's what he would want." I think she's exactly right. Sean wanted to lift people's spirits, to lighten their moods; on the day he invited some of us Brooklyn friends over to tell us that his fight was coming to an end, he kept moving back and forth among playlists of incidental music, setting a soundtrack to hum underneath all the laughs and tears and reminiscing. Even then, dude was still DJing.

We learned how to be somebody's partner, and eventually somebody's husband, together. Sean met Courtney in 2002, and as I remember it, he knew very, very quickly that he'd hit the jackpot. I'm sure that they had their share of tough times over the years, especially recently, but they always seemed immensely supportive of one another. Their love, from the outside, always seemed easy, in that way that let you know it was right, secure for the long haul.

Something Sean and I had in common, and that I've always felt grateful for, is that we always knew our magnetic north. Everything in our life oriented around the person we wanted to spend it with, and wherever work or school or whatever tossed us, we could always go back to that, back to our person, and get pointed in the right direction. Courtney was his compass, his best reason for doing everything.

When they were going to get married, Sean asked me to stand up with him as his best man, and to give a toast. I dug that toast out of a box last week, and here's the part that matters: "I think that all guys — the honest ones, at least — will admit that the women in our lives do a lot of the heavy lifting in helping us become decent, valuable men. And this is no exception [...] When Sean called to tell me that he and Courtney had gotten engaged, the first thing I remember thinking is, 'They deserve each other.'"

Their time together deserved a better ending than this. But what came before — the 16 years of knowing this great a love was possible, the nine years of marriage, the two and a half years of Winnie's life? That was exactly what they deserved.

Courtney is one of the strongest, fiercest, most remarkable people I've ever met — a woman who has faced unimaginable challenges and kept putting one foot in front of the other. I can't fathom what today is like for you, Courtney, but I want you to know: we are going to be awesome for you and Winnie right now. And tomorrow, and the next day, and all the days after that. I'm sorry, but you're stuck with us.

We learned how to be fathers together. Sean was there for me when my Siobhan was born, ready to cradle this tiny thing in his arms and envelop us with love, and to look me in my bloodshot, frantic eyes and let me know that I didn't have to be OK, because I was never going to be alone with it all. I wanted to do the same for him when Winnie was born, but Sean never seemed to need it. He was just ready: all open arms and full heart and perfect love.

Winnie is amazing, and brave, and funny, just like her dad. She's one of my favorite people, too, and I ache for her. But I'm also so grateful that there are so many people who will line up to tell her just how fantastic her father was. She will always know how special he was, and how special she was to him, and how much he loved her. We'll make sure of that. It might be the most important thing any of us do once we leave here today.

This hurts. This is hard. It's not supposed to go like this. But we don't get to make these kinds of choices. All we can do is deal with the fallout.

I'd ask you to remember the words of Sean's student: "I pray that you are able to think of him and feel peace and joy." Sean Enos-Robertson spent 36 years doing everything he could to bring peace and joy to everybody he met. Sean loved with his whole soul, and we can do that, too. We can do that for him. Let's be candles. Let's radiate.

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memeclains-blog · 6 years

Text

Monster Mash

some light smut at the end, just a forewarning

ao3 link

Lance was rummaging through his closet, popping his hips to the generic Halloween playlist that was blasting through his room. The sun had just barely retreated behind the horizon and Lance was already actively in search of an outfit. Usually, this would be too early for Lance to willingly rise, but tonight was a special night, which meant Lance had to look his best.

He was tossing every cute outfit combination he could onto his bed. Humming and scratching his head over each new idea that arose. It was hard work but he thought he had figured something out within half an hour. He was just tugging his jacket on when Pidge burst through his door.

“It is seven o’clock,” she said. Her eyes didn’t even look like they were opened.

“Yep!” Lance said. “I’m surprised it took you this long to aggressively tell me the time.”

Hunk popped his head into the room, rubbing his eyes. He said with a small smile, “You know she sleeps like the dead.”

Lance groaned, and Pidge shoved Hunk hard enough for him to stumble out of the doorway. When he came back with his smirk, Lance shook his head. His attentions quickly turned to himself though when he caught a glance of his reflection in the mirror. He cocked his hips and admired the way his ass totally popped in his pink jeans. With the pastel blue v-neck and the holo jacket, his look was one for the magazines. He did a little twirl and asked Pidge and Hunk, “What do you think?”

“I think you’re a piss poor excuse for a vampire,” Pidge muttered and trudged back to her room.

“I think you look good,” Hunk said. “Although, she’s right. You don’t look very goth.”

“I never look goth,” Lance said. “I’ll drink someone’s blood covered head to toe in body glitter.”

“But it’s Halloween,” Hunk frowned. “You aren’t going to get carried away with the aesthetic? I’m totally wearing a cape tonight, dude.”

“I’m prioritizing being cute this year.” Lance took his jacket off and draped it carefully on his bed. Now came the laborious task of reorganizing his massacred closet. That was the real nightmare of Halloween.

Hunk shrugged and wandered off, leaving Lance to sort through his mess. He only got so far before something caught his attention--the something he had been trying to ignore for the past three weeks. It was a black jacket, shoved to the very corner of his closet, hidden behind his winter coat. His hands twitched towards it, but he didn’t allow himself to touch. He couldn’t. Because touching it for the sake of touching it would mean that he was too far gone for its owner--for Keith--and that was dangerous.

He didn’t know when this had become such a problem. In the beginning, he only had a mere fixation on creating a stereotypical rivalry between himself and a werewolf. Keith had been the perfect candidate. They had met through Allura, the fae whose Halloween party they would be attending that night and Keith had immediately been able to rub him in all the wrong ways. Eventually, though, there was a shift between them. Lance began enjoying their simulated arguments. The fights, the competitions, became fictional. And then they had begun texting, talking, calling each other independent of the others.

Maybe Lance had always thought of Keith as attractive, but he had never held this painful tenderness for him. Or so he thought. Then, there was another shift and this time Lance was sure he knew when it began.

There had been a night months ago where Pidge and Hunk hadn’t been home. They hadn’t been there when he needed a shoulder to cry on and a chest to heave his heavy breaths into. He had been unraveling at the seams and the only person he could think to go to had been Keith. Lance had never flown anywhere so fast and when he’d finally made it to Keith’s apartment he fell apart. Lance had poured his heart into Keith’s lap about everything that had pained him since his vampirism had taken root. He missed the sun, he missed the beach, he missed garlic knots, but most of all he missed his family.

Keith had been terrible with advice and even worse with comforting. But Lance found just being with him had lifted the weight off his heart. When he returned to his own bed that morning, he could only think of Keith and his awkward patting, and fumbled words. He thought of him so hard that a switch flipped and suddenly he was no longer just thinking, he was yearning.

Lance had thought he could ignore it, thought he could bury it deeper than his own grave had been. He didn’t want these romantic feelings for someone he knew it would be painful to love. Keith was beautiful, honest, emotional, and willing to give all the love in the world to the people he came to know. Lance couldn’t take that, not with a mortal.

But then the night Keith had left his jacket marked yet another shift. Another breaking point.

---

Keith had left the jacket there weeks ago. It was rare for him to come over but he’d arrived at their doorstep soaked from head to toe, complaining that Shiro had pestered him into coming over. Lance could not for the life of him understand why Shiro had decided it was a good idea to visit when the rain was coming down hard enough to flood the streets. He had ushered Keith in quickly and when he entered he immediately shrugged out of his soaked jacket. Hunk fussed and brought it to the dryer and then it was just Keith and Lance. Until Shiro materialized and began puttering around the living room with a distracted “Hey, Lance.”

Keith nodded at Lance’s bedroom and slunk off. It had taken a moment but Lance had followed him and left the entertainment of Shiro to Hunk. Seeing Keith sitting at the edge of his bed, hunched over and rubbing at his temple threw any bafflement Lance had out the window.

“I needed a friend,” Keith said. He dropped his hand and stared at the carpet.

This was Lance’s cue to tentatively take a seat beside him and try his best not to stare too hard at Keith’s glassy eyes and scrunched brows.

“What happened?”

Keith shrugged. “Just been a bad day.”

“That can’t be all,” Lance said. Keith shrugged again. Silence wasn’t Lance’s best friend, but it was Keith’s. They sat silently for a while before Keith finally opened up.

“Shiro doesn’t trust me to handle myself during the next full moon,” Keith had said. He clung to his necklace and toyed with the small, black lion that hung from the chain. Shiro, unlike most ghosts, was not bound to a place, but an object--the necklace. And Shiro, unlike most people, never distrusted Keith. The fact that he was now was an anomaly of the worst proportions.

But last month had been bad. Keith had nearly exposed himself and, even worse, he had gotten into multiple fights with the other werewolves around town and nearly died on Lance’s front step. Lance could remember seeing him for the first time clearly, it was branded into his mind. Deep scratches had marred his face and bruises had covered him from head to toe. He was a mangled slab of meat more than their Keith. Shiro had been frantic. He could only interact with the living world so much, and carrying Keith to a hospital was out of the question. Luckily, they had been close by and Shiro had urged Keith along until they were close enough for Shiro to bang on their door.

Keith had barely been conscious. Lance would understand if that night was a vague blot in his memory. That would explain why Keith was so upset, because it meant he didn’t remember the look in Shiro’s eyes. Lance had never seen him like that, with eyes so big and breaths so short. Ghosts weren’t meant to feel much, emotionally, unless they were put under great distress and Lance had witnessed Shiro fall apart and crumble. He was only okay again when Keith was.

“He’s worried about you,” Lance said.

Keith hunched in on himself. “He said I should lock myself up in case I go out again.”

Lance had no idea how that would work, considering they lived in an apartment and had nothing substantial to hold Keith once he wolfed out. But he could see the reason why Shiro would bring such a thing up, even if it would hurt Keith.

“I’m not sure he meant that,” Lance began. “You should have seen him last month, dude. He was not okay. And I totally get why he would be concerned about this month too.”

“You agree that I should chain myself up like some fucking monster?” Keith said. His eyes flashed yellow and he shot up.

“Hey, hey,” Lance said, holding his hands out. “Easy. I wasn’t saying that. I don’t think it’s the best solution, you’d just wreck your apartment. All I’m saying is I understand why he’d say that.” Lance stood too and stuffed his hands into his pockets. “You were in bad shape that night. We were all worried about you, but, honestly, I think Shiro was the worst off. Seriously, I wonder sometimes--I wonder if--if anything worse happened that night--gods, maybe Shiro would have turned into a shade if something happened.”

Keith looked away and Lance took the opportunity to tug at the hem of his shirt and make him sit again. “Look, I don’t think you should chain yourself up in your apartment but go somewhere you know you’ll be safe and don’t leave. If you aren’t going to do it for yourself, at least do it for Shiro.”

Keith wouldn’t look up, but after a few minutes of consideration, he nodded.

Lance sighed and let the tension run from his shoulders. He threw himself onto his bed with a loud groan. “You’re a real piece of work sometimes.”

“I know,” Keith said and flicked his forehead. “But you’re worse.”

“Am not.” Lance shoved his arm away.

“Are too.” And Keith shoved him back.

Lance laughed and sat up. He hadn’t noticed that Keith had leaned over him for their roughhousing but when he was up their noses practically touched. There were a few dangerous moments where neither of them thought to move away. Lance looked into his eyes and, not for the first time, marveled at their deep purple color. Everything hidden behind those irises was an intensity Lance had always been drawn to. Tonight, there was a flicker of a flame he had never witnessed in Keith’s eyes before. He nearly closed the gap between them. They were so close, all it would take was a tilt of his head and they would be--Lance pounced to his feet.

“Go talk to your brother,” he croaked. Kissing Keith wasn’t a foreign thought but Lance didn’t know if he was ready for that. Keith’s lifespan was a problem that Lance didn’t want to face. Flings were one thing, but Lance didn’t have flings with his friends. When he began having romantic thoughts for a friend, he got sucked into their everything. There was no way things could be casual. But a serious relationship with someone who would age and die was not something Lance wanted to tackle. He was twenty-five and had only been that age for one extra year. Understanding his lack of mortality was enough to make him dizzy and understanding that his partner couldn’t take that journey with him was nauseating. Kissing Keith would be a mistake, but if Keith stayed any longer it was a mistake Lance would undoubtedly make.

Keith stood. He didn’t look like he wanted to leave, but Lance turned just that little bit away to make Keith suck in a breath and leave the room. Lance heard Keith, Shiro, and Hunk talking for a minute before the front door opened and shut.

Hunk appeared a moment later, letting the door creak open to announce his arrival. When Lance didn’t immediately tell him to leave, Hunk came up to him and rested a hand on his shoulder. “What happened?”

“Shiro and Keith had a fight,” Lance said. “They’ll be okay though.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Hunk said. When Lance didn’t say anything, Hunk shook him lightly. “Talk to me, man.”

“I think I have feelings for Keith,” Lance said. He studied his hands and wondered when things had gotten this bad. These feelings weren’t meant to go any further than a stupid, stupid crush.

“Oh.” Hunk knew what this meant to him. “I’m sorry, man.”

Lance nodded. “I almost kissed him. I had to kick him out, if I didn’t I would have done it.”

Hunk squeezed his shoulder and said quietly, “Would that have been such a bad thing?”

“We aren’t meant to mix.”

Hunk let his hand drop and he retreated out of the room. But he came back only a minute later and offered Lance a jacket.

“Keith rushed out of here and forgot this.” When Lance didn’t take it, Hunk set it on his bed. “You should return it to him.”

---

Lance hadn’t returned it yet. That had been at the beginning of the month and Lance hadn’t so much as texted Keith. But Keith hadn’t reached out to him either. Which hurt, even though that was what Lance had hoped for that night. The logical side of him and the rest were in disagreement. He was smart enough to know that he might not be able to handle a relationship like that yet. But he was still stupid enough to want Keith.

Keith, who would undoubtedly be at the Halloween party tonight. Every year, Allura left the fae world for an entire night and threw a party in her castle. She and Shiro were good friends, which meant Shiro attended every year. And where Shiro was, Keith was. Always.

Lance reached for the jacket. He might as well do it tonight.

---

Hunk drove them to Allura’s castle two hours before midnight, when the party officially began. They ended up in an obscure road which they pulled off of to go down a rutted path barely visible through the bed of fallen leaves. Trees towered over them in terrible shadows and enclosed them in a tunnel void of light. Their headlights couldn’t reach far enough in the all consuming dark.

It felt like hours before the trees parted and revealed the Castle sitting atop a craggy hill, surrounded by dark, swirling clouds.

“Wow,” Hunk said. In that moment, a flash of lightening cracked the sky and thunder rumbled the earth. “Wow. Allura really went all-out, huh?”

“I’m honestly so proud of her,” Lance said. He hopped out of the car once Hunk wedged himself into a free space amidst the cluster of other cars. “The drama is stunning.”

Pidge smiled. “This is definitely a castle I’d like to live in. Think Allura will want to be roomies?”

“Uh, no,” Hunk said. “We need your rent money, don’t even think about it.”

“Glad to know you’re keeping me around because you love me.”

Lance laughed and followed them up the decrepit trail that led to the Castle. Keith’s bike taunted him at the edge of the DIY parking lot. It glistened in the moonlight just far enough out of his line of sight to force him to turn his head, despite his initial stubborn resistance. He tightened his hold on Keith’s jacket.

Hunk glanced at him. “You okay?” Lance only nodded, to which Hunk and Pidge exchanged a wordless look. “Want to leave the jacket in the car?”

This was Lance’s out.

He shook his head.

“No, no, I’ll be good.” He tossed his winning smile at him. “We just gotta sort some shit out and then we’ll be back at each other’s throats in no time.”

“Christ, if I start seeing more hickeys on your neck than skin--” Pidge muttered.

“Shut up.” Lance whipped her with the jacket and half-heartedly chased after her when she shot off with a taunting laugh. The steep slope quickly forced him to slow to a walk. He leaned over his knees and groaned. “Can’t Allura have made the path wider so we could, you know, drive up there.”

“We could always fly,” Pidge said. She turned and smiled at him. “Race you.”

In a small puff of smoke, a black bat replaced her human form and raced to the front door.

“Oh, like hell I’m letting her beat me. Hunk, come on!”

With that, the world began to warp around him as his eyesight dwindled to almost nothing. He shot up a few feet as his wings adjusted to the sudden weight difference between a healthy man and a flying rodent. There was a moment, as there always was, where he thought he would be sick all over the trodden path Allura had no doubt put too much effort into manifesting. He pushed the nausea away and shot off after Pidge, shoving and biting when she tried to block his path.

They reached the doors quickly as they bypassed the trail completely and shot themselves over the cliffs, close enough that Lance could feel the scrape of jutting rocks against the web of his wings. At the threshold of the Castle, Pidge changed back before her velocity slammed her little body into the door and caught herself with her hands. Lance attempted to copy her but ended up in a graceless heap at her feet.

“I win,” Pidge panted.

Hunk landed behind them with a small oof. “Great race you guys.”

“It would have only been great if I won,” Lance whined. He dusted off Keith’s jacket and picked himself up just as the door swung open. Coran was standing at the threshold, garbed in a cheap pirate’s costume. Lance almost wished he’d decided to dress up this year, but he really wanted to look cute. He glanced at Keith’s jacket and tried not to think on that anymore.

“Ah! You’ve made it!” Coran said. “Welcome! Do not be frightened by the phantasmagoric sights that await you in the Castle of Lions!” He swept his arm behind him, leading their gazes to the foyer where the party was already engulfed in the loud, erratic throes of Halloween.

Floating candles were the only solace from the pitch dark of the room. Cobwebs clung to every surface. Old portrait paintings of people long dead hung on the walls. Lance was fairly sure he saw a few of them move in the corner of his eye. The decorations were stunning and Lance had to persuade Allura into spilling her deepest decoration secrets. But creeping and crawling underneath and in-between all the decorations was what truly made Halloween--the monster mash.

Goblins scurried under-foot shouting and screaming bloody murder. Ghouls hung near the rafters and viewed the party beneath them with glowing, red eyes. A few swooped violently near the crowd, exciting a few cries and laughs as they dive-bombed the writhing mass of earth-bound creatures. Mummies and zombies shuffled here and there, werewolves howled and tore their clothing as they allowed themselves to half transform. Vampires flashed their fangs, fae flitted here and there and shot sultry looks to anyone who approached.

Lance could feel the bass deep in his chest as Halloween music rang into the night. But it was the Halloween music Lance knew, not the pop-culture human stuff that made the rounds. These were the bone-shivering instrumentals composed by the fae, the teeth-shattering rock of the werewolves, and the weeping melodies of the vampires.

Lance grabbed Hunk’s and Pidge’s wrists and dragged them into the mash with a shout.

Then they were dancing. Lance slung Keith’s jacket over his shoulder and lost himself in the music. He rolled his hips and pumped his fist to the beat and tried his best to keep track of Hunk and Pidge, but it was only a matter of time before he lost them and began dancing with whoever asked him. Time seeped by him, its only marker the growing population of the creatures of the night.

Eventually, though, he stumbled into someone familiar.

“Lance?” he said. Lance ground to a halt before he tipped any further and caught himself. He turned around and saw Shiro. Everyone else was passing through him as if he wasn’t there at all. Lance wouldn’t have known he was visible to others if not for the many eyes that studied Shiro up and down.

“Hey, Shiro!” Lance said. He flicked his eyes around for any sign of Keith. Shiro could only wander from his necklace so far, about the length of a nice apartment, before he was stopped by an invisible force. Usually, this meant that Shiro and Keith hardly ever left each other’s field of vision. But the party was in full swing and there was no way of keeping track of anyone at this point. Lance let himself relax.

“Have you seen Keith?” Shiro asked. “I lost him.”

“Nope, haven’t seen a mullet around,” Lance said.

Shiro nodded. “Will you help me look for him? I don’t want to go too far.”

Lance almost wanted to say no. He had been having such a good time, he wasn’t quite sure he was ready to part with that feeling. If he found Keith, they were sure to have the conversation they had both so studiously avoided. He could put it off a bit longer, saying no would be so easy.

“Okay.”

“Great,” Shiro said. “Why don’t you check over there?”

He pointed at the grand staircase that led to the upper parts of the Castle. Lance didn’t mention that Shiro had just come from that direction and nodded. He shimmied through the crowd as best he could and tried to stay focused as more than one person fluidly pressed up against his chest and back. More than once, he nearly pressed back just to pretend for a little longer that Keith wasn’t there, waiting to yell at him for being such a massive dick. Instead, he smiled at the dancers and eased past, keeping a look out for his werewolf.

An hour before midnight, he found him. Keith was pressed into a corner next to the staircase with his arms folded and his chin tucked against his chest. Lance paused, at the very edge of the crowd now. He could step back and become one with the mass of bodies again. But all he could bring himself to do was stare. Keith was handsome in the low light of the foyer. Shadows danced across his face, covering what might have been seen behind the curtain of hair framing his face. He wore a leather jacket that hugged his broad shoulders and boots that seemed a size too big. Lance had always teased that he was the real vampire, but he would be lying if he said he didn’t think Keith’s whole aesthetic wasn’t something that had drawn him in from the very first day. As if he didn’t have a say in the matter, he stepped forward and closed the gap between himself and Keith.

“Hey,” he said when he was close enough for Keith to hear him over the music. Keith looked up with wide eyes. “Shiro was looking for you.”

“Oh?” Keith blinked. “Did he want me take his necklace back or...?”

“Uh, I don’t know.” Lance shrugged. He had been under the impression that the reason Shiro had been looking for him was because he had the necklace. “He didn’t say anything other than he was looking for you. Where’s his necklace?”

“With Allura,” Keith said. “He said he wanted to hang out with her.” It was Keith’s turn to shrug. “I’ll go look for him.”

Lance caught his arm before he was able to get too far. He was beginning to suspect their friends had planned this. Or, at least if they hadn’t, it was a good time anyhow to bite the bullet. “Wait.” Keith backed away quickly and Lance tried not to let the twinge in his chest grow. At least Keith stayed. “We--we should talk.”

Keith looked away. He pursed his lips and Lance readied himself for a rejection. Instead, Keith nodded his head slowly. “We should.”

Keith led them up the stairwell and they wandered until they found a secluded lounge. The room was lit with a low light that was brighter than the lighting in the foyer. Lance could see large sofas arranged in an intimate square and bookshelves taller than they were. Keith sat on one sofa and Lance decided he would sit on the one in front of him. The distance would help put him at ease, hopefully.

“So,” Keith said. Lance waited for a moment but it didn’t seem that Keith would say anymore.

“So,” Lance began. “How was the full moon?”

“Fine,” Keith said. “I took your advice.”

“It was only a matter of time before you realized I was right,” Lance said with a smile. He leaned against the back of the sofa. This was something he could do, something he was familiar with. “Now if only you’d realize I’m right all the time.”

“That’ll never happen,” Keith said. He looked down at his hands and was silent for a few long moments. “Hunk hinted at something the other night, you know, that--that means you aren’t always right.” He stood and began pacing the length of the sofas, ran a hand down his face. “Are you worried your immortality is going to be a problem for me? Because if you do, you’re wrong.”

Lance was stunned into silence. He hadn’t been aware that Hunk and Keith had been speaking about him, but even more than that he hadn’t been aware that Keith had been thinking about this. What happened that night had clearly been mutual, but Lance didn’t think Keith would give him a second chance. He didn’t think that Keith would want to speak to him again after being rejected without even an apology or explanation.

“That’s--that’s not exactly right,” Lance said. He looked down at his feet. “I’m a little more selfish than you’re giving me credit for.”

“So it’s a problem for you?”

Lance nodded. He finally looked up and found Keith completely still and looking at him with those deep, endless eyes of his. “If things work out between us--” he had to look down again and force himself to swallow. “If things work out between us that’s going to hurt the most. Because I’ll have to realize you’ve gone all gray one day. I’ll have to realize that I won’t have forever with you.”

“Lance,” Keith said. “That’s idiotic. Thinking of the future doesn’t sound right coming from you.”

“It’s not like I can ignore this,” Lance growled. “Last I checked we aren’t living in a Twilight novel. Werewolves age just the same as humans and I don’t know if I’m ready to want you, knowing I’ll have to say goodbye.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“You will,” Lance said. “You’re going to leave me. Like my family will. I don’t know how many losses I can take, Keith.”

“You were always going to see me die,” Keith said.

“What?” Lance said. He felt the earth drop from under him. There was no way to interpret that lightly. Especially because he knew, once upon a time, that Keith’s mental state had thrown him into a dark pit not even Shiro knew he could escape.

“Not like that, you know I wouldn’t. Not when I have you guys and Shiro. I just meant--I meant that I’m an idiot with almost no self-preservation. I mean, you saw what happened to me last month. And even if I get old enough for a stiff wind to break my hips--you’ve always been the stronger one out of the two of us. My death isn’t something that you’d have been able to escape even as a mortal.”

Lance buried his face in his hands and breathed out a laugh. “Way to cheer a guy up, Keith.”

“I just mean that we wouldn’t have thought about that bullshit if we were both mortal. Me dying before you wouldn’t have been something that even crossed our minds until it happened.”

Keith was right, though. If Lance didn’t have forever stretched out in front of him, he wouldn’t have thought of that at all. But that was probably because mortals knew they only had to live a year or two after the love of their life passed away, not hundreds and hundreds of countless years. Lance didn’t want to be in pain for that long.

Keith crouched in front of him. “Are you afraid of this?”

Lance waited a moment and then said, “I’m afraid of the future.”

“Why?”

“When I lose you--” Lance looked into his eyes and cupped his jaw. “--I will have to live with that pain forever. And after I lose my family I--I don’t know how strong I can be for that.”

“I didn’t take you for a coward,” Keith said. Before Lance could recoil, he grasped his hand and kept it there against his face. “Since when have you been afraid of pain? The Lance speaking to me now isn’t the one that become a vampire so his best friend wouldn’t have to face eternity alone.” When Lance tried to look away, Keith caught his chin and kept his eyes facing forward. “Even after Pidge admitted she was a vampire too, you kept your word to him. Why have you turned your back on that? Since when did your decision begin to terrify you?”

Lance clung to Keith’s wrist and swallowed. “Since I realized that the forever I always dreamed about wasn’t possible with all but three of the people I loved.”

Keith squeezed the hand still firmly pressed against his cheek. “We can make our own forever.”

Lance looked away and laughed. Keith didn’t stop him this time. “You’re a selfish asshole, you know that?”

“I don’t know how the hell else to get you to live your life before you’re two hundred years old and filled with regrets.” Keith fell silent for a moment before tacking on, “Asshole.”

“So this is for me, huh?”

“It’s for the both of us.” Keith let him go and stood up. “Text me if you figure out what you want.”

Lance grabbed onto his wrist before he could walk away. “I already know what I want.”

“Do you know what you’re going to do with it?”

Lance tightened his grip and bit his lip. “I think so.”

He tugged once and then Keith was in his lap and kissing him deep enough to make his dead heart pulse. Lance grasped his hips and pulled him forward until their chests and stomachs were pressed together. Keith gasped into his mouth, tightened his hold on his hair, and kissed him even deeper. Lance became lost in Keith. His tongue, his teeth, his panted breaths became the world.

“Lance,” Keith breathed. He rolled his hips. When Lance felt his hand being guided from Keith’s hip to the swell of his ass, he nearly came. “Lance, I need you.”

“Bit fast, isn’t it, babe?”

Keith kissed the corner of his mouth and muttered, “Do you want to stop?”

Lance squeezed at Keith. “Hell no.”

He flipped them so Keith was lying on his back and Lance was nestled between his firm legs. Lance could feel the erection Keith was already beginning to grow under the denim that separated them. He groaned and thrust his hips down, needing that sweet friction between them.

Keith smashed their mouths together again, moving to meet Lance thrust for thrust. They moved together for what felt like years before Lance could no longer ignore how tight his pants were. He straightened and fumbled with his button and zipper until Keith batted his hands away. His fingers were no steadier but he did manage to free Lance from his jeans quicker.

With the new relief, Lance’s attention immediately snapped to Keith. He leaned over him and cupped his dick through his pants. Keith closed his eyes and tilted his head back. His throat seemed to work extra hard to swallow and Lance’s mind ran away at the sight of his bobbing adam’s apple. He needed to touch him.

Lance managed to unbutton Keith’s pants with more success and soon they were both exposed. When they came together this time, it was shakier and slower. Lance moaned quietly at the feeling of their naked cocks dragging against each other. Keith clutched to his shoulders. They both tentatively rolled their hips.

“Fuck,” Lance whispered.

“That’s the idea.” When Lance merely shook his head with a huff, Keith bit his bottom lip and smiled. Lance’s breath left him. Keith rarely smiled in front of him, but every time he did it was beautiful. The left side of his smile lifted higher than the other and his eyes sparkled brighter than the sun.

“Fuck,” Lance said again. Before Keith could respond, Lance was kissing him like his life depended on it. The smack of their lips was his energy. The slide of their tongues was his breath.

Keith hooked his ankles behind Lance’s thighs and pulled him forward. “Come on, touch me.”

Lance didn’t hesitate to listen. He wrapped his hand around the both of them. The first time he stroked them his breath was punched out of his chest. Keith guided Lance down until their sweaty foreheads were pressed together. Then another hand was placed over Lance’s and they were stroking one another.

Lance tilted his head every now and then to catch Keith’s lips. With each stroke he could feel pleasure building deep in his belly. It was almost embarrassing how quickly Lance was pulled to the edge. But based on Keith’s hitched breaths he was faring no better.

“Keith,” he said. “I’m--I’m close.”

“Me too,” Keith said. He bit Lance’s bottom lip and tugged. “Come for me.”

Lance pushed Keith’s shirt out of the way before his hips twitched and he was coming on Keith’s stomach. He groaned into Keith’s mouth, kissing him when he was able to settle.

“Your turn,” Lance said. He gripped Keith’s cock and stroked him until his back was arching off the sofa and his own come was being mixed with Lance’s. Keith buried his fingers in his own hair as he moaned through his orgasm. The sight was almost enough to make Lance hard again. Lance gently tugged at him, coaxing a few more spurts of come out of him, before Keith grabbed his wrist with a quiet hiss.

Keith cracked his eyes open after they spent a few moments trying to catch their breaths. “Kiss me, idiot.”

Lance lost himself in their kisses again. They kissed and kissed and kissed until Keith pushed at his chest lightly.

“I need to get this stuff off me,” Keith said. He sat up and tucked himself and Lance away.

Lance reached for the jacket. It was draped over the couch and in the face of his turmoil he had nearly forgotten that it had existed.

“Oh yeah, you forgot this,” Lance said. He swiped their come away with it and ignored Keith’s indignant noise.

“Yeah, I know.”

“You knew, huh?”

“I knew if you didn’t have an excuse to come to talk to me, you wouldn’t.”

“Guess Shiro knew that too,” Lance said.

“I told that idiot to stay out of it,” Keith groaned.

Lance shrugged a shoulder and draped the jacket back over the back of the sofa. “He was just trying to look out for you. It got you laid didn’t it?”

Keith shook his head. He kissed Lance one more time, before straightening his clothes and standing up. “I’m going to kill him again one of these days.”

Lance laughed and stood as well. “Hey,” he said. When Keith looked at him, he kissed him gently. “I wanna take a chance on this.”

“I sure as fuck hope so, I don’t let just anybody touch my dick.” Keith wrapped his arms around Lance’s neck and said, softer, “I’m glad.”

Lance didn’t know how it happened, but they were kissing again. His hands were exploring Keith’s back and wandering down to his hips to squeeze him there when he pulled back.

“We should go back to the others,” Lance muttered.

“Or we could stay here for a little longer.”

Lance didn’t protest when Keith dragged him back to the sofa, kissing him all the while.

#lance #keith #klance #vld #voltron #my writing

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