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marchy-emmet · 4 months

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Pokémon White - The Battle Subway's Void

MARCHY... WRITING?!?!! Pppffff, aside from that... I wanted to write a little one-shot thingie in creepypasta format to explain in a lil' more detail what glitchy Submas are about. No gore or anything, only madness!! Without further ado, let us dive into this shitstorm...

And as a note: The player's opinion of Submas does not reflect my own, lol.

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So… here’s the deal. I’m going to jump right into it – no sugarcoating whatsoever.

I’ve been an avid Pokemon fan for my entire life – way down from childhood and up till now, even as a broke unemployed college student. Generation 5 had always been my favorite, and though the attractions in Nimbasa City aren’t particularly pleasing to me, there was one place that had caught my attention – Nimbasa Gear Station.

Now, I am no rookie player… I’ve been through this subway time after time again – my favorite being the singles lines due to how quickly you can farm BP. And the doubles line was slower but gave you the same amount of BP, so what was the point? My copy of White was maxed out in money and time. No need to add more grueling tasks.

… Well, enough yapping for now – I don’t have much time, anyway. Let’s, once again, jump right into it.

Just a few nights ago, I had made my rounds with the battle subway again – but this time, I decided on choosing the multi lines. I’ve got barely any friends who play, so I ended up playing this with the NPC Hilda in the comfort of my own dorm room… If only I could play with sentient beings, I thought sarcastically to myself – no one being around and all…

It was unsurprisingly a typical, boring and usual sweep of the battle subway. A timid Hydreigon with max EVs in special attack and speed with dark pulse, flamethrower, surf and dragon pulse had done the trick. Way too easy!! We had a bit of trouble with a few NPCs here and there, but it was nothing terribly difficult.

Then came, of course, Ingo and Emmet with their usual cone stance. I never understood the hype around these two random NPCs… Sure, strange design and all – but what’s the deal?

With me already having dull feelings about the subway masters and their undeserved hype, the experience I was about to have this very night would ruin their image forever.

Aaaand the game crashes. What the fuck??!?! All of that hard work of grinding in the battle subway while mashing A had gone to waste. I am gonna fucking lose it… I thought. The only logical thing to do was to man up and suck it up and redo the entire thing over. So I rebooted the game, muttering profanities under my breath and waiting impatiently for the title screen to appear.

And it didn’t. At this moment, I thought, okay, obviously the game is fake. What is this shit? Perhaps I was a bit too irritable for no one’s good, because as soon as I had restarted it again, the title screen actually showed up with a bit of lag. But still… Something was off. Lag is a telltale sign of a fake game, right?

This thing’s cartridge was used, after all. I had no idea what the previous player had done to the game… In the back of my mind, I had hoped all my save data hadn’t been deleted. Fuck.

I eagerly waited for the game to boot fully and take me back to Gear Station as I hit the save file, but the performance of the virtual world only got lower and lower, steadily dragging itself back to where my character was standing. As per usual when you “quit” a subway battle, the employee was facing me in preparation to scold me.

… But he didn’t. He just stood there. And at this point I thought the game had frozen.

My heart kept beating fast as I frantically thought up plans of what to do with my save file. Transferring all of my work to another file was an option – but I didn’t have another DS or any friends who did. Again, fuck. At this point there’s no use in searching for resources online to find out if it was fake – it definitely was.

I took a deep breath and looked away from the screen for a moment as I hoped and prayed that the game would cooperate with me. The Gear Station theme was still playing, after all…

A few minutes later, and I simply gave up, rebooting the game yet again. And again, I experienced the laggy bootup screen and the strange pause at the employee. I dropped my DS, putting my hands in my face and releasing the most frustrated sigh to grace the earth.

This is when I suddenly heard an 8 bit screeching sound that had scared me shitless. I jumped up, removing my hands from my face and widening my eyes at the screen. Nothing was out of the ordinary, but the grating sound… ugh.

I reached for the DS’s power button and tried to turn it off – but to no avail. Okay, then let’s try holding it down for 10 seconds… Nope. Pressing all the buttons? Futile. Button combinations? Nada. And so I turn to Google – my attention now directed at my laptop screen – a terrible mistake, really.

After a few unhelpful searches, I turn back to my DS screen and jolt.

It was back where I was with Ingo and Emmet, but the background had gone completely black. How…? How was this even possible? At this point, I even considered that I had picked up a rom hack!

So, with all of the textures lost, I had of course entertained the idea that I was in generation 5’s “void” – similar to gen 4’s “void glitch” where you could catch Shaymin and Darkrai via the exploit. But I knew the walls of the battle subway were probably still around, and the only way of getting out would’ve been through the subway doors.

After a few moments of cautious reconsideration, I moved my fingers to the DS button’s arrows and pressed to go left. To my surprise, my character was actually able to roam around the void around Hilda, Ingo and Emmet!

Curiously, I approached Ingo and mashed the A button, attempting to speak to him. For a moment, this seemed to have frozen my game, until a text box popped up…

“What can I see after winning, winning, and winning? … Nothing – not without this fellow standing beside me.”

Huh. I had vaguely remembered the first half of this line from Ingo, but not the second half. At this point I was definitely convinced I had received some sort of fucked up rom hack in the real White’s disguise.

I spoke to Emmet, and his text box lagged similarly before he stated, “I am Emmet. I am a subway boss. And I am verrry angry. Too angry.”

When I spoke to Hilda, her text box was blank. No ellipsis or anything.

I… didn’t particularly enjoy the expressions the subway masters’ pixelated little faces were making. Dead, cold and glaring. But I had figured that’s how they always looked. Something was definitely going astray with their colors, because the more I stared, the bluer Emmet got, and the redder Ingo got. Their sprites were progressively getting freakier and freakier. What kind of fucked individual sat down and made this hack?

This is the part where a battle suddenly started without my knowledge or consent, despite my character standing far from their usual battle position. Uh… Okay then.

Subway masters Ingo and Emmet got into their usual battle position, backs turned before pointing… straight at me, as the player. This wasn’t quite right, I thought to myself, as I had remembered them pointing in opposite directions prior to this weird interaction. I did get a closer look at them, and their appearance was ever-changing.

They left the screen, and as per usual, Haxorus and Archeops were sent out first… Nothing was at all wrong with the sprites – except their eyes were missing? That and the fact that the battle’s background was white. A few blocky particles of what I call “glitch” were floating around the screen erratically. I also couldn’t help but to notice the Pokemon’s sprites weren’t animated.

I had a horrible pit in my stomach as my intuition was begging me to listen… But I persisted in thinking this was merely a twisted rom hack. The Pokemon still weren’t moving, and the screen was still struggling to load in the background with chunks of “glitch”. Colored particles were everywhere.

More possibilities floated through my mind… Was my DS broken? Was the cartridge dropped in water? Whatever the case might’a been, this was the most terrifying experience I ever had in a Pokemon game.

Unable to send my Pokemon out, I set the DS down and clutched my stomach a little, beginning to feel nauseous. My fingers tightened, rendering them paralyzed. I felt my whole body vibrate as I became deathly ill… Wasn’t quite sure why. There’s no way I was panicking so much over a video game.

As I stood up, I felt the room spin, so I sat back down. A distorted groan rang from the DS as Ingo’s sprite appeared back on screen, in the same pointing position.

His text box read, “The system cannot be shut off at this time. However, you could always offer reconciliation.”

Reconciliation? What the fuck was he on?

As Ingo’s distorted sprite faded out, Emmet’s appeared next – but he had black splotchy markings all over his body and face. I felt my heart beat faster again, and my breathing hastened as his text box popped up. It remained blank for a few seconds as Emmet’s round, soul-piercing eye revealed itself through his face’s shadow.

At this point I tried to shut the game off again by holding down the power button, but it was no use. Not even removing the cartridge stopped it.

“Do not try to turn the game off. Do not try to save the game. You cannot.”

How… How did he just break reality? I knew the funny business was over. This is real.

Ingo appeared again next to his Haxorus, who was melting into a glitchy mass. He began to speak again, his sprite’s eyes appearing in his face’s shadow. “I knew my partners wouldn’t make it through this – but I must protect what’s left. Why wouldn’t you play the multi lines for such a staggering duration of time, player?”

“I just did!!” I yelled back out loud, absolutely bewildered and jittery. I wasn’t even sure if responding to him would warrant a response, but…

Emmet’s Archeops began melting into a glitchy mass next as his sprite approached closer. Any light that was left in his eyes had died when he noticed his Pokemon partner was succumbing to the supposed reality break I was witnessing. His smile dropped for the first time. I’m pretty sure I had never seen that twin frown up until then.

“I am Emmet. This world is too limited. And I will break free. What you did was verrrry rude, player.”

“What did I do?!” I shouted back, feeling tears well up in my eyes. Not tears of regret or guilt, no – tears of confusion. Panic. My head was spinning at this point, and I had wondered if I was experiencing psychotic derealization. Something like this is much too bizarre to be real.

Another text box appeared as Ingo gestured to Emmet, Archeops and Haxorus. “Intentional separation is a sin that cannot be forgiven. Excuse me for repeating myself – but it would be kind of you to ask for reconciliation. I’m not sure how Emmet feels.”

I stared at my screen, my voice hoarse as I responded, “I… I’m not the one you’re looking for.”

I felt ridiculous responding to a video game character, but in my derealized mind this was logical at the time.

“Do not lie,” Emmet began, his sprite becoming increasingly glitchy, “I do not like liars. I do not entertain liars.”

I refused to press A past this point, instead reflecting on what could be happening. Are they feeling something? Is that why Haxorus and Archeops had died – due to a fatal game error?

“I’m sorry,” I say without really thinking, my thoughts racing with contemplating fear.

And Emmet responded again without me hitting A. “You said you are not the one. I do not like liars.” His sprite became bitter again, vibrating against the glitchy masses that were surrounding the twins and broken Pokemon.

I once again took a deep breath in complete disbelief, shutting the DS and dropping it harshly. I sobbed into my hands, unable to make out what I thought of this. Do I need psychiatric help? Was it real?

I felt as if something horrible was going to happen – as if these characters wanted revenge on me. And the game was still playing despite the fact that I had closed it.

Five minutes past as I rocked myself and wept, occasionally glancing over at the DS and putting destruction of the system into consideration. But before I could even formulate the plan, I noticed the DS was… vibrating. This just sent me back into the spiral of sobbing into my hands, but I kept my eyes locked steadily onto the DS. I knew a DS was not supposed to vibrate.

And then came what I can only refer to as a hallucination…

Something was pushing the DS’s screen back up – a finger covered by a black glove. The surrounding area erupted into glitchy fragments, and the gaming system was practically breaking itself and making crackling sounds as the plastic warped. Welp, guess my plan to destroy it was no longer needed.

Without a second thought I let out the loudest shriek I could ever release – and I had sworn the entire complex had heard it. Stood up and ran without hesitation. Not even going to stay to observe the scenery.

I made my way out of the dorms, speeding down the halls and immediately causing a scene. Everyone I passed just stood there, bewildered by my behavior. I was too scared out of my wits to even warn anyone.

I made my way out of the building and down the street, panting heavily and feeling my whole body cake in sweat. Pure fight or flight instinct. I knew then that someone wanted my head on a silver platter – video game character or not.

Eventually I was at my friend’s house, frantically knocking on their door… It isn’t my intent to bring danger towards them or their family, but it’s my only option at the moment. No way I’m staying back at that cursed dorm.

Explaining such a situation to my friend was uncomfortable, but they were concerned for my mental health and well being. And of course, they didn’t seem to believe my story, either… No one did. Everyone I texted, voice chatted with, and told in person always asked if I was joking, or if I needed some sort of help.

It’s been a couple of days since the incident, and I’ve missed plenty of classes – but they’re my last concern. Whether or not I come to find out if that thing was real, I need to hide for my own sake.

And I hope someone runs across this as a tale of caution (unironically, the reason I’m writing it). If you’re sold a game that’s advertised as real, and something strange begins to happen… don’t delve in further.

… Or you may end up like me – alone, just as the subway masters were. And possibly still being tracked down as I write.

#submas #subway bosses #ingo and emmet #pokemon #pkmn #glitchy submas

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apocryphalantiithesis · 1 month

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small tess & script dump

hellou. This is the beginning of the content farm ehem anyways this is as the title says tess n script doodles from recently:]

Ok erm. Decided I'd put the rest of the stuff here because I'm gonna do. Some unhinged yapping rambling. Be warned.......

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Ok sou this one is. Actually tess as like.a small part of the b sides and rarities cover by the arcade fire woohoo!! Yeah.

This is gonna have a lot of arcade fire yapping because.im not normal about them nor spr 🕊️

Technically NOT the b sides cover but the pictures from neon bible!! I was listening to black mirror whole doing the tess drawing from above and I thought wow some of the lyrics could really y'know. Kinda??? Fit tess if you think about it hard enough. Also imagine. French speaking tess.but that's a different discussion AHEM

If you see a little that's actually ( 🤓🤓) why I wrote black mirror on the bottom of the first tess drawing above.

Yeah. So, Black mirror. So the first verse ehh not a lot BUT..but.

"I walked down to the ocean

After waking from a nightmare

No moon no pale reflection

Black mirror, black mirror"

ok so no reflection?? If we look at it from the spr perspective (wtf am I saying brah ☠️) no reflection we could say is tess loosing himself to the void right.right. like there's no reflection of him because technically he's slowly. Stopping being tess as 1x takes over

"Shot by a security camera

You can't watch your own image

And also look yourself in the eye

Black mirror, black mirror, black mirror"

Ok so more of the above , not your own image ;; 1x controlling him, can't look yourself in the eye ;; him being conscious of what's happening but not.really being able to control

"I know a time is coming

All words will lose their meaning

Please show me something that isn't mine

-But mine is the only kind that I relate to

Le miroir casse,

The mirror casts mon reflet partout

Black mirror, black mirror, black mirror"

I know a time is coming ;; as I said him being kinda conscious of the situation but continuing for the sake of knowledge or whatever, all words will loose their meaning more of the same. And the mirror breaking could be 1x taking over.

"The black mirror knows no reflection

It knows not pride or vanity

It cares not about your dreams

It cares not for your pyramid schemes"

Also big thing; the black mirror here would be 1x,. then the next 3 lines 1x not caring about tess as a person and only using him to have a physical body and do evil stuff later or whatever

Ok an that's it the next few lines are the same and then it repeats lolz

ALSO the original image has a horrid ahh quality so, originally you can't see the details on the clothes like at all but I added because erm. Why not.

ALSO (X2) color picked everything from the og image. Is it cheating? Maybe but I did this mostly for fun rather than for practice so bleeehhgh

NEXT ONE!!!

Reflektor. By the arcade fire. again. and its album cover...

Ok so I'm gonna be honest this drawing is actually from like a while ago last year BUTT I decided it'd be cool to include it here because it's kinda like the b sides one. also I don't remember posting this one ever, it was something I just kinda kept for myself so technically first time ..

ANYWAYS. so

The reflektor album cover is actually (🤓🤓 again) the Orpheus and Eurydice sculpture by Auguste Rodin. Orpheus and Eurydice.

So quick resume for this all to have sense. Orpheus and Eurydice are a Greek myth, basically the get married but Eurydice dies so Orpheus goes to the underground to save her beloved and comes to an agreement with the guy that controls the afterlife, that if he can climb all the way back up with Eurydice behind him, the underground guy will make Eurydice come back to life BUT. Orpheus can't look behind or else Eurydice doesn't live.

However the underground guy makes Eurydice talk and Orpheus turns to look back and looses and Eurydice dies forever and ñañañañañaññaa

SO ONCE AGAIN, from the spr perspective (☠️X2) we could try to make them fit into script and tess, obviously two totally different ahh situations BUT hear me out. Going back to reflektor as an album I want to focus on "It's never over" specifically this part:

"It seems so important now

But you will get over

Seems so important now

But you will get over

And when you get over

And when you get older

Then you will remember

Why it was so important then

Seems like a big deal now

But you will get over

Seems like a big deal now

You will get over

When you get over

When you get older

Then you will discover

That it's never over"

So obviously, script as Orpheus and tess as Eurydice. And that fragment in specific towards script. LIKE THE REST OF THE SONG MAYBE DOESN'T FIT BUT IMAGINE THOSE. VERY SPECIFIC LINES AS TESSLISS ANGST. THINK.ABOUT IT 💔💔

And I know I actually committed like a huge fuck up here because I put the roles backwards 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 I did tess as Orpheus and script as Eurydice AND IT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE.THE OTHER WAY AROUND 😭😭💔 I honestly don't know why I did it that way back then but huge sigh and bad on my early 2023 self😞😞😞

Ok and putting everything having to do with the myth aside and only looking at the statue itself I guess I did it that way because it could've been tess falling into the void and scriptliss trying to comfort him because yknow. The chapter eight 1x dialogues where it shows interactions between the 2 and all dat stuff.

Looking at it like that it could've fit but. whatever, maybe I'll redo it one day in the not near future with the roles done right, for now here it is

Ok last one isn't gonna be that long of a yapping session.

Lyrics are from "infinitesimal" by mother mother.

Totally off topic but did you know.actually. mother mother are inspired by arcade fire and their album funeral 🤓🤓🤓🤓🤓🤓🤓 are there any mother mother fans here?? eureka enjoyers??? Anywhere?

Not really much context as the other 2, I just thought that part of the song was silly and the way Ryan sings it is how I think script would talk lol

I did all the whiteboards and the 2 tess ones today I am literally in my fucking primeeee!! like 2 decently done drawings with decent rendering in one day?? This is why I'm calling it the content farm my brain is gonna be fueled the entirety of these 2 weeks of vacation 😈.

One last note and also spoiler for my next farm content edition, I was actually gonna q tess drawing with "in the backseat" lyrics and also "Peter pan" and I thought of putting it here but blehh for next time:3

Lastly sorry if there's any typos or if I wrote stuff in broken English 😞I try my best

and that's it!!! If you actually read this I love you :3:3:3:3:333333333 and also I'm sorry

#super paper roblox #paper roblox #scriptliss #tess aract #was this just an excuse to talk about arcade fire and spr at the same time🥺🥺? yes.yes it was #double aA&

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hoppingonjim · 5 months

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learning love again (i) - holland march

chapter one. summary: i really wanted to make a little fic about holland meeting his old love again and again throughout the course of his life. so here we go! cw: mentions of losing virginity, talk of america/political views of war, brief mentions of the vietnam war

she was eighteen when they met. and nineteen when the military swept him away. it was for america and back then she could understand, there was no higher pleasure for a man than dying with stars and stripes adorning his heart. there was no greater shame than hiding behind a borderline.

a street lamp was the first time his eyes soaked her up. limbs crossed over, back against a void of color. with the eyes of bardot and the body of cardinale he swore he fell in love. did her mind possess curie? a streep lamp stalked above him as he inquired her for her name.

“mary.”

“that's my mom's name. that was also jesus' mom's name.”

“that's nice.”

the woman only gave a smile. eyes glanced upwards to the canopy that flickered above, “what's your name?” the boy would only watch for a brief second, fingering his pocket for a pack and lighter.

“holland,” soon a companion of a light screamed between them, making messy love to the stick suddenly dangling below his cupids bow, “my mom liked the country holland. so. now i'm named holland.”

“ah.” the closeness grew far. the repellence of smoke sniggering in her nostrils. until they flared, “i don't like people who smoke.”

in a matter of seconds the cigarette found the soles of his boot, “that better for you?”

a smile dressed itself in the light swirling above, “yes.” when her wrist grew itchy of her curfew she suddenly kept the distance between the two close, “i'll catch you later, okay holland?”

she was eighteen when he dressed her in a luxury menu. treated her eyes to the cul-de-sac of spaghetti. the vines and checkered table cloths that draped over glossed wood. an ambiance of gold and the adriatic.

“what's the cheapest thing on the menu?”

“you're not getting the cheapest thing.”

a crinkle popped from the furrowing of her eyebrows, quizzically she watched him, “what do you mean? it's not cheap here. i don't want to blow money..”

that sentence would see its hand once holland gave her a swooshed hand motion, “you're yapping. i'm paying. buy what you want.”

she was eighteen when he alleviated a confession with a staggering stutter.

“i t-think i l-love you.”

tangled limbs resting in limp sheets. joints deep in discombobulated slumber while the sun beckoned for a crowing rooster. navy coating her clothed back. navy encapsulating his matching boxers.

“think or you do?” her voice bore no volume. a mingling whisper.

“i do.”

“i do too.”

she was eighteen when he held a virgin in his arms, nineteen when his sheets were the last to feel virginity. nineteen and lonesome, she wore the title of his only companion. in those navy sheets roses fell scattered and trampled. his parents enjoyed their slumber next door as they made love, innocently. giving their minds over to passion and their bodies to the palm of the other. with moans waltzing with low groans, the gentle sun remained hushed. the sudden man snapped his hips, celestial bodies tuned into comic ballads. beethoven's symphony ringing out with every muffled crack that leaped from her voice. breathless and panting.

"holland, how are you not worried about- holland, oh my god you're inside of me- oh my god your dick is- oh-"

"doesn't it feel wonderous?"

the suns kiss on the wavering weeds outside stood a void from inside the window pane. and when she gave herself to him, and he found a climax, their bodies fell into one. the velvet curtain closing as the scent of diminished chastity grew thick. a question echoed about his first time and in came a lie. vulnerability husky under the guise. and while they tip toed under their new title to the washing machine he swore to himself his lips would never behold the truth. his virginity was washed up on those sheets too.

she was nineteen when home seemed like a good option. here was the time for picnic play of war to unveil a realistic shoulder. for little boys to mold into their mossed figurines. under a street lamp she found squalor plucked on her knees. the collection of rain fall staining a once stunning plaid hem. the velvet curtain withdrawing to the sight of her hands gripping onto the bulk of his jean clad thigh.

“stay, please-america will never know. just stay, stay?”

the girl he had assisted into transcending womanhood mirrored a child once more. breaking over. porcelain lips shattering with every deafening word. his own were lost on the train he was sure he would be taking. a mind heavy on decision and a heart torn with two sacrifices.

“i love my country mary, right now america needs to be my love.”

“will america remember if you die though? i will! i'll remember if you die! i'll remember your name holland, and your eyes.. america will call you lifeless and put you in a bin of meaningless men. just stay with me.. please.”

“get off the sidewalk mary.” a tone imitating the wading winds that croaked the downfall.

“you aren't being made to.”

“i'm staying with america, mary.”

“but i love-”

“go home mary.”

she was nineteen when she was thrown the pitiful ending with her knees soaking up abandoned down pours. the array of dusted water pooling around her once pure white dress. on the sidewalk she surrendered to fate with rain soaking her flag.

he was twenty one when he took a train. when he casted aside her letters that piled on his front stoop. distractions were something he couldn't tear himself from. on the train he sat with empty pads beside him, the others crammed ahead. their eyes gaunt at the faces of their weeping future widows. swallowing his affection, his eyes found his creased palms. still he felt blessed to feel her touch, to dance with streams of her stranded tresses. to guide her into the land of absolute pleasure he could grant. with a grumbling stomach he continued to feel full of home made mac and cheese. the only dinner she could properly serve. in his lips he could taste the entire year he knew her for. from when he questioned her identity to when he left her questioning his heart.

she was twenty one when she spotted a doppelgänger of the man she wasted pens on. where she discarded stamps.

“is that, holland?”

her sister, tall and eclectic, wondered aloud. her neck claimed by a dangling ring gifted by the man that had rang their doorbell numerous times in one week. all mary could remember about the man was that he was taller, muscular, his name was either jackson or jake- mary was unable to remember.

with a tense throat she glanced at the man who had clutched her butterfly heart in the creased palm of his hand before he'd drop the butterfly into a discarded moth. the man who ushered her thorned moans into his ears, the boy who made earnest love to her on navy sheets.

“no.. i don't- no..” a stammer pushed through. the sight of a scraggly man holding the mature hand of a golden decorated lady.

mary glanced down at her very own strands of hair. plain brown.

she was twenty one when she realized it indeed was the real man. the con artist bishop.

#the nice guys #holland march fic #holland march x you #holland march x reader #holland march smut #holland march #jackson healy x reader #jackson healy #the nice guys fic #the nice guys smut #the nice guys 2016

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defiantbird · 5 months

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I've been away from here for maybe like a day or a half a day and it feels like a while. I'm doing a month-long thing to use my phone less, part of which is deleting social media apps and using the browser only. Which I'm doing right now. Anyways.

I'm home alone today, having cancelled on an event due to a hormone headache. I have a handful of things contributing to my feeling depressed lately, including missing my meds for about a week, my birth control getting rearranged, talking about emotionally exhausting stuff in therapy, and now the phone thing. It sounds stupid but it's clear that I've always used the internet and eventually my phone to avoid thinking and maybe even feeling. I'm reading a book on it and it mentioned feeling depressed once you've started cutting down because you're not used to being alone with your thoughts, and sometimes thoughts are painful.

So I've been teaching myself to draw again. I'm hoping eventually I'll have ideas to write again. I know I'm only in the beginning of this, but the fact that I had to spend my first day with less access lying around doing nothing because I feel like garbage, instead of going out and doing "actually living my life" things feels pretty bad. All I've done today is sleep, watch TV, and draw a little. My therapist would tell me to be compassionate with myself but man am I bad at that. I fear that letting myself off the hook will mean allowing myself to withdraw from the world.

I'll feel better soon and then I'll be able to do things.

This has been your aimless yapping-into-the-void personal post.

#personal

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amaya-writes · 2 years

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TR Hanma, Chifuyu, Mitsuya and Kisaki as dads?

Fluff plz

TokRev Dads Coming Home to the Aftermath of a Playdate

Note: I love writing TokRev as Dlifs and I already had an idea for this so I'm killing two birds with one stone.

Warnings:

Characters involved: Hanma Shuji, Chifuyu Matsuno, Mitsuya Takashi, Kisaki Tetta

Hanma Shuji

Hanma couldn't help but let out a groan as he walked past his family home's threshold, popping his shirt buttons and kicking off his shoes as he did. It was only when he slid his gun from its holster and placed it on the shoerack that Shuji finally registered the eerie silence in the home.

No giggling little toddler, cooking wife or light hum of electronics that indicated the two were preoccupied. Just plain, deafening and worrisome silence.

The tattooed male was shooting through the house not a second later, almost stumbling over his feet with the previously discarded gun in his hand as he scanned room after room for his precious wife and son.

It was only when he kicked open his child's room door that Hanma finally let out a sigh of relief, allowing his shoulders to sag and body to relax as he leaned against the doorframe to observe the two bodies cuddled together near his son's toy sack.

By the looks of it the two of you had been playing heroic prince and the damsel in distress again, even going as far as to use cardboard cutouts and plastic swords to substitute the evil sorcerer who kidnapped the damsel. A role usually reserved for Hanma.

"Shu- you okay?"

Your voice seemed drowsy as you stirred from your slumber and blinked up at your husband, probably confused by the sudden bang of the door being opened accompanied by the gun clutched in his hand.

Hanma nodded several times at your question, not bothering to respond verbally as he dropped the weapon onto a shelf far too high for his son to reach and kneeled to the ground beside you.

"So you continued on without me, huh?"

You smiled at his words, adjusting your position to lean against Shuji's chest as he rested against the wall and pulled his son onto his lap.

"The brave prince escaped your lair and led me through the forest. We stopped just in time for nap time."

Hanma hummed at your reply, noticing how your voice softened and lowered to ensure your son wouldn't awake, even if he was the heaviest sleeper either of you had met.

"You better prepare a celebratory for your prince's return."

You giggled sleepily at your husband's words, snuggling further against his chest and murmuring something along the lines of five more minutes as you allowed sleep to take over your form once again, this time with Hanma following right after.

Chifuyu Matsuno

Chifuyu couldn't understand why his daughter insisted on hosting play dates for her daycare friends every week. He also couldn't understand why you would allow her to rampage through the house with a handful of toddlers in tow knowing that you would have to clean up the mess again.

Sometimes Chifuyu wished he could be a little stricter with his child, that he could chastise her for things and deny her certain privileges like normal parents, but as he watched you pick apart the plastic tea set and return the parts to the box he knew that his family wouldn't be subjected to an attitude change from him anytime soon.

"Oh good, you're home! Could you wash the face paint off of her while I get this cleaned up?"

He tried to chastise you, really, he did, but Chifuyu found himself shutting down as soon as he opened his mouth to object, leaving him no option but to peck your forehead and nod along to your words.

The little ball of pink hiding behind the sofa seemed more than happy with her father's compliance, automatically latching onto his palm and yapping about the day's events not a second later.

Chifuyu had been looking forward to a peaceful night at home with his family, one void of pesky clean-ups, but as he kneeled down to lift his daughter and cradle her against his chest he couldn't help but feel nothing but love for his family, pesky play dates and all.

Mitsuya Takashi

Mitsuya hadn't planned to stay this long. He had just popped in to quickly grab a sketchbook with one of the sketches he needed for the day and then leave before he could be distracted. He hadn't planned to interact with his family, saving that for later when he was done with work.

Mitsuya hadn't planned to be distracted by you and his little son, but as he walked past the master bedroom and headed for his office he couldn't help but come to a stop outside the sage green room towards his left.

Little giggles echoed through the bathroom as your son rambled on about some game the two of you had been playing, talking about how he couldn't wait to play it with Mitsuya the second he got home and how he would totally beat dad like he beat you.

The lilac-haired male didn't even realise he had walked towards the bathroom's open door and past its threshold as he eavesdropped on your conversation, but as his son noticed his form and let out an excited little squeal he couldn't help but feel glad he had been distracted.

Mitsuya's child was out the tub and by his side not a second later, leaving you with no choices but to pout as you complained about the suds.

"So, you think you'll win, huh?"

Takashi couldn't help but smile at the way his son eagerly nodded, boasting about how he beat you three times in a row at the game.

"Momma was real bad at it!"

You huffed at his words, not taking too kindly to being undermined by a toddler when you had clearly thrown the game for his amusement.

"Well I guess I'll just have to avenge my lady."

Mitsuya bent down as he said the words, scooping up his son and paying no heed to the suds ruining his outfit.

"But first, bath time!"

Mitsuya hadn't planned to skip out on the rest of his work in favour of a day with his wife and child, but as he gamed the afternoon away he couldn't help but feel glad that he did.

Kisaki Tetta

Kisaki let out a light huff as he trudged through the doorway, sighing contently at the familiar sound of the Powerpuff Girls theme song and his daughter singing along to it.

The sound was one Kisaki had come to love over the past few months, finding solace in how it was an indicator of the end of a tiring day at work.

As Kisaki made his way past the kitchen and rounded the corner he couldn't help but let out a soft smile at the sight of his girls cuddled up on the couch solely focused on the show before them.

Usually, Kisaki would have wrinkled his nose and complained about the mess in the living room and how you had to clean up after your tea parties, but as the fatigue of a long day took over he couldn't help but simply trudge to his daughter's side and occupy the vacant seat to her right.

"Daddy! You're back!"

The toddler's small form was climbing all over him not a second later, only settling down once Kisaki wrapped an arm around her form and allowed her to sit sideways on his lap.

"Mommy and I had tea with princess today."

"Is that so?"

His daughter nodded at his words, excitedly breaking into a ramble about how the family cat, effectively dubbed princes by the young girl before him, had trampled all over the table and caused the mess in the living room, cutting off their little play date and forcing you to hunt her down and give the Persian a thorough bath to get rid of the paint stains from your daughter's attempts at painting the teapot.

It was only then that Kisaki turned to your form, amusedly observing your annoyed frown as your daughter recalled how the cat had yowled and scratched you.

"Are you okay, love?"

"Never been better."

Usually, Kisaki would think the reply was sarcastic, but as you snuggled into his side and focused on the cartoon playing on the tv he couldn't help but know your words were genuine, and exactly how he felt.

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mamaspresley · 4 years

Text

come home | ch

a/n: I was hoping to make this longer but it kind of just wrote itself and it seemed like a good place to end off. Also if anyone would want me to make a tag list let me know! <3

word count: 3.0k+

pairing(s): calum x girlfriend!reader

warning(s): fluff

Tour had been long. Four months of constant go-go-going, always on the road and never taking a break. The most rest Calum had gotten was four hours of sleep a night, if he was lucky. Calum loved touring and he loved playing for the fans—he owed it to them. They gave him everything, and he was beyond grateful for all he was blessed with. But sometimes he hated the constant push that was being in the band. There was never a dull moment and sometimes that’s all he wanted. Four months was nothing compared to the countless hours he and the boys put into making the fourth record, so he shouldn’t be complaining, but in reality, all that Calum wanted was to be home, to work and lead a normal life instead of the fast paced lifestyle he lived now.

The last day of tour approached quicker than Calum expected, but he was more than happy to step off the stage after playing the final chords of Youngblood. The band wasted no time getting out of the venue and making their way to the airport—everyone knew how tired they were and how badly they all craved the comfort of their own homes, but no one more than Calum. This tour had exhausted him more than any other, and he wasn’t exactly sure why. Maybe it was because, this time, he had someone waiting at home for him. Usually he didn’t want tour to end, he wanted to bask in the feeling of being on stage accompanied by his best friends, playing his favourite songs for his favourite people. But since the morning he left, having gotten up unbearably early and trying his best to keep quiet so he wouldn’t wake Y/N, his girlfriend of eleven months who looked adorable curled up in his bed sheets and wearing nothing but his t-shirt, the constant reminder that he had someone to go home to panged his chest. With each note he played on stage and each step he took in unfamiliar territory, Calum missed Y/N a little more. He’d never felt so strongly about someone before meeting her—the two of them had already had that conversation, talking about how much the other meant to them even if they’d been together less than a year, but the thought only buried itself deeper in Calum’s chest while he traveled the world, alone.

Okay, maybe he was being a bit dramatic—whenever the other boys had to leave for tour, they were never dragged down this much. Sure, the first couple of days were rough and Calum saw from an outside perspective just how hard it could be on someone, but usually the boys would get used to the feeling of being away from their significant others and would focus on the matter at hand. Calum had a hard time doing that—maybe it was because this was the first real relationship he was in while being on a tour. He just didn’t have experience. Maybe he’d get used to it.

If that was the case, Calum couldn’t wait. This was, quite honestly, one of the worst pains he’d ever felt, and he’d give anything to be numb to it.

“Cal, you want anything?”

The Maori boy was dragged from his thoughts as he glanced up from his phone, laying eyes on Luke who sat next to him on the plane. It was obvious that he was waiting for a response, and Calum lifted his eyes to the flight attendant who stood patiently at their row. He cleared his throat, nodding as he muttered, “I’ll take a scotch, thanks.” Flying first class had its perks. Maybe a drink would replace the cold, empty feeling sat in his heart, a void shaped just for Y/N. Calum wasn’t sure how much longer he could wait to see her.

“Scotch this early in the morning? Sheesh.” Luke teased, which obviously Calum wasn’t too fond of as the darker skinned boy only rolled his eyes and directed his attention elsewhere.

In an attempt to distract himself, Calum pulled back out his phone from the pocket of his hoodie and flipped it over, turning on the device. His eyes dropped to the backdrop displayed on his screen, and Calum swore he could feel his heart literally stop beating for a moment. It wasn’t new, the picture, and he’d seen it a million times since he’d made it his lockscreen last year. But every time he saw it, he smiled. Who knew a simple photo, one that he’d taken by accident, truthfully, could change his entire mood? The picture was of Y/N and Duke. Y/N’s head was on Calum’s chest as they were laying on the couch, the first day she moved in. Duke was curled up on Y/N’s chest in the picture, his nose buried in her neck while she tilted her head back, looking up at Calum and grinning ear-to-ear. The photo was taken from above, Calum holding his arm up above them. To be honest, he didn’t mean to take the photo—he was going through Snapchat and had swiped over by accident, his thumb brushing across the button on the bottom of the screen. The picture was a complete accident, and it was kind of obvious by the blur it was taken in, but he loved the photo dearly. It’d been his lock screen since that day. And every day he saw it and smiled.

“Cal.” The boy was pulled out of his thoughts again as Luke nudged his arm, and Calum looked up before grabbing the cup that was being passed to him. He thanked the flight attendant before taking a sip and feeling the liquid burn down his throat—a familiar taste that Calum welcomed comfortably.

The rest of the flight passed quickly, and the buzz that Calum nursed from his two glasses of scotch generously helped pass the time. In no time, Calum was stepping off the plane and onto familiar ground, taking a well-needed breath of fresh air as he followed behind his tour manager and band mates. Calum’s heart race quickened when he read the familiar Welcome to Los Angeles sign as they stepped into the airport, and an excited smile crept across his lips. Quickly, Calum pulled out his phone and snapped a picture of the sign, sending it to his girlfriend along with a message that read: ‘See u soon love :))’

After collecting their baggage, the group made their way towards the exit, where a black SUV was parked waiting for them, accompanied by a frenzy of photographers and media reporters. Calum flipped the hood of his sweater over his head and directed his attention to the ground while they stepped outside. Their tour manager and two bodyguards did a good enough job holding the paparazzi back while the boys climbed into the car, ignoring the many questions being fired at them. Once they were all securely inside and their baggage was packed into the trunk, the car took off.

“Fuck, mate.” Ashton was the first to speak up. “I can’t remember the last time I went to an airport without getting mobbed.”

A few of the boys nodded in agreement or gave responses while Calum only stayed silent. He had his sunglasses over his eyes and his beanie covering his brown curls, the hood of his black sweater over his head while he leaned his head against the car window. Calum drowned out the sound of the boys chatting and instead focused on the song that was playing through his earbuds while they pulled onto the freeway. It was midday, around 1 pm, so traffic flow was light for the city. Each boy got dropped off at their separate homes, Michael first and then Ashton.

When they pulled up to Calum’s house, he said goodbye to Luke before climbing out of the car and shrugging his backpack over his shoulders. Their driver was getting Calum’s bag out of the trunk so Calum waited, looking up at his home and smiling before he was pulled from his trance.

“Calum?”

That familiar voice had Calum’s stomach in knots as his gaze followed the words. Jogging up the street was Y/N, dressed in her usual athletic wear that consisted of matching grey leggings and a sports bra with Nike sneakers, her hair pulled into a ponytail away from her face which was bare and free of makeup. She held a leash in her hand which belonged to Duke, who bolted towards his owner as fast as his little legs could take him. The smile on Calum’s face was the brightest it’d been as he dropped to his knees, letting his fingers run through the dog’s fur and rub his belly when the little ball of black and tan fur rolled over.

“Hey, buddy! How are you?” Calum talked in that voice that he always talked in when he was around Duke while his hands worked over the dog. Duke yapped excitedly as the 10 year old dog rolled on his back, and Calum shifted his gaze up, bringing a hand to shield his eyes from the sun despite his sunglasses on his face.

Y/N had seemingly let Duke off his leash for the occasion as she had it now wrapped around her hand, making her way over to her boys at a slow pace. Her lips curled up into a smile as her eyes laid on Calum, and when he stood back up straight, she burst into a sprint towards him much like Duke had done moments earlier. Launching herself at Calum, Y/N wrapped her arms around the boy as he did the same around her waist, and the older of the two spun her around, lifting her feet off the ground before setting her down, still squeezing her tight. He never wanted to let go of her; never wanted to feel that feeling of being away from her for so long.

“God, I missed you.” Calum’s voice was muffled as his face was buried in the crook of Y/N’s neck, breathing in her scent while he held her close. He felt her giggle, the sound vibrating through his body while she returned the words, squeezing him a little tighter. A throat was cleared and unfortunately, Calum had to pull away.

Calum glanced up, seeing his driver set his suitcase down on the gravel. “Thanks, Milo.” Calum unraveled himself from his girlfriend’s hold, walking over to grab his suitcase while one of the back windows of the car rolled down and Luke popped his head outside.

“Hi, Y/N.” Luke leaned halfway out of the vehicle, crossing his arms and leaning against the door as he smiled at the girl who stood with a dog in her arms. Y/N smiled back.

“Hi, Luke. How was tour?”

“Good, good. How was home?”

“Good.” Calum watched as the two conversed, his eyes never straying from Y/N as she smiled or giggled at what the blond had to say. Unfortunately the car started back up again and they were forced to say goodbye. “I’ll see you later, Luke. Tell Sierra I say hi!” The car was gone as quick as it came, and then Calum was pulling Y/N into his arms again, forcing her to put Duke back down on the ground.

“I missed you so much,” Calum said, his voice a lot clearer this time as he rested his chin atop Y/N’s head. She hummed, burying her face into his chest and squeezing him tight, her arms around his torso while Calum’s were slung over her shoulders. They stood like that awhile, basking in each other’s proximity while Duke nudged against their feet. Calum was the one to pull away, a hand coming to rest on the side of her neck, his thumb brushing over her cheekbone. “Let’s go inside before Duke gets impatient.”

“I think he already is.”

Calum looked down to see the small dog getting up, stretching a bit before strutting towards the gate and pawing at it. The Maori boy chuckled, shaking his head as he rolled his suitcase down the driveway and watched as Y/N typed in the code on the padlock to open the gate.

***

Calum was startled awake by a disturbing alarm, one that didn’t belong to him but he reached over to turn off anyway. His eyes were half shut, squinting through the sunlight that shone into the bedroom, as his hand searched blindly for the source of the noise. Finally he found it, lifting the phone up slightly so he could see and hitting snooze, postponing the alarm for ten more minutes. As Calum set the phone back down and rolled over to hopefully fall back asleep, his arm lazily draped over the body next to his. The mindless action sent a smile across Y/N’s face as he tugged her closer to him, half of her face becoming buried in Calum’s bare chest as he let out some sort of half asleep grunt.

“Morning, sleepy head.” Y/N’s voice was like music to his ears as Calum opened his eyes again, squinting down at her. The blue irises that belonged to his girlfriend blinked up at him, a smile playing on her lips as he groaned yet again, rolling onto his back and lifting an arm over his eyes. “That was my alarm you just turned off.”

“Mm. . . good.”

Y/N sat up, letting the white sheets fall around her torso as she stretched her arms, yawning and rubbing her eyes before moving to climb out of bed. Calum, having watched the whole routine through tired, hooded eyes, whined and reached out to grab her hips and pull her back into bed. The girl squealed, falling into Calum’s chest as he laughed lowly and wrapped his arms around her waist, tugging her close to him as he nuzzled his face in the crook of her neck.

“10 more minutes, baby,” he mumbled, voice hoarse and raspy as he spoke into her warm skin. Y/N shifted his body so he was laying over top of her, both hands on the mattress to hold him up, and she grinned, batting her long eyelashes up at him. Calum couldn’t help but think how beautiful she looked. Deep sunken eyes from the sleep she’d only just woken up from, soft lips that he so badly wanted to kiss—that he’d kissed countless times the night before. The smirk that her lips folded into had Calum’s stomach in knots as he bent down and covered her lips with his, slanting them over hers as they worked against each other. It wasn’t until Calum’s tongue swiped at the seam of her lips and pushed its way inside to meet her’s that Y/N pulled away.

“I need to get ready for work, Calum.” Her hands stayed tangled in his curls while she darted her eyes between his, a firm look in her eyes. His lips parted, a sigh escaping as his eyebrows furrowed together—he probably wouldn’t win this one, no matter how much cheeky flirting he could try. Y/N lifted a hand to cup his cheek, running her fingers over his stubble as she mused, “Just because your work is over momentarily doesn’t mean mine is as well.”

“I know.” Calum pouted like a child, his eyes studying her face, the structure of it and the chisel of her sharp cheekbones. He sighed again. “Just wish it did.”

“Spend some quality time with your son,” Y/N said, gesturing to the dog that lay at the foot of their bed, only inches away from where Calum’s legs were tangled with Y/N’s. With a raise of her eyebrows, Y/N smiled. “Take him for a run. It’ll be good for the both of you.”

Calum hummed, dropping to his elbows to give his wrists a break, and stared into Y/N’s eyes. He could get lost in them, and Calum often compared them to the ocean considering how blue they were. He tore his gaze away, glancing out the window to see the sun shining brightly and the few trees he could see greener than ever. “It’s quite nice out.”

“Mhm.” Y/N’s fingers were playing with his curls, tugging lightly at the strands while attempting to comb them out from their tangled, sleep-provoked mess. Calum felt her gaze on him, and only confirmed it when he turned his head back to Y/N and met her eyes instantly. “Really wish I didn’t have to work today,” she mumbled, a slight frown threatening the corners of her lips.

“Call in sick,” Calum suggested. His words were playful but his tone was serious as he lifted a hand to brush some hair away from Y/N’s face. She rolled her eyes, a light scoff escaping her lips when she realized he was serious.

“I can’t, Cal.”

“Why not? Am I not important to you?” He teased her again, leaning over to rest his cheek on his palm while one knee kept Calum hovering over top of the girl, the other leg tangled with hers underneath the sheets. Y/N lifted one leg, wrapping it around the backs of his thighs as she hummed, locking her ankles together.

“You know what I mean.” She glanced over to her phone on the nightstand. Then, after a few moments of silence, she looked back at Calum. “Okay, fine.”

“Really?” His eyebrows shot up in surprise.

“Yeah. I haven’t used any of my vacation days yet.” Y/N shifted to grab her phone, laying back down under Calum as she opened her phone. He rested beside her now, head on the pillow while the calloused fingers on his right hand drew small circles on her hip bone soothingly. The action was mindless but appreciated nonetheless. “And. . . done.” Y/N sent the text, reaching over to set her phone back down before glancing over at Calum with a smile on her face. “I’m all yours.”

Smirking, Calum raised his eyebrows cockily. “Oh, I know you are,” he taunted, making the girl scoff incredulously before she was tugged on top of him with a squeal.

#calum hood #5sos #cth #calum hood imagine #spacecowboycal #writing #5sos imagine #calum fic #5 seconds of summer #calum hood au #5sos blurb #5sos writing #calum hood one shot #5sos one shot #5sos au #5 seconds of summer au

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seokiloquy · 3 years

Text

Tip Toe - Semi Eita

Soulmate AU: Dancer (ballet) x Pianist + name on wrist

Requested

Tags/Warnings: GN! Reader though they are in a more female-dominated role, Fluff

Word Count: 2.3k+

His hands rested on your waist gently, guiding you in circles as your block covered toe dug into the vinyl matted floor. Your arms were raised in the air with your elbows and wrists bent slightly inwards to form an elegant oval frame around your head. The pointed toe at your knee lowered to the floor in a calculated motion. Point, ball, heel. Your knee bent to carry the rest of your transferring weight. Muscle memory set in quick.

The light twinkling of keys filled the air, guiding your moves like a trail of breadcrumbs. Up to point on the high note, drop on the downbeat, spin on the scale. The instrument’s strings vibrated in a happy tune that painted an image of blooming fields across your vision. You smiled, falling into your partner’s arms. You adored the feeling, like twirling in the air and sleeping on fluffy clouds with stars shining above you.

In the opposite corner from the grand piano, your instructor stood with his arms crossed, scrutinizing every dancer’s moves as the ensemble was practiced. He yapped out an order calling for one of the dancer’s heads to look up higher. The music continued.

Your partner’s hands shifted, one coming across your lower stomach, pushing heat through your bodysuit to sit against your sweat coated skin and the other catching your thigh as your leg raised higher into the air. The bent knee that held your weight pulsed before snapping straight, shooting you onto the end of your shoe in a tight arabesque.

You raised your arms, one ahead of you, fingers dancing carefully along your eye line and the other to your side, a little back. The man's hand left your stomach, shifting so he held your raised angle carefully. Toe first, he walked you in circles, spinning like a little fairy in a jewelry box.

After a 180-degree turn, he took your hand, slowly pulling you forward and out of your pose and into a waiting position.

The piano stopped.

"Water, everyone."

Walking to the back wall of the studio, you ripped open the puckered opening of your flimsy bag. As you dropped the carrier and leaned against the banister that sat under the window, you tilted your head back to pour the iced water down your throat. Your head felt like it was floating, you sighed and sunk into the feeling.

“(L/N).”

You coughed, choking slightly which prompted your dance partner to rub your back.

“Sorry, you good?”

“You couldn’t have waited?” you forced out between coughs, the haze that had given you colourful illusions was gone. The dark floor and white light suddenly seemed a lot brighter. You winced, coughing some more.

Matteus, ever the awkward man he was, lowered his hand and offered you the towel that he pulled for your bag. You thanked him, dabbing your neck with the fresh material.

“You were a bit dazed there,” he said, turning to face the window next to you, sticking his pelvis backwards as he leaned on the wooden bar and stretched. “You danced well, as always, but dazed. Something on your mind?”

You bit your lip, closing the cap of your bottle. “I can hardly remember dancing. Honestly, like I knew it was happening but my mind was somewhere else. I think it was the music.” You turned your attention to the grand piano, where the ash-blond pianist sat, speaking with your instructor.

“Hmm? The music is a bit different than normal. I think it’s probably the new pianist they hired? Finally able to give old-man Monty a break.”

Holding your wrist gently, you dragged the soft pad of your thumb over ink, making it burn under the heat of your hand. “Do you know his name?”

Matteus sat back in his heels before standing straight, catching your gaze as it zeroed in on the musician, unmoving even as the instructor walked to the centre of the room and called for everyone. “No clue.” He looped his arm through yours.

You watched the loose threads at the tip of your shoe slowly unravel as you walked. Small pink strings slowly littered the black floor you stood on. Another pair? You looked to your fellow dancers’ shoes, noticing similar states of damage between them, nothing in comparison to yours though. Was it all the extra practice? Time to replace them.

Matteus, having actually paid attention to the words coming from your choreographer’s mouth, held your arm and pulled you to the side of the room. “Come on dreamer, time to practice.”

The sturdy dancer led you to the side of the room getting in the circular line, left hand holding yours as his right sat at your lower back. You watched the first pair of ensemble dancers began, running toe first into the center of the room as they waited for the music to begin.

The first key hit the piano. Your breath hitched, and without meaning to your head turned to the piano that was only a few metres away. Using Matteus’ hold to your advantage you leaned back, looking over the shoulders of your friends to catch a fleeting glimpse of the pianist at work.

His eyes were focused on the sheet of paper in front of him, never looking down at his fingers as they did their own dance. His whole body moved with a harder press on the keys and every note he played was visible in the floating of his arms. His grown out, shaggy hair (uncommon in the professional world, but intriguing nonetheless) swayed gently. You caught sight of his head moving upward, just about to get a good look at his face when Matteus gave you a good tug, pulling your attention back to the dance. He chuckled when your eyes went to his canvas slippers and nostrils flared.

You and your mirroring pair on the other side of the room pranced forward and once again you had become lost in the music.

Early mornings in the studio were your place. No one seemed fond of being in hours earlier than needed and the thought of staying late to practice instead of strengthening or stretching sent shivers up your spine.

Unluckily though, today, like every week or so, was shoe day for you. No early morning practice, no solo improv, just the irritating sounds of ripping fabric and sound smacks of hard materials making contact as you broke in your new pair of pointe shoes.

Raising the expensive shoe over your head, you brought it down to the dance floor with a loud bang.

“That’s a bit harsh, what did the shoe ever do to you?”

Your arms froze above your head at the sudden intrusion. When did the doors open? You looked over your shoulder. On the other side of the room, lit up by the natural light that poured through the window, was the new stranger with musical hands. His casual jacket sat on his shoulders snuggly, sleeves hanging down to his hands. The soft-looking material made a wall, blocking you and anyone else from seeing the name that was printed underneath.

You hitched a breath as his arms flicked out, pulling the offensive fabric higher, only to be met with the sight of one bear wrist and another covered by a slick pair of leather bracelets. You sighed and only realized your mouth was open when you closed it to gulp down any drool that was trying to escape your mouth.

“Sorry,” you pushed out, lowering your arms and reaching for your ribbons and threading needle. “I’m just getting my new shoes prepped.”

“Ah, I didn’t realize you had to replace them frequently,” he said, nonchalantly making his way toward the piano in the corner of the room. His fingers reached to pull out a few slips of paper from his shoulder strap bag. They fluttered as he shook them. “Do you mind if I practice? I was given new music last night.”

“Ah right, we’re starting the opening today. Go ahead, I won't stop you.”

He gave you a small smile before taking the last few steps to the stool, setting the sheets of paper on the available ledge. He played the first note, then the second, and before long he was sight-reading and easily making his way through the opening number at a steady pace.

You stuck your needle and thread through the fabric of your ribbon and marked portion of your ballet slipper. Listening to the music he played as you soaked in the warmth pouring in from the windows above you. You looked up when he spoke.

“You’re an amazing dancer by the way.” He kept his eyes on the sheet music, jaw clenched tightly as he tried to keep even a thread of focus tied to the paper and not all over your presence next to him. “I’m surprised you aren’t in one of the lead positions, ensemble seems too bleak for you.” His ash hair seemed to glow in the sunlight.

“Huh, oh thank you. I think your playing is mesmerizing. I hardly remember dancing yesterday, I was too immersed, ya know?” You tied off your last stitch and began slipping on your protective gear and pointe shoes

You kept your eyes on him, the bright sunlight made all the shadows in the room disappear into a void, leaving the particle-filled beams to give the man in front of you an ethereal stoplight. His eyes pinched slightly and he gave you a meek grin. “Can I ask you a question?”

You rose from your seat on the floor, stepping over to the side of the closed piano. Placing your fingertips on the edge of the instrument you began stretching, using the piano as a barre. “Only if I can ask one back.”

You watched as his fingers pushed against the keys. He — ignoring your legs moving beneath you — met your eyes. His brows raised in a shocked manner that made an endearing warmth grow in your chest. “How did you start dancing, it seems to come naturally to you?”

You brought your toe to your knee. “I was very hyperactive as a kid, so my mom enrolled me in dance. When they saw I was good but still very hyper, they moved me into a dance academy ‘cause the teachers were stricter.”

He laughed, shoulders bouncing as he bit his bottom lip. “Based on what I saw walking in, I guess it didn’t really work.”

You cheered, “You’re right! It didn’t! But I got super hooked on ballet and made them cough up a small fortune to pay for dance education.”

Resting your elbows on the piano lid, you sat back in your heels and flattened your back into a table, stretching the muscles behind your knees. You didn’t notice his wide eyes quickly shoot back to the paper in front of him.

“So they made a dancing machine,” he spoke smoothly.

“If that machine had a tendency to twist their ankles, then yes,” you smiled up at his peripheral. He laughed. “Okay my turn, similar train, how did you get into music? More so, how did you end up here?”

“Well, in a similar fashion, my mom made me take piano lessons as a kid, but mostly because it’s a skill. I hated playing classical music at the time, but it’s grown on me now. In high school, I played volleyball, so the strong fingers definitely helped. And towards the end of that, I joined a band as their keyboardist.”

“A band?” You shifted positions, standing straight again. You moved on to a port de bras exercise, raising your arms into an oval shape before continuing. “Like a rock band?”

His hair swayed as he nodded and bit his lip. Caught up in both the conversation and memorized movements, you didn't notice his eyes follow your wrist.

“Okay, I have to know. How did you end up here?”

He laughed again, cheeks flushing at your enthusiasm and heart picking up pace. Not that you could tell. He continued, “well the band wasn’t going anywhere and I needed money. And my old piano teacher just so happened to have a few connections.”

The sun rose higher, and the conversation was never-ending until the door opened. Hand on the door, first in the room was Matteus, giving you a surprised look and waving you over as he mouthed off frantic words that you couldn’t make out. The music slowed to a deafening stop, leaving a dissatisfying chord to hang in the air that made your shoulders raise uncomfortably and nearly forced your knees to buckle. You raised a brow in the dancer’s direction, a bit aggravated at the group’s interruption.

You were unaware of the musician’s eyes trained on your profile as he shifted his hands to the beginning tonic chord. Unconsciously, you stood a little straighter, and the pianist smiled.

“He’s early,” Matteus whispered harshly.

Swallowing, you turned back to the black-tipped haired pianist, nervous smile painting your features. He wanted to reach out and soothe the frantic lines on your face, holding your cheek gently. “What’s your name?” you asked hurriedly.

He laughed gently, and you swore the sun began to shine brighter. “Eita. Semi, Eita.”

You smiled as he reached out to hold your wrist delicately between his fingers. The name he hoped to hear rolled off your tongue in a hush.

You spent the rest of the day dancing in the sun.

I want to write longer fics like Catch Me If You Can, Pumpkin Spice, and Cross the Pacific, but I feel brain dead. I will at some point. I’m certain. But that point isn’t now. I hope you liked this fluff though. - Bacon

Posted: 31/01/2021

#semi eita #semi x reader #semi eita x reader #Haikyuu x reader #haikyuu #x reader #oneshot #oneshots #haikyuu oneshots #haikyuu reader insert #reader insert #aus #haikyuu aus #fluff #haikyu #haikyu x reader #anime x reader #anime

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wordsablaze · 4 years

Text

Into The Unknown

Yennefer has never been particularly fond of djinns but she doesn't entirely hate them until they cause trouble for Jaskier a second time... day fifteen of whumptober.

A/N: last whumpskier fic, getting halfway is enough for this year !! today’s pairing: yennefer/jaskier | prompts used: possession / magical healing

Djinns are far more trouble than they’re worth.

Rinde had been a good example but Yennefer doesn’t truly accept it as a concrete truth until she comes across another one that also causes a small disaster. Or rather, until Jaskier comes across another one.

She hadn’t actually meant to run into him but she’s not complaining when she hears him start playing a song he’d written about her because, well, it’d simply be rude to ignore that gesture of good faith. Not that they need anything as flimsy as good faith to keep them together.

“You look absolutely ravishing, my dear,” Jaskier drawls as he settles beside her.

She smirks. “I know. Shame I can’t return the compliment.”

And for once, she almost means that. He seems to have taken a leaf out of Geralt’s book and dressed himself entirely in black and white, a bright shirt nestled in between dark breeches and an even darker doublet that matches his pointed boots.

Any other time, she might have just been teasing because she won’t lie when she says he can pull the look off just as well as their mutual friend, but there’s something wrong with his outfit, something that has her on edge.

“Have you taken some sort of potion?” She asks, wondering why he seems to be radiating chaos.

He just winks. “Something like that. Now, if you’ll excuse me…” And with that, he slips away, slotting himself into a conversation a few tables away.

Yennefer stares after him for a moment, shocked. That’s not the way their reunions usually go and she most certainly will not stand for being left behind. Briskly, she follows, grabs Jaskier’s arm, and pulls him outside with a glare. “Are you drunk? Or have you perhaps lost those stupid marbles you keep yapping about?”

Jaskier lazily grins at her. “None of the above, Yennefer of Vengerberg. I’m simply enjoying the options that have been made available to me.”

A horrible feeling settles in her gut; he never calls her by her full name unless they’re trying to bamboozle someone into doing something for them and he always vows that she is his best option. “What have you done recently that involves chaos?” she demands.

He chuckles. “You haven’t sensed it yet? My, he might have been wrong about your power after all…”

“He?” Yennefer echoes.

Jaskier points at his own forehead before raising an eyebrow. As she watches, he blinks and his eyes darken from familiar blue to brown, to black, to all but a pair of empty voids.

She gasps but before she can do anything, he winks and smoke fills the air around her. By the time she stops coughing enough to curse, he’s gone. Both him and whatever it is using him as a puppet.

A quick round of questioning inside the tavern tells her Jaskier has spent the last week entertaining a vast range of people in a vast range of ways and she almost winces when she finds out because she knows the stupid bard will feel awful and apologise far too much when he’s back to normal.

It’s not particularly hard to follow the trail of chaos but it is painful when she remembers that Jaskier’s strange morals are going to give him an extremely hard time over the broken hearts, small fires, impossible promises, and handful of slaughtered animals that he’s left in his wake.

She finds him at the edge of town, running his tongue along a dagger.

“Who are you and what are you doing with him?” Yennefer demands immediately, waving her hand and sending the dagger flying into a nearby tree before Jaskier loses his tongue.

Jaskier smiles at her but it’s all wrong, cold and crooked instead of his usual warm expressions. It doesn’t help that his eyes are still awfully empty. “Ever so direct, I appreciate that. And he does too, he’s truly quite devoted to you…”

A strange mix of anger and affection rushes through her blood at the words but she doesn’t dwell on it, raising an eyebrow as chaos crackles along her arms. “Get out of him before I make you.”

“We both know that’s going to be rather agonising,” he says, but then his eyes glint. “Unless of course, you don’t. Haven’t you figured out what I am yet?”

She hadn’t, but she catches sight of Jaskier’s hands again - of the blackened fingertips and tendrils of what look like smoke running along his fingers, past his wrists and up his arms - and it’s abruptly all too obvious.

“Of course I have. I’d recognise the work of djinns anywhere,” she hisses.

Jaskier smiles, pulling another dagger out of nowhere and twirling it in his hands, something that would be beautiful if he were in control of himself. “Then you know that forcing me to leave would be interfering with a wish and might lead to… well, consequences.”

“I don’t care what he said, this can’t be what he meant,” Yennefer scoffs.

That awful smirk returns as he holds the new dagger against his own neck, her magic doing nothing to cast it aside this time. “Oh, it wasn’t him. Just an interested party.”

She’s going to murder whoever it was when she finds them.

She doesn’t particularly want to force the djinn out of him because he’s right - she doesn’t know what could happen if things turn sour- but she can’t let this go since she has no idea what the wish was and how badly it’s going to hurt Jaskier if she lets it play out.

“We’ve done a lot of singing recently but I think I’ve had enough of his voice, haven’t you?” Jaskier asks, his expression full of innocence as he presses the blade into his skin without even flinching.

“No!” she yells, freezing the djinn’s intentions by stopping Jaskier’s hand, cursing when she’s met with more resistance than she’d expected.

“One of us is going to kill him!” Jaskier shouts, but his voice is deep, layered, not his own.

“Over my dead body!” Yennefer snarls back, tugging on Jaskier’s presence and pushing against the djinn, letting herself scream as she fights it, forcing herself to keep going even as Jaskier’s screams join her own.

She doesn’t stop until she sees his eyes fade from nothings into the blue she’s grown rather fond of over the years, until she feels smoke dissolve around them as the dagger clatters to the floor. Unfortunately, Jaskier also slumps to the floor.

Pushing aside her own desire to do the same, she hurriedly kneels beside him, cursing again when she sees his newly-acquired necklace of blood. His eyes meet hers, wide and terrified as he coughs up red, spluttering on the liquid that spills over his lips.

“Oh no you don’t,” Yennefer hisses, placing her hands around his neck.

He panics initially, his hands weakly scrabbling against hers, but the shock in his expression melts into sheer relief as she starts willing his skin to heal. She can tell it hurts because his hands tighten around her wrists and a soft, broken whimper escapes him but, like before, she simply keeps going.

It takes longer than she’d like for her to undo the djinn’s damage but when she’s sure he’s not going to bleed out or lose his voice, she pulls her hands away, wasting a little more magic getting rid of the blood on her hands because for reasons she doesn’t care to decipher, she hates the very sight of it.

Jaskier groans when his neck finally finishes weaving itself together and Yennefer has one of her rare moments of regret because although the bard will never complain about her magically healing him, she knows it can sometimes hurt to undo an injury just as much as it did to acquire it.

“I’m so sorry,” Jaskier rasps eventually, and Yennefer’s almost surprised to see he’s crying.

She slips her hand into his, gently squeezing. “You don’t need to be, not for this.”

“But I-”

“Don’t argue with me,” Yennefer interrupts, but not unkindly. She doesn’t have enough strength to sound bitter anyway.

Jaskier sighs before letting his head fall back on the floor as he lifts his free hand to his neck, a small sob slipping past his still-stained lips. For all the emotions he cycles through, he doesn’t cry often, and Yennefer despises it when he does because it hurts her too. Gods, she really hates all these feelings sometimes.

She shifts, pulling his head into her lap and brushing his tears away with her thumb. “It’s okay, Jaskier, it wasn’t your wish.” It wasn’t your fault.

He squeezes her hand, curling into her with a jagged sigh. “Thank you,” he murmurs, his voice nothing like it usually is but still beautiful purely because he still has it, because the djinn’s master had failed to take it away from him, from them.

They’ll deal with the rest of the chaos later because neither of them want to move and good company can often be a surprisingly skilled healer.

so yeah, it’s been fun but life is busy and i’m gonna end this lil series here !! i have a lot of WIPs to work on anyway :p

thanks for reading! masterlist | witcher blog: @itsjaskier

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beautifulletdownfics · 4 years

Text

Twenty Good Reasons :: Part Three

Hello! Welcome to the ‘Someday, Someday’ sequel! I hope you’ll enjoy your time here! Before you start, make sure you check out the Harry & Nina Chronology page to catch up on a few of the drabbles and novellas that slot in the gap between ‘Someday, Someday’ and ‘Twenty Good Reasons’. As always, please don’t be strangers, posting into the void is a terrifying thing! Love K x

We had three weeks at home together after getting engaged before Harry got an offer for a writing session in LA he just couldn’t refuse.

He’d been scribbling lyrics and melodies down for days, pulling me into the music room upstairs to play things for him on the piano more times than I could count. Even though he was more than capable of playing them himself after years of my teaching him, I humoured him because my favourite times with Harry was when we were making music together. His compositions were all muddled chord progressions and numerous melodies he could never settle on, but we sung our voices high together in that room, choosing between lyrics and working through possible harmonies. Over the years Harry really had formed himself into a gifted songwriter, and I was happy to just be invited into the process sometimes.

He came tearing into the kitchen one night when I was starting to poke about the fridge for what we could have for dinner. I listened while holding back a laugh as Harry bashed his elbow on the bench but still tried to enthusiastically wave his phone about while yapping out that Lenny Kravitz wanted to work with him.

“Years of keeping up a friendly rapport have finally paid off, Neens,” He was breathless, flinging his hair back over his head and blinking at me with wide eyes, “I mean, the man’s a legend.”

“He is,” I agreed, “Is it just one day?”

“Two days in his home studio,” Harry told me, grinning from ear to ear.

I raised my eyebrows, impressed, “That’a amazing! You’re totally gonna write a hit, aren’t you?”

Harry rolled his eyes at my affectionately and I was filled with pride at the blush I conjured on his cheeks, “Don’t jinx it, Neens.”

“So,” I said loudly, steering the conversation to practicality, “You’re going to LA for a bit?”

He picked up my mug of tea and took a long sip but tried to nod at the same time, “Yeah,” He spluttered, puckering his eyes together in an adorable look of confusion and betrayal at the drink. He deserted the tea. “It's sort of a last minute thing, I put out the feelers a few months ago and I think he's sort of am 'off the cuff' kinda guy. I'd have to get a flight tomorrow. Afternoon at the latest. I figured maybe I make a week of it, have a little beach holiday too?”

My heart sunk, I knew what was coming next but tried to distract him anyway, “You could definitely work on a tan,”

“I mean, I dunno,” Harry started, covering the base of his neck with a nervous hand, “Maybe … Maybe you could come too, make it a post engagement trip?”

I picked at the dirt underneath my fingernails, leaning back against the closed fridge door, “Harry, I mean—"

“—We’ll go out of LA once I’m finished with work. I’m not on tour, we won’t get bothered. Besides,” He’d walked forward and was pulling me out of my small stance, “You can have a few days to breathe before you start writing again, yeah?”

“I’ve had months to breathe, Harry,” I said quietly, “I need to actually start writing.”

“A change of environment might help.”

I sobered quickly, “I was going to head up to Blackpool for a few days, hang around Dad’s classes.”

Harry knew that wasn’t a concrete plan, he slipped his hands around the lowest part of my back and hoisted me up against his body, “We could both go up when we get back? I mean, we haven’t properly spent time with your family since we’ve been engaged, a couple of hours over dinner but that’s it. Come with me to LA, Nina.”

“Harry,” It felt like my chest was shaking everything was so tight, “Don’t make me the bad guy when I say no.”

“I’d never make you the bad guy,” Harry said, devastatingly sincere. “I just … I wish it was different. I wish you wanted to come. I wish you weren't scared.”

I looked away hoping the tears wouldn’t fall, a single one did, “It’s not fear … It’s …”

“Dread?” Harry offered, his right hand came up to the side of my face to have our eyes meet again, while his left hand took mine and rested it against his chest, “I don’t know how to help … I don't know what to do.”

I drew my features up in a small smile, “You go to LA, write something amazing and have a great time … Then you come home and I’ll be here.”

Harry’s fingers were playing with my engagement ring, a new habit of his, but it was the frown on his face that worried me, “Are you alright?”

“Alright?” I repeated back to him.

His eyes darted down to our joined hands, “I mean, we’ve been pretty much together non-stop for the past few weeks but I still,” His frown deepened, “I still get this yucky, sucking feeling of just … That I need to do more, that it’s not good enough you hole up in yourself when I even mentioning you traveling with me when I’m doing work stuff somewhere. Things are obviously still not okay … I’d really like to be able to bring you along with me, particularly when your writing at the moment is mobile.”

I couldn’t stop the deep sigh that came from me, “H.”

He wasn’t wrong. I had been commissioned by the orchestra to write another piece, this time to be used as something playable by the senior and junior orchestras together. My work in the past teaching at schools meant that I was able to pitch to the board and, miraculously, they gave me the opportunity to write another symphony for the LSO’s 50th Anniversary Showcase in eighteen months time. Ideas were hard to come by though, and I was struggling under what Harry had identified was similar to what his second album anxieties had been like.

“Nina,” He urged, letting me pull away from him and go to stand on the other side of the kitchen. Just the short walk gave me some time to think. “Neens, c’mon. What’s … What’s on your mind? Why … Just, what are you worried about?” He gave in. "And I don't just mean about LA, there's ... There's something else, you've been off all week and I know you’re struggling with your new symphony. Just, talk to me, babe.”

When I looked over to him I wanted to cry, he looked so concerned but so receptive like he was ready to take on anything I had to say, “I’m … Worried about some things, yeah. But I’m okay, Harry, really.”

“What are you worried about?” His question was direct, and had an edge to it that I knew meant he was ready to do whatever he had to do to rectify it.

“Harry, you don’t have to go all Alpha male on me—

—I’ll decide that, thank you,” He clipped, crossing his hands over his chest, frustration clear. “Just talk to me, Nina.”

“I’m worried about the future,” I said vaguely after a moment and a silent look between us.

Immediately, a look of horror came through Harry’s eyes and I watched him struggle to put his thoughts into words, “Not about getting married?”

“No,” I straightened and went back over to him, “No, Harry. No. Not that.”

Every single night in bed before we fell asleep we talked about our wedding, and being married, and what it would all be like—what we wanted it to be like. Nothing was set in stone and usually our sensible ideas were giggled away by Harry’s fantastical suggestions. It always just came back to both of us deciding weddings were generally too much fuss and we just wanted to get to the married bit.

“I’m worried about my career, about getting a job that I like in London if this symphony doesn’t happen soon enough … And ... And so I don't want to leave for LA right now," I fumbled out, hoping it would be enough to pacify him for now.

“That might not happen right away, Nina, going away for a few days won't ruin your career,” He looked more relaxed now, but still somehow upset on my behalf, “And you’ve got loads of time still, you only pitched a month ago! On an 18 month timeline you've got some breathing room, you don't have to have it finished as quickly this time.”

“It took me eighteen months last time,” I reasoned with him, sinking against his chest when he held out his arms for me. “I’m already behind.”

“I know I’m not the guy to talk about deadlines because I’ve never had a deadline on any of my albums, not like what you’re looking at anyway … But, Nina, you can do this. There is not an inch of me that doubts that. You’re too far in your head right now, we need to get you inspired.”

"I'm just not sure that it’s reasonable right now for me to take time off," I frowned and picked at the zipper of his jumper.

“Don’t think of it as time off then,” Harry was talking very sensibly and it was crushing me to talk my way around his very reasonable solutions. “A sea-change can help you think differently about things, that’s where inspiration comes from ... Unless there’s something else going on, which I’m starting to think is the case …”

"Something else?” I watched him cross his arms over his chest, his furrowed brows a sign of him trying to figure me out.

"Something else," He confirmed, "You're worried about writing … Or …”

I sighed, but not because Harry was prodding … Because I knew he shouldn’t have to.

I said everything in a rush, all at once, “I’ve started getting offers … And they’re not in London so obviously I’m turning them all down but it’s making me wonder if maybe this is the universe’s way of telling me I’m not a composer, that I should get back in my lane and take a chair in an orchestra again.”

There was silence for a short moment, I watched my feet, then my hands on his chest.

“First of all,” Harry said so eerily evenly it was jarring, “There is no question of whether you should be a composer or not, if it’s what you want to be doing right now that’s what you should be doing. You’re gifted enough to do whatever the hell you want to and be the best in the room at it.”

“Harry—”

He held up a hand and my insides clamped at seeing the anger behind his eyes, “Secondly, why would you ‘obviously’ turn down something that’s not in London.”

"Harry," I smiled softly, looking away from my hands and up into his eyes. I knew exactly why he was angry, years together had taught us both exactly where our brains jumped to and in my case, I knew exactly why Harry’s anger was ignited so instantly.

"No," He breathed, brows furrowed, "Why would you turn down a job that wasn’t in London?"

"I love you, Harry," I said simply, which only appeared to frustrate him further, ”You're ... You come home to London. I don't want to leave. Not now," I let out a breathy laugh, "Especially not now."

Harry walked to the other side of the kitchen and leant down against the bench facing away from me. There was a second where he turned back to look at me but before I could muster what to say he had turned away again.

"Nina," He growled, and the rage in his tone had me standing up straighter.

“We live in London, Harry! Of course I’m not taking something elsewhere,” I tried to reason but knew it wasn’t going to register with him. "And it's all hypothetical anyway! I've not taken anything!"

After a few awful, silent minutes of me just watching the blades and muscles of Harry's back move up and now with his breath he gradually turned around. His stance then looked relaxed, leaning back against the sink with his ankles crosses and arms folder neatly over.

"The worst part is I know you're not anywhere fucking close to kidding," I tried not to visibly shroud away from his words. "It's not hypothetical if you're getting offers—why the hell haven't you told me about them, by the way?"

"Harry," I tried with a croaking voice.

"No," He spoke over me, loudly, "No! Nina, just let me fucking think about what to say for a minute!"

"Okay," I started to turn around to leave the kitchen.

"No, don't go anywhere," He stepped forward with his hands out in front of him, and I halted instantly, sinking back into my previous position. "Just ... Just stay."

I thought about sorting through some of the letters and papers on the centre part of the bench, where junk seemed to accumulate, but Harry didn't turn around and something told me he needed a few moments of still. Still, he kept his eyes on me.

"Nina," His words were measured, and his eyes held mine as he spoke, "If you ever turned down something, or didn't give yourself the opportunity to audition or go somewhere because ..." He thought for another second and then spat out the next words like they left a bad taste in his mouth, "To be convenient for me I'd be ... I'll be so completely pissed at you. And I'd hate myself even more."

“H—

—You’ve worked too hard to do that, Nina! You're better than that. I’ll be fucking damned if I hold you back in anyway. Christ! The fact I’m in your head stopping you from taking opportunities … ”

"Okay," I took a deep breath, hating watching him spiral with his thoughts, "That may be true, but why can't I make that decision? Why can't I choose you, Harry?"

"Because you've already been doing that for the past four years!" He yelled, frustration evident in everything about him right now. "You've already had four years dating someone who could never guarantee he could actually be here when you need him. How long can someone put up with that, Nina? Waiting for someone to come back, waiting for them to call you back?"

"Harry ..."

"I told myself it was okay because while you were at London Philharmonic because you had to be based in a certain place anyway ... But now ... No," He said finally, "No, you're going to go wherever you want and it's my turn to be the supportive fiancé."

"Oh," I let out a little sarcastic laugh, "Because up until now you've been a completely unsupportive dick. Okay, Harry."

"Don't bate me, Nina."

"You did it yourself, Harry!" I implored, "As if the past four years have been some deep infliction on me. And that's just not true."

He shook his head and his eyes fell to his socked feet, "You're so used to it that it's normal," He said, "You don't even see it anymore. It's not normal, me going away for months, us spending so much of our time apart and missing each other."

"Maybe it's not normal for other people, but it's normal for us. It works for us. We choose it, Harry. Cause I'd rather that to not having you at all," My voice was small enough that he had to look up to read the words coming from my lips to properly decipher them but I knew he understood, "I get you, H. I get how performing makes you feel and I'd never take that away from you, or dictate how or when you do your job."

"Yeah," Harry's laugh was bitter, and that's when I knew this wasn't a fight that was going to be resolved here, "But apparently I'd do that to you, and without even wanting to, just by being here. Or not being here, I suppose," He laughed darkly and then walked out of the room.

******

The next morning I woke up to a kiss on my forehead, "Nina."

"What?" I sat up as soon as I opened my eyes and saw that he was crouching beside the bed, fully clothed with slicked back, wet hair. "I'm awake."

Harry smiled softly and ran his hand down my hair, "It's alright, wake up slowly. I'm not leaving yet."

I let out a long breath and let my eyes adjust to the room. Harry must've woken up and showered, then got about packing his bag for the next few days in LA. It sat by the door to our bedroom neatly, a hat and jacket resting carefully atop it. Just before we fell asleep last night he told me he was booked on an early morning flight, our argument still looming over us.

"Okay," I let out another breath with the word.

Harry picked up a mug off the bedside table I hadn't noticed until then, holding it out to me, the tea bag label hanging delicately against his index finger, ”Will you drive me?" He asked.

My shoulders sunk slightly as I took the drink, "Of course, H."

I always drove Harry to the airport. Without fail, even when his flights were at two in the morning. If we were at home and Harry was going away I drove him, and almost every other time, when it was going from one tour spot to another and I wasn't coming on with him, I at least went with him in his driven car. The only time recently I could recall he left alone was the night of my debut, when he woke me in the middle of the night and I barely had time to figure out what was happening, and when I woke up again naturally later in the morning all by myself all I could do was sit up in bed and cry because we didn't have a proper goodbye.

"Good, thank you," Harry's knees cracked as he stood and pressed another kiss to my forehead, "We probably have to be leaving in the next fifteen minutes. Here you go," He produced one of his old jumpers and dropped it onto the bed next to me, "I'm going to go put my stuff in the car."

"Alright," I said quietly, holding up the jumper to see which one it was and then slipping it over my head and around my shoulders.

I spent the next few minutes stumbling into the bathroom and using the toilet, splashing some cold water on my face and running my toothbrush roughly through my mouth. Eight minutes later I was half hopping into the kitchen slipping on my Nikes and trying to pull Harry's jumper further down my legging clad legs. He had been standing over the skin draining the last few mouthfuls from his mug when I made enough noise to alert him that I was up.

"Sorry I startled you," I ran my fingers along the top of the bench and eventually reached for a banana from the fruit bowl. "Ready?"

The sound of the ceramic mug hitting the side of the sink filled the kitchen rudely but Harry seemed unfazed by it, "Yeah, I am. Are you alright to drive?"

We took the familiar roads silently, which might have been comforting and peaceful if it wasn't for the sick feeling in my gut. A feeling of dread came over me at the possibility of Harry getting on a plane to America angry with me.

I got a park in the same multi-story carpark we always used, it was opposite the terminal and meant that we had however long together we wanted without being interrupted. Then Harry could walk across the footbridge over to the terminals and deal with any paparazzi on his own as he went in.

Harry got out of the car as soon as I turned it off and I stayed in my seat, resting my head back against the headrest just praying this wouldn't be it; silence. I shut my eyes but they immediately flew open when my door was opened for me.

Harry's eyes were red and the look behind them was distress, "I'm not leaving like this, Nina. Stop looking like I'm going to leave us like this. Cause there's no way I'm getting on a plane right now."

"Harry," I turning around in my seat and he easily settled between my legs. I reached out for the bottom of his shirt, "I'm sorry I—

—Hey,” He stopped me, frowning, "Nina, don't you dare. I'm the one who yelled, I lost my cool," Harry kept pointing to his chest, "That's never okay. Especially not when we're taking about something that's bothering one of us."

I slouched against the seat, waiting a beat and then looking back up at him, "Sucky night."

Harry brought a hand up to cup my cheek, "Yeah. I'm sorry I took my frustration out on you. And I'm sorry that was my reaction to how you feel."

"I'm sorry I pushed you," I said back.

"A lot of what I said was true though, Nina," He added solemnly, "You have a gift, Nina. An incredible gift that you've been working so hard for since you were a kid, years before I appeared, and I won't let it be that my career shits all over yours. I want you working in something you're passionate about that challenges you and makes you happy, and I couldn't give a flying fuck what country it's in. It makes no difference where I'm coming home to, as long as my beautiful wife is there I'll be happy."

"Harry," I tried to sniff them away but the tears fell anyway.

"I'm serious, Nina. We're in a position where we can afford to live anywhere we need to be."

"You're gonna miss your flight," I went to turn around as if looking towards the airport would convince him.

His hand pulled my face back around, "I'm not going until you tell me you know what I'm saying."

"I know," My eyes went anywhere but his.

"Neens," Harry leant all the way in and and I was forced to look at him, immediately I calmed, "I love you. And I want to hear about these offers you’re getting, okay? I’ll call you when I’m in the lounge and you can tell me about them as you drive home.”

I took in a deep breath, letting Harry’s words hit me square in the gut but in a good way, “Okay.”

He looked on at me for a moment more before his lips slowly turned up in a smile, “If there was one you wanted to take we’d get to learn a new city together. Get a cool place to live. Be all exotic to the locals.”

I snorted through a small laugh, “Harry, you are many things, but exotic isn’t one of them.”

“Hey!” He pointed a finger right at me defensively, “I can tan, can you tan, Nina?”

I leaned up quickly to sweetly kiss his nose, “You’re an idiot, I love you.”

His shoulders slumped when I didn’t argue back and he rolled his eyes as if he hated what I had just done, but his pink cheeks gave him away, “Neens.”

I grinned at him, “As much as I’d love to keep making you blush, you’re going to miss your flight.”

The backs of his hands went up to his warm cheeks and Harry’s eyes went wide, “I’m not blushing! I must be coming down with something …”

My hand wound around his neck to pull him in for a kiss, “You’re perfectly healthy, Harry. Gimme a kiss and then bugger off to LA, yeah?”

“I’m not buggering off,” He hummed happily, scooting me towards his body and pressing a warm kiss of his own to my lips, “Be safe, Neens. I love you.”

“Love you too,” I returned.

*******

I didn't go back to bed after the airport like I normally might. Instead, I returned home and spent a few hours behind the piano. Then I called Rodger.

Down the street from Rodger's work there was a sandwich deli whose window sign writing claimed the best lunches in London. He was already waiting out the front for me as I approached.

“Hey, Nina," He greeted brightly, slipping his phone into his pocket and reaching towards me for a hug. "You alright?"

I gave him a friendly kiss on the cheek and a tight squeeze,"Good. Good. How're you?"

"Great," He grinned, twisting a loose piece of hair around his pointer finger and then tucking it back behind his ear, "Was beginning to wonder when Harry and you were gonna finally start seeing other people. Having a good time there with that fiancé of yours?" He gave me a mischievous smile and then threw back his head and laughed when I blushed.

Rodger held open the door for me and I pinched his arm as I walked through, "Idiot."

We chatting freely while waiting in the line, and when we got to the register to pay for the sandwiches we had assembled I pushed Rodger's wallet away and pointed at table, "My shout," I said, "Because this is a business lunch."

Rodger looked confused for a moment but went to one of the only free tables to wait for me. When I sat down opposite him there was already a glass of water poured and waiting for me.

"Business lunch?" He asked while taking a big bite.

I picked at the crust of my turkey and Brie, "Yeah. I need some help and I think you're the best first person to get advice from."

"Okay ..." He eyed me curiously, "You know I'll do whatever I can for you. What's up?"

"I was ... I was sort of wondering if you had any contacts or people you know or ideas about kind of ... Anything that might help me get a job? I mean, more than just sessional gigs … In some area that suits me?” I tried looking hopeful but I wasn't sure I had convinced him.

"I thought you were writing your second masterpiece?"

"Say for the purposes of a fall back, then," I tried, pushing down my immediate frustration.

"And why on earth would you need a fall back?" His face wasn't giving anything away.

I chewed quickly, "Why does anyone need a fall back? In case I need it."

Rodger was frowning now, and a small part of me understood then that coming to him about this might have been a bad idea,"How's writing going, Nina?"

I took a deep breath in through my nose, "It's not. I don't know that I'll be able to do it, so I was hoping you'd be able to help with some contacts ... I've been getting offers for seats in orchestras but I was wondering if you might have anything more in teaching or mentoring ... Something where I'm still learning too."

His eyes narrowed at me, "What's going on? You don't need a contingency plan …”

I fumbled picking up my sandwich for a bite, “Nothing’s going on. I just—

—Sorry,” Rodger interrupted firmly, “Which fucking orchestras are approaching you? You’re very publicly in contract still, right?”

“I am, but playing is what I do best, it makes sense—

—They’re taking advantage, Nina,” Rodger said, “Not that you aren’t a thousand percent poachable as a player, but they want you because you’re great at playing … You can’t limit yourself to just that, that’s the whole reason writing for LSO is such an incredible opportunity! You’re building skills, not leaning on old ones.”

Years of knowing Rodger meant I knew better than to take terse words from him as completely rooted in his harsh delivery. He was being encouraging … In a roundabout way.

“You and Harry are infuriating,” I sighed finally.

Rodger laughed, "I'm well aware of that, don't you worry. Where are your offers?"

Harry had asked the same thing, in anger, the night before and in the heat of the moment it hadn't been answered. I paused for a moment on telling Rodger, unsure if this was really a conversation I should be having with Harry first.

"Berlin," I told him, feeling brave.

"Shit," Rodger said, his eyebrows raising. He put his sandwich down instead of taking the bite he was about to take, "Berlin?"

"Yeah. Amongst others."

"Not your dad?"

"No," I replied quickly. My dad had long been Music Director of the Chamber Orchestra of Europe, "No, he wouldn't."

Rodger nodded solemnly, "No, I don't suppose he would. Where else?”

I looked at my food and let out an inaudible sigh, having thought telling Rodger about Berlin would have been enough. The Berlin Philharmonic was well established as the premier orchestra in the world, and taking the call from them had been a cruel kind of happiness. Joining that orchestra had long been the top of my professional bucket list, but the offer felt sour under the circumstances and something I held in such a high regard my whole playing life suddenly lost some of its magical sheen.

“I got a call from Venice and one from Europe Youth, that—

—Do they still call you every six months?” Rodger asked, smiling at shared memories of me constantly being offered mentoring positions in the Europe Youth Orchestra that I was a member of as a teenager. Long had they been trying to get me over for a teaching period.

“They do,” I smiled back at him.

His face turned solemn, “Why haven’t you seriously considered any of them?”

“I don’t know if I should be trying something completely different?”

He narrowed his eyes slightly like he wasn't exactly sure what my words meant, “What does that mean?”

“What if ... What if I’m supposed to do something else?” I’d repeated myself and Rodger’s confusion didn’t move at all from his features.

“Nina,” He stated quietly, “You’ve worked harder than anyone I know for your whole life, if you need another break from it all that’s all you have to say.”

I started shaking my head, “I don’t need a break. I just ... I’m scared I’m pigeonholing myself.”

“I mean sorry if this comes across as insensitive but ... I don’t think being commissioned to write your second symphony is being pigeonholed, I think that’s being given another chance to impress. I think the fact you’ve written for the London Symphony and been asked to do it again is a huge compliment but I don’t think it’s striping you of any future opportunities.”

He was right.

I sighed, “I don’t know why I’m scared, but I am. And it’s making me itchy for seeing what else is out there.”

Rodger’s eyebrows raised slightly but he nodded, “Okay. I’ll have a poke around and let you know what I find.”

He didn’t have a very long lunch break, but Rodger stayed with me for a long as he could manage. After our serious chat about work, we laughed and reminisced and caught up on everything that had been going on for both of us. Harry and I still managed to see Rodger pretty frequently, but towards the end of writing for my debut performance I became a social hermit in order to get everything done. Rodger was the sort of friend that didn’t need to be seen weekly to still call close, I doubted that I would ever tire of his company, and the fact remained that he was one of the few people in my life who could push and challenge me.

We parted with the promise that Rodger would be in contact as soon as he had any job leads for me.

But I wasn’t expecting to hear from him as quickly as I did.

I spent the next morning compiling all my compositions and orchestrations together so that when it came to actually putting my name forward for things everything would be easy to find. Harry FaceTimed me to let me know he arrived in LA. In the afternoon I met up with Laykn to go shopping together for our Mum’s birthday.

So that evening, when I had barely been home for twenty minutes and my phone rang—the song echoing loudly through the house and I had to race downstairs to get it in time—I thought perhaps it would be Laykn, telling me he’d locked himself out of his room. Or that it might be Harry again for another quick chat, but it wasn’t.

“Rodg,” I tried to keep the hopeful questioning out of my voice, “You alright?”

“Yeah,” I could hear the smile in his voice. “Check your email, Nina.”

“My email …” I trailed off, not quite getting what he was talking about, “It’s eight in the evening, Rodger—”

“—I’m still at work,” He cut in, “Get your email up, I need to talk you through what I’ve sent you.”

I stumbled my way back upstairs to where my laptop was resting, already open, on top of the piano. I sat down on the piano stool and hit the page refresh.

The subject of the email read: New York Youth Symphony Orchestra, Assistant to the Director of Business

“Got it?” Rodger’s voice interrupted my speed reading of the first paragraph of what was inside the email. “It’s a broader role than just what’s in the title, my mate is the person they’re replacing. It's not a playing or even a music role at all really, it's a bit of business management and a bit of corporate affairs and he did a boat load of work with the board of directors ... Might just show you a different side to things?”

“It … It sounds interesting ..."

“Yeah? They’re having the first round of interviews tomorrow,” He told me, “But I’ve spoken to them and they’ll see you Thursday if you can get there … That’s when they’re meeting together to go over the applicants.”

“Rodg,” I stopped reading and looked at the ceiling, “Thursday is …”

“You’d need to get yourself on a plane tonight to make it. But can I just say one thing, Nina?”

"Go ahead," I held my breath, knowing Rodger wouldn't be holding back.

"It's below you, this job. You're worth more, your talent and skill is worth more than a position that they're not going to be utilised. If Harry lets you do this--

--Harry doesn't 'let' me do anything," I replied quickly.

"You know what I mean," Rodger refuses to let me get away with it, "You're a superstar, Nina, a once in a generation talent ... You need to give yourself a break. My advice would be go out into the world at let yourself be inspired. Holing yourself up at home bashing your head against the wall for ideas isn't going to get you anywhere. And neither will chasing other jobs.

******

There weren’t any flights.

I spent forty minutes trying to find them on my phone before I gave up on the tiny screen and moved back onto my laptop. I even resorted to calling the airline directly, still, I couldn’t find any flight that was soon enough to make the interview in New York on Thursday. Rodger was right, I would have to be on one tonight, tomorrow morning at the very latest.

Tears of frustration prickled behind my eyes, this whole opportunity hit me with such force I almost felt winded and now it was even more crushing to see it in front of me but not be able to physically get there.

I ran my fingers through my hair roughly, leaning over the kitchen bench on my elbows with the laptop open in front of me. My fingers blindly reached for my phone.

Harry’s personal number rang out the first time I called which was when the first tears started falling. It was the middle of the day in Los Angeles which I knew meant Harry would be working, but I didn’t know what Plan B could be at this stage other than calling Harry for help.

“Neens?”

“I’m so sorry,” I got out quickly, snuffling down the line messily, “I know you’re in the middle of writing.”

“It’s fine,” He dismissed, worry laced through his tone, “What’s going on?”

“I … I need your help…”

“It’s okay,” He interrupted gently, “Take a breath. It’s late for you, are you at home?”

I swallowed thickly, “Yeah, yeah I’m home. I’m okay. It’s stupid that I’m crying, sorry.”

“Don’t apologise, babe, breathe.”

“I’m worked up,” I let out a shaky breath, “It’s actually pretty … Pretty great news.”

“Well then,” Harry laughed, probably at my mood swing, “What is it then?”

“Rodger got me an interview for a job in New York,” I said it quickly, feeling as though the words weren’t quite about me yet. It was such a surreal thing to think about. “But I’ve got to be able to get there for it first.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I’ve just spent forty minutes on the phone and the British Airways website trying to get on a flight for tonight … Well, tomorrow morning now but I can’t. And I mean, the actual interviews or whatever are tomorrow New York time which is impossible for me to get to, but Rodger somehow convinced them to see me on Thursday instead which is fantastic in itself, but bloody useless if there are no flights and—”

“—Okay. Okay, alright,” Harry spoke loudly over the top of me, “I’m beginning to see what’s going on here.”

“Yeah,” I sniffed pathetically.

“You need a flight?” He began with, just to clarify the situation, “Did you try booking under my name?”

That sparked something in me, “What? You mean did I flap on about how Harry Styles is my boyfriend to the lady from British Air?”

“Fiancé,” Harry corrected.

“Fiancé,” I agreed quickly, “And no, Harry,” I tried to stay calm and not work myself up again over the way he seemed to be making fun of me right now, “I didn’t name drop when they said there weren’t any flights.”

I could hear the cocky smile in his voice, “So now you want me to call up and name drop to get you on a flight?”

I waited a beat, and then took in a sharp breath, “You know what? Okay … Don’t worry, I’ll talk to you later, Harry. Sorry for interrupting your session.”

I hung up on him.

I put my phone down and the frustrated tears were back.

If getting to the interview couldn’t happen, then I’d have to face the fact that this job wasn’t going to work out. Which was fine, it was the first one. Twenty-four hours ago I didn’t even know it existed so why was I getting so upset about it now?

Harry calling

I counted to four in my head before I reached over and slid my thumb across the screen to accept his call.

“Okay, so I’m a complete wanker,” He started with, sounding one hundred percent sincere. “Can you give me half an hour to call around and get you on a flight?”

“There aren’t any, Harry,” I told him, completely dejected.

“I’m getting you on a flight to New York, Neens.”

“Maybe this is a sign that I shouldn’t—”

“—Or it’s not a sign of anything and it’s the simple fact that you got considered for application at last minute so of course it’s tricky getting on a flight. No Negative Nancy, Nina,” Harry told me.

We were silent for a moment, “I’m freaking out, Harry.”

“We’ll talk through that in a moment … Neens, I’m gonna leave you for a bit, my work number is calling and it’ll be about your flights. I’ll call you back. Go have a hot shower and get into your PJs, yeah?”

“Thank you, Harry.”

“Absolutely not necessary,” He insisted, “I’ll call you back soon.”

********

A car came to pick me up in the morning for a flight out of Heathrow.

Because we had booked so late I didn’t have any flight itinerary, so once I was inside the airport I had to go up to the flights desk and give them my name. I would never get used to accepting the five star treatment of flying as a first class passenger, especially when Harry wasn’t with me. It all seemed like a whole lot of fuss over no one special. I understood the puzzled looks I was getting from other passengers, who only saw a comfortably dressed, plain looking girl flying to New York City. Without Harry standing beside me it was rare that anyone above the age of twenty knew who I was. Even with Harry standing with me, I was used to the curious looks.

I was a good flyer though, which was a bonus and something I was tremendously thankful for given my anxiety.

As a kid I’d developed the ability to sleep pretty much anywhere, and so generally that’s what I was able to spend my time in the air doing. In a perfect way, Harry was much the same.

This time though, I spent it reading and re-reading through sheets of music and brushing up on the work of the organisation I was interviewing with. Five hours in I conjured Harry’s relaxing presence and forced myself to watch a few episodes of ‘Friends’ and have something to eat.

He got me on a flight that landed pretty late on Wednesday night into JFK, but the bonus of that was that he was able to fly over from LA to meet me straight after his last day with Lenny. Harry told me to stay in the airport because if his flight wasn’t delayed at all, he wouldn’t only be twenty minutes behind me. That certainly took the stress out of the initial navigation once you’ve land in a new place.

As it turned out though, his flight was on time and mine had to taxi on the runway for almost a whole other hour after we landed in America. The pilot explained it was a busy time for flights this time of evening, and that, for whatever reason, there were four bays completely out of use for us.

Harry iMessaged me to say that he was waiting outside the gate for me, because it was late and there weren’t too many people around despite what I was lead to believe by my flight having to wait. The only people around where he was were coming off flights and all hurrying to get to the luggage carousels first. Harry only had a carry-on bag and so had no reason to keep going through until he had collected me as well.

“Enjoy your stay in New York, Ms. Styles,” The hostess, Angela, told me with a wide smile as the first class passengers were let off the plane first.

I blushed through her name for me for the final time, somehow knowing it was a deliberate move of Harry’s to have put my details as such. Whether by him directly saying it, or letting them deduce the information from him making the booking for me. For a seemingly meaningless thing, it filled me with a bubbly warmth to be attached to Harry through name, although I would definitely be bringing it up with him later.

But all I could do when I saw him standing off to the side was walk over to him and fall into his chest, “Hi.”

“Hello,” He chuckled, pressing three kissed to the crown of my head and wrapping his long arms around my waist, “Fancy seeing you here, hey?”

“Very fancy indeed,” I returned, “Was first class really necessary?

“Yes.”

I pinched at the skin just above the top of his jeans, “It wasn’t.”

He swayed our bodies together then, and bent down to press his face into the crook of my neck, “Hello, wonderful fiancé.”

It was then that the majority of the passengers on my flight started coming by where we were standing, so Harry picked up his bag and then settled his hand firmly in mine to start leading us in the right direction. He ducked his head as we walked, and I found myself listening out for whispers of his name from the lips of the people around us like was habit now.

Nobody inside the terminal pulled us up as we walked through the last bit, and it took the photographers who were always waiting outside a few moments to realise it was Harry Styles manoeuvring out of JFK and into a car parked waiting for us. We were ushered into a waiting car before anything exciting could take place.

“Are you hungry?” Harry was rummaging through his bag and pulled out his two phones, “We can stop for something if you want.”

“I just want to lie down flat somewhere,” I told him, eyes lingering on the crowd we were leaving behind.

“Not a problem,” He said to me, before he leant forward and instructed the driver to take us to the serviced apartment we had stayed at the last few times we were in New York. It was nice to feel like we had our own space, and not that we were cooped up in a hotel. It was also nice to not feel as though we had a huge ‘X’ marked on us for people to find Harry while he was here.

After a shower at the apartment I was expecting to come out of the bathroom to find Harry getting ready for bed, but the bedroom was empty. In just a sleep shirt I started making my way through the living space.

“Harry? If you’re taking all the sofa cushions out on the balcony again like last time I will actually murder you.”

“Kitchen,” He responded and I followed his voice there.

“What are you doing?” I walked up behind where he was leaning over the bench top writing, my palms scaled up and over his shoulders so his back came up against my chest. “Hmm?”

He let my hands wind around his tummy in a tight hug before he responded, “Just jotting down some last minute edits.”

“Another good writing day?” I asked, knowing the first day had been productive, and Harry had been hopeful the second would be even more so.

“So good,” He told me, moving to the side to sit down on a barstool so that I could move and stand between his legs, our faces almost at the same height, “Ended up with three songs, two demos recorded as well which I didn’t expect.”

I smiled and spoke softly to match, “That’s great, Harry. You’re happy with them?”

His green eyes found mine again, and the light danced off his irises, “Yeah, really happy. Just …”

“Completely petrified?” I guessed.

Harry nodded but his lips twitched happily, “Something like that ... But really we need to talk about you.”

“Me?”

“Yeah …” Harry let out a long breath, “What are we doing in New York, Nina?”

I dropped my hands onto the bench carefully, “What do you mean?”

“What’s the job?”

He was watching me with an unreadable but unrelenting expression on his face, and while it mightn’t have outwardly looked like it, I knew he was ready for war.

“It’s a bit of a different angle …”

“Don’t dance around it, Nina, it’s not a playing role, is it?”

I narrowed my eyes at him, “You’ve spoken to Rodger.”

“He’s your person when it comes to your career. If you don’t speak to your dad—I knew you hadn’t, by the way, there’s no way he’d let you do this—you go to Rodger when you need someone to say yes regardless. And you definitely don’t come to me when it’s anything to do with diminishing yourself because you know there’s no way in hell I’d ever condone that.”

“Seems like you’ve really got me figured out there.”

“Yeah,” Harry nodded, on the cusp of anger, “I kind of do, Nina.”

“Let me guess,” I started, “If we did things your way, you’d be jetting us off to some island somewhere to get inspired by coconuts and bikinis? That’s not really how it works for me.”

“I’m going to overlook how offensive if is for you to imply my music is inspired by coconuts and bikinis,” Harry returned through a huff, “But yes, I would be suggesting you take the time to consider what you want to create and why, and then I’d be doing everything I possibly could to facilitate that.”

I hated the way my anger made me want to continue biting back, but I knew that Harry, as always, only came from a good place.

“Just … Please let me do this,” I said quietly, “I’m scared I won’t pull of this symphony and I just need to feel like the universe isn’t hanging on my doing so.”

Harry’s stance softened, “Neens, c’mere.”

I stepped into this arms and Harry he'd me tightly, his cologne and our washing detergent mixing into the comforting, clean smell I was used to. I didn’t know how to further explain myself, other than wanting to shed the feeling of being trapped by the potential to fail. I just wanted to show myself that my whole career wasn’t riding on the work I was struggling to get along with.

“They’d be mad not to offer you a job,” Harry said finally, giving my one last squeeze and kissing the crown of my head.

We drew apart slowly and I frowned at him, remembering something from earlier, “Did you tell the airline we were married? They called me ‘Ms. Styles’ every three minutes.”

Harry beamed, “They called you that, hey?”

I couldn't quite bring myself to role my eyes at him, but I got somewhere close to it, "You're ridiculous."

"I'm a romantic," He declared proudly, "And you love me."

"C'mon, come to bed with me," I stepped away from him but kept a tight grip on his hand.

"Young lady," He scoffed cheekily but stumbled up and followed me, "Are you propositioning me? I'm happily taken, my fiancé is ferocious and I fear she'd kick your arse."

"She'll kick yours if you don't shut up," I laughed back, pulling the collar of his shirt down so he was within kissing reach.

He waited a breath before catching my lips in his, stepping right into my body and pulling mine tightly against him as the kiss deepened and I lost the control over it. In one smooth movement his hands went underneath the bottom of my shirt and dragged it all the way up and over my head, and then his hands descended to my backside.

"You're frighteningly good at that," I breathed out, his lips against my neck as I fumbled to do the same with his shirt.

"You're pretty good about letting me practice," Harry said between kisses.

My feet felt the carpet of the bedroom then, and I took Harry's cues and let him lift me up onto the end of the bed. He easily slipped his trousers down and before he had even stepped out of them I was backing up and taking his warm arms with me, our laughing grins matching perfectly.

******

“Neens, wake up.”

“I am,” I groaned throatily, crossing my feet over at my ankles and pressing my face further into the pillow.

“Get up,” Harry clarified as his fingers ghosted down my side and then abruptly pressed into my ribs. “It’s morning and I love you.”

“I hate you,” I told him as I pulled my shoulders up to my neck. “Go away.”

His fingers jabbed me again and I squirmed to one side away from him, “Don’t be unkind. And don’t lie.”

Harry’s whole body pressed on top of mine then, his bare chest against my naked back which suddenly made sleeping on my tummy uncomfortable from the added pressure, “I’ve got breasts, Harry. And now you’re crushing them, and me.”

“If you got out of bed I wouldn’t be annoying you anymore.”

“Ha,” I scoffed, managing to roll onto one side, “A likely story.”

“I flew all this way to meet you yesterday, does that mean nothing to you?”

“Absolutely nothing,” I drawled, trying to suppress my grin when Harry’s fingers dug in around the skin of my collarbones, they were cold and my neck involuntarily shrunk in on itself.

"Nina," He whispered my name right into my ear, causing a creepy shiver to run up my spine. Harry laughed at the involuntary reaction. "If we get up now there's time for a nice breakfast somewhere before we get a cab downtown."

That woke me up.

"Oh my god," I sat up and started scrambling to get the sheets untangled from my limbs.

"Woah, hold it, hold it," Harry was right up there with me, grasping at my frantic hands and stilling my entire body with a gentle but commanding hold. "Slow down for a second."

"Harry I need to be there in four hours."

"I know," He nodded calmly, wrapping a lazy arm around my waist and drawing my down against his side, "So you need to eat and relax beforehand because it you get yourself into a tizzy you'll only make silly mistakes when it matters."

He was right.

“You’re right,” I admitted, my shoulders sagged against him heavily and I took in a deep breath, as I let Harry calm me with the warm circles his thumb was making against my hip bone.

“It does happen, you know? Me being right,” His lips turned into a smile at the shell of my ear, “Hungry?”

I only nodded in response and it was enough to have him pushing me up and slipping out from underneath me. It didn’t take long then for Harry and I to get through our usual morning routine; he liked to shower in the morning while I got ready, and then he always thought it was funny to suggest ridiculous things for me to wear, usually items belonging to him. He was extra playful this morning, which I know was his way of trying to counteract my nerves.

At breakfast he stole my pancakes before they landed at my place and took a few moments to rearrange all the fruit on top into a smiley face. Even when I was swatting his dirty hands away from my food I couldn’t help but laugh at him and the proud look he wore when he figured out sliced kiwi fruit made great eyes with built-in eyebrows.

In the cab he held my hand tightly, and I felt his eyes on me every now and again. But I was focused on the streets flying past us, the shop fronts became staves and then notes played out in front of my face as I tried to focus on what was coming up.

“Neens. We’re here, love.”

#fic: twenty good reasons #hina #harry and nina #harry & nina #1dff #one direction #one direction fic #one direction fanfic #one direction fan fiction #harry styles #harry fic #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfic #harry styles stories #fanfiction

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frostbitten-cabins · 3 years

Text

apologies, I am being banished to the Worm Void for 2 weeks due to problems outside of my control and won’t be online until then (CW for the read more: it explains the situation in less ominous/vague detail and mentions animal pain/attack, post is also tagged accordingly just in case)

on sunday, I was walking my dog (medium sized boxapoint with 3 legs) and one our neighbour’s little yorkie saw my dog and started yapping and trying to get close to him (though obviously stopped by his yard leash)

(we assume) my dog saw this as the little dog trying to attack me and he (again, we assume he was trying to “protect” me because he’s never attacked another dog, always just tried to play with them) pulled on his leash hard enough to activate the safety thing on his collar’s buckle and it snapped off, enabling him to be able to charge at the yorkie and bite him once before I wrangled him to the ground and his owners came outside

the yorkie is fine, although he does have a couple puncture wounds from the bite and is shaken up from it

and despite me having had no way to prevent this from happening, I am being blamed for it simply because I was walking my dog that night, and now I have to pay the yorkie’s $450 vet bill by myself and am not allowed online for 2 weeks

#cw animal harm #cw animal injury

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chaoartwork · 4 years

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Zimvoid: Issue 2

Genre: multiverse, adventure, comedy, friendship

Characters: 2k, Palindrome, the Zims

Rated: G (Mild Violence)

Summary:Two people, each in their own alternate universe and are both the same Irken named “Zim”, respond to an Irken distress signal that leads them to travel into a vortex located on one of Earth’s ocean. This causes them to be trapped in a planet filled with their thousand alternate selves called the Zimvoid.

Given the world providing no major equipments, along with their Girs destroyed, and the Zimvoid having a hierarchical society, no Zim can figure out how the Zimvoid came to be and how to get back home.

As a result, when two Zims end up bumping into each other, they decide to partner up in a resistance group, attempt to recruit more Zims and take down the leader of the Zimvoid in order to find the source of its origin and find a way to get back home.

Based entirely on the Invader Zim comic arc “Battlevoid” (Issue 46-49)

Prologue:https://chaoartwork.tumblr.com/post/616874776757174272/zimvoid-prologue

Previous:https://chaoartwork.tumblr.com/post/617973015079272448/zimvoid-issue-1

He felt....ridiculous. What is even a point to this errand? Why did they make such a thing? Sure, it’s better than suffocating to death as a result of working in the boiler room. But now he feels like they are just mocking him because of how he looks. He can just be watching the other slaves, or check the sewage. But here he is. Standing behind a short column with only his head showing off. And given that he wearing glass bowl filled with water in order to breathe, he basically just looks like a fish bowl sitting on the column with a big fish swimming inside there.

At this point, he felt more like he was put as a decoration rather than an actual person. Is this what being a slave is even like? Even so, he gave an unamused expression. In fact, why is HE letting other versions of himself tell him what to do? If anything, HE should be the one ordering them. He is the real Zim after all, right? But he tried to forget the thought of doubts. He needs to find a way out of this void. And to do that, he needs to contact his servant. He glanced about to make sure any Zims nearby weren’t looking. He let his PAK open automatically to pull out a communicating device. He tried to not even think of what happened to him, given the “false” memory that still linger before he crashed in this crazy place.

He let the device get close to him. “Gir!” He whispered, “Zim here! At least your real Zim if you happened to bump into those people who claim to be the real me. If you haven’t, it’s better you stay away from them. They might lock you up for testing or...something more horrid.” He thought for a moment at that last comment. “Not....that i care either way....” He shook the thought out. “Anyhow! I’ve been captured by them. I’m located somewhere within some walls and they’re treating me like I’m some sort of slave. But i can’t seem to find a way out. There’s too many and using my PAK’s weapons would possibly be too risky, given how clever ‘mes’ there are.”

“So! What I want you to do is-“ “Hey there!” 2002 harshly flinches and immediately make the communicator float back into his PAK. He glanced about to who was calling him. “Psst! Up here!” The fish Zim blinked and looked up to see a Zim on top of a high ladder and easily reaching the ceiling. He was holding a spatula for some odd reason with some stuff on the ceiling that look sticky with different colors. Strangely enough, he looks just like a regular Zim. Is he the only one without a “thing”?

“You must be 2002, right?” He asked with a smile on his face. 2002 paused for a moment and glanced about the hallway before answering with a, “Uh...yes? How do you know when you can’t see my number this f-?” “Yes yes, I saw you!” The normal looking Zim replies, “I was in my cell when those guards brought you in, but I guess 501 forgot to mention me! I am-“ “Zim?” His eyebrows raised, know that it was obvious everyone is Zim.

“Uh, no?” He said looking a bit offended for a second before smiling again, “I am Carl!” The new slave stood there for a beat. “Carl?” He gave a confused expression. “Yep! The Zims here call me by 1200. But why should I even be called a number when I can just go by my real name? If anything, I might be the only one here who’s name isn’t Zim, which makes me the most significant!”

The fish irken blinked. “Rrighhht. And what are you doing all the way up there?” He pointed out. “Ah this. I’m just scrapping bubblegums off the ceiling.” “Bubblegums? We have bubblegums in the Zimvoid?” “Nooot exactly,” he smiled awkwardly. “You see, we have a Zim guard here that patrols this hallway every so often. And his thing is that every time he breathes out, he blows out a bubble of gum that floats up onto the ceiling. So it’s my job to keep the hallway’s ceiling nice and clean!”

“Oh. I see.” That explains it, he thought to himself. “And what about you?” Carl almost immediately replies, “what are you doing standing behind that column?” 2002 felt a sense of embarrassment. “Uh,” he looks away trying to act careless, “it’s nothing.” “Aw come oooon,” Carl gave a pleading smile, “it shouldn’t be as interesting as mine. Just say it!” It took few seconds, but the fish hybrid finally gave in with a sigh. “My job is to look like a fish in a bowl that’s resting on one of the columns.”

“Heh! That’s funny. Why is that?” “They say it’s to make the castle more ‘decorative’ or something pathetic like that. They say it’s the only thing that can suit well for me.” “Hm! Interesting job! Of course, not AS interesting as the ONLY brilliant Carl! But I’m sure you can be good in other jobs! Like weapon grinding! I mean those teeth of yours are hilariously sharp and huge! you can grind good weapons out of it!” 2002 blankly gaze at him in hidden surprise. “...although no one can grind better than Carl,” he adds confidently.

2002 blinked. “Uh. I would use my teeth for anything if it didn’t mean requiring to take off this bowl. But at least you are the nicest Zim I’ve encountered so far.” “It’s Carl.” “Right right-“

“1200!” They both flinched and turned to see one guard, his identity hidden from the head armor, marched near the ladder that Carl was. “How many times have we told you that you are not allowed to talk to anybody during your job?” “Well it never hurts to talk to someone every once in a while,” he easily replied, “and look!” He showed bunches of gun within the bucket proudly, “look how many gums the great and only Carl was able to collect!” “That doesn’t excuse your distractions, 1200! What if 501 saw you like this and reports this to Number 1? Do you want to join the other Rejects?”

“Rejects?” 2002 asked questioningly. “Pshh,” Carl continued, “there’s no way Number 1 can do that to me. Not when my name NOT being Zim makes me so unique.” “No matter what your thing is, your distraction is what will make you forgotten one day.” “I will never be forgotten!” The slave claims, “And I will never join the rejects in that wasteland! For I am-!” The guard finally grew impatient. With no warning, he kicks off the ladder, causing the slave to topple off and fall head first unto the ground. And given how high he was, it was obviously a hard fall. The new slave was taken back and looked down stunned by the slave he was talking to earlier laying almost motionless on the ground. The only thing that told 2002 he was still alive was the sound of his short grunting and the twitching of one of his legs.

The guard straightened up and let out a sigh, resulting in a bubble made out of gum to appear out of his shadowy face and float up unto the ceiling. “I don't think it will teach him a lesson. But it at least helped to make him stop his yapping.” He looked down at the fallen slave for a short while before looking at another slave who witnessed the whole thing. “You there!” 2002 flinches and looks at the guard. “What did you expect, a theatre play? Get back to your position!”

He wanted to say something, but he instead obeyed, his body still feeling shook at what he saw. The guard was a bit please before remembering something. “Besides him wanting me to check on how you’re handling the job, 501 wanted to let you know that you have few more hours left till your 13 hour shift is finished. Then you can go to your cell and think about your life.” 10 hours....has it really been that long already? It’s amazing he hasn’t felt his PAK’s energy drain. Though it’s not like his body has done much other than standing behind a column.

The guard stayed silent for a short while. Before 2002 can realize that he was waiting for him to respond, he crossed his arms, “Huh. So they’re not joking when the say the newcomer is very quiet.” Not wanting show that it was true, he opened his mouth to say something. “No matter,” the guard unfortunately cut him off, “just continue your work and no slacking.” His ear fins lowered in a bit of humiliation. But he watched as the guard turned and walked away.

A groan was heard again, cutting his thoughts off of the guard and looked down at the other slave that was now trying to get up with much effort. “Ugh. Well at least it wasn’t my back that hit the ground.” Strangely enough, there was a soft part of him that made him worry of this complete stranger he met a only short while ago. “Uh. Are you ok?” “Psh. Of course I’m fine,” he grunt more when he tries to stand, “I am Car-oof!”

He lost balance and fell back on the ground. “...ok, this is a tiny bit embarrassing.” 2002 frowned more. He glanced to make sure the guard was completely gone. Then he left his job position just to walk fast paced and kneel beside the other Zim. “Here,” he held him by his shoulder. The moment he did so, Carl looked at him in confusion. “What are you doing?” “Helping you get up.”

“Funny,” Carl eyes furrowed, “a real Zim should look after himself.” “I DO look after myself!” He snapped, causing the other one to quietly look at him more confused. 2002 sighed. “Look. I’m only helping you because you’re myself, so it’s the same thing. Let me just help you up before the guard decides to come back.” Carl didn’t question any further and just let’s the new Zim help him get up. “Hm. You’re a stranger Zim than I thought.” “Heh,” he tries to smirk a bit, “that’s what makes me the best.” “Who told you that you were the best Zim?” He argued with him.

Meanwhile, a little far out from the hallway and behind the column, a guard peeked out and looked at two Zims. His eye set the most on the newcomer that aided an injured Zim and squinted his eyes. He looks down at a paper he was holding and writes something down. He puts it down and completely leaves the hallways.

It took a while for the guard to join the chamber and approach the same guard that confronted the two slaves. He noticed him approaching and turns to him, “Did you find anything suspicious about our newcomer?” “Don’t worry,” he took off his helmet, revealing to be 501, “I think I got to know everything about him. All that newcomer needs now at this point is pure luck.”

—————————————————-

Quick panting sounds are heard as each feet kicked back the dirt for how fast he was running. A yellow-skinned Zim with redder eyes and a bug-like wing, revealing to be a hybrid a bee, ran while hugging a bag for dear life. But he soon came to a dead end by huge piles of junk blocking the alley. He glances in fear to see the shadows appearing and drawing closer with a distant voice shouting in the distance. The bee Zim looked at his his small wing and sigh, “Come on wing, it’s not that high.” He looked back up at the pile, focusing on his goal, and started flapping his wings. The more effort he put on it, the more he started to hover in the air. It was taking all the energy from him, but he tried to ignore the limit, continuing to focus as he gets closer and closer to the goal. He pants but smiles, “Heheh heheh....I’m doing it! Heh! I’m doing it! Victory for-!!”

He lets out a grunt of of surprise as a rope is thrown unto him and tightly grips around his body. He is then yanked down, making him tumble onto the ground for a second or two. He was now feeling too weak to get up at this moment due to the energy he costed on his PAK. Even so, he weakly turned his head to look at a Zim with a cowboy outfit looking down at his catch. He hacks up and spits out saliva before turning behind him, “I got ‘im, Sword Cat.” “Hah!” A brown cat Zim with a sword tucked underneath his belt came next to him and looked at the bee Zim with a mischievous smile, “great work, Sheriff! Now then, little bee guy.”

He approaches the captured Zim on the ground, who was still holding the bag, “Why don’t we all just call it truce and give us that little honey of yours? We won’t do any harm by leaving you all tied up on the rope until there’s luck that someone might get you.” A ninja Zim came up to the left side of Sword Cat, “Uh. Sword Cat? I think that lie was a little too obvious.” “No it wasn’t!” The cat angrily looked at his ally, “if anything, my tactic on lying to that Zim about not leaving him tied up was a brilliant success!”

The cowboy leaned close to his side, “Uh. You straight up just revealed it again.” “No I did not!” “Dude,” the bee Zim said unamused despite still hugging the bag, “you know how I can hear exactly what you said.” “Oh yeah?!” He gave the captured irken hybrid a challenging glare, “then tell me, little buzzer! What did I say?!” “That you’re going to leave me tied after you take my honey.”

“NO I DIDN'T! I-!” He cuts off and takes a moment to think. After a short while, he shook his head. “You know what? It doesn’t matter,” he pulls out his sword and points it to him, “give us the honey.” “No!” The bee Zim hugs it more dearly, “it’s the only honey that survived the crash! My small glorious wings will not flap better without it!” “Well we don’t care. Give it!”

“No!” He tried to use the strength he hope he has by look directly at him with a squint, “if you want it, you will have to get through me first!” Sword Cat quietly stared at the weak Irken. “....Really?” “I-I’m serious! Y-you will regret it!” The cat once again quietly gazed at him with unamusement. Then he looked at both of his two members, who seem to agree on his thought about his unworthy motivation. He looks back at him. “Alright.”

He raised up his sword again with the two others gathering around him, their eyes sharply at him, “Let’s see what you got.” They started walking towards him. The bee Zim quivered, but still tried to remain determined. “G-get back! Don’t come any closer! Y-you will definitely regret it by....b-by my ambush!” “Oh yeah?” The cat lifted his eyebrow smiling with a challenged expression, “by what army?”

“None other than me!” A child-like voice shouted out.

The Zims paused in the position and looked about. The bee Zim grew confused as he was looking for the source. “Who said that?” “Aha! Look above you!” When they heard more clearly where the voice was coming from, they looked at one of the building nearby to see a small figure standing on top of it proudly. He jumps up, revealing to be holding onto a rope as he swings unto a wall and used his rope to push his feet off of it. He slides down the rope in time to land in front of the Zim that was in trouble with in a heroic looking landing pose.

His head raised to look at the gangs with a determined smile. “Sword Cat! We meet again!” All the Zim went quiet.

The gangs showed to be pretty annoyed as the cowboy one facepalmed and sighed. “Here we go again.” The bee version blinked and his face turned into confusion. “Uh. Am I looking at myself....as a baby?” “Heh!” The smeet glanced at him still confident, “I may be a baby. But I am still a Zim at heart!”

“What. Are you doing here, Baby?” Sword Cat asked in irritation. “My name is not Baby!” The smeet narrowed, “I am Zim! Better nicknamed as 2K. Which is a nickname more brilliant than than any Zim has to go by-!” “Right right right,” the cat Zim said impatiently, “but what are you going to try this time? What’s with the sudden change of not trying to ambush us?”

“Well,” 2K started to state out, “as I was looking back at the few attempts I have made on my plans, I have come to the realization that my unnecessary failures did not come from ambushing you out of nowhere. Instead, I have come to the conclusion, thanks to my brilliant mind, that in order to defeat someone, I need to show just how threatening I really can be!” “....And in order to do so was to make your grand entrance?” “Yup! Pretty neat, huh?”

The gangs stared at him unamused. “That’s...the dumbest thing I ever heard,” the ninja said. “It done sure sound like you ran out of ideas,” the cowboy spoke. “No I haven't! And besides, this is my best plan yet-“ “Just like you have said with your previous ones,” Sword Cat crosses his arms. The smeet hesitated. He growled and clenched his teeth in frustration, “Nnnnnngh it doesn’t matter! You will be defeated this time!”

He charges over and launches onto him, only for Sword Cat to catch him by grabbing his antennae. 2K grunts in pain and flails his leg shouting, “Nngh! Ow ow! Let me go! Stop it! You won’t get away this easily! You will regret the day you messed with-“ He continued to yap about while attempting to punch and kick him with his tiny arms and legs, which barely hit him whatsoever. The leader of the gang remained gazing at him unamused before tracing his eyes to the cowboy version. “Sheriff, do me a favor and tie this annoying chatterbox up. I’ll take care of the bee.”

Sheriff nods and goes over to be the one to hold onto the smeet by the atennae. He walks off to do what he is told. The Sword Cat walks over to the bee and kicks him down, causing him let out a sound of a harsh grunt and leaving him half conscious. He bends down and took the jar of honey from him before fully standing to look at it in pride. “Heheh, yes yes. Guess what we will be having tomorrow night, Zims.”

“Gah!” 2K voice can be heard, “hey! That’s too tigh-gh!” “Quiet, will you?” The cowboy said before making the last knot. 2K was now laying on the ground all tied up by the rope as he squirms about violently there, trying to break free. “That should just about do it,” Sheriff stood up and turned to the cat, “will you like me to do anything else with him?” “Eh,” he shrugged, “you can let him and the bee be as they are. We got the honey. So let’s get out here before some guards see us.”

“You think the guards will care?” The ninja asked. “They will care if they see me. Now let’s go already.” They went ahead and walked off. The bee grunted and was regaining consciousness as he weakly looked out at the gangs walking away. “Nah...no...my honey! What am I going to do? How will my wings be able to work again? How will I be able to fly around the town?!”

2K stared at the distressed alternate version of himself. “Uh...hey! I got an idea,” he smiles, “I know exactly where their base is! Maybe if you can untie me and join the resistance, we can go over and get your honey back. Sounds cool?” “Sounds cool?” The bee angrily looked at him, “why would I join a group when they have a member that can’t even defend himself?” 2K sighed, “Ok. Maybe I may have lost this time. But this time will be different!” “Whatever,” he shakily gets up while fighting back the injury, “I’ll find a way to get through this void without. Thanks for the help.” He walks off. 2K blinks in realization of something. “Uh. Hey. Can you at least tie me? Hey. HEY!”

He struggles violently again and even tries to bite the rope off with his buck tooth only with his collar being in the way. “Nngh! Stupid! Collar! Agh! I WILL GET YOUR HONEY BACK FOR SURE!” He angrily shouts out while alone in the alley, “THEN YOU WILL LOOK BACK TO THIS AND WISH YOU COULD HAVE JOINED THE RESISTANCE EAR-!”

———————————-

It was now night time. All the Zims in the underground town were already closing their doors and calling it a day. 2K remained stuck at one of the alleyways, already have exhausted himself from shouting the entire day. He can do nothing but lay there facing up in boredom as he looked at each stains on the wall. “46.....47........47, 48....49. Wait did I count the stains right? I think I might have said ‘47’ twice.” He wondered out loud to himself. “....eh. Who cares. If anything, I’ll just try again.” His eyes traced to the first wall stain he sees and starts counting from the beginning. “1,2,3....”

With the smeet counting again, a local Zim can hear a child-like voice within one of the alley way. He hops over to see who it is until he can see a familiar figure. “Mmmph?” 2K immediately stop counting. He softly turns his head to see who it is and saw a baloney far off looking at him. At that point, he did not show any change of expression. Ofcourse he would be the one to find him here. “Oh. Hey, Meat.”

#zimvoid #invader zim #2k zim #palindrome zim #palindrome ladybug #2k ladybug #iz comic #iz comics

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