#okAy i swear this is my only 'eh' kinda edit i just needed to express my emotions ive been holding jksfd

[xnchxntmxnt]

𝐼 𝑊𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑊𝑎𝑛𝑡 𝑁𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑀𝑜𝑟𝑒

𝐵𝑜𝑘𝑢𝑡𝑜 𝐾𝑜𝑢𝑡𝑎𝑟𝑜 𝑋 𝐺𝑁!𝑅𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟

So we spin the wheel of HQ misfortune (yes, I actually have an app with all the characters I feel comfortable writing rn and spin it when I’m out of ideas) (yes it works this is how you guys get your content) and I decided Y’know what. I’m gonna make my friend happy so I made @sugasfanfics a wheel and bam it landed on Bokuto so here you go bro love u hope you like this

This is half self-indulgent half for u Em lol sorry

Remember not only are your problems valid but the way you deal with them is, too (as long as it’s not hurting yourself or anyone else, please don’t do that—). Even if it’s a fictional boy you love, remember that someone always cares about you. I promise.

Kinda half edited lol bad grammar & spelling mistakes.

CW//light swearing

Word Count: 876

Reader Info: GN!Reader, fukurodani third year student

Ao3 link

Masterlist

You’d been on edge the entire day. Who knew how it started, you just felt like hell the whole day and everything got on your nerves. Whether it was kids in class or the volleyball that collided with your shoulder while you were trying to do homework, everything seemed to want to set you off today. 

“Dammit,” you curse under your breath, rubbing your shoulder. You hit the ball back to one of the boys, who gladly picked it up with a quick “sorry!” and ran back on the court. 

You were at Bokuto’s practice—the two of you were supposed to hang out afterward, but really, you were ready to go home and sleep for several hours. You felt bad canceling, though, so just tried to keep your cool long enough to get through the rest of your evening. 

Soon enough, they broke for water and Bokuto came running over to you with a smile on his face. “(Y/N), baby, did you see that AWESOME spike? Didn't I look cool? Akaashi said I look cool!”

“I just said it was good, Bokuto.” Akaashi walked past, clapping him on the shoulder.

“Eh, same difference.” He shrugged. “Did ya see it, (Y/N)?”

 “Yeah, it was great, Bokuto.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw his proud drop to a pout. You could have sworn his hair started drooping too. Rarely did you ever call him by his full name—when you did, it usually meant you were mad at him for something. 

He sat down next to you, his lower lip sticking out like a child’s. “Baby, did I...do something?” he asked, running his hand through his hair. 

“You’re fine,” you sigh. “It’s just...been a long day, alright? Not your fault.”

He nodded solemnly, offering his hand for yours. When you gave it to him, he kissed each of your knuckles, “let me make it up to you when we get to my place, okay? Parents aren’t home tonight, we can cuddle and watch a movie, yeah?”

“Alright,” you reply as he kissed your hand again. “Quit worrying about me and go be my big, strong Ace of Fukurodani, hm?”

Bokuto grinned and nodded. He took a sip of water before running back onto the court, leaving you alone with your thoughts again. 

The walk home was less enthusiastic than usual, almost like Bokuto didn’t know what to say. You let him talk as much as he wanted, but he stayed quiet for the most part, watching you intently as you walked. 

The two of you walked into his house and took off your shoes. Bokuto offered some food, but you declined, your irritation from earlier sinking into melancholia. 

“Alright, what’s wrong?” he asked, setting his school bag down. You opened your mouth to protest—he had homework to do—but he interrupted. “Homework can wait. I’m worried about you, sweetheart. Wanna talk?”

He held your shoulders, checking your face for any sign of what was wrong. He was still more droopy than normal—not his usual excited, eccentric self—and you could tell by his worried expression. 

“There isn’t much to say,” you sigh, putting your hand over one of his. “Just...long day, I guess. Burnt out.”

“Do you want a hug?”

“I wouldn’t complain about one.”

He pulled you in close, dropping his arms to wrap around your waist. You laid your forehead on his shoulder, content to stay like that for a long time. 

Just as you’d gotten comfy, he started moving, inching you backward until your legs hit the edge of his mattress. He pulled away long enough to crawl in and drag you with him. You laid your head on his chest, feeling his thumb draw shapes into your side. 

“What’s really on your mind, love?” he asked, kissing the top of your head. “I get worried when you don’t talk to me. So please do.”

“There’s not even anything specifically right now, I just...I feel like hell. For no reason. I didn’t wanna tell you because I didn’t want you worrying—“

You stopped as he tilted his head up towards you. The look he gave you made you freeze, unsure what else to say. He traced your features, smiling in encouragement. “I am always going to worry about you. That’s my job. I’m your forever-caring, amazing, loving boyfriend and I’m always going to care for you. I want you to talk to me when you feel like hell, even if it’s because you want to scream into oblivion for a while. If that’s the case, I’ll scream with you. Alright?”

“Alright,” you mumble, burying your face in his chest again. “I’ll keep it in mind. Do you want to just...I dunno, lay here? Just for now?”

“I would want nothing more.”

He kissed your head again, the small circles he drew on your arm soothing your cluttered mind. You knew you needed to talk one day—even if it was just the recent stuff without getting into in-depth character analysis of yourself—but for the time being, you knew you had someone there to help you face whatever demons you needed to. Because he always would be. 

Your precious, forever-caring, amazing, loving boyfriend, Bokuto Kotaro.

Alright you guys are welcome to scroll through this part just a little rant/apology from me

My brain has not been doing so hot lately so I can’t guarantee a constant posting schedule. I tried posting like 1-2 times a week but this is the first full thing I’ve written in several weeks and I’m sorry about that. It’s like 1:30 am when I’m writing this so this is probably gonna be jumbled up a lot but just. 

Brain hates me and I hate brain rn and it says I have No Motivation to do Anything. Only reason I got this out was bc of @sugasfanfics which she doesn’t even know I wrote this till I post it lol

Also this was supposed to be for her but like I said it kinda turned into I’m depressed and need comfort so. Yeah. Bokuto. 

I hope you guys enjoyed & I’m sorry about not writing as much as I should be. Thank you for bearing with me and for all the reblogs I can’t tell you how happy they make me. 

Sending love to you all <3

~𝑆𝑝𝑒𝑛𝑐𝑒𝑟

#bokuto kotaro #bokuto #akaashi #akaashi keiji #bokuto x reader #bokuto x gn reader #I decided to write this at 1 am rather than sleeping #fml #anyway i hope its good #i hope im not forgetting tags lol #hurt/comfort #angst #angsty fluff #bittersweet #hes a good boyfriend okay #i love this man a lot #//ᴏʀɪɢɴᴀʟ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ #//ᴏɴᴇꜱʜᴏᴛꜱ

[scaryscarecrows]

Roots and Leaves

Eh, I liked this arc. Or. The pain this arc inflicted on people. :) ALL ABOARD THE ANGST TRAIN TO TRAGEDY TOWN, SUCKERS!

There’s rain above him, turning the dirt to slick mud that just keeps slipping through his fingers.

God no please not like this not like this-

He can’t breathe.

He can’t breathe and he knows that not a foot away is air-salvation-life, but he can’t breathe now and-and-

Please not like this-

And his fingers finally breach the topsoil, scrambling in the mud, blood drying in the wind.

* * *

A week earlier…

Jason suspects this wasn’t his brightest idea. Though, really, when your criteria for ‘should I?’ is ‘is it as bad as chasing after the Joker by myself?’…well…you get a lotta leeway, okay? Not many things are that bad.

Besides, it wasn’t for himself.

Okay, so it was a little bit, but not a lot, and…yeah, it was seventy-five percent case and twenty-five percent ‘has Bruce revoked my access yet?’

Answers: he found his perp in Bruce’s database, and he still has access to the Batcomputer’s (why is everything you own Bat-something, B, huh? How old are you, four?) files. Huh, look at that, B’s a sentimental bastard after all. Or he just spaced. That’s more likely. New Robin to train and all that.

Whatever.

He got a bit distracted, testing how far his access went, and ended up in his own files, because he’s a little morbidly curious as to what it says about…about. Y’know.

It was all so clinical, to the surprise of none. Bruce had apparently gone over that tape with a fine-toothed comb like the obsessive bastard he’s always been, and the only things missing were internal injuries and a few of the more subtle-yet-permanent damages like his shoulders. Things that aren’t obvious when you’re sitting quietly in a chair.

Fucker. Jason’s still wondering if Bruce spent more time cataloging the damn tape than he spent looking for him.

He’d been about to click out (he doesn’t want to drive all the way to Wayne Manor to punch Bruce in the face, he doesn’t, he swears on his own unused grave) when he’d spotted the ‘leads’ tab.

Eh. He probably put it there in case Alfred was looking over his shoulder or somethin’. Like bringing up a Wikipedia article when you were about to get busted playing Solitaire instead of working on your essay.

But Jason’d clicked on it, and, well…

Well.

It’s more extensive than he’d thought. He’s not sure how to feel about that. Bruce had been close, a couple’a times-questioned the right guards, even, if he’d just questioned ‘em again a month or two later, after the Joker bought ‘em off…

He hopes that fact keeps him up at night.

He continues to scroll. Lotta dead ends, lotta close calls, lotta where the hell did you get THAT idea? And he’s just about to sign out when his eyes flash across, of all places, the school Bruce’d left him at for all of three days after he caught him with that tire iron in hand.

Wasn’t that place closed?

Apparently not. Wow. Only in Gotham, man, only in Gotham-what’s that?

It’s a link to the ‘genetics’ page Bruce made him fill out at the very beginning. He’s still torn between finding a little creepy and admitting that it’s kinda practical. What’s interesting about it now, though, is that there’s been some editing done.

What the hell? Did some long-lost relative crop up? An amnesiac or something?

Sheila Haywood, the name reads. And next to it, relation-mother.

What? He feels his lips hitch up in that stupid rabbit-expression (he can’t help it, SHUT UP) he gets when he’s really confused. Mom (?) used to laugh and call him Bugs.

This makes no sense at all. Bruce must’a had a period of insanity or somethin’. He has exactly two parents (well, three and a half-Alfred counts as something and Bruce…once upon a time, maybe…), and this Sheila Haywood is not one of them. He even looks a bit like Catherine-same hair, same eyes.

But.

But Willis had those features too, didn’t he.

Jason shoves the laptop away from him and takes a few deep breaths. This is ridiculous. Bruce makes mistakes. Obviously-look at him, huh? This is one he hasn’t caught, that’s all. Hasn’t looked further because there’s no reason to look further. Sheila probably just…maybe she came forward looking for money or something, that’s a thing. Happens all the time.

He pulls the laptop back, after a few minutes, and opens the file. It’s not a big one-name, birthday, picture (he doesn’t look like her, she’s blonde and bright-eyed and pretty) and…associates.

Joker. Ah. That relationship is over, according to Bruce-there had been blackmail involved. Well, there’s that lead explained. Dead end, too. She’d been free of the clown for over a year, before Jason ever…

Bruce is mistaken. That’s all. Willis knew a lotta people, for fuck’s sake, he’d never been…Mom had always been upset. Y’know.

His hands are shaking and he doesn’t know why. This isn’t anything. This is a mistake, Bruce makes them all the time. Look at him. God, look at…look at Babs, if Bruce hadn’t made the mistake of givin’ Joker a thousand and one chances, she wouldn’t be…

Sheila Haywood smiles awkwardly at him from her driver’s license picture. The last time Bruce updated this file was…maybe six months after he disappeared. At the time, she’d been living in a middle-income apartment close to Gotham General-her place of work, apparently.

What does it matter anyway, huh? Catherine was his mom, even at the end when she barely recognized him anymore. And she hadn’t done somethin’ stupid enough to get Joker-blackmail, either. So there.

He mashes the little red ‘X’ in the corner and flings himself backwards to reach his bottle of Fanta (Fanta, don’t ya want-a?). Fucking Bruce. Why does he have to leave that kinda stuff lyin’ around, huh? It’s over. It’s done. Archive it or whatever and find somethin’ new to brood over. Like Dick’s poor fashion choices. (His hair’s growing dangerously near mullet territory again…if he steps one spandex-clad toe into Crime Alley, Jason’s tackling him and taking an electric razor to that before it can evolve into its final form. Never again. Gotham doesn’t deserve that.) Priorities, old man. Priorities.

His Fanta’s half-flat and he scowls, blames Bruce for distracting him and making him forget to drink it while it was still bubbly, and takes a sad swig anyway.

As it turns out, the Fanta isn’t all that flat and with his head hanging partly off the couch, it, uh, gets near his nose. The fizzy feeling makes him gag and jam his tongue against the roof of his mouth to try and stop it.

He should’ve just had tea. Soda’s too much risk.

He sets the bottle aside, glares at it so it knows its blame, and stretches. There’s a neat pop-pop-pop along his spine, followed by a nasty knock in his right hip that forces a startled gasp out of him, and then blessed silence.

Well. For Gotham. Somebody’s screaming at somebody in traffic below.

Never change…

Mom used to shut the window, even if that made it stifling inside. Said she didn’t want Jason picking up any of those words. Joke was on her, a little bit-the ancient Russian lady that used to watch him now and then taught him everything he ever needed to know. Bruce…had not been enthused when Jason’s ‘I know Russian!’ turned out to mean ‘I know how to tell you, your dog, and your mother-in-law to fuck a rotten egg in Russian!’

What? He hadn’t specified.

His computer glows at him, the background of Jane Austen’s signature looking starker than ever, and he lets his head fall completely off the couch, feels the blood start rushing to it.

Sheila Haywood is, uh, Joker-free now, right? Not working with Harley Quinn or whatever? Harley can be scary as fuck when she wants to be.

It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter, it is completely irrelevant to him. Bruce made a mistake. It happens. Or the Replacement had that idea. Or Dick. Yes. That’s all.

But he’s still going to check, because he always checks on past Joker associates, in case they’re sleepers or anything. Look at that one infected guy…Henry or whatever.

S’a matter of public safety. That’s all.

#Jason Todd #Sheila Haywood #Jason's curiosity is going to get him into trouble one of these days #Arkhamverse #sort of #you know me I mash canons together into a canon meatloaf #Roots and Leaves

[voidendron]

The Outside: Chapter 53

Series Ask Blog: @asktheoutside​

I forgot I had this saved to drafts. I'll just have to post it to here without editing, and hope I get Internet back soon so I can also put it on AO3 and FanFiction. This is getting annoying. :/

Chapter 53: Driving Lessons Chapter Warnings: Swearing, Manipulation

March 23, 2031, 11:22 AM Los Angeles, California

“No, no, no! That is fucking deathtrap on two wheels! You are insane if you want me driving it!”

“The guy don’t even know how t’drive a car. He’ll fuckin’ kill himself on Wheelie.”

“You named the bike?!”

“Then teach him with Box first. ‘Least she can’t buck him off.”

“Come on, Mare! Box ain’t no fun.”

“What do you say, Hen?”

“I told you not to call me that!”

Natemare made a face as he snatched the motorcycle helmet from the doctor’s hands. Schneep could only return the expression. The difference in height between the two was almost laughable, but the Sharp stood his ground; helmet propped on his hip and a scowl in place as he looked up. Schneep was the first to break; scoffing good-naturedly. Mare had taken some getting used to but really, he thought the Sharp was similar to Edward in some ways. Sarcastic, cocky, but easy to get along with if you weren’t a reckless dumbass.

Adjusting the lapels on his new lab coat and scuffing his boots over the ground, he kicked a loose bolt toward the mechanic who had simply watched the ordeal with a brow raised. She was leaning back against the bike in a way that made Schneep worry she was going to tip it over, but he then figured she wasn’t actually putting any weight on it. He’d learned her name was Dottie, and that she was the Devil’s head mechanic.

“I trust this ‘Box’ more than Wheelie. What is it?”

“Big brown van. Ugly as hell, can’t hit speeds over fifty, and always sounds like she’s about to fall apart. But,” he drew the word out, shifting his weight to the other foot and the helmet swapping sides with the motion, “she’s reliable despite the sounds of things. Easy handling, and great for driving lessons, even if she’d suck as a getaway car.”

“Getaway car?”

The Sharp waved it off, and Schneep arched a brow.

“Where’s Box at?” Natemare asked instead.

The mechanic tapped her chin thoughtfully and Schneep half-wondered if she even knew, before, “Garage C. Think they were using her to transfer groceries there or somethin’?”

Needless to say, Schneep did not know how to drive when they finally got out to the site. Dottie tried, she really did. Pointing everything out from the passenger seat, seeming unending in patience as the van jerked and swerved and stopped so suddenly they might as well all have whiplash by the time they stopped. Natemare had wound up with a bloody nose after being thrown into the back of the doctor’s seat, and then proceeded to be thoroughly scolded by said doctor for not wearing his seat belt like the other two.

Overall, it wasn’t going well. They could only be glad they’d chosen a patch of ill-used road far out of the city for the lessons, or there would have definitely been tickets involved.

“Oh my god, no! Don’t use both feet! What the fuck?” The mechanic started laughing while Schneep struggled between the brakes and gas. Don’t use both feet? But there were three fucking pedals, and he didn’t even know what the third one was for! “No, no, no. Just your right foot. Switch it between the pedals as you need to.”

He could hear Natemare snickering right behind him, but any time Schneep glared into the rear view, the Sharp would duck out of view behind the Septic’s seat. “Do you want to drive?” he growled. Their laughter was making it a lot harder than it had to be.

“I’m a lot better than you!”

“Agh! Dottie!”

“Oh my god you two are like children. And there were seriously no vehicles where you’re from?”

It was still taking Schneep some getting use to that the humans working for the Devil were aware of the Egos. Made it easier working alongside them, but… After months of trying to hide from humans, it took some adjusting.

“Of course there were! Just not in many territories!” Schneep grumbled, “Is no use with the teleporters galore!”

Schneep could see the other Ego opening his mouth to say something (probably to argue since he was a teleporter, after all), and opted then to slam the breaks. Instead of words, Natemare made a wheezing grunt when the seat belt tightened around his chest as he jerked forward. Schneep really couldn’t help but laugh at the glare cast his way.

Dottie’s hands flashed up to the dashboard so she could steady herself, and Schneep heard both of his companions grumbling something to themselves.

“Just… You’re trying to tell him too many things at once. Do it step-by-step or somethin’.” Natemare rubbed at the back of his neck. “I’d kinda like to keep my head on my shoulders and I’m starting to think whiplash is gonna end up throwing it out the fucking window.”

The doctor could only snort at the look Dottie cast the other Ego. That’s what she’d been doing. The entire time. Step-by-step. Over and over. Part of the problem was Schneep’s annoyance with the damn vehicle. Gear shift? He was sort of getting the hang of it, but why were there so many positions for it? And there were too many things on the dash to pay attention to, and too many knobs in the middle, and too many things on the rode for one damn eye to pick up on as they zipped by. He couldn’t even see Dottie or the rear view or even the damn volume dials unless he turned his head enough to bring them into his left eye’s field of vision. It made him too tunnel-visioned for driving, dammit.

He could perform a surgery right in front of his nose, but everything moved too quickly in a vehicle. The van was too big, the lane seemed too small, and he kept hitting the shoulder on the side. The rumble strips were about to drive him crazy he’d hit them so many times.

“Hey, whoa! You trying to run us off the road?!” Dottie’s shrill cry made him flinch, jerk the wheel, and slam the breaks for the umpteenth time.

Natemare was rubbing at his chest where the belt kept digging into it as he leaned forward. “Henrik, it’s not that hard! What’s make it so difficult?”

The bantering from before was gone, along with any of the humor the doctor had been feeling not long ago. Now, he was just…frustrated. With himself, but still. “It is hard!” He brought his forehead down on the wheel a little more forcefully than he’d intended, the resulting honk sending him to bolt back upright. “I can’t fucking focus on everything at once!”

“Okay, okay. Let’s try again,” the mechanic suggested, “but ignore Mare and go slow as ya think you need, yeah?”

By the time they’d finished for the day, Schneep still definitely wasn’t an expert, but he’d at least be able to say he…eventually…stopped hitting the rumble strips at the shoulder. As often. That was something, right?

The humor had slowly eased its way back into the van with Dottie behind the wheel to get them back to Garage A. Yes, that humor was mostly the other two teasing the doctor for his horrible lack of driving skills, but he was right back to laughing alongside them and taking his own jabs at the other Ego and even occasionally the human.

“Henrik, you almost ran us into a stop sign!” the mechanic laughed. “That’s the exact opposite of what you’re supposed to do at those!”

“So I used the wrong pedal! That is what practice is for, yes?”

Dottie shook her head and snickered as she pulled up to one of the garage doors. Natemare leaned in from the back and waved his hand up; the door opened effortlessly in time with his hand. The human didn’t even seem to acknowledge the use of magic.

When Box rolled to a stop, the Egos crawled out so Dottie could return it to Garage C.

“I can’t wait to see you try riding Wheelie,” the Sharp grinned as he combed his fingers through disheveled hair. It was funny that it never had knots considering Schneep had never once seen the guy brush it. “I—oh—hey! Mad! The fuck you doing?”

For his size, Natemare sure had lungs on him. His sudden shout startled the doctor enough that he about jumped out of his skin.

Gaze following the Sharp’s, Schneep’s lip twisted into a disapproving frown. “MadPat, you are on bedrest! You’re going to pull your fucking stitches out!”

“Easy, Doc,” Mad gave a small wave as he leaned over the railing above their heads. At least he was only just outside the clinic so hadn’t walked very far. “Just needed to stretch my legs.”

“No, no, no,” the doctor grumbled as he made a beeline for the stairs leading up to the metal walkway, “you need rest is what you need! Come with—eh?” A sudden warmth was radiating from his pocket. But what could that… Oh, shit. He started cursing in German as he dug for the crumpled ball of paperboard buried in one of the pockets in his lab coat. No, no, no, no. That couldn’t be. Where was the card? Where the hell was the card?

When he found it and pulled it free of the confines of his pocket, it was glowing. It was glowing. Bright blue; the same bright, electric, sparkly blue as Marvin’s aura. Schneep could only stare wide-eyed at the object as panic settled into his gut. No, no, no, no. They couldn’t have… They hadn’t even been trying! They hadn’t been trying! Why was Marvin Tracking him now?! Why now? Why now, when he’d finally found his place? Why when he was finally happy?

Mad was staring at him like a deer in the headlights, lips parted with something he’d wanted to say and never managed to get out.

Schneep couldn’t find the words in English to tell the other what was wrong. They kept catching in his throat, or coming out in German to just make that expression plastered over Mad’s features even more confused. They couldn’t be Tracking him. They couldn’t. They couldn’t!

“Your ‘friends’ don’t actually want you back. You know that, right?” Mad asked as he stared down the card. Was it that obvious that’s what it was? “They’ll just drag you away from here and toss you aside again.”

He felt the air shift; smelled cigars as the Devil appeared at his side. Natemare must have gotten him when he noticed something was wrong. He still couldn’t find the words as he stared into the Iplier’s dark eyes. His tongue kept fumbling; his hands were shaking. Why were they shaking. Stop fucking shaking. Stop it!

“He’s right, Henrik,” the Devil murmured. His voice was soft like silk; his hands grounding as they moved up to hold the doctor’s wrists almost too tightly. “Your place is here. With us. You don’t miss them, do you?”

The scent of cigar smoke made him dizzy; it seemed heavier than usual, casting a haze around them. He could only make out the Devil’s eyes, and latched onto that one single thing that wasn’t swimming in almost nauseating ways. “Miss…them? No. Nein. Ich…” It hurt to think.

“Give MadPat your card.”

And he did. Why fight it? He didn’t…need to see the others again. No, no, they didn’t want to see him again. That’s what it was! So why would Marvin be..? He swallowed thickly, practically choking on the cigar smoke permeating the air.

“Your friends are here, now. Think of how you laugh with Natemare, and bicker with MadPat.” The Devil’s hands loosened as the doctor nodded. “You work here. You belong here. In Garage A, working as my most trusted doctor. Yes?”

Another nod. There was bright light at the corner of his vision. Yellow-orange and hot.

When the Devil released him and was gone with his aura, teleporting away, the doctor blinked at the light. Fire in the palm of Mad’s hand. Burning the card. The blue fighting with the orange; the orange winning out. Killing the blue. Swallowing it, suffocating it until it was forced to get smaller, and smaller.

Schneep could only watch as the ashen remains of the card fell through the other Ego’s fingers; through the grating of the metal platform and to the concrete below.

He belonged at the garage. Not with the Septics. And they couldn’t take him away now.

#writersofjack #jacksepticeye #fanfic #youtube #au #chapter 53 #the outside #dr. schneeplestein #natemare #madpat #devilplier #blitz indites #swearing / #manipulation /

[thatsthepan]

Beauty King

Summary: Nothing has been stopping Dan from making a makeup video but himself. So he does. Simple as that.

Word Count: 2,645

Warnings: Mild swearing?

Notes: So this has been sitting, finished and edited by the lovely @cantcatchmegaythoughts, for weeks now, but I’ve been so busy with AP exams and prom that I kinda forgot about it. So without further ado I give you my makeup Dan fic! I hope y’all enjoy, and leave a response in my ask if you get a chance, please!:)

Dan

I spend at least three days thinking things over before actually going through with anything. People sometimes assumed I was the fun spontaneous one, and that Phil was more mature and responsible. It was probably because he was older, and more innocent, but it wasn’t the way things worked with us. Phil randomly bought things we didn’t need at Tesco at three in the morning. I planned tweets three days in advance. We balanced each other out, and that was fine by us.

The thing the annoyed me about my planning was the process. The outcome was generally fine, but the process was a pain in the ass. The first day was thinking over what I would say, or do, or buy, and the reasons why it was a good and bad idea. If I ended up deeming it a good idea, the next day I would go through the cycle of “Should I ask? Should I really do this? Do I actually want to buy this? What are the pros? Do they outweigh the cons?” And so forth.

But the third day was when I actually grew up and made myself do whatever the thing was that I had been planning. And this time, it was a makeup video.

The first day I thought of it, I mapped out the video, scrapping the idea about nine times before I finally realized I’d need help on this one. So then I planned on asking Louise, and then planned how I would, and thought over what she would say. The second day was a long and tedious series of “Would she agree? Can I really go through with uploading this video, or will it sit in a folder on my laptop in pieces like so many other past videos? How much makeup should I do? Should I upload a picture first? Should I drop hints? Does anyone suspect this?” Every question was a long and tedious decision, and I could tell Phil knew I was up to something.

I didn’t want to tell him, though, for whatever reason. I felt like I had to be sneaky, and surprise him along with everyone else. I knew Phil was so proud of how far I’d come, and I knew that this video would make his day. He loved seeing me break gender roles, and I loved seeing him smile.

Finally, the third day came, and I made sure Phil wasn’t eavesdropping when I called Louise.

“Hey, Lou,” I said immediately, not letting her answer her own phone. It was a game we’d been playing for a few years now, and it was silly but tradition to us.

Louise giggled into the phone, knowing I’d won this round. “Hello, Dan. How’re you guys? The unpacking going well?”

I snorted into the phone, picking up a pillow to muffle a scream before calmly answering, “Of course. Couldn’t be better. We so love boxes. And mess. And organizing.”

Louise cracked up, making me smile with her genuine ugly laugh. Louise and I thought each other were absolutely hilarious, and even though Phil would always be my best friend, he was also my boyfriend. It was nice to have someone I didn’t want to kiss every time I heard them laugh.

“You’re ridiculous. But you didn’t call me for nothing, love, so get on with it.”

Rolling my eyes, I got straight to the point. “I need you to help me with a video.”

I could hear Louise’s smile through the static of the phone. She’d been waiting for this call for awhile. She gave me the benefit of the doubt, however, asking “Oh? And what kind of video might that be?”

“A fucking porno, Lou, what else?”

We both burst out laughing, taking a few moments to compose ourselves before speaking.

“I’m so happy you finally decided to do this! What should I bring? Do you want to go to the store to get your own stuff? Should it be a tutorial, or just a “Louise Does My Makeup” vid?”

Of all the things I’d thought over, none of these questions had factored in. “Um.”

“Oh Dan. You really do need my help, don’t you?”

Clearly, I did. “Yes, mom, please teach me the ways of the beauty,” I said sarcastically, only half-kidding.

“Fuck yourself, child, I’m only seven years older than you as of Friday.”

“Mooommmmm…”

“I’m blocking you.”

I snickered. “No, don’t! I’ll behave just please help me.”

Sighing, Louise paused. “Okay, firstly, what kind of video do you want to do?”

I thought it over. “I want to do my own makeup, but I don’t want it to be a tutorial. What would that be called?”

“Hmm. It could be a how I do my makeup one? Or maybe just come up with a clever title.”

I made a sound of agreement, the wheels already turning in my brain. Louise sensed this, moving on to the next question.

“How much makeup are you wanting to do? Full-face, just eye makeup, just base and contour…?”

I’d somewhat thought of this already, so my answer was quicker. “Full-face, I think, but also my nails?”

Louise hummed in approval. “Getting bold, are we?”

I snorted, mumbled “It’s high damn time”, and we moved on to the next part.

“I assume you want your own products, right? We are very different-looking people, after all.”

That was true. “Yeah, but I want you to come with me because I have no idea what I’m doing. But also bring your makeup because we’re both doing this, and also we need nail polish.”

I could tell Louise was grinning. “You’re really brave for doing this, you know that? 2009 Dan would be having a stroke right now.”

I rolled my eyes again. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. New year new me, blah blah blah.”

Chuckling, Louise’s tone shifted a bit. “Does Phil..?”

I smiled to myself, suddenly bashful. “Uh, yeah, no. No he doesn’t know and no he’s not doing his makeup too. I just-I kinda want to surprise him, you know? But he’ll probably suspect it anyways so I don’t know why I’m being a sneaky shit.”

Louise was quiet for a while, worrying me, but she had just been processing the situation. “No, I don’t think he will,” she began, sounding serious. “Phil’s a bit oblivious at times, you know that. And if you have no makeup around the house, then he has no reason to just assume you’ve made up your mind. But I do think surprising him is very sneaky and cute of you.”

My face was hot, even though she couldn’t see me. “Thanks, but not really. I just really kind of want to see what I look like with makeup on.”

Louise burst out laughing again, making me smile.

“You’re a selfish bitch, but a good-intentioned one. I’ll see you tomorrow, love!”

***

“Where ya going?” Phil called, and I nearly smacked into the wall on the way over to him in the lounge. I was still adjusting to this flat, not to mention stepping over boxes in every direction.

“Louise’s,” I answered, acting as casual as possible.

Phil didn’t look up from the book he was reading, sat in the middle of the floor next to a box as if he’d been unloading it. As if.

“Oh, cool. Can I come?”

My heart beat just a little faster, and I remembered how bad I was at lying. “Eh, we’re just having a girls’ day,” I forced a laugh, hoping I hadn’t given away too much. “You’d be really bored.”

Looking hurt, Phil’s eyes flickered. “I would not. But okay, you two have fun. Text me when you’re on your way home and I’ll order pizza.”

I felt awful for hurting his feelings, but I really didn’t want to tell him about the video. Dodging boxes and miscellaneous piles of crap littering the room, I knelt down behind Phil, wrapping my arms around him and kissing his shoulder. “I love youuuuu,” I sang, feeling his smile when he kissed my cheek.

“Love you too, bear. Tell Lou I said hi.”

***

“How many aisles of makeup can there possibly be?!”

Louise was worriedly glancing at the appalled expression on my face, the sheer amount of products before us scaring the hell out of me. This was going to be a mess. I had no idea what I was doing, no idea what to buy, I didn’t even know what look I was going for-

“Dan, sweetie, breathe. It’s a lot easier than you think, I promise.”

I breathed, and Louise took my hand in hers. “Lipstick?”

“Black, obviously.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Really? That dark for the first ever time people see you with makeup?”

I shrugged. “I did black on my nails the first time I painted them, so might as well. Maybe dark red, I don’t know.”

We decided on dark red. We also decided smokey eye, eyeliner, highlighter, contour, foundation, mascara, lip liner, primer (which I didn’t know was a thing), eyebrow pencil-the whole package. And I picked sparkly black nail polish this time-might as well mix the last two colors.

When we got back to Louise’s house and had set the camera’s up, I began to get nervous. I had almost bit down on my nail before Louise all but slapped me, looking furious.

“You will not. We are literally about to start this and you want to bite your nails? Are you actually mad?”

I tried to hide my grin, but Louise’s face softened at it nonetheless. “What?” she asked, trying not to smile herself.

“You do sound like a mom.”

Slapping my arm for real this time, Louise called for Darcy, who came running at me like a bullet. I hugged her as Louise asked, “Darcy, what does mommy do when you bite your nails?”

“Doesn’t let me paint them! She’s mean, Dan.”

I chuckled at Louise’s smug expression, still feeling nervous but excited at the same time. As we started the video, I kept imagining what Phil’s reaction would be, more than anyone else’s. Would he be surprised at all? Would he like it? Would I like it?

It turned out, I did. A lot. I couldn’t stop looking at my reflection in Louise’s mirror, amazed by how different my face looked. I looked… stunning, if I was being honest, and I wondered why I’d been such a little bitch about doing this before now. I guess I was just scared, was all, but I was 100% glad I’d conquered that fear because damn, was I hot.

Louise was amazed too. “I hate you,” she muttered at one point, making me burst out laughing.

“You look better,” I assured her, but she just glared.

“Oh, fuck you, you’re the pretty friend. Darcy, come here!”

I didn’t know how Darcy would react, which made me worry for a brief moment, even if she was only six. But her reaction was priceless, and I had tears in my eyes after she finished squealing.

“Oh my goodness you’re so pretty! Mommy, look at his eyes!” Darcy’s little hands were fluttering all around my face, making me grin in amusement. “He looks like a princess! No, a queen! Is it okay if you’re a queen instead of a king Dan? Because I’ve never seen a king with makeup before!”

“He can be a beauty king too, Darce,” Louise smiled at me, and I smiled at the floor. Taking the makeup off made me sad, but I made sure I took lots of selfies and aesthetic photos before I did.

I couldn’t wait to see what Phil thought of the video.

***

It was 10:30 before I got home that night, and the flat was quiet. I opened the door of the lounge quietly, finding Phil asleep on the floor next to his book. He looked so adorable laying in the midst of all this chaos, perfectly at peace, that I had to take a couple of pictures. I laid next to him on the floor, posting one of the pictures on Twitter with the caption Guess it’s my turn to take sleep creepshots. After about five minutes Phil rolled over, groaning and blinking at me, inches away from his face.

“This floor is less comfortable than the old flat’s.”

I smiled nostalgically, reaching over and playing with the fringe over his eyes. “Then why are you sleeping on it, silly?”

Phil smiled sleepily, snatching my hand before I could put it back down. “Guess you and Lou did have a girls’ day, huh?”

Letting him examine the glittering abyss of my nails, I smiled sheepishly. “You have no idea.”

***

I spent all night editing the video, even making a bloopers one that may or may not get uploaded, which included the part with Darcy freaking out that we’d unknowingly filmed. I was exhausted the next morning, and Phil noticed.

“What were you doing all night last night?” he casually asked, digging in one of the kitchen boxes for the cereal.

“Editing,” I muttered, sitting on the floor and leaning against one of the cupboards since the dining table had shit piled all over it.

“When did you film?” Phil turned around, looking interested, and I mentally slapped myself for giving anything away.

“Couple days ago,” I lied, closing my eyes and jumping when Phil’s hands pressed against either side of my face. I opened one eye, seeing his face directly in front of mine, smiling knowingly.

“You’re hiding something from me.”

“You’re hiding the cereal from me.”

We stared at each other until I broke, kissing the tip of his nose and standing abruptly. “Can we please eat, I’m not kidding.”

The day went by slowly, but when I finally hit upload on the video, I hurried to stand outside the lounge, able to clearly hear everything because of that damn glass wall. I heard the notification on Phil’s phone ding, heard him drop his book to turn the volume up on his phone, and heard my “Hello internet…”

I listened to the entire video, smiling at certain parts and wanting to see Phil’s face more than I’d ever wanted to see anything before. When it finally ended, I didn’t hear Phil getting up, and frowned, wondering what he was doing. I’d expected him to come running to ask me about the video, but after a few minutes I began to wonder if he’d even liked the video at all. My phone buzzed, and I had to blink blurriness out of eyes to see what Phil had posted.

It was a picture of me without makeup and a screenshot from the end of the video, side by side, with the caption He’s beautiful with or without makeup, isn’t he?

“You sneaky, pretty little shit.”

I nearly screamed when Phil spoke, arms crossed and standing directly in front of me. I hadn’t even heard him open the door to the lounge, let alone walk halfway down the hall. My heart was still in my throat when Phil kissed me, not letting me speak and completely taking me by surprise. When I got the chance to breathe, all I asked was, “So? Did you like it?”

Phil looked at me with so much love in his eyes that I felt my throat tighten again, and I knew the video would be worth every last second, just to make Phil this happy.

“I’m stunned. That you went through with it, that you looked just that damn gorgeous, and that you hid the whole thing from me!” The last part was accompanied with a glare, and I grinned, unashamed.

“So you liked it?”

Kissing me again, Phil whispered, “I loved it, bear. You’re beautiful, and you should know that.”

I smiled, happy with the choices I’d made. “I’m learning.”

“Good. It’s long overdue.”

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