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doudecim · 3 years

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I want to say that 99% of the fics here are on FF.net for I have only recently discovered the wonders of AO3, and I still didn’t dig deep in there to find all the HitsuKarin goodies.

That being said, I will put the list under the cut because this will be one very long post. So, I hope you all enjoy it!

one-shots

A Constant Fascination, by back-in-a-bit. — 'Colour me blood red passionately.' Hitsugaya makes it his personal mission to get Karin to blush. Pity it's easier said than done. In fact, it might just take him a lifetime. [rated T]

A Fall in the Fall, by MeteorLeopard. — This was ridiculous! There she was, just looking at the fish, and the next thing she knows, she's up in a tree being held against her will! And it's all his fault! [rated T]

a little suffering is good for the soul, by the milliner’s rook. — Future fic. If there are stupider ways to get courted, Karin can't think of them. [rated K+]

A Woman Scorned, by Glowing Blue. — The twisted fairy tale of Karin finding her own invite to the ball, though she's hardly looking for a Prince Charming. [rated T]

but leave the soul alone, by the milliner’s rook. — AU. Death, it's catching. Or: the one where Toushirou and Karin share night shifts at the hospital. And coffee. Terrible, terrible coffee. [rated K+]

Collection, by ichilover3. — A drabble/oneshot dump. Shenanigans, silliness, and sexy-times abound. Also alliteration, apparently. [rated M]

crawl into your shadow, by the milliner’s rook. — AU. There's a witch in this sleepy little village now that goes by the name of Karin, but nothing has changed since she's arrived. Not really. [rated T]

Delirous, by carved in the sand. — Matsumoto finds her captain to be a lovestruck teenage boy. [rated T]

duckling theory, by the milliner’s rook. — The first thing Karin notices is watermelon. Looking back, maybe it should have been startling green eyes. [rated K]

For You, by Glowing Blue. — Death had never been the paradise everyone wished it to be. But then they found each other. [rated T, two-shot.]

frostbitten, by the milliner’s rook. — Set during the time skip. The winter they meet is unkind with snow. [rated K+]

Frozen Moments, by CrazyAce'n'PokerFace. — 101 drabbles/one-shots that give a glimpse into Toushirou and Karin's life together. A love story told in snapshots. [rated K+]

funny valentine, by SebonzaMitsuki27. — I'll be yours if you'll be mine. [rated K+]

humour me, by SebonzaMitsuki27. — True love's kiss. That ought to do it. [rated K+]

i’m high on believing, by the milliner's rook. — For the record, he prefers his plain black shoes to her fancy red sneakers. [rated K+]

ice breaker, by SebonzaMitsuki27. — AU. There are better ways to get found out than making out in a closet and tumbling onto the ground. [rated T]

if my heart was a compass you’d be north, by SebonzaMitsuki27. — Future fic. Give me a reason to believe. [rated K+]

In Every Season, by Adobo-chan. — A collection of HitsuKarin oneshots. [rated T]

In the Dark, by ichilover3. — It really wasn't anyone else's business. She should be allowed to fornicate with midgets if she wanted to. [rated T]

innocent guilt, by SebonzaMitsuki27. — AU. Oh, I know! You're a tramp with wings! [rated K+]

Juxtaposition, by Lady Azar de Tameran. — Something within Hitsugaya Toushirou thinks that he may have met his match. [rated T]

keep me in your pocket, by SebonzaMitsuki27. — Set during the timeskip. Don't stay out of touch, okay? [rated K+]

Kuchiki Rukia, the Glorified Courier, by MeteorLeopard. — Delivering super-top-secret messages between dimensions is tough work; believe me, I know. If it weren't such a rewarding experience I'd downright refuse to play the messenger. Honestly. [rated K+]

liliputians, by SebonzaMitsuki27. — Future fic. It's alright, kid. I'm short too. [rated K+]

Lovely Complex, by Unknown lazy ass. — She slyly grinned, “Wow, you really are head over heels for me, aren’t you Toushirou?” [rated K+]

Momo knows Best, by MeteorLeopard. — Sometimes having a meddling older sister... sucks. [rated T]

of halos and wings, by SebonzaMitsuki27. — Future fic. He had betrayed Hinamori with nothing but his heart. [rated T]

Old Haunts, by the milliner's rook. — Future fic. You were just gone, Toushirou, what was I to think? I thought—I thought you'd come back, and you did, twenty years too late. [rated T]

Peeping Tom, by Glowing Blue. — The love story of Hitsugaya and Karin, as seen from open windows and heard through thin walls. "Hisagi's eyes had a tendency to stray." AU. [rated T]

phantasmagoria, by SebonzaMitsuki27. — Flickering through black and white, they find their perfect shade of grey. [rated K+, two-shot.]

put down your sword and crown, by the milliner's rook. — AU. When her old man dies to save Ichi-nii's life, everything changes. Days after the funeral, the word Quincy is spoken for the first time, and at five years old, Karin becomes defined by it. [rated K+]

Red, The Colour of Despair, by the milliner's rook. — It was strange how much difference one colour could make. [rated K+]

Revenants, by carved in the sand. — Hitsugaya ponders the ghosts that haunt the girl he still loves. [rated T]

Sports and Sex are Universal (but never the twain should meet), by back-in-a-bit. — Toushirou gives Karin a flat look. "I'm not high-fiving you over sex," he says. [rated M]

Subtle, by nublados. — Toshiro comments on the subtlety that is Karin Kurosaki. [rated K+]

The Art of Asking, by Felix02. — He should have known that her father wouldn't be able to keep a secret, especially from one of his daughters. [rated T]

The Art Of Getting By, by the milliner's rook. — AU. There's some difficulty between juggling flirting, killing Hollows and getting to class on time with the hottest guy in high school, but Karin's certain she'll get the hang of it eventually. [rated T]

The Staircase not Taken, by MeteorLeopard. — Perhaps it was a good thing that the stairs were destroyed, her brother acting demented and a violent fight going on without her just upstairs. After all, the visitor who happened to drop by was worth the wait. [rated T]

the winter sun smiled for things to come in spring, by the milliner's rook. — What is it with you! You're either too young or too old! What the hell! [rated T, two-shots.]

Urahara's Lawn Mowing Service, by MeteorLeopard. — Incorrect phone numbers are a messy business. Even messier though is the business that happens after said incorrect phone call. "Fine, but I bet your girlfriend didn't call back because your lawn needs to be mowed." [rated T]

velocity, by SebonzaMitsuki27. — Aim for the goal, and don't look back, no matter what. [rated T]

where angels fear to tread, by SebonzaMitsuki27. — They belong in hell. [rated K]

You Taste Like Birthday, You Look Like New Year, by the milliner's rook. — Future fic. She likes his hands, Toushirou notices. Loves them, in fact. [rated M]

complete

lune, by SebonzaMitsuki27. — AU. Me and you and moonlight shivers. [[rated T] other main pairings are ByakuyaHisana, ShinjiHiyori and UlquiorraNel, so beware that HitsuKarin is not the only focus in this one.]

Waterlogged, Wind-chapped, and Sun-bleached. — They grow up together, and the slow progression of their relationship shapes their world. AU. [rated T]

Wendybird Chronicles, by the milliner's rook. — She wonders if they ever had a chance. If they might have missed it, somehow. [rated K+]

on going

Wrong Number, by Lunatasha. — Unknown (10:22): So! I just read all of the conversations I had last night while I was out drunk and thoroughly embarrassing myself and please let me apologise for bothering you (especially as I think you were working if you were in your office?) last night. I mean in hindsight I probably should have stopped messaging you as soon as it was clear you weren't who I was looking for, but drunk me apparently hates sober me so yeah, I'm sorry. That being said thank you again for helping me out even though I must have been bothering you, I appreciate it. [rated T]

Only in Dreams, by TullyBlue. — Brother, she had called him, but he spent the entire meal acting like she was a ghost. Eating with the twins, he can’t even imagine being that cold to his sisters. Yuzu’s laughter brightens his day and that admiring glint in Karin’s eye, that he only catches every once in a while, means the world to him. The so-called brother in his dreams makes Ichigo’s skin crawl. Everything else, though, he wants to see more of, to know more about, to understand. Old, wood floors, a spacious room, flowing black robes, and those swords... [[rated T] other main pairings are IchigoRukia, UryuuChad, GanjuHanatarou, so beware that HitsuKarin is not the only focus in this one.]

abandoned or on permanent hiatus, probably won’t ever post a new chapter again

Blizzard Blues, by the milliner's rook. — Future fic. I heard your brother had an eight pack, Captain Hitsugaya! That he was shredded! [rated T]

Catalyst, by Etiena. — With captain-level shinigami in her family, it is no surprise that Kurosaki Karin has potential. But it isn't family which triggers her change. Instead, a chance encounter with a young shinigami captain leads to startling revelations. [rated K+]

Go Against the Grain, by Adobo-chan. — Old law deems that only a son may become the Kurosaki House's next leader. Born from this ancient tradition, a tragic betrayal and her mother's sacrifice, Karin is brought up as Kurosaki Kazuto, the 29th head of the family. [rated T]

oh sinful rose, by the milliner's rook. — AU. Five years after the monarchy is overthrown, a noble finds a forgotten princess in chains. DISCONTINUED. [rated T]

Quandary, by Glowing Blue. — Funnily enough, meeting such a spirited single mother was actually part of his job description. AU. [rated T] (I love this one so much!)

Roommate For Sale, by SavageTrickster. — AU. There are many things in life that she didn't know, but the one thing Kurosaki Karin was certain of is that her overprotective brother is going to blow his top when he meets her new roommate.

#jesus fucking christ this is so long #hitsukarin #karin kurosaki #toshiro hitsugaya #bleach #fic rec #i have literal 0 self love

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sleepyxcoffee · 3 years

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@sugar-and-spice-witcher-bingo

Prompt: Soulmate Title (optional): Three Wolves Relationships (romantic/platonic/etc): Geralt/Eskel/Lambert Rating: T Content Warnings: None Summary: It doesn’t take long for Geralt and Eskel to realise they’re soulmates, but it takes many more years for Lambert to accept all three of them are bonded.

Read on AO3

Leah and Alana, this is your fault.

It doesn’t take long for Geralt and Eskel to realise they’re soulmates.

They share a dorm from the moment Eskel arrives at Kaer Morhen, after all, and as roommates, they quickly become familiar with the sight of each others’ naked bodies. They are ten when Eskel notices a mark appear on Geralt’s left shoulder blade. It’s one of the few marks Eskel has ever seen; the older boys guard theirs jealously, and witchers lose their marks during their Grasses.

“Geralt!” Eskel gasps, amazed. Still sluggish with sleep, Geralt twists around from where he is putting on a tunic, bright green eyes peeking out under a curly mop of auburn hair.

“Huh?”

“Your mark!” Eskel bounds off the bed, running towards his friend. He traces the three howling wolves’ heads with reverence. Soulmarks have no colour, but Eskel can tell from the shades of grey that the three wolves are three different colours. The largest is plain grey, with the second largest so pale it is barely shaded. The third, smallest wolf is dark, nearly black. The three wolves are arranged close together, with their noses touching as their heads are thrown back in a howl.

Geralt tries to look at his own shoulder blade and fails. “I can’t see it!” he complains. Eskel puts down his hand, feeling rather strange. Out there, somewhere, is Geralt’s soulmate. He won’t have the same spot in Geralt’s life anymore if he ever meets them, but Eskel pushes the thought away. He wants his friend to be happy.

“Hang on, I think I have a looking glass.” Eskel kneels by his trunk and digs through his meagre belongings. He pulls out a tunic for the day and takes his sleep shirt off as Geralt potters behind him. Suddenly, Geralt freezes, all sounds of movement ceasing.

“Eskel,” Geralt says slowly, “what does my mark look like?”

“Three howling wolves,” Eskel replies instantly. It has been mere minutes since Eskel first saw Geralt’s mark, and yet it is already imprinted in his mind.

“In different shades of grey?” Geralt asks.

“Yes - wait, how do you know this?”

Slowly, as though afraid he is about to startle, Geralt approaches Eskel. He places his hand against Eskel’s right shoulder blade. “Because it’s the same as yours,” Geralt says simply, and suddenly, Eskel’s world feels bright.

***

Lambert knows from the moment he arrives in Kaer Morhen that Eskel and Geralt are soulbonded. It is rare, after all, for witchers to know their mates, and even rarer for their mates to be each other. So even though their marks have been wiped clean by the Trials, Lambert knows that the older witchers are soulmates.

It makes him jealous. What must it be like to have someone always at your back, to put you above all others? It’s a bond that Lambert can only dream of. Even at the young age of ten, Lambert has no illusions. He’s going to become a witcher, and witchers rarely lead happy lives. Whoever his soulmate is is better off dead than to be bound by Destiny herself to a witcher.

Besides, even a soulbond isn’t enough to guarantee happiness. His parents were soulmates, after all, and it didn’t stop his pa from beating his ma. It didn’t stop his pa from beating him.

So when Lambert’s mark emerges one morning, he thinks nothing of it. He stares at his chest bitterly; leave it to Destiny to put his mark somewhere as glaringly obvious and cheesy over his Melitele damned heart. Three howling wolves. What kind of soulmark is that, anyway?

Lambert ignores it and puts on his shirt, and goes to training. It doesn’t take him long to forget what it ever looked like once he loses his mark to his Trials.

***

Geralt is the first one to see Lambert’s mark.

Lambert is careful; he keeps his shirt on around others, and bathes facing the wall, almost as if he is ashamed of his mark. But one day in the hot springs Lambert is facing the entrance at the same time Geralt comes in, and he spots the three wolves on Lambert’s chest.

Geralt almost trips over his own feet. A thirteen year old Lambert catches his eye, scowls, and scampers away. Bath forgotten, Geralt immediately goes to find Eskel.

Eskel is sitting in their room, sharpening his swords. They had made a half-hearted attempt at maintaining an air of distance while they trained, but once they became full witchers, they had given up altogether and started sharing a room. As Geralt enters, Eskel wrinkles his nose.

“Geralt, you smell vile. Go take a bath,” Eskel grumps. Geralt ignores him in favour of swooping forwards and kissing Eskel excitedly. Eskel makes a surprised noise and puts away his sword.

“Eskel,” Geralt says excitedly, “we have a soulmate.”

“Well, yes. Each other.”

“No. A third.”

Eskel immediately perks up. “Really? Who? In Kaer Morhen?”

Geralt nods, grinning excitedly. “That angry little trainee. Lambert.”

“Lambert? He’s tiny!”

“I know,” Geralt says. He sits down, suddenly serious. “We should wait to tell him. He’s too young.”

“After his first year as a witcher,” Eskel suggests. “He’ll be old enough to choose then.” Their doubt lies unspoken in the air. There is every chance Lambert will reject him; his cynicism is known to all. And while Eskel has always been more than enough for Geralt - well. There is enough love in him for another.

“After,” Geralt agrees. There is risk to that, of course; by then, Lambert’s mark will have been taken by the Trials, but Geralt has faith. He will always have faith.

***

After doesn’t look very pretty.

Lambert is one of the last witchers to ever be created. Mere days after his Trials, Kaer Morhen is sacked.

Geralt and Eskel walk through the keep in a daze, their hands joined. They come across their brothers’ bodies, piling them into a mass pyre. Neither dare speaks. Lambert stands by them with what few witchers remain in silence.

There is enough left to Kaer Morhen that Lambert can finish the last vestiges of his training and set out on the Path. Their mages may be dead, but Lambert is done with his Trials; he need only hone his skills, which Geralt and Eskel gladly help him with. Geralt sends a thousand grateful prayers to Melitele. He doesn’t know how he would cope if either of his soulmates had died.

When Lambert is ready to leave the broken keep, they take him aside. “Lambert,” Eskel says, “we need to talk to you.”

Lambert eyes them suspiciously. “Yeah?”

Geralt hesitates for a moment. “Your soulmark,” he finally says. “It was three wolves.” Lambert stiffened.

“I don’t have a soulmark,” Lambert snaps. “I lost it with the Trials.”

“Before,” Geralt says. “I saw it. Once.”

“Three howling wolves, of three different sizes, in three different shades,” Eskel adds quietly. Lambert scoffs.

“Do you gossip about everybody’s soulmarks? Those things are private, you know.” Geralt ignores the quip. He knows Lambert; he knows (knew) all of his brothers, but he has kept an eye on Lambert especially.

“Not everyone’s,” Eskel says quietly. “Just yours.”

Lambert eyes him warily. “What, were you placing bets or something?”

“I told Eskel about your soulmark because it’s the same as ours.”

For a moment, there is silence. Lambert stares at Geralt in disbelief. “That’s not possible,” he stammers. “You can’t have two soulmates.”

“You can.” Eskel speaks slowly, hesitantly. Geralt trades a worried look with him. One wrong word, and this could all fall apart. “It’s happened, in the past. I know it seems impossible, but it happens, and we can make it work.”

Lambert stays quiet, staring at Geralt and Eskel with an unreadable expression.

“We didn’t want to rush you,” Geralt says. “You were young when I saw it, and we didn’t want to pressure you.”

“But you’re older now,” Eskel adds. “You can make those decisions - if you want us or not, if you want to take us to bed -”

Something in Lambert’s expression breaks, and he throws down the sword he had been holding. “Fuck you,” he snarls. Eskel reels back in shock. “Fuck both of you - how could you - I trusted you!”

“Lambert, I’m sorry we didn’t tell you -” Geralt begins, but Lambert cuts him off furiously.

“How dare you.” Lambert starts pacing anxiously. “Is it because you feel sorry for me? It’s pity, isn’t it? Little Lambert, all alone, nobody could ever love him, not even his soulmate, so you pretend we can be a happy little menage-a-trois.”

“Lambert,” Eskel tries, “Lambert, we’re not lying -”

“Fuck you,” Lambert growls. He picks his sword off the ground and stomps out of the keep, leaving Eskel and Geralt behind in the dust.

The two older witchers stand in silence, shocked. Then Eskel moves to go after Lambert, but Geralt shoots out and catches his arm. “No,” Geralt says quietly. “He doesn’t want us. Leave him be.”

“Geralt -”

“I’m sorry.” Eskel tilts his head.

“Huh?” Geralt refuses to meet his soulmate’s eyes.

“I’m sorry. This is all my fault.”

“No it isn’t. I was the one who said we should wait -”

“No.” Geralt strides to a window and, stepping around a pile of rubble, leans out. Eskel comes up behind him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“Geralt?”

Suddenly, Geralt hits the wall, shouting angrily. Eskel blinks, but stands his ground. Geralt leans back against the wall and slides down into a seated position, burying his head between his knees. One hand has bleeding knuckles, and the other grips tightly onto a piece of debris.

“I’m sorry,” Geralt repeats, muffled. “I - this is all my fault.”

“Geralt, wait,” Eskel says. Geralt ignores him and gets back on his feet, striding out of the room. Alone, Eskel groans, pinching the bridge of his nose.

It wasn’t supposed to go like this.

***

The next winter is awkward.

Lambert plays Avoid-Geralt-and-Eskel, instead spending all his time with Aubry and Gweld and Remus, and sometimes even Vesemir and Rennes, which Eskel thinks shows how truly desperate to avoid his soulmates Lambert is. Vesemir pulls Eskel aside one day to ask what happened, and when Eskel explains, Vesemir only sighs. “I’m sorry,” is all he says, before walking away.

Eskel tries to talk to Lambert a few more times. Geralt ignores Lambert and steers clear of his path. It is, quite possibly, the worst winter Eskel has ever had.

Come spring, all the witchers go their separate ways. With their numbers decimated by the pogroms, they can’t afford to stick together anymore - they have to spread out if they want any chance at keeping the Continent safe.

The next winter is slightly better. Lambert (reluctantly) speaks to Eskel when he is spoken to, and Geralt stops avoiding Lambert like the plague. For Eskel, it is enough; he can live without one soulmate’s love, so long as he knows both are safe and alive.

(It’s a lie, and Geralt knows it too. Destiny has decreed it so.)

In a few winters, the memory of their fateful conversation has been buried. Then Eskel gets his scars, and he wonders if Lambert would have grown to love him without them.

***

Lambert pines from a safe distance.

Geralt and Eskel are perfect together. Even if they were soulmates - well. It’s not Lambert’s place to intrude on a love that beautiful. Lambert is harsh edges and cruel words and a sour heart; he deserves no love. Besides, with how quickly they dropped the topic, it really does make Lambert think that it was all a ploy to pity fuck Lambert, which, although Lambert won’t admit it, hurts.

***

“I hate Destiny,” Geralt says to Eskel one day over a game of Gwent. Eskel’s hand hovers over a card.

“Why?” Eskel asks, although he knows the answer. Geralt doesn’t reply, and motions for Eskel to play his turn. Geralt completely trounces Eskel, which is no surprise, and although Eskel wins the next round, Geralt ultimately wins the game.

As they shuffle their cards, Geralt speaks again. “She,” he says slowly, “has given me a lover who will never love me back.” Eskel frowns.

“There’s still a chance,” Eskel replies.

Geralt shakes his head. “Lambert hates us.”

“Lambert hates himself,” Eskel corrects. “He thinks we’ll never love him.”

“But I do,” Geralt hisses.

“As do I.”

Geralt plays a spy. Eskel responds with a decoy. They continue their game in silence. At the end of the first round, Eskel finally speaks again.

“I’m sorry.” Geralt tilts his head.

“For what?”

Eskel sets down his cards, scarred brow furrowed. “I think he’s disgusted by me. By -” Eskel makes an aborted wave at his scars.

Geralt immediately stands, and strides around the table to seat himself on Eskel’s lap. Wrapping his arms around Eskel’s neck, he places a gentle kiss on his lips. “It’s not your fault” Geralt says softly. “You’re worthy of love.”

“And so is Lambert,” Eskel says, muffling his words in Geralt’s neck.

Outside the door, unbeknownst to either of them, Lambert sinks to his knees.

***

Lambert doesn’t bring it up again until next winter, and even then, only under the influence of his specially brewed White Gull.

“Did you really mean it?” he slurs as he throws a dice.

“Mean what?” Eskel asks from the floor. Geralt makes a happy humming sound as he tries to build a structure out of spoons, dice forgotten. Lambert can’t find it in him to remind Geralt it’s his turn to roll.

“What you said.”

“We say a lot of things. Well,” Eskel adds after a moment of thought, “not Geralt.”

“Hmm.”

“Something like… thirty years ago,” Lambert says. “After the pogroms.”

Eskel slowly sits up. Geralt abandons his spoons.

“Yes,” Eskel whispers. His voice is barely perceptible; only a witcher could hear it.

“Huh.” Lambert stands. Geralt follows him with wary eyes.

“Where are you going?” he asks as Lambert strides out of the room. Lambert scoffs and throws a look over his shoulder.

“To your bed,” he says as if it is the most obvious thing in the world. He tries to calm his pounding heart. Eskel and Geralt’s expressions are hilariously startled. Then they scramble up and run after Lambert.

That night, Lamber finds himself safely embraced by two warm bodies. In the morning, he awakens still in the middle, and has a brief moment of panic before he is comforted by two familiar scents and two steadily beating hearts.

Then Lambert remembers how he got there, and he panics anyway. He tries to worm out of their hold, but Geralt tightens his grip and grumbles in his sleep. Eskel stirs lazily, blinking awake.

“Lambert?” he asks, and Lambert panics just a bit more. He braces himself, and Eskel says, “Where are you going?”, catching him completely off guard.

“I -” Lambert blinks. “Are you… okay with me here?”

A strange expression crosses Eskel’s expression, and Lambert remembers the conversation he overheard last winter. “It’s okay if you don’t want to be here,” Eskel says, voice tight.

“No - I do. But I don’t want to intrude.”

“You’re not intruding on anything,” Geralt rumbles. Lambert starts - he hadn’t realised Geralt is even awake.

“We want you here,” Eskel agrees, and Geralt presses a gentle kiss to his collarbone.

***

“What made you say yes?” Eskel asks one day in bed, later that winter. They are both wound around Geralt, trading kisses as Geralt contents in their warmth.

“I -” Lambert stops and shakes his head. “It’s stupid.” Geralt shoots up to catch a kiss from both of them before returning to resting his forehead against Eskel’s chest, hand intertwined with Lambert’s.

“You can tell us,” Eskel prods, and Geralt hums in agreement. He turns around to face Lambert, resting a hand gently on his cheek. Lambert nestles into it. He has learned that while Eskel speaks his love in words, Geralt shows his through touch, and he sees Geralt’s silent display of support for what it is.

“I overheard you last winter,” Lambert admits.

Eskel frowns. “You overheard us? What did you - oh.” Geralt’s eyes widen.

“When you first told me, I thought you just wanted sex,” he continues.

“Never,” Geralt promises.

“We want you here because we love you,” Eskel says, and even though Lambert has heard Eskel say it before, it doesn’t fail to make his heart skip a beat, knowing those words are meant for him.

Lambert can almost feel his missing soulmark burn.

#the witcher #my writing #pickleship #geralt/eskel/lambert #geralt of rivia #witcher eskel #witcher lambert

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queerchoicesblog · 3 years

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The Nightingale

Hiya, folks! So, as previously announced, the wlw writing projectcontinues after a break with a miniseries set back in the City of Lights - & Love - at the time of the Belle Epoque, at the turn of the century.

The story finale is served: hope that you enjoyed the journey so far.

Tagging: @scottishqueer

Previous chapters: Paris, Paris ; One Night At The Moulin Rouge , The Handkerchief, The Cage of Fools, La Vie Bohème, Broken Dreams

Hope you enjoy it: if you do, please consider spreading the word!

__________________________

It takes some time to persuade Élodie that my idea could actually work. Before sharing it with her, I pay a visit to the Moulin Rouge and discuss it with Laurent, Carmine and the other friends she has there. They listen to me carefully and ponder my words. When they speak, they evaluate possibilities and chances of the new plan. They even ask Valerie, the singer I saw on stage on my first time at the 'First Palace of Women', to hear it out and share her thoughts on that. She takes a long meditative pause before conceding that it's not a bad idea, after all. "And I think Monsieur Zidler won't have much to object, honestly. He likes Lila, he hired her personally" she adds, shrugging and flashing an encouraging smile. We all share a look. Laurent speaks first, rubbing his hands enthusiastically. "Time to break it to Lila!" "Léa's idea, Léa's duty" Carmine winks. "Let us know if you need backup and we'll send the chivalry". And so I do. The following day, when our shift is over, I wave Marie goodbye and head towards Montmarte, cherishing the news in my chest and hoping my idea won't make her too nervous or uncomfortable. Or even worse, offend her.

"A singing act?" Élodie looks at me confused when I share my foolish idea. She almost spits out the coffee she's drinking. "But I'm not a singer!" She keeps looking at me without understanding, furrowing her brows. I wonder if she's thinking I'm speaking nonsense out of the blue. If so, I'm thankful she tries to conceal it. "I know...you sing well though" I notice, smiling. I take a seat beside her and gently wrap an arm around her waist. I ponder what to say next: I know how badly she's suffering despite the brave face she puts on now and hurting her is the last thing I want. On the contrary, I only want to help her, if I can. "I know it's different from what you're used to and what you want...but I genuinely think you could do well. And it doesn't have to be forever, it could be temporary...the doctor said you have to be patient with your recovery. As much as it pains me to remind it, you can't go back dancing now" "I know" she grimaces. "Consider this a...distraction?" I suggest, guiding her face towards me. "When you feel better, you could give it a try and see how it feels. You could sit on a bar stool and play an accordion like that singer at the Cage, remember? Maybe you'll even have fun" I try to be as bubbly as I can given the circumstances and my naive enthusiasm draws a tiny smile on her face. "Maybe" she sighs, half-convinced. "Just think about it: no rush, no pressure" I press a kiss on her forehead. I don't tell her of my conversation with Carmine and Laurent at the Moulin. They go visit her a week or so later, bringing a colourful bouquet of irises on behalf of all her colleagues who "miss her dearly and can't wait to have her back". To my surprise, Élodie mentions them the singing act plan. Of course they pretend to hear it from the first time; it could work, they say. Everything to get her back to the stage she belongs to, they add. I am unbelievably happy to see my love improving as weeks go by. She now leaves her room more often with the help of a crutch and take "little walks" up and down the corridor or simply sits in the main room, chatting, reading. I make her promise not to exert herself but I am glad of this change: keeping her mind busy and quitting her self-imposed isolation seem to do her good. It's in the main room that I find her one evening. The atmosphere is as lively as one would expect from an artist apartment in Montmarte. Luis is discussing of an upcoming exhibition sipping wine in the kitchen with a couple of friends and colleagues or so I wager. He greets me with a nod and hands me a glass of red. I gladly take it and head to the main room where the music comes from. Élodie is sitting on the sofa with a girl I have never seen before. They both greet me with a smile and my love pats the armchair by her side, beckoning me to have a seat with them. The girl stands and offers me her hand to shake: it's Sidonie, the actress roommate. She had a role in a comedy show lately, that's why we didn't get a chance to meet sooner. "El asked me to teach her how to play the accordion" she explains, cheerfully. I am pretty sure my face betrays my surprise. "And it's way trickier than I thought it would be" Élodie protests. "How can a little instrument like this can be so hard to play? I don't get it" Sidonie and I take a seat as she lets out a loud sigh of defeat. Her frown doesn't last long though: a quick smile appears on her face at our proximity. Dropping the instrument in her lap, she reaches for my hand and places a kiss on my knuckles. "Well, Rome wasn't built in a day, right?" I smile back as she steals my glass of wine. "Right, and you still have time before the big day" Sidonie adds. "What's the big day?" I ask, a little confused. "You haven't told her yet?" she shoves Élodie's shoulder, gaping. "C'mon, El, spill the beans!" Élodie sighs and take a big sip of wine as if to steady her nerves for some big announcement. Saying that curiosity is killing me is an understatement but I try not to pressure her. "So..." she starts, turning to face me. "The doctor visited me yesterday and-" "And?" I fail to refrain myself. "And he is happy with how my recovery is going. Very happy, actually. True, I still cannot dance and probably my days as a can-can dancer are over" a shadow crosses her face but I am proud to see her fight it back. "But I am improving and that's what matters, right? If I keep up the good job, I can get rid of that crutch in weeks, he said" "But that's amazing, El! I'm so happy for you" I cover my mouth to prevent the lump forming in my throat to ruin the moment. I don't wanna cry here, now, in front of her. "And there's more to it" Sidonie winks. "Keep going, El" "I...I may have written a letter to Monsieur Zidler, explaining my situation and mentioning the singing act plan. And asking for an audition to see if I can still fit in. Carmine offered to deliver it when she visited, the answer came in earlier today" She takes a dramatic pause. "He may have said yes" I squeal and wrap my arms around her neck, making her giggle. "He said he will receive me whenever I want. I just have to write him a note and he will give me an appointment" she adds, hugging me back. I linger in her arms a bit longer, longer than I meant at first, suddenly unwilling to resist the wave of joyous relief washing over me. I try to make it last in the familiar warmth of Élodie's embrace. "It's...oh El, it's...I don't even have words for it!" I say, eventually parting. "That's why I asked Sid for help. With the accordion and in general: she's a professional, right?" "A great professional" the actress playfully corrects her. "A great professional" Élodie chuckles. "I know how to dance but not how to take the stage solo, how to move, what to say, how to engage with the audience...oddly enough, it's all quite new to me. So I thought that a little training could help me to pass the audition and stay at the Moulin" "And Theo, our music-hall virtuoso, has been recruited too. He will assist with the singing part" Sidonie finishes her sentence then turns towards me. "Trust me, Léa: we'll turn this dancer into the new singing phenomenon the likes of which Paris has ever seen" True to her word, in the weeks that follow, my indomitable love works hard with her roommates and improvised tutors. She keeps me and her friends from the Cage updated over dinner when we visit her; she asks for suggestions on the songs to sing, songs that might make a good impression on Monsieur Zidler. She's keen to impress him, certainly out of pride but also - I have reason to believe - in the hope that he allows her not to leave the Moulin. That place has come to signify so much for her, more than most could probably understand. Maybe she landed there almost by chance as she said but it's clear what it means to her now: it's her life, her passion. I bet that sometimes at night she dreams the extravagant hall filled with dancing couples and careless costumers sipping champagne. I'm sure the furious rhythm of la quadrille still haunts her sleep: I can only hope it doesn't torment her. I know that she's suffering deep down, that every limping step, every accidental look to her injured ankle reminds her of that night who put an end to the career she was born for. I see it in her eyes when she thinks I'm not looking. But I also sense a sparkle, a fire burning brighter than the shadows crossing her face and her heart. A month later, she finally decides "it's now or never" and writes a note to Monsieur Zidler. I cannot go with her to the audition because of work, luckily Theo has a free day. Monsieur Zidler listens carefully, smoking his cigar in a first row seat, and claps his hands when the last note dies out. Green light for the singing act! The night of her debut I make sure to get tickets for all my friends. Eventually, I let them know of my friendship with Élodie and the other dancers of the Moulin. I didn't tell them well, everything and I am thankful they don't dig for more. I am also grateful for their genuine concern for my love's accident and the enthusiasm they showed for her debut. The guys insisted to buy some flowers to throw her on the way here and they all dressed up to meet her after the acts. When I look at them, I think back of my first time here and I cannot help but smile to myself. Before venturing to the backstage area, I wave at Pierrette - well Pierre tonight - Amélie and other girls I saw at the Cage. We smile at each other across the room: I knew they wouldn't have missed such an important night. The night of her debut Élodie is so tense she keeps saying she's going to puke and asking for champagne to find the right amount of liquid courage to walk onto the stage. Laurent, Carmine and I try to discipline said amount and escort her till the velvet curtains when time comes. She inhales sharply and gives us all a tensed look when on the other side Valerie announces a little novelty, a second singing act. Her singing act. She squeezes my hand tight till the moment the curtains open and she steps into the stage light. As I predicted, she had no reason to be so nervous, even if I get where her fears came from. When the lights of the music hall wash over her, the audience erupts in a round of encouraging applauses and cheers. The whole room resounds with her name - Lila! Lila! Lila! - as she proceeds towards a bar stool positioned at the centre of the stage. She's still limping but no one seems to notice or care. Especially when she clears her throat and after a gracious greeting, she starts singing. Then everyone goes quiet, enraptured by the sweet melody of her voice. She may not dance anymore but the paying guests seem to love her all the same. After every performance, they whistle in appreciation and clap their hand loud, asking for more songs. Night after night. Week after week. They don't stop. Journalists and regulars end up giving her a nickname that consecrates her new career. They start calling her 'The Nightingale of Pigalle' or simply 'The Nightingale'. With the unexpected yet unmistakable success, she gains a mention on the playbill and the posters advertising the Moulin all over Paris. As a consequence, her acts evolve and become more complex. Élodie asks for new tips to Sidonie and Theo and practises regularly with a newfound determination. She tries to find and memorise new songs to enrich her repertoire. Sometimes she sings them for me when we are in bed and she plays with my hair or holds me close in a loving embrace. Now she performs in duets with Valerie twice a week, and solo, winning the favour of adoring fans over and over again. Paris falls in love with her and well, I can't blame her. I don't think it's possible to know her and not to love Élodie. There is something inside her, a light so bright that encompasses her figure and is now showing. Better, glowing. As her new career takes off, something changes in my life too. I make what my superior calls "a most foolish decision I will regret dearly when it's too late" and quit my job at the atelier. In the end, I don't end up regretting it because, prevailing over a fierce competition, I join the tailor entourage of Les Folies Bergere. When one night I overheard a dancer at the Moulin saying that they were looking for a new seamstress, I just knew I had to throw my hat in the ring. And so I did. The pay is a bit lower than the one I would have now if I had stayed since my supervisor wasn't joking about that long-awaited promotion but I am happier this way. I got my share of Vie bohème sewing and fixing the most extravagant costumes Paris has ever seen. And I heard that Marie, who has been working thrice as hard over the past few months to make up for the time the girls and I covered for her, got 'my' promotion. She deserves it and some extra money might come in handy if Alain makes his move and gets down on one knee, at last. Who would have told, like....a year ago or even just a few months ago? Marie in tears at the thought of being fired and me, the quiet seamstress from the North with an ordinary life. Now my life is less ordinary and the world seem like turning faster and faster. It's thrilling, maybe a bit scary at times. It's like...being caught in a whirlwind, I notice as I share my thoughts with Élodie one night in bed. "Things change fast in Paris" she ponders, smiling to herself. "It's the magic of the crazy times we live in" "Maybe you're right" I agree but then a thought crosses my mind, an uneasy one. I look at her and my heart aches a little: she is always so beautiful I'm the moonlight but she also looks distant, so ethereal she could vanish any minute just like a dream when morning comes and you open your eyes. But I don't want to wake from this dream. I roll to the side to face her and speak again before cowardice gets the best of me. "But there is a thing I don't want to change" I reach for her hand and she rolls to her side too, listening. "This. You and me, together. I...I don't want to change that or that to change" I feel my cheeks burn as soon as the words leave my mouth but I had to say that. To make it clear. I have already lost her once and it was awful, I don't want to go through that again. The mere thought of it make my stomach turn Élodie's hand is cold on my cheek as she caresses it with the soothing tenderness I have come to love about her. "We don't have to change that, Léa" One night I am almost late for her act. I come straight from Les Folies but I wouldn't have missed it for the world since Élodie asked me to be present. She didn't tell me why, she just kissed me and said "you'll see". So here I am. I join my friends at the table reserved for us just as the first dancing act starts. I sip my champagne and do my best to follow even if my mind is somewhere else, backstage. I take a relieved sigh and clap my hands with the rest of the audience when her name is announced. This time though, she doesn't make her entrance straight away, leaving us wondering what she has in store for us. No one seems bothered though, they just whisper excitedly with the neighbours and keep clapping their hands to call her on stage. Then Élodie steps in, emerging from the velvet curtains in a new costume that elicits gasps and cheers among the audience. My friends and I clap encouragely as she saunters towards her stool in an elegant male suit just like the one Laurent wears on scene and swaying -and helping herself with - a walking stick like a dandy. I am suddenly reminded of our night at the Cage of Fools and my cheeks turn rosy. She greets everyone with affable cheerfulness and a mysterious smile that catches the attention of the paying guests. She takes a seat on her stool, with her usual grace and taking her time. When she speaks, she has the general undivided attention and curiosity. "I wrote a song, a little tune for tonight. Would you like to hear it?" An excited murmur spreads in the hall then everyone goes quiet. That's when she starts singing, a gorgeous smile on her lips. She sings of a Parisian boy who once bumped into a fisherman on his walk by the Seine. The old man told him that he didn't like Paris because you can only get small fishes here and pearls are hard to find away from the seashore: there are none in the City of Lights. The young Parisian listened to the man and resumed his walk, quickly forgetting about fishes and oysters. But he soon discovered that the old seaman was wrong. A few days later, the boy actually found one, the brightest pearl, down the River, on the quays of Paris, where Lady Luck is gentle with hopeful lovers. His pearl has hair of gold and a smile sweeter than cherries: she didn't make him rich but turned his life into paradise. He didn't make a necklace out of her like people do when they find those tiny shiny treasures, but he always bears the image of her face in his heart because his Pearl gave him the only wealth worth calling your own in this world: Love. When she hits the final note, it's clear everybody adored it. Loud appreciative whistles and applauses, a chant "again, sing again!" and flowers, so many flowers landing on the stage like a colourful rain. Another success but...this one is different. Élodie bows to the adoring audience and picks up one rose, rising. Her eyes search the crowd until they find me. With a tender smile, she throws it my way. It lands in my hands as someone starts chanting her name over the clapping of hands and stomping of feet. But I don't register it, I only have eyes for her. My heart is on fire. With one last lingering look before basking in her well deserved triumph, Élodie mouths words meant for me only. Words only I can hear in the crowd. "My little pearl"

#wlw writing #wlw writing project #wlw miniseries #lgbtq #wlw love #original work #paris #belle epoque

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writingsbychlo · 4 years

Text

heart under construction (02)

word count; 4842

summary; sam can’t handle how you make him feel, and so he takes the easy way out.

notes; this gets angstyyyyy, I’m sorry in advance.

warnings; none, nada, zilch.

Sam was finding it harder and harder to deny just how much he looked forward to your visits. They were well into month two of construction now, and seeing you bringing them coffee and smiles in the morning had become a vital part of his day. He knew when you would arrive, how long you would stay for and when you’d go back past in the afternoons upon finishing at the school.

If asked, he would deny that you were the reason he started taking is lunch breaks later, and he would deny that he was definitely packing extra food each morning before Jake was picking him up, just on the off-chance that it might be one of the days you would join him for his lunch break. On an occasional day, you did choose to sit with him, and he’d listen to you talk happily about the school, the nursery kids and how much each one meant to you.

He knew about Zach, who was a pain in the arse, but still somehow one of your favourites. He was fond of Lexi, who reminded him of his own niece, and he hated Connor with a burning passion, because the kid often came up in the stories that ruined your day, and so he naturally chose not to like him, whether he was four or forty.

You were becoming more and more ingrained in his life, and he was doing nothing to stop it.

He didn’t want to do anything to stop it.

You knew more about him than almost anyone, when he spoke to you, he couldn’t help the words that would just start pouring from his mouth, the questions following. He didn’t just want you to know about him, he wanted to know about you. He wanted to know everything, from your favourite colour to your deepest fears, he wanted to hear your most embarrassing stories and he wanted to know what your thoughts were on every topic he could think of. He wanted to know if you believed in aliens, and which conspiracy theories you thought were true, and which vines were your favourite. He wanted to know you, through and through.

It was as though the more he learned, the more he needed.

You knew about his niece, Jake had proudly shod you pictures of his husband Roger and his daughter Alice only a few days after meeting you. He’s boasted about his daughter’s accomplishments, and he’d told you the story of his proposal to the man he loved. Sam had watched with pure joy the day you had dished out advice to his brother when he was panicked about Alice, just to see you put him at ease with only a few words.

He could no longer picture a day without you in it, without you passing through in a whirlwind of cute smiles and stupid jokes for him.

The day Sam had realised just how much he needed you was the day you’d made the same stupid ‘Uncle Sam’ joke he made on every date he went on, his eyes wide and jaw dropped as you teased him about being Uncle Sam and asked him if he would do his best impression of the propaganda posters, only to giggle incessantly as he pulled off a very poor attempt at a recreation, unable to hold his face in the same stern look.

Since that day, he hadn't been able to bring himself to make the usual joke on his dates, because he knew he wouldn’t get the same joy from seeing them laugh as he did when you had.

As the weeks went on, he was finding it harder and harder to deny that you might be exactly what he wanted. You might be perfect for him, and he had to consciously stop himself from thinking about you, as you started to take up a permanent residence to linger in the back of his mind. He couldn't stop, he would be shopping and be reminded of you in something he thought you’d like to try, and he’d definitely put it in his basket before moving on. He’d be on a date and a girl would remind him of something you would say and he knew the joy filling his system wasn’t from the girl before him but from the idea of you being with him instead.

As they neared the summer, you had started wearing lighter dresses, and fewer coats, and Sam couldn’t forget the day you’d come by to see them on the weekends, a light summer dress swishing around your midthighs, a stark contrast to the work-appropriate trousers he’d seen you in before that point. You had eaten lunch with him that day too, and he had struggled not to let his eyes trace over the skin revealed to him when your dress rode up as you sat down, or the way your leg felt pressed up against his.

He had spent hours resisting the urge to reach out and discover just how soft your thighs would be under his fingertips, and how they might feel trembling under his grasp, or scratched up and red from his beard.

You were off-limits. You were too nice for him to ruin it, because he didn’t settle down.

He didn’t do relationships. He doesn’t. He won’t change for one chick, not with all that could go wrong, not with every hope he could build-up, only for one person to bring everything around him crashing down. Not again. Now, the only person he relied on was himself.

He wasn’t snapped out of his thoughts until your voice was calling out to him, not from inside his own mind but from the street below, his eyes scanning over the area until he saw you, hands cupped around your mouth as you called out to him, waving happily and the smile he sent you back was instinctual, he was unable to hold it back, stop it from breaking free.

He was waving you up the ladder before he could think about it, and you were quickly completing the climb. Taking a seat beside him, you huffed out happily, nudging him with your shoulder and giving him a laugh, his eyes rolled fondly, your feet carrying you quickly across the now stable floorboards to greet his brother, and he trailed behind you slowly, the work he had been doing now completely forgotten as he followed after you.

You were complimenting them on the house, telling them just how much you admired the amazing work they were doing and his cheeks flushed, an idea suddenly coming to mind for him, his hand taking yours absentmindedly as he lit up with all new kinds of excitement.

“We finished the balcony!”

Before he could stop himself, he was tugging you along, guiding you up the mended staircase to the top floor as he swiftly undid the catch on the ceiling to floor doors, pushing them open as the low sun flooded the room, and you awed at the space, your hand gripping his tightly as you stepped out cautiously onto the small patio space. The fences had yet to be put up, the bolts and supports put in place, but the old-fashioned style railings were still sitting in a stack in the corner, and you turned to face Sam with a lazy on your face.

“Classic style railings to match your oldies theme, yeah?”

His eyes widened, nodding slightly as you crouched, running the fingers of your free hand over the warm metal, tracing the swirling patterns. The rays of the lowering sun cast a golden glow over your skin, making you seem almost otherworldly as you admired the sights around you, your breath practically knocked from you each time you looked out over the beautiful scenery.

The sun was dipping, not quite hitting the edge of the horizon yet, but it was getting close, the distance seeming to dance lowly as the heat died down, the pale yellows and oranges of the lower sky fading away into barely present pastel pinks and purples, soon to fade to royal blues and ebony blacks as the night was ushered in.

“I bet the sunset would look amazing from here.”

Sam wasn’t even sure if you were aware that you had spoken the sentence, the dreamy way you had sighed out your words made him question whether it was just a thought you had accidentally let slip as you stared longingly at the distant sky. He squeezed your hand, tugging you closer to him a little as you turned your head, eyes soft and a small smile gracing your features as he looked at you, the urge to lean in and bump his nose against yours almost overtaking him, and he cleared his throat, giving you a shy smile as he spoke up; “You should stay and watch it. I’ll stay behind, and lock up after.”

“Wait, really?”

Your excitement was already leaking through, your fingers gripping his, your other hand coming up to hold his between both of yours as you practically bounced in your place, your body now facing him fully and he laughed gently at your enthusiasm, his chest filling with warmth and his heart racing as he studied the joyous look on your face. “Yeah, ‘course. It’s going to be a great sunset tonight, it’s been warm all day, and it’s a clear sky. I think-”

“Sam, your phone is ringing an- oh, shit, sorry. You want me to just send it to voicemail?” Jake gave him a knowing look as he reached the top of the stairs, waving the buzzing device to him, a knowing smirk on his face as he looked over the two of you, your hands clasped together between you, almost chest to chest in the rays of the setting sun.

It was far too romantic for Sam. Nope, not at all.

“No, no it’s fine. I’ll answer.” He took his hand from yours, pressing his thumb down on the green answer button and stepping away from the two of you as he heard you begin to tell his brother all about the sunset he was planning to show you, a small smile twisted on his face as he greeted whoever has called him.

“Ye’llo? This is Sam.” He jogged down to the bottom of the steps, glancing back to see you beaming, your arms spread wide as you joked with Jake, the sight of you getting along so well with his brother just warming his heart.

“Hey, Sam? It’s Jess, from the other week?”

His eyes widened and he spun away from the scene, remembering the fiery red-head he had been out with the week prior, a smirk tugging on his lips. “Hey, Jess. What’s up?”

“I was wondering if you’re free tonight? I have no work tomorrow, and my roommates out for the weekend, so I am just all alone over here with takeout food and vodka?”

Her tone was teasing, and Sam knew exactly what she was offering. Licking over his lower lip, he rubbed a hand over his jaw and scratched at the scruffy beard that had built up, glancing back at you once more, something he wasn’t used to feeling twisting in his gut as he made his decision.

The sun did set every night, there was always more opportunities to watch the sunset, right?

“I can be there at seven, text me the address, beautiful. I’ll see you soon.” With a cheeky grin, he ended the call, taking the steps two at a time back up to the top floor and tucking his phone into his pocket, feeling it buzz only a second later with what he assumed to be the address from ‘Jess’. “Sorry, new plan. Can I raincheck on that sunset? I have a date.”

Sam had not anticipated how much it would hurt to watch the smile fall from your face, even just momentarily, and no matter how hard you tried to fake a new smile, he’d seen the sadness flicker across your features, his heart feeling as though it had frozen over and turned to stone in that split second, plummetting to his stomach.

He offered you a few more dates, more dates in the upcoming week, the sudden regret of the choice he’d made coming back to bite him in the ass as he pulled his phone out, offering to search to find which day would be best, checking for the best temperatures, but your enthusiasm seemed to have seeped away as you dismissed him, telling him it was ‘no big deal’, despite the fact he could clearly hear from your tone that it had saddened you.

The chance to spend time with you was quickly slipping through his fingers, his heart shattering as he watched you fasten your coat more firmly around yourself, building yourself up to excusing yourself and he grasped at straws, trying to work out how to backpedal from the situation he had gotten himself into, how t-

“I’ll stay. I love watching the sunsets, I’d love to watch it with you.” His eyes hardened, gaze narrowing as he looked over at his brother, trying to ask him what the fuck he was doing, but the happy squeal you released in response only caused his heart to sink further, your face lighting up once again as you turned your back on him, to face his brother.

“Really? You would?”

“Yeah, I can tell you more about my daughter. I have some stories you’ll love.” Jake glanced over his shoulder as you wandered further toward the edge, the sun getting lower and duller in the sky, and Jake fixed him with a harsh and judging look, shaking his head as if to dismiss him, and Sam felt his jaw drop, no chance to respond as his brother turned for him, beginning a story about Alice as you sat on the edge, your legs swinging over the edge of the balcony.

He considered saying goodbye, he considered just texting ‘Jess’ and calling it off, so he could sit on your other side. He could get the blanket from his truck and wrap it around your shoulders to keep you warm, and if you wanted, he would stay with you until night set in, the moon shining brightly so you could watch the stars without the light pollution of the city or the blockade of clouds, thanks to the clear night.

And then, Sam caught himself.

Snapping back from the sappy thoughts, he shook his head, turning on his heel and focusing on making sure he was looking good in the front camera of his phone as he made his way toward the street, pulling up the app to book a taxi as your voice faded away behind him, the front door slamming shut as he stormed from the property.

Instead, he was going to drink and fuck his troubles away with a hot redhead.

The cab pulled up for him, and Sam was quick to dish out a handful of notes to the driver, checking his hair in the reflection of the mirror before he was hopping out, striding into the lobby of the apartment building with confidence. Scrolling his finger down the list of numbers, he found the one he was searching for, pushing his finger against the buzzer for a second. Instead of getting a verbal response, the grated gate across from him humming as it opened for him, slamming shut behind him as he jogged to the elevator.

The second the doors shut and he had pushed the button, he studied the flicking of the lights above his head signalling the floors climbing, and he pushed the thought of your smiling face from his mind, quickly chasing the disappointed look on your face from his thoughts as well.

He was in the elevator, on the way up to the apartment of a very hot girl who wanted to spend the night with him, so why was he thinking about you?

The second the ding of the elevator sounded, the doors sliding open, his mind blanked as he looked at the sight before him. Popped in the doorway, a wicked grin on her face as the red curls framed her face, a pale blue lacy nightgown falling to her mid-thighs, he was dashing the distance of the corridor and the open door across from him, his hands finding her hips and giggles filling the apartment as she swung the door shut behind them.

She took one of his hands in both of hers, a wide smile on her face and he tried to ignore the feeling of wrongness creeping along his spine, tried to ignore how much he preferred the feeling when it had been you. Instead, he leaned down, bumping his nose with hers before pressing their lips together carefully and cautiously, the way he had wished to do with you as he tried to replace the ideas of you in his heart.

Hold on, heart?

Swallowing thickly, he broke away from the girl before it could go too far, choosing instead to comment on the smell of the food in the house, and she guided him through to sit on the couch. The conversation between them flowed, but it was strained. It was small talk, and he hated small talk. It was nothing like the conversation he had with you when funny and easy-going chat would flow between you so fluidly and comfortably you’d think you had known each other for years.

He chose instead to distract himself with his food, letting the girl slide closer to him at their meals finished, the layers of clothing slipping from his body as he let himself get comfortable. His shoes were toed off, kicked away across the room, and his jacket slipped from his shoulders. The overshirt he wore was stripped away, and so was the belt around his waist, the buckle having been digging into him.

Jess had inched her way across the couch, she had started on the other side of the couch, and now, her legs were slung across his lap, his hand stroking the skin of her upper thigh gently as she giggled, pouring a new set of drinks for them as he kissed and nipped at her jawline teasingly.

Taking a deep swig of the poorly mixed and very strong drink he’d been served by the girl before him, he downed the entire thing, a wide grin on his face as the warm haze from this one, and the previous ones, already taking effect in his veins. Gripping her leg tightly, he plucked the glass from her hand, adding it to his own empty one on the coffee table before him, to lie with the discarded boxes and plates.

Pulling the girl over his lap, she squealed in joy as he leaned back into the couch cushions, her eyes boring into his as her hands wove into his hair and his hands slipped around to palm at her ass, her lips slanting over his wetly, their touch not nearly as intoxicating as they had been the weeks prior, but he was willing to try. Instead, he focused on the feel of her body pressed to his, the way she moaned above him as he groped at her and the way her hips were starting to roll down into his.

Finally, the image of your beautiful smile burned into his mind each time he closed his eyes faded away.

Sam was royally fucked.

His head was pounding, his muscles were aching, and he was late.

He was so late that all the missed calls from Jake, all the texts that had asked him where he was and how long he was going to be had all be replaced with one passive-aggressive ‘nevermind’ and then it had gone silent. He had barely mumbled a goodbye to Jess when she had dropped him off as he dashed up the steps of his own home, bursting in through the front door and straight up the stairs to the second floor as his eyes landed on his brother.

The man was painting possible colour samples onto the patches of walls that were leftover, the fill-ins still having to be completed. “I missed going to get carpet samples! I know! I am so sorry, but-”

“Oh, hey!” Sam was panting as he reached the top of the stairs, his hands coming to rest on his knees as he tried to regain his breath, his hungover body not thanking him for the sudden exertion, and his brain was muddled, the lecture he had expected to receive from his older sibling having never been sounded out. “Don’t worry about it, it’s all good.”

“Uh.. right.”

“How was your night?” Jake’s question only confused him further, and Sam stood up straight, scratching the back of his neck as he looked or his brother, who had turned back to painting his sample patches. Jake never asked him about his ‘dates’.

“Yeah, it was fine. She was fine.. I guess..” The man only hummed in response, and Sam couldn’t help but feel like his brother was just a ticking time bomb waiting to explode, no matter how calm he was being right now, and he just couldn't take it anymore. “I am sorry, Jake. I know you wanted an opinion on the samples, and I should have been there, so, it's not okay.”

“Dude, it’s fine, really. I’m glad you had fun.” Wiping his hands down on a rag, he finally turned to face Sam and he took a step toward his brother, Jake’s hand clapping down on his shoulder as he smiled at him, widely. “I, er, I didn’t go alone, actually. (Y/N) came with me.”

Sam had spent the night trying to push you out of his mind, and he had succeeded. In fact, up until this point, he had yet to think about you today, and suddenly, it’s like the weight of your presence had come crashing down over him once again. “What?”

“Yeah, I was texting her this morning.” Jake shrugged, as though it was no big deal, and Sam felt rage flood his system. Not at his brother, but at himself. The same feelings of guilt from last night came clawing back at him once again, and the regret of how he’d spent the night curled up with another woman in an attempt to forget you. His head was still pounding, his stomach was twisting with nausea and he was confused about how he was feeling. “When you weren’t around, she offered to come with me. She actually chose some really great samples, they-”

“Woah, texting? Since when did you have her number?”

He could physically see the way his brother recoiled from his harsh tone, his jaw dropping and Sam almost felt bad, but the puzzling mix of emotions swirling within his mind and heart were masking it out entirely. “Uh.. well, since she told me that her nursery group is having an event to welcome possible new parents and kids to the class in September, and that she thinks I should go.”

They must have been talking about it the night before, and Sam was kicking himself knowing the fact that she had such a good time she had deemed them close enough to have her number, and that he’d been too busy fucking another girl to have been here to get her number. “Right, fantastic..”

“Dude, what is your problem today? It’s no big deal, it was just carpet samples, stop beating yourself up! I took (Y/N), and it went f-”

“We’re just letting strangers make decisions about our house now, then? About my house?” He knew it was unfair, but his mind was buzzing, and he wasn’t himself, and once the anger that was festering within him at his confusion had found a way to start leaking out just couldn't stop it. “Good to know! Great idea, Jake! Maybe, I’ll start bringing all my dates over here to pass their opinion, too! At least I had a fun night with them, so their opinion must be important, too!”

He took a break, pacing up and down as his brother stared at him, slack-jawed and brows furrowed, and Sam was so caught up in his own world and thoughts that everything around him felt like it was beginning to slip away, like it was of nothing important or worth taking in.

“I mean, if we’re going to let one total stranger give their opinion on my house, might as well be all of them! Let’s just invite the entirety of this random neighbourhood to pass their opinion, may as well make it city fucking hall while we’re at it!”

The silence around him was overwhelming, his breath panted out as he dropped his hands to his sides from where they had been held out in exasperation, and his shoulders sagged, face relaxing as he felt all the irrational anger he’d built up bubble over and escape, calmness and tranquillity seeping back into his body.

“I am so sorry. I totally invaded, didn’t I?” Sam felt like he had turned to stone with how fast his body tensed. He had never heard the footsteps, never even knew she had been here, but how could he have when he’d been so caught up in a screaming match with himself. He practically gave himself whiplash with how fast he turned around, his eyes wide as he took you in. Comfy and casual wear, a devastated look on your sweet face as you avoided looking at him entirely, and cold pangs of sadness moved through his chest more and more prominently with each beat of his heart as he watched you back away. “You’re right, it really wasn’t my place.. I mean, I just came all up in here, I’m not sure what I was thinking. I’m going to go, this is your house, I’m not welcome. Got it. I.. I’ll see you around, I guess?”

Placing down the handful of small carpet trimmings you had been holding, each word you spoke felt like a stabbing wound added to his conscience, and he gaped like a fish, panicking on what to do as he watched you make your way down the stairs. He whipped his head back and forth between where you had been stood, and his brother, the sound of the front door slamming shut upon your exit snapping him from his reverie as he scrambled to get tot he stairs and follow you.

When he finally made it out onto the street, tumbling down the driveway and onto the street, he found it empty, no movement or even a hint of your presence to show him which way you might have gone. He knew which way you always walked to and from, but when he reached the street corner, he had no idea which way you may have gone and how he would find you.

Trudging back to his house, he could barely lift his feet as the severity of what had transpired dragged him down, his toes catching on the step as he dragged himself back up to face his brother. A tense silence sat between the two men, thick ad palpable in the air, and he distracted himself by picking up the collection of thick fabric samples you had left behind, a small smile flicking on his features.

Shuffling through them, he ran his thumb over each one, evaluation the colours and textures as he thought deeply about each one. He loved each and every one, he couldn’t fight that they were all truly terrific samples, and he probably wouldn’t have chosen any of them any differently if he had been there himself, and the thought only made him feel worse.

“I like the dark grey and speckled one.. for the stairs and the middle floor.” His words were mumbled out, and Jake let out a sigh, the first real sign of disappointment his brother had shown since he’d returned and it sent chills shooting along Sam’s spine at the thought.

“Yeah, that’s what she said.” With a shake of the head, Jake sealed up the paint pots he had been using, dropping paintbrushes into a pot of water to soak. “Said she thought they would look best. Something about thinking that they would give us maximum opportunities on the furniture we chose, because that carpet was a pretty neutral colour, but also made a statement.”

“Yeah..”

“That doesn’t matter, though.” Jake’s voice had hardened, the disapproving older-brother tone only adding to the sombre mood in the building. “I mean, it was just a complete strangers opinion. Not like she’s a friend. We don’t really know her.”

“I fucked up, I know that.” With a heavy sigh, Sam palmed at stinging eyes, choking down his emotions. “Don’t make it any worse.”

#sam taylor #sam taylor amazing stories #dylan obrien sam taylor #sam taylor x reader #sam taylor/reader #amazing stories #dylan obrien amazing stories #dylan o'brien amazing stories #dylan obrien #dylan obrien fic #dylan obrien/reader #dylan obrien x reader #HUC #heart under construction

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angelofarts · 4 years

Text

Of Crochet and Comas Part Two

Me visiting the hospital on a Sunday was practically unheard of – I had last minute assignments and chores and a dozen other excuses I’d used over the years. And yet I must have been losing my mind, because here I was, sitting in the hospital, anxiously crocheting at my brother’s side. I was listening for the slick sound of leather brogues, and wasn’t focusing on the hat taking shape under my fingers, so when I finally heard the clicking of high heels, I fell backwards in disappointment.

“Well, well, if it isn’t His Superior Craftiness the High Lord of Crochet,” a sarcastic voice intoned from the door. I almost gave myself whiplash as I swung my head around, and immediately wished I hadn’t.

Not only was Tesha there, so were Richard, Lisa, and a girl who looked so much like Lisa that she had to be a close relative. I felt blood seep from my neck into my face, making a blotchy flush that I hadn’t experienced in years, as I realized that Tesha must have complained to her friends about how I had spoken to her.

The younger girl crossed her arms. “So you’re the one who was mean to Tesha.”

“His name is Aaron, Julia,” Richard muttered. It was gratifying to see that at least he seemed as uncomfortable as I was, stuck in his wheelchair and thus forced to watch, since the girls were blocking the door.

“It doesn’t matter what his name is,” Lisa declared loftily, leaning against the door. “He was mean to Tesha, so we want him to apologize.”

“I’m right here,” I pointed out. “You shouldn’t talk about people in front of them.”

“You shouldn’t insult people’s hobbies and handmade gifts either, yet you did both,” Lisa countered.

I groaned quietly. “Just leave. You’re going to upset my brother.”

Tesha shook her head at Richard when Julia snorted out, “Your brother isn’t going to get upset, he’s asleep.”

I gestured for them to enter, which they did warily, as though scared I would use my big bad crochet hook to bite them. I pointed at one of the monitors.

“Look, you see that spiking? That measures brain activity. Kenzo is very much awake, so if you could please stop dressing me down in front of him, I’d appreciate it.”

Tesha smiled and took Kenzo’s hand, squeezing it softly. “Hi, Kenzo. It’s nice to think that you’ve heard me every time I come in here. Sorry that your main source of conversation is your self-entitled brother who can’t understand the value of a craft he doesn’t perform.”

I groaned again. “It was a misunderstanding! I didn’t know you knitted it yourself!”

While Julia and Lisa laughed together at my exasperation, I leaned over to reach my backpack.

“And actually I did come with an apology, I just didn’t think I’d be delivering it in front of anyone else. Here.”

I passed her a light blue lacy hat. Made in subtle heathering yarn, it had a pattern that seemed like it would suit her nineteenth century aesthetic, and surprisingly it matched the legwarmers that slouched over her calves and high heels where her knee length dark green skirt stopped.

“Oh it’s lovely,” she breathed, pulling it on. Richard reached up and pulled on the back of it, allowing the slouch to form, and suddenly Tesha looked less like a girl from the 1950’s and more like a girl from this century. As she moved into the sun to thank me, I was struck by the silver of her grey eyes – that couldn’t be a natural colour, could it?

“Where are our hats?” Richard demanded, ruining the moment. It was a good thing he did, before I blurted out something to embarrass myself.

I raised an eyebrow. “Were you not just telling me how Tesha’s stuff is better?”

“No,” Julia said as she folded herself onto the floor. “We said Tesha is nicer so we like her better. She actually talks to us.”

Lisa looked a little embarrassed at the way her - sister? Cousin? Random acquaintance that shares enough in the genetic pool that she looks like her and thus has claimed a strange form of family? – was talking to me, but she didn’t correct the statement.

“Is that what you think of me?” I demanded hotly.

Richard shrugged, making the blanket around his shoulders slip again. “Well, yeah? You only ever talk to Bert and Lizzie, and that’s if you talk to anyone before you rush in here.”

Tesha absentmindedly pulled the blanket back up to cover Richard’s bony shoulder as she addressed me. “I didn’t even know you existed until yesterday, and I’ve been volunteering for a year.”

“I tried to say hi to you once in the parking lot,” Julia piped up. We all stared at her, until she grumbled, “Okay, fine, but still.”

“Anyways,” Lisa said, resuming unofficial leader of the team, “what we’re trying to say is that you can’t say we don’t try to be nice to you.”

I shrugged. “I don’t have time. I have to see Kenzo.”

“Yes, because your brother is such a good conversationalist,” she replied drily. “If he was awake, can you honestly tell me he’d want you here instead of with people your own age?”

“He is awake,” I reminded her. “He can hear everything you’re saying. And yeah, Kenzo was never big on telling me what to do, so he’d let me stay here if I wanted to.” Lie. Big fat lie. In the way of older siblings everywhere throughout all of time, Kenzo adored telling me exactly what to do and how to do it, confident that a year gave him some kind of mystical ability to boss me around.

Julia stretched out on the floor, letting her blonde hair fan out. “It doesn’t seem like you talk to him much anyways, since when we came in you were quiet.”

“Aren’t you worried about dirt?” I inquired, distracted by the light hitting her hair. It was almost light enough that I could imagine it to be reflective, the kind of white blonde you only ever see on people of Scandinavian descent.

Lisa scoffed loudly. “It’s a hospital. This is probably the cleanest floor in the whole of the village, she’s fine.”

“I dunno,” Tesha said, sounding like she was reluctant to agree with me. “You never know what someone may have trekked in from outside.”

She and Lisa began to debate back and forth, until Richard interrupted with a loud cough that started fake and quickly turned real, hacking and deep.

“You okay Rick?” Julia asked, real concern clouding her features. He held up a dark hand, warning her from coming closer.

“Fine,” he said after clearing his throat three times. “Tesha, could you help me get back to my room?”

I was surprised at the request. From what little I knew of Richard, he hated to seem reliant on anyone, often rejecting the assistance of his nurses and operating the wheel chair himself on pure determination.

“Of course,” Tesha murmured, grasping the handles. “Lisa, Jules, don’t go anywhere.” They left the room in a blur of dark green skirts.

Lisa exchanged a worried look with her… relative. I was almost positive they had to be relatives of some kind. You don’t get eyes that pale a blue on two people by chance.

“Tesha will take care of him,” Julia reassured her. “And you know he doesn’t mind it. She doesn’t baby him.”

Aha. That answered one question at least.

Hesitantly, I sat back down and picked up the project I had been working on before this whole fiasco started. A bright red beanie, using a puffy popcorn stitch, and with a button band on the side for decorative purposes. The feel of the yarn gliding through my fingers soothed me, and I was surprised to find that I felt real concern for the boy I’d known in passing for a year. Knowing he was sick, and understanding the reality of that, appeared to be two different things.

“What’s that?” Lisa asked, clearly trying to distract herself. “What you’re making, I mean.”

“Another hat. My mom struggles with winter, so it’s an easy way to make sure she doesn’t get sick.”

Julia plopped down next to me and examined the portion I’d finished. “You know, I bet Odette would love this,” she mused. “She’s always in red.”

“Odette?”

“One of the cancer kids,” Lisa explained. “She comes in twice a week for chemo and treatment. She used to have this gorgeous mane of hair, like a mermaid, and it was about hip length, but she lost it about three months ago. Shook her, hard.”

“Odette?” Tesha asked, entering the room again. She took disinfectant out of her skirt pocket and wiped her hands carefully. Lisa nodded.

“Well, it was very nice shaking you down, Mr. Aaron,” Julia said as she rose, “but unlike my sister, I have school tomorrow and have homework to catch up on. Nice insulting you though!”

My confused, “you too?” was lost as she left the room in a rush, and Lisa, after waving at me, went after her, thereby confirming – sisters.

Tesha looked at the slim silver watch on her wrist and sighed. “I have to go too. I have homework due for two classes first thing tomorrow, and I should help Julia study for maths, otherwise Lisa and her roommate will end up killing her.”

I rose, unsure of what exactly I was planning to do, until I held my hand out awkwardly.

“Nice seeing you again?” I offered.

“Nice not being insulted,” she returned, laughing lightly as she slipped her hand into mine. “Let’s try this again next week, yeah?”

I stood staring at the door stupidly long after she left, my murmured “yeah” ringing in my ears softly.

I opened up my laptop, staring at the draft of my essay. Slowly, I pressed the backspace key and erased the words I’d typed last night. When a blank page stared at me, I took a deep breath and, for the third time, attempted to define myself.

Today, I spoke to a knitter, a sister, and two fighters….

#writing #spilled ink #writing about crafts #of crochet and comas #pandemic writing #its kind of bad #i havent written in ages #please dont judge #its just for fun

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eightiesrockbaby · 5 years

Text

Line By Line

Chapter Two: Shakedown

Description: A tale of two young, haywire carousers and their turbulent relationship. Party girl Angelica Davis likes to think she has a love for chaos, but, perhaps the chaos of new-found love Nikki Sixx is just too much to handle.

Word Count: 1,975

Warnings: Language, mentions of sex and drugs/alcohol

Click here to find my masterpost!

Notes: Wow! I made another chapter of the thing I said would probably never get another chapter. Look at me go, man. Sometimes even I can’t tell if I’m being sarcastic or not lmao. Anyways, enjoy chapter two. This fic is pretty slow moving but I’ll fix that in the next few chapters dw <3

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Thump. Thump. Thump.

Fuck.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Fuck. Off.

Thump. Thump. Thu-

“You planning on coming through that fucking door T-Bone?” Nikki tried shouting, but his voice was hoarse.

“Come on Nikki, you’ve been in there since I woke up! You’re not the only one that needs to shower!” Tommy roared back, audibly agitated.

What Nikki’s roommate didn’t realise was that he wasn’t actually showering. He was barely even awake. Instead, he lay in the bathtub naked with his fuck-buddy of choice from last night. The two had retreated to the tub in the hours after their...antics.

“Be out in a sec,” Nikki grumbled back to his roommate. He was less than comfortable in his current position, but the thought of moving didn’t really entice him either. He heard Tommy huff from outside the door and strop down the hall.

Angelica stirred in her sleep, pressing her slim figure closer to Nikki’s. She grazed her hand over his bare chest and opened her eyes, dark make-up visibly smudged from last night. The fact that she was completely naked, although it did dawn on her, didn’t exactly bother her. She’d always been confident in her looks; always willing to show off to anyone that’d pay attention. And for Angelica, that was usually a lot of people.

“Mornin,” she murmured, yawning slightly into Nikki’s chest. Their legs were still intertwined as they lay facing each other, her head resting on his chest while his free arm draped around her waist. It was a cramped space, but neither really seemed to mind. Even sober.

“Tommy’s outside. Wants a shower.”

Angelica took that statement as a ‘please get off of me’ and nodded, beginning to sit up in the confined space. After a short struggle, the two were stood in the bathroom; Nikki covering his nether region with one hand as he bent down to grab his trousers with the other.

Angelica rolled her eyes and smiled as she buttoned her now grubby black leather trousers. “You acting shy now, huh?”

Nikki laughed lightly, though his attention was mostly focused on the half-naked girl in front of him bending down to reach for her shirt.

“That I am not.” He earned a small chuckle in response as he began buttoning up his red shirt.

After succeeding in getting dressed semi-quickly, the two made their way out of the bathroom and into the living room where Tommy and Vince were sitting watching TV. Tommy sat on the edge of the sofa, cream-coloured towel in hand, but was too focused on the news channel to notice the pair walking in. Neither of the two wore a smile - or a frown for that matter - just a tired and lifeless expression.

“Well look who decided to join us,” Vince nodded towards the hallway the two had shuffled down, their heads hanging low to avoid the bright lights in the room.

“Angelica,” Tommy looked over, his eyebrows raised in shock.

“Looks like you’ve already met my bassist then.” He stated, knowing the girl would internally face-palm herself as part of her immediate reaction.

She didn’t tend to have have sex with Tommy’s friends anymore. Not after they boasted to Tommy a little too often about the details of the things they had done to her. Especially not after it ended in Tommy and a friend throwing punches at each other in the middle of the strip because of his refusal to put a pin in the conversation topic.

However it wasn’t out of jealousy, because Tommy and Angelica could have had each other if they’d wanted to. They just didn’t. And even that one time they did fuck, it wasn’t because of attraction or lust. It was merely a rebound for him; a way to fuck the other chick out of his system. Angelica offered, too.

“Apparently so,” she mumbled in return, wandering over to beside Tommy and punching his shoulder lightly. He smiled, jokingly punching hers in return. He didn’t linger for long, instead rising from his position on the edge of the dirty beige couch and making his towards the shower.

It left the three in an awkward position, Angelica not really knowing neither of the boys and Nikki being too uncomfortable to introduce them. Or perhaps he had just forgotten her name. That seemed more likely.

Usually girls who spent the night hadn’t known any of the guys beforehand, so nobody felt bad for throwing them out. But it was apparent that Tommy knew her, so they thought it was only fair not to treat Angelica like the usual suspects.

That left Vince with one option, and one option only. He stood up from his spot on the couch and stuck out his hand, “Vince.”

“Angelica, Tommy’s friend,” she said, giving a small smile and shaking the blond’s hand firmly. A look of confusion spread across his face.

“The one with the Zeppelin tattoo on her ass,” she rolled her eyes playfully as a grin spread wide across Vince’s face. He knew exactly who she was.

Nikki was silent during this ordeal, taking himself to the kitchen and sipping at what was left of the orange juice. Though, his ears did prick up at that statement and his mind wandered back to last night. To how he saw every inch of her, and in every position, too. She had a good body, there’s no denying. And the tattoo, well, that just made her even hotter.

A drunken Robert Plant tattoo wasn’t exactly seen as ‘hot’ by Angelica’s other friends, though in the heat of the moment Nikki became rather fond of the addition.

“Bet Nikki enjoyed seeing that one,” Vince joked and looked over to Nikki as he returned to sit beside him on the couch.

“Fuck you,” Nikki sneered back, taking a large gulp out of the orange juice carton he’d brought back with him. Well, someone wasn’t a morning person. Or an early afternoon person, considering it was already past twelve.

Vince squeezed his roommate’s shoulders lightly, whispering something in his ear that went unheard by Angelica. He then offered to give the girl a ride home after Tommy got out of the shower which, despite being a nice offer, wasn’t something Angelica really liked the idea of. She got travel sick at the best of times, so getting into a car with a near-enough stranger while hungover was essentially a no-go on her part. Instead, she decided to escape from the apartment while Tommy was in the process of getting dressed so as to avoid the teasing that was sure to ensue.

Saying goodbye to the guys was awkward to say the least. She met Mick on her way out, who she now knew as the band’s guitarist. He dealt with things a bit better than the others, making sure that she had a key to get back into her apartment.

Nevertheless, to say she was thankful to be back home was an understatement. The minute she banged her front door shut her heels were off and a beer was in-hand. Her roommates were quick to ask her about last night; what she did after they split up or, more accurately, who she did. Valerie, as per usual when one of the girls told her they had hooked up with someone, wanted to know every last detail. Except, Angelica couldn’t really remember much. The parts she did were...eventful, to say the least.

Nancy just huffed, saying that when she had seen Nikki at a bar a couple months back he paid no attention to her. It sounded unusual to Angelica, that he wouldn’t go for Nance. She was petite, blue eyed, and looked fine as hell in a tiny black skirt. What more could a guy ask for?

They had decided against going out for lunch - it was too much effort to walk into back down town and none of them had a car. They did still have the stranger’s keys from last night, but even that had the girls at a loss considering none of them could remember where the car was parked. No, ordering pizza was a definitely a safer option.

So there they sat, engrossed in a new episode of Happy Days, sprawled out on top of each other on their little red couch. The door knocked and Angelica peeled herself off the couch to open it, grabbing a few bills from the side table for the delivery man. The other two were too focused on the episode to even hear the door go. Typical.

She swung the door open, waiting for the smell of warm pizza to engulf her senses. Though, that was not the case. Instead, a weary-looking Nikki was standing holding her leather jacket out to her. Despite seeing him earlier this morning, he looked slightly different. Better, actually. His green eyes even had a slight twinkle to them. Huh.

“You, um, you forgot this,” he stuttered, looking down and kicking the gravel lightly with his clumpy black combat-style boots. Angelica took the jacket, nodding and saying a quiet thank you.

The two stood in silence for a few minutes. They didn’t really have much to talk about if they were being honest.

“Tommy was wondering if you and your roommates wanted to grab some food with us?” He looked down at the ground, as though he was embarrassed almost. Angelica didn’t quite understand why.

She looked down at Tommy’s ratchet car as she heard the engine rev. He smiled up at her, shouting an encouraging, ‘come on!’ He even beeped the horn.

God, sometimes he could be a pest. A loveable pest nonetheless.

“Give me a sec,” she spoke to Nikki, heading back inside and leaving the door slightly open. Nikki glanced around what he could see of the inside of the apartment; it seemed nice enough - the kitchen was mostly tidy and the walls weren’t too dull. Essentially, it was the opposite of his roach-infested place. He could hear the girls bickering in the background but didn’t pay much attention to it.

A couple arguments and ‘I can’t find my shoe’ moments later, the girls headed down to Tommy’s car with Nikki leading the way. They weren’t opposed to going out with the guys for lunch, it just took Angelica and Valerie some time to convince Nancy to want to move.

Val would jump at the chance to spend time with a guy her friend slept with. It was strange reasoning, but if it got her out of the house Angelica didn’t really mind. She herself was only going because she would feel bad for turning down a seemingly nervous Nikki, and as a way to meet Tommy’s band members in a more...open...setting.

Meant for five people, the car was now pretty cramped with the seven of them in it. With Tommy sat in the driver’s seat and Valerie insisting on sitting beside him to pick the music, it left the other five to fight it out in the back. Poor Mick was squished between Nikki and Vince as the two girls sat on their laps. Nancy didn’t mind sitting on Vince’s knee. It was Vince, after all. Nikki had his arms wrapped firmly around Angelica’s waist to make sure that, when Tommy eventually came to a grinding halt in the diner car park, she wouldn’t be thrown into the back of the driver’s seat.

The two made small talk for the majority of the ride, though Angelica mostly concentrated on trying not to throw up from her friend’s reckless driving. It wasn’t as awkward as it was earlier this afternoon, or even when Nikki had initially come to the door. It was actually quite pleasant; the two of them laughing and mocking Valerie’s poor choice of music. Perhaps lunch was a good idea after all.

#the dirt #the dirt movie #motley crue #motley crue movie #nikki sixx #tommy lee #vince neil #mick mars #fanfiction #fanfic #motley crue fanfic #motely crue fanfiction #the dirt fanfic #the dirt fanfiction #the dirt fandom #motely crue fandom

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mnemememory · 5 years

Text

[video description: a Bengal cat is sitting in the middle of the frame, eyes fixed on something just above the camera’s lens. He stays there for almost five minutes, not moving.

A door slams just off to the side, and the cat flinches.

“HA! I WIN! I WIN!”

A pair of battered boots comes into the scene. “What is –?”

“I WIN!”

Text scrolls across the suddenly blank video: [Triumph is mine!]

STARING CONTEST WITH ROOMMATE’S CAT – part 12

NottTheBrave

[subscribe] 9,409 views

Posted 23/02/2018

Another Staring Contest With The Devil – Nott 3 | Frumpkin 9…SHOW MORE

[video description: A woman is standing in front of a tall wall, dressed in blue sweatpants and a black tank top. She has a long stick held loosely in her hands. Every few seconds, she spins it around so she can better show off her muscles.

Next to her is a tall man with dark skin and a long scar running up from his top lip and across his cheek. He is dressed very thoroughly in padded armour and is side-eyeing the woman and her big stick with what would appear to be a healthy dose of concern.

The woman waves her arms around. The man narrowly dodges underneath the stick.

“Hello, my lovely viewers,” the woman says, grinning. “Today, we’re going to film a man getting hit in the dick with my staff.”

“Beau,” the man says, genuine alarm settling across his classically handsome features. “I didn’t agree to that –”

The scene cuts ahead. The sun is well up in the sky by now. The man is even more thoroughly padded across every inch of his body, so much so that he can barely waddle around without falling over. He attempts to do so, shuffling to the side so he can stare balefully at the camera. Beau is nowhere to be seen.

“Hi,” he says. “My name is Fjord, over at CaptainTusktooth on YouTube, Twitter and Instagram” – links flash across the page, along with the words ‘lol go and tweet him GIF’s from The Ring’ – “And today, I’m going to be acting as a crash-dummy for –”

“Stop boring my viewers!” Beau yells off-screen.

Fjord gives the camera a long stare. It zooms in a little bit to capture how dead inside he looks, the ambient upbeat music momentarily replaced with the sound of violins.

“This is what happens,” he says. “When you lose a bet with your girlfriend. Learn from my mistakes. Don’t make bets with your girlfriend. You will lose.”

Beau cackles off-screen. The tip of her staff whips along the edge of the frame as she warms up. Fjord looks at her, then back at the camera.

“Jester,” he says. “If I die, I want you to know that this is entirely your fault and –”

“Here I come!”

The scene cuts to Fjord giving a loud, high shriek as he stumbles back. The moment replays once in slow motion, the colour saturated out and violins playing in the background, and then cuts to them both standing in side-by-side.

“Okay, so here’s how to actually hit someone –”

Beau continues to demonstrate how to hit someone without actually hurting them, and then how to hit someone and absolutely hurt them. Fjord remains stoic throughout, though ever so often he’ll make a pained face to the camera whenever Beau lands too-hard a hit. The video ends with a montage of Fjord’s uncomfortable faces overlaid with his initial scream].

I Hit A Man So Hard He Screams | ft. CaptainTusktooth

boBeauboBeaubo1

[subscribe] 16,754 views

Posted 03/02/2018

Join me and my crash-dummy and fellow YouTuber CaptainTusktooth (yes, that’s his real name) as I hit him a lot with my staff…SHOW MORE

[video description: A woman with short blue-dyed hair and glitter-dusted freckles is standing in front of an expensive-looking kitchen. Her apron has the words ‘My Cooking Is So Good Even The Smoke Alarm Cheers Me On’ stitched in pink thread across her chest. The intro theme – which consists of tiny bubble unicorns stampeding across the screen dragging the words ‘Jester Fancypants McGee!’ behind them – pops with a burst of sparkly animation.

“Happy Valentine’s Day!” Jester says, waving her arms around.

From behind the camera, a quiet voice says something. Words appear at the bottom of the screen:

[Yasha: Your right hand is out of frame]

Jester beams, shifting a little more to the right.

[Yasha: No, you have to go the other way]

Jester shuffles to her left. She seems to receive some kind of non-verbal confirmation that she is corrected positioned, because she starts back up again with no less enthusiasm.

“In honour of Valentines Day, we’re going to do be doing something very special. Do you know what my favourite kind of cake is?”

There is a moment’s silence.

[Yasha: Wait, do you want me to answer that?]

“Red Velvet Cake!” Jester yells at the same time, flinging her arms into the air. “And do you know what that reminds me of?”

Another moment of silence.

[Yasha: …blood?]

“Blood!” Jester yells at the same time. “Oh, you got it right Yasha! Good for you.”

There is a small sigh.

“Here’s what you’re going to need to make this very wonderfully bloody Valentine’s Day Red Velvet Cake,” Jester says. She points at the white granite tabletop and snaps her fingers. Through the magic of jump-cut editing, it soon becomes littered with messily measured bowels of ingredients. Text appears to the side in curly lettering: For ingredients and full recipe, check link to Jester’s blog in the description!!!

The cake that takes form is less anatomically correct than artistically creative, complete with googly-eyes and a dramatically screaming mouth. Jester stands back from her work with a proud smile. She wipes her stained fingers down the length of her apron, which now resembles something out of a particularly gruesome horror movie. Her face is splattered with red food colouring, her nose tipped with a puffy smear of cream cheese icing.

“And there you have it!” she says proudly. “My Valentine’s Day –”

Someone stumbles into the scene. Fjord is very obviously tired, limbs dragging with lethargy, dark bruises visible along his arms. He takes one look at the destroyed kitchen, horror-movie girlfriend, and camera-setup, and then turns around and leaves. An edited frowny face follows him out of frame].

the coolest and most fun valentine’s day cake in the history of ever

Jester Fancypants McGee

[subscribe] 27,490 views

Posted 12/02/2018

Prepare for Vonderful Vampire Valentine’s Day with this one-of-a-kind Red Velvet heart – cake...SHOW MORE

[video description: Fjord is sitting on a comfortable-looking couch that is covered in all kinds of animal rug-skins. The person sitting next to him has shoulder-length blond hair and is almost comically well-dressed compared to Fjord’s own jeans and cowboy boots.

Fjord stares dead at the camera.

“Welcome,” he drawls. “To Fjord’s Yee-Haw Game Ranch.”

Fjord’s Yee-Haw Game Ranch: Red Dead 2 ft. Bryce

CaptainTusktooth

[subscribe] 15,783 views

Posted 26/02/2018

Well howdy there, partners! Welcome to Fjord’s Yee-haw Game Ranch, where I – Captain Tusktooth, AKA Fjord – and Bryce….SHOW MORE

[video description: a tall, skinny man is sitting calmly in the middle of a graveyard. The stones are warped and faded enough that the names are completely unrecognisable, the camera focused in a way that the shadowed trees are a black silhouette against his back.

“Hello, children,” the man says. He is dressed in bright pastels, his hair dyed a fluorescent pink. “Today we are going to make the perfect cup of tea.”

He calmly sets up a tripod with a large, antique black kettle hooked over the top. He sets a small fire underneath it and sits and stares at the camera.

After five minutes of waiting, he checks the kettle and is apparently satisfied with the results, because he goes over to one of the graves and begin to pick some flowers. There is no sound other than the crackle of the fire and the distant, creak of tree branches pushed about by the breeze.

The man returns to his spot and begins to grind up some purple flowers in a mortar and pestle, gently brushing the contents the clay cup when he is done. He sits back with a low, contented sigh and stares at something behind the camera for a little while.

When the kettle begins to make some noise, the man gets to his feet and takes the kettle off the tripod, pouring it into the cup. He stirs it for a little bit with a small stick, and then blows gently over the top. Steam curls up from the cup towards the sky in delicate, smoky tendrils.

The man waits for a few minutes, and then takes a long, generous sip of the tea.

“Aaah,” he says. “Thank you for experiencing this with me, children. This is a very good cup of tea.”

making the perfect cup of tea

Mr. Clay

[subscribe] 20,001 views

Posted 02/02/2018

Making tea…SHOW MORE

[video description: the camera is focused downward at a table full of buttons. There is no apparent uniformity to the size, design or colour – some of them have the paint chipped away, while others sparkle in the dim lighting. There isn’t any room in the frame for the rest of the room. There is no background music.

“Good morning, everyone. Today I welcome you to my button collection.”

A pair of green-gloved hands reach out from both sides of the frame to shift around the buttons. More buttons are revealed.

“This is one of my favourites,” the disembodied voice says. The gloved hand grabs onto a small, clear glass button to hold it up to the lens. It swims in and out of focus for a few seconds. “There was a lovely tailor shop that I lived behind for a while which just threw these away, can you believe –”

“Nott? Have you seen my cat?”

“I’m filming –”

The scene cuts again. The lighting has changed and become much brighter. The buttons on the table have obviously been messed around with. The green-gloved hand is holding up another button up for the camera to inspect, this one bronze-looking and intricately designed.

“I found this one on the coat of a dead person washed up next to the sewer I was hiding behind. I had to polish it a lot to get the bloodstains out of the cracks, but I think it came out okay.”

The rest of the video continues in a similar vein, with the green-gloved hand choosing buttons from the table seemingly at random and relaying stories about each of them. At one point, a cat jumps up onto the table and starts pawing through the buttons, but the green-gloved hand shoos it away before it can eat any of them].

EPIC BUTTON COLLECTION

NottTheBrave

[subscribe] 2,354 views

Posted 11/03/2018

I share my button collection....SHOW MORE

BONUS

[video description: a tall, androgynous-looking man who has perfect purple-and-gold eyeshadow and is covered in tattoos stares fixedly at the camera. He is sitting cross-legged on a bed covered in throw-pillows that do not match. He is slowly tapping his nails – which are painted a lime green with glitter accents – along his knee.

“Well, well, well,” he says, lazily stretching out his shoulders. “I bet you thought I had died.”

Someone clears their voice offscreen.

“Well, I didn’t!” he continues hastily, voice bright and cheerful. “Which is the important thing to remember here. No one is dead. I continue to grace you with my presence through your computer screens. Less Mollymauk Tealeaf is still better than none!”

Another throat-clear, this time louder and more pointed.

Mollymauk rolls his eyes. “Since my last foundation tutorial seemed to go over well, I thought I should demonstrate some more advanced –”

Someone barges into screen, shoving Mollymauk off to the side and glaring at the camera. Her shirt if cobalt blue. Her arms are crossed in front of her chest. Her makeup is smudgy and old.

“Hey, Molly,” she says. “Why don’t you tell your lovely viewers why you’ve been so radio silent these past few weeks.”

“I said you could watch so long as you didn’t interfere! This is going to be a mess trying to edit out –”

“No one wants to watch your foundation, they want to know about –”

“I am a very private person, Beau, and I don’t appreciate –”

Someone comes into frame. She is very tall, with heavy dark makeup and frost-pale skin. Her eyes narrow at the bickering duo, and then she turns her back onto them.

“He got hit by a car,” she says.

“Yasha! Get back behind the camera!”

Yasha shrugs and goes out of frame. Mollymauk is currently in a headlock.

“Wait, on second thought, come and save me –!”

The scene cuts into the future, with Mollymauk and Beau sitting on opposite ends of the bed glaring at each other. They are both noticeably more dishevelled than earlier. Mollymauk’s makeup does, however, remain impeccable.

Words appear at the bottom of the screen:

[We put it to a vote. Molly was outvoted 2 to 1. You’re welcome]

“Fine,” Mollymauk finally says, sulkily uncrossing his arms and sitting up a little straighter. “This can be my impromptu Q&A! I haven’t done one of those in a while, anyway. To make a long story short –

“Very short,” mutters Beau.

“– I was run over by one of my exes.”

“One of your asshole exes,” Beau says. “You always forget to mention that.”

“Well, I thought the fact that he ran me over with his car made that fairly self-explanatory.”

“People are stupid. They need things spelled out for them.”

“Well, maybe you’re not –”

There is another jump cut. There are noticeably less pillows on the bed, and the ones that remain have been moved around. Beau is gazing sulkily off into the corner.

“I basically broke up with him because he started being a creep to some friends of mine,” Mollymauk says, glancing down at his nails. “And when they told me some of the things he said – well, it wasn’t exactly the most heartbreaking decision I’ve ever made. It was rather cathartic, actually.”

“And then he ran you over with a car.”

“I’m getting to that, calm down. Since Lorenzo wouldn’t stop harassing me, I decided to – well, you know what, that’s not a very internet-friendly story. Needless to say, he made the decision to cut off all contact.”

“With you,” Beau mutters. Mollymauk ignores her.

“Unfortunately, he isn’t exactly – the hamster’s dead, but the wheel’s still turning, if you know what I mean. Since I’m rather publicly affiliated with this simply charming young woman –”

“Fuck you, Molly.”

“– he decided to be rather unpleasant.”

Beau scowls. “This idiot pushed me out of the way of that car and was in a coma for a good week. Thanks, dickhead.”

“I’m so sorry for saving your life, it won’t happen next time.”

[I just cut out the next part because I had to bleep everything out, and it wasn’t worth it]

The scene cuts again. Molly is sitting in centre frame, back straight and grin wide. Beau is nowhere to be seen. The bed is a mess, with most of the pillows shoved into the corner.

“Since this devolved a little, I guess my next video will have to be the foundation one! So sorry for that, my lovely viewers, but really what you need to know is that I’m back and will once again be uploading on schedule. So long, farewell, and I’ll see you next time.”

Molly blows a kiss to the camera, and the scene ends.

My Ex Ran Me Over With His Car | Impromptu Q&A With boBeauboBeaubo1

Mollymauk Tealeaf

[subscribe] 2,097,364 views

Posted 12/07/2018

While I think the title is fairly self-explanatory, I do want to assure people that I’m all better now with only a few scars…SHOW MORE

#critical role #critical role campaign 2 #the mighty nein #youtuber AU #fjorester #light romance #beau & fjord bromance #everyone lives and is happy #dead molly what dead molly #modern au #i think i'm funny #fanfic #my writing #edit: why does tumblr keep fucking up my formatting???

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alisayamin · 6 years

Text

Somebody To Love (Sheith Secret Santa - Pinch Hit)

Ashie!! I’m your pinch hitter for the Sheith Secret Santa! I hope you like this pre-Kerberos fanfic! ^3^

Read on AO3

Shiro never thought it was physically possible to wake up because Matt started playing that awful song again but he did.

“Caaaaaaaaaan…. Anybodyyy? Find meeee, somebody tooo loooooovee~”

The worst part was? Matt was actually studying at the dining table and would alternate between pausing and playing the song according to what Shiro was doing.

He was just standing up from where he had accidentally slept on the couch when the song continued, “Ooh, each morning I get up I die a little… Can barely stand on my feet!”

As he went inside the bathroom to wash his face, he could hear the continuation, “(Take a look at yourself) Take a look in the mirror and cry (and cry), lord what you're doing to me?”

By the time he was preparing his daily bowl of cereal, that horrible line was repeating again, “Somebody (somebody) ooh somebody (somebody). Can anyyybodyyy find meee somebody to love?”

“I work hard (he works hard) every day of my life” Shiro twisted his neck to the side until it made a popping sound that made Matt look over at him and grimace deeply, “I work till I ache in my bones- I work till I ache my bones- I work till I ache my bones- I work till I ache my bones-“

Shiro gave Matt his most unimpressed face (which Matt challenged with his own poker face) but Matt was still rewinding that one single line again and again and again, until finally, Shiro relented.

He happily buried his face in his crossed arms as he admitted defeat, “FINE. You win. I’ll take the weekend off.”

Matt got up from his seat with the most triumphant smile and began singing to his favourite Queens song. Honestly, sometimes Shiro wasn’t sure who the commanding officer in the room was anymore.

When Shiro first met Matt, it was when they found out they were roommates. Although they were in different programs, Matt was always there for Shiro. He was like the annoying brother Shiro never thought he’d meet. Even after Shiro became an instructor at the Garrison, he refused to move out from their shared quarters. Pros: Matt cared for Shiro and would make sure he ate and slept accordingly. Cons: Matt cared for Shiro and would force Shiro to take some time off from Garrison by giving him tickets to watch illegal races.

Shiro was walking to the secret track while simultaneously talking to Matt on his communicator that dual-functioned as a wristwatch as well, “Remind me again why you even had this pass. Do you really expect me to believe it was because of some racer?”

“Hey, Keith is awesome! Make sure you bet him for me. He’s usually the one in red, number 23. And c’mon Shiro, loosen up!” Matt shrugged with a smug grin.

Shiro was already starting to regret his decision, “I’m a certified Garrison pilot who’s about to watch ILLEGAL racing-“

Matt’s expression suddenly became serious as he cut Shiro off, “Yeah but you gotta watch him. You’ll understand. Trust me.”

And that sealed the deal. Because if anything, Matt was the only Shiro truly trusted at the Garrison.

Shiro stared at Matt through his communicator before giving a curt nod, “I’m reaching the vicinity. Call you later.”

“Have fun!” Matt waved happily before he disconnected.

When Shiro reached the marked building on his digital map, he went inside. It was a typical abandoned establishment in an abandoned city. He traveled quite far to watch this particular race so he hoped it was worth it. Following Matt’s instruction, Shiro walked to the ‘white ring’ and laid the ticket backside up on his palm. Abruptly, a red light scanned Shiro’s body and the ticket from the ceiling above him before it dispersed as suddenly as it appeared. Shiro felt a rumbling at his feet before the ‘white ring’ started descending underground.

It was a quiet ride that slowly grew louder as the walls opened up to a huge stadium. Shiro’s eyes grew wide with awe at the massive size of the underground track. From his still descending platform, Shiro had a clear semi-aerial view of the whole place. He saw that the rocky track was uneven and looked natural rather than man-made.

Blinding lights streamed from above. Reflective surfaces were used to direct the beams towards the race track, creating an incredible stage lighting effect.

When the platform finally reached the bottom, Shiro found himself lost in the crowds. Matt assured him that as long as he found his seat, he’d be able to bet and watch the race safely. The crowds were basically those that couldn’t get the passes but still wanted to watch the race. Shiro wondered how they found their way inside since the place was so deep underground.

It took longer than he thought to navigate through the masses but he was lucky to be on the right side of the stadium where his seat was located. The LED lights illuminating Shiro’s seat changed from red to green after he scanned his pass again at the small scanner located on the edge of the left armrest. Instantly, a rectangular touch-sensitive virtual display appeared in front of him; the betting screen.

The racers were labeled by colour and numbers. Names seemed to be optional since not many racers had placed their names in that particular section. Shiro scrolled for ‘Keith’ and made sure that it was also labeled ‘red’ and ‘23’. Matt betted a hefty sum for this ‘Keith’, enough for Shiro to pitch in his own units. Once the units were transferred, Shiro confirmed his bets. The display shrunk to a smaller screen on top of the right armrest.

Shiro perked up when he heard the familiar rumbling of a well-tuned aircraft. He looked upwards just in time to see a distinct red hovercraft swooping over his head. Shiro felt as though time slowed in that split second. It was surreal to watch the underbelly of a real flying (probably illegal) aircraft so close to his face. The resulting wind that slammed him into his seat was exhilarating. Shiro secretly wished he could ride his own hovercraft at that moment. Instantaneously, twelve other hovercrafts flew towards the track from all corners of the stadium. The crowds’ cheers drowned the revving engines as the racers took their position.

There was a commentator riling up the crowds and announcing odds of the possible winner. Shiro would have paid attention if he wasn’t so focused on the racers themselves. He noticed that there was definitely a major difference between the size (and age) of the other racers and this… ‘Keith’. Compared to the others, ‘Keith’ was practically a child! Shiro imagined Matt hitting his head for mocking someone’s height. Okay, Shiro conceded, ‘Keith’ was at least a young adult. A teenager. In an illegal race track. Racing illegally.

All sorts of alarms started ringing in Shiro’s head. Before he could properly organize his thoughts, a loud bang resounded throughout the stadium, signifying the start of the race.

Shiro literally forgot all about ‘Keith’ and that person’s age when he saw the smooth maneuvers that red aircraft was pulling off. The track was somewhat inconsistent, divided between a smoother pathway and a rocky one. The red aircraft, number 23, young adult ‘Keith’, was the only one in that rocky part of the track. And it was…

It was breathtaking.

Shiro himself had only ever did half those stunts strictly in simulators. Yet, here was a kid doing it with twice the risk and twice the skill Shiro could ever hope for. The control was flawless and the skill was.. Shiro couldn’t describe it as anything but ‘instinctual’. ‘Keith’ piloted that aircraft as though they were one. Matt had said before “You could take your eyes off him but you WON’T.” Shiro had scoffed back then. Yet, there he was, eyes figuratively glued to the red aircraft with a striking ‘23’ painted on the right wing.

By the time that red aircraft made it through the finish line first, Shiro was on his feet, clapping enthusiastically. He even cheered along with the crowds. The pilot of the winning aircraft came to an abrupt stop in the middle of the stadium and took off his helmet.

And Shiro received confirmation that ‘Keith’ was in fact, a teenager. His body was small and was of average height, probably 17, black hair styled into a mullet and he had a strong posture. Even from afar, Shiro could tell that despite his size and age, ‘Keith’ was not a child. ‘Keith’ walked to the podiums where the commentator was excitedly announcing all the amazing stunts ‘Keith’ had pulled.

As the commentator raised the winning pilot’s fist, Shiro was hit with an epiphany. Matt never did anything without a reason. And Shiro just realized what Matt wanted him to do and what he was already planning on doing the moment ‘Keith’ navigated his aircraft through a small curved cave that shouldn’t have been possible.

Shiro was going to recruit ‘Keith’ into the Garrison space pilot program.

Keith politely shook hands with the other racers that approached him. He was only going to stay till he received his units and not a minute longer. Unfortunately, he could feel eyes on him. Someone from the stands was watching him too intensely for his liking. By the end of the race, people would usually rush to reap their rewards from their bets at the collection counters. No one would stay behind to watch the racers or anything.

So when that uneasy feeling remained, Keith kept his guard up. The underground stadium was one of the more secure race tracks, so for it to be compromised would be very bad news indeed.

Keith started to undress from his racing garment, allowing him access for his dagger and other accessories in his utility belt to help with escape if he needed it. He would do anything to escape the system. Keith had just put on his red jacket when he heard incoming footsteps.

“Hi there.” Someone spoke from behind Keith.

As a reflex, Keith pressed the panic button on his wristband and withdrew his dagger, pointing it towards the suspicious intruder. Alerted by the panic button, everyone within a 100-meter radius withdrew their own weapons; guns, knives and other melee weapons, towards the person that was deemed a threat by Keith.

Said person simply raised his hands in a placating gesture. His eyes were wide and genuinely frightened but Keith didn’t take any chances.

“Scan him.” Keith commanded.

One of the other racers did so using a minipad and then announced, “Status, Garrison personnel. Pass holder, Matt Holt.”

Keith’s eyes narrowed at the stranger, “You’re not Matt.”

“N-no but I am Garrison personnel.” The stranger gulped audibly as he continued, “I came in Matt’s place. He’s my roommate.”

Keith felt something loosen inside him as he remembered Matt telling him all about his ‘workaholic roommate’. The stranger definitely fitted Matt’s description of the hair and body type. Keith reluctantly lowered his dagger, “Shiro?”

The intruder looked taken aback, “Yeah.. How did you-“

Shiro seemed to forget all about the hostility around him as Keith heard Shiro mumbling to himself about how he was going to kill Matt six ways from Sunday.

“What do you want with Keith?” one of the racers asked with his gun still pointing in Shiro’s direction.

Without looking at the asker, Shiro stared straight at Keith and gave his answer, “I want to recruit Keith into the Garrison space pilot program.”

Then, it was time for Keith and everyone else to be surprised instead. The tense atmosphere broke with laughter. Keith would’ve laughed too if Shiro didn’t have so much conviction in his voice and if he wasn’t looking at Keith with such.. sincerity.

The others soon picked up on the seriousness of Shiro’s confession and the laughter died off.

“You’re serious.” The commentator deadpanned.

Shiro nodded, “Absolutely. If he comes under my recommendation, all he has to do is pass the entrance exam. I can help with that and so can Matt.”

All weapons were lowered and all eyes were on Keith. The teenager looked conflicted as he frowned at Shiro. Keith couldn’t comprehend Shiro’s desire to recruit him so he voiced out a soft but incredulous, “…why?”

The smile Shiro gave him was honest and warm, “Because if we had pilots with even half your skill, we’d be visiting Kerberos annually.”

Those words struck a familiar chord inside Keith. He allowed a small smile towards Shiro, “Matt said the exact same thing.”

“I’m not surprised.” Shiro rolled his eyes, “So? What do you say?”

Matt had once told Keith that his background wouldn’t be a problem if a Garrison personnel (especially someone like Shiro who was the Garrison golden boy) recommended him. He had lived the past few years as a runaway orphan, reading books from the public libraries, travelling with various mechanics to earn his keep, building his own aircraft and winning units through racing. Maybe it’d be nice to settle in one place to learn properly for once.

And if Matt and Shiro were a symbol of the Garrison, that place shouldn’t be too bad.

“I’m in.”

“You’re FIFTEEN?” Shiro gaped at Keith.

They couldn’t bring Keith’s (very illegal) hovercraft so Shiro opted to leave it in a secluded outpost somewhere in the desert. They were currently lounging on the porch together, watching the stars above.

“I thought we established that already.” Keith sat at the porch steps while Shiro was leaning on the pillar to Keith’s left.

“NO. We established greetings and names, not YOUR AGE.”

Keith crossed his arms, “Drop it.”

Upon receiving the learning texts required to pass the entrance exam from Matt (through Shiro), Keith politely returned them to Shiro, saying that he had read them before. Shiro called bullshit and began quizzing Keith, only to eat his own words later when Keith answered every question correctly.

Keith caught Shiro sighing blissfully while staring at the stars. There was something about Shiro’s love of space that made Keith want to feel it too.

“I wanna explore all that one day…” Shiro whispered wistfully, “Just.. go wherever the stars trail to.”

Shiro turned to Keith, “Wanna come with?”

Keith played along, “Only if you’re leading the mission.”

“Ho? Why’s that?”

Keith didn’t answer but he’d figured that someone who loved space as much as Shiro did would always make it out alive somehow.

Rumours flew around the Garrison about Shiro adopting a stray. If that stray was an increasingly infuriating brat called Keith, Shiro would readily admit that rumour. Not one month since his enrollment and Keith was already beating every single one of Shiro’s records. Truthfully, that was all he was striving to do. Keith lived to watch Shiro’s face when he found out that Keith had beat his score.

Keith did well enough in class but he lacked participation and did not get along with his classmates. Shiro knew Keith was not used to regular human interaction and it took a long time to get those stories out about Keith’s past. But once it was out, Shiro tried making up for all the social interaction Keith needed to learn normalcy. Animosity among teenagers was something Shiro wished he never had to deal with but Keith was someone Shiro never wanted to see hurt.

Every time Keith excelled and gained fame for his piloting skills, many interpreted it as Keith being arrogant and a ‘show-off’. Shiro knew about all the ‘lessons’ some cadets would make Keith learn for being favoured by Shiro and the other instructors. Matt could wash away all the bloody cloths he used to help Keith but nothing could ever remove the black bruises from Keith’s body before Shiro found out. And Keith, being the stubborn brat he was, would never admit who exactly held him down while other people kicked the shit out of him.

Keith fought back of course, but never more than he needed to get away. Although Shiro never said it, Keith understood that as ‘Shiro’s recommended’, everything Keith did would reflect on Shiro too.

Shiro’s solution to the ‘secret beatings’? Secret self-defense lesson. Unfortunately, Keith could disarm and throw Shiro to the ground in no time. That was when Shiro realized that Keith didn’t use his full strength against his classmates. They were lucky too. Shiro and Keith had matching bruises soon.

Matt’s solution to the ‘secret beatings’? A vine account. A Garrison vine account. Where he used every blackmail material possible and posted incredibly embarrassing moments of almost every cadet in the academy.

It definitely distracted everyone from Keith, especially since no one knew who was behind the account (because of course Shiro, Matt and Keith would post stupid shit about each other as well).

Matt posted a vine of Shiro sleeping during a class after he had handed out quizzes.

Shiro posted a vine of Keith being smashed with a pie (from Matt) on his face for his birthday.

Keith posted a vine of Shiro constantly squeezing shampoo onto a panicking Matt who was shouting because no matter how badly he washed, the shampoo was still there.

Once a month, Keith and Shiro spent the weekend at the outpost in the desert. Shiro taught Keith about the constellations while they're both on their back, lying on the cool night sands.

In the mornings, Keith would give Shiro mini heart attacks by flying his hovercraft at full speed with Shiro as the passenger.

Keith enjoyed Shiro's panicked rants and shouts but not as much as Shiro enjoyed Keith's rare laugh and the way Keith looked with the wind against his smiling face.

Shiro was chosen to be part of the Kerberos mission. So was Matt.

Keith promised to take over the vine account and continue their legacy.

Shiro hugged Keith for the first time the night before he left. Keith didn’t know why he felt like crying when he was Shiro’s arms. It wasn’t goodbye but Shiro’s strong grip was misleading.

After Shiro let Keith go, he gently tilted Keith’s chin up and kissed him softly on the lips.

The rumours of Shiro and Matt being the owner of the Garrison vine account became null because the account was still running even after they left.

For 6 months, the vine account posted daily videos of the variety of students in Garrison. Those that pick their nose in secret, those that sang in the showers, those that were caught dancing with very risqué moves through the dorm windows, those that slept in class, and those that simply had funny things to say.

The Garrison vine account died the day the Kerberos mission was announced to have failed due to a pilot error.

Keith couldn’t stay.

He couldn’t stay and be ridiculed and lied to by people who said Shiro and Matt were dead.

Shiro was not dead.

Someone who loved space as much as Shiro did would not just die. And Shiro would not let anything happen to Matt. Besides, they promised to explore the stars together.

Shiro was not dead.

Keith ditched everything and left the academy. He went to the outpost in the desert to retrieve his hovercraft. Some of his and Shiro’s clothes were still there from when they would stayover so that Keith could tune his hovercraft.

Shiro was not dead.

Keith let himself wander with his hovercraft. Two weeks later, he realized that he was flying circles around a certain spot. A month of exploration later, Keith found the markings of ‘Voltron’. Few weeks later, he had all the markings on paper. He calculated the dates from the data he found using the formula he learned to derive from Matt. Something was going to happen soon.

Shiro was not dead.

There was a crash on the night Keith predicted something would happen. Although he believed that Shiro wasn’t dead, it was different to actually see and touch Shiro for real. He used his hovercraft to get Shiro (and the extra baggage) to safety.

Shiro was not dead.

When Shiro woke up on the bed they shared many times in the outpost, Keith didn’t hesitate to hug him. They stayed in each other’s arms for a long time. Keith wanted to ask about Matt, about the mission, about the past year and Shiro’s whereabouts but at that moment, he wished time would stop. Shiro’s grip was as tight as the night he hugged Keith before his mission.

Keith felt the urge to cry again but he didn’t stop it this time. He would let himself break just this one time, to embrace the fact that Shiro was not dead. When Shiro pulled Keith in for a kiss, Keith didn’t question it. He responded as desperately as Shiro was giving it to him. They never spoke about it, whatever that was happening between them but Keith was fine with it. He’d give Shiro anything he needed. Matt once said (sang) to Keith that Shiro needed somebody to love, someone to lead him home when he lost his way in space.

As Shiro’s hands began tentatively mapping Keith’s back, and his lips began trailing soft kisses down Keith’s neck, Keith thought to himself that he had already become Shiro’s beacon. Keith promised to himself that day that he’d always bring Shiro home no matter how many times it takes.

Author’s Note:

Everyone needs somebody to love. They remind you why you still need to live and breathe. I hope all of y'all have someone to love.

#sheithsecretsanta2017 #sheith #pre-kerberos #my fics #voltron #vld #takashi shirogane #keith #pinch hitter #pinch hit

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yourjughead · 7 years

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Driving Ms.Daisy

Synopsis: you go away for the weekend to a theme park opening with your friends. With two friends hoping to ride a different kind of rollercoaster with you.

Pairings: Jugheadxreader, archiexreader, ( Joaquin x Kevin and Betty x Veronica mentioned.

Warnings: Swearing, fluff, reckless driving? Don't be an idiot like the Reader in this is.

A/N. Not requested, just came out of my lil brain tonight, poorly edited.

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“We're going to die” “We're not going to die Archie, calm down” “We're going to die” “We're not going to...GET THE FUCK OUT OF THE WAY JACKASS!!!” “I agree, we're definitely going to die” Joaquin chimes in from the backseat. “Would you babies calm down for christ sakes I know what I'm doi...OI SNAKE BRAIN! YEAH YOU! YOUR BRAIN IS THE SIZE OF THAT GAP YOU LEFT! SHARE THE FUCKING ROAD!.... Bastard” “Yup, we're dead” you head Kevin whine from behind you before launching into the rosary. You swerve the people carrier tightly around the corner, the only way you know how, sending the boys flying into the side of the car with Kevin ultimately ending up on top of Joaquin. “Fucking hell ynn!” Archie rubs his head with one hand while the other stays white knuckled around the grab handle, the sun just starting to break behind him. “If you cook like you drive then god help us” a now slightly green Joaquin adds, helping Kevin to sit back upright and tighten his safety belt even tighter. “If we even live that long” you hear Kevin whisper. “The utter lack of faith that my boys have in me is really quiet disheartening….who wants to bet I can make all these green lights before they change?” “No!” They all scream in unison as you laugh and accept the challenge. “How the fuck did you pass drivers ed?” “Driver's ed? what's that?” You smirk at Archie who was now turning the same colour are Joaquin. ~ You pull up to the curb finally and Kevin opens the door before sliding out onto the ground and practically kissing it. You roll your eyes at the actions as Archie joins Kevin by lying flat out on the pavement with Joaquin close after.

Jughead struts out of the house laughing at the sight of the lads((guys, boys etc.)) “Let me guess, yn’ driving?” Jughead finally regains composer as you give a little wave from the driver's seat. “Nope no definitely not, I'm driving the rest of the way, I refuse to arrive to the hotel in a casket” Archie leans in removing the keys from the ignition receiving a dirty look from you. “Ah come on she's not that bad” Jughead jumping to your defense surprises you a little.

“You only say that cause you're almost as bad a her” a breathless Kevin announce, gaining a roll of the eyes from both you and Jughead.

“We may never agree on anything but at least we agree I'm a good driver” you proudly nod.

“Oh no no I didn't say that, I said you're not that bad...you're still pretty shit at driving just not yanno, screaming God's name bad” “oh honey, I could make you scream God's name in a different way if you'd prefer” you wink gaining a collective groan from everyone but Jughead who just smirks. The dynamics of yere friendship was simple, 3 parts arguing, 1 part flirtatious banter, 3 parts genuine care for the other.

After Archie practically pried you away from the steering wheel you found yourself in the very back of the people carrier with Jughead. Betty had arrived with her girlfriend who had brought along more than half her wardrobe. “Yanno V we're going for like 2 nights…” “I know, I should have packed more….”. ~ Archie's driving was far less exciting than yours. He made it a point to explain how he was driving so safely every 10 minutes much to your annoyance as your head grew heavy. The early morning start had caught up with you and you found yourself buried in Jugheads chest fast asleep. Archie's eyes met Jugheads in the rearview mirror, with a very firm but subtle glare coming from the ginger. Archie had liked you since he met you when you were 8 but Jughead had liked you since he met you at 6 but strongly denying it at any given moment. It was a source of conflict between them. One they had both chosen to ignore but somehow this weekend felt like it may be unavoidable. ~ You arrived upstate at the hotel by late evening, thanks to Archie's very careful, but very slow driving.

“Well thanks to driving ms.daisy we missed the opening day of the theme park, good job!” You gave a sarcastic thumbs up to Archie who only met you with a roll of his eyes. “We're alive aren't we?” “I would have gotten us here alive” “Last time I checked, wrapped around a the front of train was fairly dead” “Har.har.har” you teased. “Let's just get our rooms before I take you up on that train offer”. ~ Thanks to Archie's break up with Val, you found yourself roommate-less and loving it. With the last minute cancellation you upgraded yourself to a big spacious double bed all for yourself, much to the groups couple's discontent as they found themselves having to push the single beds together.

It was around 3am when a rapid knocking came to your door. Arming yourself with the small lamp from the besides table you cautiously opened the door to find a groggy Jughead before you.

“aw you light up my world too ynn!” “Oh shut up Juggy, what's wrong? It better be something major or this lamp is going somewhere that lights never shone” “I have to share room with what sounds like a chainsaw stuck in a well….please can I stay with you, if you don't let me I might actually smother Archie"

“Ugh” you stepped back allowing the raven-haired boy to step in. After returning the lamp to it's home you found Jughead over your side of the bed. “Oh no no no, that's my side Sunshine” you out your hands to your hips in a failed attempt to assert yourself. “AhHa, yeah right Sunshine, make me move” not thinking you'd accept the challenge, Jughead cheekily rolled over to face away from you.

Surprise ran through him as you leapt on top of him in an attempt to move him over.

“Ynn I knew you thought you were a top but I didn't think you were this rough in bed!” He laughed using his weight to shift you to the side of him. However before long you're on top of him again this time mercilessly tickling him until you're both out of breath and he agrees to move leaving you both lying breathless next to each other.

“Not quite the reason why I wanted to be breathless in bed with you” he sighed light-heartedly as you flung your forearm into his chest laughing.

As you felt yourself slipping away to sleep again, an arm snaked around you, pulling you into it's origin. Jughead rested his chin lightly on the top of your head as both of your heart rates slowed while the electricity between you two quickened. You nuzzled into his chest gladly and not totally aware of what you were doing.

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Much love Xx

#riverdale fanfiction #riverdale fic #riverdale imagines #riverdale #jugheadxreader imagine #jughead #jughead fic #jughead jones #jughead x reader #riverdale jughead #archie x reader #archie #archie andrews #archie comics #archie andrews fluff #betty and veronica #betty x veronica #kevin x joaquin

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shorthaircutsmodels · 4 years

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rising-above-stars · 7 years

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These Inklings of Love IX

Word Count: 1156

Thomas never liked mirrors. He didn't like seeing his reflection in the glass. James was his roommate, and James knew about Thomas' discomfort around mirrors. The mosaic on his skin was beautiful, but Thomas didn't think so. He relied on James to tell him if he looked alright or not; if he looked like the person everyone thought he was. He didn't like the image that stared back at him. It just didn't seem like him. Although, there were some days where Thomas' curiosity had got the better of him and he forced himself to stand in front of the mirror, to look at the image of himself that the mirror held.

And that's where he was now. Standing in the bathroom, his eyes trailing over the collection of marks that found their way onto his skin. He couldn't tell you how many marks that he had, but he could tell you a story about each one, or a little detail he noticed about the person, or their names.

Thomas Jefferson isn't the person you think he is. But it was easier acting like that than trying to explain why he had so many marks from relationships that hardly even lasted a few days. He fell in love much too easy. Although it was hardly ever reciprocated. Sometimes he'd have multiple coloured marks on his skin at the same time like he did now. That always seemed to cause a problem for other people. Thomas had a hard time with relationships. To protect himself, he made himself seem like the type of person looking for one night stands, who doesn't want to stick to just one relationship at a time. But he never wanted sex. He wasn't so sure if he liked that idea. He thought it was weird, he was supposed to like sex, right? Maybe something was wrong with him. James tried to convince him otherwise. The only person who understood Thomas, and didn't mind his marks or how easily he fell in love, was James. James had been his best friend since childhood. So it was no surprise when he discovered James' koi fish on his wrist. He was sure James would hate him if he found out. James reassured Thomas that everything was okay and that he didn't hate him. That helped him feel a little better. Thomas sighed, trailing his fingers across the marks. He turned to look at his side and froze. No, he was seeing things, that mark wasn't supposed to be there, he wasn't supposed to fall in love with him. The mark he saw belonged to the one person he never expected to fall in love with. But here it was, in all its bright, vibrant greens. The curved feather that belonged to none other than Alexander Hamilton. He placed his fingers on the mark, carefully. He wasn't sure how long this was going to last, sometimes they never lasted very long. But Thomas had no way of knowing how long the mark would stay vibrant and colourful before the colour faded. He just hoped it faded soon. Thomas grabbed his shirt and put it on, doing up the buttons before he walked out of the bathroom. James looked up from his book and nodded in approval. Thomas smiled. But there was something behind that smile that Thomas tried to hide. James knew that look. He'd seen it plenty of times. The pain, the disappointment, the numbness of knowing you're in love with someone that you cannot have.

"Zsa Zsa! Gilbert's online!" Adrienne called out to her girlfriend. Elizabeth grinned. "Tell him I'll be there soon! I'm covered in flour." "So am I mon chou, hurry up!" "Did you just call me a fucking cabbage?" Lafayette laughed as he listened to his two close friends talk. He missed having Adrienne and Elizabeth so close. He needed them, but being in different time zones made it hard to talk to each other. They eventually gave up on trying to make sure they weren't calling each other at ungodly hours, they just called when they could and the other would answer. Elizabeth soon appeared on the screen, covered in flour just like she said. "How are my favourite bakers?" Lafayette grinned Adrienne and Elizabeth looked at each other, pretending to look at each other in thought. "Hm... This one's looked better," Adrienne teased. Elizabeth shoved her over, laughing. "I'm expecting some cakes soon," Lafayette joked. The bakers laughed. "Of course, Gilbert. We'll never forget about you," Elizabeth smiled. "Now, what did we do to deserve a call from our favourite American Frenchman?" Adrienne asked, grinning. Lafayette shrugged and rubbed the back of his neck. "I, uh... I got my first mark..." He said slowly, looking at the screen with a sheepish but nervous grin. Adrienne and Elizabeth grinned. Although Elizabeth's smile soon faded. "Gil? Are you alright? Is something wrong?" Lafayette shrugged. "I'm alright, Zsa Zsa. It's just-" He sighed. "He likes someone else..." Adrienne and Elizabeth shared a look. "Oh..." "But I can't help it! You've both seen him! Those eyes, those curls, those freckles... I just never realised how much I love him until now..." Adrienne handed Elizabeth a ten dollar note. Elizabeth smiled and slid it into her pocket. "What?" Lafayette frowned. "We had a bet on who you liked. I was convinced that it was Hercules," Adrienne shrugged. "I'm good at these things, you know that," Elizabeth grinned. Lafayette sighed and shook his head, a faint smile on his face. He loved these two, platonically of course. They're like his sisters. Elizabeth and Adrienne act like Lafayette is their little brother, not that he minded. He was only a few months younger than them. There was never a dull moment when he was talking to them, they were his favourite people to talk to. He just had to refrain from answering their calls in the middle of a lecture.

"You two are so boring and awkward. Theo, back me up here," Dolley said, pointing her spoon at Eliza and Maria. Theo rolled her eyes. "Dolley, they just found out that they have each other's marks. You know their history." Dolley sighed and shook her head, stirring her coffee. "Hamilton's a dick." She took a sip. "We need to get you two out of your shells again."

Eliza and Maria nervously glanced at each other, Maria gently squeezing Eliza's hand underneath the table. "Dolley, you need to give them time to talk it out," Theo sighed. Maria and Eliza didn't need to talk. They talked the night before. (Despite being told they weren't allowed to leave their dorm room John stayed over at Lafayette and Hercules' place and Alexander knocked on Aaron's door in the middle of the night). Dolley gave the three a smirk as she sipped her coffee. "No, they need to let loose, have some fun. And I know just what to do."

Next>>

#these inklings of love #soulmates #soulmate au #hamilton au #alexander hamilton #john laurens #thomas jefferson #james madison #lafayette x adrienne #adrienne de noailles #elizabeth sanders #theodosia prevost burr #theodosia bartow #dolley payne #jamilton #maria lewis x elizabeth schuyler #marliza #elizabeth schuyler #maria lewis

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the-cryptographer · 7 years

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Red/Green from your fic

Wow, I’m really sorry this took me so long to finish, anon. I had most of it written a while back, but then I got distracted by real life complications… Mea culpa. But thank you so much for the ask!! And I hope you manage to find this post after all this time ^^;

What they watch during movie dates and what kind of snacks they get from concessions.

Red… might actually sleep through all the movies… Maybehe’ll watch ones that heavily incorporate pkmn into their plots, and he’ll payreally close attention to the pkmn that are onscreen, and get all into readingtheir body language and how it doesn’t match the actual tone or content of themovie. But, yeah, otherwise he’ll be sleeping. Green got cheese fries fromconcessions and threatens to eat them all if Red falls asleep, and that’sexactly what happens.

Which one gets in to a fight with the other’s parents.

Green. Green fights with Delia. I actually have drafts ofthem fighting for Stranded. It’s akind of muted fighting that neither of them wants to be doing but they disagreeabout things and each feels a bit short-changed and they get frustrated. Greenalso fights with his grandfather, of course, but Professor Oak and Red getalong well enough if a bit superficially.

What kind of street performance they’d put on to raise money if they were stranded somewhere.

Pkmn battle. It’s the obvious answer but the correct one, Ithink. I’m sure a battle between them would draw spectators. Anyhow, they havea custom at Viridian Gym to hold non-league standard battles (pkmn teams ofthree selected randomly) monthly, and hold a betting pool, and the profits gotowards helping rescue pkmn or otherwise special league things that Lance ishaving trouble budgeting for. They might just alter the premise slightly ifthey were stranded. They’ll have to use the money to get unstrandedimmediately, but their battle is still for charity. They’ll make a note of howmuch it was and reimburse from their own pockets.

How they’d be as parents if they had-a-kid/someone-forced-a-kid-on-them.

While I don’t ever see them wanting kids apart from 500displaced pkmn, I don’t think they’d be bad parents at all. Green gets to beloud at PTA meetings, and lecture the kid about responsibility and all that,and be smiling and encouraging, and shopping trips. And Red gets to be quietand loving, even though he makes that really blank face, lol. Children are juststrange pkmn to him, so he kind of approaches the topic the same way.

Who would cause the most trouble during a camping trip and how.

They are both verygood at camping. Red’s way more adept at it than Green. Mt Silver oc. And, nowthat he’s been back home for a while, he goes on regular camping trips withMisty and Brock too. Green doesn’t care for it much as a hobby, but he’s beenon his pkmn journeys, of course, so he knows how to camp and doesn’t mind doingso when it’s practical… I mean, they definitely can cause trouble while camping, but it’s not becauseeither of them is making stupid camping mistakes. …At least not anymore. Iguess there was that one time Red ate too much Ursaring liver on Mt Silver andgave himself Vitamin A poisoning. I guess a lot of that Mt Silver camping tripwas a disaster. But Mewtwo was better for it in the end, and Red was also betterfor it in the end so… *shrugs*

What they would give each other as both a serious gift and a troll gift.

Umm, pass… They definitely give gifts during holidays atleast, but I’m not sure exactly what the gifts are. Probably things they usefor work: pkmn egg incubator – or something odd like that.

Who moves in with them as an unfortunate third wheel roommate.

I still can’t decide if I want to call her Leaf or Blue.But, yes, her.Red’s kind of ??? about her, but not in an unfriendly way. Green wants her toleave. Right now. But she has noproblem whining at Green until he feels terribly guilty for having bullied heras a kid, and also she’s kind of hisfriend and kind of Red’s friend and kind of his sister-in-law and he has a responsibility towards her, and thewhole time she’s there she’s passive aggressively holding things over his headuntil he does what she wants. But finally Daisy drags her away, lol.Also Hibiki. Even worse guy that’s blatant in how much he likes Red and doesn’tlike Green.

How they feel about handholding and sudden kisses in the ear-cheek vicinity.

Yeah, they hold hands. And every once in a while, whenthey’re alone, Red gives Green sudden cheek kisses. It’s a rare enoughoccurrence that Green’s always a little surprised and blushy when it happens.

Who’s always snapping photos and who’s pack-ratting clutter.

Red acquires a camera at some point and spends the nextmonth ceaselessly snapping photos until Green and Venusaur and Pikachu are allsick of it. (Eevee and Cubone and the others are into it, lol.) He calms downafter that though and takes photos more sporadically.And Red totally pack rats practical items. Stacks of chipped dishes, old toys, wornstretch bands – anything he might need for pkmn rehab.

Who hogs the bathroom in the morning and who causes toothpaste related drama.

Not the bathroom, but Green takes forever choosing outfitsin the morning. You wouldn’t think it’d take so long to choose some of those horrible clashingcolour combos and pull on those cargo pants but… somehow…Red makes toothpaste trouble by not using enough of it. Green squeezes extratoothpaste onto his toothbrush. ‘It’s called dental hygiene, morning breath.’Toothpaste is grape flavoured.

What their matching costumes were for that one party.

They probably both show up to the costume party dressed asBlaine and they spend the entire time lovingly taking the piss out of him. Foranother party they might dress up as tv personalities – like Gabby and Ty fromthe Gen3 games – haha Interviewer Green and Cameraman Red would be prettygreat.

If I think they’d get married and why or why not.

You know what? I used to think ‘no’ while I was actuallywriting Missed Signals, but I’m leaning a lot more towards ‘yes’ now. It’s aconflict between trying not to make waves about something they think is theirprivate business, and wanting to vocally and publicly treasure each other. I’m gonnajust jump aboard the headcanon train that they’re gonna honeymoon in Alola.

Who has over a thousand unread emails in their inbox or five hundred icons on their computer desktop and how the other reacts to this gross mismanagement.

Green, in terms of the emails. He’s got a lot on his platebetween the gym and Viridian City’s management. His desktop is neat though.Red’s not too tech savvy since he chucked the Fame Checker. He has enough of atime responding to text messages, so he doesn’t really use his email foranything.

What their hidden artistic talents are and how appreciative the other is of these talents.

Neither of them is very artistic. No. Nothing beyondscribbly doodles.

What they consider each other’s most attractive quality and/or their favourite thing about the other.

Green admires Red’s intelligence, and his genius and compassionwhen it comes to working with pkmn. And his kind of amazing ability to succeedeven in the face of all this opposition. Also that Red can be so sweet andsmitten with him. Green loves being loved, lol.And what Red likes about Green – I think it’s the way Green’s so charismaticand such a good leader. And also Green can be really, idk, big ideas, bigambitions, big picture in his thinking. I think that kind of breadth appeals toRed.

Thanks again for the ask :)

#red (pkmn)#green (pkmn)#pkmn #my writing #ask

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mousedetective · 7 years

Note

I didn't have any specific idea in my mind. Maybe something about Molly's past with Moriarty coming up and Sherlock feeling uneasy about it. Or an AU story. Would love to read anything you'd write for those two ships. Thank you for taking my request! :)

So I apologize that it’s going to be multiple parts because I am so so horrible at those, but I went with an AU idea I had and I hope you like it. I think it’ll be fun.

K-I-S-S-I-N-G - Molly made a mistake in dating James Moriarty, and he wanted to make sure she pays for refusing him by tarnishing her reputation. When that didn’t work he moved on to ruining her charity kissing booth at the village faire, but Mary had her own plans to stop that, with a little help from her boyfriend’s friend, Sherlock Holmes.

Read Chapter 1 |Buy Me A Coffee? | Send Me A Prompt

“Don’t know why you talked me into the kissing booth, Mary,” Molly said with a sigh, stapling yet another glittery red heart that the students at the local primary school had decorated for their favourite volunteer. She should have known Mary would rope her wee ones into doing the decorating for the booth, because she had a way with them. When uni was over, she was going to make a great teacher, Molly knew it.

Of course, for her, she just wanted uni to be over. As soon as possible. Now would be rather nice. Anything to avoid him.

“Oh, come on,” Mary said, looking between a pink heart with multiple hearts drawn in glue and covered in different colored glitter and a white heart with “XOXO” written on it in Mary’s own perfect penmanship. In the end, she went with the glittery one and stapled it on her side. “You can’t avoid every living person on campus because the bastard said you--”

“Are as cold as a halibut on ice?” she muttered. She knew it was utter tripe, of course; she and the bastard had some rather heated moments. He’d even managed to get his hand up her skirt at one point. The last point. She wasn’t that kind of girl. A bit of kissing was fine and all, but a shag with someone who she had the feeling was seeing other girls on the side?

It wasn’t like she was waiting for marriage, just...commitment. That was what she wanted most. Trust and commitment.

“I still say you should have let me shoot him,” Mary said.

“And the archery team would have had my arse for having their star kicked off for attempted homicide,” Molly said, though it brought a smile to her face. She knew her roommate cared. That made her feel better. She’d blown off her own boyfriend the last few weeks to be there with her as she moped, and she knew John was fine with that. In fact, she knew John had had words with the bastard, too. Him and his best mate, some bloke she hadn’t had the chance to meet. Old friend from primary, just transferred. Had a bit of trouble at his other university. Something about deducing an affair between the university president and the treasurer and an embezzlement? John said in an effort to keep the lid on the scandal there were quiet retirements and Holmes was sent to a more prestigious university.

Theirs.

But whatever was said, she was at least spared rumours flying around campus. She was thankful for that. She wasn’t sure who had said what, but it had made things easier.

“Hello, love.”

She dropped the stapler as the familiar brogue sent ice through her veins.

“You! Get the bloody hell away from the booth!” she heard Mary shout at the bastard.

“Can’t drive paying customers away,” James said, and Molly didn’t even need to look at him to know he was smirking. “Maybe if I pay for a kiss it’ll be...lukewarm. Room temperature, if I’m lucky.”

“I’ll take your money when Hell freezes over, pigs fly and elect a bloody git like...like...” Molly turned to see that Mary was nearly red in the face with anger. “That upstart Magnussen Prime Minister!”

“Oh, you’ll take my money,” James said. “You’ll see.” He gave them a wave and sauntered off.

Molly collapsed on the stool they’d be sharing later. “Oh, bloody hell,” she said. “He’s got a plan. And I bet that plan involves my reputation in tatters by the end of the day and me having to snog him just to earn enough to...”

“No,” Mary said adamantly. She slammed her stapler down on the wooden part of the booth separating kisser from kissee. “You’ll see. The bastard may think he has a plan but he’s met his match. Keep decorating, love. I’ll be back.”

Molly nodded and watched Mary walk off in the opposite direction of her ex, and after a moment pulled herself up off the stool with even less enthusiasm before. She didn’t know what she had ever seen in the bastard. He had been charming, said all the right things, treated her to nice dinners for a university student...all to get in her knickers. And she hadn’t fallen for it and his vicious nature had shown through and now it was all a mess.

The booth was nearly completely decorated when Mary came back, her boyfriend and someone she didn’t know in tow. She looked up at the new bloke and saw he had a very serious demeanor, curly near black hair and the most beautiful eyes she’d ever seen. The colour seemed to shift as he moved, from blue to green to grey and she was so mesmerized she missed what Mary was saying.

“...so you and Holmes are going to go off and John and I are going to man the booth. Holmes is paying a thousand pounds for the privilege of your company and I don’t give two shits how much the bastard was planning to spend to get all your kisses, we’ll raise more money for charity with you have a day away from the kissing booth then we will dealing with his shite.”

“Umm...what?” Molly asked, pulling her gaze away and flushing slightly.

Mary smirked. “Go enjoy the village faire, love. We’ve got it covered here.” She made a shooing motion with her hands and then physically turned both Holmes and Molly away from the booth and towards the rest of the festivities.

“I fear it’s all a bit early,” he said when they began to move away. “Nothing to pique our interest yet.”

“No, I suppose not,” she replied. It finally registered what Mary had said about how much this day at the faire was costing her companion. “You’re paying a thousand pounds to spend the day with me?”

“It’s for a good cause,” he said with a slight shrug. “And it’s hush money anyway. Better spent on something worthwhile than keeping a dirty secret.”

“I heard bits of it all,” she said. “From John. Are you really…?” She wasn’t sure how to ask.

He was quiet for a moment and then gave her a small smile. “Perhaps we could see if there is someplace with coffee and a decent breakfast available while we wait for the festivities to begin? And then we could begin to know each other a little better.”

She nodded, smiling back. “I would like that very much,” she said, smiling back. This could be interesting, she thought to herself. This could be interesting indeed...

#sherlolly #Molly Hooper #mary morstan #jim moriarty #sherlock holmes #Sherlock #mollock #my stuff #fanfiction #fanfic #answering asks!#Multipart: K-I-S-S-I-N-G #molliarty #Sherlolly Spring Fling #rainmyselfinharmony

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thefirelookout · 5 years

Text

The Primary Partner

An edited version of this story appears in the Six Seasons Review

So you think you understand labels, don’t you?

In your mid twenties, you are sitting around with this notion in your mouth, chewing on it constantly, and occasionally blowing a pink bubble for people to see. You think you have your relationship status chalked out- neither single, nor taken; neither here nor there. By now, you have probably faced the worst- first major breakup, a financial crisis, an existential one too if you must, the death of a best friend, perhaps that of a parent, a divorce to spice things up; the first major crisis in your life, in general. There’s no time for love in a plethora of things to do, messes to clean up, grades to save, money to make. Especially since you’ve had that one breakup of epic proportions, you’ve lost a bit of something in that whirlwind.

Right now, there are no labels. You’re very PC with your language, politically correct, and you don’t dare claim the ownership of people anymore. More than enough Tumblr posts have taught you to ‘be your own person’, hence nobody is your girlfriend, nobody is your boyfriend and nobody is your cat. If the world itself is this temporary, why shouldn’t relationships be? Oh wait, did you just say the R word?

In this world without labels, you see him standing there, on the other side of the road.

At first glance, he’s just some regular guy who’s staring into space, or probably reading those street signs at a distance. One good look at him in his navy blue parka, the pale sweatshirt underneath, the unremarkable pants and unremarkable shoes; there is no ‘wow’ factor in there, no realization of ‘this is it’ smacks you hard in the face. The sunglasses are an odd little touch, though; round, dark, Steampunk glasses, that too in this weather. It was probably those decisive sunglasses that made you cross the street and meet him.

“Hey there, do we really need shades when it’s so gloomy here?”

“Oh, hey!” A few extra ‘y’s, here and there.

Coffee smells better on his side of the street, the fresh cut flowers and freshly baked bread don’t interfere with the aroma as much. The two of you find yourselves a cozy place to sit, to let the rest of it unfurl.

Notice how those glasses still stayed on, in spite of what you broke the ice with? Interesting, no self-esteem issues to weigh him down, you heave a sigh of relief. You see a bit of hope in there, at least there will be no stupid whining on the phone; this one will not be seeking validation all the time. You hope, you sincerely hope, that this one does not come with baggage.

You even had a little banter with him, which you may or may not remember.

“So, what’s up with your accent?”

“What about it?” you chuckle, somewhat giddy.

He is clearly puzzled, the glasses come off and a pair of comically large eyes is suddenly trying to make sense of your accent. You feel a bit ‘thrown’, you know, because of a question like that. Let’s see what he says to follow up.

“Very strong T’s and D’s, In-Dian, TR-en-Dy. The R’s hang in the air. “Actually” is “arkchelly” like the Chinese. That’s a halwa in my book.”

Oh? The unimpressive guy talks after all, he is beginning to notice your little idiosyncrasies. It’s cute. You found yourself noticing him better- the chiseled jaw, uneven beard, no sideburns. There was a hint of black kohl eyeliner, some smoky drama in those deep set eyes. “A bit of travelling does that to you I guess, like I am now. I’m with the AIESEC here, volunteering for a project.”

“Those are what, six week projects? What then?” “We’ll cross the bridge when we get there, what brings you to Germany though?”

“Oh, sorry for not telling you. I’m afraid I’m stuck here for a year, I’m studying Data Journalism” he mentions the celebrated university, too. You know most of this background information, of course. Raghib, the ‘setter upper’ of this date-thingy, has furnished you with all you need to know about his university, what he did for a living back in Desh and what his height is. Clearly, one of them has lied about the height, they always do.

He seems like good company though, and there’s a little something in there as you’re noticing the little things. His skin is a soft yellow, might as well ask him how he keeps it so clear and glowing. “Oh, I don’t believe in soap. You exfoliate, exfoliate, exfoliate”

The coffee and the bread left a fresh, bitter aftertaste. It was time to go. “Where do you live? Somewhere near campus?” you ask. This, you need to know. You answer a similar question from him.

“Alright, so you probably have a roommate right?”

You half-shrugged, half-nodded, but then you saw him fishing his pockets for something.

“Accha you do speak German right?” he asked, still rummaging.

“No, not at all. Why do you ask?” notice how his hand has stopped at something. A key, no keychain, nothing special about it. Just the one, standard sized key. He beckons you to come closer to him.

“Here, keep it. If you ever want to see me. Käse”

You pretty much stared at him as he left, the bell tinkled as the door closed behind him. “Did he just…?” well yes he did, but that’s not what was surprising, at least not that alone.

What you didn’t tell him is that you do know German, you have been learning for a few years now. Not only has he left you, a complete stranger, a key to his apartment, you also understood what his last word was.

“Cheese.”

“Weishenme?”

“If I knew the ‘weishenme’ I wouldn’t have asked you in the first place.”

Clearly, your roommate is flabbergasted. Things are pretty liberal where she’s from too, but one does not simply leave their ‘yaoshi’ with someone on their very first date. She keeps asking you whether it is a regional thing or a European thing.

“I don’t understand these Germans! I don’t understand these Bangladeshis! How come he’s so sure that you’re into him? Does he think you’re easy? Urgh! Wo bu zhi dao!”

The girl from the Middle Country paces up and down, trying to make sense of things. For some reason, you find yourself joining the dots. You’re finally getting the hang of the guy.

“Maybe he wants me to make the next move, you know.”

Anybody else might think of it as a very direct, no-nonsense approach. “Don’t you think he has made things easier for you?” they might say. The ball is in your court apparently, he has left his apartment keys with you, you can just drop by whenever you want to. The control is yours, or so they think.

But deep down, only you realize that you’ve swallowed the bait, and the fishing game is on. He has left you a key, singular, just the one object. There is only one way to do this now, turning the lock with said key. He is waiting, just waiting for you to surface. This confidence is scary and intriguing.

“So, what do you think?” asks Raghib in the follow-up call later that night. “Pochondo hoy?”

You realize that you have only one answer. Just the one. “So far, so good.”

Cheese.

You find a weekend that suits you best, in fact, the very next one. Experience tells you that the longer the radio silence, the faster these things become stale. ‘Out of sight, out of mind’ is the reason why your long-distance relationship attempt failed, and you’ve vowed to never put yourself through something like that. That was in the era of commitments, of course, things were a bit too close for comfort, plus you were much younger. Ah well, let bygones be bygones. For now, let’s focus on Mr. Key, shall we?

Nice little neighbourhood, this one. You notice a dessert place on the way, another place is selling pretty stationery at a discount. You feel an overpowering urge to stuff yourself with cake, but we are not stress-eating today. Not today of all days. The notebooks, the highlighters, some cat-ear bookmarks, a sticker set of the entire solar system, a little green chalkboard- you just want to keep looking, nose pressed against the glass display. An old lady smiles at you on the street, so does her dog, tucked lovingly in a pink stroller. It’s hilarious and sickly-sweet, today’s colour-scheme puts Wes Anderson to shame. You mentally tut-tut yourself not to get distracted. There’s a key in your pocket after all. Before you could put your head around it, you find yourself staring at his building. The stairs are a steep climb. There are no welcome mats, just the one name plate on the door.

“Oh, you’re here!” Yes you are, in the flesh. Why is he surprised? Didn’t he want this, wasn’t he planning this all along?

“Yeah, and I brought you some cheddar. The fancy German cheeses can get tiring.”

“Cheezus, smarter than I thought. Eshe poro, dekhi tomake.”

Is being metrosexual still a thing, you wonder. What a lovely house, toasty warm, compact and neatly arranged. Just two little rooms, hardly three if you consider the closet too. Whatever furniture he has is white, a touch of green here and there with the cushions and pillows. The light blue wallpaper is so easy on the eye, the ramekins on the shelf are waiting to be filled with crème caramel. He tells you that he loves to cook, a merry pot roast is happening “as we speak” so you better get ready to stuff yourself.

“I bet you really like to clean stuff, and I guess the small apartment helps. Just two rooms and boom, done!”

“Hu. Likey?” “Likey, very much.”

“Wait till you see what’s in there.” Mr. Key is an opener of doors. He takes you to the inner room, which is again, very white. Another little door opens inside, and no that is not the bathroom.

What he reveals is a third little room. Tiny, perhaps smaller than the closet you have back home.

Oh, sorry, grey area, that ‘back home’ memory. Moving on.

The little room has two bean bags laid out on the floor, a low coffee table and at least five bookshelves mounted on the three walls. Not shelves, rather, sections. By language, by subject matter, the books are all well loved and well read.

“I just won’t buy it if you say all of these are yours.” “Uhu, you shouldn’t. My landlady was generous, her eyesight doesn’t allow her to read much. I brought all of these in here. My stuff is on that corner shelf.”

You find yourself staring at the Bangla titles. When was the last time you could devote yourself to one of those? You take a well-loved Golpoguccho, open it, smell it.

“Happy place?” “Hu. Or sad place.”

“Books change things.”

Something else changes things. A photograph. A framed photograph.

Things would not have escalated as much if only you had precisely six weeks to spare.

The AIESEC people gave you such a warm, emotional farewell; your students, little Alya, little Maen, little Adnan, all of them huddled around you, gave you toasty warm hugs from all around. All of these children know three languages now, they had to learn because the world prefers to have the stronger ones around. The Syrian refugee sob story will be of no use in a fast-paced, merciless world. It has never not been about the survival of the fittest.

Naturally, Papa is very proud of you. You are pretty much his pride and joy at the Independence Day garden-party; your achievements are his achievements, he parades them around for a lawn full of fellow diplomats to see. The aunties love your saree, they ask you if you want to get married anytime soon, their sons are in the army, you really can’t refuse all those tantalizing offers, or so they think.

The visa expires at the end of the year. Whether you renew it or not depends on your fate, or Papa’s benevolence. Otherwise, it’s either Bangladesh or a new country.

Before leaving the volunteers’ housing, your roommate makes an interesting discovery.

“Say, have you done a background check?”

“No, why?”

“You say that you jump into bed with him without any stalking?” Her English is impeccable, but her tenses get jumbled once in a while. Your clever friend conceals it with the present tense, almost eighty percent of the time. It’s only natural, happens to your German too. You make a mental note of asking her how Chinese functions entirely without tenses.

“Nope, too old to jump! I slid in there like a slithering snake.” “Bie kaiwanxiao! It’s no time for jokes, we stalk him on Facebook right now.”

If you say that you never once felt like stalking him, you would be lying to yourself. Of course that idea has occurred to you, of course you wanted to see his deal, what’s up with him, his public thoughts, the kind of music he shares beyond the little blue flat. Things that he shares with others, and not you. You gave it six weeks, a fling is strictly that, a fling, and you are not supposed to trespass.

Besides, why stalk when you get to see the guy this intimately, almost all seven days a week?

“I have something here!”

She scurries over to you and hands you her phone. She has produced, rather fished out, a photo for you. It’s pretty recent, from last month or so. Mr. Key is standing, back to back, with a short haired girl. That’s pretty much all you can make of her from the photo, the hair covers most of her face, she’s wearing a Liverpool jersey and white three-quarter pants to go with it. The place looks a lot like Thailand, either Krabi or Phuket, and they look happy.

They look happy together.

“Probably a friend” you mumble, and get back to packing. You need to move back into Papa’s place. They always have a room ready for you.

You are not like other girls, right? The photo didn’t bother you, right?

Let’s find something that will.

In the meantime, things have started to become quite nice with Mr. Key. He finds it difficult to function without you micro-managing his life, or so he says.

“You reckon I should wear this shirt to the interview? Too black?” “Yeah, and put on some black lipstick while you’re at it.”

“Oh please, my lips are dark enough. I kiss a hellspawn like you on a daily basis.”

You look forward to everyday banters like this. He notices the little things about you in greater detail. He noticed you press your nose against the glass at the stationery shop, he followed your line of sight. He asked about your hobbies, he picked up the necessary information. Then, on your volunteering farewell day, he gave you an expensive set of brush pens. You noticed him beaming at you as you unboxed it, you notice him taking a good look at you before both of you head out in the morning, you catch him staring at you a little too often.

He has shortened your name for his convenience, you’ve started to call him Loki- it’s a fun little association. Things low-key started between the two of you because of a key, and it goes from ‘low-key’ to Loki real quick, considering how ‘extra’ he can be about his skincare routine. You look forward to seeing his weird yellow face every day, at least once. Even if you don’t, he texts you, calls you, asks if you’re coming over or not. The feeling seems mutual to the naked eye. Even if it isn’t mutual, you don’t really know for sure. One does not risk it by asking questions, especially if you are on that kind of terms. In a world of no-strings, questions are outright taboo, they make things awkward.

On one of those days of blurred lines you decide to get some time to yourself. Things get a little overwhelming at Papa’s with that constantly ringing phone and the influx of important-looking people. At least the little blue apartment could offer what your father could not- pin drop silence, so you pedaled your way over to Loki’s.

The key, the little spark that began everything, has a bit of character now. When you take it out of your pocket, a little Norse god with an oversized head winks at you playfully. Just one of your old action figures modified into a key chain adornment. The lock opens with a subtle click, the latch comes off. You make your way straight into the book closet.

It was sandwiched between Infinite Jest and American Gods. Something perched this high up would normally go unnoticed, unless you have really good eyesight and are over six feet tall. Yet on that fateful day, you had to have one of those books brought down, so you stood on a tiptoe and tugged at a corner.

Thank your lucky stars. The photo frame does not have glass in the front, just clear, sturdy plastic. Sturdy, because all of its contents- the cover, the frame and the photograph, had survived the fall unscathed.

But you know, such a bad omen should have come your way a little more ceremoniously. The front should definitely have been made of glass. The glass should have shattered as a sign of what is to come.

It’s a clearer picture now, clearer than what your roommate had fished out of the internet. You can see her eyes, her smile, her cheeks and her neck.

It’s the same girl, isn’t it?

Considering how you handled such a situation, you deserve a pat on your back.

You broke the terms of a fling, but you did so in the most non-threatening way possible, you did ask him without scaring him away. The ‘who is she’ question could have been avoided, it would probably have kept things as they were, but you are only human. You needed to hear it from his own mouth.

“Interesting, so you’ve seen her already. Beautiful, isn’t she?”

“Very much so. How are things with her?” “Erm…we have been on-and-off for more than five years now. Basically our entire university life through our first jobs.”

He says all of it very matter-of-factly, adding to your confusion. You also notice that he is quite eager to talk about her, excited even.

“Accha, is she okay with it?”

“Okay with what? Being on-and-off? Can’t say!” “No, I mean, seeing other people.” This, you must know. You still have, what’s it called? Yes, ethics.

“Hu. She’s okay with anything.”

You half expected an apology. A little something, anything, to help you feel better would have been nice.

But why would he apologize? What does he owe you?

By default, you have to be cool with it too. After all, none of you have promised each other commitment or exclusivity. You are immensely proud of yourself today, you maintained such a nonchalant poker face, never lost your calm for a second. Had you been in a situation like this even last year, you would have created a scene for sure.

Not this time though.

No broken plates, no insults, no drama, no storming out of the door with eyeliner streaming down your face.

You commend yourself on how professional, how impenetrable you are. Well done.

What he doesn’t know is that you took a photo of her on your phone. What he doesn’t know is that later that night, just before bedtime, you took the photo out for a better look.

Definitely not a recent photograph, this one. She looks hardly twenty, her hair is shoulder-length, she has hardly any makeup on except some liner and some gloss.

“We are both anarcho-communists, Che and I. Back in the day we were really into rallying for the things that mattered.”

You wonder if they had met at one of those turbulent rallies of Shahbag.

Her features were under your scrutiny. What strikes you is her skintone, her rich, deep tan, her Shahbag-battered face that screams ‘Bengali’. You find out what her name is, you silently slither around in her Facebook profile. The white cotton saree, the black sleeveless blouse, the blue teep, the blue glass bangles- you look at her and see what a stark contrast she is.

Go on, take a look at yourself.

Here you are, half this and half that. A living diaspora, a contradiction. A ‘this’, but not exactly a this. A ‘that’, but not really.

Your face never screamed ‘Bengali’ like hers does. Just to experience the difference, you pinch both of your cheeks. A rosy, excruciating blush appears on your pale skin. Pale, because you could afford to stay indoors. Pale, because while the activists screamed their lungs out, you guys were in the Netherlands. Solidarity was on TV, on blogs, ‘in spirit’.

You were never home, never home for the important things.

She is a midget compared to you, her form is petite, slender, barely there. Yet she looks at you with those classic brown eyes lined top and bottom with jet black kohl. Her gaze shreds you to pieces.

Che. Short for Shucheta.

It was after hearing the name that you insisted he read Lolita.

“Shu-che-ta” you think out loud, “The tip of the tongue taking a trip of three steps down the palate to tap, at three, on the teeth. Three syllables, just like Lolita.”

“Looks like I have a thing for girls with three-syllable names.” Always the keen observer, the connector of dots, the opener of doors.

You gently pick up your three-syllable name, try to make it descend a flight of stairs. All you hear is a discord. Something off-beat, like you.

“Nope, not the same. My name doesn’t seem to have the music.”

“Hu. Music. Perhaps she is music” says a voice from nowhere near you. You hear him drift away from you. Is it in your power to keep him anchored anymore, to yourself?

“I think I’m going to ask her to marry me.”

“That’s nice, when do you plan to do it?”

“Can’t say, really. It would take a great deal of convincing to even get her to discuss marriage.”

His primary partner, for the lack of a better term, has now eased into your lives.

You remember the sight of his face, how it lost colour, when you referred to her as his ‘girlfriend’.

“Uhu. Not my girlfriend. Tor eto iccha hoile tui girlfriend bana.” Make her your girlfriend if it bothers you so much. At least you have something of a label now, you are a friend of his. You two are on ‘tui’ terms with each other.

If she’s okay with it, you should be okay with it too.

Hence, his ‘primary partner’. For the lack of a better term. She really must be something, you feel. She has made him this determined to marry her, or even discuss marriage for that matter.

The journey and the destination. The temporary and the permanent. The fling and the…the constant. The kind of girl you go home to, keep crawling back to in spite of everything- that’s her. What is she made of, this primary partner?

“How do you plan to do it? A registry?” “Hu, obviously. Perhaps a little something for some street urchins once we return home?”

“Do invite me man, I don’t want to miss out on the food!”

“We’ll see about that. Maal ta re aage raji toh korai, then we can have some biriyani.”

Let me convince her first, he says. Maal. Goods, object, thing. Let me convince the thing to marry me first.

When you return to Papa’s house, back to your desk, chair and notebook, you take all of your brush pens out.

Maal.

Soft little strokes of the word, in every colour. The pens have a mind of their own, they glide on, fill page after page, ‘maal’ in the Roman script as well as the Bongo Lipi.

The object of his affection, Shucheta.

Raghib really didn’t know, he said, he really didn’t. Honest.

“I really had no idea he was seeing someone else on the side! Last I heard he had broken up with that girl you’re talking about, what’s her name? Shuchitra!”

“Correction: he is seeing me on the side Raghib, not her.”

The ‘other woman’ is you in this one. You are the ‘mistress’, the second choice, the temporary arrangement, the makeshift hut. What the first choice couldn’t give, you offered, but you’re still just that. Temporary.

Your other friends complain that you have gone much quieter than ‘before’. The ‘before’ was a merrier time, a time when you would feel like stuffing yourself with cake. The bakery on the way to the little blue apartment, the sight of all that sugary-sweet makes you want to run away from things. You get yourself a sturdy belt from the thrift store, none of the trousers hug your form anymore. Friends who see you after long intervals ask you to ‘eat properly’, whatever that means.

It was Papa who noticed, it was he who asked if you wanted to get some fresh air, go somewhere nice. A week in Cologne together for some father-daughter quality time. He has some work there anyway, some complimentary tickets and a love for Gothic architecture.

“I’ll be a bit busy when you’re away, inb4 late replies to your messages.” Loki tells you over text. He does miss you though, he is expressive like that.

On the weekend of your return, you pedal straight to his house, show up at his door with a camera roll full of touristy pictures. He peppered you with compliments on the ones you sent to him from Cologne. The Loki keychain comes out of your pocket, ready to do its duty. Let’s go hide somewhere till he comes home.

What you don’t hear this time, as you turn the key, is that familiar ‘click’.

You have always been bad at opening doors, you often turn keys in the opposite direction, even when starting the car.

The click is just not there.

The Norse god does not help you open a portal. It just stares back at you, helplessly. Never losing your calm, you rush right up to the landlady’s flat, you ask her questions. Finally, a place where you can really ask questions.

He left, changed the lock before he went, don’t know where.

You find yourself holding on to the banister as you descend down the stairs.

For the first time in these months, for the first time in all these years, a man has made you feel weak in the knees.

The irony is, you were the one who told him what ‘ghosting’ really means. Ghosting is disappearing into thin air, as if you’ve never even existed. You become a ghost in someone’s life, dead to them, when they ghost you.

“I feel like a Phillistine while talking to you kids these days. Ghosting! Pah!”

To rinse him off of you, you reestablish contact with some ghosts on your phone. They are both happy and puzzled to ‘have you back’. You grab a coffee with Luca and a movie with Finn, you sit through Infinity War with your teeth clenched. Norse mythology is a grey area, just like that closet back home.

Home.

The universities have finally spoken, you’re going to a new country this time, a North American experience awaits you. The family is proud, Papa is beaming at everyone at the Victory Day garden party, with you on display.

Momma asks the both of you to come home.

It’s always amazing to be back with Momma, the three of you together, as a family unit. She and Papa bicker at the airport, laugh hearty laughs, so much in love with each other in spite of the distance.

“Papa, please promise me you’ll take her along this time?” You sneak in a plea to him when she’s not looking.

“She loves her job, what do I even do? She’s going to get bored in two weeks over there, let me tell you!”

“It’s just his excuse of not taking me to places. I am so going with your Papa this time. Let me just retire and we’ll tell him!”

Since Loki left, you have tried to find out where he is. Denying these efforts of locating him would only mean lying to yourself. Raghib was of no use, not that we are surprised at the information. Social media did not give you a satisfactory answer either, the interest dulled and life happened. Moving on was easier than you thought.

Then again, what to move on from when there was no relationship?

What did he owe you, and what did you owe him?

One day though, it suddenly occurs to you.

“Momma, do you know a Shucheta S.? A friend asked after her, said she’s a member.”

Sucheta S. the activist. Just like your mother.

“Oh I remember the girl, went to the Sorbonne and all. Really talented” which is not unlike how he used to speak about her. Really talented, fiercely intelligent. He was both intrigued and terrified of her. Not unlike how he spoke of you, either.

“Hey, didn’t she marry recently? Hang on.” That’s the thing with your mother and you. ‘Didn’t she marry?’ instead of ‘didn’t she get married?’. The woman in the subject position.

Momma brings her phone to you, goes to one of her fellow womens’ organization acquaintance’s profile and produces an array of photos.

A neat little rooftop holud, well photographed and well adorned.

Her hands had henna in them, her saree was a soft yellow, elegant and easy on the eye.

“Any photos of the wedding though?” You really wanted to see them happy, together.

Not a registry wedding, but a minimal, elegant one. The development economist you are kinda-sorta seeing nowadays says that traditions are not all that bad. Traditions stem from our collective experience, they have helped our predecessors survive.

“Do you know the groom, Momma?”

“Don’t think so, he looks very happy. Heard that he’s a photojournalist.”

Except Loki never took photos.

His major was Data Journalism.

“Not to gossip or anything, but she did go through a pretty bad breakup. She found out that her ex was cheating on her with some Indian girl he met in Germany. Well, good riddance!”

The groom? You don’t think you’ve seen him before.

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