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frickenfaded · 3 years

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--SFW--

This is my first headcanon ever. It's kind of a headcanon anyway.. This is how I think the Feral Boys would react to (f!) Reader getting mad over something stupid while she's on her period.

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Dream

It was about midday and {Y/n} had to force herself to get out of bed to retrieve food. She decided she would get cereal and return straight to her blankets. Once in the quite kitchen, she reached up in a cabinet and grabbed a bowl, however she accidentally set it down way too hard and the brittle glass bowl shattered everywhere.

She was absolutely enraged. All she wanted was a bowl of cereal and *this* is what she gets? It didn't take long after to hear the thomping footsteps of her boyfriend coming down the stairs to see what the commotion was about. {Y/n} stood with her arms crossed, about to make a move for the broom. "Fucking damnit." She cursed, unbelievably mad at the smallest event.

Dream ended up beating {Y/n} to the broom, sweeping up the shards of glass that littered the tile. He was being extremely careful and thinking his words over before speaking. He knew she was in her period, and that meant she gets angered easily and doesn't like being clung onto by anyone during the week. However, he recognized that she still appreciates his presence.

He steps a little closer, giving a small forehead kiss to his girlfriend before resuming the cleaning. "Baby, if you want too, you can lay in my bed while I edit. I'll clean this up and bring you some cereal." He suggested. "How did you know I even wanted cereal?" She asked. "Because, that's normally what you crave." He answered. She thought for a moment before deciding to take him up on his offer. "Thank you, baby." She mutters before heading upstairs.

George

The relationship between {Y/n} and George was still fairly new, this being their third month together. Therefore, he still isn't exactly sure what his girlfriend needs during her special time of the month. However, he's sort of getting the idea. It's just a bit tricky for him to know for sure when she's going through it, because she doesn't tell a soul. She leaves them guessing, taking pride in it even.

But this time was a little different. She was laying down in bed, trying to read the book "Water for Elephants" by Sara Gruen, when the realization struck her that she was currently using her last (pad/tampon/other). She didn't want to leave her bed, much less her house. She angrily closed her book and slammed in down on the nightstand, thinking over her options in her mind.

George just happened to be passing by her door whenever she slammed her book. It startled him a little, but he entered her room nonetheless. Although she heard him come in, she refused to tear her focus away from her thoughts. George knew something was up a couple days ago. The possibility of her monthly happening was a thought, but he wasn't 100% sure.

"Is everything okay?" He asked, walking over to the edge of the bed before sitting down. "No." She immediately answers, crossing her arms over her chest. She still didn't really want to give in that easily, though. She still had her pride, despite her situation. "What happened?" He wondered. "Nothing." She replied, avoiding his careful gaze.

"C'mon, Love, we both know that isn't true." He says, softening his tone of voice. She almost instantly melts into his stare. She huffs out a breath, however desperate to keep her silence. He treads lightly, brushing a strand of messy hair from her face, whilst caressing her cheek in the meantime. She finally gives way, breaking through to him as if a dam just broke. "Fine." She states.

He smiles, knowing he won without asking the question that would set him up for failure. "I'm on my last (pad/tampon/other) and I don't want to leave the house." She explained. George breaks into a small fit of laughter. "Was it really something that simple? That's nothing compared to what I thought was wrong. But I can get you what you need, Love." He says, after narrowly avoiding a harsh glare. "Would you like anything else while I'm gone?" He wonders. "Hm.. Maybe some chocolate... Please." She answers. He nods before giving her a swift kiss.

Sapnap

Sapnap.. Is quite the special case, to say the least. He does n o t pick up on hints very well... Which leaves him very lost and confused when his girlfriend all of the sudden starts acting a lot different than normal and suddenly more distant with him. She didn't exactly mean too, it was just what happens during her period.

He was scared that he did something wrong because of this, but he couldn't come up with a reason why. Did he leave the toilet seat up? Maybe he accidentally ignored her? What if he forgot about something they were supposed to do? Dear God, did he forget their anniversary or her birthday or something? Despite what he thought he did, he wanted to try and "make things right."

He entered her bedroom as she watching a John Mulaney special on Netflix. He stood beside her bed. "Hey, could we play Pokémon together?" He asked. "No. I don't feel like it." She didn't mean to add the annoyed tone to her voice, but she did. She was just annoyed in general. "D-Did I do something wrong?" He asked, scared of her answer. It was then when she realized she was being short with him and distant.

She sighed, knowing she owed him an explanation now. "I'm sorry, Darling. I didn't mean to come across like that. I'm just... cramping really bad today, and I'm really really really craving some ice cream, but I don't want to get up either." She explains, rambling just a little bit. He blushes a little when he realizes what was going on, but he quickly retrieves some ice cream for the both of them, before joining her in bed and finishing the John Mulaney special together.

Karl

Manz is prepared. I'm talking, he's got a secret box in his closet filled with everything she may need, from pads, to tampons, to chocolates, to a heating pad, he has it all. He's so dedicated to making sure he does everything right that he has a period tracker app on his phone to know when she's about to start. Therefore, he knows when he needs to back up and give you some breathing room.

So one day, when his girlfriend got very upset just because her phone died, he knew exactly why. "Do you need absolutely anything? I brought you a chocolate bar." He says when he hears the ruckus from her room. She softens up almost immediately, always touched by the way he knows what to do and say.

"Thank you.. Could you plug my phone up, please?" She asks. He happily jumps on the simple task, despite her charger literally being right beside her. "And maybe... could we cuddle for a little while too?' She wonders. He smiles brightly. "Definitely." He agrees, before slipping in bed with her as they start to watch Hamilton for the third time.

Quackity

Quackity seems to think it's comedy gold whenever his girlfriend gets infuriated by the tiniest things. He was sitting on the couch, watching something on the T.V., while {Y/n} came out of her room for the first time since today. She came to get a snack herself, not wanting to bother her boyfriend much.

But what she failed to notice as she was walking through the Living Room, was the Thanos doll that Quackity completely forgot to pick up earlier. And of course, she stepped on the damned thing. She yelped, almost falling over thanks to the toy. In a fit of rage, she picked the doll up and stomped over to one of the open windows, throwing it as hard as she could into the outside world.

Quackity could not stop laughing from the moment she stepped on the plastic toy, now laughing harder than ever because of it. "Shut up! It's your stupid fucking fault the thing was left there anyway!" She cursed, clearly displeased. He didn't listen, of course. "I-I'm sorry." He said through his laughter. As much as she wanted to stay mad, his laughter was contagious.

She ended up bursting with laughter as well, their voices mixing like milk and honey in the atmosphere. {Y/n} joined Quackity on the couch, laying across his lap as he played with her hair, the two starting to talk about random topics. She always went through a few days on her period where she was just a little more clingy than the others, but Quackity just learned to accept that. He wouldn't say it exactly, but he did actually enjoy it.

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That's it for this one lovelies! As I mentioned, this is indeed my first headcanon ever and actual content post I've posted on Tumblr. Therefore, I hope it wasn't too shabby. I'll get the hang of things soon, but for now, if you'd like to read any other things I've posted, the list is short, because I am pretty new here, but this option is available to you though this link:

My Creations♡

I hope you enjoy your stay here! Requests are always open! ♡♡

#feral boys #feral bois #dream smp #dreamwastaken #georgenotfound #sapnap #karl jacobs #quackity #big q #dreamsmp fluff #dream smp headcannon

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cilldaracailin · 4 years

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Crazy Little Thing Called Love

And here we go again!

This is being posted a lot earlier than planned because of my previous post and how I had a good day, I decided to pull my posting date forward and go against my code of writing and posting and not finish my next story before I post this one but I am sure I can cope with that! ;)

I hope you all enjoy this one. It’s a good one, even though I am totally biased.

Thanks so much for all the lovely followers and likes and Tumblr love on all my previous blog posts!

Suze xx

*I do not know Taron but the other characters are all mine!*

“A good laugh and a long sleep are the two best cures for anything.”

Robyn stood with her hand on the open car door, a troubled look on her face as she watched Taron snoozing in the front seat of her car, his head rolled to the side a little. He met her with a tired smile and tight hug in Dublin airport just after eleven pm, another apology on his lips as he squeezed her against him. It was late Monday evening, the day before St. Patrick’s Day and even though it was going to be another incredibly short visit, Taron had insisted that he was coming to spend the Irish holiday with his Irish friend.

“It’s such a late Taron flight and you are working right up until you need to be at the airport.”

“I am coming Robyn. I promised you.”

No matter how much she tried to tell him that he didn’t have to come to visit her, Taron refused to listen to her and now sat in her car, asleep, his whole body a little cramped with his position in the front seat.

Taron had taken on some work to keep himself busy between filming, doing some voice over work as well as prepping for his new role which he was thrilled to have gotten and his days were full and demanding and as predicted the screen test for his new role had been the weekend before he was due to come and visit Robyn. He had learnt the weekend previous that he was given the role he was desperate to get, his good friend and director Matthew Vaughan, putting Taron through a tough audition process to make sure he was absolutely right for the part and his Monday had been filled with phone calls and an impromptu script run through as the cast was finalised and Matthew wanted to be absolutely sure with his choices. Taron had to change his flight to the last one that evening so he could still go and be Irish for the day. It meant that once again, he was thoroughly exhausted and once Robyn had driven them out of the airport, he was asleep, Robyn talking away to her friend, not even realising he was asleep until she had been babbling for a while without a reply. She had tried her hardest to talk him out of coming but he was completely insistent and as Robyn now hunched down in front of the open door, as much as she loved seeing Taron, she was wondering if the forty-eight hours they got to spend together was worth it for him as his schedule started to fill up again and his very early starts and late nights started to take their toll on him.

She gently shook his knee and he immediately lifted his head, his eyes opening wide as he looked at her.

“Hey you.”

Groaning, his leaned against the head rest. “All I do is sleep with you.”

Robyn smiled and blushed a little but her grin faded a little as it took Taron a few seconds to realise what he said, his hands running down his face, almost too tired to be embarrassed and it wasn’t like him at all to react so slowly to something awkward he had said.

“I sleep with you too.” She replied. “And cwtch sometimes.”

“I am sorry Robyn. Not the way I wanted what was supposed to be our few days to go. Now it’s barely two.”

Robyn reached into the car and took his hand. “We have said many times before, that we would be happy with even an hour together. I will take our two days Taron. You know this.”

“Yeah I do but wouldn’t it be nice to have a couple of days together? Like New Years? Matthew wanted me to tell you he was sorry that our time was taken away from each other but he just needed to make sure I was suited for the actor playing my dad in the movie, that we connected and had a chemistry of sorts, even though the father son relationship in the movie is a turbulent one. Then once he was satisfied, he had to organise a read through. It’s such a significant and relevant story to the world today and he insists on getting everything not just right but perfect.”

“Taron you never have to apologise to me for your work. I know how important your job is to you and how much you wanted this part.”

“You are important to me too Robyn.” Taron’s voice was serious and insistent.

“You know I know that.” She gave his hand a squeeze. “But sometimes, life throws us a curve ball.”

“That was Matthew, not me.”

“And if Matthew was keeping you from me, then I know it was extremely important. Now how about we put a little smile on this sad face, and we go inside and just get some sleep. Busy day tomorrow.”

“Being Irish?” He asked a small smile on his face.

“And I know a blue dinosaur who has missed you terribly. Perk up rocketman. You got here and have two days to relax a little.”

“I am always tired when I come to see you.” He complained as he got out of the car, his body a little stiff from the position he fell asleep in.

“Not true.” Robyn answered him as she closed the car door. “I was the one falling asleep in the car last time we saw each other.” She opened the back door and took his backpack out.

“I just want one time to come and see you and not be tired.”

Robyn hated the sadness and grogginess she heard in his voice. “Hey Taron, don’t get too caught up in the technicalities we face. We knew we were going to have a hard time in seeing each other. We can’t just go and spend an evening together or go for a drink when we feel like it. We have to plan our visits and I know it’s frustrating, believe me. There have been so many times I wished I could have physically seen you rather than talking on the phone but when it comes down to it Taron, I will take a phone call over nothing.”

“Me too Robyn.” Taron took his bag from her, yawning as he did so. “I am sorry. I’ve been in a shit mood all day. I shouldn’t be taking my annoyance over other things that are out of my control out on you.” Taron was still always so conscious of how his behaviour and reaction to the article had hurt her before Christmas and always made sure now that he didn’t burden her with his worries or if he did need a chat, try his best to keep from rolling his anger and upset onto her.

“You can still talk to me about everything though Taron, you know this.” Robyn locked her car and started to walk towards her front door.

He let a heavy sigh leave his body, following Robyn to her home. “This new film is going be tough and I am overthinking everything at the moment. The script read through this morning was challenging and there is so much to it, I know I am going to struggle with it at times.” Taron was on Robyn’s heels as she strolled in through her front door, going straight to the island in her kitchen to put his bag on it. “I also know it is going to be a very emotionally charged shoot.”

“Have you spoken to Matthew about all of this?” She asked him, as she pulled a cup from her press, placing it on her hot water maker, turning it on so water slowly filtered into the stripped mug.

“Yeah he knows.” Taron came to stand beside her, taking his hat off and throwing it onto the island. “We have a lot of time to prepare though and he is such a good friend and everyone one of the cast is so talented, I know we will do the movie and story justice but it is going to be so tough. Matthew has already told me to use him when I need to, ring him with any question.”

“I am glad you have him to lean on when you need too but even with him working on editing Kingsman, he is still getting ready for a new movie?” Robyn dropped a tea bag into the cup.

“Believe it or not but he is actually nearly finished already. He hasn’t stopped since we finished the re-shoots four weeks ago. He still has two weeks to finish it up completely before we start promotion and then the premier which by the way…” Taron pulled his wallet from his jeans pocket and opened it. “Might as well pull these out now.” He handed her over two very crumpled pieces of paper. “Cashing in some vouchers.”

Robyn grinned as she took them from him. She opened the first one and wasn’t surprised to see the ‘go to a premier with me’ voucher in her hands and as she opened the second one, frowned a little. “‘Wear an outfit of my choosing’.” She read. “I think I might regret writing this one.”

It was the first time she had seen him smile since he picked him up from the airport. “Stella is helping me.” He assured her as he put his wallet back in his pocket. He watched as she placed the vouchers on the countertop and moved to open a drawer and take out a spoon. “And I won’t pick a black sack.” He knew she was making him a cup of tea and watched as she stirred the tea bag around a few times before taking it out. “And you have full control over your hair and make-up except that Stella probably will be doing it all.” Taron followed her as she took a few steps to the fridge to get some milk and back again to where the cup sat. “And I hope I have given you enough notice for work. I know you will have to take the day off, maybe even the Thursday before if you could.” Robyn’s silence was starting to worry him and once she had added the sugar and milk to his tea, she picked up the cup and handed it to him. He took the cup from her, the heat from the mug settling nicely into his hands. He blew on the liquid before taking a sip, closing his eyes as once again Robyn made his tea perfectly.

“And I will be there. I have already asked for the two days off Taron.” She replied to him eventually and he hoped she hadn’t heard the sigh of relief he made and he took another drink from the cup, the hot soothing liquid exactly what he needed right now after a long day of work and stress. “And I completely trust you with regards to a dress. Actually, I think I trust you more than I trust Stella and you will steer her clear of plunging necklines and princess dresses.”

“So, no plunging neckline then?” He asked with a light smirk on his face. “Ok I shall have to re-think my thoughts.”

“Taron Egerton I am trusting you with this dress and you need to remember this premier is so much more than Elton’s party or the musical. It is a much larger event and for your movie and is going to attract so much more attention.”

“Hey…” Taron put his cup down and stepped over to her. “I know Robyn. I think I know you well enough now to understand what you like and what you don’t, and I will steer Stella in the right direction too.” He moved closer to her and gently pecked her cheek. “Trust me.”

Robyn stared at him and despite the fatigue in his eyes, they were still bright and held that mischievous glow. “I should have put a voucher in there that lets me dress you.” She replied to him, watching as picked up his tea and he took a long drink from his cup, a smile on his lips. “Maybe I need to sticky tape one in.”

“Not part of the terms and condition chicken.” Taron winked her way and started to walk away from her. “Now where is cwtch?”

Robyn watched him walk away from her, through her kitchen and into the bedroom, laughing as she heard him talking to the blue dinosaur who sat on her bed. She leant against the counter and sighed. Every waking moment, the man currently in her bedroom was in her thoughts. She thought about him when she played the piano, when she took out her guitar, as she lay on her couch and as she stood under her shower, her shampoo still on the right-hand side six months later and lately she constantly thought about the shoulder massage she had given him back in London a few weeks ago, even more how Taron had just her roam her hands all over his chest and warm skin and if she was honest with herself she was desperate to do it all again, praying for the day that Taron produced his back massage voucher for her. She watched his movies with such a different view now and whereas before she would be engrossed in the movie, now she was engrossed in Taron watching how he moved, his facial expressions and his voice. As his work schedule quickly filled up, especially now that he was preparing to work with Matthew once more, time for speaking with each other was becoming a little bit trickier, Taron actually falling asleep on the phone as they spoke to each other last week. Robyn was just as busy and her rehearsals for RENT were lasting longer and getting later as they started to pull the show together, the musical society now adding Monday evening and Saturday to their rehearsal schedule to ensure the show was the best possible it could be and with two weeks to go until opening night, her days were pretty packed.

In saying that though, she didn’t look anywhere near as tired as Taron did. She hated seeing him so exhausted and had tried hard to convince him to stay in London and take his two-day break at home, but he was having none of it. He was adamant that he was keeping his promise and spending St Patrick’s Day with her. Once she saw him sauntering out of arrivals and towards her, her whole body filled with a blush and red-hot heat flushed through her. Taron just had a knack for doing nothing and making her feel fuzzy butterfly feelings in her stomach and she melted into his arms as he hugged her tight in the airport. Her love and affection for him deepened further into her soul each time they saw each other, and Robyn knew that although she loved Taron without a doubt, there was now the little problem she was facing of how she was actually falling in love with him. She enjoyed his company, compassion, and caring nature as well as his terrible jokes, infectious laugh and how he made her feel like the most important person in the room when she was with him.

“Hey rocketman are you hungry? You came straight from your read through, you must be starving.”

Robyn stopped in her bedroom doorway and was immediately met with flashbacks from the first time Taron stayed with her. Sprawled out on the duvet on the right side of the bed, Taron lay on his stomach, cwtch the blue dinosaur cuddled under his right arm, fast asleep and breathing deeply, the right side of his face nestled into the pillow. If she had of been thinking straight, she definitely would have taken a picture, but she was a little concerned at how once again an exhausted man slept on her bed. Robyn knew he was naturally going to be a little run down the busier he got but it seemed to her that at times, his exhaustion or overused muscles were erring on the edge of extreme and it worried her a lot that he was going to get really ill from it all.

She knelt on the floor beside the bed and lifting her hand ran it down his cheek, his growing beard at the longest she had ever seen it and it suited him well, the dark hairs coarse under her fingers. He didn’t stir as she gently swiped down his nose too or even when she moved to place a lingering kiss on his temple. Getting to her feet, she walked around to the end of the bed and a little awkwardly, pulled his boots off, dropping them on the floor. It was bringing back too many deja vu moments for her and she sighed sadly. It seemed morbid but she was ever so grateful that she had met Taron in the way she had and was so thankful to have him in her life, even when he could frustrate her beyond belief, test her patience and good nature but when he looked so innocent as he slept, she only felt her natural mothering nature coming through and wanted to sit with him and just cuddle him tight. His mam’s words still resonated with her since the first time Robyn ever spoke to her and it was that Taron needed someone to look after him, someone he could rely on and she not only wanted to be that person in his life but she felt an overwhelming need to be there for him no matter what.

Deciding she was getting into the slightly uncomfortable staring situation as she usually found herself in when the Welshman was resting on her bed, Robyn left Taron sleeping with cwtch and walked back out to her sitting room and dropped onto the couch. She had literally spent the weekend sleeping and had caught up on many hours of missed rest that she wasn’t tired enough to sleep but shaking her head, Robyn stood back up.

“Gorgeous man sleeping in your room.” She reminded herself and picked up her laptop she had left on her couch before she went to meet Taron at the airport. She made sure all the doors were locked and with Taron’s bag and hat in her other hand, walked back into the bedroom. She dropped his bag in her closet, hat on her make-up table and once changed into some comfy PJ bottoms and a t-shirt, she settled herself on the left side of the bed, turning on her computer to do some browsing for a while. Taron had told her himself, he had a talent for sleeping anywhere and for a long time and having seen it first-hand herself many times, she wasn’t at all surprised at how deep he slept beside her, long soothing and calming breathing filling his whole body but she was still a little worried about him. Pushing her worries to the side, Robyn talked herself out of her reservations about him and knew that it was just a tiredness from working nonstop over the weekend that had him drained. She shuffled a little closer to him, smiling as she could hear his breathes as he slept, grinning as hugged the dinosaur closer to him, his body moving in his sleep to find a more comfortable position, a quiet little sleepy sigh leaving his lips. “Enjoy your cosy duvet sleep rocketman.”

Cwtch was still buried under his arm and he still lay on his stomach eleven hours later and he woke up to a wonderful scratching sensation on his head.

“If only I could wake up like this every day.” He happily moaned as Robyn dug a little deeper into scalp.

“It’s only ‘cos I couldn’t throw the cup of water over you, no matter how much I wanted too. I know how tired you were yesterday so didn’t think it would have been fair to wake you up with a start, especially when your tiredness is not really your fault.” Robyn knelt on the floor at the edge of the bed, her right hand still in his hair. “Though I probably could have gotten away with it by saying it was a traditional St Patrick’s Day tradition.”

Taron laughed. “I think I need to be a little wary of you today. I have a feeling there are going to be a lot of Irish traditions that are not actually traditions.”

Robyn grinned back at him as she took her hand from his hair. ��Nope. I will be good. I promise. Only good and proper Irish traditions and the first one is breakfast.”

“Breakfast hash?” He asked hopefully, remembering how good their breakfast out together had been last year.

“Nope.” She saw his face fell a little.

“Full Irish?” He chanced, his stomach rumbling a little at the thought of some food, never mind a full Irish breakfast.

“Nope.” Robyn answered him.

“Oh.”

“But I have pancakes.”

“Pancakes?” Taron lifted his head from the pillow. “I like pancakes.”

“Irish pancakes.”

“Like potato cakes?” He asked, praying she said no. Taron would eat anything but for breakfast, he really wasn’t in the mood for potato cakes.

“Nope. Irish pancakes. Green, white and orange ones.” He was so relieved that he wasn’t getting potatoes for breakfast but quickly became confused again with her answer. “Why don’t you get up and ready for the day and all shall be revealed to you when you come out to the kitchen.”

“So secretive chicken.”

“Have to keep you guessing Taron.” Robyn ruffled his hair a little and stood up. “You know where everything is.”

Taron watched as she walked out, tilting his head a little as he caught a glimpse of her outfit, doing a double take. His Robyn, who always wore jeans, was in a green skirt with tights and knee-high boots. His insides did a wonderful flip and he buried his face into the pillow. “She is not yours.” He spoke to himself. “She is Robyn.” He stupidly inhaled and his eyes rolled behind his closed lids as that comforting scent of Robyn’s perfume and shampoo filtered through him. He was so shattered yesterday as he walked through the glass doors of the airport, that even the simple task of putting one foot in front of the other was a chore and he was starting to think that he should have just listened to Robyn and stayed in London but as her beautiful face came into view, he knew he had made the right decision to travel so late. He had signed his work contract for Matthew and was under obligation now to be available when he was needed and his friend had apologised for the terrible timing for the script read through but Taron was a professional actor and while he committed to his work schedule, he also kept his promise to Robyn and just arrived a little later and a lot more jaded then expected.

He gave his body a long full stretch, hearing some of his joints cracking as he did so and got to his knees, before climbing off the bed, stripping himself of his hoodie and he walked into her closet and to her bathroom. It was a shower he desperately needed and it not only helped to wash the previous days sweat and worries from his shoulders, but also to wake him up, Taron just standing under the wonderful pressure of the water. Robyn had left two of her soft blue towels on the towel warmer for him and he felt so at home in her bathroom, knowing where everything he needed was, though he was still getting used to the frosted window, not thoroughly convinced it wasn’t see through.

Once dressed, he wandered out to the kitchen and a delightful smell of food met him. Robyn was at the hob, her back turned to him and he stopped walking as he took in her outfit, only now noticing the black cropped top she wore too, the tiniest sliver of skin on show above her skirt. It was a look he had not known he needed to see Robyn in and the pop of colour from her short green skirt, was the perfect tribute to the day that was in it. As he walked over to her, he noticed some green streaks in her hair and as he leant against the counter beside her, his hand immediately went to her hair.

“So, we have moved to green now?” He asked, her hair so soft between his fingers.

Robyn concentrated on not burning their breakfast so didn’t turn to him but still answered his question. “I was inspired by the hair chalk again and sure it is St Patrick’s Day.”

“Any more left?” He asked her.

“There is a some on my make-up table.”

“Another traditional Irish activity?”

“Throwing everything I have your way rocketman.” Robyn carefully placed the last pancake on the plate and turned the hob off, finally turning to face him. “So, you hungry?”

“Do you even need to ask?” He titled his head, trying to read Robyn’s face which was a mixture of shock, confusion with a hint of a smile.

“Taron, what are you wearing?”

“Clothes?” He answered grinning as she frowned at him. “My St Patrick’s Day clothes. You don’t like?”

“It’s very green and don’t get me wrong, green is stunning on you, but I mean, this is a lot of green.”

“Robyn you told me that dressing green was a pre-requisite to be Irish!”

“I didn’t mean everything had to be green though.” She took in his dark green trousers and green check long sleeved shirt under which he wore a light mint green t-shirt. “It’s a lot of green.”

“I am being Irish.”

His reply made her laugh. “Well you definitely pass the dress test.” She took a step closer and ran her hands down his wonderfully fitted shirt. With his strict training schedule on the downlow because he was finished filming Kingsman, Taron was a little less focused on his diet and gym attendance and Robyn was instantly attracted to his somewhat less lean and bulky physic, his shirt sitting on his frame perfectly, his green eyes almost illuminating in reflection from the green thread from the check pattern on his chest. “And I like this. A lot.” Robyn moved her hands from his chest to his jaw. “You growing out a beard?” She asked, his cheeks lifting to a smile under her thumbs.

“Just being lazy. Haven’t really had a reason to shave.” He closed his eyes as Robyn’s thumbs ran the whole length of his jaw.

“It really suits you.”

“My mam had been giving me a little bit of grief over it. Think it makes me look older than I am.”

Robyn grinned, imaging the lecture Taron had gotten from his mam. “Well I like it, a lot.” She confirmed. “Even with all the green Taron and the tiredness, you look good.”

“Well then I have full permission to say so do you.” Taron’s hands came to rest on her waist, his thumbs sitting neatly in the gap that her crop top left. “Robyn in a skirt?” He asked raising an eyebrow.

“It’s my go to Patrick’s Day skirt and actually I wear this to work sometimes.”

“It’s not a little short for work?” He asked, trying to keep his blush in.

“I said sometimes.”

“Well, I wish I had of gotten the real memo about the subtle touch to the green though. You are wearing one green thing.”

“May I remind you that you were not told to wear all green. It wasn’t specified all green rocketman and as an official Irish person, I am not obliged to actually wear head to toe green.”

“Oh really?”

“Yep.”

“Another one of those Robyn’s rules?”

“Sure.”

“You have a lot of rules Robyn.” He smirked, his thumbs grazing the skin of her waist ever so lightly.

“Ahh but Taron, rules are meant to be broken!” She lifted his hands from her waist and kissed them both on his knuckles, one at a time. “So, breakfast?” She let go of his hands and picked up the plate of pancakes and showed him. “Green, white and orange.”

On the plate were a stack of pancakes, a selection of each dyed the colours of the Irish flag. He took them from her after she gestured for him to do so and he watched on amused as she pulled a bowl from her fridge full of chopped up fruit, but only fruit in the colours of green, white and orange, kiwi’s, green grapes, melon, mango and pineapple in circles and squares mixed together.

“Is this your normal St Patrick’s Day breakfast?” He asked her, noticing a little tint fill her cheeks. “Robyn, did you do this for me?”

“Maybe.” Her voice was quiet, and she avoided his eyes. She had wanted to do something really special for him even more so when he made such an effort to get to her, ensuring he made it on time too and knowing well, that he wouldn’t have eaten great yesterday, she needed to make sure he had a substantial breakfast.

“For me?” He asked again.

“Breakfast is the most important meal of the day.”

“And this is an Irish breakfast like none other.” Taron walked past her and put the plate of pancakes on the breakfast bar and then took the fruit from Robyn. “Syrup?” He asked with a grin and already knowing where it was, walked past her to get the bottle. “So, are we going to let these go cold?” Taron felt so blessed at that moment in time that he had someone who was willing to go to so much effort just to make him breakfast and as his stomach rumbled hungrily, he was ready to get stuck into his meal of pancakes and fruit.

Without a word, Robyn grabbed two plates she had warming in the oven and once they were settled on the kitchen stools, a glass of orange juice for Robyn, a coffee for Taron, they tucked into their colourful breakfast, Taron almost shovelling the food into his mouth he was so hungry. He hadn’t had much to eat yesterday and Robyn was the queen of making him breakfast and as he soaked up the last of the syrup on his plate with a piece of green pancake from Robyn’s, he licked his lips in appreciation.

Robyn could only watch on as the man sitting beside her, ate every single thing in front him, his hunger fully satisfied as he drained the remains of his coffee. “Good?” She asked him as he reached for the last piece of mango from the bowl of fruit.

“So good.” He answered with his mouth full. He swallowed the fruit. “If this is just a taste of St Patrick’s Day, I am super excited for the rest.”

“Lots planned for today.”

“What you got up your sleeve Quinn?” He lifted his arms to she could take his plate and followed her with his cutlery, putting them in the sink. “I wash, you dry.” He gave her a little nudge away from the sink. “It’s our way.”

Not arguing with him, Robyn left Taron to fill the sink with hot water and bubbles, roll up his sleeves and start to wash their breakfast dishes. She grabbed a tea towel and helped him dry.

“So, chicken what have you got planned for us?”

“Well the parade starts in about forty minutes, so we can walk down to the town to watch that and then the duck race.”

“You get me my duck?” He asked her.

“Yep. Number two two zero two.”

“I am going to win.”

“Yeah you and the other two thousand or so ducks in the race.”

“I have my lucky Irish chicken with me. I am going to win.” He insisted.

“And then we have the ceílí.”

“A ceílí?” Taron stopped washing a plate and turned to her. “A proper céilí?”

“A proper one. There is one in the GAA tonight and I got us some tickets. You can meet some of my other friends, if you would like to go.”

“Of course I want to go. That sounds brilliant and I would definitely like to meet your friends.”

Robyn grinned at his enthusiasm. “Thought after the duck race, we could go to the GAA, have some food and get you your Guinness and then the céilí.”

“Lots of Guinness.” He agreed as he wiped around the sink. “You mind if I use some of that green hair stuff that you used? I feel like I am not quite green enough.”

“Be my guest. You know where it is. I will finish up here.”

Taron made his way back into the bedroom and took a seat at her make-up table, grinning at the green eye shadow that was left open beside a make-up brush. “Robyn’s rules.” He mumbled as he reached for the bottle of green hair colour. Thinking it best he just stuck with the tips of his hair, as Robyn did when she coloured his hair blue, he squeezed the green hair dye onto his fingers and with a generous amount, coloured his hair a dark green colour, making sure he did a thorough job, getting every strand. “Happy St Patrick’s Day to me.” He grinned into the mirror.

“Looking good.” Robyn leant against the door frame watching Taron as he put a thick covering of green dye on his hair. “You up for some tattoos?” She waved a white packet his way. “Temporary tattoos.” She added. “Wash off with water. If you are going to be Irish for the day, you might as well go the whole hog.”

“Definitely.” Taron stood up and followed her into the bathroom, washing the hair colour from his hands. “You going to use some?”

“Of course. I just use the shamrocks though, not the Irish flags, or the ones that say ‘Kiss me I’m Irish’.”

“No?”

“Nope. I have a t-shirt that says that.”

“And you are not wearing it today because?”

“Irish people just get kisses on St Patrick’s Day without needing to ask for them.” She gently pushed on Taron’s chest after he had kissed her two cheeks. “Enough! Enough!” She laughed, pushing him a little harder. “We need to get a good spot for the parade and with this messing, have no chance. Now which one do you want?”

Taron placed the shamrock transfer tattoo on Robyn’s right cheek and after she had done the same for him, he slipped his shirt off asking for a flag on his upper right arm, just above the scar. “I can still have it and keep it hidden.

“Well Taron I don’t think you can get any more Irish.” She said when she had dried off his arm and he pulled his shirt back on. She was a little worried by his wink and giddy saunter back to the bedroom but didn’t pay much attention to him as she tidied up the mess from the tattoo’s in the bathroom.

“Can I be any more Irish now?”

Robyn looked up and her mouth fell open in shock before she started to laugh. “Oh dear Taron. I think I might just be regretting asking you to come over.” Taron had a large Irish flag wrapped around his shoulders and as he walked closer to her, stretched it, the flag a little longer then the length of his arm span. “Any more surprises for me?” She asked as he wrapped her up in an Irish flag hug.

“Nope I am done.”

“For someone who has been working so hard, you have had a lot of time to plan all of this.”

“I have been looking forward to today since you asked me. I’ve been prepared for a while.” Taron replied. “So ready to go? We need a good spot for the parade. I need to see everything.��

“You are going to be bitterly disappointed by this parade Taron. Trucks and children.”

“Trucks and children?”

“You know how small Kilcreen is. Our parade is mainly the school children and trucks from the warehouses.”

“Don’t care. I still need to see it all.”

“Well don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

#Taron Egerton #Taron Egerton Fanfiction #Taron Egerton Fanfic #Taron Fanfic #Love #Friendship #Ireland #St. Patrick's Day #Cuddles #Adventures #Excitment #Worries #Tiredness #Green #Robyn and Taron

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brianprobablywill · 5 years

Text

Driven By You (Brian May x Reader)

summary: the reader is insecure about her relationship with brian, making brian’s return from tour an emotional day for both of them.

fluff + angst; 1.8k words

[since i accidentally deleted this post from my blog while trying to edit it - the tumblr app is a bitch lmao - here is the repost! i’ll also attach the right link to the masterlist asap!]

This wasn’t the first time you were here. Here, sitting in a dingy booth of this dingy coffee shop in this dingy corner of East London.

You had been here over and over again. Sunday after Sunday. Breakfast after Breakfast. Sneaking pieces of toast off your boyfriend’s plate, him taking a sip of your coffee to get you back. Your boyfriend holding your hand fondly across the table, telling you how much you mean to him.

You had always been fascinated by Brian. There were so many layers to him. Such a shy, sweet boy on the outside, only letting his wild side out when he was playing the guitar, gelling perfectly with Roger and Tim.

He’d invited you to his first gig ever, taking you backstage after and kissing you softly, asking you out on a date. You’d gone to every concert of his after that, even the one where Tim had left Smile for Humpy Bong. You’d helped him think straight when he was upset over it. You’d been there when he’d voiced his concerns about their new frontman — one of your closest friends — Freddie, and had assured him that he was the perfect fit.

You’d been his sounding board for all his song ideas. You had been there to celebrate when he’d said the album had hit the charts. You’d been the one to pick up the phone when Roger had called to tell Brian that their manager had booked them a tour of America.

You had stood at the airport, kissing your boyfriend goodbye one last time, telling him you’d loved him. Brian had held on tight, pressing kisses into your hairline, not wanting to let go. He had said he loved you and asked you if you would wait for him. You had pressed a kiss to his knuckles, telling him he was stupid to think that you wouldn’t.

You and Brian would talk almost every day. Yes, timezones made it difficult, but Brian made sure to get in a phone call every two to three days, even if that meant he had to wake up earlier. The phone calls started to get more and more sparse as Queen progressed into the most hectic leg of the tour. You started to worry that it was because Brian was finding better things to devote his time to, rather than spending time talking to you.

You worried a lot. Every day that passed without talking to Brian, you worried. You would get the occasional postcard in the mail, chicken-scratch scrawled on really tiny, trying to fit as much as he could onto the small card. You’d smile and tuck them under the mattress on your side of the bed, reading them any time your anxiety got the better of you.

On his last letter, dated four weeks back, he’d told you to come to the coffee shop today. At your regular time.

So here you were. A long time had passed since the last time you were here, but it still felt the same. Minnie — one of the waitresses — came to your booth and smiled at you, happy to see you back. “We thought you’d moved away! Is Brian coming later than usual?” She asked.

“Yeah, I suppose he’s just running a little late,” you said, smiling warmly back at her.

“I’ll wait till he’s back to take your order, even though I’m pretty sure it’s going to be the same.” Minnie said, “I’ll get to meet him too, that way!”

You watched as she walked away, not sure if you were going to get to meet him either. It was fifteen minutes past your usual time, but Brian still hadn’t shown up. You pulled the letter out of your bag one more time, making sure you’d gotten the date and time right.

After rechecking for the fifteenth time, you banged the side of the letter on the table, considering leaving. Tears were forming in your eyes. Brian had decided not to show up.

You were picking up your bag, readjusting your hair, trying to stall. You drank the glass of water that had been sitting on your table. As you began walking towards the exit, Minnie called out, getting you to turn around, “He’s not coming?”

“Seems like it. Must have gotten caught up somewhere,” You said, trying to hold back tears.

Minnie put a hand on your shoulder, “I’m sure it’s just that,” she said, almost as if she understood.

You nodded quickly, biting your lower lip. You turned around quickly, walking with your head down. That’s why you didn’t notice when you bumped into someone, mumbling an, “I’m so sorry,” trying to be on your way.

But it was when you heard that sweet voice you’d been yearning to hear for so long, that you stopped.

“Y/N?”

You looked up to see a familiar pair of hazel eyes, crinkled at the corners.

“Brian,” you said softly, holding onto his arm, your grip tight.

“Oh, goodness, Y/N, Y/N, Y/N,” Brian said, his voice full of emotion, pulling you into a tight hug. One of his hands was on the back of your head, convenient for you because that meant he couldn’t see your tears. His other hand was around your waist, pulling you impossibly close to his body. “Oh, my love, you came.” He said, putting his hands on your arms to separate you from his body.

“Of course I did,” you said, your voice small.

Brian’s expression changed to one of worry immediately, “What’s wrong? Let’s sit down.” He put his hand on your back, sitting down across you in the booth that you always occupied.

As always, his hand instinctively went to rest on top of yours, thumb stroking your skin idly. You pulled your hand away — not sure why — taking it into your lap, not making eye contact with Brian.

“My love, did I do something?” Brian asked you. He always called you ‘my love.’ You loved when he did. There was so much feeling in those two words. And you knew Brian meant them every time. This time it hurt a little to hear them.

“You still love me, Brian?” You asked, afraid of the answer.

Brian looked shocked. “Of course I do, sweetheart. What makes you think I don’t?” He leaned forward, putting both of his hands forward. “Can I hold your hands, please?” He asked. His eyes looked pleading; slightly afraid.

You gave him your hands, looking gravely at them as he took them in both of his own, holding on tight.

“My love,” he called, getting you to look at him. “I never stopped loving you. I will always love you. Don’t keep a single doubt of that in your mind.” He was confident in his words, maintaining sheer eye contact to show you how serious he was.

You nodded, starting to believe him. “Yeah,” you whispered.

“What made you think I didn’t anymore?”

You took a few breaths to compose your answer, not wanting to overwhelm Brian. You gulped, pleading to yourself to maintain composure as you spoke. “You were away touring, surrounded by pretty girls all the time, all of them waiting to get a touch of you.” You swallowed, taking a deep breath in. You watched Brian’s incredulous expression during that time. “You started writing less and less, and I just started to worry, it sounds really stupid, I’m sorry —” You were cut off by Brian’s sound of disagreement.

You looked up at him as he stood up and walked over to your side of the booth, sitting down and scooting close to you. He put one arm around your shoulders, the other coming to the arm closest to him.

“Y/N, my love,” he began, pausing for just a second. “Nobody comes close to you.” His eyes looked glossed over now. “I love you, Y/N. Not a day passed by on tour when I didn’t think of what it would be like, doing all of that with you. Seeing all those beautiful places with you.” He opened his mouth, closing it before opening it again. “I actually wasn’t going to show you this till I was sure, but…” He released you from his grip, reaching across the table for his backpack, pulling out a notebook. You recognized it as his songwriting notebook.

He flipped to a page titled ‘Driven By You,’ pushing the notebook to you.

Your eyes took in the lyrics, pausing for a moment at the especially good ones.

“We’re working day and night to make a dream come true,

Everything I do is driven by you,”

You smiled, looking at Brian, who had shifted slightly away from you. You wanted to pull him in for a hug, but you decided to read the entire thing first.

“I'm holding on to life with you

'Cause life without you just won't do

Driven by you.”

You laughed this time, your heart doing a little dance. You closed the notebook, putting your arms around Brian. “Did you write that for me?”

“Yes,” Brian said, “It’s true.”

“I’’m sorry I doubted you, Bri. I am so sorry.” You said, pulling away, putting one hand on his cheek.

Brian brought his hand to hold your wrist, “No, I see what you mean. If you were away for so long, I would have gotten a little worried too.” He assured you. He leaned down, pulling you in for a kiss.

You melted into it, bringing your hands around Brian’s neck. You had missed this. You had missed this so bad. You weren’t going to let go so easily. You pulled away after a few seconds, keeping your forehead pressed to his, “I love you, Brian May.”

Brian chuckled softly, “What would I do without you?”

You giggled, pressing one last kiss to his lips before pulling away completely. “Let’s go somewhere else. I wanna meet you properly,” you said slyly, getting up and waiting for Brian to do the same.

Brian kept his fingers interlaced with yours the entire time back to your apartment, stopping you one last time outside the front door. “Y/N, my love?” He asked, pulling on your hand to get your attention.

You hummed in response, looking up at him, You were still thinking about all the places Brian had seen and described for you.

“Please don’t think I don’t love you again,” he said, his eyes soft, filled with concern. “I love you, okay? More than anything in this world. I promise. I didn’t think once about all the girls I used to see everywhere, all I could think of was coming ba—”

“I believe you, Brian,” you cut him off. “I believe you, I promise. I think I just missed you a little too much.”

You pulled on his collar, getting him to walk with you, whispering in his ear as you pushed the door open, “How about you show me just how much you missed me?”

forever tags: @lv7867 @fatbottomedguys @bensrhapsody @mrsmazzello @unbound-chaos @lovesaweed @cruelmooon @spacedust1124719 @toomuchtellyneck @danamaleksworld @melinas-eyeliner @itsalreadybroken @suredontwannagohome @mexifangorl @a-kind-of-magik

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mooksie01 · 4 years

Text

With Teammates Like These, Who Needs Friends (4/5)

Chapter Summary: It turns out that the only thing worse than a tense first date in an airship... is an awkward first date in a haunted dust mine.

Or: In which Clover feels like a moron, Elm causes problems, and nobody knows how to deal with a crush.

Warnings: More swearing, canon-typical combat, SPOILERS for V7C3, light angst

AO3 Link: [X]

Link to First Chapter: [X]

Notes: THIS IS A REPOST. Tumblr basically blanked my first attempt at posting this a few hours ago. Hopefully this one will actually show up.

Long chapter today to make up for the short one yesterday! I hope you all enjoy!

Please like, reblog, and comment if you like this chapter, and thank you so much to all of you who have been! Your support means the world!

(Just to preface, I haven't edited this chapter as thoroughly as I usually do, as I'm currently in the process of packing to go back to college tomorrow. I might come back later and give it another run-over when I have time, but for now, I'm sorry if there are any major mistakes or awkward spots in the chapter!)

---

Walking through the abandoned dust mines with Qrow, Clover can’t help but be… a little distracted.

Up until now, Clover had only ever seen the other man move in a manner so instinctively disconnected and introverted that he’d just assumed that that was how Qrow always was. Now, though, he sees that he was wrong before; beside him, Qrow marches forward, back straight, shoulders carefully held lax in preparation for any possible conflict, head high, and eyes shining with a startling clarity and determination that takes Clover’s breath away.

In short, he’s a vision and it’s a herculean task not to stare.

Still, Clover is a soldier first and foremost, and he doesn’t allow himself to be sucked in so much that he might lose focus on the mission.

After a few long moments punctuated by nothing but his team’s routine check-ins, Qrow speaks up, “Gotta say, ’m still not really used to working with other huntsmen in the field.”

Clover glances at him out of the corner of his eye, mentally jumping hurdles in an attempt to figure out what the best route to steer this conversation in would be. He decides to tread lightly--nothing too personal. “But you were on a team before, weren’t you?” he asks, as though he doesn’t already know. That should be safe.

Qrow sighs softly and his gaze darts to the ground.

Fuck.

Just kill him already.

“Long time ago…” Qrow’s voice comes out sounding gruffer than usual, “I’ve just found working alone tends to be for the best.”

Clover’s heart constricts in his chest. What is he supposed to do?! He’s already upset Qrow (twice, now!), how is he supposed to avoid doing it again?! He doesn’t want him to shut himself off from the Ace Ops just because Clover can’t stop sticking his foot in his mouth! Should he comfort him? He seems like he needs comfort. Fuck, he has to respond. What can he say?!

“Well, I think that’s a shame,” he blurts out, and immediately wants to punch himself.

Fortunately, or unfortunately, he is saved from having to ruminate over his social missteps when Qrow suddenly pitches forward, his foot catching on the uneven terrain of the cave floor underneath them.

Clover dives after him, seizing him by one arm and grunting with the unexpected strain of having to pull his partner back to his feet, then moves one hand to clasp his shoulder and make sure he’s steady. He is unsure if he has his skill or his semblance to thank for the feat, but he is grateful nonetheless to whichever it is.

He determinedly does not think about how this is the second time today that he has gotten the opportunity to hold Qrow close. Because that would be weird.

Once Qrow is standing again, they stare at each other for what feels like a long time, but is probably only a split-second. Clover feels like tiny nevermores are making a mess of his insides the longer he looks into Qrow’s eyes.

Then, those incredibly nice-looking eyes narrow into a slight glare and Qrow takes a firm step back. Rather than think about what he’s messed up this time, Clover decides that now would be a perfect time to report in to his team.

“Alpha, here. Give me an update.”

Qrow falls into step behind him as they proceed forward. Once again, the minutes pass mostly in silence but for the intermittent interruptions of their comms. Unlike Squads Bravo and Charlie, they see no sign of any sentinels or the target itself, but Clover has a feeling that they will soon enough.

His comm buzzes in his ear and makes a soft beeping noise, a signal that someone is contacting him through the Ace Ops’ private channel. Clover is about to answer aloud, but stops when a quiet series of taps and drags echoes down the line. It takes him a second to realize he’s being spoken to through morse code. His heart starts racing. They almost never use morse code in the field. Has something gone wrong?

He listens closely.

“ .... --- .-- … / -.-- --- ..- .-. / -... .. .-. -.. “

HOWS YOUR BIRD

He takes a deep breath in and steadily lets it out through his nose. Now is not the time to figure out if it’s possible to throttle someone through a comm line. Instead, he tries to discreetly raise a hand to his ear and respond:

“ .. -- / --. --- .. -. --. / - --- / ..-. .. .-. . / -.-- --- ..- “

IM GOING TO FIRE YOU

“Who are we firing?”

Clover startles, whipping his head around to look at Qrow. The other man stares impassively at him, a single eyebrow raised. Clover swallows hard because oh no, he’s hot. “Nobody. Well, Elm, probably.”

“What did she do?” Qrow asks, quickening his pace half a step until he is walking shoulder-to-shoulder with Clover again.

“Fooling around on comms during a mission. Don’t worry about it.” Clover stops walking, turning to face Qrow, who takes the hint and also comes to a halt. “How do you know morse code?”

Qrow shrugs, folding his arms over his chest. “Just a useful skill for a huntsman to have, isn’t it?”

Clover scrutinizes Qrow for a long moment, detecting that there’s something more to that. Unfortunately, though, he’s not Robyn, and he doesn’t know Qrow well enough yet to pick up on any tells he may have, so he just nods and they continue walking.

“Must’ve been something real interesting,” Qrow says after a few more minutes spent in silence, “to get you to blush like that.”

Clover’s steps falter. His face grows hot as he stares after Qrow’s retreating back.

Fuck.

He isn’t allowed to stew in his embarrassment for long, as their target suddenly phases through the cavern wall and appears right in front of them. Before Clover can even react, Qrow has already drawn his weapon and started shooting one-handed at the geist.

While Qrow keeps the creature busy, Clover shakes himself out of his stupor and speaks into his comm, “This is Alpha! We’ve engaged the target!” He pulls Kingfisher from his belt. “All squads head towards our position!” He extends the pole, and casts out the line, hoping to catch the geist by its ribs and haul it in before it can reach any materials to build a body out of. Unfortunately, his shot misses, the hook clattering to the ground just as the target darts into a giant chunk of ice sitting on the cavern floor.

Pieces of rock and ice begin to float into the air around them, pulled unrelentingly into the geist’s orbit. Clover curses under his breath and rushes forward, hoping to snag the geist and pull it out of its half-formed body before it can finish construction….

...Only to hear Qrow’s panic-filled voice echo from behind him, “Wait, stop!”

Clover looks up just in time to see a large metal beam tumble from the ceiling above. He raises his arms and takes a stumbling step back as it crashes into the ground just a few feet in front of him.

When the dust settles, he peers down into the hole it had made, taking the target with it.

Dammit.

He knows for certain that that beam would’ve done some serious damage if not for Qrow’s warning. He probably wouldn’t have died, but he certainly would’ve been out of commission for more than a little while.

Still, the target got away, and as Qrow runs to stand beside him, he reports in to the rest of the teams, “Target escaped. Last seen headed east.”

He shoots a sideways glance at Qrow, who is staring contemplatively down into the chasm, a strange light in his eyes that Clover can’t quite comprehend.

He looks back into the seemingly-bottomless darkness. Kicks a medium-sized stone into the newly-made pit in an attempt to get a rough estimate of how deep it goes. “Thanks for the call-out,” he says, suddenly remembering that he should probably express his gratitude toward Qrow for saving him an awful lot of injured leave. He props a hand on his hip and shifts his weight as the rock lands below. “That could’ve been bad.”

Qrow sighs heavily next to him, “I wouldn’t thank me….”

Clover is taken aback at the sheer amount of self-loathing and shame loaded into those four little words. He looks at Qrow. The other man is firmly avoiding his gaze, and the strange quality that Clover had noticed in his eyes earlier now registers in the back of his mind as guilt.

This… was not the Qrow Branwen that Clover had thought he’d be dealing with. Just a few hours ago, he couldn’t fathom a world in which such a famous huntsman would be anything less than confident and secure in himself, but it is becoming increasingly clear that that assumption couldn’t have been more wrong, as the intense self-contempt Clover hears seems to settle within a well-worn place in Qrow’s face and voice.

Qrow angles his upper body away a bit more so Clover can no longer see his expression. “My semblance brings Misfortune. Sometimes… I can’t keep it under control.” His voice gets weaker at the end of the sentence. His fists clench weakly at his sides.

Clover’s chest seizes with some unnamed emotion.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. Of course Qrow had been upset this morning--his semblance was literally bad luck and here Clover had been, walking around with a bunch of good luck charms and making luck-based puns.

Reviewing the events of the past hours, more and more pieces fall into place. Qrow’s sudden shift in mood from playful to downtrodden after they’d run into each other, how he’d repeatedly downplayed his hurt feelings as “dramatics,” the way he’d said on the airship that he “couldn’t blame” Clover for--for what?

He remembers the way Qrow had gestured to his ensemble earlier. His world tilts on its axis.

Oh, Brothers, Qrow thought that Clover already knew his semblance and had been wearing all of his charms as some sort of twisted precautionary measure. To ward off him. A human person with thoughts and feelings.

Stupid, stupid, so stupid.

He shakes his brain’s attempts at self-punishment away. What’s more important at the moment is that he now knows what’s wrong, and that he can fix it, and Clover decides in this moment, a million thoughts running through his head, that he no longer cares about the other Ace Ops’ teasing. If hanging around Qrow from here on out is what it will take to boost this gorgeous man’s self-confidence, then that’s what Clover will do.

“That so?” Clover asks, as though he hasn’t been rethinking every single one of their interactions up to this point. When Qrow turns to look at him, eyes wide with shock, having obviously expected a far worse reaction, Clover flashes him the most reassuring smile in his repertoire (and that’s saying something, since he has a lot of reassuring smiles saved up at this point). “Well, hey,” he says, purposefully making a show of glancing casually at his scroll’s screen and extending Kingfisher, “don’t beat yourself up about it.”

(He hopes desperately that this remark comes off as encouraging, rather than callous.)

He pulls down what’s left of the metal beam that had almost crushed him, resulting in a small-scale landslide that just-so-happens to give them a way down with which to follow the target.

He turns to face Qrow, making direct eye contact with the other man, who seems to have frozen in place.

And hey.

“My semblance is good fortune….”

If he can get in a little flirting while he’s hanging around the aforementioned gorgeous man?

“...lucky you, huh?” He gives the other a wink as he speaks. Qrow’s eyes widen. Clover raises his eyebrows and turns away, watching Qrow until the last possible moment.

Well, that’s neither here nor there.

---

More Notes: And there we go! Only one chapter left in this part of the series! I'm glad everyone seems to be liking it so far, and I'm so, so thankful to those of you who have been so kind and supportive in the comments. You're all amazing! Lots of love, fair game rights <3

#rwby #qrow branwen #clover ebi #fair game #qrowver #lucky charms #luckbirds #elm ederne #rwby volume 7 #rwby7 #rwby v7 #rwby fanfiction #rwby spoilers #pining #angst

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dreamycastaway · 5 years

Text

the kind of stuff we’re trying to save

“Aziraphale? What happened to you?”

“Ah. I, ah, ran into Gabriel in the park today.”

“And?”

“Well, he told me to wrap up everything down here and report back to active service. And to, um, ‘lose the gut.’”

Just a quick body positive Ineffable Husbands fic in which Crowley reassures Aziraphale after Gabriel is a wanker. This is supposed to happen at the point in the show where Crowley says "Whatever I said I didn't mean it" instead of that brief scene on the street. Presumably the fighting still happens afterwards but this is just outright fluff/comfort. You can find it on ao3 under the same title as this post but tumblr doesn’t like links I guess??

“Aziraphale? Aziraphale, come on!” Crowley knocked again on the door to Aziraphale’s apartments above the bookshop, as hard as he dared to. His deepest desire was to tear the door of its hinges and march in there and … well. But Aziraphale would surely say something like “Crowley! That door dates back to the eighteenth century! It’s original to the building!” in that indignant little voice. So Crowley just knocked.

“Aziraphale, I’ve … I’ve come to apologize.” Crowley admitted sheepishly. He waited. He listened, hoping to hear Aziraphale walking towards the door, or else call out “coming!” from the other room. But he heard neither of these things, and was forced by his awareness of his looming ass-kicking from head office to turn away. Just as he reached the stairwell, he heard the old hinges creak.

Crowley looked back, and was surprised to see no one in the doorway who could have opened it.

“Aziraphale? Listen, Aziraphale, I’m –” Crowley said hesitantly as he crossed the threshold. He stopped in his tracks when he caught sight of the other man, who was making the appearance of doing something but really doing nothing at all, and had clearly miracled the door open. “Aziraphale? What happened to you?”

Aziraphale stopped pretending to be busy and looked up at Crowley, seemingly unable to muster even the weakest of smiles. “Ah. I, ah, ran into Gabriel in the park today.” His voice was a mix of ‘I’m talking fast because I have to get somewhere, thanks’ and ‘I’m talking fast because I’m embarrassed.’ Crowley wasn’t sure which upset him more.

Crowley rolled his eyes behind his shades at the mention of Gabriel. If he thought Beelzebub was bad … well. Gabriel was definitely worse. Crowley had spent many unrestful nights and drunken afternoons regretting his fall, but any mention of Gabriel was usually enough to put him off the regret for a few days.

“And?” Crowley said, trying his very best to maintain neutral-cool and swallow his concerns, about Armageddon, about Beelzebub, about the Anti-Christ, all of which were clamoring for his attention like so many needy children who were quite upset that once again Aziraphale had seemed to land squarely at the top of the ‘things Crowley worries about’ list.

“Well, he told me to wrap up everything down here and report back to active service.” Aziraphale paused, as if trying to decide whether or not to continue speaking. “And to, um, ‘lose the gut.’”

To say that ‘the gears in Crowley’s head were turning’ would have been an understatement. Really, the gears in Crowley’s head were spinning off their pegs and dowels and ricocheting around in his brain, setting off alarm bells and sirens. His mind was immediately so full of questions it is almost not worthwhile to list them all out, but rest assured they included “who does Gabriel think he is” and “is Aziraphale actually going to report to active duty” and “did he really listen to Gabriel about the gut?”

Crowley answered the last question himself as he realized that when he had asked earlier “what happened to you” he hadn’t been quite sure to what he was referring; he just knew that something was wrong. Now he knew what was wrong – Aziraphale had changed out his normal tartan bowtie and playful waistcoat for the very bland, standard-issue clothes he had been sent down in … and those clothes fit him. When he said “what happened to you” he really should have said “what happened to the rest of you” – if not for his keen awareness of what Aziraphale smelled like and how he carried himself and the expressiveness in those grey eyes (and for the fact of them being in Aziraphale’s flat) he might not have recognized him at all.

Aziraphale liked food. In fact, if one wasn’t aware of how deeply the angel loved certain other things, and how much nothing could come close to his love of those certain things, one might say Aziraphale loved food. He thought it was adorable that humans turned a survival instinct into an art, and found it quite heartwarming that they created masterpieces knowing full well that those masterpieces would only serve their purpose if they were destroyed. He had absolutely gone native when it came to eating – in fact, he was at risk of going beyond that point. A first-edition of The Hobbit had come into his possession sometime back, and he thought that the idea of seven daily meals was quite brilliant.

It’s not as if Aziraphale’s body could fail him, and, quite frankly, Aziraphale was too clever to believe the nonsense that one’s weight actually had much to do with one’s health as opposed to with one’s genetics. But since Aziraphale didn’t have any genetics to speak of, his weight had not much to do with his genes and quite a lot to do with his passion for food. He loved food and his body knew it, and it wanted to show it off.

That is, until this morning, when Gabriel had told him to “lose the gut.” Gabriel, always a man of few, blunt words, arguably an American before America had even existed, had felt no need to sugarcoat, and what “lose the gut” suggested to Aziraphale was that this soft, comfortable, lived-in body was not fit for an angel who was about to be fighting in a war, and that Aziraphale had better quickly hide any evidence of his gross matter consumption habit before Gabriel invented a new boot camp regimen for angels who have clearly let themselves go.

“I’m … too soft.” He admitted weakly to Crowley.

At some point Crowley’s head had stopped spinning and he had taken his shades off, which was his way of saying “I’ve decided what’s important to me in this moment and that’s what I’m about to address”. Obviously those exact words would never cross the demon’s lips, but Aziraphale knew what it meant for him to take his glasses off, and he waited, looking awkward and upset in his changed body and his old clothes, but bringing to bear that tender patience and resolve that Crowley admired so much.

Although Crowley had decided what he was going to address he wasn’t quite sure how to go about saying it. Just as healing and poisoning were very similar skillsets, applied in vastly different situations, knowing what to say to push someone over the edge into darkness and knowing what to say to coax someone back into the light were two sides of the same coin. In Crowley’s particular line of work, the former was obviously more common, and his knowledge of the latter was typically waved away with a “well, I’ve got to know what not to say, don’t I? Wouldn’t want to go around making saints instead of sinners,” but just as Crowley occasionally made plays into startling successes and saved books from two-timing Nazis, he occasionally said something kind.

“Well, soft is good, isn’t it, Angel?”

To anyone not aware of the specific infernal nature of Crowley, the word ‘good’ would sit firmly between ‘fine’ and ‘great,’ and maybe even seem a little underwhelming, given everything that was afoot. But the in-the-know onlooker would understand that for a demon to use the word good, and to actually mean it, rather than to scorn it, carried with it such immense weight that both Crowley and Aziraphale felt they had to hold their breath for a minute, lest that weight come crashing down on top of them. Crowley typically tried to slither his way out of the word “good”, but in this instance he used it just as it was meant to be used. Soft was good. He liked soft. Aziraphale liked soft.

Moreover, to anyone not aware of the specific celestial nature of Aziraphale, Crowley’s nickname for him would seem unabashedly romantic. In his warmer moments, Aziraphale, who was very familiar with the written word, would agree, saying that he could hear the capital A on Angel. In his more uncertain moments he was inclined to hear it as something of an insult, much as it would be to call your plumber “plumber”, given that you were of a profession that had a 6,000-year-long feud with plumbers, and had once been a plumber yourself and perhaps were jealous you were no longer one. Even though Aziraphale was full of uncertainty in this moment, somehow none of it landed on that word, and he was aware that by “soft is good, isn’t it, Angel?” Crowley really meant “your body only looks the way you want it to. It shows what it loves and what you love. And that’s good, Angel, you don’t have to be what they say. You can be what you say.”

Just as how Gabriel had said three words to Aziraphale this morning and Aziraphale had heard fifty-one, Crowley said seven words and Aziraphale heard thirty-seven. Crowley, of course, knew that Aziraphale would hear all thirty-seven words without him having to say them all, and he also knew that right about now Aziraphale would be thinking “oh, I suppose that was a question, wasn’t it?” and being the polite man he was, would feel he had to answer, which was exactly what Crowley had planned.

“Yes, I …” Aziraphale tread lightly – he was perhaps too aware of Crowley’s infernal nature and his own celestial nature and the heavy tension hanging between them and all around them. “I suppose soft has its place.” Aziraphale paused for a moment. “But soft has its place here on Earth. Not among the host of Heaven.”

Crowley’s first instinct was to lash out, but he knew that wouldn’t work. Aziraphale liked to take things slow, and an outburst would certainly put him off the rest of the conversation. Instead, Crowley paused, and, in an off-brand move, considered carefully what he was going to say next. “Angel, isn’t that the point of all this?” He threw his arms up and gestured vaguely at himself and Aziraphale and their surroundings. “Aren’t we trying to save all that kind of stuff?”

By “that kind of stuff” Crowley could have meant any or all of the following: things that were nice about Earth, things that relied on the consumption of food, things that he loved dearly about Aziraphale, things that they had grown accustomed to in their thousands of years here. He didn’t particularly care which meaning the angel took from his vague phrasing, as all of them were accurate and all would get the point across.

The demon held his breath and looked vaguely around the room as he waited to see if invoking the potential end of the world had been the right decision. If it hadn’t been, they might very well not save the world at all, which would make Crowley deeply upset for a number of reasons, including but not limited to the fact that Hell’s battle fatigues were not stylish at all, and that he would rather die than be on the opposite side from Aziraphale anywhere but at a table for two.

The meandering of his gaze away from the potential consequences of his actions meant that he missed Aziraphale moving towards him, and was startled to suddenly feel the Angel’s arms wrapped about him in a warm hug. It was not unheard of for the two beings to touch, but it was uncommon enough that Crowley always felt like it had been too long since the last time. Crowley slowly reached his arms up and placed his hands gently on Aziraphale’s back. He could only take a brief moment to enjoy what it felt like to be caught up in the embrace before he realized Aziraphale was crying softly into his shoulder.

Aziraphale’s tears stung slightly where they landed – they weren’t Holy Water but they were holy and they were water, and thus were like the knock-off handbags of Holy Liquids. But Crowley was much more upset by the fact that Aziraphale was crying at all than the fact that the tears burned him a little, and tried his best to swallow his mounting panic that it was his fault as he asked what was wrong.

Aziraphale looked up at him, and it was at this point that Crowley realized that he was back to looking like his normal self, being now the usual size and wearing his usual tailored clothes again. The demon breathed a sigh of relief, unable to help a smile from turning up the corners of his mouth – the kind of smile you give someone when they’ve returned to you after a long trip, a mix of relief and longing and pure, unadulterated joy.

“Well, Darling, I would love to tell you that nothing is wrong, seeing as how nice you’ve just been,” Aziraphale said, lingering on the word ‘nice’ in a way that said ‘I know even you won’t tell me off when I’ve just been crying’. Crowley was barely halfway through forming a grimace at this characterization when he realized he had just been called “Darling”. He looked down in surprise, wondering if maybe he’d misheard something, when he was interrupted by a second realization that Aziraphale hadn’t finished his sentence. He locked eyes with Aziraphale, who was blushing and smiling that mischievous smile that had always set him apart from the other angels. “But as I recall we still have the whole world to save.”

#good omens #ineffable husbands #aziraphale #crowley #anthony j crowley #dreamy writes #im sorry mobile users if the read more doesnt work

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jarienn972 · 5 years

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The Right Place - Chapter Nineteen and Epilogue

For anyone who has been following this fic, you’ll know it was last updated in early October, 2018 and while my plans were to finish it at that time, it ended up being exactly one week before my mother passed away and I just couldn’t get myself into the right mindset to complete it. Then, a couple of months ago, the @csmarchmadness idea came along to help give us writers a little boost of confidence to finish those nagging WIPs and I decided to go ahead and tackle this story. (I’m a little late getting it posted today, but technically, it is still 3/22 here in FL as I’m posting)

I’ve loved this concept from the beginning as it took Emma out of her magical comfort zone to solve a real world crime, working alongside law enforcement colleagues in Portland, Maine. As I did with the opening chapters, I tacked the epilogue onto the end of this chapter to provide a fitting bookend.

This is the last installment of a nearly 80K word fic so it has honestly been a beast to write, especially since it ended up taking far longer to complete than I’d planned. You can read the entirety of this story on AO3 or FF.net or find the earlier chapters here: Prologue/Chap1 Chap2 Chap3 Chap4 Chap5 Chap6 Chap7 Chap8 Chap9 Chap10 Chap11 Chap12 Chap13 Chap14 Chap15 Chap16 Chap17 Chap18 I’m also tagging my cheerleader, @hookaroo who has been looking forward to the final chapter of this fic for a while now! (edited to add Tumblr link to Chap 18 after I realized it had never been posted on Tumblr. Oops...)

Saturday Morning – Portland Harbor

The tempest of the overnight thunderstorms had given way to a breezy, warmer Saturday morning. Hazy sunlight filtered through the window coverings of the McCallen's guest room as Emma was awakened by the persistent blip of notifications popping up on her cell phone, all of them informing her of the incoming text messages from Regina. According to the texts, Ursula would be waiting for them at the same Harbor front park at 9am with some updated news regarding her offer to return the Jolly Roger to her berth in Storybrooke's marina. While Killian wasn't keen on anyone else taking the helm of his beloved ship, he'd conceded to the basic fact that at the present time, he lacked the physical stamina to sail her back home himself.

Emma would have preferred another hour of sleep since it this was far too early on a Saturday morning by her opinion, but since they did have the drive home ahead of them, she begrudgingly swung her feet over the side of the bed. It wasn't a particularly long trip, but she still needed to be wide awake and she didn't want to get back too late. After nearly a week away, she was certain there would be a mountain of backlogged work awaiting their return. She noticed that Killian had already vacated his side of the bed, waking up before his wife to wander into the kitchen where McCallen had left coffee brewing for them and a note stating that he had ventured out the station to finish his paperwork from yesterday's major breakthroughs in the case.

Killian seemed a tad more upbeat this morning and even seemed to handle the walk from the parking lot down to the waterfront better, only needing to pause once to catch his breath. The Sea Witch was already waiting for them, scouting out a quiet bench away from the multitude of park visitors who were enjoying the pleasant start to what was shaping up to be a beautiful day.

"You're late," Ursula grumbled in greeting. "I thought you seafaring types were known for better timing?"

"My seafaring timing is as precise as ever," Killian replied, voice tinged with a hint of offense. "However, you should be aware that in this realm there's a thing called traffic."

"We would have called to let you know we were running a little late if we'd had a way to contact you aside from a conch shell," Emma reminded the witch.

"Cell phones simply aren't the most reliable where I come from," Ursula countered with a grin that Emma wasn't sure was intended to be jovial or sinister. "Anyway, I've made all of the arrangements to transport your ship as promised. My niece will not be allowed to interfere with the vessel's passage."

"May I ask what arrangements you've made?" Killian queried. "Who did you find to sail her or is the transport to be more of a magical variety? I prefer not to have someone inexperienced at the helm."

"I managed to round up a few of your remaining crew, led by your former first mate, Mr. Smee. It'll primarily be for show though as once it reaches open waters, I can push your little boat along a bit easier…" Killian frowned at her use of the term little boat in reference to his ship, but held his tongue.

"So, my ship should be back in the harbor by the time we reach Storybrooke?" Killian chose to ask instead.

"Should be. Your crew is on their way here as we speak. I managed to find a fisherman who was willing to bring them down here to retrieve the Jolly Roger, although you may need to round up some of those gold doubloons you have stashed to pay the man for his service."

"How generous of you to offer up my funds as payment," he quipped sarcastically, although he was secretly grateful for all Ursula had done. She'd already rescued him from a watery grave so having her assistance in returning his beloved Jolly Roger to her home port was truly going above and beyond.

"I assume you have plenty of funds hidden, pirate," Ursula responded while flashing a broad grin. "Anyway, I need to get out of here before this park gets any busier so that I can supervise the return trip. See you in Storybrooke, Captain."

"Aye," Killian responded with a nod and a smile as the Sea Witch turned to depart, leaving him wondering exactly how much gold she'd promised his crew. But as she began to stroll towards the water's edge, Killian recalled one additional thing he wanted to ask her. "Ursula?" he called to her before she was out of earshot, grateful when she turned to face him again. "One last thing, if I may?"

"And that is?"

"Would you have my crew sail a pass through the inner channel? Not too close to the harbor, but around this side of the islands so that I might see her off?"

"I suppose I could do that," she replied as she took a few steps back towards the Joneses so she wouldn't have to shout. "I would have to uncloak the ship though."

"For a few minutes, revealing the vessel should be fine. This far from shore, she may appear as merely an illusion to anyone who may catch sight of her," he offered, eager to garner even a momentary glimpse of his ship nearly a week after he'd left her abandoned offshore.

"I'll see what I can do. You may want to hang around the harbor for a while though," the Sea Witch suggested.

"Any idea of approximately how long it'll take?" Emma questioned. "We do still have the drive back to Storybrooke ahead of us."

"Give me an hour," Ursula stated, not waiting for Killian to offer his thanks as she departed without another word.

As they watched the Sea Witch vanish behind a pier, Killian dropped his weary body onto the bench before he collapsed.

"Guess we have a little bit of time to kill before we hit the road then," Emma chuckled before noticing the forlorn cast to his gaze when he stared out over the bay. "I know you'd rather be sailing the Jolly Roger back home yourself…"

"It's alright, Swan," he said with a faint sigh of disappointment. "In my current condition, I'm well aware that I lack the necessary strength and stamina to properly man the helm. I'd much rather that she be safely returned to port, even if not by my hand." She could hear the disparaging tone of his voice and decided to think of something to distract him.

"Well, I really don't want to sit here on a cold, hard park bench for an hour while we wait for your ship to appear. Can we go grab a doughnut or something? And how do you intend to see the ship from across the bay anyway?"

"I believe you have a set of of spyglasses – I believe you call them binoculars? Aren't they somewhere in the vehicle?"

"Uh, yeah, there's a set of binoculars somewhere in the back seat."

"Then those should be sufficient," he replied. "I do have to agree with you though that sitting here for an hour is probably not the best option. I know we aren't far from the ferry terminal so perhaps we might pay a visit to the shopkeeper? I'd like to let her know personally that I'm alright if it isn't too far out of the way?"

"I'm pretty sure it's only a few blocks down the harbor from here. I think Ms. Scott would be very happy to see you. Think you can handle the walk or would you prefer we drive?"

"I'm feeling far better today, but I still believe it would be more prudent to drive."

"Okay, then let's get back up to the Bug and we'll go see if Ms. Scott has the shop back open."

Ten minutes later, after the short walk back to the parking lot and a four block drive through busy weekend harbor traffic headed for the marina and ferry terminal, Emma parked her little yellow Volkswagen beneath the old service station overhang. Although there were lights on inside Scott's Mart, the Closed sign still hung in the window, but Emma noticed that it was now accompanied by a notice that the shop would be reopening Monday morning. Emma exited the car and strolled up to the entrance door, rapping forcefully on the glass to garner the proprietor's attention while Killian ambled slowly behind her.

"We're not open yet!" a female voice shouted from inside.

"Ms. Scott, it's Sheriff Emma Jones. I was here with Deputy McCallen a few days ago…" They heard some rustling from beyond the door and something akin to metal scraping against tile before the smiling face of Jean Scott popped up from behind the register counter. The shopkeeper's face lit up even more when she caught sight of the man in the black leather jacket standing behind Emma.

"Sheriff! My apologies for being so curt. Come on in!" Jean immediately unlocked the door and yanked it open for her guests, a mix of elation and gratitude expressed through her welcoming grin. "You're always welcome around here. Sorry it's still such a mess but I'm trying hard to get things straightened up and ready to get back to business. I know I owe you both a huge thanks. I heard from the other police officer – not the one who was here with you but the other guy… His name escapes me now…"

"Sgt. Haviland?" Emma offered.

"Haviland, yeah that's his name! He called me to let me know I didn't have to worry about Donovan Donleavy coming after my property any longer. He said there's a warrant out for his arrest, as soon as they can locate the slimy son of a bitch."

"Yeah, unfortunately it looks like he might have been tipped off somehow and slipped away on his boat sometime last night after the Toliver brothers rolled on him for having hired them to intimidate you, not to mention the kidnapping and stabbing of my husband," Emma explained.

"Well, when they find him, I hope they lock him up and toss away that damned key!" Jean exclaimed before turning her head toward Killian with a softening demeanor. "And you – I'm so glad to get a chance to properly thank you. If I'd have had any idea what those bastards planned to do… I don't think there are enough words in the whole English language for me to express my thanks. You may have truly saved my life that morning and I'm still mortified to think that it nearly cost you yours. I knew Donleavy was scum, but I had no idea he'd actually stoop this low."

Emma though she detected a faint blush creeping across her husband's cheeks as Jean Scott thanked him, but he was trying hard not to let it show. "It was the right thing to do, Milady," Killian assured her. "Neither of us knew that their nefarious plans went so far beyond robbery. I certainly must have had some luck on my side that morning, but the important thing is that the guilty parties are being held accountable and won't be able to harm you any longer."

Jean's head lolled to the side as she caught Emma's attention with a cheeky grin. "Is he always like this?"

"Pretty much," Emma replied, sporting a broad smile of her own as she watched the tips of Killian's ears redden as he flushed with an uncharacteristic embarrassment.

"How do I find one like him?" Jean sighed. "I'd love to have my own little British knight in shining leather." Emma found her husband's blushing even more endearing as he tried to brush off the compliment, realizing it was part of why she loved this man so much. Sure, he could be a total ass sometimes, but when the sweet, old-fashioned, chivalrous side would surface, she'd fall head over heels in love all over again.

"I don't know if there's a clone of him out there somewhere, but if I find one, I'll send him your way," Emma laughed. "For now though, we've got to get going. Now that the case is solved, we're finally heading home."

"Well, please have a safe drive back to your hometown and remember that anytime you're here in Portland, please stop by. It'll be coffee on the house! In fact, if you'd like one for the road, I'm pretty sure the pot is still hot. I've gone through plenty myself while trying to get this place cleaned up but there's more than enough to share. Would you like some?"

"I would absolutely love some coffee," Emma replied graciously.

"As would I," Killian said with a smile.

"Hang on a sec…" Jean scurried down a partially stocked aisle to her coffee shop counter and disappeared behind it. She popped back up a few seconds later with two tall paper cups of steaming hot coffee. "Either of you take cream or sugar?"

"No thanks," Emma replied. "We both take it straight."

Jean made her way across the shop to hand over the coffee cups to her guests. "Here you go. Hope it's not too strong for you."

"I'm sure it will be fine," Killian replied as he accepted her offering. "This wasn't at all necessary, but thank you."

"Anytime," Jean insisted. "Any time at all. I won't keep you from your drive home but I really do appreciate you stopping by. I'm so glad to see that you're alright."

"Good luck with getting your business back on track," Emma said as she shook Jean's hand before departing. "Hopefully things will go better now that there isn't a greedy developer breathing down your neck."

"Oh, there will be another," Jean chuckled. "It never ends around here, but hey, I know I'm in the right place for now. I'll manage."

Emma and Killian said their farewells to Jean Scott and had just started their drive back to the park when Emma's phone started ringing. Seeing that it was McCallen calling, she gestured for Killian to answer and as he did, he pressed the speakerphone button so that they could both hear the conversation.

"Hey, McCallen," Emma answered. "Sorry we missed you this morning, but we locked up before we left."

"I'm the one who should be apologizing," McCallen's voice responded through the speaker. "I had to run into the station this morning to finish up paperwork relating to this case and I was worried I might miss you before you headed home."

"Well, you haven't missed us. We haven't left Portland yet," Emma informed their friend. "Killian wanted to see Jean Scott so she could see he was alright and now we're on our way to the harbor front park so that he can see his ship off. The crew sailing it back to Storybrooke for us offered to make a swing through the bay."

"Alright then, can you hang around the park for a few minutes? I've got some new information you'll want to hear, but I don't want to deliver it over the phone."

"Oh, don't worry, we'll be there for a while. We still have about half an hour to kill before the crew sets sail," Emma explained.

"Oh, good," McCallen replied. "I can be there in about twenty minutes. I'd really like a chance to see that ship too."

"You'll see just how magnificent she is," Killian said proudly.

"If you can see it at all," Emma countered. "The ship is going to be clear on the other side of the bay and I have no idea whether or not my binoculars will be strong enough… You two can figure that out though…"

"Okay," McCallen chuckled. "I'll see you in a few minutes."

The stroll down to the waterfront from the parking area took a little longer this time but Killian had insisted on heading to the furthest pier where they would have the least obstructed view of the bay. There was still one barrier island that partially obscured the horizon, but Killian was certain that they would be able to see enough of the channel to get a decent glimpse of the Jolly Roger. He was quite certain of the route his crew would take and that it would provide a brief window as the ship emerged from the far side of the landmass, before she headed out of the bay and into open ocean.

A visibly exhausted Killian dropped his fatigued body onto an unoccupied bench near the end of the pier as Emma's phone buzzed with a message from McCallen asking where he might find them. She typed back their location and half-expected to see the young deputy arrive in full uniform. She found herself a more than a little surprised to see him approaching dressed in casual attire after he spotted them and waved from the boardwalk.

As McCallen got closer, Emma thought about how this inexperienced deputy had become such a pillar of strength for her this week. He'd been so involved from the beginning, eager to help her out in any way he could and always trying to learn techniques to help himself grow as an investigator. McCallen still had a lot to learn and of course, had some physical obstacles to overcome, but Emma couldn't help to think about what Jean Scott had said about being in the right place and how it applied to the deputy as well. What had begun for him as a seemingly routine case to identify a John Doe had blossomed into a multi-jurisdictional investigation of a corrupt land developer. While McCallen's role in the Donleavy case may have been minor, the deputy's name was forever attached to the investigation and it would likely make a huge impact on his career.

"Hi!" the deputy greeted them once he was finally within earshot. "I haven't missed anything, have I?"

"Not at all," Killian assured their young friend as he lowered the binoculars. "I've not yet caught sight of her but it shouldn't be long now."

"Don't worry," Emma added. "You'll know the moment he sees it. It's all he's talked about all morning."

"So, this is kind of a big deal, huh?" McCallen asked with a crooked grin, almost as a tease.

"She's been a huge part of my life," Killian replied. "In fact, she was my life for a very long time, before I met Emma." He failed to notice the way McCallen glanced at Emma with a look that seemed to ask Is he kidding?

"I think that what Killian meant to say is that he spent many years working on that ship before we met. He puts a lot of effort into keeping it ship-shape. But yes – sometimes I swear he treats that ship like a person…"

"It's a good thing she's not able to hear you speak such blasphemy," Killian feigned offense as his wife laughed it off.

"See - I share my husband with a ship," Emma chuckled, shaking her head. "Anyway, I know you didn't come down here just to talk about Killian's ship. You said on the phone that you had some new information to share with us? Is it news about Donleavy?"

"Well, yes and no…" McCallen began as he took a seat on the bench next to Killian. "We got a call this morning from the RCMP…"

"RCMP?" Killian interrupted with a confused query as he didn't understand the reference.

"Royal Canadian Mounted Police," the deputy clarified. "Sorry, I should have been more specific."

"It's alright," Emma insisted. "We usually just refer to them as the Mounties." She'd explain the reference further for Killian when they were alone.

"Oh, okay," McCallen continued. "As I started to say earlier, we, well, technically Sgt. Haviland received a call from the Mounties this morning letting him know that Donleavy's boat was located. Appears that it ran aground along the coast of Nova Scotia and by all accounts, was pretty beat up. Unfortunately, they found no sign of Donleavy. Haviland forwarded me a copy of the report. Guess he thought you'd already be back home if he didn't get in touch with you yet."

"I haven't looked at my email all morning," Emma confessed. "If he sent something there, I probably won't read it until we do get home – especially if it isn't giving us any whereabouts of Donleavy himself. At least we have an idea of where he escaped to."

"I do recall saying that he wouldn't get very far by sea," Killian reminded them. "The seas would have been far too rough for his minuscule craft. Even a sailor as experienced as myself wouldn't have fared well in that storm."

"Yeah, Donleavy was probably thrown overboard somewhere between here and Canada, before his ship crashed onshore," Emma suggested.

"There's still a remote chance he survived so the Canadians are going to continue their search to see if he turns up. They weren't entirely convinced that he'd survived either, but they're not giving up the search yet."

"Serves him right, if I do say so myself," Killian said with an eyebrow raised playfully. He lifted the binoculars to his eyes to survey the bay once again, scanning the horizon for a glimpse of the Jolly Roger. He stood as he caught sight of a set of familiar masts and sails materializing from beyond the inner harbor islands. "Ah, there she is!" he exclaimed with a huge grin stretching across his lips. "Such a thing of beauty…"

"Alright – you know I'm dying to get a look at this ship I've been hearing about. I mean, you've got the rings, the tattoos, the skull and crossbones pendant – there's definitely some kind of pirate obsession there so should I be expecting a pirate ship too?" Killian gave him a slightly nervous smile and Emma was practically biting her tongue as they both began mentally scrambling for a plausible explanation for the fact that Killian did indeed have have a pirate ship, and a marvel of one at that.

"Of course," Killian said as he offered the binoculars to the deputy and pointed to a distant location across the bay. "If you look out there to the northeast, you'll see her riggings just beyond that island." McCallen raised the binoculars and pointed himself in the direction Killian had indicated, his jaw dropping the moment he spied the tall ship on the horizon. He didn't know a lot about classical ships - he wouldn't have known a schooner from a frigate or a galleon, but this vessel looked like it could have sailed straight out of any pirate movie he'd ever seen.

"Wow! That's really your ship? It's definitely not what I expected, but seriously – you can sail that all by yourself?" Killian had to chuckle at the deputy's excited rambling.

"Indeed, I can," Killian replied proudly.

"That is so cool!" McCallen gushed, unable to contain himself. "What did you name your ship?"

"The J-…" Killian started to reply Jolly Roger, but something made him stop and reconsider, responding with the vessel's original moniker instead. "Jewel of the Realm."

"That's a really great name," McCallen told him as he passed the binoculars back to his pirate friend. "How did you ever come to own a ship like that?"

"Killian repairs and restores these old ships to keep them seaworthy," Emma jumped in with the most logical explanation she could determine. "And if you haven't noticed, he's a bit obsessive about his job."

"History deserves to be preserved," Killian stated, going along with Emma's lead. "And what can I say – I immerse myself fully into my work."

"Well, by the looks of it, you're very skilled at what you do! How do you manage to find the time as a deputy?"

"Don't have as much time as I used to so sailing has become more of a hobby now, but if you're ever in Storybrooke, I'd be honored to give you the full tour and a run about the harbor."

"I just might take you up on that one day, but since I have a tendency to get seasick, just admiring her from the dock would probably be enough for me," the deputy admitted with an embarrassed chortle.

"Well, my friend, if you ever want to try for your sea legs, my offer shall stand," Killian laughed as he raised the binoculars one last time to see if the ship was still visible but it appeared as though Ursula had already reactivated the cloaking. "Appears as though she has sailed beyond our purview."

"Oh, sorry… I'm guessing you're hoping to get back home around the same time as the ship?" McCallen wondered, not wanting to impede their plans.

"Yeah, that's sort of the plan," Emma stated as she glanced at her watch. "We definitely should get on the road soon, but Aaron, we really want to thank you for everything – for your help with the investigation into what happened to Killian... for opening your home to us. You've done so much more than you ever needed to."

McCallen's cheeks flushed as he tried to figure out how to respond to her gratitude. "Honestly, not many people have put as much faith in me as you did. I'm grateful to you for including me when you could have brushed me off in favor of letting Sgt. Haviland take over. I'm glad you didn't."

"You've got the instinct," Emma assured him. "You're going to be a great investigator."

"I guess we'll have to see how far a man with an artificial foot can get," McCallen said sullenly.

"As far as a man with an artificial hand can get," Killian insisted. "And that's as far as you desire."

Epilogue

Saturday Afternoon – Storybrooke

It hadn't taken Killian more than a few seconds after they'd exited the interstate before the gloved, wooden hand was discarded to the back seat in favor of his preferred attachment. Captain Hook was back and on his way home. By the time they passed the Welcome to Storybrooke sign at the edge of town, he was certain he could already smell the marine air again and began to imagine the sound of crisp sails flapping in the wind.

They finally parked in front of the Sheriff station nearly two hours after they'd left the Portland harbor and Emma was eager to find some lunch to appease her growling stomach. Maybe as anxious for food as her husband was to get to the harbor.

"Are you really sure you don't want me to heal you?" she asked as they climbed out of the Bug.

"For the last time, Love, I'll be fine. Aside from a few aches and pains – and a bit of general tiredness, I'm honestly alright. I assure you, if I change my mind, I promise, I will let you know."

"Okay, okay… I'm gonna call the family and see if they want to meet over at Granny's for lunch. I'm sure they'll all be looking forward to seeing you."

"Sounds good, but allow me a few minutes first?" he implored.

"I know – you're heading down to the harbor. Want me to drive you over?"

Killian smiled and shook his head with a subtle No. "I think I'd like to walk."

"Alright. If you aren't back in thirty minutes, I'll come looking for you."

The quarter-mile stroll from the Sheriff station to the dock was normally a brisk, five-minute walk for him, but today, it took a few minutes longer and he was clutching his chest tightly as he reached the gangplank. He pressed on with stubborn determination, pushing himself up the ramp and onto the deck of his ship. Reaching the helm, he leaned his aching body into the wheel to catch his breath, fully aware that he was not alone.

"Returned, safe and sound, as promised," he heard Ursula's voice call out from below the quarterdeck.

"Aye, thank you for your assistance. I do appreciate all you've done for me."

"You are one lucky pirate. Although I suggest you try to stay away from sharp, pointy objects for a while. One of these days, your luck will run out…"

"I'll be sure to keep that in mind," Killian said with a half-hearted chuckle. "Am I also to thank you for last night's events?"

"Afraid I've no idea what you mean," Ursula replied with a feigned innocence.

"Of course not," he grinned, lifting a knowing eyebrow at the Sea Witch. "Pardon my error, Love. Guess I should make my way over to Granny's pretty soon. Emma will send out a search party if I don't make it back. Why don't you join us?"

"As pleasant as an afternoon eating greasy diner food with the Charming family sounds, I'm afraid I'll have to pass. But as for you, I'm serious – watch your back, pirate. One of these days, you'll find yourself in the wrong place at the wrong time and there won't be anybody around to save you."

He opened his mouth to reply, but she was already gone, leaving the words caught in the back of his throat. As much as he wanted to argue, Ursula was right. He belonged at Emma's side and that was honestly the only place he wanted to be.

Early Saturday morning – off the coast of Nova Scotia

It was late in the season for such a powerful Nor'easter and perhaps it was a foolhardy decision to be venturing out in such horrific weather but Donovan Donleavy preferred to take his chances upon the stormy seas rather than face the tempest that would be brewing at home if he hadn't run. He'd slipped out of the marina under cover of darkness before the authorities had descended. His sport fishing boat wasn't really designed for these conditions so he'd tried to remain as close to the coast as he could, but the howling winds and torrential rain kept blowing his battered craft further out to sea.

He was only a few miles off of the Canadian coast, estimating his position to be somewhere near the Province of Nova Scotia, but he was beginning to doubt he'd be able to reach a safe harbor. Rain lashed at the deck, making visibility near impossible as the ten to twelve foot swells pummeled the tiny boat. Donleavy clung to the wheel as long as he could until a towering, fifteen foot swell sent the vessel listing hard to starboard and it never recovered, capsizing in the cold waters of the North Atlantic.

He bobbed to the surface, struggling to keep his head above the waves as his arms flailed in futile attempt to grasp for anything that would keep him afloat. After a few minutes, he found his muscles tiring rapidly and he knew he wouldn't be able to tread water much longer. Of course, he still believed that drowning was far more dignified than the humiliation of watching his empire fall apart.

He was gradually giving in to the reality of a watery death when he felt something brush against his leg. Probably just a fish or a piece of debris from his boat he thought – until the offending object slithered its way up body and wrapped around his torso. While moments ago he'd conceded himself to drowning, suddenly Donleavy was in a panic as he recognized that he was being enveloped by a giant tentacle. He struggled only for a few moments, trying futilely to free himself as the tentacle constricted tighter - just before yanking him forcefully beneath the unforgiving waves.

#csmarchmadness #csff #cs ff #cs fanfic #The Right Place

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romancenerd · 5 years

Text

Kisses Not Intened

*Dont know what to use for a gif so blank for now*

A/N - *I wanted to make at least one more fanfic before the year was over. Very very very extremely long time ago I was asked to write this when i posted a prompt list 9 decades ago and I’ve been lacking in the fanfic department. This was supposed to be a Christmas present but consider this a new year present. So this fanfic is for @nitia95 thank you so much for requesting this i serioisuly enjoyed writing this the fluff and just everything. Like i love Azusa so very much when i got stuck i didn’t want to force it out of me so this is all for you girl happy new year and thank you for being an amazing tumblr friend and big supporter of my blog!*

Also I don’t feel like proof reading or editing in the moment so please ignore grammar and punctuation until i fix it tomorrow also I’m going to change the title I just don’t know what to call it comment below some good titles please and thank you. So I’m going to shut up and let you all read now.

Liz was rapidly running through the streets of new york. Pausing to catch her breath at a crosswalk she checked her watch to see she only had 5 minutes to get to school before she was marked tardy.

She mentally cursed. The power in her building had went off last night and thank God she woke up when she did or she would have missed first period.

Even if it did only leave her 25 minutes to brush her teeth, hair, get dressed, and shove a granola bar and apple in her bag.

She continued running and glanced down to check her watch and collided head on something.

“Why don’t you watch where you're going.” A deep voice called to her.

She shook her head and glanced up at the dark haired stranger meeting his piercing sapphire gaze.

Rolling her eyes she pursed her lips and try to keep her anger in check, and sarcastically replied.

“Oh I'm so sorry! I'll try to watch where I'm going!” Using air quotes. She began to walk away. And at the same time they both made quite comments which they thought would fall upon deaf ears but would not be the case.

“Morron.”

“Asshole.”

Both of them faced each other with nasty looks.

“Do you have a problem with me or something?” Liz said

“No but I'm not the one crashing into people am I?”

“Yeah let's keep acting like it was my fault, I'm not the one walking in the middle of the street with my face glued to a map, so who wasn't really paying attention here.”

“ Well your -.”

“Listen I don't have time to argue with you, some of us have places to be.” Liz interrupted

And with that last statement Liz stormed off in the opposite direction slinging her bag over her shoulder with the stranger staring at the back of her head.

•••••••••••

Liz let out a long sign all while rubbing her eyes. She pushed the hair out of her face and grabbed the stack of textbooks near her and proceeded to her next class.

Professor Goldstein had given her extra work due to her tardiness to class this morning.

It was all that jerks fault this morning. What's his problem, she thought. I mean he was really cute but still he didn’t need to be a jerk about it.

As she walked through the halls of the university she was greeted with smiles and friendly waves. Second period was always her favorite class. Zoology. She loved animals more than anything.

That's why she decided to go to college and pursue a career in veterinary medicine. To help care and heal animals.

•••••••••••

Finally third period had arrived and she made her way to her usual spot in the classroom and waited for class to start she was a little earlier than usual than normal and people had yet to arrive.

Once the class started filling up and the bell rang, Professor Schular made an announcement. Not paying any mind, Liz leaned down and began collection and pulling her books out of her bag. When she popped back up she couldn't believe what her eyes were seeing.

“We have a new transfer student joining us today, I would all like you to welcome Azusa Kuze.” Proffesor Schuler spoke

Whispers and gasps suddenly filled the classroom.

“He’s so hot!”

“I think I'm going faint.”

“That jawline!”

Liz however was stunned and went his gaze meet hers her heart skipped a beat.

“Now.” The professor spoke. “ Where to put you ….”

Please not by me please not by me. Liz spoke over and over again in here head.

“ You can have a seat next to Ms. Hart .”

Liz felt her eyes go wide and her blood boil. She clenched her fist under the desk so hard she was positive they were turning white.

How ever he walked all the way to her table in the back of the room with a smile on his face and sat down.

“Well, well, well we meet again.

There staring at her with a sarcastic smile was none other than the blockhead she ran into earlier.

“It would appear so.” Liz said unamused.

She faced forward and began taking notes trying to completely forgetting his existence.

••••••••••••

Once class was over she got up and immediately collected her belongings.

“Hold on a minute.”

“What?”

“I was wondering if you knew where room B213 would be.”

Liz paused momentarily and swallowed the lump in her throat to speak. He handed her the paper and she saw that she had ever single class with him but her first 2.

Great. She thought

“Well according to this schedule apparently starting now we have every single class together.”

Liz tried as hard as she could to keep from sounding irritated.

He smiled sarcastically. She knew that he was getting a kick out of this.

“So I could just follow you for the day correct?”

She stared at him for the longest time and finally spoke.

“Fine, lets go before were late.”

••••••••••••

Today was a day off from school. Liz found herself in cute and cozy coffee shop 2 blocks from her apartment.

She sat with her legs crossed on a bean bag re-reading her favorite novel for the hundredth time.

Yesterday had been Friday and showing that jerk around while he smirked and teased her at every little thing she did.

She was glad it was the weekend now. Setting her book down and taking a quick sip of tea. She slowly inhaled in and out to calm her nerves.

Getting comfortable again, she grabbed her book and picked up where she left off.

The door to the coffee shop opened letting the crisp slightly chilly air into the room. Trying to ignore any and all distractions as best as she could until.

“Loving you was breathing but that breath disappearing before it filled my lungs.”

Liz suddenly looked up to find Azusa towering above her with a calm expression on his face.

“You know the sun and her flowers.”

Azusa suddenly smirked down at her.

“If were being honest here its it's a favorite of mine.” Azusa said chucking.

“Mine too.”

“Really?”

“Really really.” Liz smiled slightly than smirked.

“So even jerks have good literature taste.”

“Life is full of surprises.” Azusa said sitting down in the bean bag next to her putting his arms behind his head

“Tell me about it.” Liz said with her lips pursed. “So do you have anything better to do than stalk me all day and night.”

“You honestly think I give a damn about what your doing every single moment.”

“Clearly you seem to.” Azusa rolled his eyes at her comment and chuckled.

“Maybe I don't maybe I do, who's to say.” He teased

“You are a serious pain in my ass I swear.” Liz then stood up slamming her book shut and grabbed her coffee and purse.

“Where are you going.”

“To enjoy the rest of my day in peace thank you.”

Liz then left the shop leaving Azusa by himself. He simply stared at the door she walked out of with mixed thoughts. He let out a soft sigh and feel back into the bean bag wondering what in the world he was going to do.

“No no no.” Liz rested her head on the steering wheel as the engine started smoking. She was on her way home from the coffee shop when her car starting acting up and died on her.

Getting out and popping the hood she began to cough from all the smoke.

“This is just perfect what else can go wrong?! “ She screamed when the sky rumbled and a heavy downpour was upon her.

“Great what luck. Closing the hood she sat down and brought he knees to her chest. She was still a good 40 minutes away from home.

After several moments the rain upon her finally stopped even though the sound could still be heard. Lifting her head she was met by black jean’s and a white t shirt. Furthering her gaze upwards she was met with sapphire eyes.

“Get in my car and I'll drive you home.”

“You don -”

“Shut up get in the car and don't argue with me.” Azusa sternly said.

Liz knew he was trying to be nice. Maybe trying to make up for being such an asshole these past couple of weeks. Sliding off the hood she stood underneath the umbrella with him. He pulled her close wrapping his arm around her shoulder and guided her to the passenger side.

She never really looked at him before but up close she could see what the other girls were talking about. Liz wasn't going to like he was handsome. Like some guy from a fairytale or a dream.

After Azusa helped her into the passenger side and closed the door all Liz could think was if this was a fairytale. Azusa coming to her aid like a knight in shining armor. Or perhaps she was at home in bed sleeping through the rain. This is probably a dream she reassured herself.

But if it was then why was Azusa in it? She thought to herself as Azusa got in and began to drive.

“Where do you live?”

“In the Reitz apartments.”

“Really?” He laughed

“Yeah what's so funny.”

“I live 2 buildings over.”

“Seriously?” She grumbled

“Seriously, it's a small world you and I live in.”

“A little too small if you ask me.” Suddenly Azusa bursted into laughter. The way he smiled made her heart flutter.

What's the matter with me she thought. Liz sat in silence for the rest of the ride trying to figure out the strange dream out.

Liz wondered how far her dream would go. How long it would last.

“Were here.”He suddenly announced pulling her out of her thoughts.

“Oh.” She said a little disappointed. “Well thank you for the ride I'll be sure to give you money for gas next time I run into you. It's a small world so you shouldn't have to wait long.”

Azusa snorted and suddenly locked the doors when Liz tried to get out. She curiously looked at him, he dream kept getting stranger by the second.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure I guess.” Liz said settling back into her seat.

They sat in silence for a moment before Azusa blurted out. “Do you hate me?”

Taken by surprise Liz looked up at him to find him staring out the window. It took her a moment to answer but when she did.

“No I don't hate you.” Azusa suddenly turned his head towards hers.

“You don't.”

“No not at all. I think your a sarcastic asshole but who isn’t.” She said smiling.

Liz wondered why her subconscious would create such a dream unless. . .

Liz was pulled out her thoughts when Azusa's face got closer to hers. She suddenly forgot how to think. His face got closer until she could feel his breath on her lips.

Azusa then leaned forward a little as their lips brushed together in a soft and delicate kiss. Her heart seizes up and fluttered from the contact. He slightly pulled away and whispered.

“I'm sorry I didn't intend on kissing you.”

She slowly looked up into his eyes. Realizing this was reality. This was the real Azusa in front of her and that was a real, and that what her heart was telling her was real too.

Looking down and gently brushing her fingers across his cheek and returning to his gaze she whispered.

“I’m sorry I didn't intend on falling in love with you.”

Azusa suddenly smiled. “ Well I did intend on falling in love with you.”

Liz smiled back at him and he leaned forward and kissed her again. Its was slightly more passionate than the first.

The only sounds that could be heard were the drops of rain against the car and the sound of their lips meeting in heated breathless kisses.

#shall we date wizardess heart #wizardess heart fanfiction #wizardess heart #swd #wh #swd wh #shall we date #shall we date: wizardess heart #Azusa Kuze #wizardess heart azusa #fanfiction #otome game #ntt solmare #ntt solomare corp

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mayhapsawitch-blog · 5 years

Text

Halloweenie

31 October 2018 (181031) 3:54 PM

Hello to future me and to whoever else is reading this.

I made this little blog after a moment of self revelation and to record stuff that’s happening in my life, or like....a......diary or whatever. Shudders.

As background, these past couple of weeks I have been on Tumblr just meandering around, looking for things to entertain myself with. I had started getting back into reading stuff on Tumblr just a couple of months ago, and had been pretty much exploring around certain music on that side. In real life, I’ve begun taking an interest in astrology and tarot cards, this going on for more than a month or so. Which brings me to the main thing about this post.

It was earlier this month I happened to stumble upon witchblr. It was certainly odd. None of my searches pertained to anything remotely witchy, and to my knowledge no one I followed was involved with that kind of stuff. What was even odder was that I had seen a post (that mysteriously vanished, my memory erasing where I found it from) over Transylvania and the magic of Romania. Needless to say, I tapped on the tag.

I have to admit, I was quite intrigued. As someone who was raised religious and someone who is ethnic, anything remotely supernatural or even magical and witchy terrified the living daylights out of me (and still does). I was around people who ran from the mere mention of it, thinking of it as something scary and almost demonic, staying far away from anything that had to with witchcraft.

So why did these posts say the opposite?

I was immediately enraptured by witchblr. It was so interesting. Most of I saw went against my previous beliefs on witchcraft being used mostly for bad things. The stigma surrounding it for me slowly began to dissipate. I saw people recounting their deity work, posting different spells, talking about candle magic, color magic, and all sorts of things. It was almost beautiful in my eyes at the time.

There was so much to this particular spot of the woods. One night involved me going through a whole thread over hoodoo and Vodou, learning about how the cultural appropriation aspect to it, another night it would be over kitchen magic. There was just so much information to process, so many things to interpret and understand.

What I thought would just be a short few day phase of me finding something to read about and learn turned into something that started to go onto the next week, the week after that, and so on. I started talking to my friends about what I found. “This is really interesting!” I had said. “Not that I would ever get into witchcraft though, I just like learning about what they do and like having more knowledge of things (because I am talentless and read about things to make up for the fact that I am practically an uncultured sewer rat).”

And I would not get into witchcraft. The idea was frightening. The God fearing ethnic in me said no, but the other side kept bringing me back to witchcraft. My friends did tease me about it, one almost seeming to encourage me to get into it regardless. There was even a small running joke that I was one because of certain situations, this increasing when my friend got me a candle very recently, and I joked about using it for witchcraft. Even with my joking, the thought of getting into it was almost blasphemous for me.

Fast forward to today, Halloween, when I was scrolling through a particular witchy account and remembered that it was Samhain. I remembered about the candle and some posts I saw about candle colors and colors in general, and their uses and correlation to certain things. Something inside me started to build up and it was earlier today that I decided to heck with it. Let’s burn a letter to the universe.

Suddenly overcome with motivation, I went to go get paper and wrote down my intentions on it, labeling it as “I Invoke: Samhain Edition.” On it I wrote a lot of stuff that was personal to me along with things that I wanted to manifest, similar to something I’d been wanting to do for years which was writing a letter and just generally burning it asking for help. I kept editing and adding to it, feeling something akin to hope as I poured a little bit of me out.

After writing all of this, I went to go find a lighter for the candle. Oddly enough, there was a large clap of ominous sounding thunder that occurred outside as I shut the drawer in search of the lighter, and I looked outside, vaguely afraid and thinking, “is this a sign?” Yes, yes I am that paranoid about stuff like this.

I finally found the lighter, going to grab my candle and lighter to which another very loud noise occurred and scared the living shit out of me, and sat down in front of the fireplace to pray to the alter that rests above it. I prayed for myself, I prayed for the people around me, and had a talk that I think I kind of needed for awhile. It just felt like it was needed.

My candle was set down onto the letter as I lit it, and I started to whisper my intentions as well, not particularly talking to anyone of the sort, but rather the candle and my letter. It was odd in a sense to me, but still brought me a strange degree in comfort as the flame burned, giving the area a warm light and pleasant smell (bless my friend for giving me a pumpkin spice scented candle, I’ve already said I love you, and if you happen to be reading this, I still do love you for giving me this).

Now done with my moment, I burned the letter, tossing it into the fire place before it could burn me, watching my intentions burn before me (inhaled a lot of carbon dioxide because I didn’t bother to open a window or the vent, pray for my lungs).

I watched it burn some more before blowing out the candle (rip my weak ass lungs for not being able to blow this tiny flame out), thinking to myself, “what now,” and, “.....well this is very very vaguely witchy and kinda awkward now.”

And so the question remains: what now?

I don’t know the answer to that. I’m still on the path of discovery. This has just been for me to literally spill all the bs on my mind. I am indeed still reading about witchcraft. Each day I’m learning more about tarot, astrology, deities, different types of witchcraft, psychic stuff, and other things that do and do not relate to this as well. It’s been super interesting and weird.

I hope to develop more and show my development through this blog and to just generally shitpost. This post truly was just to let out what I’d been thinking about this past month of October and some stuff that’s been going on in my life.

Until next time, I suppose.

Happy Halloween and happy Samhain.

#witchblr #halloween #samhain #candles #halloweenie #manifesting #witchcraft

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creative-type · 6 years

Text

Monster of the Salt Rock Hills XIII

First

AO3

AN: So this is officially the longest story I’ve ever written. And I’m still working on editing through previous chapters,. All corrections will be made on AO3 since going through it all on Tumblr is a pain

Chapter Thirteen: Odds and Endings (or Thistle Gets a Chance to Think)

After arresting Mum with his own magic stopping manacles the group spent the next several hours explaining, reexplaining, and explaining yet again to a gathered crowd that seemed to make up the majority of the town why one of their (thankfully abandoned) houses had been blown to smithereens. There was some yelling, some shoving, and the occasional curse among the people, but cooler heads prevailed and Orrig was able to tell the mayor who was killing the winged horses and why exactly one of their more prominent citizens now had a broken jaw.

It didn’t hurt that Orrig volunteered his services in the clean-up effort, free of charge. Thistle would have helped anyway, seeing how the destruction was partially her fault regardless of what Lyra and Brent said, and was secretly pleased to not have to come up with an excuse to do so.

Rizaek was sent post-haste to the mercenary guild in Crossroads, with hopes that backup would be able to arrive the next day. They would need help transporting Mum and Jacob Swinehart for trail, and no one was quite sure what they were supposed to do with Rhys. As far as anyone could tell he hadn’t broken any laws, but Thistle heard the phrases ‘reckless endangerment’ and ‘criminal negligence’ and agreed it was better to be safe than sorry. Lyra cackled as Orrig drug him into the jail cell previously occupied by Isla until someone better versed in law could decide, and then it was back to work.

When the sun began to dip behind the Hills and the shadows grew long they stopped. Thistle walked with Orrig, Lyra, and Brent back to Frank’s home, utterly exhausted. It was a good sort of exhausted, and the voice in her head was as quieter than it had been in a long, long time.

“How did you convince Rizaek to help you?” Thistle asked.

Brent and Lyra shrugged, and pointed to Orrig. He seemed embarrassed by the attention, rubbing the stubble on his jaw before answering, “I tell him truth and give proof. Vhen mage attack…vat else need to be said? Boy small, not stupid.”

“Kid’s got balls of solid brass to stand down a souped-up mage,” Lyra said. “You going to offer him a job?”

“She’s just asking because she wants to ride his horse again,” Brent whispered to Thistle conspiratorially.

“Yeah, I don’t think it counts when you’re bleeding out of both earholes. That hurt like a ^$&#*.” She elbowed Thistle in the ribs. “Thanks for fixing that, by the way.”

Orrig shook his head. “Rizaek have much thinking now, must decide if even vant to be mercenary. Needs time and qviet.”

There was a sadness in the way he spoke that Thistle wasn’t sure she would have noticed before coming to the Hills, and with that understanding came a sense of belonging that she soaked up like water in a desert, dry and yearning for more. Thistle allowed herself to giggle at Brent and Lyra’s teasing, and danced out of the way when the fight threatened to get physical. She ended up walking next to Orrig, ducking her head instinctively when he looked down at her.

“You did goot job,” he said quietly. “Am very happy.”

Thistle almost allowed herself to believe it.

Dr. Malady was exiting Frank’s house as they arrived. An irrational burst of fear made Thistle tense, until she saw that the doctor’s soft smile.

“Just finishing my rounds,” Dr. Malady said. “The world doesn’t stop spinning just because someone tries t’ blow up the square.”

All of them began to speak at once, but the doctor just held up her hands and chuckled. “I kid, I kid. I heard the gist of it from Isla earlier today, although I was hoping Thistle would be able to give me more details. That is, assuming you didn’t have other sleeping arrangements for tonight?”

“Oh! I, er, that’s…” Thistle glanced up at Orrig, who nodded his approval. “That would be wonderful. Thank you.”

The evening was spent peeling garlic.

Thistle couldn’t remember the exact words she used to convince Dr. Malady to let her help. There had been quite a bit of inelegant blabbing trying to explain that, really, it was no trouble at all and there was nothing she would rather do with her time. Eventually Dr. Malady felt sorry for her, and the two were settled on the back porch.

Thistle realized belatedly that she would not be able to take off her gloves for the task, so instead she used magic peel and flick the cloves into a growing pile. Dr. Malady watched for a moment, spellbound, before declaring it the most charming display that she’d ever had the pleasure to see.

“How is Isla doing?” Thistle said. She had meant to ask Isla herself, but she had left the cleanup efforts early, her magic ill-suited for the physical labor.

“Resting with that cat of hers, thank goodness,” Dr. Malady said. “I’ve offered her sleeping draughts before, but she’s never accepted before today. I think your gift overwhelmed her.”

She spoke of Lucian’s sword, which Orrig had presented to her along with the kludde’s head as proof of their findings. The head was burned, but with no known next of kin it was decided that the sword would stay with Isla until further notice.

“I’m sorry, we didn’t mean to—“

“You’ve done nothing to apologize for,” Dr. Malady said gently. “In fact, you’ve done more good than the rest of us put together. I still can’t believe Jacob would do such a thing. Is it true that he’s the one who hired that mage?”

Thistle hesitated, not sure if she should be talking about the case to someone who wasn’t technically involved. “Is that what Isla told you?”

“Not in so many words,” Dr. Malady admitted. “But I did have a word with Mayor Stone, and he filled in some of the missing pieces.”

If the mayor didn’t feel the need to keep it a secret, than neither did Thistle. “Mr. Swinehart and Mum aren’t talking, but we did find some evidence at Mr. Swinehart’s house that makes it look that way. Orrig thinks Mr. Swinehart met Mum when he was sent to Crossroads the first time, but the job ended up going to Mr. Russo’s team instead. It was only later that they planned the poachings. Mum was capable of Teleporting to and from Crossroads and had the magical ability to kill the winged horses, and Mr. Swinehart would hide the feathers until a buyer came available.”

“And Jacob got his moving money,” Dr. Malady said with a sigh. “It’s nothin’ but foolishness and greed. He’s had plenty of coin t’ settle elsewhere. Has for a long time. But you have to understand, Jacob grew up with nothing. He started working at that tavern to pay his daddy’s debts, and I think he ended up buying it out of spite. Then again, Jacob has always had a good head for business. It doesn’t matter how poor people are, folk will find the money to drink. Jacob understands that better ‘n anyone, and it’s made him a wealthy man.”

“Then why do it?” Thistle asked. “If he was so unhappy here, why not just leave?”

Dr. Malady leaned back in her chair. “That’s a difficult question, and one I’m not even sure Jacob knows the answer to. He took care of his brother from the day he was born, but Lars died about a year ago.”

“Carson told me about him,” Thistle said.

“Lars worshiped Jacob and would have done anything he asked, but living in the city would have been hard, even if it were a small city like Crossroads. Lars was safe here in a way he could never be in the city. As for why Jacob stayed so long after his death…I can only guess, but Jacob hates being looked down on. I can’t imagine the prospect of starting back over again after spending a lifetime climbing out of the gutter had much appeal. If he was going to move, it would be on his terms.”

There was a knock at the door, and Dr. Malady excused herself. Thistle absentmindedly peeled a few more cloves, pondering the doctor’s words. She could see how there might be some truth to Dr. Malady’s theory, but it still felt incomplete. Jacob Swinehart might have killed the winged horses for the money, but it was hate that led him to framing Isla for his crimes.

Low murmurings filtered from within the house, and soon Dr. Malady returned, accompanied by Carson. Carson was obviously distraught, wringing his hands while hovering anxiously near the doorway. “I don’t mean t’ intrude. I just was wonderin’ if Miss Clark were around? I wanted…I wanted t’ say I was sorry. For everything.”

His eyes fell to Thistle, and he gulped.

“Take a seat,” Dr. Malady said, pulling up an old, worn rocker up to where they were working.

Carson sat, his back ramrod straight and his hands forming stranglehold on the arms of the chair. “I didn’t knew you had company, Doctor. I didn’t mean t’ intrude.”

“Nonsense. Thistle was just helping me as a kindness. She’ll be staying the night.”

“Oh.” Carson’s posture relaxed marginally, but Thistle still got the impression he would bolt at the slightest provocation. “I suppose I should be sayin’ sorry to you, too. I didn’t know that Pa had…that he’d…”

His voice cracked, and he couldn’t continue. Thistle had already given her handkerchief to Isla the night before and didn’t have another, but Dr. Malady generously offered her own as tears slid down Carson’s cheeks.

“I didn’t know he’d done it,” Carson said plaintively. “I never would’ve let him if I did.”

“You don’t have to answer for what your father’s done,” Dr. Malady said.

“But he said he did it ‘cause of me,” Carson said. “Pa said he were killin’ winged horses for me.”

“Carson Swinehart, what your father did was nothing but selfishness,” Dr. Malady said sharply. “Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. If Jacob had your best interests at heart, he would have let you choose for yourself whether to stay here or go with him to Crossroads. He would have talked to you like the man you’re gonna be instead of trying t’ bully you into doin’ what he wanted.”

Thistle wondered if Dr. Malady knew that she slipped into her natural drawl when she got upset, because she took a deep breath to collect herself, and when she spoke again the educated polish to her dictation had returned, “This isn’t your fault. No one thinks it is, not me, not Thistle, and certainly not Isla.”

“But why? Why’d he do it?” Carson said desperately.

Dr. Malady’s expression softened. “There’s nothing wrong with being angry, Carson. Just make sure you’re angry at the right thing, and don’t let it fester into bitterness. Bitterness is drinking poison and waiting for the other person to die.” She paused, as if unsure of her next words, before saying softly, “Your daddy is a bitter, angry man. It ate at him until there was nothing left. Don’t let it eat at you, too.”

“I tried my best t’ make him happy,” Carson said, his voice broken. “I wasn’t ever good enough to make him happy.”

Dr. Malady sighed. “That’s not your fault, either.”

Carson nodded half-heartedly and rose to his feet. “It’s gettin’ late. I should pro’bly go.”

“My door is always open if you want to talk. Don’t forget that.”

“Yes’m.”

When Carson had left, a flinty spark of anger flashed through Dr. Malady’s eyes. “Gods forgive Jacob, because I don’t think I ever will.”

“Do you think he’ll be okay?”

“Time will tell,” Dr. Malady said. “His mama ran away from her problems and Jacob’s let his fester and rot. Maybe Carson will learn from their mistakes. I’ll keep an eye on him. It’s hard at first, when you realize someone you love wasn’t who you thought they were. It hurts more than you think hurt can hurt, until you don’t think you can bear any more. But if there’s anything I’ve learned in my years it’s people can bear more ‘n they think.”

“That doesn’t make it any easier,” Thistle said.

“No. No, it doesn’t,” Dr. Malady agreed. “I remember how hard it was to say goodbye to my sister. They say time heals, but that’s only partially true. There are still days it cuts as deep as if I’d done it yesterday afternoon.”

“What happened?” Thistle asked.

“Oh, nothing near as dramatic as this,” Dr. Malady assured her. She brushed a stray hair out of her eyes and resumed her peeling. “My sister was my best friend as a girl. Mary was braver ‘n a knight in shining armor and fierce as a dragon. She hated the Hills with a passion, but it wasn’t till I started showing an interest in medicine she saw her way out. My predecessor agreed t’ help fund our schooling so long as we came back and used our learning to help the people here. Mary never intended t’ keep her promise and ran away as soon as she could. She thought I’d come with her—I thought I’d go with her, but I couldn’t.”

“What made you stay?” Thistle said.

Dr. Malady peered at Thistle over her glasses. “I promised, didn’t I? Besides, if I didn’t come back then there’d be no one here to take care of the sick. The Salt Rock Hills can be a hard place to love, but abandoning it just didn’t feel right.” She went silent for a moment, and when she spoke again her voice was heavy. “Mary never forgave me for it. Her oldest boy writes on occasion, but I’ve not seen her in over thirty years. I don’t regret the choice I made, but sometimes I wonder…what if.”

“I’m sorry,” Thistle said.

“Carson can heal. I know he can,” Dr. Malady said, and the crooked smile returned to her face. It was clear that the events of the day had taken a toll, exhaustion hidden in the lines under her eyes and the creases around her mouth. But there was strength there, too, a steadiness from someone who had endured her own share of suffering and managed to make it out the other side with her sense of optimism intact.

Dr. Malady noticed something in Thistle’s expression, and the smile widened. “Let’s leave the rest of this for now. Tomorrow will be here soon enough, and Isla isn’t the only one who needs her rest.”

It was barely light when Thistle woke, but she felt both rested and restless as she snuck out of her room and out the back door of Dr. Malady’s house. The air was crisp and pleasantly cool, with a heavy morning dew glittering like diamonds under the light of dawn. Thistle walked slowly among the rows of plants, letting her fingers brush across the leaves and yearning for the freedom to take off her shoes and let her feet sink into the soft black dirt.

But there were some things Thistle simply could not do, so she settled for strengthening each and every plant in Dr. Malady’s garden, protecting them from insects, disease, and the sun’s scorching rays. She could feel the flowers sing their appreciation, and it took a small force of will to convince the onions not to ripen a full month before they were supposed to.

Quiet—true quiet of the mind, soul, and body—were was a rare thing that Thistle treasured more than almost anything else, so of course it could not last. There had been so little time to think since approaching Orrig about his post. The two jobs she had done as a mercenary were hard, stressful, and dangerous. The margin for error was razor thin, and, if Thistle were honest with herself, she had scraped by on luck, rather than any skill on her part.

She was thankful that Orrig, Lyra, and Brent were nothing like Rhys and Mum. She was terrified that she was one mistake away from ending up like Isla, Marco, and Lucian. A small part of her wondered if she were simply like Rizaek, and they were tolerating her only for her magic. Thistle didn’t think so, but she couldn’t be sure and wouldn’t blame them if they were.

we’re all monsters of a sort. you wear your mask, and I wear mine

Mum’s words haunted her, more true than he ever could have realized. The game Thistle was playing, this façade of normalcy and belonging, was as dangerous as anything that might be lurking in the abandoned mines.

It was so tempting to fall into the trap of believing that circumstances were different this time around, that Brent, Orrig, and Lyra would accept her for who she was and. Thistle knew better. She knew what happened to monsters. She knew, but yet she still hoped…

you do goot job. thanks for the healing, by the way. the spell worked, that’s incredible

…Thistle couldn’t let herself hope. Not after being burned so many times before.

Somewhere in the back of her mind Thistle heard the back door open, and turned to see Isla limp out to the porch. She was still groggy and scowled at the general direction of the sun, as if she found it personally offensive.

“Good morning,” Thistle said.

“It’s morning. I don’t know about the good part,” Isla said as she slumped into a chair and rubbed her eyes. “You couldn’t sleep either?”

“No, I’m just a morning person,” Thistle said. “I was just getting in my last view before leaving.”

And it was quite the view. The Hills sat atop a backdrop of pink and purple and blue, highlighting the rugged beauty of their rocky slopes. Birds sang in the morning, and wind whispered through the garden. There was no denying that the Salt Rock Hills held a particular charm, and it was easy to forget the dark danger that lay just beneath their feet.

“So you are off today, then?” Isla asked.

“Assuming Orrig has everything in order,” Thistle said, remembering the literal mountain of paperwork she had last seen him filling out. “What about you? Do you know what you’re going to do now?”

A muscle in her cheek twitched at the tactless question, and Isla said quietly, “I’ve not decided, but I think…I think it’s time I’ve left. Past time.” She looked out at the Hills, ghosts in her eyes. “I wish I could pay Dr. Malady back for her kindness, but I’ve hidden long enough. I owe it to Sophia to explain in person what happened to Marco, and I need to find out for certain if Lucian had no family. His sword should go to them, if they’re willing to take it.”

The back door opened for a second time, and Dr. Malady said, “Isla Clark, the best way you can pay me back is by living well, wherever it is you decide to go. Now come inside and eat something, the both of you.”

“Yes, Doctor,” Isla said with a hint of sarcasm that Thistle suspected had been part of her long before arriving to the Salt Rock Hills. As Thistle neared Isla touched her on the arm. “Hey, you’ve got a good team. Can you tell them thank you for me?”

“I will,” Thistle promised.

“Take care of them,” Isla said.

“I plan to,” Thistle said, realizing she’d made her decision even as she spoke. There would be time to regret her irrational attachment to anyone who showed her basic professional curtesy later. Instead Thistle ate a quick breakfast, and after saying her final goodbyes managed to slip into Isla’s room and laid what was left of her cut from the Drath job on the bed. She didn’t know if it would make up for what she had lost paying for Rhys’s team, but it would be close, and Thistle had the feeling Isla would be needing the money in the days ahead.

She arrived to the sight of Franky cradling a baby.

The tiny scrap of humanity was wrapped in so much swaddling Thistle could hardly tell what it was. Frank sat in his heavy rocker with Anne Marie was hovering in the chair beside him. The old man was so absorbed he scarcely noticed Thistle’s intrusion of his living room, softly cooing while the babe sucked on his pinky finger.

“Hullo, Thistle,” Anne Marie said. She looked as every new parent did: overwhelmed and exhausted and radiantly happy. “The others was just gettin’ ready ‘round back.”

“He’s beautiful,” Thistle said. “What’s his name?”

Anne Marie blushed. “Named him Joseph Franklin, after his daddy ‘n th’ man who might as well be his granddaddy.”

“Nonsense,” Frank said without taking his eyes off the newborn who wore his name. “I’m just the old codger who lives next door. An’ I suppose I owe you an apology. Seems you was right about that Clark girl. It were a mage after all, we jus’ didn’t have th’ right one.”

“Don’t you think you should go a little bit easier on the poor woman?” Anne Marie said. “You’re startin’ t’ sound like my grandmother.”

“Anything but that,” Frank joked. He glanced up to Thistle. “I heard th’ mayor wants t’ block the entrance t’ the mine. D’you know if it’s true?”

Thistle nodded. “It’s the only way from keeping any other monsters from getting out.”

Frank sighed, looking every one of his years and more. “Tha’s what I thought.” The baby began to squall, and carefully he handed young Joseph Franklin Baker back to his mother. His eyes were bright with unshed tears. “Sometimes it’s better to let the past die.”

The return journey was uneventful. Thistle suffered through the intense interview with the officials of the mercenary guild at Crossroads without too much stuttering and managed one more night with Lyra that somehow wasn’t terrible. When they arrived back to the city Orrig gave them a day off, their pockets heavy with compensation for their recent troubles and the assurance that there part of the Salt Rock Hills job was finished. Lyra let it slip that she heard that the guild was trying to figure out whether or not Mum had magically influenced Rhys or if he was, in Lyra’s words “really that much of a &^#%@$$.” Either way, his position within the guild was questionable and his reputation in tatters.

“Serves him right,” Lyra said, before going out to her favorite bar.

Thistle only had one thing she needed to buy, and she found it quickly. She spent the rest of her afternoon reading, and it was early evening when she heard a knock at the door.

“Come in,” Thistle called, confused.

The door creaked open, and Brent shuffled awkwardly between the threshold of her room and the hallway. “Um, hi.”

“Hi. Um, how are you?” Thistle asked.

“Well. I’m doing really well.” One of his arms was held conspicuously behind his back, and for a moment Thistle had the irrational fear that he was clutching a knife. Brent followed her gaze, and his cheeks reddened.

“Igotsomethingforyou,” he said, all in a rush, before thrusting a small parcel wrapped in brown parchment paper in her hands.

“You…what?” Thistle said.

“It’s actually from all of us,” Brent said. “Well, it was my idea but Lyra and Orrig helped choose, and anyway it’s you’re welcome present. So, uh, welcome aboard!”

Thistle looked a Brent’s flustered, sweaty face to the gift in her hands. It was clumsily wrapped and tied off with simple twine, but she could still feel the familiar contours of a book. Slowly Thistle undid the ties to reveal a handsome leather cover. She flipped through the empty pages.

“A journal?” she said.

If possible he got even redder. “You said you didn’t have one, so…yeah.”

A lump formed in Thistle’s throat, and she was so touched by the gesture she wasn’t sure she could speak. Worry plagued Brent’s face at her lack of reaction, and he said, “It’s okay, isn’t it? I can take it back. You didn’t already buy one did you? Gods, I’m so stupid…”

“It’s perfect,” Thistle blurted suddenly. She stared at him in wonder. “It’s absolutely perfect. Thank you.”

“Oh.” A grin spread across his face, exposing oversized canines. “Good. I’m glad.”

Thistle reached for her one purchase of the day, feeling stupid that she hadn’t gotten it wrapped yet before handing it to Brent. “I got something for you to.”

“A shirt?” he asked quizzically.

“For the one I ruined. Sorry.”

Brent laughed. “Don’t worry about that. I’ve got plenty, and it was worth it. You know, no one’s ever called me a genius before. I could get used to that.”

“Well, it was your idea,” Thistle said.

“And your magic that figure it all out. We couldn’t have done it without you.” He held up the shirt up for closer inspection. “I’m gonna see if this fits, if that’s okay. See you at supper?”

Thistle smiled, grateful to be included even though she knew in her heart of hearts that he would reject her should he ever found out about the monster she truly was, just as she had been rejected by everyone who had come before him.

“I’ll be there.”

#The Monster of the Salt Rock Hills #creative-type writes #Daughter of the Lilies #Dotl #dotl fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #Thistle #Lyra #Brent #Orrig

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canaryatlaw · 6 years

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ok, I need to get this post written and get to sleep because I’m way tired. Today of course was another awesome day, to finish off three awesome days of the weekend. My alarm went off at 7:30, 15 minutes to get out the door since I was gonna do my make up in the car, then 15 minutes to walk to Jess’ place at 8 (it doesn’t usually take that long, but I try to budget in extra time incase I run into some complications). Got there, got in the car and headed off to HVFF. This convention center is off by O’Hare, which is pretty much in the northwest corner of Chicago, so a bit of a drive even for those of us who live on the north side as we do. But we got there in pretty good time then tried to figure out will call to get our tickets. I had a VIP badge because I bought it on sale for super cheap sometime last summer, even though it was a two day badge and I only ended up using one day because I wanted to be at C2E2 with Caity yesterday, lol. So I got whisked off to a special VIP line because we got into the show floor a full hour and a half before the general admission people. So I got in and looked around, there were a few celebrities out but not all that many, and not many of the vendors were open yet, so I decided to venture over to the “Walker Stalker” side of the con, which is a whole Walking Dead con basically, Chicago is apparently the only city that does HVFF and walker stalker together, but it was basically an entirely different space with its own vendors and celebrities. I was going over there because one of the celebrities they had who’s apparently on the walking dead is Sarah Wayne Callies, also known as Sara from Prison Break. She was the only celebrity on my list that Jess didn’t want to also meet, so I figured I’d get her done while I was alone. We had to wait a little bit, I struck up a pleasant conversation with the woman in line behind me who had also not watched any of the walking dead and was getting this autograph for a family member, so it was nice to know I wasn’t the only person who felt soooooo out of place there, lol. literally have not ever watched an episode and I’m not terribly interested in doing so, but Prison Break, so here I was. Once she came out the line started moving pretty quickly, so I got up there pretty soon. She was super lovely, I told her I had mixed feelings about a possible season 6 because I just wanted the writers to let them have their happy ending they got at the end of season 5 and not make their lives more miserable, which she thought was very valid lol. She said it wasn’t confirmed yet (apparently “Dom talks like it’s alright a done deal when it’s not even written”) but they should know soon. So that was a nice pleasant interaction. After that Jess had gotten in with the general admission people, so we went to hit up Emma Dumont from the gifted. I’m not going to share too many details of the interaction because part of it involves a surprise for a friend, and even though I don’t think she’s on tumblr I don’t want to risk her somehow finding out and ruining the surprise. But basically Emma Dumont is the COOLEST. Like, I obviously adore Caity and think she's awesome, but like, for someone who’s not my favorite I think she had the best fan interactions of any celebrities I’ve meet so far. She was so chill, she spent so much time talking to every person on line, and at one point wanted to edit the sign stating her autograph schedule because it said she was supposed to take a break and she didn’t want to, so she crossed it out and just wrote “NO BREAKS” across it and it was so so funny. She was such a delight, and the surprise portion of the interaction went over SO well, I had no idea how she was gonna react, but it was legit the best case possible, so I was very thrilled with that. After that we decided to go to Franz table and chat with him, he didn’t have much of a line so we got up there pretty quickly. I had him sign my legends poster, which now has his, Brandon’s, Caity’s and Dom’s autographs on it. When I was talking to him I was saying how sad I was when they wrote Jax off and that I really didn’t like how they did it, with all the press surrounding Victor Garber leaving and then he was written off without so much as a warning, and he was like “yeah, you’re not alone in thinking that” haha but I told him I was very much looking forward to seeing him return in the finale tomorrow. After him we went over to Katrina’s table, she hadn’t come out yet so we waited for a little bit until she came out. We decided to split a selfie, and then each get polaroids with her because they’re doing the adorable little polaroid pictures for $10. We also wanted to talk to her about our idea for the photo op later in the day, because the actual photo op is so rushed there’s really not much time to explain something like that. So we brought up the appropriate meme and showed it to her, and she was totally in for it and thought it was great, so I was happy about that. After that we took a break for lunch for a bit, then wandered around the vendors and artists until about 1:30, then got in line for Emily Bett Rickards, since she was coming back at 2 to start signing, her general admission line was crazy long, but luckily there were only two people in front of us in the VIP line. Jess wanted to meet her because she wanted to get her Felicity funko pop signed for her brother. She took until like, 2:15 to come out, but we got to see her pretty quickly. She was very sweet, and I’m not at all insulting anything about how she acted, but you could kind of tell she had had some bad experiences with fans doing really awful things and just how that can make someone have a lot of hesitance about this stuff. Her board of prices for stuff also stated *no hugs please* at the bottom, which just tells me how bad previous interactions had gone that she would now need to post that. Apparently this was one of the first times she was even doing selfies. So I felt bad for her over all of that, but she was lovely and sweet and I have no complains about her behavior. After that we went to the bathroom so Jess could change back into her Ava cosplay for the photo op. We stopped at one of the booths and I got a green shirt that says “star city archery club” because why not. We then went to the booth that had some wigs on display and asked about a blonde one, because we wanted the photo op to be easily identifiable to people. I did manage to find a blonde wig that I was actually alright with how it looked, so that was a win. It doesn’t really look like Sara’s current white canary hair, but it actually looks a lot like her season 2 of Arrow Canary wig, so that works. Then we went over to the photo op area and ran into some bitch Jess hates which we had to act civil towards and make awkward small talk, but I mostly just stared her down the whole time, lol. Once we made it into the photo op area we got called in pretty quickly, we showed Katrina the meme again so she would know exactly what to do (it’s the distracted boyfriend other girl meme if you didn’t see me reblog it earlier) so we got into those poses and oh man, it came out so awesome, I loved it. Jess snapped a photo of the print out, not even the digital copy, and posted it on twitter and it now has like, 700 likes lol so my mentions have been blowing up all day about that, which is cool. After that we ran back to Katrina’s booth just because we wanted to show her how it turned out, and she loved it and hugged both of us and was just generally very sweet. We were more or less ready to go at that point, but Elodie Yung’s table was pretty much empty, so we kinda worked our way in there and were just like “I don’t have any money left but I wanted to say I love you and you’re awesome as Elektra” and she was very sweet. After that we headed out, walked over to the parking garage and then through that to where there are some attached restaurants, because apparently if you eat at one of the restaurants they’ll validate your parking. So we went to a cute little place where we had a nice meal, Jess had the biggest plate of nachos I’ve ever seen, so she wasn’t quite able to finish all of it, lol. After that we headed home, she dropped me off and I just took the costume off, got into comfy clothes, and sat down to binge some tv. I watched the episode of Riverdale that was first on the list of episodes I’d missed, and I was really like.....I don’t find this very interesting, which is kind of a shame because Madelaine Petsch was at the con today and I did get to see her from a small distance. Oh well. At 7:30 I turned on Brooklyn 99, which was excellent of course, then started to finally start Rise, which I watched the first 3 episodes of, and I have to say I really like it so far. I know it’s supposed to be based on true events, but the Glee parallels are like, REALLY obvious, the teacher is completely Schuester 2.0, they recruit the football player, the threatening football coach, and just stuff like that. but it was definitely excellently cast, Auli’i is incredible of course, and the girl they cast as Gwen, when she did the “soft” version of purple summer, I was seriously getting chills- like the depths they went to to cast that character is nuts, and they did it very, very well. So I’m looking forward to watching more of that. And yeah, then I got in the shower and got ready for bed and here I am, did I mention I’m TIRED?? So I’m going to sleep now. Goodnight dolls. Happy start of your week.

#daily journal #April 2018 #Rachel's cosplay adventures

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dykephannie · 7 years

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REALITY OTP CH. 1

MASTER LIST. PLAYLIST. NEXT CHAPTER. PREVIOUS CHAPTER.

click here for my twitter to receive sneak peeks into next week’s chapter and special behind the scenes info!

summary: Avid fangirl Gracie Green expected that the most extraordinary thing to happen to her at Summer in the City was meeting her long time obsessions Dan Howell and Phil Lester. This proves to be untrue when a fatal virus sweeps through the convention, killing everyone except for Gracie and the very two people she was there for. The odd threesome must travel across Europe to escape an evil tyrant who has claimed the crown for herself, and face not only the dangers of this new, post-apocalyptic world, but the feelings and secrets uncovered by the life threatening journey.

Because after all, it’s the harshest conditions that reveal the deepest truths about us, truths we’re not even willing to admit to ourselves.

important note: This is a PHANfiction, as in a fanfic in which Dan and Phil will enter some sort of relationship other than friendship by the end of the story. Please do not be turned off by the presence of the original character, she is merely a platonic companion of Dan and Phil. Perspectives will switch between the three per chapter. Thank you, and enjoy.

chapter word count: 2.2k

tw: mention of fatal illness

GRACIE

The end of the world generally starts off normal for most people.

They get up, out of bed, get changed, brush their teeth. Go to school or work or get back into bed and they go about their business until the fireballs start raining and their school or their work or their house ends up a heap of ashes for some Katniss Everdeen type to stumble across twenty years after the End only to discover their rotting bones and the useless keepsakes that were the only part of them to survive.

That’s not how it went for me.

Today, August 11th, 2020, had been a day long awaited for almost a year, from the moment I sat at my computer screen after hours upon hours of waiting, eyes burning from the bright light in my dim room, finger hovering over the mouse, refreshing constantly, until the moment of satisfaction finally came. Two tickets to Summer in the City, confirmed for Gracelyn Green. Today, well, it was anything but normal.

I had called Eliza immediately, my squeals echoing around my small room, hers doing the same, if not a bit more subdued than mine. That night I started at my desk, pencil scratching against the paper, etching the outline of the familiar curls and cheekbones, suddenly inspired by the prospect of seeing that face, desperate to make a worthy gift. I remembered I had stopped at the eyes. It was the first time I had realized that those eyes didn’t quite look right. From then on in every drawing I did of him, I was never quite satisfied with the eyes.

That very same first drawing was hanging above my head, those eyes filled in with constellations. I had been staring at it all night, unable to sleep, a cocktail nerves and excitement brewing in my stomach. It was strange how one could plan a moment for six years yet still be caught so off guard when the moment drew near. I picked up my phone, just as the 5:59 shifted to 6:00. It was go time.

The blue morning light was streaming through the gaps in my blinds as I pushed aside my duvet and strode across the room to the outfit meticulously selected and draped across my couch days earlier. I called Eliza, sticking my phone under my cheek as I pulled up my ripped jeans.

“Hello?” my best friend grumbled, voice heavy with sleep.

“You're not awake yet?” I chirped, running a brush through my blonde waves.

“It’s six am, Gracie, no rational person is awake right now.”

“Come on bitch, since when are you rational?”

I heard Eliza sigh on the other end as I shifted my phone back into my hand and wandered down the hall and into the bathroom. My house was quiet save for the squeak of the floorboards under my toes and the click of the bathroom door closing. And the house stayed quiet as I spoke to Eliza behind the door, struggling to get my eyeliner just right and the morning tangles from my hair.

At around 10, Eliza pulled up in her Range Rover, honking loudly.

“Do you have your workout clothes?” my mom called as I pulled the door open extravagantly.

“Yes mom!”

“Because you have an hour of karate and then two of jiu-jitsu on the last day of your convention!”

“I know mom!”

“Have fun, be safe!”

“I will!” I shouted, closing the door behind me and shouldering my heavy backpack, full of two nights worth of clothes. Our parents had decided that 17 was mature enough to stay in a hotel alone, which meant we wouldn’t have to drive back and forth every day of the convention.

“You look cute,” Eliza said drily as I buckled in.

I glanced down at my blossom sweater. “You like it?”

“Definitely a statement.”

“That’s rich coming from you.” I leaned over and knocked the bill of her ProSyndicate snapback resting on top of her coily black hair. “You’re just as much of a total nerd as I am. More, in fact.”

“Yeah yeah, at least I don’t draw creepy fanart.”

“At least I don’t have a Call of Duty gaming channel.”

Eliza stuck her tongue out at me, dark eyes flashing in the sunlight. “How am I supposed to handle staying with you for three days straight?”

“We’ve been friends with me for eight years, I think you can manage.” I frowned. “Plus, my fanart isn’t creepy.”

Keeping an eye on the road, she reached over and pulled out the drawing of a couple lying together on a couch, long limbs intertwined, eyes closed, content and happy. “That’s creepy, Gracie.”

“It’s not,” I insisted. “It’s art.”

Eliza knew it was useless arguing with me. She leaned forward and connected her phone to Bluetooth, playing some old Lana Del Rey song.

“Is this necessary, Lize? Shouldn’t we be getting pumped up and excited, instead of listening to, like, the most depressing artist ever?”

“Well what do you want to play?”

I grinned manically, grabbing the aux cord before she could object and clicking on the playlist at the top of my Spotify.

“You’ve got to be joking,” she groaned.

“What? You like Muse!”

“Yeah, not in this context.”

It took us about an hour to drive to the ExCel Convention Center, and by the time we found parking, we had an two hours to get to the meet and greet line. The line ate up about an hour of that time, but after showing our tickets at the door and ceremoniously draping my lanyard around my neck, Eliza and I were in.

And holy shit was it glorious.

Crowds of people milled about the bottom floor. Some were dressed in dull colors despite the bright hues in their hair and the glittering piercings in their ears and noses. Others wore flowing, flowered dresses and high heeled tennis shoes, accompanied by ambitious cat eyes and smoky eye shadow. There were people in band shirts and onesies, flower crowns and combat boots. Within seconds I spotted a group of squealing kids a few years younger than me, dark black whiskers on their cheeks and familiar faces on their shirts. I was too excited to cringe, too electrified by the sea of people just like me.

And the convention center itself was magnificent. Balconies and floors stuffed with merch booths and advertisements for the newest YouTube Red shows, accosting us with either Jake or Logan Paul’s ads as soon as a corner was turned. I would’ve lived here if I could’ve, even if it meant sleeping uncomfortably close to one of the Pauls’ giant robot faces.

“Where do you want to start?” Eliza asked.

I laughed out loud. She already knew the answer. I made a beeline straight to the merch booth of my choice, bringing Eliza with me.

“Can’t we visit MatPat’s store first? They have a new Game Theorists shirt design and I want to support them but they’re limited edition…”

“Nope, not happening.” We were already in line, and a familiar face was already coming into view.

“You’re a bitch,” she grumbled, drumming her fingers against the table at the booth.

I shoved her shoulder. “Shut up, he’s coming!”

A tall man with light brown hair approached, smiling when he noticed my excited gaze. “Hey Martyn!” I told him. Practice for the real thing, practice for the real thing. “Could I get one of the new posters and a whisker hoodie in a small?”

“Sure thing.” He reached underneath the table, handing me the hoodie and the rolled up poster. I handed him my money.

“A selfie too?”

Martyn smiled and leaned across the counter, pressing my change into my hand as I snapped the photo, sending it immediately to my Snapchat story.

“Thanks dude!” I told him, collecting my merch and striding away from the merch booth, trying to mask the shaking in my hands.

“Did you just call Martyn Lester dude?” Eliza hissed as we walked away. “What are you, American?”

“Please stop reminding me of that, I’m like ten seconds away from dying of embarrassment.”

We browsed the gaming tent next, on Eliza’s not-so-polite request, only for me to watch her pick up everything within sight and promptly put it down after glancing at the price tag. I had a Princess Peach sweatshirt slung over my shoulder by the time she eventually settled on a DS pack with the new Animal Crossing.

“Mario? Really?”

“We’ve played together since the Wii game came out!” I said defensively. “It’s basically our childhood!”

“We never did beat that last world.”

“We should get on that.” I glanced at my phone. It was almost time. “C’mon Lize, we’ve got to get upstairs!” I told her, grabbing her by the wrist again and tugging her towards the nearest staircase before she could even put her change in her wallet.

We ran to the end of the end of the meet and greet line, almost colliding with a smaller girl with a flower crown clutching a colorful book in her hand nervously.

“So sorry,” I stuttered, putting my hand on her shoulder to steady myself.

“Oh wow!” she exclaimed. “You’re sunshineboyes!”

My face heated up. I had been spotted a couple times at VidCon last year, getting identified by the URL of my tumblr blog, which boasted nearly 30 thousand followers due to my fanart. Getting recognized always caught me off guard. I was just a girl that liked drawing YouTubers, not one of the YouTubers themselves.

“Oh, uh, hey there!” I said. Eliza raised her eyebrows, turning to her phone. “It's nice to meet you!”

“I love your art so much,” she gushed. “Is that some of it in there?”

She pointed at the folder in my hand, I opened it up, flipping to my favorite drawing. The lion filling up half the frame glared back at me, across from the large blue eye and pale face and dark hair on the other side. “Uh, yeah. These are the ones I’m giving to them.”

“Wow!” she squealed. “They're even more incredible in real life!”

“Thanks, you're sweet.” I figured that was closest to the ahhhhh ty! ilysm!! sentiment I could get to in real life.

“Can I get a selfie?” She already had her camera open.

I leaned my head against hers, smiling widely as she snapped the photo. She opened up tumblr as soon as she brought her phone down.

“Tag me in that, I’ll follow you!” I told her. Her face positively lit up.

“Oh wow, wait until I tell my group chat that Gracie’s following me!”

I blushed again, turning back to Eliza, who was still glancing down at her phone, amused.

“What?” I hissed.

“Nothing, nothing. It’s just funny, that’s all.”

We chatted amongst ourselves for another hour, waiting as the line slowly grew larger behind us, and my hopes slowly grew higher. My heart was nearly hammering in my chest, and I had to concentrate on taking deep breaths or risk hyperventilation. I couldn’t gauge how excited Eliza was in comparison to me. Eliza claimed to only causally enjoy the pair I positively obsessed over. But I didn’t think it mattered. Meeting someone famous on any level had to be exciting.

Even more exciting, I realized as the line started to move, if they had taken up nearly six years of your life.

After another couple hours I could see the corner of a plastic tarp littered with SitC and sponsor decals, two tall, unmistakable shadows cast over it. My heart was lodged in my throat, no matter how hard I tried to swallow it down, and the warm bursts of excitement throughout my chest had turned to cold fear pumping through my veins, a cold fear that no amount of positive meetup descriptions could ease. Because what if mine went wrong? What if I accidentally blurted something out that I definitely didn’t mean to blurt out? What if instead of my totally fine fanart, I packed that one NSFW thing I did and then almost immediately deleted in fear that my mom would do a random computer check? What if I hugged them wrong? Or tripped over one of them and broke my face? Or broke their faces?! I would never be forgiven. I would go down in history as the girl who gave NSFW art to and broke the money makers of --

“Gracie!”

I blinked out of my spiral of panic. Eliza had her hand on my shoulder. “We’re next.”

The girl in front of me had just disappeared behind the tarp, and my heart had just risen even further than I would’ve thought humanly possible. I was so close. Literally a couple minutes and ten steps away from a dream that had been six years in the making…

When a loud crackling noise sounded through the convention center from the speakers in the ceiling.

“Attention Summer in the City guests and staff. Please remain calm. We have just been notified of a fast traveling, fatal virus spreading through London. We are putting the ExCel Center under quarantine. Attention Summer in the City…”

It took just a second to process before the ground under my feet began to spin. Eliza was clutching my arm tightly, nearly cutting off the blood flow with her sharp nails. The shadows were disappearing behind a closed door. Screams were echoing through the center, drowning out the calm drone of the PA system.

But honestly I barely registered the fact that my death might be creeping up on me with every breath I inhaled.

I was just pissed that I wouldn’t get to meet Dan and Phil.

#ohhhh boy here we go #i'm so nervous about this guys #i'm so excited to share this with y'all #(as i've literally been working on it for over a year)#but i've been feeling very subconscious about my writing as of late #and this is the biggest thing i've ever done with the intention of posting?#i don't know i hope at least someone will enjoy it #and to that someone...#welcome to the crazy wild ride that is reality otp!#reality otp #phanfiction #phanfic #phan #phan angst #phan fluff #phan smut #(eventually lol)#franfic

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doktorcrimson · 7 years

Text

I still can’t believe I fucking got into med school

In my previous post I mentioned I got accepted into medical school, and damn I still can’t believe that happened ( ﾟДﾟ)

DOKTOR CRIMSON IS ACTUALLY GONNA BE DOCTOR CRIMSON WAT

I was looking at American Association of Medical Colleges (AAMC) data sheets earlier and HOLY COW I can’t believe how lucky I am to even be offered an acceptance! Not to mention that I got into one of my top choices, a wonderful school with excellent academic programs and diverse patient populations. I am truly grateful to be in this position and so proud of myself...

FUCK YEAH DOCTOR CRIMSON!

Keep reading if you don’t mind me rambling.

Just to give a rough idea how competitive MD programs are in the US. There are roughly 150 accredited MD schools total. Usually a school receives a few thousand applications per year. Some schools may receive 10k+. Schools only accept enough to fill a class of about 100 students (some schools accept more, some schools accept less). That means the average acceptance rate for med school is about 5%. If you compare this to applying to college, you are literally applying to Harvard everywhere.... Out of 53042 applicants total in the US, only 21030 get accepted somewhere. That means 60% of applicants don’t get in anywhere every year, and that’s quite scary.

I had no fucking idea if I would get in or not. Like many have said, this process is literally a crapshoot (;o;)

The school I will be attending this fall had about 8k+ applications total. They only accept enough to fill a class of roughly less than 200 students. That’s a little more than 2% of all applicants for this school....

HOW THE FUCK DID I BECOME THE 2%??? Like I checked the facebook page for my class and I saw people who went to college at Harvard, UPenn, Princeton etc.?

I guess hard work does pay off and I’m not too dumb haha (ﾟ∀ﾟﾉ)ﾉ

So lemme talk about my application process last year. There’s a forum called Student Doctor Network (SDN) that I usually go to for resources applying to med school. People who post there are typically higher achievers compared to average applicants. When I was on the waitlist, seeing people getting multiple acceptances and even having the luxury to decide between school A vs. B really got me at the low point.

I submitted 26-27 primaries back in July but ended up only being complete at 23 schools due to budget. Unlike some superstar applicants I didn’t get an early interview in August/September nor did I get an outright acceptance mid-October. My first interview came from my state school in October and I got my second interview in November. Normally my state school would be my best bet in getting into medical school since they have an in-state preference. However, my state school interview resulted in a rejection right before my second interview (like the decision was made literally a week before).

I cried like an idiot that day and the following day. I didn’t want to tell anyone and I thought getting into med school was over for me. I got rejected by my state school, the school with the highest probability of being accepted at all. How am I supposed to get in a school that is ranked much better and more competitive than my state school? Honestly, I fucked up that interview myself and I knew what I did wrong (I regretted it right after I did it). I walked out of that interview feeling rather miserable and uncertain. Also part of it was because I was inexperienced and probably should’ve prepared more for my first interview. But still, it hurt, and it hurt a lot. Even today whenever I think about it, it’ll always an opportunity I missed. If I did get accepted to my state school, things would be very different right now.

I was lost. I finally decided to tell only one person, my good senpai and friend, who also happened to be an MD-PhD student. He told me to do a mock interview if possible. So I did it, got some feedback. Didn’t feel like I’ve improved much but more practice is always better. I went to my second interview with a much-relaxed attitude. My second interview was at the school that eventually accepted me and was the 2nd or 3rd school I wanted to go to out of my top choices (my #1 choice rejected me pre-interview haha). It felt really different than my first interview. I actually liked the school better despite I didn’t know anyone in the area nor did I have many ties to the school. I could tell my conversation between me and my interviewer was much better than my first interview. He even asked me about my art and con experiences, which probably had some influence in getting me an acceptance. I drew him a little sketch doodle with a person sitting in a coffee mug at the end of my interview. I walked out feeling confident, and the rest of the interviews I attended never gave me that same feeling.

It then became a long wait until February when I finally received more interviews. But then again it was late in the cycle, I didn’t have much hope getting into those schools. I was placed on the supposedly high priority waitlist from the 2nd school I interviewed at the same month. After attending those other interviews, I knew the 2nd school, one of my top choices out of all schools, would be my best bet getting in at that point. With the help of a friend editing, I submitted an update letter within the same day I received the wait list status.

It was then another long wait. After May 1st med school traffic day, I was anxiously waiting for waitlist movements. A batch of waitlist acceptances had gone out the first week for the 2nd school I interviewed at. If I couldn’t get in somewhere during May, I would have to prepare for another application cycle. I was also looking for a new job at the same time since my current job didn’t pay much, let alone the fact I needed more money if I had to go through this application process again. I was extremely stressed. Other schools I interviewed at also threw me on their waitlists. My relationship with my family wasn’t great at that point either. I wanted to give up so much. I kept thinking: what did I do wrong this cycle? My GPA and MCAT definitely weren’t the factors keeping me out of med school. I had a good amount of clinical experience and research. My other extracurriculars weren’t extraordinary, but it did have some uniqueness. I guess it was it my interview? I mean, I’m not the most talkative person but I think I’m alright in small conversations. I admit I’m rather low energy compared to even a lot of other introverts, but how would I improve that next time? Should I just give up?

I was ready to meet with my pre-med advisor that Saturday morning for a new committee letter. I decided to check my email once more before I left the door.

HOLY GOD OF CHEESECAKES I DON’T HAVE TO APPLY AGAIN ANYMORE AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHAHAHAHA

And that’s my med school application year in a summary.

Big hugs and gross smooches to @theathelier~ I literally would’ve never made it to med school without your essay edits and emotional support! You know how upset I was those months before May. I tend to not show it in front of others but deep inside I was struggling very hard. I had some really negative thoughts at some point (really negative thoughts) but I keep thinking about you and other friends who have shown me support (yes, thank you @phoodledoodles for starting a med school specifically for me with a 1:1 student to faculty ratio and guaranteed nap time every day if I didn’t get in). I would’ve felt so guilty if I didn’t get in this cycle because all the effort you put in reading my essays QAQ Love you and I will make my best attempt to visit! *we still need to go to that pho place together*

@phoodledoodles @aeryecho I love you both, too <3

I’d like to mention @shinionlydrawsfreestyle for being my secret role model during my application cycle haha *senpai plz notice me face* I actually remember you on SDN from last application cycle (along with bananafish haha), I never expected to find your tumblr page. At first I felt yeah I’m probably the only weeb trash artist that does cons and digital art as a hobby while pursuing a main career that’s not even remotely related. And then I was searching “reviews for acrylic charms” and I found your blog and I read your bio that you said you were a med student and I went HOLY CRAP I WASN’T THE ONLY ONE.

Congrats on finishing MS1 and good luck next year studying step 1, senpai!

Ah if my secondaries were like this post I would’ve never gotten in med school :P Thanks for reading if you got this far.

Love and Peace~

#doktor crimson #not art

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