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devilscreekballad · 3 years

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Commission for BirbWaifu

With @birbwaifu ‘s permission, here’s the writing commission done for them <3

Thanks again for commissioning me.

If you wanna commission a story as well, check out the pinned post.

Enjoy

"Ya think they know?"

It wasn't an easy-to-answer question Nobu was posing there, but he felt a heavy weight lifting off his shoulders as the words finally left his mouth.

Charlie put his book down and pulled himself up into a marginally more upright position as they laid cuddled together in their train compartment's bed, reading.

"How d'ya mean?" he wondered, blinking down at the man resting against his chest.

Nobu drew a breath to answer, but paused. He knew the way he worded that question could mean a couple of things, and all of them had been weighing him down.

"About... all of it, I guess," he thus answered, looking briefly up at Charlie before listening to the other man's heartbeat again. "About me, 'bout you, us... this whole misadventure."

"I wouldn't call it misadventure, Nobu," Charlie said softly, playing lazily with the other's short hair. "I mean, look at what we achieved. But as for that... I don't think me family knows 'bout it. Nothing ya really put in the papers, right? An' what might make it into the papers... There's not really much o' a connection to us, is there?"

Nobu nodded.

"An' they already know 'bout ya," Charlie continued, gently caressing the other's cheek. "No one uttered a bad word 'bout ya since the wedding, so no need to worry there." Charlie shuffled and pressed a kiss onto the crown of Nobu's head. "And trust me, if anyone would have a problem with ya, Ada would rip'em a new one."

Nobu chuckled softly, and sighed.

"But what about us being together?" he wondered.

"Same deal," Charlie shrugged, giving Nobu's arm a squeeze. "But we'll find out for certain soon enough."

Something about Charlie's tone wasn't right. Nobu shifted a little to look at his lover once again.

"Yer alright?"

Charlie blinked once more, nodding.

"Am. Just still tryin' to wrap my head around everythin'. This was a bit bigger than anything we did before."

"It sure was."

And Charlie sighed.

"Wanna hear the punchline? The bit I find hardest to grasp is that ya actually love me back, and confessed first. All these years, we rode together and..."

Now Nobu sat up and smiled, bemused.

"We're both two oblivious fools, ain't we?" he said, now resting his head against Charlie's shoulder.

"Oblivious and both in bloody denial, Nobu," Charlie answered, taking the smaller man's hand. "But I'm glad you said something. I'm not certain I woulda had the courage to do so."

Now Nobu blinked.

"Ya really think so?"

Charlie nodded, smiling bitterly.

"With all that happened, I guess if you would not have said anything there and then... I woulda started tellin' meself that ya don't have the same feelings for me. 'Cause when all that crap didn't encourage ya to say anything..."

"It wouldn't have encouraged ya either by the sound of it," Nobu deadpanned, looking a little grumpy. "And yer the more courageous of the two of us."

Charlie awkwardly cleared his throat.

"Well... I..." he began, but Nobu gave his hand a gentle squeeze.

"But I get ya. I... I think I woulda jumped to the same conclusion 'bout ya had I not said anything."

Charlie smiled and put the book away, turning to Nobu to gently kiss his forehead.

"We're a match made in... God knows where..." he chuckled, cuddling into the pillow.

Nobu did the same.

"Ya think we'll ever see the others again?" he wondered as Charlie turned off the small lamp. "I mean, they said they'll stay in contact, but..."

"I'm quite certain 'bout Mrs. Meadows. Can't imagine Blayne won't keep his eye on us, and she'll be the best way to do so. With O'Brian, Burke an' their brethren, I'd say it depends on what the world has in store for'em. Miss Florence will certainly write." Charlie hummed in thought. "I think the only real tricky one will be Lynwood, what with him moving to England. He'll either write eagerly or will get wrapped up in work again."

Nobu nodded gently. This sounded about right.

"Those were some weird weeks," he said.

Charlie sighed in agreement.

"That they were. But one can't argue we didn't end our career as outlaws on a high note."

"As if you'd actually give up on gamblin' and hustlin'."

Charlie laid his arm around Nobu, pulling him closer.

"I'll cut it down for ya, an' ya know that," he said, giving Nobu a loving squeeze. "But now we should sleep. I'd like to be awake properly when we meet me family."

"Yeah, not riskin' givin' them any advantage."

Both men chuckled, and Nobu leaned up to kiss Charlie's cheek.

"I love you."

"I love you too." Charlie returned the kiss. "Good night."

"Good night."

~~o~~

The next morning came, and Nobu woke to the conductor knocking on the compartment door, announcing that they'll reach their destination in less than an hour.

Nobu sat up, yawned, and looked down at Charlie, watching the other man's chest rise and fall gently. And after a moment, Nobu playfully ran a hand over Charlie's stomach. Charlie stirred awake, blinking blearily at his lover.

"G'morning," he slurred, squirming a bit. "Ya really took a liking to tickling me awake, didn't ya?"

Nobu sighed and searched Charlie's eye.

"I..." he began. "I guess I'm tryin' to tell meself this ain't a dream."

Charlie smiled and reached up to caress Nobu's cheek.

"I get that. I think I told ya that I'm still wrappin' me head around all of it." Charlie cocked his head. "But I get the impression yer really worried 'bout things."

"Am," Nobu admitted. "We got a new life ahead o' us, and..."

"Yer scared, no matter how much ya wanted it?"

Nobu nodded, and Charlie pulled him into a gentle hug.

"Look, Nobu, I can't promise ya that life will be outrageously easier now. But it should be a less rocky road. An' we've weathered so many storms together already, I think we can weather the next few as well."

Nobu nuzzled his face into the crook of Charlie's neck, humming gently. It took a moment before he sat back up, looking down at Charlie.

"Yer counting tellin' yer family we're together as one of'em storms?" he asked, all perfect innocence. And Charlie snorted a laugh.

"Oh, that depends on how obnoxious they'll be about it," Charlie answered, stretched and clambered out of bed. "But I ain't tellin' ya nothin' new when I say ou'll fit right in with the bunch o' altruistic hens that me family is."

Now Nobu laughed as well, watching Charlie get dressed.

"Ya warned me before," he joked then, getting up himself.

It wasn't until everything was packed and the train slowed as it neared the station that Charlie fell thoughtful again.

"Penny for yer thoughts?" Nobu asked.

Charlie looked at him, and then at the window, watching the scenery go by.

"Told ya, still lettin' things sink in. Right now it's mostly the fact that I haven't seen me family in person since Grace's wedding."

Nobu nodded.

"We sure got a lot to tell'em..."

Charlie smirked.

"I reckon those tales will be a good warm up till we get to the big reveal."

"Ya mean that we saved the world or that we got together?"

Charlie pretended to earnestly ponder this.

"Yes," he then said with a cackle, and earned a gentle elbow to the side for it. But Nobu chuckled as well.

"We should go then," Nobu said as the train stopped, shouldering his bag. "I'm certain I saw Ada and Oscar waitin' for us."

~~o~~

Now, Charlie was never the kind of person to get overwhelmed too easily. But arriving at one's family's home and being greeted by around a dozen-something friendly faces will very easily do the trick.

Charlie had barely gotten off the carriage when he was swarmed by various nephews and nieces, and while Oscar carried their luggage inside, Ada took the opportunity to have a small heart-to-heart with Nobu a bit away from the group.

"Whatever ya did after Potter's Springs musta been a big one to get Charlie to come home for good after all this time," she said, watching Charlie for a bit.

Nobu smiled askew.

"Don't be like that. Ya know how much he'd have loved to be here more often. An' yer one to talk. Yer always out an' about yerself." Then Nobu realized something and his eyes grew wide. "Wait, how do ya know about..."

"Potter's Springs? Josie wrote to me when that Pinkerton agent of yers got ya stuck in town for a bit." Ada smiled slyly. "Can't believe ya an' Charles worked with a bloody Pinkerton."

Nobu sighed.

"Neither could we."

"Did ya leave him to rot in the end?"

Nobu furrowed his brow.

"No. Truth be told, he... he's not that bad a person. And he quit his job."

Ada chuckled.

"Good call." She patted Nobu's back. "Come, ya gotta meet the other new members o' the family."

Nobu nodded and followed her, only to stop dead in his tracks when he realized something else.

"W-why did ya word it like that?"

With a smirk, Ada waved him to follow.

"I'll tell ya when Charlie's in hearin' range. Would spoil all the fun otherwise."

By all means, Nobu couldn't say that that sounded promising, but there was nothing else he could do but follow.

About ten or fifteen minutes later Nobu and Charlie had been introduced to all the new members of the family, and another ten till they were seated on a large and nicely decorated breakfast table.

Something that made Charlie squirm with a bit of embarrassment.

"Ya did this all for us?" he asked, to which his mother ruffled his hair after putting a basket of boiled eggs down.

"Ya been away from home for so long, Charlie, and ya pulled quite a stunt in New Hamelin." As you and Charlie blinked a little confused, Charlie's mother smiled and retrieved a newspaper from the shelf, handing it over. "We do get the papers out here, Charles. An' yer not goin' to tell me this kinda thing isn't right up yer alley."

Charlie cleared his throat quite abashed, putting the paper back down.

"Well, yes..." he began.

"Glad to see ya ended on a high note," Ada noted. "One last big thing before you an' Nobu settled down. So, what are yer plans now?"

Charlie quirked a brow.

"Get a job, I guess."

"As what?" Ada teased. "With yer skillset ya'd be best suited for politics, but ya got too good a heart for that."

Charlie snorted a curt laugh and leaned back.

"Yer kind as always, Ada. I was thinking 'journalism'. Maybe writing. Good respectable work, that."

Something about this made a smile tug on Nobu's lips.

There was some agreeing murmuring, some nodding and some eyerolling around the table, before Ada looked at Nobu.

"An' you?"

Nobu winced, taking a deep breath.

"I dunno yet. I-I mean I'm no good with words an' all, but... maybe I can find something at a bookstore in the city. A library. Ya know I like to read."

"Well, good to know Charlie will have someone to read what he put out," Ada quipped, grabbing the breadbasket and helping herself to a small tower of rolls. "But that aside, why don't ya tell us the whole story."

"Yes," Grace chimed in. "What happened that made ya finally decide to settle down with Nobu."

"Well, it's quite a long..." Charlie began, but then narrowed his eye at his sister. "Why did ya word it like that?"

Grace giggled in response, while Ada did her best to not start laughing out loud. Charlie cast Nobu a suspicious glance, and Nobu, albeit just for a moment, wished the ground would open and swallow him whole.

"I think they know," Nobu mumbled, and Charlie frowned.

"We suspected," Ada corrected. "Since Grace's wedding, the way the two o' yer been with each other..."

"Why didn't ya say anything?" Charlie protested, to which Grace spoke up.

"Charlie, that kinda thing is something the two of ya had to come to terms with for yerself," she said. "But to tell the truth, if ya wouldn't have gotten together by now Ada woulda set out to screw yer heads back on right."

Charlie and Nobu turned their gazes to Ada, who smiled back self-satisfied.

"Look at ya two," she said. "Ya've been workin' together so well since ya met, and one would have to be really oblivious to not notice that." He smile softened. "But I know yer both... yer both the kind of people who deny themselves that anything good can ever happen to them for a longer time. But..."

Charlie waved her off, taking a deep breath.

"We... already figured we're oblivious fools, no need to rub it in," he said, clearing his throat.

"That you are," Ada agreed, and smiled. "But we're all happy ya finally figured it out."

Charlie smiled at Nobu, and Nobu smiled back, nudging Charlie's leg below the table.

"But now let's eat," Ada called, "before it all gets cold."

"Can't argue with that," Charlie muttered, getting Nobu to chuckle.

~~o~~

"Charlie?" Nobu asked as they sat on a bank in the house's small garden, catching their breath after breakfast.

"Mhnn?"

"I've been thinking."

"About?"

"What do ya think?" Nobu smiled, resting his head against Charlie's shoulder. "About what yer family said. About us. We been so busy with wrappin' our heads 'round what happened in Devil's Creek, an' us being two godforsaken fools that we didn't even think about just what we're goin' to do now."

Charlie smiled, leaned his head against Nobu's and laid an arm around the other man.

"We still had a good answer to it, don't ya think?"

Nobu pondered this.

"Yes, but... I mean I can imagine ya writin' books, but I-I can't see myself sellin' any... or anything."

Charlie pressed a gentle, careful kiss to Nobu's temple.

"I'm sure ya can," he said, squeezing Nobu's shoulder. "An' we got time now. We're not on the run anymore."

"There's still people who have a bone or two to pick with us."

Charlie nodded with a sigh.

"I know. But we can handle them. Settling down doesn't mean lettin' one's guard down, now does it."

Nobu nodded.

"Are ya scared," Charlie asked softly.

"A bit. Not just about that... about everythin'."

"Me too, that much I can tell ya." Charlie looked forlornly at the sky for a moment, caressing Nobu's shoulder absentmindedly. "It's weird, innit?"

"Mhnn?"

"All the things we've been through an' this is what we're scared 'bout the most."

"Well," Nobu began, pondering. "I guess it's 'cause we've never been in such a situation before. It was always 'us and where we go from here for the next hustle'. Now it's... Us and where we'll go from here for us."

Charlie chuckles gently.

"Yeah, it is." Then he shuffled around, looking at Nobu. "Well, where do we go from here?"

Nobu blinked.

"Didn't we just talk 'bout that?" he wondered.

"I mean literally," Charlie said, leaning back again and looking up at the sky wistfully. "The world is big, Nobu. There's a lot of places to go an' see, an' about as much to stay there for a bit longer than we usually do. So, where do we go from here? See the world? Build a small house somewhere on the frontier? Go back to civilization?"

Charlie's gaze was gentle and free of any sarcasm as he looked back at Nobu. And Nobu just smiled, just as gentle and honest, before he cuddled against Charlie again, laying the other man's arm around his shoulder once more.

"I don't know yet. I guess I'll see," he said, entwining his fingers with Charlie's.

Charlie chuckled softly, giving Nobu's hand a soft squeeze.

"Yes... But... it's funny. I know one thing for certain." He smiled and cupped Nobu's chin, pressing a tender, loving kiss onto the other's lips. "I won't go anywhere without you by my side."

#the ballad of devil's creek #BaoDC ROs #baodc charlie #baodc commissions #choice of games #hosted games #interactive fiction

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descendantofthesparrow · 3 years

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Shuffle Playlist - Rewrite - Part of Your World - Harry Hook x Reader - Part 15 - Sleepy mornings and try outs

*this is pretty much just a filler chapter srry if its boring*

You woke up to the sound of your alarm going off, Harry groaning into your neck as you smacked it to make it shut up. You peeled open your eyes, letting out a harsh breath as the sun just barely peeked through the shut curtains. “what time-“ you glanced at the alarm clock, harry yelping as you suddenly sat up and knocked him off your torso “WHAT THE FUCK ITS 9 AM?!”

You tried to remember what time you and harry had gone to take your nap…you got back to your room at like, 1:20 pm, Harry took a thirty-minute bath, it was twenty minutes doing his nails and-2:10pm that’s when you and Harry went down soo that was…19 fucking hours of sleep holy shit.

“What's wrong?” Harry's groggy voice finally broke through your bewilderment. You turned and let out a soft sigh, smiling at his slightly grumpy look, his eyes almost completely closed and his hair a fluffy mess.

“We slept for nineteen hours hun” you chuckled, bursting out into laughter as Harry just stared at you for a moment and then pushed his head into your pillow and tried to pull the blanket over his face. “Harry no, we have to get up, we missed lunch and dinner, we need to eat” you pulled back the blanket, leaning down to press a kiss to his cheek “Come on”

He made a grumbled complaint but obeyed, slowly sitting up only to rest his cheek on your shoulder and lean heavily into you. You rolled your eyes with a fond smile on your face as his arms wrapped around your waist and tugged you into him “Yes yes I know, cuddles are great, but Saturday pancakes are even better” he peaked up at you again and seemed to consider your bribe before closing his eyes again and tightening his grip. “Alright, then I guess I’m going to breakfast alone and leaving you here in this warm bed that’s going to turn cold without me here to cuddle you~” Harry groaned and finally sat up, pouting as he dragged his feet to his room to get dressed “Thank you!”

He let out a small grumble and opened your door, shaking his head to wake himself up more. The door closed behind him as he stepped out and you jumped off your bed to get dressed.

You decided on a comfy red long-sleeved shirt that you had also commandeered from Harry a few weeks back, your most comfortable pair of jeans, and some black sneakers.

You freshened up in your bathroom and sighed, grabbing your key to lock your door when you saw a note on your corkboard. You walked closer to it and took it off the board, holding it close to read.

-Thank you for helping me design yours, Harry’s, and Gil’s outfits, it saved me a lot of brainpower I needed for other things :3

-Evie <3-

You smiled and set the note on your desk, grabbing your bag and checking inside, nodding as you spotted your sketchbook, pencil, eraser, and some snacks inside. You grabbed your phone from your desk and walked out of your room.

As you locked your door you heard Harry's dorm room door open and close, arms wrapping around your waist moments later “Hi love” you hummed, turning in Harry's grip and pecking his nose, smiling at the small grin that came from your affection “Come on, let's go get some food, we need the energy for today” He gave you an odd look before he remembered

“oh, righ’ cotillion” he grumbled, hands sliding up your waist and trailing down your arms, intertwining his fingers with yours. You squeezed his hand and walked down the halls with him, humming to yourself as you walked towards the cafeteria.

“So how are you feeling today?” Harry thought for a moment, rolling his shoulders and tensing his arms, then shrugged.

“Not sore anymore, I think the bath helped with tha’” you nodded in relief.

“That’s good, I wouldn’t want you to be uncomfortable the entire day, soreness is not good for dancing” Harry rolled his eyes at that and snorted.

“Yes, because that’s all I’m goin’ ta do, dance” you gently pinched his arm with your free hand “oi!” you snickered at the noise he made and pushed open the cafeteria doors, the smell of pancakes, waffles, French toast, eggs, bacon, and many other breakfast foods invading your senses.

“Yum,” you hummed, squeezing Harry's hand one last time before moving to get in line for your food “find a table for us?” Harry nodded and looked around, spotting the vks sitting around a large rectangle table with two more spots open. He walked towards it and plopped down next to Carlos, who shifted to the side a bit to give harry a bit more room.

“morning~” Evie sang, giggling a bit as Harry crossed his arms on the table and laid his head down on them “oh someone’s sleepy~”

Harry just grunted and lifted one of his arms from below his head and placed it over his face, hiding the light from his eyes. “I haven’t seen you or (y/n) since the talk…where the heck have you been?” Jay asked through a stick of French toast, reaching forward and poking at Harry's bedhead.

“When I went to go drop off (y/n)s dress they were asleep…I think It was like, four-thirty? So, I think they’ve just been sleeping the entire time” Evie laughed, turning and smiling as you passed around the table and set a tray in front of Harry and sitting down across from him. Harry parked up, licking his lips as he looked at his pancakes, sunny side up eggs, bacon, and strawberries. “so, where have you two been for the last day?”

You snorted, facepalming a bit “we slept for nineteen fucking hours Eve” the table stared at you in shock as they snickered at the absurdity of your words “I know I know, but one moment it was two-thirty the next it was nine am”

Carlos sighed, shaking his head “you two are not going to be able to sleep for two days” Harry grunted through his fork as you rolled your eyes.

“Whatever, I have a fucked-up sleep schedule anyway not like that’s going to do me any worse” Harry snorted at that, pausing the inhaling of his food and gulping down his apple juice.

Evie clicked her tongue in disapproval and stood, taking her empty tray with her “I bet you’re happy that summer vacation is soon, then you can sleep till your heart's content without missing class” you grinned at her as she walked away towards the trash cans.

“When’s summer vacation start again?” Gil asked, shoving a hard-boiled egg in his mouth, nodding as Carlos answered for him.

“Monday, I think yesterday was the last day of school but I think we were all a little busy doing something else heh” you hummed, tapping your finger on your cheek.

“I think yesterday was a start of a three-day weekend, FG said something about letting everyone get a day of rest before cotillion” Carlos squinted a bit and nodded.

“Yeah, I think I remember her saying something like that, well, at least we won't get in trouble for missing algebra” the table snickered a bit, Harry pushing his empty try towards you and laying his head back down on his arms. “Geez you two sleep for nineteen hours and he’s still tired.”

“Well, I don’t think he slept on the isle, plus sleeping too much can make you even more tired, Harry come on, you can’t go back to sleep” you shoved at his shoulders, giving him a soft smile as he glared at you “I’m sorry love, I’ll get you some coffee from the café how bout that?” he kept glaring for another moment before it softened.

“Mocha-Caramel frappe” he flopped his head back down and his shoulders rose and sank in a quick motion.

You stared at him for a moment before looking at the others “those don’t have a lot of caffeine, right?” Mal shook her head “okay you answered that way too quickly” she snorted and smiled at you.

“Just order with an extra shot of espresso, that’ll keep him for the day and through cotillion” You mentally noted that and thanked Mal, turning back to Harry and pushing at his shoulder.

“Harry, come on, go with Gil to the amphitheater, I apparently have some people to watch try out for the team” he let out another grumble, pouting as Gil stood from the table, handed you his tray, and hoisted Harry from his seat, carrying him in a fireman's hold before Harry forced Gil to put him down. You giggled as Harry grumpily made his way to the amphitheater with Gil just behind him, hopefully preventing Harry from running back to your room to get more sleep.

“When did you learn ‘bout the new ones?” Jay asked through a mouthful of waffles, swallowing them down with cafeteria coffee.

“When I woke up to a text from Fergus, get this, we have ten people who signed up for the team” Jay and Carlos’ jaws dropped “I know right?”

“Probably cuz you kicked off Chad, right?” Mal guessed, popping her last strawberry in her mouth and laughing as you winked at her.

“yep, I’m fully betting on that” you took yours, Harry’s, and Gil’s empty trays and walked towards the trash can, raising your brow as you saw Evie was still standing there, now talking to some of the girls who had gotten their dresses asking styling questions.

“oh, I would do a natural look with some rouge lips, it would make your eyes and dress pop a bit more” Sophia; Robin Hood’s daughter, nodded and pulled out her phone, going to look up make-up references before you pulled Evie away.

“Sorry girls, I’ll be stealing the princess now” the others whined as you set your trays on top of the can and pulled Evie by her arm back towards the vks.

Evie let out a sigh of relief and slumped against you “thank you (y/n)! I would have been stuck there for ages! I love helping style but I’m still not fully awake and ready to deal with all that” you hummed in response and let go of Evie as you arrived back at the VK table.

“alright I’ll see you guys later, I gotta go look at R.O.A.R tryouts” the four VKs nodded and engaged in their own conversation.

You spun on your heel and walked out of the cafeteria building, making your way back towards the main school to get to the amphitheater inside. Passing by a couple of students who were grabbing the last of their school supplies before summer vacation started.

You pushed the doors to the amphitheater open and nodded to the group that was standing just to the side of the main ring, they nodded back and you walked over to Harry, Gil, and coach, the latter handing you a clipboard with the names of the those who were trying out.

Amra Triton

Raven Loxley

Kuzo Emporia (made up last name don’t come for me)

Ellie DunBroch

Alvin Oldenburg

Yuan Yao

Adrian Liddell

Tyron Maldon

Eva Fitzherbert

Pax Darling

You nodded to yourself as you looked over the names, you glanced up from the clipboard and let out a piercing whistle, the new recruits immediately falling into line. “alright! We’re gonna do this tournament style! The last one standing gets the spot! Any cheating and you’re permanently banned from even trying out for the team. Line up just in front of the boxes, two lines please!”

The recruits obeyed and lined up, two lines of five in front of you.

You started to call the match.

“Ressembler!”

“salute”

“lower the point”

“masks down”

“en garde!”

You waited a few tense moments before letting out another whistle, the chaos of the fight almost immediately deafening the room. Ellie quickly took out two others, flipping over Pax and landing behind them, spinning on her heel and smacking their butt. Pax quickly spun around and blocked another swing of Ellie's sword, the two quickly delving into their own match.

You looked over at Tyron and Yuan, the latter of the two easily kicking the former's ass. Tyron let out a yelp as he fell to the floor, sword sliding across the ring and hitting the wall.

“Tyron; out! Stand behind the line!” the teen smiled at Yuan and hopped up from the ground, jogging over to the line that was behind you and coach and continuing to watch the mini-tournament.

Amra and Adrian’s swords were flung out of their hands, coach quickly calling them out of the ring. They moved to stand by Tyron and watched the rest with rapt excitement.

Ellie finally managed to disarm Pax and caught the sword she had sent flying with her free hand. Pax let out a sigh and ran over to the others who had been called out.

Ellie turned to Raven and the two immediately began to clash swords, the others still in the match stopping for a moment to watch with wide eyes as the two girls easily matched the skill of the other and blocked and parried so hard the blades shook.

Eva took the chance of the distraction and took Kuzo out of the match, the latter pouting as they stomped over to the others.

It was down to five; you let out another whistle, making them split apart and stand at attention.

“stand around the blocks and wait for the signal” once more they obeyed and stood around the ring, just next to the parkour blocks.

You and Gil watched with rapt attention as the last five started at each other with giddy looks, Eva and Ellie flipping their blades to release some of their energy.

You let out another whistle, laughing a bit as Ellie launched herself at Alvin and took him down within seconds. The boy huffed to himself and scooted out of the ring, sitting crisscross on the floor and leaning back on his palms with a grin.

Now only four left, it was two versus two for a moment before Yuan kicked Eva out of the ring, leaving just the three girls to battle for the spot on the team.

Ellie jumped back as Yuan swung at her, the latter blocking a stab from Raven in a swift motion before spinning into a crouch and kicking Raven's feet out from under her. Yuan kicked Raven’s sword away and ran towards Ellie as Raven was pulled out of the ring.

“last two” Gil muttered to harry, mentally wishing he had popcorn, this was better than those action movies Ben had shown them. Harry let out a low grunt, while the fight was exciting, he was still pretty tired and was just wanting to go back to bed until cotillion.

Ellie and Yuan quickly clashed swords, the two evenly matched as they danced around each other.

Swing, parry, block, thrust forward, block, flip over parkour block, parry, swing, miss, flip, block, repeat.

Then, at last, Yuan’s foot slid just a bit more than she was meaning to and Ellie took the chance, placing her foot behind Yuan’s and sliding it back, throwing Yuan’s balance off.

Ellie ducked under Yuan’s arm and hoisted her up, flipping her over her shoulder and slamming her into the ground.

“call it!” Coach yelled out, the two girls halted in their fight and stared at each other, their chests heaving with heavy breaths.

You walked into the ring, holding out your hand to Ellie who grinned and eagerly took it “congrats Ellie, welcome to the team!”

The others who had been defeated cheered and walked over, ruffling Ellie's hair and congratulating her “and great job to the rest of you, if there's ever another spot open, I want you all to try out again!”

They call cheered in agreement, setting down their gear and walking over to coach as he called them over.

You walked over to Harry and cupped his face, tilting his head up to you and smiling at him “hey sleepy baby, how bout that mocha-caramel frappe now hm?” he gave a soft smile and nodded, grabbing onto your offered hand and pulling himself up, wrapping his arm around your shoulder and leaning towards the doors “Okay okay we’re going, see you guys!”

Ellie and the others waved back before turning back to coach.

You, Harry, and Gil walked out of the school and headed to the campus café.

It was only two hours to Cotillion. And Uma was pacing around Ben’s room, she had spelled the king only 10 minutes before, but now she had to wait the two hours till 6 pm to even do anything, lest anybody get suspicious.

Luckily Ben had let her stay in his room at the castle and informed everyone that his room was not to be entered till after cotillion. Possibly; that it could have also created suspicion but Uma was not aware of Ben's habits enough to know that it would or not.

But she would have her revenge on Auradon, and do what had been promised 5 months ago.

The barrier would come down.

And Harry and Gil would regret betraying her.

-end part 15-

Srry again if this one was boring but at least it ended interesting?? Anyway, cotillion starts next chapter!

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@queer-cosette @sephiralorange

@lunanight2012 @daughter-of-the-stars11

@musicarose @descendantsobsessed

@random-thoughts-003 @remembered-license

@verboetoperee @rintheemolion @thecaptainsgingersnap

@imtryingthisout

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@thesailbells @beccad10x

#disney descendants #harry hook #harry hook x reader #harry hook descendants #harry hook imagine #Descendents #descendants #shuffle playlist #rewrite #part of your world #uma descendants

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beholdme · 3 years

Text

All the Many Shades of Gerry - Chapter 3

Chapters: 3/19

Fandom: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Gerard Keay/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Martin Blackwood/Gerard Keay, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Gerard Keay/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist

Characters: Martin Blackwood, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Gerard Keay, Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives), Sasha James, Gertrude Robinson, Elias Bouchard

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Library AU, Librarian Jon, Artist Gerry, Trans Male Character, Trans Martin Blackwood, Canon Asexual Character, Asexual Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Ace Subtype - Sex Positive, Polyamory, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Romantic Fluff, Falling In Love, Boys in Skirts, Kissing, Demisexual Gerard Keay, Minor Character Death, Past Character Death, Canon-Typical Child Neglect, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Flirting, Minor Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist/Tim Stoker, Adventures in Hair Dying, Happy Ending, Banter, Gerry has a lot of sass, Gerard Keay is Morticia Adams, Jon is a very grumpy Librarian, Martin adores them anyway.

Summary: In which Gerry is a kaleidoscope and Jon and Martin can't help falling in love with him.

He happens to love them back.

Find it on Ao3

[1] [2]

In the following weeks, as he sees Jon a few more times, Gerry's hair fades out and he looks rather more 'forest nymph' than 'American Gothic'.

So it's not much of a shock when the next time Jon catches sight of Gerry striding through the library stacks, his hair has been re-coloured. This time it's a smooth buttery yellow and Jon is struck by how young the warm, bright colour makes him look.

Gerry doesn't feel young though, he feels tired and bored and wrung out, and he wishes he had never agreed to take art commissions.

"It's only the one time!" Gertrude had insisted to a very put upon Gerry, very early in the morning. "And if he puts in a good word for you in his circles, your name will really be on the map in the art world."

Gerry wasn't particularly interested in being put on any maps, or being picked apart by rich, stuck up strangers, but he had agreed to try, mostly because Gertrude had put a lot of effort into making his passion for art an actual career and he felt like he owed her.

(He forgets, frequently, just how much of a commission she takes on the sales of his paintings).

So there he was, striding around the library at 7 am and desperately looking for exactly the right reference book. Unfortunately, it has been out of print for years, and Gerry can't seem to find a copy anywhere that won't cost him half a liver. He has the money now, but he refuses to pay half a month's rent to a second-hand retailer on principle.

Jon watches him skulk around for so long, (apparently forgetting that he is, in fact, a librarian) that Sasha comes out from her desk to ask Gerry if he's looking for something specific. She's wearing her big round glasses today and even indulged herself in her favorite waistcoat to beat the Monday blues.

"Why, yes." At this, Gerry looks directly up at Jon, where he is standing and watching him from the upper balcony level. Jon's face burns, and he ducks out of sight, but not earshot. "I do actually come here to borrow books, not boys." And he smartly feeds her the name of the reference book he has been hunting for almost an hour.

Sasha giggles at his antics, "We do have a copy of that, actually, but it's very popular. There's a waitlist; also it's checked out right now."

Gerry's whole demeanor sags and he sighs in defeat. "Guess I really will just have to order it off the internet, then." He eyes the stacks of books, old and new, looking vaguely betrayed.

"No!" Sasha's exclamation takes everyone a bit aback, being that they are in a library and all. "You know, my mate has this sweet little bookstore, and he loves hunting down rare copies of older books, he might have a copy?" She wrings her hands, eyebrows raised in question.

Gerry beams down at her, causing even stoic Sasha to blush and scurry off to get a piece of paper for the address.

They're already most of the way to the front desk by the time Jon realizes just which bookstore Sasha is busy recommending to the man he is dating , and just who owns that particular establishment.

By the time he manages to get downstairs to try to deflect the situation, Gerry is out the door, nothing left but the faint scent of oil paints and leather from his jacket.

***

Tim Stoker leaves Gerry feeling faintly dazed. By the time he stumbles out of the bookstore and into the tea room, elusive book in hand, he's forgotten everything he has ever known in the face of such intense flirting. And Gerry thought he was bad.

Throughout the whole episode at the library, the walk through Chelsea, and the exchange with Tim, Gerry had never once taken a moment to consider that Sasha's friend with a bookstore and Jon's Martin with a bookstore might be the same person.

He chooses to blame the lack of sleep and general disarray that is his life for the oversight.

Which is how, 9:30 in the morning, having been awake for almost 24 hours and completely finished, Gerry walks up to Martin in his tea room and says, "I'll have whatever is pink and in that jug, please. The biggest you've got."

Martin, of course, recognized him immediately. He would have recognized Jon's gothic childhood boyfriend from his social media stalking alone, but Jon's frantic texting was also a pretty big giveaway.

Martin: Relax, I don't bite clients this early in the morning. He's in safe hands with me.

Jon: HE KNOWS THINGS ABOUT ME. Besides, who's gonna stop him from biting you?

Martin: Whatever he has to tell me can’t possibly be worse than the office gossip I heard about you before we even meet.

Jon: W H A T

Now, here Gerry is before him, and he’s quite pleased with what he sees. Even tired and vaguely dazed, his presence in the little room carries a certain energy that Martin enjoys.

"Right away. Take a seat and I'll call you with it." Martin's voice is sweet, but gentle and firm, in a comforting sort of way. Through Gerry's sleepy haze, the instruction makes perfect sense, although he has neither paid nor offered a call name.

Gerry considers taking a seat on the plush bench that occupies one wall, before deciding that he desperately needs a cigarette, and wandering outside.

Technically he is only supposed to smoke at night when he's painting and needs just the right kind of boost, but he decides to call this one since he's on a painting-based errand when he's supposed to be sleeping.

"Gerry?" He turns toward the sound of his name, to find the barista offering him a large to-go cup of what he assumes is fruit ice tea. He frowns at having his name known (his new, much-preferred name, no less) and then frowns at a blonde, bespectacled man in a tea room attached to a bookstore.

His brain finally takes a moment to function, and he puts all the pieces together in an avalanche.

"Martin?" Far from his usual self-confident tone, the single word comes out in a squeak that would make even a toddler wince.

"Yes?" Martin returns the single word in the same solidly reassuring way, and even offers a happy smile.

"I didn't... I didn't recognize you."

"Would be pretty hard for you, considering this is the first we've ever met." Martin's voice is calming in a way that eases Gerry a bit, teasing and all.

"Thank you. For the tea, I mean." Gerry closes his eyes and desperately begs his shit to pull together for him, just this one time. "It's nice to finally meet you."

His hands are fully occupied with a book, a cup of tea, and a cigarette, but Martin doesn't seem particularly bothered by the lack of a hand to shake. "It's nice to meet you too. We're giving Jon a heart attack by doing it without him."

"That is the lawful good," Gerry says, after a long drag of his smoke. "A panicked Jon is a happy Jon, after all. Whatever would he do with himself without a situation to unnecessarily complicate?"

"Yes, the man does seem to thrive on anxiety, doesn't he?" Martin asks warmly, eyes crinkling around a fond smile. "Speaking of, you seem pretty wrecked yourself. Good party, I hope."

Gerry's answering laugh has a razor edge, "Not hardly. This fucking painting I'm working on will be the death of me." Gerry lifts the reference book as proof of trauma and stabs out his cigarette viciously.

"Hmm, sounds like a pain. I hope you typically find art a more enjoyable career?" Martin asks, tilting his head inquisitively. His curly hair moves fetchingly and Gerry catches himself tracking the movement.

"Mostly, yes. Although I keep the bartending gig for variety. You'd be amazed at the sort of inspiration someone can find in the right drunk crowd." Gerry grins, thinking of all the ridiculous things he’d seen walk in and out of the bar in his run there.

"I'd be very interested to see what kind of art you can turn that into. Maybe you'd like to show me sometime?" Martin's words are open and friendly.

Gerry eyes him for a minute, hiding behind a long taste of his drink. He's trying to suss out Martin's motivations, for his kindness and general geniality. The drink is good and it tips Gerry's mood far enough back into cheerfulness that he shrugs off his considerations for the time being.

"You know what," Gerry quips back. "I think I would like to show you sometime. How 'bout tonight."

It's not a question really, with Gerry's typical force of personality behind it, and he leaves the shop with Martin holding an address in his hand and a time to drag Jon over for dinner that evening.

***

Gerry does not make a big deal of Martin coming over. He acts as if any other friend is coming over for dinner.

He tidies, a little. Lights a few candles. Wears pants. The bare minimum really.

He isn't trying to impress anyone, he tells himself sternly.

Except he is, obviously. He doesn't know Martin very well yet, but he does want to keep Jon around, and they are a packaged deal these days. Which he was happy with, truly.

In their limited interaction, Martin had been sweet and put Gerry instantly at ease. He knows, from many years of working a bar, how to spot a dipshit, and feels confident in his assessment of Martin's character.

But, it's his own character that concerns him. People don't always like Gerry past surface interactions. He can be tempestuous and moody, and catching him tired is a pretty bad idea. The combination of artist and mommy issues can be jarring.

He desperately wants those things to not bother Martin though. He wants Martin to like him, and he's not interested in putting on a show to make it happen.

It occurs to Gerry an hour before they're due that he doesn't even remotely know what takeout to order for dinner.

(He knows what Jon will eat, and he obviously knows what he likes, but what about Martin? Why didn't he ask this morning? Why didn't he ask Jon earlier?)

Gerry is just starting to really panic about all the life choices leading up to this moment, when he gets a text from an unknown number, instantly filling him with relief.

Martin: Since you're hosting this time, I'll grab the take-out. Jon says you like Thai, I'll bring that. You got the drinks covered?

Gerry: As long as you drink either coffee, vodka, or water, yes.

Martin: I'm sorry, I subsist only on the blood of virgins.

Gerry: Oh dear. I couldn't tempt you to settle for Earl Grey?

Martin: Hmmm, yes, I'll accept your offerings this time.

***

The first knock comes right on time. Gerry, dressed in his best paint-stained jeans and cherry blossom kimono, opens the door with a flourish.

Martin allows himself to be welcomed in and hands the food off to the dramatic artist, who deposits it on the table where he has already set the tea tray.

"No Jon? Not that I mind quality ‘us’ time, of course."

Martin is busy taking in the rambling studio space and barely spares the attention to respond, although he manages a blush at the flirty tone. "He's, uh, running late. Work stuff. You know Jon."

Gerry smirks at that. "I do indeed. Is it a 'stumble in at 3am' late, or 'we could probably wait to eat' late?"

"Hmmm? Oh, let's wait a bit? If you don't mind." Martin seems equally taken with his painting wall and his book wall and keeps trading his attention between the two. The paintings, being the larger attraction, eventually win, and he meanders over to study them closer.

"Do you keep all the completed paintings around?" His voice is soft and reverent, and Gerry feels a rush of pride for his work.

"For a while. I like to make sure they're in their final forms before I release them into the wild." Martin blinks big brown eyes at him, before grinning and giggling slightly.

"You're very talented. Jon said as much, showed me the pictures, but words and photos are nothing compared to seeing the real thing." Martin really regards his paintings as if they're special, and rather than the prickly feeling of appraisal he feels during gallery nights, it fills Gerry with warmth.

He turns to examine the wall himself. It's filled with an eclectic group at the moment. Large abstracts made by pouring paint and then layering designs over, three-dimensional pieces painted and then embroidered or quilled over in select places, including a particularly wild eye design. Surreal faces and scenes that seem realistic except for the wild subject matter of planets in meadows and chimeras going to battle.

"Is this what comes from your adventures in bartending?" Martin asks Gerry, turning from the wall and towards the slightly taller man.

"That, and my traumatic childhood." Gerry makes sure to laugh at the last, taking the edge off the small confession.

"Obviously." Martin offers.

"Obviously." Gerry accepts.

***

Gerry and Martin drink tea on the floor while they wait for Jon. Gerry gently prods Martin through the story of how he came to open the bookstore. The blonde man even softly confessing that he had to lie on his CV to get the librarian gig at Magnus.

"How old are you? How did you convince them you had a Master's degree?" Gerry is incredulous. Not that he doesn't think Martin could have an advanced degree. But in paranormal research? Gerry hadn't even known that was an option.

"That's the thing! I'm only 29 now . I worked there for five years!" Martin's voice pitches up in disbelief. "I'm still in shock that anyone ever brought it. Desperate times, desperate measures, you know?"

"I do, actually." Gerry shifts slightly, adjusting his balance with the long remembered urge to flee from those desperate times. He fiddles with his teacup to distract himself. He brought this particular set from a pawn shop because the filigree and florals appealed to his love of colour theory. Soft pinks and corals warm against the cool aqua background.

"Jon says you wanted to go to art school when you two were younger."

It's not a question, but merely Martin offering the same space for openness that Gerry had given him.

"I never went. After my A-levels, I had to get away, and I never really stopped moving for long enough to go to uni when I was younger. Now I'm settled and it's not important to me anymore. Besides, no one asks for a copy of my phantom degree when I sell a painting. So I'm happy with how things turned out for the most part." He stops to consider the outline of a possible past for a moment, one where he didn't have to skip college and go ten years without seeing Jon. "Besides, can you imagine a 27-year-old in art school? The young ones would sacrifice me for more creative talent."

Their eyes meet for a moment, and then they laugh easily and move on to different topics, sliding through the easy stages of getting to know each other.

***

Jon does eventually arrive, looking panicked and harried. He de-ages 10 years when he finds them laughing and relaxed instead of tense and awkward.

So, the three of them eat cold Thai take out on the floor of Gerry's loft, leaning against the perfectly good couch. They share the odd intimacy of people who have known each other for very disjointed amounts of time but like each other just the same.

#the magnus archives #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #gerry keay #jongerrymartin #tma #fic #also on ao3

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radiorenjun · 4 years

Text

Lavender Antics

→ Pairing: Han Jisung x Reader

→ Summary: Shooting in a drama with him was your absolute nightmare. Working with your enemy and pretending that you were love interests has been the most frustrating experience of your life. Though, after saying your farewells, the scent of lavender never leaves.

→ Genre:enemies to lovers au, idol au, romance, angst, slowburn, comedy.

→ Warnings: Explicit Language. Antics. Mentions of insecurity. Alcohol, Making out. Suggestive?

Chapters: 2, 3, 4

The first thing you heard when you regained consciousness was a loud obnoxious voice booming through your room. You groaned as you reached for your phone on the nightstand of your hotel, trying to check what time it is.

You arrived at the hotel at 3 am, as soon as you entered your room, you literally collapsed and fell asleep. You were eternally grateful for taking your team members' advice to use sweats and hoodies to the airport.

When you finally grab a hold of your phone, you plugged it out of its charger and turned it on. Squinting at the brightness you, which forgot to lower last night, you managed to rub the sleep out of your eyes to see what time it is for someone to be ringing their alarm so loud.

6:10

3 hours. It's been three hours since you got some actual sleep?

Who in their right minds would set up an alarm that early? You put your phone down as you continued to ignore the loud muffled ringtone booming through the walls next to you. You put your pillow over your head, trying to think who could possibly be making that racket.

Your co-stars rooms were right beside you, but most of them don't use alarms since they're mostly actors and actresses unlike you idols who trained early in the morning til late night. You pulled your blanket over your head, groaning loudly, annoyed and willing to murder whoever interupted your sleep.

The room to your left was Jeongin and you knew for a fact that Jeongin wakes up on his own, which you question as you couldn't even find the strength to wake up and instantly do activities without falling back asleep. The room across from yours was the director, but he said he wouldn't be awake til 11 am.

If to your left was Jeongin, and across you was your director. Then that means, the wall right beside you was none other than Han Jisung. "God dammit, Han!" you groaned loudly, slamming your face against the pillow repeatedly.

Maybe if you just bare with it for much longer, Jisung would wake up and turn it off?

With every passing second you endured, your blood boils and your fists clenching the soft silky fabric of your pillow tighten. "I wanna sleep!" you cry, slamming the sides of your fists against the bed sheets.

You sat up as you began banging your fists against the wall as hard and loud as you could while screaming at the top of your lungs. "Han Jisung! Wake up for fucks sake I want some sleep!" you screamed repeatedly, some curses and swears spilling out of your throat as your anger grew when you realise he wasnt waking up.

"You donkey! I need some sleep!" you breathed out before you gave up. Collapsing onto the mattress before you, rubbing your eyes angrily as you forced yourself to get up and march into the man's room so you could get your precious sleep. You gulped down a glass of water and got up.

You grabbed your phone and put on a jacket over your thin tanktop, not bothering to comb your fingers through your hair to make yourself presentable. You slipped on some soft slippers and grabbed your room key before marching to the door next to you.

You gripped the phone in your hand and banging your other against the door. "Donkey, turn that alarm off! Or so help me, I'll spill hot boiling coffee on your pants on purpose!" you threatened, your voice croaked as you still felt very sleepy.

You groaned as you took out your phone and began calling him, you could hear the sound of his ringtone over his loud alarm as you kept pounding on the door as loud as you can. You bit your lip to prevent yourself from screaming in anger as you tucked your phone in between your shoulder and your ear before you used your free hand to press repeatedly on his doorbell.

6:42

You had been pounding on his door the loudest you could, ringing his phone repeatedly and ringing his doorbell all at the same time for 30 minutes straight. At this point you were about to just break the door down and yell at him, you were losing your mind if you don't get some sleep in the next five minutes.

As if heaven had responded to your desperate calls, you heard subtle footsteps walking towards the door. You heard the door click, finally pulling away as you eye twitched in annoyance. There he was, sleeping beauty himself.

Han Jisung stood in the doorway, his fist rubbing his eye as he squinted at you. He was in nothing but a baggy white shirt and some boxers, his freshly dyed black hair was disheveled in all different directions.

His alarm stopped ringing that incredibly annoying tone and his phone stopped ringing when you hung up on him. Leaving in an awkward silence in the atmosphere as Jisung stood sleepily in the doorway. In all honesty, he looked adorable. Of course you weren't gonna admit that, especially when he wasted 30 minutes of your sleep time.

"Look who finally decided to wake up" you snapped, with a sardonic laugh. You were sure that your eyes had dark circles darker than the urges of wanting to slaughter him right then and there.

"Good morning to you, too, l/n." he yawned into his mouth before leaning against his hand, elbow supported against the wall as he had a small smirk plastered on his face. "What do I owe a pleasure of seeing your face such early in the morning?" he slurred, his eyes closed due to the sleep taking its toll on him.

"Mind telling me why your alarm, which could awaken the people from another universe, goes off at this early of the day?" you almost yelled, which made him raise his brow at you, looking up and down your form. "And why aren't you wearing pants?" you groaned, trying to not look down.

He giggled at your reaction, "sorry, y/n. I usually get up this early to practice back at the dorms. I'm a pretty heavy sleeper and usually my members helps me wake up since my alarm wakes them up. I guess I forgot to turn it off when I got knocked out last night," he chuckled at your grumpy expression.

"Whatever, if this happens again. I will not hesitate to break down this door and throw your clock out of the damn window," you growled, rubbing your temples in frustration. "You couldn't be bothered to at least put on some pants?" you complained.

"Look in the mirror, l/n. You couldn't be bothered to tame that mess of a mane you have." he nodded towards the mess on your head. You huffed before shoving your hand against his chest while walking back to your room.

"You look shitty, by the way!" he exclaimed, his head poking out to reveal that shit eating grin of his as you slide your room key against the slot. "Oh give a girl a break, would you?" you growled, flipping him off with your middle finger before entering the room. "Finally, peace and quiet." you mumbled as you shrugged off your jacket and engulfed yourself in the feathery soft sheets.

This was going to be a long month.

You walked down the road with your head looking forward, it was already 9 pm and you were taking a stroll through town. "Man, I should go to Tokyo when I'm older." you spoke to yourself, relaxing at the quiet peaceful aura that surrounds you.

You passed by a bush of lavender, the scent filling your nostrils as you paused in your step to turn to look at it. "Who would plant lavender's in their backyard?" you asked with furrowed brows. "Japanese people." a voice replied shortly, causing you to jump in surprise in your place.

You turned to look at Han Jisung who was smiling at the purple plants in awe beside you. 'What are you doing here? It's late.' you asked, pulling down your headphones so that you could hear him clearly. "Same reason as you. I went on a stroll," he shrugged with a small smile plastered on his lips.

"Plus I'm craving some boba." He grinned, showing you a halfly finished boba drink which he shook in his grasp, making the drink let out a rattling sound as the ice hits the plastic and the liquid swivels around. You watch him take a small sip of the drink and he waved the drink at you.

"Want some?"

You smiled as you took the drink from his fingers and drank from the same straw. "You seem upset, what's up?" he asked, a hand on your shoulder as you both began walking on the road. You chuckled to yourself, shaking your head to say that it's nothing he should be worried about.

"Was it those chocolate balls Jungha made? I told him that him being in the kitchen is basically a sin but he didn't listen!" he exclaimed exasperatedly, causing you to laugh. "He's a hazard to society, I must admit." you shrugged, chewing on the tapioca pearls.

"I think I lost a gazillion brain cells and got shit developing in my brain ever since I ate those disgusting chocolate truffles." you made a face which caused Jisung to snicker. "Relatable. I gulped down thirty gallons of water to wash that shit down my throat," Jisung joked.

"Youngmin got a freaking aneurysm when he spotted him actually making something in the kitchen." you joked. "Not surprised, I would be too if I had seen him pour fourteen cups of vinegar into a large truffle mixture." he shook his head at the thought.

There was silence between the two of you. As you walked down the path, thinking of all the things you could say to spike up another conversation. You just randomly said, "I like axolotls." which caused him to look at you with the most perplexed yet interested look he's ever given you.

"When you said you had shit developing in your brains, you didn't mean it literally right?" he asked with a concern look on his face. You laughed, smacking him on his shoulder with your sweater paw. "You idiot, of course not!" you bawled out laughing.

"Not my fault I thought bout that. I mean, one moment we're talking bout disgusting chocolate truffles that our classmate made, with the probability of having the intention of food poisoning us to you talking bout who knows what you were saying!" he exclaimed with a giggle.

"Wait. You don't know what's an axolotl?" you asked, turning your head slightly in surprise. "What the fuck even is that?" he furrowed his brows in confusion which made your mouth drop to the floor in shock. His confused expression turned into an offended laugh as he started explaining himself.

"What do you think I am? A grammician? How am I suppose to know what the fuck that is?" he giggled in between words. "Okay, okay. First of all, it's Grammarian. You're making it sound as if being someone who's good at grammar, a magician." you cleared your throat.

"They are though." Jisung mumbled under his breath, which you ignored, only giving him a wtf face in response before shaking your head and continuing with your sentence. "Two. An axolotl is kind of like a sea salamander thing? They have the cutest little smiles and the cutest little yawns-"

"Yawns?!"

"Yes, let me finish my sentence, for fucks sake!"

"They're also teeny tiny that you just wanna squeeze them. They're also really cool creatures," you finished with a bright smile. You find Jisung smiling down at you in astonishment, his expression almost looked lovingly.

"Um, you okay?" you teased. "You're spacing out, dude." you added. Jisung's soft smile never left but he took a few steps toward you, you unconciously walked backwards as you nervously glanced up at his tranced gaze boring into your eyes. "Uh.. You okay?" you asked.

"Dude?"

You felt your back hit the wall, letting out a small squeak at the soft impact. Jisung kept getting closer towards you, his arms beside your head as his forearms lay flat against the wall. His knee in between your legs to keep you trapped in his arms.

His eyes staring lovingly into your nervous ones before searching all over your face and gazing at your lips. "Dude.." you whispered almost inaudibly, as his smile faltered, his eyes half lidded as he leaned his head towards you slowly.

You let out a small noise of surprise when you felt his breath on your skin, his half lidded eyes gazing at your lips as he bit his own. He leaned closer and closer until you both practically breathed each others air, his lips a few centimeters away from yours.

You were stuck in a trance when his eyes went up to look at yours, becoming half lidded as well. His nose grazed yours slowly as his lips parted slightly, his minty breath hitting yours. You felt as if your were being hypnotised.

In a second, it was all ripped away. Jisung shook his head with wide eyes before pulling away from you, his cheeks flushed red in embarrassment as if his boldness had evaporated into thin air. "Sorry," he mumbled, looking everywhere but you.

You nodded wordlessly, putting a hand at your chest to feel how fast your heart is beating. "It's cool." you whispered to him, unsure if he could hear you but the small nod he gave you reassured you he did.

"And cut! Perfect!" the director exclaimed through the speaker before going through his papers once again. You groaned, collapsing on the floor as you sat down in exhaustion. You have been shooting for eight hours nonstop, you were beyond tired.

"Oh my god, someone please get me some mouthwash. I shared a drink with that human being!" you gasped exasperatedly, point at Han Jisung who was gulping down large amounts of water from his waterbottle. He paused to look at you with an annoyed look, his puffy cheeks filled with water.

He gulped down before sticking his tongue out at you. He wiped his mouth with his towel which he used to wipe the sweat off of his brows during breaks. He tossed the wet towel towards your exhausted figure, causing you to avoid it with a shuffle.

"Dude, gross! What were you raised in a barn? You're gonna a get me the fucking corona virus, you little shit" you spat, kicking the towel away with your shoe as your make up artist gave you your waterbottle. "Oh please y/n. We all know that you're the uncultured swine here," he shot back in a bittersweet tone.

"Plus, if I had the virus. I would probably got it from you, considering you sneeze 24/7 and sound like a dying whale when doing so." he snickered. "Bro, if you actually get me sick, I'm gonna pass it back to you by kissing you if I have to!" you growled, standing up to grab your phone.

"You're gonna kiss him sooner or later, so you don't really have to say that." Jeongin smirked as he took a bite of the chocolate truffles handed out during breaks. You and Jisung gave the younger boy a death glare which made him grin and shrug before continuing to hog all the sugary treats displayed on the table.

"Oh my god you're such a pain in the ass." you whined, rubbing your temples in frustration. "Said the one with a stick up her ass," Jisung muttered as his fingers lightly tap the screen of his phone. "Can you shut up please?" you put your hands together with a small clapping sound and Jisung chuckled.

"Sweet y/n should keep her head out of the clouds because God knows that shutting up isn't in my vocabulary." he smirked before giving you a mocking look of sympathy, "did I say sweet? I meant, salty."

You could practically see the smoke steaming out of your ears like a boiling tea kettle. You were about to pounce on that boy and choke him to death (as kinky as it sounds), until you heard the director announce his long awaited announcement.

"Alright, that's it for today folks. It's late and y'all need rest for tomorrow. We'll be travelling to a much furthur place, so be prepared!" the director announced before looking at you and Jisung. "Especially you two, we have only 7 episodes left to shoot. You two are gonna get real lovey dovey this month," he said in a serious tone.

You and Jisung let out a loud gulp. Your heart raced a bit at the thought of being closer to Jisung. No matter how annoying he was, you always look through his good looks and comedic personality. He was practically your ideal type if he wasnt such an asshole. There's no acceptions to this guy.

im sorry this took me so long I was rlly rlly busy

#stray kids #stray kids smut #stray kids x reader #han jisung #han jisung imagines #Lavender antics #skz imagines #skz scenarios #skz jisung #skz #stray kids fanfiction #stray kids fanfic #stray kids fic rec #kpop fic

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sweetestrequiems · 4 years

Text

I: Meetings and Photos

Word Count: 3,025

A/N: Hello you lovely people of the Queendom on Tumblr. I’m Kit, and... well, you’ve seen me around enough. I wrote Silence is Never Better, The Tower of London, and maybe a few other things you might have seen around. Anyways... Welcome to the first chapter of Out of a Book! I’m very excited to share this with you all. I truly hope with heart and soul that you all enjoy this. If you ever want to leave any feedback, feel free to message me, or contact me at one of these profiles:

Instagram: @/Reinapuff Twitter: @/Reinapuff

If you’d like to be added to the tag list, let me know! I’m always happy to share my work with others!

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A rather early Thursday morning in the city of Syracuse, New York. The time’s about 7:15 in the morning.

The sun was over the horizon, but there was little to no noise inside of the apartment. The birds sang their graces and none of this seemed to be the thing to wake up the sleeping woman. In fact, a little snore escaped from her while she slept. Had her roommate not needed to go to work, she would've turned that against the woman in a heartbeat. But of course, this was not out of malice; the two would see the situation being out of fun. Getting up this early in the morning, however, never came easy for the woman that was still in bed. There were two things able to get her to wake up: the sun hitting her eyes, or an alarm of sorts, whether from a phone or a clock.

On this Thursday morning? It was both of those things that would wake her up.

An aggravated Catherine Parr turned to face away from the sunlight, and to reach for her phone. Forcing herself to sit up to turn the alarm off, Parr set the phone down before stretching her arms up and yawning. She noticed the quiet of the apartment about a few minutes from initially waking up. This meant that she was half asleep for a good little bit. “Ah, Lina went to work. Right, I almost forget she’s a teacher sometimes,” she finishes her sentence with a hum. Catalina Aragón, someone she affectionately called Lina, or even just Aragon. She found it fun to have a Spanish roommate, if she was being honest with herself. Made for a more entertaining time some days.

Parr’s never-resting mind began to try to think as to why she had set an alarm so early in the morning. Was it due to the fact she kept waking up too late? Was it a meeting with her publicist? The woman, for the life of her, could not remember. A hand came up to her forehead, rubbing it a few times before pinching the bridge of her nose. “This is bollocks. I can’t remember why I set my alarms so early,” a groan of frustration comes out under her breath. If she hadn’t turned her alarm off so quickly, she might’ve read the reminder that she had put for it. That didn’t matter much. It would come back to smack her in the face later.

Letting her legs swing over the edge of the bed, Parr pushed herself up and on her feet she landed.

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7:45 am.

For Catherine to admit she was ready for the day, she needed one thing, and that one thing was in her hands as she walked back to the small table. Sitting down, the ceramic mug came up to her lips. Coffee. That was the one thing she needed. Her shoulders came up for a moment before they eased up, a smile helping her expression soften up from grumpy-seeming to amused. Opening up her laptop, Catherine softly hummed. A buzz makes her gaze shift from the laptop screen to her phone’s screen, seeing the notification on it. Tapping on it, she allows her phone to open up the email.

From: Cleves, Anna To: Parr, Catherine Subject: Planning for next release

Parr,

Writing a short email to remind you about our 8:00 am meeting for the first steps of getting the announcement of your upcoming book release. If you have any ideas post-conference, be sure to write them down and send me an email with them. We can further discuss those at a later date.

Anna Cleves Media Agent/Public Relations

Bringing her free hand up to her mouth, Catherine Parr forced herself to swallow the mouthful of coffee and then hissed under her breath. “That’s today?! It’s 7:55, I have barely any time to get ready!” Gold star for Cathy Parr. Standing up, the author gave a sigh and quickly disappeared off to the space that was her room in the apartment to at least make herself presentable from the torso up. It did not matter that she was wearing black joggers, so long as she looked like she was ready for a business meeting.

Adjusting her curls so they wouldn’t fall over her face, Catherine paced over to the chair, and sat back down. Now that she had her headset on, and got ready in the nick of time, she patiently waited for the call. There it was. Taking a brief moment to look at herself and adjust her blouse, she answers. “Good morning, Anna.”

“Good morning to you too, Cathy. Glad to see you’re awake at an early time. And you got all dressed up, too! You didn’t have to,” a chuckle. Cleves ran a hand through her hair and gave a smile. “So, we’re looking at what kind of a timeline for the release, exactly?” A slight roll of the eyes, and a shake of the head. “Would’ve been nice to know before I spent the last five minutes panicking over being dressed decently. Anyways, to the main topic. My editor is getting ready to give me the list of revisions made to the draft and then I’m going to once again, go in and edit whatever needs to be changed per her advice. We’re... aiming for maybe... three to six months from now.”

A nod from Anna. Catherine could see the woman looking at a second screen and typing something. Probably notes about all of this. This conversation carried on past 8:30, until it was Anna herself who decided to conclude it. “Sounds wonderful. I’ll be in touch, as per usual. But now that this is over, we can talk about something else, if you’d like.” Although they saw each other maybe once or twice a month in person, Anna and Catherine were quite the close friends–– about as close as Catherine and Catalina, since the two have been roommates since their university days. “Look, I woke up this morning thinking I had nothing to do, and I was just going to text Lina for the grocery list but then your email popped up,” a laugh. The German woman simply shook her head.

“So you got dressed up in a panic, Cathy? I’m shocked.” There was another bout of laughter that interrupted them. Parr found herself nodding. “Of course I did. I’m not going to just answer a conference call from you in a crop top and joggers, and with a messy bun.” The thought of Parr actually having a messy bun made Cleves laugh. “You and messy buns? You’ve got to be kidding me. But good job admitting you’re still halfway in your pajamas.”

Now she rolled her eyes. She rolled them so hard, they could've rolled right off her face.

Catherine shook her head, not being able to help the smile. “Hush. As if you weren't in your own. You’re at home, I know you are!” Her hands went to grab the cup of coffee, and she brought it back up to her lips. She was a bit proud of herself for not having touched it the whole time during the meeting, but now she was craving it. So, she began to drink it, allowing Anna to talk. “Where’s Lina? I’m surprised the woman isn’t around there. Wait, no... never mind, don’t answer that. She’s at work, isn’t she?” A nod. “Yeah, she’s a teacher, Anna. She leaves early. Comes back by dinner time normally.”

It was a safe assumption to say the two were having a fairly good time speaking to each other.

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11:11 am.

“Perfect. That’s the shot,” a southern English voice rang out in the studio apartment. That was the voice of the beauty that took the world by storm: Anne Boleyn. “Tu as un bon oeil avec une caméra, Maggie! Ça a l'air super, vraiment. Go on and head on home, you’re good to go. Have fun with the pictures,” the ruby-lipped woman gave a kiss on both cheeks to her photographer friend, who packed up soon after and headed on out. Sitting down on the loveseat, Boleyn ended up getting herself to lay down and hold her phone right above her face.

“Lame.” She scrolls past one post.

“Seen it.” Another.

“What’s this?” A new post from her favorite author. She’d never admit it, but deep down inside, she was a huge nerd. Anne skimmed over the post, her thumb double tapping the screen. Parr’s posts were always inspirational quotes, or some snippets from her works. This one was just an appreciation post. A smile began to form, with it eventually becoming a light laugh. “She’s so kind! It’s amazing how someone so famous has a golden heart. And I’m sure she knows she’s got the fame.”

Most of the remainder of the morning for Anne was spent laying down, on Instagram, with no care in the world. Truly, the woman was one of a rather mellow personality. And in her spare time, she loved a good book. Deciding she’d had enough of Instagram for the time being, she closed out of the app and opened up another one. Probably delivery or something, considering it was approaching the afternoon and she felt her stomach rumble just a little. “Good thing I decided to get food. Has it really been almost five hours since I ate?”

An early riser, she was. On most days, Boleyn woke herself up at around three in the morning to go work out from maybe 3:30 to 4:45 in the morning. Sometimes she’d extend that work out to 5:45 in the morning. Then it was off to come back home, shower and get comfortable to be in the kitchen and cooking food for herself by around the 6:45 mark. She was always eating by seven in the morning, if not ten minutes later. But she was feeling particularly lazy today, so she’d take advantage of the day to just lounge around.

Standing up, Anne left her phone face down on the loveseat. She didn’t need it to get comfortable. And to be fair, it took her maybe about ten minutes, because the majority of it was her washing her face and making sure to take good care of that. She did however, come out of her bedroom with her glasses on. Now that she was alone for the day, she could just be Anne. No contacts, no sunglasses. Just plain Anne Boleyn. She was a huge nerd growing up, and she knew this to be quite true. She loved herself, and she truly did love her modeling career, but she found it odd to be both a nerd and a super famous model at the same time.

So, she’d keep her personal life to herself. Just like that.

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1:00 pm.

Having finished her lunch around fifteen minutes ago, and having cleaned everything up, Anne found herself at a crossroads during the day. She could take her glasses off, grab a blanket, and take a nice nap. She could go out to the local shops and peruse their inventories. She could get into the kitchen, and do some meal prepping. She had options, but she just couldn’t quite put her finger on what she wanted to do. Shrugging it off, the woman reached for the bookshelf. One of Parr’s books was in her hands.

Anne couldn’t quite tell what drew her into Catherine’s writings. Her books were not quite memoirs, but not quite fully opinionated pieces either. However, they did fall into the non-fiction category. Think of it as a discourse, kind of–– but one full of opinion, experience, and even proven fact. She was a strong woman, and had morals. Anne Boleyn was drawn to that from the first day she picked up a book by Catherine Parr. Laying back down on the loveseat, she opened up the book with a smile.

“A well deserved following,” she’d softly mutter. Her smile became less and less of one until her face was deadpan; a sign she was focused on reading. Word by word and page by page. Killer looks in front of the camera and the world, but a calm and soft appearance in private. This was something Anne showed maybe once or twice, since she has occasionally posted on her Instagram stories a picture or a video with her in her glasses.

One page became another as the time passed. Page to page, eventually book to book. Anne was in one of her reading holes, humming to herself to add a little more entertainment to her already uplifted mood. What broke her out of the daze was her phone ringing. A phone call. Pulling the phone out from underneath her, Anne answered after reading the caller ID. Maggie. Probably an update about the pictures or something.

“Anne! Bonne nouvelle, mon ami! I’ll have these edited by tonight or tomorrow at best. You’ll be right back on a runway soon enough with these,” Maggie sounded excited. A smile came across Anne’s lips. “Besides, you now have an updated picture for events instead of having to use the one from three years ago! Isn’t that great?” Sitting up, Boleyn set the book down and nodded to herself. “Oui. Merci à vous, comme d'habitude, Maggie. You work miracles,” she chuckles. “We’ll talk later. I might just take a nap or binge some Netflix.”

The conversation carried on for maybe five more minutes before Maggie hung up. Quite literally Anne’s best friend from childhood. Put the two together nowadays, and if Maggie had her camera or Anne’s phone in her hand, it was a photoshoot wherever they went. Safe to say that Maggie was responsible for the solid 90% of Anne’s feed that wasn’t selfies and food posts. Count your blessings, they always say. And despite the overwhelming following, Boleyn truly was grateful for what she had. Every single bit of fame that came her way? She was thankful she managed to get that far.

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6:30 pm.

“Cathy? Estoy aquí y traje comida!”

Catalina had shut the door to the apartment as she finished that statement. Catherine peeked from behind the wall, before stepping out into view and smiling. “How was work, Lina?” Setting the food down on the table, one could see Catalina’s eyes roll to the back of her head for a moment. Looks like she had a troublesome day, considering she wasn't too cheery coming in the door. “Don’t get me started on it, Cathy. They were so unruly today for no reason. Part of me wonders if it’s the fact that they’re teenagers or not, but... it was unreal. The few that sit by my desk in the back of the classroom? They kept their cool, and I was glad about that.”

Catalina and Catherine both opened up their respective take out containers.

“Pero, gran y poderoso Señor... it was a nightmare today.”

A snicker came from Parr. “That’s why I don’t teach English. Could you imagine it? I’d be being told I’m spelling stuff like colour and favourite, or honour wrong! I’m English, we spell it differently than the Americans!” That snicker became a laugh. Catalina couldn’t help but laugh herself. “But truly, I’m so sorry you had to deal with a rowdy bunch today. Maybe they will be more mellow tomorrow. One day is just one day, and you have had one bad day... what... once every few months normally?”

“Yeah, it does happen every few months. So, I guess I won’t worry too much.” Catalina just shrugged it off, stuffing a spoonful of rice into her mouth.

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A bite of chicken found itself on Anne’s fork. She was staring at her food, debating whether she should, or should not, post the dinner she so graciously decided to make. One could see the questioning glimmer in her eyes. The voice across the room made her attention snap from the plate to the source of the voice. “Je sais que c'est joli, mais allez, Anne. You haven’t touched your own food!” A bit of a laugh from Maggie. “I know, I know. Look, I just... wonder sometimes, if there’s anything else I can add to it. I always do that after I finish something.”

“I can tell. Just like when we were kids. You ALWAYS wanted to experiment more with your food. It’s almost like you live to be chaos.”

“Well, I mean... have you seen how I look? I’m chaos disguised as a babe. I like to think I’m pretty fit, after all,” there was the laugh from Boleyn. Shrugging it off, she just started to eat. Maggie was the one to continue the conversation. “Speaking of things you like, Anne... has that favorite author of yours posted anything? You always had a bit of a love for books. I saw that appreciation post earlier, and thought that was sweet. Even with the fame she has to her name, she remains humble. D’you know what, Anne? It reminds me of you a little.”

“How so?”

“Because you are the exact same way! Even with this huge following, you... you take the time to reach out and say thank you! You’re quite humble, despite what your looks say about you. I guess that whole don’t judge a book by its cover thing is real. Also, how do you just know how to make chicken taste good? This is amazing! I’m surprised you didn't go to culinary school,” Maggie practically shoved her food into her mouth, knowing that it would make Anne Boleyn laugh.

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At the end of the night, both women could be found doing the exact same thing before they made themselves fall asleep:

Scrolling through their social media pages. One admiring the other’s confidence, and one admiring the other’s intelligence. A fair trade off to it all.

And despite the surprisingly good chaos from earlier on in the day, Anne Boleyn and Catherine Parr both could agree on one thing:

That there would be one day that their paths cross.

#Out of a Book #Catherine Parr #Anne Boleyn #six the musical #six the musical fanfiction #six the musical fanfic #Parrlyn #six ff #six fanfiction

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quercussp · 4 years

Text

Borderline

Rating: E

Word count: 3.7k

Summary:

Dan and Phil Rize Show (August 14th 2018):

D: It’s just because he’s used to having dozens of people having massive gangbangs and doing drugs, while we’re like, let’s play Mario Kart…

P: Speaking of, not gangbangs, but drugs, we went through the border into Canada on a bus…

D: Right, that’s going to be used out of context.

[…]

D: There was a guy from Canada, who was called Chan and he was our border agent.

P: Yeah, Dan loved Chan.

Authors note:

Happy Holidays @judearaya! I hope you like it <3

Written for the prompt: "I'd love something related to Dan's adorable reaction to Chan the customs and border protection officer that Dan and Phil talked about on Rize during II. Any heat level is fine by me, just pls no threesomes or cheating etc."

A gigantic thank you to my betas @templeofshame and @alittledizzy for encouragement and help. You both are absolutely wonderful.

Warnings: graphic sex, mentions of jealousy, teasing mentions of sex outside of the relationship (no actual sex with anyone else)

[read on ao3]

Being shaken awake at 2 am by a grumpy and sleepy Marianne was not a great way to start the morning. Or end the day? Does 2 am even count as morning? Being forced to exit the bus in their pajamas for the border patrol to inspect it in the middle of the night was even less appealing.

From his bunk, Phil could hear Marianne trying to persuade Dan to wake up and the characteristic moaning of “i don’t want to get upppp” that he has heard many times over the years. This tour had really taken a toll on both of them, and being awakened in the middle of the night, cutting the already short sleep time they had was no less than torture.

Phil searched around for his glasses in the dim light of the bus and found them somewhere under his pillow. He slid out of his bunk, put his feet halfway into his trainers, and pulled on a hoodie that was hanging in the kitchen. He stumbled out of the bus to join Martyn and the rest of the crew, all looking as sleepy and tired as he felt.

Dan was the last out of the bus and if Phil weren’t so exhausted, he would probably laugh at Dan’s appearance. His hair was sticking in every direction, he was wearing a pair of boxers, a wrinkled black t-shirt and some fluffy slippers, clutching to his pillow. He waddled off the bus and over to Phil, tripping in the process and grumbling something under his breath about “fucking shit fuck”.

Marianne was talking with one of the border officers, a middle aged lady with a surprisingly geometric haircut and an unsurprisingly tired face. She was flipping through their passports, comparing the photos with the group of people standing huddled outside of the bus and asking Marianne about the details of their trip. Even if he wanted to, Phil could not find the energy to keep track of their conversation. Marianne would deal with it. It’s her job, after all.

Just as the lady was preparing to take their passports inside her booth to get them stamped, another officer walked out and headed towards the group. The man was tall, with broad shoulders and a Hollywood face. He was politely smiling at them as he walked towards the bus.

Phil heard an audible gasp next to him and felt a twinge of amusement mixed with annoyance. The man was definitely what he called “Dan’s type”.

“Hello, my name is Chan and I will be conducting a search of your vehicle today.” Of course Chan had a perfectly lovely Canadian accent, a lovely deep voice that came out of his absolutely perfect lips and an annoyingly gorgeous face.

“Chan! Like Dan but with no D… I mean, Dan name… my name, hah..” Dan replied trailing off and letting out a nervous giggle, all while trying to run his fingers through his hair as though to tame them, but accidentally dropping the pillow he was holding in the process.

Phil was not a jealous man. After being together for so long he never actually felt threatened by anyone. Dan was his and he was Dan’s, and that was something that was out of question. And he was not prone to irrational bouts of jealousy like Dan.

So usually when Dan tried to impress someone incredibly attractive, Phil just chuckled . Like the couple times Dan hung out with “the cool YouTubers,” he would make “edgy” jokes and toss his hair and blush adorably when someone said “Cool t-shirt, bro,” but he’d pretend to be totally cool about it. Honestly, Dan was adorable in his awkwardness and his stuttering and nervous laugh in the face of an attractive man would remind Phil of their first couple conversations, back before Dan felt safe enough to be himself with Phil, before Phil had the privilege of seeing Dan unafraid of being judged.

But sometimes, Dan’s fawning over people made Phil sincerely irritated. And it’s not what you’re thinking, it didn’t make him dream of having abs or being a “cool” person. It was just that this version of Dan, this fawny, joking, too cool for school type of Dan felt… like a stranger. And that stranger apparently didn’t think Phil was important enough to pay attention to him.

So Phil felt justified in rolling his eyes at Dan’s reaction to Chan, as Dan was currently trying to pick up the fallen pillow off of the ground while simultaneously pulling the hem of his shirt down to hide his boxers. He also accidentally let out a louder snort than he intended, making the entire group momentarily glance at him, and earning him a very dirty look from Dan.

Shut up said Dan’s eyes, and Phil could see the blush crawling onto Dan’s cheeks.

Chan politely chuckled at Dan’s stuttering, which made Dan get even redder.

“Now,” Chan continued, his expression turning serious. “Before I start the search, please let me know if you have anything illegal in your bus. If you have any drugs on board, please tell me right now.”

For some reason, when Chan was saying the last bit, everyone’s head turned to Phil, as though he was suddenly going to start unpacking bags of heroin from his pajama pockets.

“Why are you looking at me?” Phil said nervously, which turned out to be an incredibly stupid idea, as that seemed to only confirm to Chan that Phil was a drug mule or something.

“I promise I won’t be mad, just tell me if you have any drugs with you.” Chan was now talking directly to Phil.

Before Phil could reply (and probably say something even more stupid), Dan came to his rescue.

“We don’t do drugs, officer. I mean, sir. I mean, Chan.” Dan had managed to pass his pillow to a confused looking Martyn and looked way more awake than 5 minutes ago, his voice now clear (and flirty). “But you’re welcome to search us if you would like.”

Oh my God, Dan. Phil shot him a disgusted look. He kind of wished someone was recording this interaction, as he could probably use it to blackmail Dan into taking out the trash for years.

However, Chan apparently didn’t think that Dan’s line was as horrific as Phil thought, as he glanced at Dan with a smile, eyes traveling up and down his body and his (very much naked) legs, and replied teasingly, “Oh, I definitely will.”

Phil felt another spike of annoyance. Maybe it was the secondhand embarrassment. Or maybe the reason Phil was annoyed was because Dan looked like he just rolled out of bed (which he did), he was sleepy and rumpled looking, and that version of Dan was only for Phil to see. They all could get the polished, designer-clothing-wearing Dan, but Phil was the one who was supposed to see the little crusties in Dan’s eyes and traces of drool on his lips. That was for his eyes only.

Chan shifted his attention back to Phil, for some reason, and continued: “Do you have any firearms? And explosives? Toxic substances? Alcohol or marihuanna?”

At this point, Phil could hear Martyn chuckling from behind him. If Phil was less sleepy and tired, he would probably laugh and make an awkward joke about having Truth Bombs on board, but this version of Phil just wanted this to be over, to go back to his bunk and hopefully persuade Dan to climb in with him so he could put his hands under that stupid t-shirt and feel the smooth skin of Dan’s side. Stupid Chan.

“No, we don’t have anything,” Phil replied, sounding more annoyed than he meant to, but Chan seemed to get the message as he nodded and walked towards the entrance to the bus .

“Can one of you come with me to take a look at the vehicle? Maybe the leader of your band?” Chan asked, looking directly at Dan.

Both Martyn and Marianne let out an audible laugh, but Dan was quick to step forward saying “Sure!”, losing one of his slippers in the process and then blushing even more deeply while strutting over to Chan.

They both stepped on to the bus at the same time, awkwardly bumping into each other and grinning.

“After you,” Dan said with an exaggerated hand motion and bow.

“Thank you!” replied Chan and climbed onto the bus first, with Dan following shortly after.

As soon as they were both gone, Martyn and Marianne exploded with laughter.

“Leader of our band, my ass.” Martyn said, stumbling over his words through his laughter, wiping tears out of his eyes with Dan’s pillow he was still holding.

“Phil, sorry, you’re the backup singer now,” Marianne added, also laughing. “Chan is awfully good looking, isn’t he?” She continued a bit quieter, raising her eyebrows at Phil.

“Maybe he’ll become our groupie,” Phil replied. He meant to say it in a joking way, but for some reason it came out darker than he wanted.

Martyn put a hand on Phil’s shoulder and gave it a firm grip.

“Here bro, you carry your man’s pillow, I’m not his maid.”

And I am? Phil wanted to ask, but he kept his mouth shut and just grabbed the pillow out of Martyn’s hands.

He wandered off a bit to sit at a nearby bench and put the pillow in his lap, and his head in his hands. He could feel a migraine coming and he desperately needed sleep. Or maybe it was his annoyance that was making him so cross. Either way, at this particular moment Phil felt like he was just over it. The whole thing. The tour, the bus, the travel, the fans. He desperately craved his own bed, his own sheets, the smell of their laundry detergent. And his Dan. Soft and squishy. With a kind smile and big warm hands that he would comb Phil’s hair with when his head hurt.

He almost dozed off at some point, until he heard the unmistakable sound of Dan’s slightly nervous laughter. He looked up to see Dan and Chan coming off the bus, both smiling and excitedly talking about something.

Dan had apparently found the time to put on some trousers (thank God for small miracles) and was nervously playing with the hem of his shirt.

Phil pulled together all the energy he had left and stood up to walk towards the group.

“Well, I have to say,” Phil heard Chan tell them, “this is the cleanest band bus I’ve ever inspected.” As Phil walked up, Chan turned to him and smiled (with his annoyingly perfect smile). “No drugs and firearms indeed”.

“I told you we’re boring nerds,” Dan replied, before Phil could even open his mouth.

“Nerds, maybe. But definitely not boring,” Chan said with what Phil could swear was a quick wink and a slight toss of his hair.

“Well, you’re all set, ladies and gentlemen. You can proceed as soon as my colleague returns with your passports. It was nice to meet you all; best of luck on your tour!”

Fuck that man and his stupid hair, Phil thought to himself. But he said, “Thank you, have a good day” instead, and started walking towards the entrance to the bus.

“It was nice meeting you, Chan!” he could hear Dan say behind him.

Phil’s head was really hurting at this point. He climbed onto the bus and made his way to the bunks, rubbing his temples. Throwing Dan’s pillow in the general direction of Dan’s bunk, he climbed into his own bed with a groan and closed his eyes.

Apparently, he actually passed out for a moment, because the next thing he felt was the bus jolting into movement and the rest of the crew walking around the bus and settling back into bed. After a few minutes the curtain to his bunk was pulled aside and Dan sat down at the edge of Phil’s bed.

“Phil, you ok?” he asked. His cheeks were still a bit red, and he was slightly sweaty.

“‘M fine, just tired,” Phil replied, rolling onto his side to make more room for Dan to sit.

They sat quietly for a moment, until Dan whispered: “He was so hot.”

Phil couldn’t help but smile, despite how annoyed he was. “He was? I didn’t notice, Dan. Not with you being totally chill about it and everything”. The dim light of the bus lights was enough to see Dan’s face flush with heat.

“Shut up, Phil, I wasn’t that bad… was I?” he asked after a pause, his voice slightly wavering.

“You did offer to let him search you, Dan, so…”

Dan groaned in response and hid his face in his hands. Even though a part of Phil wanted to continue to tease Dan, he could see that he was genuinely embarrassed. And teasing Dan was no fun if Dan wasn’t also having fun.

“You weren’t that bad, babe. And even if you were, he seemed to like you.” Phil rubbed a soothing hand over Dan’s back. With another groan Dan shifted to lie next to Phil on the bunk, squeezing him all the way against the wall.

“I said ‘nice arms’ when he was picking up the suitcases up,” Dan moaned as he pressed his face into Phil’s neck. “I shouldn’t be allowed to speak, Phil, he probably thought I was a total idiot.”

“He would be right, wouldn’t he?” Phil’s arm ended up around Dan’s waist, and he slid his hand under the t-shirt to feel the warmth of his side .

“Are you mad?” Dan asked uncertainly, raising his face so he could look Phil in the eyes.

“My head hurts,” Phil replied. He knew it wasn’t an answer, but he also didn’t want to admit that he was a bit annoyed. He knew most of it was just tiredness, and he would get over it soon, but Dan felt bad enough as it is.

“You should get some sleep,” Dan whispered, threading his hands through Phil’s hair. Phil couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief.

“Yeah, we both should.” Dan slowly unfolded himself from the bunk and closed the curtain behind him. Phil could hear him climbing into his own bed and shifting around just above him.

Phil fell asleep almost immediately.

***

They arrived at their hotel in the early hours of the morning. They grabbed their keycards from the reception and started dragging their suitcases to their room.

“Rehearsal in 5 hours guys, don’t forget!” Marianne called after them. 5 hours is fine. Phil could work with 5 hours.

Dan went to shower first, while Phil started unpacking. He was finished gathering the outfit he would wear today for the meet and greet just as Dan got out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel, his skin pink and his hair wet. He threw the towel on an armchair in the room and fell onto the bed with a satisfied moan.

“Do you think we have time for a nap?” He asked Phil, who was in the process of shedding his clothing to go shower too.

“Probably. I definitely need one, didn’t sleep much.”

“Me too,” replied Dan with a yawn. “Pass me some pants, will you?”

Phil pushed Dan’s suitcase open with his foot and pulled out a random pair of underwear. He threw it at Dan and went to shower himself.

Phil felt almost human again after a nice long soak in the shower. He came out into the room to see Dan lying comfortably on his stomach on the bed, only in his pants, scrolling through his phone. Dan’s back was arched from holding his torso up on his elbows, and Phil could see the slight movement of Dan’s muscles when he was shifting in his position. His hair had dried into thousands of small curls and the black of his Calvin Kleins brightly contrasted with his pale skin. Phil stood there watching Dan for a bit before climbing onto the bed and squeezing Dan’s butt with both hands, causing Dan to yelp and turn around.

“Keep your hands to yourself, mister,” Dan joked, pulling Phil in close and arranging their bodies so they were lying facing each other.

“Will do no such thing,” Phil replied, continuing to grope his boyfriend’s behind and nuzzling into his neck. Dan’s skin was smooth and warm, and he smelled like his shower gel and also like their apartment a little bit. Or maybe it was the apartment that smelled like Dan. Either way, running his hands over Dan’s body and breathing in his smell, Phil felt as though he was almost home. He ran his hands over Dan’s groin and felt that he was half hard. With a familiar movement, Phil grabbed him through his briefs and started slowly jerking him off.

“You’re hot,” Phil whispered in Dan’s ear, giving his earlobe a little nip.

“And you’re tired,” Dan replied with a chuckle, placing little kisses over Phil’s face.

“I’m not too tired for this,” Phil whispered and firmly pressed his lips against Dan’s. Dan just laughed.

After a bit, Dan pushed himself away to pull off his underwear and rolled on top of Phil. He pressed their naked groins together and started moving his hips slightly, creating some friction. With a slight moan, Phil wrapped one of his arms around Dan’s back, and brushed the other through his hair, pulling him even closer for a kiss. They grinded lazily against each other for a couple minutes, until Dan pushed his hand between them and grabbed their lengths in a practiced motion. He started methodically moving his hand around both of them, with the exact tempo that he knew worked best for both of them. In almost no time, Phil felt himself coming with a gasp, throwing his head back against the pillow and closing his eyes. He felt Dan sit up, positioning himself on Phil’s hips, and Phil heard the sound of Dan wanking himself off.

“Here, let me,” Phil said, reaching towards Dan and pushing his hand out of the way. He grabbed Dan’s dick and moved his hand with the rotating motion he knew would bring Dan off the fastest. Sure enough, just a minute or two later, Dan shuddered and came over Phil’s stomach, already wet from his own cum.

Dan slid off of him and fell back onto the bed with a loud sigh. They both lay next to each other, catching their breath for a bit.

“That was fun.” Dan finally broke the silence, pressing a small kiss to Phil’s shoulder. “We should do this more often.”

“Yeah,” Phil breathed out. He felt like he was soaking up the warmth of Dan’s body lying next to him. Dan was sweaty and disheveled, with his dick lying limply to his side and his entire body flushed. He looked open and vulnerable and worn out. He was also stunningly beautiful. And his. Phil was feeling warm and content, and could feel the last bits of annoyance from last night seeping out of his body, leaving him heavy and sleepy. “It’s not like we’re busy every single moment of every day.”

Dan chuckled and kissed Phil’s shoulder again. “We’re almost done. Maybe after the tour we can go crazy and like actually fuck.”

“Now don’t get any wild ideas,” Phil teased, brushing his hand through Dan’s curls and pulling him in for a kiss before lying back down and letting out a contented sigh.

Dan reached for the towel he threw off before and passed it to Phil so he could clean up. They settled under the covers, with Phil’s head lying against Dan shoulders, limbs thrown over each other, just letting their bodies stretch out and rest.

After a bit, Dan spoke out of nowhere. '”Chan said he liked our poster.”

Phil lifted up on his elbows and looked at Dan, and then barked out a laugh.

“Is that what you were thinking about while we were fucking? Chan?”

“What? No! I was just thinking of what I’m gonna wear today and he said he liked… Stop laughing!”

“Did you imagine his perfect muscles while I was jerking you off, Dan? Were you thinking of him the entire time?” Phil couldn’t stop laughing.

Dan poked Phil in the side. “Fuck you, Phil! I wasn’t…”

“Oh, you want Chan to fuck me, Dan? I didn’t know you were into that. Were you dreaming of a gangbang with Chan? Tell me Danny, is that what your most secret desire is?”

“Shut up you idiot, I’m gonna divorce you!”

Phil just continued laughing, pulling Dan close. “It’s ok, Danny, I’m not going to kinkshame you. If you want to play out a fantasy where a patrol agent strip searches you, we can do that. There’s no need to be embarrassed.”

“Phil, actually fuck off.” Dan’s voice was pissed, but Phil could see that he was trying to stop himself from smiling a bit, and his cheeks got very red.

“It’s ok, Dan, I’m not judging.” Phil pressed a kiss to the rosy patch on Dan’s cheek.

“I hate you,” said Dan, rolling away and turning his back to Phil.

Phil just slid behind Dan and draped his arm and leg over his partner, spooning him close. He was still chuckling a bit, and Dan automatically pulled Phil’s arm tighter around him and intertwined their fingers.

“We should set an alarm,” Phil said quietly, feeling like he’s about to drift off.

“Marianne will wake us,” Dan replied. He took a long pause and then said quietly, “You know I don’t want anyone else, right?”

Phil just laughed again. “Dan, don’t be an idiot.” He pressed a kiss to the back of Dan’s neck. “Just a gangbang with Chan the border patrol man.”

“At least I didn’t puke in my mouth,” Dan said teasingly, to which Phil gave him a rough poke in the side.

“I thought we agreed to never speak of that again.”

“Just saying,” Dan’s voice was drifting off. In a matter of minutes they were both asleep.

#phan #phanfiction #my fic #phandom fic fests holiday exchange

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janeofcakes · 4 years

Text

Keep Your Friends Close...: Chapter 8

I’m back again, my friends, and I can’t believe the weekend is upon us already. I have no idea where the time has gone. I feel like I lost the five days. Where was I? What did I do? Who was I with? This new normal really is so strange. That being said, I hope this chapter brings you some solace. I know I always say that, but I really mean it. I would like to use my powers for good. <3

----

Hush little baby, don’t say a word and never mind that noise you heard. It’s just the beast under your bed, in your closet, in your head. -- Metallica, Enter Sandman

The following morning is, to say the least, eventful. John and Sherlock wake at roughly the same time and each showers in his respective bathroom. They actually make a quick breakfast together. Sherlock works on what he calls his “secret recipe” for seasoned scrambled eggs while John mans the bacon and toast. He teases Sherlock while they cook, pretending to look over his shoulder or around his body to see the ingredients. It is absolutely delicious and so peaceful, and John even admits the eggs are the best he has ever had when all is said and done.

After seeing to John’s flat and speaking with the police, they eventually make it to the stadium separately. John has been in his office ever since, catching up on all he had planned to do that morning. He stops for a moment, fingers poised above the qwerty keys, visions from breakfast drifting about in his mind. He looks up from the computer screen on his desk and lets his eyes rest on the wall across the way. Looking at nothing in particular, he smiles to himself. Sherlock was so open, so at ease. So was John, for that matter. It was like something they did every morning. No awkwardness or uncertainty or fumbling for conversation. It was incredibly comfortable, like they had been flatmates for years, and John finds himself wanting it to happen again. Often.

Shaking his head and sighing, John looks back to the screen and reads what he was typing. He had missed out on a lot of work, having spent the whole morning with the police and then searching his own flat with Sherlock. The officers and the detective in charge did nothing but irritate John from the moment they arrived. Their leading questions and thoughtless commentary all but accusing John of being careless with a burglar he “caught in the act” by returning home at just the wrong time. John spent two hours alone trying to make them believe he wasn’t a complete idiot and all while not cursing. A feet in and of itself.

By the time they left, John was mad as hell. Fortunately, his mood improved when he and Sherlock searched the flat. Nothing had been moved or stolen. The sole purpose for the intrusion was to murder John, though John is not sure that makes him feel any better about the whole thing. The intruder left bloody little evidence behind, beyond more bullet holes than John remembers him firing. He began to feel lucky he made it out with only glancing blows. Sherlock had seemed impressed and John had shrugged, suggesting the man was a bad shot. He shook his head, curls bouncing and said no one sends a man who lacks accuracy on a shooting range.

The police had dug the bullets from the walls at which point Sherlock announced they had been fired from a Beretta, probably an M9A3 because it has a threaded barrel to suppress sound and John spoke of bullets whizzing rather than gunshots. When he was finished, nearly everyone in the room was staring in utter befuddlement, even John. Sherlock rolled his eyes and explained that he often read books and studied different subjects when he couldn’t sleep. Firearms happened to have been one of the topics.

“Pretty odd subject to just study at random, don’t you think?” the detective had asked. “Who are you again?”

“Sherlock Holmes,” he replied impatiently. “John and I are colleagues.”

“Holmes, Holmes. Why does that sound familiar?”

“Because he’s the coach for the Rock City Rollers, sir,” a uniformed officer piped up. The detective looked his way.

“The derby team?” he turned back to Sherlock, who was very visibly annoyed. “No kidding. I always change the channel for the news before interviews with the coach.”

“Perhaps you would not be so ill informed if you had a longer attention span,” Sherlock shot back. John inches closer to him, wanting to keep him from going off the rails.

“Sherlock,” he had mumbled in warning. John was hardly the picture of calm either, but stirring up trouble would only delay the detective’s departure.

“The team looks fantastic, Mr. Holmes,” the uniformed officer bubbled, either trying to defuse the situation or simply because he was a fan. “All the players have been really awesome in the bouts so far. Top form.”

“Right,” the detective spoke over him and eyed Sherlock suspiciously. “Just where were you at the time of the attack?”

“In my home.”

“Doing what exactly? Studying up on more weapons to use on your colleagues maybe?”

“What the fuck?”

That was the moment John’s tenuous grip on his simmering anger snapped.

“Why the fuck are you accusing him? He didn’t do it!”

“Oh, really? You saw the culprit, did you? Let’s see,” the detective grabbed the small pad of paper another officer had been taking notes on right out of her hands. He glanced at it for show and fixed his eyes back on John. “The attacker was dressed all in black with a stocking cap pulled down over his face, so no. No, you didn’t. You’re about six feet, aren’t you? Just about the right size.”

The detective addressed his last comments to Sherlock, who just stared at him with a critical glare. He obviously thought the man an idiot and regarded him as such. He remained silent in the wake of the detective’s accusations, but John. John was thoroughly pissed off. He had stepped right up into the detective’s personal space, a hard expression on his face. His eyes were blazing and his jaw was set, teeth clenched and muscles working. Held back by only a thread’s width, he was quite terrifying.

“Let me ask you this,” his voice was calm, but laced with tension and the threat of more. “Why didn’t he just finish the job when he found me on his doorstep?”

“Makes it a bit obvious, doesn’t it?” the detective paused to raise his brows for emphasis. “You turning up dead at his apartment.”

“Oh. My. God,” John had just stared at the man in disbelief that evaporated back into anger soon enough when the detective insisted upon giving him an exaggerated look of warning, accompanied by a tilt of his head to indicate Sherlock. John opened his mouth for rebuttal, but felt a light touch on his arm. He would know that touch anywhere, and was that a little odd? It sent a tingle throughout John’s body, gentle and warm. A warmth that found its way up and down his limbs, and to his heart. All from that one point of contact, a feather light touch. And that really does seem odd.

“We’re done here,” John announced in a commanding voice. The detective gave him a very serious look and then turned to the crime scene technicians with a jerk of his head.

“You got what you need?” he angled his head back to John after receiving an affirmative. “We’ll be in touch. Let me know if you think of anything else.”

He handed John his card and gave Sherlock a pointed glare, his features still warning John to keep his distance. For his part, John took the card quietly, fighting not to roll his eyes or lay into the man.

“Thank you. Goodbye.”

John thought that was the end of it, that his mood could not possibly be worse. He was wrong.

He and Sherlock had just finished their own search of the flat. Getting his mind on something else, and having some distance between him and the idiot detective, had done wonders. He was decidedly grumpy, but in a much better place. Until Sherlock opened his mouth. He was in the middle of a deduction based upon the evidence they found and John was listening carefully, but somehow the rest of it disappeared after Sherlock’s last few words.

“...and you’ll have to stay somewhere else, of course.”

“What?”

“You will have to move out until the man is apprehended.”

Sherlock sounded so damn smug, so self-assured. John dipped his chin and glared up at him with fierce eyes.

“I am not moving out,” he growled and Sherlock stared back at him with an air of surprise that is quickly quashed.

“John, this man was clearly here to murder you,” he had said firmly. “There was no other motive - burglary, vandalism and the like. The only items out of place are what you knocked over in the struggle. He left as soon as he lost you. Coupled with what he said..”

“Never mind what he said,” John interrupted in a low voice, thick with anger. He was not going to run. He was not about to let this bastard control him. If that was what Sherlock wanted, he could shove it up his ass.

“He said something else,” Sherlock had said suddenly, pushing the point. “Something you’re not telling me.”

“It’s none of your business!” The dam had broken and Sherlock took the brunt of John’s fury. “Whatever he said or did, none of it has anything to do with you. You’re not my flatmate or my family. We’re barely even friends!”

John saw the sting of the words as plain as if he had hit Sherlock. The face that was always so open with him closed off in a split-second as Sherlock closed himself to John. There was nothing in his beautifully expressive eyes but cold and ice. John had instantly regretted his words and followed Sherlock as he headed for the door, grabbing his coat on the way.

“Sherlock. Sherlock, don’t go.”

“No, you’re right. There’s no reason to involve myself,” he stopped abruptly and turned to face John, his hand on the knob. His movements were so sudden that John almost ran into him. “Except that you came to me. You’d been shot. You could have been killed! And you came to my door. So forgive me for thinking that meant something.”

Sherlock yanked the door open and rushed through, slamming it in John’s face. John had raised his hands to placate the angry man, but they were ignored and simply came to rest lightly onto the door as John leaned against it.

John had felt terrible, defeated. And he still does, sitting in his office hours later. He had not gone to practice that afternoon, too embarrassed to face Sherlock. God, he had been such a fool. Of course Sherlock was involved. John had run straight to his fucking door as soon as he had left his own flat. He involved him.

John is still looking at the wall across from his desk with unfocused eyes. Barely even friends, that is what he had said. It is true they have not known each other long, but John has never had a better friend. He feels like he has known Sherlock for years and yet, he was quick to hurt him so badly. He sighs. What he wouldn’t give to see that silhouette in his door right now.

He glances at the clock and watches for a few seconds as the hands tick away another minute. 10:56. John really should leave. It will be midnight before he gets home. He pushes his chair back to stand, knocking his pen to the floor. He stoops down to retrieve it, but launches himself right out of the chair to the floor instead as his door flies open and someone leaps into the room. John only just stops himself from gasping and giving himself away. Biting at his fist to keep quiet, he silently tucks himself under the desk. He holds his breath, hoping he was not heard because the sick feeling in his gut tells him this is no friendly visit.

For a moment, all is silent and still. The intruder moves quickly to the room’s closet door and throws it open, stamping his feet hard on the floor to set himself into position as he does so. John inhales sharply but silently, hoping the man does not come close to the desk. His mind can only imagine one scenario to explain the man’s position in front of the closet. He has seen it in countless cop and detective shows on telly.

The door closes again and John hears the click of a hammer going back into place. He closes his eyes, but only for a second when the clomping footsteps near the desk. John is frozen to the spot and trying to ready himself to spring up and defend himself, knowing he will be shot in the attempt. He’ll be damned if he goes down without a fight. His eyes dart around for anything he can use as a weapon, but all he has is the pen he bent down to pick up. Given his current posture, John sees only one option. If he kicks the intruder away he should have enough time to get out from under the desk and go at him with the pen. John knows exactly where to hit and make it count. If it comes to that, he will only get one shot at it.

John swallows hard and listens intently as the man takes a few steps. He comes nearer to the desk and John flinches away, the man is so close. Even as John’s muscles tighten, readying to kick, the man turns and walks to stand in front of the office door. John bites his lip, not daring to believe the man will leave. He turns his head until one ear faces the front of the desk, tilting his head to listen.

“He’s not here.”

John’s eyes widen and ice cold fear begins creeping through his veins. It is the same voice that whispered in his ear. It is the same man who shot at him the night before. John stops breathing all together. If this man discovers his hiding place he will not escape this time.

“I know what you said, but he isn’t here,” the man repeats in a bland tone. “He must have left earlier than you thought.”

John listens carefully and moves not a muscle. The man continues speaking on his mobile and John wishes he could hear the other voice. He racks his brain to think of who it might be. Someone who knows he is working late. Someone in the stadium. One of the staff or team? No, it can’t be.

“Right. I’ll check the exam rooms and then go to his apartment again. His car may still be here, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t get a ride somewhere.” A pause. “Wherever he is, he’ll have to go home eventually.”

The office door opens, but the man does not move. Instead, John hears the rustle of clothing as the man looks around one last time. There is a deep inhalation and slow release of breath. He steps through and closes the door. John listens intently at the sounds of his footsteps fading down the hall. He lets out a long sigh of relief, letting his shoulders sag and his head fall back against the desk. John closes his eyes and tries to think. He cannot leave right away, much as he would love to run, or he will surely be seen. He has to wait long enough for the man to check the exam rooms. John is sure it will take the man all of five minutes to complete, but decides he should wait at least thirty. Only way to be certain he is gone so John can sneak out of the stadium as quickly and quietly as possible. He lets out another breath, willing his body to relax. He cannot go home.

John immediately thinks of Sherlock and then shakes his head. Will he help John again after all the things he said? John closes his eyes again and sees bright grey ones staring back at him. He wrinkles his brow as if in pain, the silent anguish that only hurting a friend can cause. A friend? Or more? Does John want more? He cannot deny his interest in Sherlock, nor his attraction. The man could be a bloody underwear model with the way he looks. He is way out of John’s league, but when has that ever stopped him? John smirks and he watches as one of those keen grey eyes winks.

Those ridiculous cheekbones come into view and a smile emerges from the darkness. A very knowing and sly smile. Cheeky bastard. A long column of pale skin glows to life, leading down to clavicles that draw the eye to broad, strong shoulders. As more of Sherlock comes out of the shadows in John’s mind, he begins to realize the coach is not wearing a shirt. The darkness clears away from a firm chest, revealing muscle and skin, miles of pale skin. John can feel desire pooling in his belly. Sherlock is...everything. They have only just met and John is actually so far gone on him that he might as well be a horny teenager again. And Sherlock must know, much as John tries to hide it, but he has never said a word. John really should drop it if Sherlock is not interested and he will. John would never risk their friendship for mere sex. He has never connected with someone on this level before and he will not lose it.

When the darkness begins to fade from below Sherlock’s waist, John’s head snaps up fast enough to give a good crack on the desk. He curses and takes a moment to remember where he is. God, every joint in his body is stiff. He must have fallen asleep while he was waiting. Willing to take the risk, he shifts painfully out from under the desk and onto his knees. Cautiously, John rises a few inches to peer over its surface. The room is empty. His gaze shoots to the clock. 1:26am.

“Jesus,” John says out loud.

The culprit is long since gone. At his flat, no doubt. John wonders how long the man will wait for him there, or if he will come back here. That thought ends the idea forming in his mind of sleeping in his office. He looks at the clock again. With one place on his mind, he tells himself he should just go to a hotel. He does not want to put Sherlock in danger and John has already pissed him off enough. What would turning up at his door after two in the morning elicit?

He should definitely go to a hotel. John puffs out a frustrated breath and rises from the floor, knowing exactly where he is going to go and hoping Sherlock does not kick him to the pavement.

---

Will Sherlock kick him to the curb? Will he give him kindness or throw the baggage out? (Bonus points if you recognize that quote.) Tread carefully, my doctor, tread softly. The moon is low and dark in the night sky. Wickedness is afoot for thee. Listen to me. I’m waxing poetic tonight. :D

@zentris @toooldforthissh-stuff @shana-movershaker @melmey-fanfics @louise175dk @221b-carefulwhatyouwishfor @technicallywiseoncns @underestimatemethatwillbefun @jhamishw @weirdlittlegoofball @superwholockpotterincamelot @superwholocklmt @ladidragonuniverse @kittenmadnessandtea @srebrnafh @welcometomyharddrive @annecumberbatch @kingdomofbrokenhearts @philliphooper @whodwantmeasaflatmate @gloriascott93 @vvaticancameoss @cow-mow @echosilverwolf @spazzz32 @absentmindedstuff @swissmissing @shuukichan @maeliandmyself @wtgilsa @thetranslucentwallaby @red-pen-revolution @britishaccentfan @dischorde @plasticstrawsmuggler @youknowyougrow

#Sherlock Holmes #Sherlock #sherlockholmes #sherlock fanfic #john watson #johnwatson #johnlock #Johnlock fanfic #sherlock roller derby #sherlock au

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feelingsinthedark · 5 years

Text

Jem & Lunar New Year

it’s a little late but it’s still technically like the period of celebration for Chinese New Year so it’s fine whatever lol

PART TWO COMING SOON with qoaad spoilers :3 wanted to post these here first so i can screenshot it and post on instagram more easily lol

they’re kinda long and i figured out how to put a cut thing at least on a computer skdfsfdfkksk idk if they’re good but here ya go

and oh yeah disclaimer the timeline is messy but i tried ok here ya go i’ll shut up now lmao

The first twelve years of his life are perfect Chinese New Year celebrations

He helps his parents decorate the Institute with 福 signs everywhere and window hangings and all the things

He wakes up early with his parents the day of and makes dumplings with them that they feed the visiting relatives and random Shadowhunters

People come and go all day long to and from the Shanghai Institute

Older Shadowhunters give him 红包 (red envelopes) every year as well as his parents

1873 is the last of these

Chinese New Year in 1874 he spends in a state of delirium caused by yin fen

His father died not long before but he can still hear his mother crying out for him

新年快乐，儿子 he thinks he hears her say softly, exhaustedly, that day

A ridiculously ironic statement considering the situation they’re in

But it could be a hallucination brought on by the drug

He whispers 过年好 to his mother, though he doesn’t realize it in a surge of pain and delirium

His mother sobs at what were the first words she heard from her son in what seemed like years

Yanluo sneers at their interaction and deliberately gives Jem a larger dose of yin fen to torture him and his mother more

To take away from this day of fortune and happiness and prosperity

Not long after Chinese New Year of 1874, Jem’s mother is dead, and Yanluo has disappeared

Chinese New Year of 1875 is spent at the London Institute

Jem arrived a little more than half a year before

He remembers when he wakes up that morning, but he decides to keep it to himself

Especially considering how his last Chinese New Year went

And he doesn’t want to make Charlotte or anyone else feel like they need to do something for him

He’s sent out on a patrol with Will

He is quieter than usual and sort of draws into himself remembering past years

Will notices but doesn’t pry until Jem is giving him an iratze and it’s just kind of an awkward silence which never happens between them

So he quietly asks “Are you okay?”

Showing that gentle side of him that only Jem ever sees

Jem is silent for a little longer while he draws another iratze

Then he says “It’s the Lunar New Year today,” while drawing Will’s sleeve down over the rune

“Shouldn’t that be a happy thing?” Will asks

“It is,” Jem says as they head back to the Institute

And after another silence he says “my last one wasn’t”

Will puts the pieces together

Jem tries to add “it’s fine, I’ll be okay, I am okay”

Will ignores this and when they get back to the Institute he insists Jem train with him

He says he needs to brush up on his knife throwing

Even though he just dispatched a demon with a deathly accurate dagger to the head

The whole time he talks about nothing and helps to take Jem’s mind away from that

Later Jem has a bout of sickness and coughs blood

He makes a joke about the color red being the color of fortune

But he thinks he really is fortunate bc he has Will

Chinese New Year of 1876 had a little bit of celebration

He had told the inhabitants of the London Institute that year about some of his traditions when he lived in Shanghai

So that year they all try to make dumplings together

Really just Charlotte and Will, and Sophie and Agatha too

Jem is really the only one who makes them well but he tries to teach them

He takes over the kitchen which Agatha very much objects to

He still remembers how to make the dough, the filling, and how to roll out dumpling skins and wrap them

After a while Will’s given up and he sits there making sarcastic remarks

They start to make that a tradition in the London Institute every year

Just making dumplings which Jem insists is enough

Charlotte wants to do more to make Jem feel at home but they never get around to it

1877 and 1878 are like this

Chinese New Year of 1879 Jem spends in the Silent City

There is no celebrating, no dumplings, none of the music or decorating or family of his childhood

His emotions are still mostly there as he was only made a Silent Brother a few months before

But all he feels is a desperate loneliness knowing that he can’t be with the ones he loves most today

His days only get lonelier and lonelier as the years pass and he barely remembers what Chinese New Year meant to him

He asks Tessa to meet him on Blackfriars on Chinese New Year of 1890

He doesn’t set the date on purpose but afterward he realizes it is Chinese New Year

On the bridge he tells Tessa he wishes he could have gotten to experience a Chinese New Year with her

Tessa says maybe someday they’ll have a chance

They both know it’s impossible though

Every year he feels himself slipping away and Tessa feels him growing further from her and from humanity

And then

Chinese New Year of 2008 is spent with the love of his life

They are staying at Tessa’s flat in London

Jem had just come back a less than a month ago

Tessa wakes up and kisses Jem to wake him up

“新年快乐” she says quietly, smiling, “happy Lunar New Year, my love”

Jem asks her how she knew

After that meeting on the bridge in 1890 she started paying attention to the lunar calendar

“In case... in case there really was ever a day,” she explains

Jem smiles and kisses her

“Well, you were right”

Tessa asks what he wants to do to celebrate

He says just being with her is enough after so long in the darkness

And they have forever to celebrate Chinese New Years properly

They have a quiet, relaxed day in London

And it ends not so quietly

Chinese New Year of 2009 is spent with his fiancée

Tessa surprises Jem again

She had gone out a couple weeks ago and gotten decorations which she hung up that night

She also got ingredients for dumplings and she and Jem mess around with making them

Neither of them know exactly what they’re doing

Tessa’s never made dumplings from scratch and Jem hasn’t in over a century and certainly hasn’t had to even think about making dumplings

But they don’t look it up they just have fun with it and make things up as they go

They end up making a mess in the kitchen and all over themselves

The dumplings are okay and they eat them and make fun of each other accusing each other of making them taste bad

“You’re the one who made the filling, did you not add any soy sauce?”

“Well you made the skins so thick we had to boil them for so long that all the flavor leeched out. Just dip them in some sauce”

“That is an inconvenience for me, sir”

And they laugh a lot

The next day they watch the 春节晚会 together

Jem explains some of what’s going on to Tessa but she’s kept up learning some Chinese over the years so she knows a bit and can sort of keep up

Chinese New Year of 2010 is spent with his wife

They spend it by themselves in LA

*(Idk why they’re in LA sorry y’all make up a reason yourself lol Tessa has homes everywhere right so it makes sense right)

Jem sends 红包 for Emma and the Blackthorn kids to the LA Institute via a very grumpy Church

He and Tessa spend the weekend before Chinese New Year decorating and cleaning her house

(I’m like doubting if that’s an actual thing that Tessa has houses everywhere I feel like I just made that up but oh well they had to stay somewhere in LA in Lady Midnight right)

Jem had told Tessa about more traditions since coming back

She cuts his hair every year on Chinese New Year

And they go shopping for new clothes

Jem can’t remember everything he used to do as a child but they do everything he remembers

2011 and 2012 are pretty similar

2011 at Jem’s house in Devon and 2012 in LA

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yoolee · 6 years

Text

50 SLBP Prompts

I am having an off morning. For a lot of reasons. My primary method for handling these bouts is to chug water, and pour the nervous energy into whatever the heck comes to mind and hope the heartbeat thing sorts itself out while I ignore it, so, here you go. Some of these will be terrible. Most of them will be ridiculous because it’s me y’all I don’t write angsty or meaningful substance-y stuff it’s all ballet and feather boas. Don’t judge me on how many superhero ones there are I’m on a kick. AND WHATEVER you don’t have to do anything with them if you don’t like them but you can if you do

Yukimura

Yukimura and MC are having a fight – Saizo is off on a mission, so Nobuyuki has to fix it.

“I don’t think he can get redder. Unless…” “Oh no,” started the chef, “Not a chance.”

Usually Saizo handles the ninja missions, but this time you and Yukimura have to go to undercover and please stop laughing Saizo we’re trying okay.

Saizo

Soulmate AU where when your soulmate first speaks to you, the words appear permanently over your heart – which incidentally, is why Saizo kept his mouth shut when you met as children.

Superhero (villain?) AU where the little fox half-mask is not fooling anyone. Except you, probably.

You’re very tired of Saizo trying to push you away for your own good, so you decide to turn the tables. Sort of.

Ieyasu:

You get three wishes and Ieyasu has to grant them – but he’ll do so as he pleases, so, be careful what you wish for.

Ieyasu’s ticked off a vengeful spirit and now one or the both of you can only say the exact opposite of what you mean. If it’s Ieyasu, would you even notice?

You are about 99% certain that the local supervillain’s civilian identity is the cute jerk with a sweet tooth who never tips when he visits your restaurant and this time when you are kidnapped you decide to offer to cook while you wait for your hero to show up. Bonus points if your local superhero is a super grumpy Mitsunari who is unhappy with how many times you end up in this guy’s clutches come on seriously have you no self-awareness

Mitsunari:

Librarian AU where someone’s book is overdue

You’re supposed to be a respectful retainer of Hideyoshi but look at you, you’re scrawny and don’t know how to hold a sword, I’m going to fix that.

By insulting you that person also insulted Hideyoshi’s taste and I can’t have that we are having a makeover session now and when I am done with you you are going to show them that you are a stunning, gorgeous creature if it kills you.

Hideyoshi:

Cinderella story where Hideyoshi puts Nobunaga’s sandal on MC and declares it’s a fit.

You’ve been trying to work up the courage to ask Hideyoshi out on a date and it finally happened only you also realize that he sort of set the whole thing up and you two going out was his plan all along.

Hideyoshi is assembling a superhero team, and has to convince the Fox (Mitsunari) and the Strategist (Hanbei) to join, all while keeping his own personal Lois Lane (…MC) in the dark about his secret identity, and the head of the superhero syndicate (Nobunaga) happy.

Toshiie/Inuchiyo

This creepy guy (Magistrate) won’t leave me alone, quick, pretend to be my fiancé so he’ll stop

We’re at a festival and I finally confessed but there were fireworks and you didn’t hear me, now what

Soulmate AU where the last words spoken to one another appear on your hands the first time you meet, and you were just a kid and don’t really remember but I do, and I’m not sure I ever want you to know because they broke my heart.

Mitsuhide:

Mitsuhide runs a daycare and his most problematic child is actually his landlord, Nobunaga

It’s been four and a half centuries since Honnō-ji, but like clockwork, Mitsuhide and Nobunaga are standing across from one another, on the umpteenth reincarnation and umpteenth confrontation, and this time, it’s going to end differently.

You’ve fallen in love with a book of poetry and bought everything the author’s written and you’re just gushing about it to some poor stranger on the train while on your way to culinary school and surprise, turns out he’s the author?

Nobunaga:

Nobunaga is an ACTUAL Demon King and all you did was spill some spices and salt while reaching for the first aid kit, you weren’t actually trying to summon him, you swear.

After the number of times that Nobunaga has made MC be Princess Kaguya for one of his tournaments, the moon is actually starting to suspect she might be, and has let her know that it will be reclaiming her on the next full moon.

Modern political leader Nobunaga is super excited to drag his new personal chef on a private jet because the meeting he has to attend JUST HAPPENS to be in the same place that’s famous for its high quality ingredients and whoops we have to fend off some would-be assassins while in the air nbd.

Shingen:

MC is working for Kenshin, Shingen decides he wants her with him instead.

Vampire AU (he has a thing for biting, k?) – bonus if chef!MC is frustrated she can’t cook with garlic anymore or is panicking because she HAS been cooking with it this whole time

Shingen decides he should write an autobiography, but his retainers keep interjecting their own thoughts and perspectives whenever he leaves his notes out.

Kenshin:

AU where Kenshin owns a flower shop

MC has a date so she frantically asks Kenshin for styling help because he’s fashionable right? Except he decides she looks way too cute to handover to someone else.

Every item in his treasury has a story – it’s just not the one he tells to other people.

Masamune:

Surprise! He actually IS a dragon. And in all his time as a dragon, no one has ever dared talk to him until this little chef heard his dragon tummy rumble and made him porridge, and now he’s walking around as a human and hey look, this restaurant has porridge and it smells familiar…

All Masamune wants to do is read his book in peace. It’s not going well.

This whole time I thought you were Yahiko but I went to your restaurant to meet your sister and ‘Yahiko’ greeted me and now I’m not sure if your parents are just bad at names or if something’s up.

Kojuro:

Adventures in Babysitting: The Early Oshu Years OR Teenage Kojuro is going to have ONE night of not being a responsible adult before the existential terror of being responsible for these two guys who have been through so much and have no one else really hits home.

I’d really like to take you out on ONE date that doesn’t end in bandits attacking, but here we are again, you brought your weapon right?

Several years ago, a cursed object was sent as a ‘gift’ to Kojuro but it got lost in his messy room and you’re cleaning it and whoops, should not have picked that up you’re cursed now. Except, the cursecaster didn’t account for half a decade of inactivity...

Shigezane:

I’m sorry you got dumped because the other person fell for Kojuro but I think you’re really cool but I don’t know how to tell you that so I’m just going to feed you and hope you pick up on it or that I get the gumption to talk to you before you’re done eating.

I THOUGHT my personal superhero who keeps rescuing me from all these supervillains (and my restaurant’s jerky landlord) was the quiet customer with the eyepatch but it’s actually his cousin and I just found out by accident and was not expecting that.

You are bound and determined to protect the castle at all costs in Shigezane’s absence so when a burglar breaks into his bedroom in the middle of the night you don’t even hesitate to hit him with a vase. Too bad it’s actually Shigezane, who got home and just didn’t want to wake everyone up.

Side Characters:

Kagieie: We’re on a mission for Kenshin and the weather got really bad and so now we’re stuck at an inn that only had one room left.

Kanetsugu: Kenshin’s retainers all rally to (try) and give the man a relaxing spa day.

Toramatsu: Our boss is a total jerk and I can’t believe he is making you go get coffee (that he won’t even drink) for the eleventh time today and it’s almost 2 AM there’s no way I’m letting you go alone but—oh wait the elevator’s stuck.

Kiyohiro: I tried to build a snowman but it wasn’t the same without so I came to see you and whoops now we’re snowed in.

Oichi: Nobunaga may have disappeared, but Oichi is not about to let the Oda clan fall under anyone else’s leadership– she’s taking history into her own hands.

Nobuyuki: Your small restaurant is about to be taken over by a large corporation, lucky for you your favorite customer has a plan – whether you’re going to like it or not.

Tadakatsu: No one actually ever noticed you were in disguise, but since your cooking is too good to risk, you got assigned as a page to Tadakatsu.

Kansuke: After being invisible nearly his entire life, Kansuke decides that for one day – ONE day – he is going to be memorable.

Hotaru: Accidentally tells the MC to ‘do what whatever she wants’ instead of making it a suggestion

Generic Retainers #1-#3: All we wanted was some peace and quiet and a decent job but somehow we always end up getting beaten up by these samurai over some girl – and oh shoot, she just walked in.

Yasumasa: I really hate this girl but I am also SORT of addicted to her cooking and she got tired of Ieyasu’s BS and went back to her home in Kyoto and now I’m in Kyoto and her restaurant is RIGHT. THERE. smelling amazing and such.

Ye Olde AU List

Coffeeshop AU

Corporate AU

College AU

Mermaid AU

Fairytale AU

Circus AU

Mafia AU

Band AU

Sports AU

Bodyswap AU

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gracetrack-higgins · 6 years

Text

3am

I already posted this on Ao3 but here it is again for all you lovely Tumblr people!! Spot and Race adopt a baby and Spot gets very introspective and sappy at 3am about it.

this is the cutest thing i’ve written to date. soft spot conlon wrecks my heart.

Ao3 Link: http://archiveofourown.org/works/13425714

Spot Conlon was used to staying up late and never really had any problems with late nights, or even all-nighters. But his lifestyle changed a lot the older he got. The stamina for the all-nighters he’d had in college was significantly less. He had a schedule now. Go to bed by midnight, up by seven, out the door by eight, in the office by eight-thirty. When he was younger the thought of stability and routines were both terrifying and repulsing, but now that he had it, Spot wished he didn’t waste so much time avoiding it. He’d spent a lot of time as a young adult avoiding the life he loved now, and was internally fighting regretting all the wasted time.

Younger Spot was terrified of the things that made Older Spot so happy. Younger Spot was afraid of school and doing anything that wasn’t sports. Younger Spot was afraid of the way he felt about his best friend. Younger Spot was afraid of getting a job and an apartment. Younger Spot was downright terrified of getting married or having kids or settling down.

But Spot faced all his fears. He quit sports, went to law school, got a great job as a lawyer at an extremely competitive law firm in downtown Manhattan, moved in with his boyfriend, eventually got married to his boyfriend, and settled in a life together.

And now they just adopted a child. Which was sending their lives down a whole ‘nother crazy road Spot never wanted. But now that he was on it, he didn’t know why he’d ever wanted anything else.

It was three am, way too late for Spot to be happy about being up, but this time, he didn’t mind. He stood in the lush apartment’s kitchen holding a baby in one strong arm, rocking her as she fussed, simultaneously making a bottle with his free hand. He bounced the baby gently, screwing the lid of the bottle on tight and shaking it gently before offering it to the infant, letting her eat.

Spot and his husband Race finalized the adoption of their daughter only a week and a half ago, and despite the parenting classes, baby books, social worker visits and advice from their friends, having a baby was still an insane change. They’d waited for years for the chance to adopt a baby and went through a rigorous adoption process once they were finally off a waiting list and matched with a child.

And then just like that, Brooklyn Higgins-Conlon was theirs. Their apartment became overrun with baby supplies. Bottles and toys and strollers and diapers and blankets and onesies filled every corner of their formerly-typical-guys’-apartment. Instead of takeout and beer, their fridge was now filled with baby food and formula. Race and Spot had been taking turns staying up with their new daughter as they attempted to get her on a sleep schedule like all the books said they were supposed to. But like her fathers, Brooklyn Higgins-Conlon seemed not to care too much about rules, or following them.

Spot swayed back and forth, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he watched Brooklyn drinking from the bottle hungrily.

“Geez kiddo,” he said softly, “Ya only ate a couple’a hours ago, you’s actin’ like we’s starvin’ ya.”

Brooklyn’s big dark eyes were drifting shut as she continued to eat.

“And now you’s gonna crash on me?” Spot teased, “After all’a that fuss?”

Brooklyn snuffled, finishing the bottle and sighing a little as her tiny eyes shut and she promptly fell asleep. Spot set the bottle down on the table and shifted the baby in his arms so she snuggled into his chest. Spot glanced at the clock. 3:34am.

Rubbing his tired eyes with his free hand, Spot carried his sleeping daughter back to his and Race’s master bedroom, setting her down in the crib at the foot of their bed, and then climbing back into bed next to his sprawled out husband. Spot just slid his hand around Race’s waist, getting comfortable and closing his eyes, when he heard whimpers.

Nononono. Please stay asleep.

The whimpers turned into whines.

Ugghghhhhh.

The whines quickly turned into cries, which reached screeches within seconds. Spot groaned, Race stirred next to him, shoving his head under the pillow, slapping at Spot lazily.

“Spottyyyyy,” Race whined, and Spot shushed him, quickly slipping out of bed again to pick up the screaming baby.

“Alright missy.” Spot said as he held the baby to his shoulder, bouncing her as he left the bedroom, closing the door with his foot and going back into the small family room, pacing back and forth, trying to get the baby to stop crying.

“C’mon Brooklyn,” Spot muttered, patting the baby’s back lightly. After a few moments she calmed down, but refused to be put down, so Spot sat on the couch, holding his four month old daughter in his arms, trying to get her to go back to sleep.

“You’s a handful, Lil’ Miss.” Spot told her softly, letting Brooklyn suck on his fingers. “It’s almost four in the mornin’. You’s lucky I took time off’a work, otherwise I’d be a very grumpy Daddy havin’ ta get up early.”

Brooklyn cooed and Spot smirked.

“Ya think it’s funny?” he snorted. “One’a these days I ain’t gonna be able to stay home all the time, an’ then it won’t be so funny.”

Brooklyn gurgled a laugh and Spot shook his head.

“Yeah yeah, go on an’ laugh.” Spot pulled his fingers from the baby’s mouth and she shrieked in protest. He quickly shushed her, handing her a baby toy to play with instead. “It ain’t gonna be half as funny for me, Princess. ‘m already dreadin’ it.”

Brooklyn waved the toy at Spot, who grinned a little. He made a face at her, which prompted a new bout of giggles.

“I wish I had your energy.”

Brooklyn giggled more, bouncing in his arms. He bounced a little too, hushing her as her giggles turned into shrieks.

“Shhhh, Papa’s sleepin’, you’s gonna wake ‘im up. He already spent all night up wit’ ya last night, ya lil monster.”

Brooklyn seemed to get the memo, shoving the toy back into her mouth, resting against Spot’s strong arm as he held her close.

“Finally gettin’ sleepy?” he asked, rocking her instinctively. He was surprised at how easily some of this baby stuff had come to him, since until Jack and Kath’s kids were born, he’d never even held a baby. And at first, the prospect of raising a child, having a kid relying on him for food and shelter and life and…well, everything, was terrifying. But now, at four in the morning, holding Brooklyn in his arms, he wanted to give her everything and anything. It put everything in perspective. He didn’t want to go to work. He wanted to stay home and change diapers and make bottles and watch her nap. He wanted to hear her first words and watch her take her first steps and be there for everything. The thought of having to be at work all day instead of at home with her and Race made Spot’s stomach ache a little with sadness. And they’d only had her for a little over a week. How was he this attached after such a short amount of time? Why did she feel like a piece of him that’d been missing?

“There we go,” Spot said encouragingly as Brooklyn started to calm down, and he replaced the toy in her mouth with a pacifier instead. He rocked her back and forth gently, running his free hand lightly through her soft dark curls. “That’s my girl.” he smiled.

“I ain’t never thought I’d be sittin’ here,” he told her softly, “In my own place. Married to anyone, let alone your Papa.” he booped her tiny nose. “Holdin’ you.” Spot sighed contentedly. “Now I dunno what I’d do without ya.”

Brooklyn’s eyelids started to drift as Spot continued to rock her.

“I know I ain’t gonna be great at this,” Spot told her next as Brooklyn’s little tan hand wrapped around his finger. “Bein’ a dad. I didn’t have one, so…” he shrugged. “I’m not too sure what ‘m doin’ half the time. But I promise, I’ll do everythin’ I can to make sure you’s happy an’ you’s loved, ‘kay?”

Brooklyn’s little eyes closed and he smiled.

“Good.” he pressed a kiss to her forehead, still rocking her gently to make sure she stayed asleep.

“I think you’s pretty great at this.”

Spot looked up at the sound of his husband’s voice and rolled his eyes.

“Ugh, you heard that?”

Race smirked, curling up next to Spot on the couch, resting his head on his shoulder.

“Yeah.” he smiled. “It was real cute.” Race looked at the baby asleep in the crook of Spot’s arm. “An’ she’s sleepin’, so you’s definitely doin’ somethin’ right.”

Spot groaned lightly, but tilted his head to rest against Race’s.

“Bein’ a dad is a lotta work.” he said, and Race nodded.

“Yeah, it sure is.” Race yawned, reaching one hand over to gently to brush at Brooklyn’s curls. “‘s a good thing she’s cute.”

Spot smirked. “I think she knows it, too. She knows we’ll let her get away with anythin’.”

Race breathed a laugh. “Yeah, an’ that’ll only get worse as she gets older.”

Spot nodded in agreement, both his and Race’s eyes watching their sleeping baby.

“‘m real glad we’re doin’ this,” Spot whispered, “I’m sorry I made ya wait so long.”

Race shook his head. “If we didn’t wait, we wouldn’t have Brooklyn.” he said simply. “An’ she’s perfect.”

Spot smiled. “She is.”

“An’ so’re you.” Race added, and Spot rolled his eyes jokingly.

“Ew, affection.” he whined, laughing as Race flicked him in the head and then pulled him into a kiss.

“Love you,” Spot offered between kisses.

“Love you too.”

Race smiled as they parted and stood from the couch, holding out a hand for Spot to join him. He did, taking Race’s hand in his, Brooklyn still asleep in his arm.

“Maybe she’ll finally stay asleep.” Race said hopefully as they started back to the bedroom.

“She can just sleep with us,” Spot joked, “Since she’s so attached.”

Race shoved his husband’s shoulder lightly. “Allow me to reference chapter 14 of every parenting book ever: Co-Sleeping Is A Trap Do Not Do It. We ain’t doin’ it.”

“I know, I know.” Spot laughed, setting the baby down in her crib gently, watching her for a second before joining Race back in bed. “If she cries again it’s your turn.”

Race mocked offense. “After last night? How dare you?”

Spot pushed Race down against the mattress, tucking a hand around his waist and pulling him close as they got comfortable.

“You overheard my private sappy conversation with our baby. It’s the least ya can do.”

Race snorted, burying his face in Spot’s t-shirt as he snuggled against him.

“Shut up an’ go to sleep.” Race murmured and Spot smiled, kissing Race’s curls and relaxing against him.

“Night, Racer.” Spot whispered.

“It’s mornin’.” Race mumbled.

“Mornin’, then.” Spot amended, smiling as he felt Race’s smile against his chest.

“Sleep, moron.” Race drawled, and Spot grunted, getting comfortable and closing his eyes.

Now please don’t wake up again. He thought to his daughter as he finally drifted back to sleep.

#feel free to hit me up for more brooklyn higgins-conlon headcanons #because i have PLENTY #soft domestic sprace is my world #sprace #spot conlon #racetrack higgins #newsies #newsies fanfiction #fanfiction #brooklyn #my writing #newsies headcanons #domestic fluff #cute things #enjoy!!!!#thank you everyone who's already read and commented you all are amazing #grace writes things

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upstartpoodle · 6 years

Text

Bad Tidings (Chapter 3)

Rating: G

Pairing: George x Elizabeth

Summary: The third chapter of the banshee AU, in which George and Francis have a conversation about Ross and Agatha, Caroline makes an appearance and George returns to Bodmin for the first time since his encounter with Elizabeth on the moor.

Previous chapter

Chapter 3

“Francis, may I ask you something?”

It was a few days after the disastrous maiden voyage of the Queen Charlotte and George was sat by the fireside in the parlour of Trenwith, swilling a small glass of port absentmindedly in one hand. Francis sat opposite him, still looking tired and a little pale from the aftermath of the putrid throat, dressed in his shirtsleeves and wearing a dull and rather listless expression on his face. At George’s words, his eyes flickered upwards to meet his friend’s, and he frowned slightly.

“That rather depends on what the question is,” he replied, waving the hand unoccupied with his own glass of port in a vague gesture, “but I suppose I shan’t know that until you ask.”

George was too used to Francis’ manner to be put off by the odd reply, and took it as permission to ask.

“At…at your father’s wake,” he began a little cautiously—Francis and Charles had always had a complicated relationship and he wasn’t entirely sure how the other man would react to him bringing the subject up, “I overheard something your aunt—”

“Oh you overheard, did you?” interrupted Francis with a shrewd expression on his face, though the wry quirk of his lips belied his words.

“I happened to be attempting to distract myself from Dr Choake’s descriptions of the best ways to address the balance of the humours” returned George with dignity.

Francis snorted.

“I will concede that Dr Choake discussing his science is something to be avoided at all cost,” he said with a smirk, “but I was not aware that you found Aunt Agatha’s conversation to be much of an improvement.”

George did not grace this comment with a reply. It was true that he did not remotely care for the old woman’s company—a feeling that was by no means diminished by the fact that she had, as far as he could tell, yet to realise that his name was not “that upstart”—and it was also true that Francis probably wouldn’t have minded even if he said that she was an abominable harpy whose conversation he would only endure if it were somehow the means to preventing the apocalypse, but nevertheless, it still felt rather rude to admit it.

“Yes, well, as I was saying,” he said, wondering how best to bring the matter up without sounding as if he had lost his mind, “I heard her mention something about a sort of…wailing she had heard when…”

He trailed off, unsure of how to continue. Francis stared at him for one long moment, bemused, before he broke into a bout of incredulous laughter.

“Good God, George, whatever do you want to know about that for?” he exclaimed between chuckles.

“Oh, it’s nothing,” replied George quickly. “Something happened recently which reminded me of it—that is all.”

Francis, who still looked rather amused, regarded him searchingly for a moment before shrugging and taking a sip of port, a thoughtful expression on his face.

“Well it was just the wind, obviously,” he said at length, “but she was obsessed with it—kept saying that it was some omen of terrible things to come. You know, she told us that it was a banshee, for Christ’s sake!”

“A-a banshee?”

“Yes, you know, a female spirit that goes around screaming outside the households of people who are about to die or washing their clothes in streams or whatever rot they’re meant to… Are you alright, George?”

“Oh, yes I-I’m fine” replied George, although he felt that the stammer in his voice had probably betrayed that he was, in fact, not fine at all.

“I always thought you were a better liar than that,“ snorted Francis sceptically. "You’ve turned paler than I am and you don’t have the excuse of having recently suffered a serious illness, so I’m afraid you have rumbled yourself on that count.”

George remained silent. Even if he told the bare minimum of the truth, without speculation—that being that he had seen a woman on the moors who, along with having a singing voice exactly as Agatha had described, had been washing his cousin’s clothes in a stream and had somehow known he was going to die several days before the event occurred—Francis would probably think that he had been subject to some sort of stress-induced hallucination. If he went further and said that that woman had possibly been one of the spirits he had just described, he would think him mad. Besides, George could barely believe that himself. It was too far-fetched, too… He frantically scrambled for an explanation, something rational and sane but…his mind, so used to the rigid order of finance and the harsh measures of schemes and advancement, utterly failed to come up with an alternative reason for what he had seen that day on the moor. He swallowed, staring morosely into the fire flickering in the grate.

“It is nothing” he said quietly, not quite able to meet his friend’s eye.

Francis narrowed his eyes, watching him sharply for one long moment before muttering a slightly grumpy “if you say so” and taking another long sip out of his glass, frowning. George watched him out of the corner of his eye, not wanting to reveal too much by making direct eye contact. Francis was unlikely to press for answers now that he had made it clear he did not want to give them—it was simply not his way—but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t find it odd, or that he might not later remember it at some inopportune time, and he did not wish to give his friend any reason to be suspicious of him. An uncomfortable silence stretched out between them, both of them staring determinedly into the fire, before Francis spoke again.

“What are you going to do about Ross?”

“What?” George asked. He had been caught off-guard by the sudden change of subject, and it took him a few seconds to realise what Francis was asking him.

“What are you going to do about Ross?,” Francis repeated, a slightly wary expression on his face. “He led the raid on the Queen Charlotte after all, did he not?”

George’s heart sank. As much as he appreciated that Francis was not digging for the cause of his strange turn, if there were two subjects he very much wished to avoid, it was Ross and the Queen Charlotte. All he had been doing for days was picking up the pieces of that particular fiasco, to the point where burying himself in work could not distract him from the image of Matthew’s corspe, stretched out on the strand. As for Ross…well, if he never saw him again, he would consider it a cause for celebration.

“I have had enough of Ross,” he sighed bitterly, taking a sip of his port as he mulled the matter over in his head. “I don’t give a damn about what he does anymore. From now on, I will live in my world and he can live in his, and our interactions can be kept to a bare minimum.”

Francis looked sceptical, but he was telling the truth. He couldn’t deny that Ross’ words to him on the beach had hurt terribly, that they had lit a spark of rage in his chest at this man who dared to claim he cared for all men whilst acting as if he had the right to decide who deserved to live and who deserved to die. It would have been a lie to say that the spiteful part of him hadn’t desperately wanted—didn’t still want—him to pay for those words, to make him hurt in turn, to punish him for his unkind disregard, and perhaps if he had not been so occupied by something else entirely, he might have let it win. Instead, his mind had seized so absolutely on the strange and—in hindsight—rather disturbing encounter with the woman on the moor to distract him from the grief that he did not dare wallow in that that he could barely concentrate on the matter of Ross long enough to summon up the anger needed to lash out at him, let alone to form an actual plan of how he would go about it.

“So he is not in danger of any…retaliation?” asked Francis, sending him a penentrating look.

“Not from me,” George replied, bringing up a hand to his temple tiredly, “but Uncle Cary wishes to lay charges against him.”

That, he had to admit to himself, hardly encapsulated his uncle’s fury over Ross’ raid of the Queen Charlotte. He carefully kept the wince from his features as he remembered the man’s shouted words to him when he had pointed out that neither Matthew nor Captain Bray could testify to anything they had not witnessed, and later his barked orders to “stop moping and do something about that thieving wastrel”. The cruel part of him agreed wholeheartedly with uncle, but the rest of him couldn’t summon up the energy to care, and as such he suspected Cary would soon take matters into his own hands.

He was proved right the next day when, after going an entire morning and a good part of the afternoon without seeing his uncle, Cary turned up to tea with an entirely too self-satisfied look on his sharp features and, snatching up a crumpet from the table, explained what he had done, and what he planned to do to ensure that Ross was punished for his transgressions.

“Assaulting a customs officer?,” George asked, sipping his tea, a frown creasing his brow. “What evidence do you have for that?”

The first two charges had not surprised him—there were few people in the county who were not at least fairly certain that Ross had incited his tenants to raid the Queen Charlotte of its goods—but that was the first he had heard of the man being suspected of such a thing on that occasion, for all that he—and indeed anyone else who knew the reason why he had been shipped off to the Americas all those years ago—was aware that the man was most definitely capable of it. As such, he began to suspect that his uncle had not deigned to restrain himself simply to truthful allegations, and all of a sudden he began to see the shape of the other man’s plan.

“None at the moment,” replied Uncle Cary with a pointed look, “but some can always be created.”

George shrugged, taking a bite out of his own crumpet. He may no longer wish to deal with Ross, but that spiteful part of him was strong enough to keep him from caring what was done to him. Let his uncle exact his revenge, he thought laconically. He may not wish to participate, but he had no reason to intervene either.

He barely paid attention to what his uncle was doing in the coming days, something which seemed to greatly confuse Tankard, who was used to answering directly to him in most matters. Instead, when his mind was not occupied by work, all he could think of was the woman on the moor, and what Francis had told him about what Agatha had believed the source of the wailing noise outside Trenwith had been. His mind grasped onto any explanation he could think of with an almost feverish desperation, but there were only two that he could hold onto for any length of time: either that the woman had indeed been a spirit sent to forewarn him of Matthew’s death or the—more likely, in his opinion—option that he had at some point misplaced his sanity and failed to notice it. Neither of these were particularly comforting thoughts, and as a result he slept poorly, his overtaxed mind making his dreams strange and disturbing. He wished he could talk to someone about it, to hear a reassurance that he had not gone mad or… But he did not know anyone he trusted enough to be able to confide in them about it, not even Francis, who was his closest and—if he were to be honest with himself—only friend.

If only I was acquainted with someone who had some knowledge of such things, he thought with a soft sigh as he filled out the ledger in that silent, horribly empty study. An image of Agatha with her tarot cards flashed through his mind, fogged and heavy from lack of sleep, and he scoffed at himself.

“I must be tireder than I thought,” he muttered to himself, leaning down to give Ambrose a scratch behind the ear. “I would never stoop that low.”

The day before Ross’ trial, George and his uncle went to Bodmin for the election. The realisation that he had to go there—a place in such close to proximity to the moor—had prompted several mixed reactions in him. Would he find some sign there about what it all meant? Would the woman be there? Would he see her again? As a result of this, all through the carriage ride to Bodmin, he had no idea whether he should be dreading going there or wishing to get there sooner. In the end, he elected to focus as much as he could on the business at hand, that being ensuring that the candidate the Warleggans had chosen to back into parliament. After all, if he hadn’t been mad when he had seen the woman, he most certainly would be soon enough should he continue agonising over the matter as he had been.

Unwin Trevaunance, the man he had chosen to lend his support to perhaps, he admitted to himself, against his better judgement, was easily one of the most ridiculous men he had ever met. As such, he couldn’t help but be somewhat astonished when he was introduced to the man’s intended, Caroline Penvenen. He was not sure exactly what he had expected when he met her, but it had not been what he was faced with—the young lady was fiercely intelligent, with a bold manner and a razor sharp wit that he had immediately found himself being subjected to upon approaching her, and, he didn’t think he was presumptious in thinking, a completely unsuitable match for Unwin. They couldn’t possibly make each other happy, but Unwin only had eyes for her beauty and her coffers. That was the way of such matters in the circles they moved in, though, George supposed, remembering that said circles would soon expect him to take a wife, and for that wife to be a lady of consequence with whom he could make a mutually beneficial arrangement.

“I must apologise for my niece,” muttered Ray Penvenen as the pair of them followed the couple as they left the hall to greet the crowd. “Caroline has always dearly loved to be shocking.”

“Think nothing of it” murmured George truthfully. He had rather suspected that her words were more intended to score a point than strike a blow in any case, and besides, he had heard far more malicious things from a good many people over the years.

There was a slight breeze in the courtyard when they stepped up on the stand, cool for the time of year, and George supposed it must have come down from the moor. He instantly stopped that train of thought, reminding himself of exactly why thinking overmuch about the moor and everything that came with it was a bad idea. This, however, was immediately undermined as, all of a sudden, he began to hear a dreadfully familiar sound, faint, but nevertheless cutting above the ruckuss of the crowd gathered before them like a knife.

“Whatever is that noise?” Miss Penvenen, who appeared to be the first to notice it after himself, asked with a frown on her delicate features. She looked rather uncomfortable, he couldn’t help but think, and, after everything that had happened, he couldn’t help but sympathise.

“What noise?” replied Unwin disinterestedly, too distracted by waving at the crowd to pay any attention to anything else.

“That…wailing,” Miss Penvenen said, glancing around her with a slightly uneasy expression on her face. “It’s a bit like…well it sounds as if somebody’s singing…”

“Oh, that’s nothing to worry about, my dear,” said Ray Penvenen jovially. “One hears it all the time in Bodmin, especially during the Assizes. It is simply the way the wind travels through the town—that is all. The locals prefer a different expectation for it though—something about a creature up on the moors sending them bad omens or something of that ilk.”

“A creature? How thrilling.”

Despite her words, however, George did not think Miss Penvenen looked especially thrilled. It was a nice enough explanation, and if he had not seen the cause of the sound with his own eyes, he might have seized on it too, for all the fact that there was hardly any wind in the courtyard that evening somewhat contradicted it. But as it was, he had to accept that there was something entirely different going on, and the fact that at least two other people could hear the sound suggested that it was not, as he had previously been suspecting, a figment of his imagination. Well, perhaps he had not gone mad after all, which, when considering only alternative explanation for the phenomenon he had been able to come up with, was not quite as comforting a thought as it would have been otherwise.

The wailing became louder and louder as the evening progressed, and it was clear that it was having an effect on the crowd gathered to listen to the results of the election. There had been shouting before, of course, and an air of restlessness no doubt caused at least in part by the copious amounts of drink the members of the throng had been consuming, but there now sat a deep, fearful tension over the onlookers. George remembered what Ray Penvenen had told his niece about what the locals believed the sound to be, and could only suppose that this was, at least in part, the cause of the crowds new frenzied energy.

It was after he, having momentarily forgotten the screaming song that was echoing painfully in his ears, had bid Unwin to take the second chair upon drawing level with his opponent that that awful sound reached its peak. As it had when he had first heard it up on Bodmin Moor, it seemed to bounce around the courtyard and into his ears, almost defeaning him. Once again, he felt faint from the force of it, and he surreptitiously put out a hand to steady himself against a nearby post. He could only be thankful for the fact that everyone’s attention was on Unwin, for he did not particularly like the thought of almost the entire population of Bodmin seeing him have a turn like a delicate lady out of a sensational novel.

“Oh don’t do it, please. Can ’ee not hear ’er screaming up on the moor?” he heard the voice of a woman cry as if through glass, or thick molasses.

“I b’ain’t a-feared,” came the reply—a man’s voice this time and, with a momumental effort, George raised his head to see that one of the crowd had stepped forward and was addressing Unwin, his expression stormy. “Who are ’ee?”

Unwin, typically, looked stumped by this simple question, but George couldn’t hear his reply. The wailing was so loud now that he could hear nothing but that mournful, unearthly sound. Then there was another voice—a woman’s. It was familiar to him—so familiar—yet far away, and he could neither place it nor hear what she was saying. His mind tried to snatch for the sound, to pull it closer so that he could figure out what that voice that he somehow knew but could not recognise was trying to tell him, but it skittered away from him, indistinct in the fog of his brain. He could barely hear it over the screaming in his ears and the shouting of the crowd, and—

All of a sudden, the wailing stopped, cut off so abruptly that he swayed on its feet at its unexpected loss. With it went the voice, disappearing deep into the recesses of his mind. The fog that filled his brain began to clear and, breathing heavily, he slowly began to take in what was happening around him once more. Unwin, he suddenly realised, was being pelted with horse manure which, while hardly the reception to the newly instated member of parliament that he had desired, did provide a mildly amusing interlude to the night’s events. As the redcoats rushed to intervene, George pushed himself gingerly away from the post he had been leaning on, his arm trembling from the effort. A glance around confirmed that Unwin’s misfortune had proved to be the opposite for him, as it seemed that everyone had been too distracted by the assault to pay any attention to him swooning up on the stand. He let out a shaky breath, schooling his features back into impavisity. Well, he supposed, ever cloud had a silver lining.

“That rabble!,” Ray Penvenen snarled once they had retreated back inside. “Have they no respect for their betters?! Or for the law?! Someone needs to take them by the scruff of the neck and-and— Mr Warleggan, are you quite well?”

George blinked, caught off-guard by the sudden change of subject. The other man had been working himself into such a rage that he had been sure that he would be more likely to burst from the sheer force of it than notice that his companion was not well at all. He was still feeling rather shaky from his turn outside in the courtyard and would, quite frankly, have greatly preferred to head to his lodgings and lie down for a while as opposed to standing in this draughty room where he was expected to smile meaninglessly, talk business and politics, and in general act as the unfazed, perfect gentleman he had always tried so hard to be. He blinked languidly at the other man, his exhausted brain scrambling for a reply.

“I am quite alright, thank you” he said, more out of habit than any particular desire to be believed. Unsurprisingly, Penvenen was not convinced.

“Nonsense, man,” he scoffed. “You look like you’re about to fall over where you stand.”

“Perhaps I am feeling a little unwell” George conceded, too tired to argue the point.

“Clearly,” agreed Ray Penvenen, throwing him a scrutinising look. “You should probably take a rest. The main object of the evening is achieved, after all.”

“Yes,” replied George vaguely, glad that someone else had suggested it before he. “Yes, I think I will do that.”

After having made his regrets, he headed back to his lodgings, glad to have escaped the pressure and expectations of the crowd. The slightly musty air of the inn was surprisingly cool as he made his way a little unsteadily up the stairs to his room, the wood of each step creaking softly under his weight. A heavy exhaustion had settled upon him, so that he felt as if he were dragging an invisible ball and chain behind him. Eventually, he reached the door to his chamber at the top of the stairs and pushed it open, walking over to the bed and collapsing on it with a groan of relief.

He slept sporadically for a few hours, drifting in and out of consciousness but never fully waking. Sometimes he thought he heard the wailing sound again, faint and in the distance—so faint in fact that it could indeed have been the wind—though he could never quite tell if he had dreamt it or not, even if he had been aware enough to examine the matter during his fitful rest. Then, in the early hours of the morning, a deadly quiet fell around Bodmin, and George awoke properly for the first time, then, much to his chagrin, discovered that, no matter how much he tried, he could not get back to sleep again.

The silence, he thought as he lay on his back, staring up into the pitch darkness of the room, was worse than the wailing. It was the unnaturalness of it, he supposed—the screaming had at least been something he could identify, even if he was both sceptical of and a little alarmed by its believed cause. This quiet, however, was mystifying to him—Bodmin may not be as loud a place as London, or Bath, but it was never silent. In fact, considering the evening’s events, it was even more unusual. George swallowed, gripping the sheets of the bed tightly in his fists. It was so horribly empty—that silence—and, lying there in the blackness, he felt as if the world might have disappeared around him.

“Stop it” he muttered to himself, trying his hard to ignore how resounding his voice was in the silence of the room. It would do him no good to think these morbid, far-fetched thoughts—not when he had other, more earthly concerns to consider. And yet his mind, for all that he tried to persuade it otherwise, refused to turn away from them. He exhaled sharply, angry with himself for entertaining such notions. He had become as ridiculous as the old hag he so despised, seeing portents of doom in every little thing that occurred around him, and still his treacherous brain refused to discout the notions. Well, he supposed, scowling, there was only one thing he could do. He would have to prove it to himself either way. He would have to return to the moor.

Next chapter: An almost meeting up on the moors and a peculiar dream.

#poldark #george warleggan #elizabeth warleggan #george x elizabeth #elizabeth x george #georgibeth #francis poldark #caroline penvenen #ray penvenen #cary warleggan #unwin trevaunance #sort of #poldark au #banshee au #mine #fic #my fic #bad tidings

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aswithasunbeam · 6 years

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Finding Forgiveness, Chapter 5

Rating: Teen and Up

Summary: Eliza Hamilton can't keep punishing her husband forever. If she didn't intend to leave him, she would need to find a way to forgive him. But how? The Reynolds Pamphlet aftermath

April 1798

The little flower stand on the corner had returned about a week ago with the warm spring weather, though he’d been arriving home too late in the evenings to actually purchase anything. He’d frequented it often last year, bringing Eliza home a fresh bouquet on an almost weekly basis. When his court hearing had ended hours earlier than he’d expected, and with James more than capable of running the office alone until the end of the day, he decided to take the rest of the afternoon off. He made his way jauntily along Broadway, soaking in the spring sunshine, and paused at the cart.

“Good day, Mr. Hamilton,” the young woman plumping a display of pink roses greeted.

“Good day, Mrs. Lane,” he replied, casting his eye over the colorful displays. “I’m glad to see you’ve returned for business. What would you recommend for me today?”

“My lilacs bloomed a little early this year. I know Mrs. Hamilton has quite a fondness for the scent,” Mrs. Lane gestured to the long stems of small purple flowers on the other side of the cart.

“Perfect,” he smiled. “Would you prepare a small bouquet for me?”

“Of course, sir,” she agreed, smiling brightly in return.

She arranged the lilacs for him, tying them together with a blue ribbon and adding a few extra stems more than he’d paid for, he noticed. He gave her a significant look as he accepted the flowers, but she merely shrugged. “You’re one of my best customers,” she informed him. “Give Mrs. Hamilton my compliments.”

“Thank you, I will,” he agreed.

He inhaled the scent of the lilacs as he set off down the street, a new lightness in his step. Things between he and Eliza seemed better, lately. She seemed to be thawing towards him; the unexpected bouts of silence and distance, though still very much present, seemed to be growing fewer and father in between. He ached to return to the beautiful simplicity of their early love. In the bright sunshine of spring, with Eliza’s tenderness and affection towards him increasing, he was beginning to have hope again.

“Betsey?” he called as he closed the front door of their townhouse gently behind him.

Wailing greeted him. William sounded quite displeased about something, he thought with a smile. Observing the time, he realized the baby had likely just awakened from a nap.

“I’ll be just a minute,” his wife’s voice called over the cries.

He smelled the flowers again and wandered towards the parlor. The room was empty; Johnny and Angelica must both be studying upstairs, he presumed. He knelt down by the cabinet on the far side of the room and retrieved a vase for the bouquet.

Once he’d arranged the flowers properly, he looked up only to find the place where Eliza typically displayed fresh flowers taken already by the silver wine cooler President Washington had sent last summer. He frowned at the gift. Not that he didn’t appreciated Washington’s generosity, or the gesture of support that lay behind it, but having the ornate decoration displayed so prominently felt like a constant reminder of his shame.

“You’re home early,” Eliza remarked. He turned to see her leaning against the door jamb, bouncing William on her hip. The baby appeared much calmer now as he sucked on his fingers with his head against his mother’s shoulder.

“My hearing took much less time than I’d expected,” he explained.

“Is that good or bad?”

“Good,” he assured her. “The defense attorney didn’t raise any of the issues that would have actually turned it into a close contest. I left James to see to the office work and seized the opportunity to enjoy a few hours of daylight at home.”

“Are those for me?” she asked him, her eyes landing on the vase of lilacs on the floor before him. The corners of her lips lifted slightly.

“Mrs. Lane’s lilacs bloomed early this year. She sends her compliments, by the way,” he said, pushing up from the floor with the flowers in hand.

“She’s a sweetheart.” She stepped closer, leaning in to inhale the scent of the flowers. “Mm, there is no sweeter smell than fresh lilacs in spring.”

He reached out with his free hand to tug on William’s chubby leg. “Was someone grumpy when they woke up from their nap?” he cooed.

“Grumpy is a polite term for that performance,” Eliza quipped lightly. He laughed, hesitated a moment, then leaned in to kiss her. She kissed him back sweetly and added, “Thank you for the flowers. They’re beautiful.”

“Where should I set them?” he asked.

Her gaze turned to the silver wine cooler. “Perhaps we could move that into the dining room, if you don’t mind?”

“Why would I mind? It was a gift for you.”

She raised a brow at him. “It really wasn’t.”

He sighed, reluctant to start an argument over such a trivial point. “Then to the dining room it shall move,” he declared, lifting it from the table by the window and gingerly setting the flowers down in their rightful place.

“Lovely,” she said when he’d finished.

He stepped back to admire them also. William babbled around the hand still shoved in his mouth, and Hamilton glanced over at his son. “Do you approve, my darling boy?”

William’s big eyes turned to him. He smiled and held out his arms. Eliza easily passed the child over, and he heaved the boy onto his own hip, pressing a kiss to his wispy curls. “You are getting so big. Can you say Papa? Hm? Papa?”

“Puh,” the boy breathed out, pursing his lips.

“Papa,” he repeated slowly.

His son stared at him a long moment and muttered something that sounded like ‘Ditma.’ “Not quite,” he laughed and looked at his wife. “He’s so close, I can feel it.”

Eliza soothed a hand over the baby’s back lightly. “He started trying to pull himself up in his crib recently, too,” she reported. “He’ll be chattering and racing around the house before we know it.”

He cuddled the baby closer. They all grew up so quickly, and seemed to sprout up on him most especially when he was working long hours. Which was always, he supposed. William began to squirm in his arms at the confining hug, so he kissed the boy’s head again and lowered him onto the rug with his toys. Pulling his knees up under him, William crawled with purpose towards the blocks stacked on the other end of the carpet.

Keen to avoid any incident resulting from an eight month old and the very expensive silver cooler sharing floor space, Hamilton collected the item and carried it to the dining room. It made more sense it that room anyway, really, or it would have if they’d ever used it for its proper purpose. So far it had sat in their parlor as a decorative item.

“Oh, honey?” Eliza called to him as he crossed into the dining room.

“Mm?”

“Two letters were delivered for you today from Governor Jay. One came a minute after you left for work this morning. They’re sitting on the front table in the foyer.”

His brow furrowed at the news. He pushed some knickknacks over on a lower shelf of the sideboard and shoved the wine cooler into place. While it may have fit on the top, or even on the mantle of the fireplace, he had no desire to gaze at it while he ate. Task completed, he stepped out into the foyer to find the two letters sitting on the table.

His eyes widened as he read Jay’s first letter, and he sucked in an audible breath. Eliza paced over to the parlor entryway, where she could still to keep an eye on the baby as she reached out to place a hand on his back. Dropping the letter back onto the table, he tore open the second with bated breath.

“Is something wrong?” Eliza asked.

He released a relieved sigh as he scanned the words on the more recent letter. “No, no everything’s fine,” he said, distracted. She waited a beat for him to finish reading the letter, though he could sense she wanted him to elaborate. When he reached the end of the short note, he turned and pressed another kiss to her lips. “Apparently Judge Hobart is resigning from the senate. Jay wants me to take the open senate seat.”

She went very still beside him. “And? Are you going to?”

“No,” he said immediately.

“No?”

“No,” he reiterated. “I was a little alarmed by his first message, because he said only that he was sending me a commission for the seat. Thankfully, he realized he should wait for me to give an answer before making anything official.”

“And you’re going to refuse?” she asked again.

He frowned. “Do you think I should accept?”

She shook her head quickly. “I’m just surprised. You seemed like you were starting to get that itch.”

“That itch?” he repeated with an amused smile.

“You know, the itch to return to public life. You’ve been spending so much time of late sending letters and writing those newspaper essays. I just thought you might consider the offer more.”

He considered carefully how to answer. In truth, he was feeling the itch, as Eliza phrased it. But the senate seat was far from where he wanted to expend his energy. Soon, very soon if things continued as they were, Adams would need to start building an army. When that happened, he wanted to be involved. Perhaps, at last, he’d get the promotion for which he’d campaigned all through the war.

“Things are in motion now that may necessitate my returning to public life. If relations with France don’t normalize soon, we will need to take decisive action. But the time is not now. I intend to avoid returning for as long as possible.”1

Eliza wrapped her arms around his waist.

He cuddled her close and kissed the top of her head. “Surely you must know how dear you and the children are to me. I have no desire to be apart from you any more than I already am. Not to mention how our finances would suffer if I stepped away from my practice again.”

She nodded against him. To his shock, he heard her sniffle lightly. He tried to look at her face, but she’d buried it against his jacket, facing away.

“Eliza?” he asked, easing her away slightly. Her eyes were wet and shining with tears. “What’s the matter?”

“I’m sorry,” she apologized, wiping at her eyes with an embarrassed, watery smile. “I’m being silly.”

He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and held it out to her.

She accepted the handkerchief and blew her nose lightly. “Thank you.”

He pulled her in to another embrace. “What’s wrong?”

Her arms wrapped around him again. “Nothing. That’s just…that’s exactly what I wanted to you say. And I know…I know how brilliant and important you are, how vital your involvement will be if war comes again. I know I should be a better republican, a better patriot, like Angelica says. But I just hate when you take these public positions and appointments. You feel so far away from me.”

A queasy feeling began in his stomach as he held her to him.

“When you chose us over the Treasury, chose me over the Treasury…the more I’ve thought about it the past several months, that’s how I knew you were still… you. How I knew there was still hope for us.” She shook her head. “I’m sorry. I don’t think I’m making sense.”

“No, you are,” he assured her. Terrible, painful sense. “And I��I’ll always choose you, Betsey. Always. Even if I do go back to public service, you’re still the most important thing in my life.”

“But you’re not, right?” she asked, pushing away to look at him. “You said you weren’t.”

“I’m not,” he promised. “At least, not right now. I’ll write to Jay as soon as I’ve considered who else to suggest in my place.”

She smiled weakly. “Good.”

He smiled back, still sick inside. Did she mean she didn’t want him to take any public position again? How could he make her see that everything, all he’d done in the past year, had been for the chance to redeem himself in the public eye? How could he explain it to her without her retreating again? He’d paid such a high cost to be able to lead the country again with a clear conscience. He had to make it mean something.

“Come sit down, sweetheart. You must be tired after being in court all afternoon,” Eliza interrupted his whirling thoughts. Her hand clasped his warmly as she tugged him into the parlor. He sat heavily on the sofa at her insistence, looking down at his little son trying to pull himself up using the table as support. “Do you want some tea? Something to eat?”

He shook his head. “Just, sit with me?” he requested.

“Of course.” She sat directly beside him, their legs pressed close to each other.

Her sudden nearness felt false and unearned. If her faith in him depended on his willingness to choose her over his own ambition, did that mean he would he lose her entirely if he accepted a position in the government in the coming months? The hopeful feeling he’d experienced on his way home disappeared like smoke carried away on the wind.

Later that night, after dinner and time with the children, he excused himself from the parlor to work on the seventh and last installment of his newspaper series. Writing overwhelmed him like a fever: isolating, selectively clarifying, and all consuming, rendering time meaningless. He worked a cramp out of his hand as he considered his next lines. “To disguise the poison, misrepresentation is combined with sophistry,” he continued, nodding to himself as the words flowed through him.2

A knock on his office door jolted him up from the page.

“Alexander? Am I disturbing you?” Eliza held a lamp and a basket of sewing in her hands as she hovered uncertainly on the threshold of his office.

“Of course not. Come in,” he invited. “Do you need something?”

She shook her head as she entered, walking over to the big armchair in the corner and placing the lamp on the side table. “The children are all in bed. I was going to darn some socks in the parlor, but then I thought perhaps instead I’d keep you company while you write. If you don’t mind, that is?”

“I love when you sit with me,” he told her honestly.

She smiled as she settled into the chair. The sick feeling from the afternoon began to creep over him again. He should have told her about his intention to accept the first position that presented itself with the army. After all these months, he’d finally found the right words, the ones that she had needed to hear from him to truly begin to move forward in their marriage, and they’d been insincere.

Well, partially insincere. Being a husband and a father were two of the most valuable and worthwhile positions he’d ever had the honor of holding. His private life was a source of immense happiness and fulfillment for him. For most men, perhaps that would be enough. But he wanted more than that.

He’d already sacrificed his private reputation for his public when he published the pamphlet. If he never again held public office, what would have been the point? He could have let the public slur against him stand and lived happily at home with Eliza and the children. He’d come too far to turn back now.

His ambition, his desire to make his mark on the world, still thrived within him, like a spark that refused to burn out no matter how long he starved it of oxygen. When the right opportunity presented itself, when the chance for honor and glory was offered, he knew what he would say. He yearned to leave a legacy that would echo through the ages like the great warriors and statesmen of old. He could no more refuse it than he could stop himself writing, or thinking, or breathing. That spark was a part of him: a part he’d thought Eliza knew and accepted when she’d agreed to marry him.

“What are you writing?” she asked as she skillfully maneuvered the darning needles around a massive hole in one of Pip’s socks.

He glanced down at the messy papers before him. “The last part of my essay series about the latest outrage from France. We cannot show weakness in the face of shameless disrespect. To do so will mean a return to the yoke of tyranny, mark my words.”

He looked back at his wife, who seemed to turn the answer over in her mind as she worked. Would she see, he wondered, would she understand how much this meant to him? That he would need to fight again to keep America free from the specter of French despotism?

“Why was it so bad, what they did?” Eliza asked. He recognized the question as an invitation to lay out his arguments, one of his favorite writing techniques. How many times had he sat his brilliant, politically disengaged wife down and forced her to listen to him debate the topic of the moment? When she was firmly convinced of his reasoning, he knew his piece was ready for publication.

He smiled weakly as he turned his attention back to the top of the essay. “Well, this piece is specifically refuting some of the recent arguments that have surfaced since France’s latest treachery became public knowledge. The first I consider was that the foreign minister was acting without the knowledge of the Directory,” he began.

Eliza nodded thoughtfully. “And you don’t believe that’s possible?”

“The heart of a nation, however noble, cannot negotiate with foreign powers. To allow France to claim that their foreign minister does not speak for her would shield every government from responsibility for its positions.”3

He watched her to see how the words landed, a pang forming in his chest as the moment washed over him.The scene was achingly familiar: Eliza sitting in the chair with her sewing as she let him talk himself through his argument. He could remember countless other nights that looked exactly like this one, stretching all the way back to the earliest days of the marriage. Tonight, though, it felt like nothing more than a mirage. Still, like a man dying of thirst in the desert, he stumbled onward towards the illusion of paradise, clinging desperately to the false hope that things could be as they once were.

1: Paraphrase from Alexander Hamilton to John Jay, 24 April 1798, in response to Jay’s two letters of 19 April 1798 2: Quote from The Stand VII, published 21 April 1798 3: Again, a paraphrase of Hamilton’s arguments in The Stand VII, published 21 April 1798

#hamilton fanfic #alexander hamilton #eliza hamilton #hamiliza #historical hamliza #reynolds pamphlet #forgiveness

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descendantofthesparrow · 4 years

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Remember your past life - Prince! Harry Hook x Chosen Knight! Reader - part 8

Ben called for a gathering in the front yard of the dorm castle. Uma, Harry, Gil, and (y/n) arrived to see Mal, Jay, Carlos, Evie, and Dude had already arrived.

“so wha’s all this” you turned to see Harriet and CJ walking up, CJ looking curious while Harriet looked bored.

“well,” Ben clapped his hands together, smiling at all of you. “every year the seniors take a trip to a selected kingdom for two weeks to explore it, and this year-”

“hold up” Uma interrupted “CJ ain't a senior” Ben shrugged “she would have stowed away in the car anyway, might as well avoid that” CJ grinned at that, puffing her chest.

continuing Ben said; “so we leave tomorrow at the crack of dawn” Mal's jaw dropped, she hated waking up early.

“Why so early” she whined, pouting at ben, ‘honestly, same’ you thought, dreading getting up that early. even though you did so regularly now.

“where are we even going?” Uma yelled out, Ben smiled.

“Saorsa”

you felt Harry stiffen next to you, Uma asking if he was okay. you...you had heard that name before.

and protect our land of Saorsa, from the dark one

a faint voice echoed in the back of your head, a man, the one you had been hearing for weeks now. ...king...king....the voice faded away, leaving you with another bout of deja vu. sighing you shrugged it off, focusing back on Ben, who was detailing the trip. but it was hard to pay attention, the only thing going through your mind was how familiar that kingdoms name was.

That name haunted you, making your insomnia rear its ugly head. Looking back at your clock, which read 3:04 am. Sighing you got up, careful not to wake up Jane.

Maybe a walk will help clear your head.

Walking around the gardens you spotted a figure sitting on a bench staring down at the pond. Walking closer, their head snapped up, whipping around to you. it was Harry, his ocean blue eyes staring right into yours.

"Couldn't sleep?" he asked, voice raspy with tiredness.

You nodded and carefully took a seat next to him. “meh too” he looked back at the pond, staring at his reflection in the water. “odd question but….did the name of that kingdom...Saorsa...seem” he hesitated, slightly curling in on himself, you leaned forward, staring at the side of his face. “familiar ta yeh?”

You nodded, looking up at the clear sky.

"So it ain't jus’ me?” Harry muttered, smiling slightly at the water.

You lifted an eyebrow at him. 'What about the name felt familiar to him?' you lifted your hands up, Harry glancing over as you did so.

why was it familiar to you? you signed, Harry shrugged.

“Ah dinnae ken,” Harry said, slipping into a thick Scottish tongue “it jus’ seemed so...I don’ know” Harry let his head fall between his shoulders.

“I really don’ know”

You understood what he was trying to say, oddly enough, that itch of familiarity at the back of your head, he must have had it too.

You felt compelled to tell Harry what had been happening to you. so you did.

"dreams-." You spoke softly, startling Harry. He looked up, surprise in his ocean orbs. he hadn't expected you to talk at that moment, but he urged you to go on.

you breathed deeply, hoping your voice would last long enough to get everything out. “i-i keep having...dreams...that seem like..m-mem-memories” you stuttered, willing yourself to continue, your throat was already becoming sore. “as if, I had lived them, and am only just now remembering them,” you muttered, looking at Harry, who was staring at you with wide eyes. “is...have you felt anything similar?” your voice died, out, but Harry heard every single word. he stared at you, silent.

you felt heat rush up your face, brushing a hair behind your ear. nevermind you signed, moving to stand and go back inside and sleep your embarrassment away its stupid

“no!” Harry yelped, latching onto your arm as you went to walk away. you whipped back around, Ocean blue once more meeting with (e/c), Harry blushed, releasing your arm “i-i know wha’ yeh mean, I’ve been...experiencing that too” he bit his lip, glancing up at you through his lashes. “it-it happened when yeh were fighting with Lonnie, you-you were in this...armor, and you were really, really good at fighting, ending the battle within a minute”

you nodded slowly, letting Harry babble away about this...memory like dream “then...then my dad?” Harry made it sound like a question as if he wasn’t sure “came up and, and said” Harry paused, his eyes shining “that I could stand to be a little more like you, that you had accomplished so much more than me, that you were impressive, that I needed to be better” he spat out bitterly.

you sat down beside him once more, scooting closer and letting your side press into his. you slowly reached out, gripping his grey hoodie. Harry took a shaky breath, smiling slightly at you “thank yeh (y/n)”

You smiled, You're welcome you signed, letting Harry’s hand slide up and slowly intertwine with yours.

The two of you just sat in silence, looking at your reflections in the pond "Wha bout ya?" Harry asked softly after a long silence, turning to look at you, tilting his head. you took a deep breath, you had a couple of memories like dreams but...you felt most comfortable sharing this. releasing Harry's hand, you started to tell harry about what had happened a couple weeks ago.

okay so remember when you were going on about that frog? Harry nodded “aye, the hot-footed one?” you nodded, well, as you were talking all of a sudden I thought please don’t make me eat another frog Harry blinked, “wha’?”

I know you hurriedly signed, let me get to the good part, anyway, so you were looking at flowers and taking pictures of them, I think you were doing research or something, and then you found the frog...and tried to make me eat it Harry burst out laughing, leaning forward.

“oh my god really?! what the fuck!?” you tapped Harry’s shoulders, a grin blooming on your face wait, it gets better Harry, still giggling, wiped his eyes and gestured for you to continue.

then you offered to buy me gourmet meat...and I agreed to eat the damn frog Harry burst out laughing once more, leaning back as he did so.You let out a yelp of surprise as Harry lost his balance and fell back into the grass. looking down, you saw Harry still giggling, his face red.

“oh-oh my god, that’s fucking funny” you slid off the bench, landing on your knees next to Harry “so” Harry snickered, finally catching his breath, looking up into your eyes. “it seems we’re havin’ dreams about each other huh? think it means somthin’?”

you shrugged, looking down at your hands in your lap. “Hey (y/n)?” Harry whispered, you looked at him, he was looking at the stars in the night sky “do yeh think...because that kingdom's name was familiar ta both of us...do yeh think that the answers to what’s been happening to us will be there?”

You stayed silent, unsure to the answer “I don’t know” you finally whispered, voice still horse from under use “I really don’t know harry”

he nodded, slowly sitting up, turning to look at you “it’s fine, well… I’m gonna go ta bed, night”

“night” you watched as Harry walked away, soon blending with the shadows around the dorm building. sitting in silence, looking at the stars, you thought to yourself, about Harry, about the dreams, about the kingdom. and about how each day...Harry was becoming something more than a friend. you sighed, brushing away those thoughts. you stood and made your way back to your room, after all, the class was leaving for the kingdom at dawn.

morning came way to fucking quickly, you were packing the little travel bag you had, moving quickly as the bus was leaving in 15 minutes.

Jane started to push you out of the room, you huffed, spinning around her and going at your own pace. stepping out into the hall, you bumped into a tall figure, Harry steadied you, giving you a sleepy smile.

“tired lass?” he asked, giving you his arm and leading you outside to the bus, you nodded, leaning your head on his shoulder “usually I don't wake up till 5” you muttered, your throat already getting used to talking slightly, you glanced at your watch which said 4:30 am

Harry snorted “well that’s half an hour isn’t it?” you shrugged, yawning as Harry led you out to the front yard, where a large limo bus was waiting. Ben had yet to arrive, along with everybody else, so you and Harry stood there for a little while, inching closer to the other for warmth on the chilly fall morning. moments later, Mal arrived being dragged by Evie. Jay, Carlos and Dude following soon after. Ben emerged a minute later, Fairy godmother trotting after him, speaking Frantically.

Ben smiled at you and Harry, nodding and mouthing ‘the bus will be heated’ you sagged into Harry in relief. Harriet and CJ came rushing out of the school, the usual grumpy look on the eldest Hook’s face. and finally. Jane, Audrey, Chad, and King Phillip, arrived, allowing Ben to official start the trip.

“Alright,” Ben said loudly, clapping his hands together to gather everyone's attention “now were gonna be on the bus for about an hour, once we get to the airport, we will be boarding the private jet, which we will be flying for 5 hours. okay?” you nodded, feeling Harry shift his shoulders as he shrugged, longer flight meant more sleep.

“Alright, everyone on board!” ben turned, hopping up the limo bus’ steps, mal going in right after him. soon enough, you all were packed in the bus, you and harry huddled in the back, two seconds away from falling asleep.

Fairy godmother stepped into the bus, talking with ben for a moment before doing a roll call. you sluggishly rose your hand as she called for you, flopping it back down onto Harry's torso. he let out a slight cough, side-eyeing you, you shrugged, burying deeper into his side.

Once everyone was accounted for, FG nodded at ben and the driver, leaving the bus and waving you all goodbye. Jane darling watched from the window, smiling.

a land of memories, waiting to be explored

---end of part 8---

@dpaccione

thx @marichat4lyf for beta reading

#Descendents #descendants #disney descendants #harry hook #harry hook descendants #harry hook x reader #harry hook imagine #remember your past life #breath of the wild #botw crossover

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taekookbook · 7 years

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BTS as Flirty Starbucks Guys - Jin

Request by@belikelasagna: Annyeonggg Request: Them as flirty Starbucks guyss Hope you don’t mind me requesting reeeally often!! :))

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This is it guys, this is the last one, I can’t believe it!🙊 😭

I had so much fun coming up with all their different scenarios and writing each member’s drabble🙌It made me realise how much I miss writing, so if anyone wants to request drabbles again in the future, I am 100% okay with it!😘

Jin’s took me the longest to write, but that’s only because I was away for a week after I had started his😅However, his is also the longest and I’m actually extremely proud with how it turned out🎉

Thank you as always for all the follows, likes and reblogs😘your support means the world to me and makes my heart so happy whenever I see the notifications💖

Let me know what you think and, as always, feel free to make requests (HERE)

I will update my Masterlist soon and I promise another update for Heartbreak Girl is coming, but I was busy working on this😅

Enjoy!✌

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Member: Jin

Length: 1966 words

“Okay, so who thought they had the right to put up a non-work related sign in my Starbucks?”

“Uh hyung, technically it’s not you–” Hoseok trails off at Jin’s look as he continues to scold his friends employees, with his arms crossed during their regular Friday morning staff meeting.

“As long as I am Manager, you are under my roof and will follow my rules and – oh my God Kim Taehyung if you want to live you will get off your phone right now, or I will end you and take away your cupcake decorating privileges!”

Not surprisingly it’s the threat of revoking his icing privileges that makes Taehyung stop texting and put his phone away with a pout, Jimin standing next to him patting his back as sympathetically as possible – which is quite hard when faced with a pouty 21 year old who looks like a grumpy 3 year old about to throw a temper tantrum – but he tries and Taehyung shoot him a small smile for that.

“Back on topic,” Jin sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger before taking a deep breath and looking at the 5 faces in front of him.

Wait, 5? That doesn’t seem right.

“Where’s Yoongi?” Jin is about 1000 percent done with today already, but as he’s about to take out his phone to call said missing person and tear him a new one because he just wants to get through one staff meeting in peace, Yoongi walks through the door – the usual frown on his face more prominent than normal.

“Before you say anything, I know I’m late and I apologise. It’s not my fault though because someone,” Yoongi is glaring at Hoseok who looks like he’s trying to wish himself invisible, “took my house keys when they left this morning because they seem to have lost theirs again, so I had to wait for the Building Manager to come lock up with his keys because frankly I don’t feel like being robbed. So, I’m sorry I’m late, but blame this idiot.” He’s stalked over to Hoseok now and smacks him on the back of the head before shuffling over to his spot behind the pastries and sitting down.

Everyone, excluding Yoongi and Hoseok, look back and forth between the two before Jin sighs for the umpteenth time and fights the urge to smack himself upside the head for ever thinking is was a good idea to hire his friends.

“Right, before my head explodes, here’s a quick summary of the important parts of the meeting: 1) Namjoon is not allowed to work with glasses or mugs anymore, Head Office is tired of having to restock our First Aid kit so frequently, 2) Someone has to supervise Taehyung while he decorates the cupcakes to make sure he doesn’t eat majority of the icing again, 3) I don’t care how much you hate making them, if someone asks for a Unicorn Frappuccino, you will make it. No lying and saying we’re out of product again Yoongi because then I will make sure you are the only one who makes them. And lastly 4) No putting up signs that are non-work related without asking me first. That’s that, everyone please carry on with work for today.” With that, Jin turned around to face you – who had walked in during the middle of his rant meeting – and smiled.

“Sorry about that, just finishing up a meeting. Welcome to Starbucks, what can I get you?”

Forcing yourself to hold back the laugh from what you were about to do, you kept your expression calm as you smiled and ordered, “A Grande Unicorn Frappuccino to go please.”

As soon as your order left your mouth, it seemed as though the 4 guys (you would call them men but they didn’t seem old enough to warrant that and they were much too attractive to be boys, because that word just made you think of your little brother) behind the counter and the 3 in the process of walking onto the floor all visibly flinched, before carrying on as normal and Jin – bless nametags – sighed very softly, about to key in your order.

“Wait,” You all but shouted, not wanting to make Jin have to cancel and start again.

He jumped slightly at your raised voice, not expecting it, but stopped nonetheless to look up at you (well, down, because damn he was tall) quietly waiting for you to continue.

“I was joking about the Unicorn Frappuccino. I know eavesdropping is terrible but I heard you mentioning it and I honestly couldn’t help myself. I thought it would be funny and lighten the atmosphere because it was so tense, but obviously I’m horrible at jokes and I’m sorry.” You bowed your head slightly in apology and let your hair fall forward to somewhat hide your rosy cheeks, but then you heard a light chuckle that soon turned in to laughter and you lifted your head to find all 7 guys looking at you in amusement or in the midst of laughter.

“Oh thank God.” Namjoon – seriously, bless nametags – sighed in relief and Jin turned to him while still chuckling and pointed a finger.

“Why are you thanking God? I’m the one who would’ve had to make it.”

“I know, but somehow we all end up covered in ‘Unicorn Blood’ regardless of who makes it and the less of that rubbish I have to avoid, the better.” He’s grinning now and the other guys are all nodding in agreement as Jin turns back to you, still smiling.

“Now that you’ve saved us from being covered in what we like to call Unicorn Blood, what can I get for you instead?”

You’re smiling now because for once your joke didn’t horribly backfire, and briefly glance up at the menu before deciding. “I’ll have a Tall White Hot Chocolate and one of those really cute cupcakes iced like a Bee.”

“Finally!” You jump at the shout coming from one of the guys on your side of the counter and let out a squeal that turns into another bout of laughter as the guy who shouted picks you up and spins you around. “Someone gets my creativity.”

You grin, patting him on the back when he puts you down, and turn back to Jin who is staring at the guy like an annoyed mom.

“Taehyung, how many times do I have tell you? You can’t hug every person who chooses one of the cupcakes you decorated.” He looks exasperated and Taehyung ducks his head bashfully.

“Sorry hyung, I just got excited.” He turns to you, bowing slightly, “Sorry uh Miss–”

“Y/N.” You cut in when he looks confused at how to address you.

“Right, sorry Y/N-ssi for hugging you without permission and out of the blue.” Taehyung shoots you a cute boxy grin and you can’t help but grin back.

“It’s okay Taehyung-ssi, for what it’s worth, a beautiful cupcake like that deserves a hug.” You emphasize the ‘Be’ in beautiful and Taehyung practically beams at you, blushing and bowing in thanks this time before continuing with sweeping the floor and singing softly to himself.

“That was very sweet of you Y/N-ssi.” Jin’s voice makes you turn back to him and he has such a fond smile on his face it makes you want to melt into a puddle of – well – you. “I love the way you espresso yourself.” He jokes with a wink and you can’t help but break into laughter.

“Does no one know how to read? I put that sign up for a reason, to escape this torture.” The grumpy looking guy behind the cakes and pastries moans and Jin suddenly rounds on him.

“Well I didn’t say you could put it up Min Yoongi, so suffer in silence.” He scolds but also blows him a kiss sarcastically and grumpy guy – Yoongi – rolls his eyes.

You quietly laugh to yourself while watching their exchange and can’t seem to keep your smile off your face even when you leave 10 minutes later, hot chocolate and cupcake in hand.

***

“Jungkook, how many times have I told you not to put the cleaning products on the top shelf when you know it’s Jimin’s turn to clean the next day?” Jungkook looks down at his feet as he gets scolded by Jin for the sixth time about the same thing as Jimin stands off to the side, grumbling to himself and Yoongi sits in his spot playing Angry Birds on his phone – a usual Thursday morning.

“I swear I heard you saying that to him last week, or am I experiencing déjà vu?” You joke lightly at the familiar scene before you and Jin turns to shoot you a smile before a pained look takes over.

“Nope, not déjà vu. I just keep having to repeat myself like a parrot and hope it’ll sink in.” Jin sighs dramatically and you, Yoongi, Jimin and Jungkook all breathe a laugh at his antics.

“It must be tough being a single parrot, raising six kids on your own.” You manage to keep a straight face when you speak up, although it’s hard to maintain as soon as Jin and Jimin start laughing at the bad pun, Jimin practically collapsing onto Jungkook who looks like he’s fighting a smile.

“You know, good help is Soy hard to find these days.” Jin cackles, crossing his arms and shaking his head like a tired parent and that makes you crack, bursting into giggles and having to lean on the counter for support.

“Two in one, I’m impressed.” You wheeze out and the smile Jin sends your way makes you catch your breath for something other than laughter.

“Hey Yoongi-hyung, didn’t you say the one day that if you hear another pun/pick up line thing, you’d quit?” Jungkook suddenly pipes up and Yoongi – who had been banging his forehead against the counter – whips his head towards him, hard stare already on his face.

“I did not.” He huffs, crossing his arms and hardening his glare even more.

“Uh hate to tell you hyung but, you kind of did.” Jimin speaks up and is almost instantly on the receiving end of Yoongi’s death stare.

“Can both you brats shut up? I didn’t mean it like that Jin-hyung.” He’s now facing Jin with an apologetic look on his face but Jin just shrugs.

“Go ahead, quit, or don’t. But don’t expect me to stop making jokes just because you don’t like them, because I won’t.” Jin retorts sassily and Yoongi opens and closes his mouth a couple times like he can’t quite get out what he wants to say, and in the end just settles for a nod before going back to Angry Birds on his phone.

Jimin and Jungkook start bickering again about Jungkook being a brat and putting stuff where Jimin can’t reach, and Jin turns back to you with a sigh and a soft smile.

“What can I get you Y/N-ah?” He asks sweetly and you return the smile, taking a deep breath before speaking.

“Your number would be nice because I kind of like you a latte.” A nervous giggle slips out and you look down at your hands, not able to meet his gaze.

“Well Y/N-ah, I think I’ll have to hold the sugar in my drinks from now on because that’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever heard.” Jin’s response makes you look up and you’re pretty sure you both have matching smiles on your faces right now.

“That’s like one of the most commonly used lines though.” Jungkook mumbles.

“I bet you wish you quit now.” Jimin whispers to Yoongi.

And Yoongi just groans softly and starts banging his forehead on the counter again.

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byamylaurens · 7 years

Text

Do All The Things: The Post Office Incident

Through no specific purpose or conscious design, one of my life mottoes seems to have become DO ALL THE THINGS (and probably do them Now, and definitely do them Well). There’s a reason I recount an incident in the introduction of the forthcoming Darkness & Good anthology whereby the Twinny One, Liana Brooks, tweeted that if you agree to a ‘small and simple’ Amy Laurens plan, you need to realise that you’ve just agreed to a ten-year magnus opus complete with references and footnotes.*

However. Being that I am not actually Superwoman (yet), trying to Do All The Things (Now + Well) comes with inherent perils and pitfalls. Mostly because, in order to actually attempt to DO all the things, my time/life/sleeping/eating/oxygenation is rigorously scheduled and ordered, because I MUST USE EVERY MINUTE WELL.

And yes. I have spontaneity scheduled as well.**

One of the most evident pitfalls, then, is that when every minute is booked out, Things That Go Wrong can often have a bigger snowball effect than they ought (which, yes, means that sometimes I overreact way more than I ought. Sorry ‘bout that *cringe*). Sometimes this leaves me feeling grumpy and put out that the universe is not magically aligning to enable my quest for superheroism; but other times it really just gets to the point of absurdity and there’s nothing you can do but laugh.

I’ve lost my wallet. This, in and of itself, is not an entirely unexpected thing. For someone whose time is so rigorously plotted, you’d think that a) I’d be prone to encouraging anything that would increase my efficiency (spoiler: I am) and that b) this would include having set places to leave things like wallets so they didn’t inconveniently disappear at regular (scarily regular) intervals. AH HA HA. You’re so cute.

Look, I have to have SOMETHING that prevents sheer hubris, okay? Misplacing keys, wallets, hairbrushes and sanity are this something, as well as my persistent inability to stop trying to kill myself with sugar and my inability to put myself to bed on time. I am secretly five. Whatcha gonna do about it.

Okay, so, wait. I have points here. My wallet is lost. Usually this is not a terribly stressful thing, because I know inherently that it is Around The House Somewhere, and lo, it usually is, and this turns out Fine. However. It’s actually been nearly four weeks (probably five or six by the time I post this) since I last saw my wallet, and it’s becoming moderately inconvenient. I can only say ‘moderately’ because of this marvellous and terrifyingly-possibly-maybe-insecure invention called my phone, which has a bank app on it and the ability to connect with things through NFC***, where ‘things’ in this instance means ‘payment machines that accept paywave’. Paywave on my phone, LIFE SAVER.

Except.

So there’s this post office just down from school, right? The people who run it are lovely, and I taught their child once upon a time, and said child was lovely and so the lovely people with the lovely child think *I* am lovely,**** and so visiting there is an experience of mutual loveliness. Also I run a not-a-small-business-it’s-just-a-hobby-I-swear with my husband sewing baby stuff, like dribble bibs and burp cloths and portable play mats and scrap bunnies. Pretty, and something I can create that doesn’t a) involve a computer screen and b) won’t be destroyed within a matter of hours, unlike, say, cake. (Though cake is pretty awesome still, let’s face it.)

So. Sew? So. Post office. Baby goods that need posting. A missing wallet. My time scheduled to the minute. Lovely post office people. A phone I can make payments on. Probably we can see where this is going, if we pretend my life is a novel, but I don’t generally actually go around pretending my life is a novel, so I didn’t see the inevitable conflict. Also, I’d experienced this IDENTICAL set-up numerous times before and everything had been fine.

Wait, that’s how jokes work, isn’t it? Round 1: all good. Round 2: all good. Round 3: HA HA YOU JUST SET YOURSELF ON FIRE.

*sigh* I knew my life was a joke.

In this instance, ‘setting myself on fire’ involved having a parcel that needed to go out urgently because the not-a-client-it’s-a-hobby had paid extra for express post, and a phone that randomly, for no apparent reason, chose that moment to stop allowing me to use it to pay for things.

Scan phone. Screen: Processing. Me: Nonchalant about the big green circle with the tick that’ll come up in just a second to show I’ve paid.

Just a second. Any moment now.

Okay wait just let me try that again, no one saw the big red circle with the cross, we’re good.

Aaaaany minute now.

Yup. Uh huh. Lookit me pay for things on my phone!

…

*sigh*

Spoiler: the phone did not pay for things.

Additional spoiler: the lovely people, because they are lovely, took the parcel anyway and assured me they would post it, but that I needed to come back tomorrow with cash.

…

CASH???????????? I am paying for things with my PHONE, and you want CASH??? This is the financial equivalent of asking a hyperdrive space pilot who hops back and forth between here and Alpha Centuri in less time than it takes to blink if she could maybe just bring the 1950s Toyota next time. CASH?! What even IS this thing of which you speak???

True confession: I once had to pay for $2.19 of groceries on card, because I didn’t have the cash.

Additional true confession: For several years that was a good story, until I paid for 39c on my phone at a grocery store two weeks ago.

BUT. Lovely post office people were doing me a HUGE favour here, and I was pretty epically embarrassed to be taking such advantage of their apparent good will, so cash it was, and tomorrow it was, because good heavenly frogs if not being able to pay on the day was embarrassing, not paying for a week was exponentially more so.

…Do we remember that bit about my time? And scheduling? What do we think, lovely reader? Did Amy have time in her schedule AT ALL the following day to get to the post office before it closed? Anything? Even half a thirty-second minute?

AH HA HA HA HA of course not.

And because ‘Think Things Through’ is not actually an item on my to-do list, did Amy remember to do this? Spoiler: No. No she did not. Instead, she realised AFTER she arrived at work that morning that a) the money was due, b) the husband had not magically acted as an intermissiary between Amy and the ATM, and c) there was no time to rectify either of these situations.

Spoiler: This story has a happy ending.

Additional spoiler: It involves my sister.

See, due to the aforementioned Lack Of Time, I’d already arranged for my sister to pick my son up from school, because it was Swimming Day and also Meetings After School Day and, my super powers being as yet disappointingly underdeveloped, I was not able to attend meeting, collect son, and then be on time for swimming. (As it turns out I’m not so good at just ‘collect son, be on time for swimming’, let alone adding in the first, HAR.)

So I called sister. PLEASE, PLEASE DEAREST OF ALL DEAR SISTERS, I probably began.

What do you want? she probably replied suspiciously.

I explained my predicament, promised I would immediately transfer her the money required, and she, because she is awesome, said that she would make it happen.

Apparently ‘making it happen’ involved making her husband do it (thanks, husband-of-sister!), which, I can only imagine the experience from the postal workers’ end: Hi, I’m a random guy who is not the husband of that disorganised-but-apparently-lovely woman you know, but here’s her money, because I’m here to SETTLE HER ACCOUNT.

(I don’t know what that’s in capitals. It just felt ominous.)

I’d like to pretend that this post has a sensible, thematic resolution, but—No, wait. I’d like to pretend that this post has a sensible, thematic resolution. There. Okay? Good.

Possibly we could thematise that Amy should not be allowed out of doors on her own. Maybe that if you want to schedule your life to the minute, not losing Important Goods like wallets should be a priority. Maybe that Having Friends And Family To Rely On Is Necessary When You Are Trying To Go Insane. Possibly that it’s not actually POSSIBLE to Do All The Things. Definitely that When Things Explode In Your Face, You Should Turn Them Into A Blog Post Instead Of Crying About Them.

Look, life’s crazy, okay? And if, like me, you’re trying to do too much, it’s just about insanity. Things are going to break. YOU are probably going to break. But you know what? That’s okay. Because really, we’re all just broken weirdos desperately trying to pretend the spandex is a superhero costume. It’s all good.

And when all else fails, laugh.******

* I like footnotes.*****

** I really wish I was joking. Alack. (Also, a lack. Of time, common sense, humility, you know. WHEE. SEE ME BE SUPERWOMAN, RAWR!!)

*** NFC. Not for consumption? Not for couples? Network for coupling, in the strictly technological sense? Nice friendly chickens. This seems most plausible. I’m calling it my Nice Friendly Chickens from now on. As in: Oh, I need to make a payment? No worries, let me just turn the Nice Friendly Chickens on on my phone!

**** I am lovely, of course, but the funny thing about people is that the more lovely they are, the more lovely they tend to assume you are. Yay humanity, etc.

***** Rather a lot. More so in this post than usual.

****** Though probably not at a funeral. That would be moderately insensitive.*******

******* Unless of course the speaker made a joke. Then it would probably be insensitive not to laugh.

Do All The Things: The Post Office Incident was originally published on Amy Laurens

#amused #Amy Laurens #Do All The Things #Warning: this post contains incoherency.

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