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be-ready-when-i-say-go · 4 years

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What Do We Have?

Based on the word: Onsra: n., the bittersweet feeling that occurs in those who know their love won't last.

What happens when what you have with someone isn't quite what you wanted it to be?

***No one has my permission to repost this fic, including translation***

Reader Insert, No specific gender, race, or sexuality!

Is lovers to friends a trope? Because, I think I want it to be a trope.

Enjoy my masterlist

____________________________________________

Calum’s not sure when he first noticed it. It might’ve been somewhere between all the nights sitting out in his backyard as you both sip from sweating glasses and all the afternoons at your place where you’d show him some recipe you wanted to try and he agreed to be sous chef. Some of those dishes turned out better than others. But somewhere in between all that, Calum knows. Call it a self-fulfilling prophecy or call it intuition. After making his mistakes, having his wild youth, Calum was ready to set his life on cruise control and take the bumps and lumps but enjoy the ride.

It was different for you. He saw that. You took every opportunity by the horns and if it blew up in your face, there was hell to pay for it. Every blue was more vibrant. Every spark shined ten times brighter. Calum would be a liar if he said he didn’t like that. If that didn’t tickle his fancy to see the passion in you. But it made him ponder. It made him wonder would you leave at the first hitch. Would you cut ties when he had to go? That’s the inevitable truth. He would have to leave eventually, with touring and promotion.

“You’re thinking too much.”

Calum looks to his left, where you are curled up with Duke on your lap. The afternoon sun is just cresting its peak. It’s warm out, a breeze blowing through the privacy shrubbery every so often that helps the both of you forget that sweat is pooling down your backs and on your foreheads. “It’s not a crime to think.”

“But it might be a crime to think too much.”

“And what do you suggest that I do instead hm?” You had come over, just to hang out. Your latest binge together on Netflix had been fully consumed. The two of you sat on Calum’s couch scrolling endlessly through the suggestions but there wasn’t anything that caught either of your eyes. That’s when you suggested just taking a dip in the pool, or at least just stepping outside for some fresh air.

Now, you grow restless. Wanting to do something, go somewhere, see something, taste something new. It doesn’t really matter the specifics. “The new arcade place just opened up near the mall. We can go there.”

Calum nods. There’s no shock that he feels at your suggestion. He sees the twinkle even behind the way you bite down on your lower lip. There it is, the insatiable urge to take on something. “The least I can do is kick your ass in skee ball since you took today off.”

Fixing Calum with a glare, you stand, Duke safely tucked in your arms. “You’re on, Hood.”

He watches you, feet silent over the concrete as you saunter back into the house. His fingertips don’t ache like they used too. He should’ve run after you, tickled your sides, or pinched your ass and made you laugh. But instead, he sits, watches you go and wonders if he’s actually going to beat you or not. He wonders if his skills can handle his own trash talk. It wouldn’t hurt his pride if his skills were lackluster.

In the car, he lets you control the radio. You fiddle for a moment before your phone connects and softly through his speaker he hears an old school funky bassline. You watch the cut of Calum’s jaw and the way he reclines into the driver seat. The sight makes your chest warm but you wonder if Calum really wants to go to the arcade. You worry he’s only going because you want to go, because you can’t sit still. Would he ever grow tired of you? Would he ever try to tie you down, make you into something that you weren’t?

It would wear him thin eventually, you figured. He had a much slower pace that he liked to consume life at. You chalk it up to the fact that he’s life can be so jammed packed for months if not a year at a time with touring that when he can get a moment to relax, he savors it like children and ice cream before dinner. You didn’t truly think he would try to make you into something you’re not. Though the thought and worry never fully escapes you. It seems like no one would ever fully escape their fears, just enough to let the delusion settle in. Everyone would escape just enough to let their hair down and not look over their shoulder at every moment, just every once and awhile.

In bright red and pink neon lights, Arcadeocity blinks in front of them. Calum pulls into a parking spot. It’s not terribly business given it’s the middle of the week and the summer hasn’t officially hit just yet. “Ready to get your ass kicked?” he teases, one hand guiding the seatbelt as it slides back against the inner frame.

“The question is are you ready to pay for drinks after I kick your ass?”

“I was born ready.”

Inside, it’s dim and there are some kids running about. But it’s quiet. Calum heads to the counter, gathering the quarters. You look over, seeing the racing games, the ones where you sit and the ones with the bikes. A machine goes off, lots of buzzing and high zings. You look over to see one of the machines lighting up, the conditioned response for any winner. Two small boys are cheering, arms raising above their heads as the machine spits out the tickets in return.

There are tables off to the sides, for parents to sit, sip at their drinks and pray their children can keep occupied enough to not worry them for a small blimp of time. Though their gazes never leave their children for too long. One mother raises her hand, calling out the child’s name. “You’re going too far.”

“Oh, it’s not going to hurt them,” the father counters. “You remember the code right?” he calls outs.

You spot the small child, dressed in blue overalls and high top sneakers. “I remember Dad.” They’re no older than eight or so, you figure.

He waves them on. “Go head. Just make sure to check in after every game, alright?”

The child nods, a grin on their face. “Thanks, Dad!”

“Should we work our way up to the main event?” Calum asks, rejoining you now. His pockets jiggle a little.

You turn your attention to him, thinking for the slightest moment that Calum would be that kind of dad, if he ever wanted to be. That would let his kid go and be free. But the second they needed him he’d swoop in. That’s what he did. Calum kind of swooped in it seemed to be his MO especially since that’s how the two of you met. You’d be lying if you said otherwise. You hadn’t even seen him in the aisle, preoccupied with trying to avoid the kids that had just cut the corner. You stumbled, managing to avoid them and right when you thought you’d wind up smacking into the shelves holding up rice and pasta, strong arms wound around your arm to keep your balance.

“Racing game first?”

He nods. The dimness cut by the lights and glitz of the games, his eyes look like blackholes. Or maybe more like tunnels with a light at the end of them with the shiny reflection right in the middle of his pupil.

Calum wins the first race and nearly beats you for third in the second race. As you both slip off the motorcycles, you collect the tickets from your machines. “I’m better with four wheels,” you laugh.

With a thumb over his shoulder, he grins. “I’ve got a pocket full of change. Prove it, sweets.”

You do. Pulling ahead of Calum in both races. You come in third while he comes in fifth in the first. You manage a dirty fourth place, leaving Calum in seventh. It shouldn’t have been fourth but somehow you landed on a shortcut that saved you from eighth up to fifth. It was a fight for fourth but you managed it as you downshifted into fifth gear in the game and took the straightaway with ease.

“What the actual hell?” Calum laughs, after seeing you actually using the clutch and stick shift. “I didn’t think any of that actually mattered?”

“Dad taught me how to drive stick shift and now it’s just a habit now, I guess.”

It’s with a click of his tongue that Calum nods but admits his defeat. The both of you are observing, wondering where to go next. He asks you, if there’s anything that interests you. You could spend hours here, playing every game in sight. But you let him choose. You let him set the pace. Maybe it’s in the hopes that you can keep hold onto Calum for just a little bit longer. “You wanted to come here. I’m sure you’re dying to play something,” he concedes.

“Let’s shoot some hoops,” you suggest.

“You don’t--you sure?” It’s a silent nod and a gentle grasp of his wrist before you lead him to the basketball hoops. You two don’t even need to make it a competition. Just for fun. Just something to laugh while you do, attempting to throw him off his rhythm by flattering but never being successful. In the end, you don’t read the red numbers at the screen, just take the tickets it does give you.

“Skee ball?” he asks, folding his tickets. It seems to go on forever, the end hitting the floor and somehow crawling over it too just a little.

“Sure. If you’re ready to cry of course.”

Calum’s ears are full of the sounds of the game, taunting them, praising them, lighting up and shouting at every ball that sinks into a hole. But right below that is your laughter, your shriek, “You’re supposed to let me win!”

He has no rebuttal, just a feeling. Something like amusement and a tiny bit of guilt. Like maybe he should be more mindful, like maybe he should be toying more carefully. But at the same time, his chest flutters, when you shove at his shoulder and let out an indignant squawk that turns up into a laugh. He won by 100 points. “Round two?”

“Of fucking course,” you huff. Calum drops the quarters into your upturn palm and you guys feed them into their slots simultaneously. He wins again. 75 points as the lead, which stings less, but still. “It’s just an off day,” you say. There’s a smirk on your face and you can accept the defeat but not without a little bit of stink about it.

Over the course of an hour, you two play more games, stopping for a quick snack break. At the end, you go up to the counter first, Calum excusing himself for a moment to the restroom. There’s a small stuffed dog hanging on the second most top shelf. His ticket cost is high but after some successful rounds on the racetrack, you manage to squeak just enough to get him. When Calum returns, you’re standing with your arms behind your back. “You hiding something.” It’s more of a question but it comes out factual.

“Me? No, never.”

He laughs. At the counter, Calum looks over the possibilities. Part of him knows he should go the extravagant route. He’s done it before, with the stuffed animals and big ticket items. But he spies some alien trinkets instead and grabs two for you. He still has a stack left, so he grabs the small bean bag toy in the shape of a soccer ball. “You’ve still got quite the haul left,” the attendant states.

“Save ‘em for the next kid.”

“If you’re sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure. They’ll need them more than me.” Before Calum can reach you, you hold the stuff toy in front of your chest. “Very cute.”

“For you.”

His brow twitches, pulling down like he can’t quite believe it. “Me?”

“Yeah, you.” You urge him to take it and swallow down the urge to tell him he can give it to Duke. You want him to know it’s for him. No matter what. You did it for him.

“Thank you.” Almost sheepishly he exchanges the stuffed toy for alien trinkets. One’s a keychain and you smile. “Perfect for the collection?”

“Of course.” It is perfect. It’s thoughtful. And part of you wants to kick yourself for not getting the inflatable soccer ball, or Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. Because clearly those are more Calum, those are more thoughtful than just a stuffed animal. Calum makes a show though, buckling the dog into the backseat, after shifting the towel that Duke usually rests on and maybe, it’s not such a bad gift after all.

It’s in the car as Calum ponders aloud choices for dinner that you asked to be taken back to your place. You do have an early morning and Calum doesn’t think too much of it. It’s not until that gets back home and settles the stuffed dog onto his bed that he remembers the recipe the both of you were going to try. He had gone to the grocery store and everything. It feels wrong to try it without you. He can’t let it go to waste though.

I’m going to drop you off a plate. That’s the text from him not even ten minutes after he drops you off. You remember all at once the dinner plans. How could you have forgotten that? Truth be told, you had fun. Arcadeocity scratched that itch to get out. But you didn’t want to intrude too much on Calum’s free time. Which, when the hell did that start being a concern? Calum was pretty direct and honest if he needed time to himself.

Maybe it was just a time thing. You were starting to understand Calum more and even though he would be vocal about needing space, you knew how much he valued it. And you valued your own space too. Truth be told, you were starting to want more of it. Or maybe it was more time to do whatever by yourself. Or maybe the reason really didn’t matter because now, sitting on your own couch, you feel a little less like you’ve been stuffed into a box.

Calum arrives at your door with a reusable bag full. “I just made the whole recipe and split it in half. You can take it into work tomorrow.”

“Thanks.”

It’s a quick brush, his lips pressing into the flesh of your forehead. “Of course.”

___________________

Of course that feeling comes back. When Calum calls and hears the rattle of music in the background, he knows you’re out. It’s the second weekend in a row you’ve walked out on the town. The second weekend in the row you’ve made those plans without really consulting Calum, just going. Not that you thought you’d be out again. But when your coworker mentioned wanting to go out, you didn’t want the opportunity to pass you by. Letting Calum didn’t quite cross your mind either.

Part of Calum feels like he should be fighting more against that, fighting to maybe get more time. But he doesn’t. “Have fun. Let me know if you need a ride,” he says, unsure if he needs to shout to be heard over the receiver.

“Okay, will do!” The call ends and he drops into his sofa. Part of him is relieved, strangely. He doesn’t have to worry about having to do something. He doesn’t have to muster up the energy. He had it. If you weren’t out and about, he wouldn’t have minded doing something but he’d rather sit at home.

Was he wrong for that? Was it wrong to thank the high heavens you had already preoccupied yourself without him? Was it wrong to know something wasn’t going to make it all the way to the end but just wanting to take the ride while it was still offered? He enjoys his time with you. He enjoys the laughs and the crazy adventures. But god, did he like doing nothing too. There was nothing wrong with that. Right?

His phone shakes again, later in the night with a text from you. Made it home safely. Am buzzed and I should never wear clothes with buttons ever again when drinking.

He calls in response. “What happened with said buttons?”

“Fly was open,” you sigh in return, sinking into your own mattress. “Embarrassing.” His giggles cut through the slight fog of alcohol. “Don’t laugh.”

“Sorry, that’s a laughable offense, sweets.”

“Humph!”

“Need me to come over?”

“Nah, not that drunk. Have-have you got no faith in me?”

“No, I have all the faith in you. Drink some water, okay?” You hum in your agreement, mumbling a good night to him.

______________

“How long’s the tour?”

“Just shy of seven months. There are breaks, of course.”

You nod. “Of course.” They needed them for their own sanity and health. “I’ll watch Duke. You know I don’t mind.” He hasn’t asked. And Calum doesn’t really need to ask. You’ve always taken the chance to watch over the old man when Calum’s gone. You think you should’ve noticed Calum’s stubble before now. It’s not quite stubble really any more, on the cusp of being the start to a true beard. He usually doesn’t let it get this long.

How long has it been? You’ve texted and called. But somehow in the catalog of your mind you can’t place the last time you saw him in person for longer than a few minutes. It doesn’t feel wrong, in the sense that you’re worried that things are falling apart. But it is strange. It’s almost like air between you--something that you know is there but can’t quite put a finger on it. It’s somehow distance but not distant. The strange new normal the two of you have created. And you want to be sad. It’s a strange guilt to see now more than ever what’s been expanding between the two of you, but not being upset that it’s happening.

“I scheduled his appointments already,” Calum says, sliding a couple sheets of paper over to you. “Well, the major ones. I know your summer schedule’s a little different so I tried to keep that in mind too. Thanks again.”

“You don’t have to thank me.”

Calum’s sure this will be the start of the end. And you are too. But that doesn’t stop you from messaging him just shy of three weeks from the start of the tour. Rehearsals are getting longer and more tiresome. His answers to text and calls are coming later in the night. I’m dropping off a plate for you. You send it on your lunch break, hoping that by the time you get off, Calum’s replied.

And he has: Only if it’s not too much of a bother. Thankyou.

It’s not long after returning home that you’re back in your car, Calum’s food resting on the floor to keep it from tipping over. At the gate, you worry it’ll take you too long to reach Calum to get inside, but thankfully, Luke and Michael are just ahead of you and let you in. The three of you wander back into the studio space. Michael explains at length the mechanics of a game to Luke. You’re not sure if he’s convincing the taller man, but Luke takes in each detail with a thoughtful face.

“Please tell me you’re teaching any of this,” Luke teases, glancing at you.

“Dude, I’m just dropping off food. I’ve got nothing.”

He laughs but agrees ultimately to give a test to Michael’s latest video game obsession. As the door to the space opens, you can’t help but let the soft smile crest your face at Calum’s stretched out figure on the floor. You’re not sure if he’s sleeping, but you know from experience if he gets too relaxed in any position anywhere he can and will fall asleep. “It would be such a shame,” you start, voice bouncing off the walls. Calum cracks a smile even though his eyes are still closed. “If this bowl of pad see ew just happened to take a bad stumble.

“You wouldn’t dare,” he calls out from the floor. He’s slow to look up at you. But when he does, it’s a long gander. You’re still in your work clothes, though the shoes tell him you definitely did go home first.

“Home cooked,” you offer, lifting the glass container and setting it on the table where Luke, Ashton, and Michael have gathered.

“Really, thanks. It means a lot.”

“Of course.”

Calum thinks about that phrase for long after you’re gone and long after he’s consumed the sweet and yet savory noodles. Like, of course--like you wouldn’t be doing anything else but helping him out majorly. Of course, you’d go from a crazy day at work to fixing him dinner. Like of course he shouldn’t have to worry constantly. Like of course this is normal. And it is normal, in some ways. But it’s not normal in others. It’s not normal, he thinks, to go weeks without seeing you and not feeling a super deep ache. There was the missing he felt when he wanted to see his mum, or his sister. But they had always kind of been away from him, ever since he moved out. Calum did miss you, but it never fully consumed him. Never made him mope, or be too down. Or maybe it was normal? Maybe it showed how much the two of you were secure with each other.

____________________

Did you want to spend a few days together? Rehearsals are pretty much done. I know you’re still working though.

Calum can’t seem to hit send.

That last sentence is his out. It’s a way for you to say no without having to feel like an asshole. He knows that. He knows you’ll know that the second you read the text. But he can’t bring himself to delete it.

With a swift kick of boldness, Calum taps the up arrow. The text lifts and then settles and Delivered sits right underneath the blue text in gray. It’s only an extra ten minutes from your place to work. I don’t mind.

Most mornings, of the four that you spend with Calum right before the shuttle bus comes to get him, he whines as your alarm goes off. “You can spare five more minutes,” he mumbles into his pillow, one arm raised, not fully like the limbs much too heavy for his body to carry. And at this time in the morning, half past 6, it probably is too heavy to carry.

“Only five,” you laugh before sliding back into bed, but not under the covers.

Calum always curls back up into your side, arm thrown across your torso. “Can’t believe you’d leave this nice, warm bed.”

He almost never mentions leaving him. He doesn't mention leaving you. It’s always the nice, warm bed you’d be leaving, that he’d be leaving. This nestle of comfort and known territory being the only thing tying the two of you together.

You have to stop yourself from saying it’s just a bed. That any old bed can be nice and warm. Because it always could be any old bed that can be nice and warm. But do you want any old bed or do you want Calum’s? Do you want somebody else? Do you want to fly across skies? Or do you want Calum?

“It is a nice, warm bed,” you say instead. It’s an agreement that whatever it is between you is nice. Though, you’re not convinced it’ll last.

The first week of Calum on tour turns into a second. That second one turns into a third. And by the third week rolls around, the most your phone buzzes or chimes with anything related to Calum is a quick picture attached with a few lines about what’s going on in his world. You’re not even sure besides keeping him updated on Duke when you’ve talked about your life if you told Calum about the impromptu trip to Vegas. Or if you told him about your promotion at work.

Somehow all of that just seems so mundane and so not the thing he’d care to hear about until he calls. It’s an early morning for you. “I see your end of the globe hasn’t gone up in flames yet.”

You shake your head with a tuft of laughter. “No, it’s still thriving. Just adjusting to this new job.”

“You quit your old one? Do you need anything to tide you over?”

“No, no, just a new position.” You almost start to say that you had to have told him. But if he’s asking, if he’s concerned, then you must have forgotten.

“Tell me about it.”

“My job is not exciting,” you call out, grabbing your clothes from inside the closet.

“Doesn’t matter. Bore me with the details.” You do. Enough so that, when you’re finally dressed and sitting down to eat breakfast, you can see him with his eyes drooping. “Bored him literally to sleep,” you laugh.

“I am not asleep,” he responds with a sleepy mumble.

“Sure you’re not.”

A month into the tour, Calum works it to have you flown out. Calum’s greet you in the car from the airport, the two of you laughing, falling into each other’s side, but ultimately always shifting back into place, resting into the back of the seat instead of each other. Calum’s not phased, not when you run ahead up to the historic hotel. He’s not phased when you run ahead of him at the museums are long the streets during your visit. But he knows it’s killing you. When the bands backstage, and you stare out of the windows, he knows it’s killing you not to get out there. Not to see the country, the cities, the people.

“Tomorrow we can go adventuring,” he tells you, leaning up against the wall as you’ve curled yourself up into the window sill.

“You’ve got another show tomorrow.”

He just winks at you, leaning forward to kiss the top of your head. And then he’s gone, back to the sofa, laughing as someone shows him something on their phone. The guys fall instantly back into their chaos. You watch, knowing you could fall into it too. You know their antics and their sense of humor. But yet, you sit in the window sill. You watch the birds fly pass. You watch people wander. You hear the slight cry of fans waiting for them and you know this isn’t really meant for you.

This isn’t something that would saitatee you in the long run.

You find out later after the show and he’s had a chance for a quick shower, that in the wee hours of the morning, just eeking pass one, Calum and you wander through nightlife. Arm in arm, you meander down streets, up city blocks, stopping at storefronts just to oogle over their displays. The skies are a little clearer. You can stop, leaning up against some random fence to watch the stars for a little it.

“It’s weird to think that I’m watching some stars last breathe. Like we’re so close, but so far away from the heavens. And they really just go on forever,” you whisper.

Calum hums, sliding his hands into the pocket of the hoodie draped over your body. His fingers wrap around yours in the pocket. “But it’s almost like they are giving us their last wish, maybe. Giving us one last guiding light.”

It’s almost four am when you find yourselves back at the front doors of the hotel. You’re laughing at Calum’s slurred speech due to drowsiness. He’s going to regret this in the morning maybe and you can only hope that there’s a pot of coffee big enough to help. His slumber is heavy next to you. Your brain is wired. You can feel it buzzing in your fingertips. How do you tell Calum that you don’t want to lose him but maybe the romanticism between the two of you isn’t there anymore? Was it ever really there to begin with?

With three days left on this trip, you don’t say anything at first. How do you even verbalize that? What are the right words? You don’t sleep that night either. When Calum reaches out for you, his arm feels like hot steel. Like it’s burning you for feeling any different. On the second night, you slip further into the seats in the back of the bus--there’s no stopping at a hotel this time--, your blanket pulled up to your chin, nothing plays on the TV in front of you. You know you can’t avoid him. Not at a time like this. But you’re still not sure if you can mention is just yet, if you have the nerves to do it.

The door slides open and Calum is there, leaning against the faux frame and his body moves with ease at the jostle of the bus. “Mind if I pop a seat next to you?”

“Of course not.” It’s an automatic reply. And really you don’t mind. But you can tell by the way he nods, biting his lips and settles next to you but not into you that he’s aware of something too. But you’re aware now you can’t duck out of this conversation. There’s no turning back now.

“You say ‘of course’ a lot, you know?”

“Something tells me that now isn’t the right time to say ‘of course, I know’ so I’ll refrain from using it.”

His laughter is a quick exhalation, facing the blank screen too. “Are you--” he starts and then stops. He fiddles with his thumb nail for a second and then turns, bringing one leg up under the other and his hoodie cladded arm rests on the back of the sofa. “If it’s not--I’m not sure if our relationship is what it was before.”

You exhale. Your shoulders straighten under the blanket and you shift, sitting to face Calum more. There’s no sadness. Not even the clench of his jaw which he does when he’s trying to hold something back, when he doesn’t want to say what’s fully on his mind. “I-I don’t think so either.”

He gives a thoughtful nod, resting a hand on your leg, over the fuzzy black fabric. “And it’s not that I don’t have love for you. Nothing has happened, like nothing you did or said, or anything bad but.”

“It’s just different between us.” Different doesn’t feel quite whole, so you unfurl finally from the mass and out of habit, pick at the fuzz on the end of his sleeves. “Well, more like, I’ve realized maybe what we wanted wasn’t what we needed? If that makes sense?”

“It makes sense.” Calum watches your fingers, pinching and rolling at the small balls of cotton. “I-I won’t mind if you stay or go. I’d like you to stay. There’s the museum you always wanted to go to in our next city, but if it’s too weird or anything, I totally understand.”

You shake your head, gaze lifting to his. He’s still chewing over his lip but he looks mostly calm. The nerves are obvious but this conversation is going better than you could’ve anticipated. “I don’t feel pressured to leave at all. I just, do you need space? If you need me to go, I’ll take the next flight out. You’ve got a job to do and I don’t want you to be in a weird headspace with me around. And I would hate--,”

He cuts you off with a squeeze of your hand. “You’re rambling. And no, I don’t want you to leave. I haven’t properly seen you in a few weeks. I still really enjoy your company. But it’s just, not like before, you know. Besides, you still owe drinks from when I kicked your ass in skee ball.”

His grin is small at first but it grows when you flap, releasing your hand from his hold and fold your arms across your chest. “The way I remember it, you would owe drinks if I beat you. Not that I owed drinks for losing.”

When Calum giggles, you have to laugh. In all the previous breakups, you know laughing immediately after shouldn’t be happening. But everything’s different with Calum. All along the two of you were shifting, settling into the version of the bond you needed with each other, not necessarily the prescribed one from society, or the one that you wanted.

“Would you be, like, upset if I took a separate bunk?” you asks.

“Of course not,” Calum returns with a grin.

Honestly, you feel relieved waking up the next day, for the most part. It should be awkward, but there’s something between you and Calum. There’s something you both get about each other that even in the face of change this bond doesn’t feel broken. It feels mended, finally and completely free too. No guilts, no second thoughts and what you should be doing or what you think Calum expects of you.

It definitely carries a small sting. There’s no lying, a small bit of your routine and your normal is now gone and that worries you for when you go back home. Like, is it still acceptable that you steal his Santa Cruz hoodie? And when Calum catches your gaze from the otherside of the dressing room, he wonders if he can still kiss your forehead, still hold your hand? Or is that crossing the line? He airs on the side of caution for now, just smiles at you and you smile in return.

Just before leaving, you fold his hoodie up, placing it on his bunk next to the not fully folded blanket that reveals his iPad.

When Calum goes to his bunk he sees the hoodie. His heart drops, he won’t lie. When he picks it up, it feels heavy. Not physically, but he kinda wanted you to keep it. Something crinkles. He unfurls it. Nothing falls out but he can hear something. So he continues until he finds the hoodie pocket.

I know, I know. I wanted to give you this back. Just for the moment. We’re still good like we said before. But I know it’s your favorite right behind the Empathy one. Kick ass on stage. Rock out.

Calum smiles, neatly folding the note and slips into his bag that he takes into the venues. When the months slip by, show after show mildly interrupted with Duke updates and occasionally things about yourself, Calum finally finds himself able to sit on his own couch. Kick his feet up on his own coffee table. He’s able to decompress. He decompresses enough to fall asleep. A knock at the door jolts him awake. Wiping at the corner of his eyes and his mouth, he jumps from his couch.

“You were totally asleep,” you grin when the door swings open.

“Was not,” he retorts. Duke bars from below, jumping at Calum’s leg. “Oh, bubba. How are you?”

“Good, just missed his pops.”

Collecting Duke into his arms, Calum stands. “How are you? How’s life?”

“I’m good. Life’s good.” You lift the bag on your arm. “I brought you a plate. Or maybe like four.”

“You--you didn’t have to,” Calum returns. “But of course you did anyway.”

“Of course I did,” you laugh. “Mind if I come in? You can just love on Duke. I’ll reheat the spaghetti.”

He nods, allowing you inside. It’s much more than a plate as you unload the dish and a few other sides. It’s enough for him to eat dinner for a week almost. You always fixed more than he could ever eat. “How’s the move going?” The last time the two of you talked you mentioned needing a new place. Something a little bit bigger to accommodate your needs and the potential of housing your own dog or cat. You��re not entirely sure right now.

“It’s going slow. But it’s going. Trying to sort out what to toss.”

“I can help, if you want.” Calum watches as you set the plate down in front of him. “Be the voice of reason when you know you really should toss the thing, but can’t do it without a nudge.”

“Or be the nagging voice that tells me to keep it. You know how this goes.”

Calum nods, setting Duke in the seat. “I know.”

“What are you doing? Sit. Eat.”

Two scoops of spaghetti or heaped onto a second plate. You manage to keep Duke away from Calum’s food. The plate hits the table with a muted thud. “If it’s not too much too soon, eat with me? ”

“Of course.”

“There it is again,” he laughs.

“What? I’ll leave. Don’t think I won’t.”

“Whoa, slow down. Eat. Then you can huff and puff and blow my house down.”

With a click of your tongue, fork posed in hand, you watch Calum return to his seat. Duke in his lap, just like you knew would happen. “That sounds like a good idea.”

#calum hood #calum hood fanfic #calum hood fic #calum hood imagine #calum hood blurb #calum hoos 5sos #calum 5sos #5sos #5sos fanfic #5sosfic #5sos imagine #5sos blurb #5 seconds of summer #5 seconds of summer fanfic #5 seconds of summer fic #5 seconds of summer imagine #h writes #calum hood x reader

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mammon-sama · 4 years

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The Purgatory Hall Boys Are Bad at Road Trips (Fanfiction)

I just *clutches chest* really love the boys at Purgatory Hall and felt they needed more spotlight so here they are being big dummies on the road. Oh, I also posted this on AO3 here.

Title:

The Purgatory Hall Boys Are Bad at Road Trips

Summary:

On a R.A.D-sanctioned road trip to the Caverns of Degeneracy, the Purgatory Hall boys prove that they have just as many brain cells as the demon brothers (read: none).

Genre:

Humor/Fluff/Slice of Life

Rating:

Word Count:

6870

Hour 0

Our story begins just outside the gates of Purgatory Hall, where two of its three non-native Devildom residents stood near a rather expensive-looking, immaculately-maintained vehicle.

The short, prone-to-fits-of-righteous-anger one yanked behind him a wagon, which was piled high with duffel and overnight bags, all made of a stiff white and gold fabric straight from the Celestial Realm.

The other, older man, who never left home without a mysterious smile and his magic wand, too, tugged the handle of his own luggage—although his was a wheeled backpack which sagged due to the weight of the approximately seven-hundred souvenir keychains from around the Human World that he had clipped onto it.

The pair were waiting for their third friend—who, in every sense of the word, was an angel—as together they were planning to embark upon a new R.A.D tradition, which the Demon Prince Diavolo had appropriately christened—Our Annual Road Trip to the Caverns of Degeneracy (A.R.T C.D for short). The Caverns of Degeneracy were on the far outskirts of the Devildom, over six-hundred-and-sixty-six miles away from the R.A.D campus, and yet, for some asinine reason, Diavolo had decided that they were the perfect spot for hosting the academy’s yearly Bleeding Hearts Festival.

(Many of the Student Council Officers and faculty had wagered that the Demon Prince had just wanted an excuse to take a road trip—a phenomenon he had recently been introduced to through one of Leviathan’s video games.)

Diavolo himself planned for his personal driver to ferry him and his butler, Barbatos, up to the Caverns a day early so he could begin preparations for the festival and encouraged all students to find their own means of transportation in order to get to the event on time.

The R.A.D Student Council Officers—all of whom resided in the House of Lamentation—had decided to pile themselves into Asmodeus’ tour bus (he had bought it specifically because once he became a famous DevilTuber, he would need it to do meet-and-greets with his fans and also because it had a “bear-y adorable design”) and drive down together.

As the Purgatory Hall boys had no modes of transportation to call their own, Lucifer had graciously allowed them to borrow Mammon’s Demonio 666 Lexura (fits had ensued à la the secondborn but were ignored), which both Luke and Solomon now hovered around.

However, as Solomon poked and prodded the vehicle, commenting admiringly under his breath at the paint job, the young angel peered nervously at the sorcerer’s backpack.

He cleared his throat, bent on sounding as polite as possible—but failing miserably—and said, “Solomon, er—are you the one who’s bringing our road trip snacks?” He followed this with a silent please say no, please say no, Father please let him say no.

Solomon raised an eyebrow. “I thought you were bringing them.”

Luke dropped the handle of his wagon. “No! I would’ve made some snacks if I had the time but I was helping those,” he gagged, “wretched demon brothers pack using some low-level Celestial Realm magic.”

“Oh, that’s right,” Solomon said, snapping his fingers. “I just remembered that I volunteered to make the snacks, but Simeon heard and immediately offered to do it for me. Then he sent me on a bunch of errands to buy groceries, but it felt more like he was trying to get me out of the kitchen.” He laughed at the last part and shook his head because there was no way that such a criminally calm angel like Simeon would be that underhanded.

“No!” wailed Luke, yanking his hat off and clutching it to his chest in despair. “Don’t you know what this means?”

“It means you don’t like Simeon’s cooking as much as you let on,” decided the sorcerer with a smile at Luke’s theatrical display.

Luke shook his head so vigorously that Solomon had to hold in a laugh based on how much the angel looked like a chihuahua shaking itself dry. “For trips, Simeon only makes the most nutritious, most energizing food.” He screwed up his face in disgust as he seethed, “The most disgusting food.”

“The stuff Simeon cooks for dinner isn’t particularly unhealthy and you seem to like that just fine,” pointed out Solomon.

Luke frowned. “Yes, b—but I’m talking about real healthy stuff here, so we’ll all have lots of energy throughout the trip! L—like entire salads squished between two pieces of bread and ‘yummy morsels’ of banana slices dipped in cashew butter and drizzled with mung bean and coconut water paste!” He gestured toward himself. “Look at me, Solomon! I was made for jam-filled pastries and perfectly-iced cakes! No—not,” he shuddered, “health foods.”

“You’re serious? He’s really going to bring that kind of stuff?” Solomon’s eyes widened. “I guess I should’ve given in to my gut intuition and made some pork pies as backup snacks. ‘Snackups,’ if you will.”

Luke could feel bile rising up his throat at the thought of Solomon’s cooking. “Er—no, I don’t think that would’ve been necessary!” He spotted a figure exiting Purgatory Hall. “Oh, look, there’s Simeon, now; we can just ask him what snacks he brought.”

“And then burn them,” finished Solomon.

The younger angel gave a scandalized gasp at the comment as Solomon nodded at Simeon, who walked closer to the pair.

A lone celestial blue suitcase trailed behind the elder angel as he beamed at his traveling companions. “Is everyone ready?” Before waiting for an answer, he turned toward Luke with a gaze that was almost motherly in nature. “And has everyone gone to the bathroom? We only have a day to drive to the Caverns of Degeneracy and I want to see some of the Devildom sights along the way. I even brought an instant camera to take pictures.”

He pulled out from his cape pocket said camera and an enormous stack of printed DevilmapQuest directions and began to rifle through them, trying to decide which of the landmarks and tourist destinations he wanted to visit most.

“S—Simeon! Why did you have to stare at me when you asked if we all went to the bathroom? I may be young, but I at least know that I should go to the bathroom before long car rides!” He then blushed and handed Solomon his wagon handle. “A—and that being said, I—I have to go to the bathroom.”

As he ran inside, Solomon peered over Simeon’s shoulder at the map sheets and laughed. “You know, most of these directions are online.”

“I know, I know,” admitted the older angel. “But reading the directions off of a D.D.D requires knowing how to operate one, and you know I’m not too good at that.”

Solomon smiled and said, “That’s fine, then. We three will take turns driving and meanwhile, one of the two who aren’t behind the wheel will navigate.”

“Haha, you’re aware Luke can’t drive, right?” asked Simeon, turning to give Solomon a look that cautiously strode the line between tolerant and what-the-fuck-is-wrong-with-you.

“Well, I guess he’ll be the one giving directions, then,” replied Solomon, without missing a beat. He couldn’t help but silently add he’ll be doing that, either way.

As Simeon continued to sort through the DevilmapQuest papers and double-check all the items packed in the messenger bag slung across his shoulder, Solomon began to load everyone’s luggage into Mammon’s car. He couldn’t help but envision himself playing Tetris as he carefully arranged in the trunk the seven blocky bags that the group had among them—six of which belonged to Luke, who packed as if he were planning to change his clothes at least twelve times a day.

His own backpack—and Simeon’s messenger bag—would be staying with the trio in the cabin space of the car. He hadn’t felt the need to pack nearly as many outfits as Luke and most of his bag consisted of medical supplies, while Simeon’s was supposed to be filled to the brim with road trip snacks.

Speaking of snacks, Solomon felt his mouth turn dry as he mulled over the healthy monstrosities that Luke believed the older angel had created in place of actually palatable food. He turned to Simeon. “Er, Simeon—what’s on the menu in terms of snackage?”

“‘Snackage?’” Simeon laughed. He pat his messenger bag and said, “Let’s see, well, whenever I go on long trips, I try to make foods that provide a lot of energy, since we’re going to need it—especially you and I, as we’ll be driving. Here, I made dried, salted edamame and roasted chickpea trail mix, almond-butter-and-white-bean-stuffed dried dates, and oatmeal-honey-sesame-black-bean balls with dried pineapple, coconut, and avocado.”

Solomon did not like how many times Simeon had mentioned “beans,” for as far as he was concerned, road trip food was junk food exclusively. He took a deep breath and carefully twisted his mouth into a smile. “That sounds well … delicious. Ten out of ten.”

“Excellent. Now, where is Luke?” Simeon peered behind them toward Purgatory Hall, where a munchkin of a silhouette now appeared. “Ah, there he is.” He tossed Solomon the keyring Mammon had tearfully given him the day before. “Mind starting the car?”

Solomon nodded and after examining the gaudy charms that adorned Mammon’s keys, he clicked open the car and stepped toward the driver’s seat door. “I’ll take the first shift. It’ll take us fifteen hours of sheer driving to get to the Caverns of Degeneracy, so we’ll take three-hour turns.”

As Solomon yanked the car door open, something tumbled out of the front seat. He jumped back, and Simeon and Luke rushed toward the commotion.

“M—Mammon? What are you doing here?” exclaimed Luke.

Simeon laughed, his brows furrowing in confusion. “Hoping to hitch a ride?”

Solomon had to swallow his smile when he saw the almost-comical tears that ran down Mammon’s face. “Did your brothers leave you behind?”

“N— no! They’d never leave without me, The Great Mammon!” Mammon hastily wiped his nose before sprawling his hands over his Demonio 666 Lexura. “I just couldn’t fathom leavin’ my beloved baby for so long! I had to say goodbye!”

“Speaking of saying goodbye, you do know that Asmo’s bus already left a few minutes ago, right?” asked Simeon. “I caught a glimpse of them before I came out here and they were already on the road.”

Mammon’s face paled. “Wh—what? They wouldn’t! Wait—of course, they would! Those bastards!” He immediately turned into his demon form, planted a kiss on his car’s hood, and sped off into the horizon.

“I suddenly understand what the term ‘speed demon’ means,” commented Luke as he watched Mammon’s quickly disappearing form.

“I sure hope he manages to catch up to them,” Solomon said, rubbing his chin. “Anyway, everyone, pile in. It’s time to get this show on the road.”

Hour 1

After they had driven well out of the bounds of R.A.D’s campus, Solomon announced, “All right—first item on the agenda—”

Luke raised his hand from the back passenger seat as he strained against his seatbelt. “—What’s an ‘agenda?’”

“Oh. An agenda is basically a list of things we have to do,” explained Solomon.

Simeon’s eyes widened in concern. “I didn’t know we had an agenda.”

Solomon nodded gravely. “Oh, yes—an unwritten road trip one. And the first thing on it is picking some tunes.”

Again, Luke raised his hand. “I have a suggestion! I have a suggestion!” From the pocket of his shorts, he drew out a CD case labeled 1001 Hymns to Praise Him. “This album is my personal favorite.”

Solomon began coughing violently in attempts to cover his laughter, while Simeon smiled and took the CD from him. “That’s a great idea, Luke, but how about we play this when I drive, and when Solomon drives, he’ll pick the music.”

The sorcerer handed Simeon his D.D.D, keeping his eyes on the road as he instructed, “Here, go to my Akutify account and play my Travel playlist. Hope you guys don’t mind that I managed to export my entire Spotify account onto Akutify, so we’re going to be listening to Human World songs for now.”

It took Simeon seven tries to carry out Solomon’s orders, but before long, “I Want It That Way” by the Backstreet Boys blared through the state-of-the-art stereo system of the Demonio 666 Lexura.

Luke was silent for a few moments before he innocently asked, “I don’t understand, Solomon. What do they want ‘that way?’”

Solomon shook his head. “I’ve been trying to figure that out for years.”

Hour 2

It didn’t take very long for Simeon to discover the first location on his list of places to visit along their trip.

“The Maw of Beelzebub,” Simeon breathed, taking in their dark, ashy surroundings from the passenger seat. “I’ve seen it in pictures when I researched for TSL, but I never fathomed I’d get to see it in person.”

Luke pouted as Simeon exited the vehicle. “Don’t tell me we’re going to see those dumb demon brothers.”

“Nope,” Solomon said, unbuckling Luke from his seat, despite the vehement protests from the little angel. “The Maw of Beelzebub is a chain of three volcanoes, actually. The two smaller ones that form the ‘eyes of Beelzebub’ are active, but the huge, massive one that we’re going to walk across by way of that bridge,” he pointed to a shaky overpass that was suspended over a volcano crater a thousand miles wide, “is dormant. However, you can still see the enormous pool of lava bubbling inside. Tourists like to drop things down into it—and of course, it disappears into the molten lava—which is why it’s named after Beel because no matter what you feed him, he’s still hungry as if he’s never eaten.”

“Remind me again, then, why we’re walking across it?” Luke asked as the trio wandered over to the entrance of the precarious bridge.

Simeon looked at him curiously. “Don’t you think it’s exhilarating, Luke? To be so close to something so much bigger and powerful and dangerous than yourself?”

The younger angel pondered that for a moment before deciding, “Father is so much bigger and powerful and dangerous than me. I think that’s enough.”

Simeon laughed. “So it is.” He wiggled his fingers under Luke’s hat to rumple his hair. “But let’s go see it, anyway.”

Hour 3

“Psst,” Luke hissed, “Simeon.” The elder angel seemed to be too enthralled by the latest song in Solomon’s playlist, “What Makes You Beautiful” by One Direction, to hear him, so Luke reached out to poke his shoulder.

If he wasn’t strapped to his seat by his seatbelt, Simeon would’ve jumped about fifty feet in surprise. “Ah, you startled me, Luke. Did you need something?”

Luke adamantly refused to meet Simeon’s eyes as he flushed and muttered, “I have to go.”

“Don’t worry, Luke—there’s no shame in needing to go to the bathroom,” assured Simeon.

“There is when you just went ten minutes ago,” mumbled Solomon under his breath, but he swerved into a gas station, nonetheless. “I guess we’re due for a tank refill, anyway.”

Simeon put up his hand. “You paid for the gas last time—let me do it, especially since Mammon left explicit instructions that his car is supposed to be ‘fed’ premium gas only.”

Solomon grinned cheekily. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.” He followed Luke, who had already gone into the gas station convenience store. “I guess I’ll just have a look around, then.”

However, before he got more than a few feet into the store, he heard someone whisper-screaming his name.

“Psst! Solomon! Over here! Behind the candy stand!”

He followed the voice, only to find that it belonged to Luke, who was very much not in the bathroom and rather ripping open a packet of fruit snacks.

“Whoa, I didn’t know you had it in you to employ the much-loved five-finger-discount,” Solomon said, nodding appreciatively. “Considering you’re an angel and all.”

Luke stared at him with blank eyes. “I don’t know what that means, but these were in my pocket from earlier!” He motioned for Solomon to come closer and poured a few of the gummies into his hand. “This is my last pouch—eat them fast. They might be our last bit of yummy food before we have to eat Simeon’s nightmares.”

Solomon bobbed his head, before dumping the fruit snacks into his mouth all at once, savoring their sweet taste. He gestured toward Luke. “Do you always keep those on you?”

The angel’s offended gasp could be heard by all the demons in the convenience store. “I’m a ten-year-old, Solomon! Of course, I keep fruit snacks in my pocket!”

Hour 4

It wasn’t that Simeon was a bad driver. It was just that driving in the Devildom (and the Human World) was very different from driving in the Celestial Realm.

Here, in uncontrolled intersections, it wasn’t customary to say “hello” to the drivers rolling to a stop in all directions. Even stranger, the traffic lights weren’t celestial blue, gold, and white, but rather red, green, and yellow!

Luke, who had discovered a “2020 Devildom Rules of the Road” manual crumpled inside one of the cupholders, was forced to bark instructions at the eldest angel, all while offering condescending commentary on how imbecilic the rules of driving in the Devildom were.

“Simeon! Listen to this! In the Devildom, you have to obey the posted speed limits, or else you’ll get in trouble!” realized Luke.

“Wait—you don’t have speed limits in the Celestial Realm?” Solomon asked.

Luke replied smugly, “No, because angels have the sense to know how fast they should or shouldn’t be driving.”

“Wow, that’s honestly impressive.” Solomon grimaced as Simeon ran through another red light. “Remember, if the light is red, then you have to stop.”

Simeon offered an apologetic smile. “Sorry, I’m so used to remembering that blue means ‘stop.’”

Solomon slunk low in his seat, knowing better than to rile up the angel, who was rumored to have a feisty side when he got angry. “I just hope the police or whatever they have here don’t catch us for breaking so many traffic laws.”

“What’s a ‘police?’” asked Luke.

“Oh, you know … people who are supposed to make people follow the laws and stuff,” replied Solomon. His eyes widened. “Do you not have a police force in the Celestial Realm?”

“The Celestial Realm is a perfect world, Solomon,” answered Simeon. “We don’t need police.”

Hour 6

Solomon didn’t know that he could get sick of songs. Sure, he got tired of the “Despacito” remix after the first dozen times it was played on the radio—but he meant real music.

“Amazing Grace” in particular.

Luke’s favorite album, 1001 Hymns to Praise Him, really should’ve been called 1001 Ways An Angelic Choir Can Sing “Amazing Grace” because Solomon swore about ninety percent of the songs on the album were just renditions of the classic hymn sung by different groups of angels.

And this seemed to bother neither of his driving companions, who crooned along to the choir in heavenly tones—it seemed to be a prerequisite for angels to be divine singers—without missing a beat.

He hadn’t even known all the words to “Amazing Grace,” but now he could recite all six verses on demand. He fought the urge to smash the “eject” button on the CD player, but he worried that Luke would throw a fit or Simeon would look at him with a stare so full of disappointment that Solomon would be willing to throw himself off a bridge just to rid himself of its gaze.

But one could only hear the line “amazing grace, how sweet the sound,” so many times.

He had to do something.

“Hey! I have an idea!” Solomon chirped. “Let’s make up our own song!”

He had to fight the urge to smack himself upside the head. Why did he say that? He had no ideas for potential song lyrics!

“I like that!” Luke pursed his lips, deep in thought. “Here, let’s have the first lines go like this: ‘Father, You are all that I need!’”

Simeon used one hand to snap out the beat, and continued, “‘Father, listen to my creed!’”

Solomon sighed.

He did not know if this was any better.

Hour 8

“Luke, wake up. We’re here.” Solomon couldn’t help but layer on the desperation thick as he shook the younger angel awake, despite the fact that they were in no danger whatsoever.

Luke shot up, trying very hard to hide the fact that he had been drooling all over his shoulder. He rubbed his sleep-filled eyes. “What? Did we beat all the other demons here? Are the Caverns of Degeneracy as hideous as I imagined?”

Solomon unbuckled Luke’s seatbelt and dragged him out of the car. He snickered, saying, “We’re not at the Caverns, yet.” He gestured toward their surroundings, which now consisted of precarious cliffs and rocky crags instead of the open road of the Devildom.

Simeon stood a few feet ahead of them and turned around, spreading his arms wide in wonder. “Welcome to Sinner Falls!”

Luke stared at the dark stone formations. “I don’t see any waterfalls.”

“That’s because Sinner Falls isn’t a waterfall,” Solomon explained. “You probably better know it as ‘the Abyss—’”

“‘The Abyss? ’ Why didn’t you say so?” Luke exclaimed, his eyes glittering excitedly. “The place where demons are tortured for a thousand years during the Millenium has always been one of my dream places to visit!”

Simeon smiled, a little taken aback by the younger angel’s enthusiasm. “If we’re lucky, we might get to see Abaddon, Angel of the Abyss. He’s supposed to be guarding the canyon up ahead.”

“If we see him, do you think he’ll let me call him ‘Abba?’” teased Solomon, even though the remark earned him a kick in the shin and a “He most certainly will not! How dare you even say such a thing about one of the most high-ranking angels!” from Luke.

“Careful now, Solomon,” Simeon warned, as the trio walked toward the deep canyon amongst the cliffs. As far as anyone could tell, there was no end to the inky, suffocating blackness that was visible when looking down into it. He pointed into the canyon. “This is the Abyss—er, Sinner Falls. Us angels cannot pass this invisible barrier—” he pressed his hand out to the ledge of the canyon, only for it to smash against some kind of unseen wall, “—but any human or demon who falls down into it falls for eternity, never to come back to the surface.”

Luke beamed. “That must be why it’s called ‘Sinner Falls!’ Because most humans and all demons are sinners!” Despite this, he grabbed Solomon’s hand to prevent him from wandering too close to Sinner Falls’ ledge (as he was wont to do), because, despite their bickering and mutual pestering, Luke had a soft spot for the sorcerer.

Simeon followed in suit and intertwined his fingers with Solomon as the trio looked down into the great Abyss, wondering if any of their demon friends would be among the many thrown into it one day.

Hour 9

Simeon rifled through his messenger bag, intent on looking for something to eat. He had made sure to pack plenty of goodies and was pleased as to how nutritious the snacks he’d made had turned out. He scooped a handful of edamame and chickpea trail mix into his hand and turned to Luke, who was hunched over a map in the back passenger seat.

“You haven’t eaten anything in over eight hours; aren’t you hungry?” Simeon offered him the bag of trail mix.

Luke gulped, as he beamed and shook his head. “N—no, no! I’m okay!”

Simeon shrugged and held out the bag toward Solomon, who was driving. “Do you want some? I can pour it into your mouth if you want, so you don’t have to take your eyes off the road.”

“As titillating as that sounds,” said the sorcerer, “I’m afraid I’m not hungry at the moment.”

“I guess that’s more for me, then.” Simeon poured more of the trail mix into his palm, but before he could eat any of it, he heard a strange sound.

It was a low rumble, but very, very loud.

It almost sounded like … stomachs growling?

He whirled to face Luke and Solomon and scratched his head in confusion. “Are you two sure you’re not hungry?”

When the pair shook their heads furiously, Simeon raised an eyebrow. He yanked out from his bag the stuffed dried dates and the oatmeal-honey-sesame-black-bean balls. “So … you two wouldn’t mind if I ate all of the snacks?”

“Yeah, sure, go nuts, Simeon,” Solomon assured. He winced as his and Luke’s stomaches rumbled in unison. “You wouldn’t actually have any nuts in that bag o’ treats, would you? Preferably of the chocolate-covered variety?”

“The dates have almond butter stuffed inside them,” pointed out Luke helpfully, although his expression was less-than-enthused.

Simeon raised his other eyebrow. Clearly the pair were hungry but refusing food. What kind of rebellious spirit had gotten into them? Didn’t they know that food was essential to oh, survival? His left eye twitched as he felt a black miasma of rage cover him. “If you two don’t eat, I’m turning this car around. That’s a promise.”

Solomon exchanged nervous glances with Luke at the normally calm angel’s outburst. “Angry Simeon is scary,” he whimpered.

“If you don’t eat, you’ll see just how scary I can be,” promised Simeon with a smile that bordered downright terrifying. He plopped an oatmeal-honey-sesame-black-bean ball into Solomon’s mouth and handed a stuffed date to Luke. “Now, eat your snacks.”

He definitely didn’t miss Luke’s grumpy, “Yes, mother.”

Hour 11

“Solomon, I hate to complain—” which earned a snort from the sorcerer, as Luke continued, “but do you really have to play that now?” He gestured toward the sound system, which, now that it was Simeon’s turn to drive, blared 1001 Hymns to Praise Him. “Seven Lyres is my favorite orchestra and their take on ‘Amazing Grace’ is simply the best!”

Solomon, who had purposely pulled out a reed pipe from his backpack in an effort to drown out the nine thousandth chorus of “Amazing Grace,” sighed and put it down. He knew he wasn’t an expert in playing the reed pipe—in fact, this was the first time he’d ever seen the instrument, but the racket was so soothing.

“Where did you even get that from, anyway?” asked Simeon.

“Found it in my backpack. I didn’t pack it, but considering there was a note attached to it that said ‘Blow,’ I think Asmo put it there as some kind of visual innuendo.” Solomon shrugged. “Now seemed like as good a time as any to play it.”

Luke tapped his chin thoughtfully. “What’s an ‘innuendo?’”

“Something you’re not allowed to make until you’re much older,” replied Simeon sternly.

Luke seemed satisfied with the answer and held out his palm toward Solomon. “May I try?”

Solomon handed the reed pipe over and cocked his head. “You know how to play?”

He received his answer when Luke gestured for him to lower the stereo volume (which Solomon did with immense pleasure) and began to carefully place his fingers over the openings and gently blow into the instrument.

The young angel played masterfully and Solomon would’ve given him a standing ovation if it weren’t for one tiny thing.

“Why don’t you play a different song besides ‘Amazing Grace?’” he suggested.

Luke furrowed his brows. “It’s the only thing I know how to play!”

Hour 12

“I don’t like this place, Simeon,” Luke mumbled, yanking his hat over his eyes. “It looks like something straight from the End Times.”

He, of course, was referring to the town at which’s city limits they stood in front of. It was one of the last tourist spots that Simeon had wanted to visit, and it was renowned for being one of the Devildom’s most haunted ghost towns.

Solomon nodded. “I’m with the Chihuahua. I’m super excited for the end of the world, and even I’m not getting a good feeling from whatever-this-place-is-called.”

“Deathblow Beggar’s Pass,” answered Simeon, ogling the city entrance sign gleefully. “They say it’s the most haunted district in all of the Devildom.” He took a step onto the creaky wooden path that led into the town. “It’s been evacuated for centuries and now, even most demons are petrified to go inside.”

Luke gripped Simeon’s cape so tight, his knuckles turned white. “Then why do you want to visit this place?”

“Don’t worry, Luke,” the older angel said (avoiding the question, which the young angel noticed), laughing, as he tousled Luke’s hair under his hat. “I’ll make sure none of the scary ghosts come near you.”

Luke’s eyes widened. “Sc—scary ghosts?” He cleared his throat when he realized how incredibly uncourageous he sounded. “I—I mean I’m not scared of any g—g—ghosts!”

Solomon and Simeon shared a secret smile at the angel’s feigned bravery, and instead of teasing him, Solomon turned to Luke very seriously. “I strictly deal with demons, not ghosts. How about you do me a favor and sit on my shoulders to be my lookout in case any of those ghosts try to pull anything?”

“W—well if you need my help, I’m definitely willing to offer it!” Luke blushed as he climbed onto Solomon’s shoulders. “It’s my duty as an angel to help humans, after all!”

“That’s the ‘spirit,’” Solomon said. He laughed when he saw the angels’ unamused faces. “Get it? ‘Cause we’re walking into a ghost town?”

Simeon laughed stiffly as to not hurt the sorcerer’s feelings before straightening his posture and looking ahead. He channeled his inner fantasy writer as he declared, “Get ready, everyone! We must put aside our doubts and fears as we charge forward into Deathblow Beggar’s Pass, where no creature has exited without releasing screams that could curdle the blood of the Demon Lord! We might not be of this world, but we certainly can brave its most terrifying sites!”

It would have been a very heroic speech if it weren’t for the fact that not five minutes after the trio entered the city limits, Solomon and Simeon sprinted out, with Luke wailing loudly.

“That was the worst ever!” the little angel blubbered, yanking Solomon’s hair.

The sorcerer didn’t even have enough energy to flinch as he panted, “What in the name of all things unholy was that?”

There was nothing but fear in Simeon’s eyes as he doubled over, trying to catch his breath. “We should’ve known the saloon bathroom stalls wouldn’t be empty.” He gagged. “I never want to see millennia-old demon penis again.”

Hour 15

“Simeon, are we there yet ?” asked Luke for the twenty-first time in the hour.

The other angel sighed. “Almost, Luke. Just a few more minutes.”

“Don’t you have the map?” Solomon pointed out as he honked the horn in irritation at a slow driver ahead of him. “Shouldn’t you know where we are?”

Luke fussed with the multitude of papers that were stacked on his lap. “I only have the stuff for Simeon’s places.” His eyes opened wide in realization. “Wait—how do you guys know where to drive if my maps don’t lead to the Caverns of Degeneracy?”

“Diavolo said as long as we travel along Route 666 until we see the sign markers, we should have no problem getting there,” explained Simeon. He peered ahead and squinted at one of the upcoming signs. “And look—that sign says that the Caverns of Degeneracy are ten miles up ahead.”

“I hope we’re the first ones there,” said Luke. “It’ll be nice to see all the looks on those dumb demons’ faces when we get there before them.”

Solomon pursed his lips. “Speaking of those ‘dumb demons,’ I wonder if they’re all right. We haven’t heard from them since we left Purgatory Hall.”

“I’m sure they’re fine,” Simeon assured. He let out a laugh as he continued, “Assuming they haven’t killed each other already. It must be hard having all seven of them cooped up in one small space.”

“We can only hope,” said Luke solemnly. He paused for a moment as he shimmied as far as his seatbelt would allow him and peered over Solomon’s shoulder to look at what was going on in the front seats. He pointed at the gear shift. “What does ‘D’ mean?”

“I’m not supposed to say that word in front of you,” answered Solomon as Simeon simultaneously replied, “Drive.”

“Oh. What does ‘R’ mean, then?”

Simeon replied, “Reverse,” before Solomon could say anything.

At the elder angel’s preemptive glare, Solomon widened his eyes and innocently said, “I was going to say ‘reverse,’ as in ‘Uno Reverse Card.’’”

Luke turned toward the dashboard. “What’s ‘E?’”

“I feel if I say ‘Evanescence,’ Simeon is going to yell at me, so I’ll just go with ‘empty,’” pouted Solomon.

“Empty what?”

“Gas.”

“So … since that line-thingy is almost at ‘E,’ that means we’re nearly out of gas?”

“Yep.”

Simeon turned around to cover Luke’s ears at Solomon’s next sentence: “Holy shit—we’re almost out of gas!”

The older angel’s eyes promised murder as he stared at the sorcerer, before directing his stare to the fuel gauge. “We’re running on fumes.”

“We need to refuel, stat. Simeon, grab my D.D.D and look up the nearest gas station,” directed Solomon. “I always forget that Mammon’s car is a gas-guzzler.”

“What should I do, Solomon?” asked Luke, eagerly awaiting orders like a baby soldier.

The sorcerer nodded, deadly serious. “Sit there and be cute.”

Luke pouted as Simeon—with surprising speed—brought up a log of the nearest gas stations on Solomon’s D.D.D. “There should be a station three miles ahead.”

Solomon frowned as he analyzed their fuel gauge. “I’m not sure we’ll make it.”

“We have to!” cried Luke. “How will we ever beat those demons if we don’t even make it to the Caverns of Degeneracy?”

“We’ll have to trust that Mammon’s baby is strong enough to get us to the gas station, then.” Solomon stroked the dashboard as if trying to offer the vehicle some kind of encouragement.

And as the car’s fuel began to peter out, Simeon and Luke began to cheer in chorus, “You can do it, Mammon’s car!” while Solomon exclaimed, “You’re a fierce, strong woman who doesn’t need any man to tell you that your fuel gauge is empty!”

After an eternity (okay, it was more like five minutes), the Demonio 666 Lexura finally eked it’s way to the first pump at a Demobil gas station.

As the engine sputtered out, the trio let out a cheer, and Solomon and Simeon shared a hug in the front seat.

“Thank Father we made it!” exclaimed Luke as he unbuckled his seatbelt and exited the car. He pat Mammon’s car. “Also, thank you for getting us here, even if you belong to the scummiest demon in the Devildom.”

Solomon grinned and turned to Simeon. “You spotted the gas bill last time, so I’ll do it now.”

“Are you sure?” asked Simeon. “My TSL royalties are huge, even after I’ve tithed my ten percent. I’ve got no problem paying.”

“Nah, it’s fine—you can go stretch your legs.” With that, Solomon exited the car and began to work the gas pump.

Simeon nodded and together with Luke, walked toward the attached Demobil convenience store. By the entrance stood a higher-level demon, who appeared to be selling bouquets of fresh flowers.

The vendor, who had noticed the pair exit Mammon’s car and had seen Solomon get up to pump the gas, called to Simeon, “Flower for your Mister?” He gestured toward the white-haired sorcerer.

Luke gasped, absolutely scandalized, and huffed, “Simeon would never settle for a human!” while Simeon chuckled, replying, “I’m sorry, he’s not my ‘Mister,’ but I’ll take a bouquet, anyway.”

After exchanging Grimm for the flowers, Simeon and Luke strolled back to the Demonio 666 Lexura, where Solomon was just closing the fuel tank.

“Simeon bought you flowers!” announced Luke.

The angel nodded as he handed the sunny bouquet to Solomon. “It matches your wand.”

“How did you know gerberas are my favorite?” laughed Solomon. “These are great—thank you.” As they all piled back into the car, he carefully arranged the flowers in one of the cupholders and beamed, because God, sometimes the angel was so nice.

The group drove in silence for a few moments before Luke commented, “I didn’t know gerberas smelled like … salt?”

Simeon sniffed the air. “I think that’s the sea. After all, the Caverns of Degeneracy are right along the beach.”

Just as the angel spoke the words, Solomon pulled right into a parking lot that was situated right next to miles and miles of black sand.

Luke cheered, kicking his feet at Solomon’s seat excitedly. “Yay! We’re here!”

Their road trip had finally come to an end.

Destination

After wandering the beach for a few moments, the trio eventually found themselves at the mouth of the Caverns of Degeneracy, which turned out to be several huge caves filled with glowing pastel stalactites and stalagmites. Hellfireflies twinkled in the air, while friendly gentlemanbugs strolled about the cavern floor. Some kind of glittering pink moss had been used to adorn the walls with the words, “R.A.D Bleeding Hearts Festival 2020.”

In the middle of it all stood Diavolo, who was discussing the festival decorations with Barbatos.

As soon as he saw the Demon Prince, Luke raced up and, bobbing uncontrollably, asked, “Are we first? Are we first?”

Diavolo let out a hearty laugh. “Welcome you three! And first for what, Luke?”

Solomon sauntered up and answered, “To arrive.”

“Luke’s been very anxious to know if we’re the first ones here at the festival,” elaborated Simeon, placing his hand on the younger angel’s shoulder.

“You make it seem like it was a competition to get here first—which, yes, you three are,” said Diavolo. His eyes lit up. “That’s an excellent idea, though! Next year, we’ll make the R.A.D C.D a contest to see can make it to the Caverns the fastest! First place will get a coupon for teatime with me!”

Luke wrinkled his nose. “Teatime with you? That sounds—”

“Incredibly fun,” cut in Simeon smoothly. He turned to Diavolo. “Have you gotten any word from those seven demon brothers?”

Diavolo grimaced. “It seems that they’ll be late. Beelzebub ate all their road trip snacks immediately as he entered Asmodeus’ tour bus, so they had to stop for food at every fast food restaurant they could find because he still wasn’t satisfied, Belphegor kept falling asleep at the wheel, and Mammon got so many speeding violations and every time the police showed up, Asmodeus tried to seduce his way out of their ticket, which only earned them more fines and lectures from Lucifer. It’s comic-con season, so of course, Leviathan had to stop at every convention center along the way, and unsurprisingly, Satan’s road rage forced him to get into out-of-car fights with every driver he encountered when he was at the wheel.” He sighed. “They managed to turn a fifteen-hour trip into a twenty-two hour one.”

Solomon smiled as he said, “I guess we should’ve expected that.” His grin grew even wider as he gestured toward his traveling companions. “Meanwhile, we did all fifteen-hours of driving—courtesy of me bending the speeding rules quite a bit when there was no traffic— and saw some of the sights of the Devildom along the way.”

“Oooh, did you manage to get any pictures?” asked Diavolo with an excited gleam in his eye. “I always want to travel around the Devildom but never get the chance.”

Simeon nodded as he pulled out from his messenger bag some of the pictures he had asked fellow tourists to snap with his instant camera. He handed them one by one to Diavolo and beamed at the goofy scenes.

The first one was from when they stopped at the Maw of Beelzebub: Solomon teasingly dangled Luke’s hat over the bridge’s railing while the young angel cried and stomped on the sorcerer’s foot in retaliation. Simeon, meanwhile, tried to rescue Luke’s hat.

The second photo showcased Solomon sitting at the ledge of Sinner Falls with his feet swinging over the bottomless canyon. Luke and Simeon posed obnoxiously as if they were going to fall into the Abyss, even though as angels, they were unable to.

The final picture was the only one he had from Deathblow Beggar’s Pass, and it was of the trio crouched in front of the sign that spelled “Enjoy your stay at Deathblow Beggar’s Pass!”

Diavolo examined the images wistfully. He sighed as he handed the photos back to Simeon. “You three looked as if you made some fun memories.”

The angels and the sorcerer exchanged contented glances and chorused, “We most certainly did.”

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me fanfic #obey me fanfiction #omswd #obey me swd #obey me simeon #obey me solomon #obey me luke #obey me shall we date simeon #obey me shall we date solomon #obey me shall we date luke #adverbslut_writes #fanfiction #fanfic #road trip

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nopperabounet · 4 years

Text

This took a little longer than anticipated, but hopefully it brings some cheer this weekend for everyone!

Please enjoy this lovely, and very relatable interview with Imai~

音楽と人- PHY vol.15 February 2020 Personal Interview with Imai Hisashi Text by Ishii Eriko Translation by Lola

First off, how did you find the five "THE DAY IN QUESTION" performances you did throughout the country at the end of the year?

I think they went well. It felt good to do them.

I got to see the Tokyo show. It felt a little strange to me too, maybe because it wasn't at Budoukan.

Because it was our first time playing there, so we had no way of knowing how things will sound. And you know I don't wear an ear monitor either.

What? You don't?

The two guitarists, me and Hide, neither of us had one. So I did wonder how the sound would be. Because the thing is while I'm super used to how things sound in Budoukan when it comes to a venue, I was also looking forward to performing in Yoyogi even if I was a little nervous about it too. But you know once I was actually there doing it, I wasn't worried about it at all.

Was there a specific reason you refused to wear an ear monitor? Is it because it feels more natural without it when it comes to syncing the sound?

No, I've just . . . . . .never ended up wearing one *smiles*. Because I'm thinking about the songs you know, and if I wear it, then I can't get a good sense of the mood all around me. And then sometimes there's these clicks in your ear . . . . . .and that just annoys me I guess.

Hahahaha! But aside from that, are you saying it's more important for you to feel the vibe of the show than to balance the sound with the band?

Yeah. Well look, I'll do it this way for as long as I can. I'm sure soon enough the point will come . . . . . . when I'll have to use one though.

Even if up till now you thought it was better not to *smiles*.

Well like for the Makuhari "Locus Solus" shows I ended up not wearing an ear monitor even though I was about to right before it started. So I ended up playing by intuition alone.

By intuition alone. And you still ended up in sync.

Well, I did ask everyone if they thought I was off. They had a few things to tell me about that *wry smile*.

I had the impression that the set lists for "THE DAY IN QUESTION" and "Locus Solus" contrast one another.

Ah, yes, I think so too. But it's not like we aimed to do that specifically. Because it's not like we ever have a specific concept in mind for "THE DAY IN QUESTION". Other than let's make it fun since it's an end of the year show.

Like, "Let's get together for the end of the year!"

Right. So that's why there are times when the theme for it seems a bit lighter. But I'd say overall it goes in a very dark direction while still leaning towards something upbeat. Like, whatever happens, it'll be alright.

OK. So let's get into talking about work. You've been working on songs since summer of last year?

Yeah. Well, that's pretty early for me. It's not like I've been steadily preparing things way in advance, it's more that I've taken the steps necessary to start working.

Imai-san, are you saying thinking about working is enough to get you to start working? Or is it that time doesn't matter for you because you always have ideas planned out?

I don't always have stuff planned. To a large extent it's more the whims of the moment, so once in awhile I'll jot down a couple of notes in my work office to work from later.

Well, as you will be working on things perhaps you could tell me what sort of theme you have in mind this time? Or give a hint?

Hm . . . . . . I don't really have any in mind but once I get started, I'm sure something will come to me. I mostly just fumble through while I'm working until something jumps out at me, and that's what ends up being used. Something that feels like it veers from the norm. Or more precisely, something that goes against the rules is what I enjoy. That's the kind of image that comes to mind for me. But even now, I haven't really been able to put it into words.

When you say something that deviates from the norm, isn't that basically what BUCK-TICK has always been about?

Yes, exactly. Because in the end that's what's always swirling about in my mind, so it's better if that's what I put into words. But it's like . . . . . . if I try to talk about this feeling in a specific way then it's like, "Um, I guess it's not really a concept I can put into words." *smiles* By making it into an album, in some respects this makes it different yet again. I would say that's the point that makes it interesting for me.

So you're heading in a different direction yet again from "No. 0".

Yeah. I think it's because I just want to do something interesting. Like we have two guitarists, then there's the vocals, the drums, and the bass. With that composition, I can't really make something fun with it because there's a tendency to go in a heavy direction, sound-wise. I'd like to try a different band sound. Whether I can or not, I don't know yet since I'm still in the midst of fumbling my way through it.

It sounds to me like it's still the case that no one knows what your band's style is exactly, wouldn't you say?

Yeah. I mean that's kinda the cool thing about it still, and I'd say it would be impossible for me to find it interesting otherwise.

It's what keeps you passionate about it. When it comes to the band itself, even now though you've been around a long time, there's no way you could say that you guys are just, "doing the same old thing as before".

Right, exactly. I feel like that's also what makes a cool thing cool to begin with, usually. But at the same time, I can't only adhere to that because that's like putting the cart before the horse a bit you know, so in the end I'm just flailing and wondering what I'm doing *smiles*. That's my current status. I'm like hm, maybe I'll go in a more electro direction, maybe I won't put in a guitar sound at all. I'm still not sure at all about any of it.

For "Datenshi", you used a rock'n'roll sound that was bass-centric.

Ah. Well, that's just because that's how the first riff turned out somehow.

Just how it turned out *smiles*.

It's not like I thought, "This is such a cool riff," when I started working on it you know, it's just super simple. Riffs like that are pretty typical really.

Certainly, you can hear how it comes off as a parody by moments. It feels like something by T-REX.

Yes. Because that's sort of the typical representation of a super simple rock riff. I'm really glad I used it. From there I made it a touch more pop, but more extreme, I made it sharp, and noisy, and I wanted it to have that image of being restless.

It's also another way to represent deviation isn't it. As you said, it's incredibly extreme, but you know I did wonder, Imai-san, if maybe you were trying to be like The Ramones?

No . . . . . . I'd say it's like my band Lucy, and the two albums I put out with them. After all, when I had started working on those albums, I put in all sorts of different sounds until I got something with a more simple rockin' vibe, so I had already begun to establish that sort of sound back then. I figured it would be fun to explore that completely. But it's also good if I don't only do that sort of thing.

It seems that way with SCHAFT too. You were limited by it being industrial. Did you think there was absolutely no way you could do that with BUCK-TICK?

Yeah. I couldn't've. If we're talking a purely authentic rockin' or industrial album, then no, I definitely couldn't do that with them.

You couldn't do it in the typical sense *smiles*. It's certainly an incredible thing, to do a single genre and follow through faithfully, but I'm guessing you're not really interested in doing that anymore?

Nah. . . . . . . . . . . . well, it's more that I haven't really thought about it.

Hahaha.

Back then I had a surge of interest to do it, that's all. I think that's why I was able to do it honestly. So you know when we all gather to talk about stuff before recording? It's never like, "This time the concept will be this, and this, and that." Because every time, we're just like, here, we did this.

Oh, you're talking about when you have a meeting at Victor Studios?

Yes. We meet up to talk, we hand over our demo if we've got one ready at that time for them to listen to, and then afterwards we go out to eat . . . . . . . and that's when we get into a deep conversation *smiles*.

Yuuta-san told me that your demo was rather rough, Imai-san.

Recently, yes. Because of the kind of song, it's got a four beat dance rhythm with pretty much nothing but bass at its centre. I said something like, "You know how you don't need words for a song to touch you emotionally?"

So you're leaving it up to the other members to convey that.

Yeah. I think it's not really a good song until it does that. Until it reaches that point where you've done everything you can with all of your might without ever giving up, and then you realize that yes, see, you can do it, you already have.

What happened to make BUCK-TICK become like this? It's a fairly recent thing, isn't it?

It is. But it's been since "Kedamonotachi no Yoru", and then it influenced the most recent single too. Previously, I'd say we were just making stuff that was rather trivial but, even though I made it, putting that stuff out wasn't really . . . . . .that interesting. Like there was a moment when I realized that it might be better if I don't only do the things I like all the time, and it might be more interesting if I don't. Because of that when Yuuta told me, "Well, what do you think of this?" I said, "You know, it's not really my thing but yeah, go for it."

Did he need you to say those few words? *smiles* But you know I think if you didn't have that realization, you wouldn't really be able to be in a band you know. Like there are people who think they can do everything by themselves even if they're a part of a band.

I doubt they'd be able to do it *smiles*. Even for me recently, I've really thought about what other people have to offer. When I started working on the demo, I do it all on the computer at first, but even I'm debating every minute thing in my head, and I just end up like, "This isn't completely inspiring, it's crap." Honestly, even before, no matter what I create that's how I've felt, but gradually, I came to realize that you know, it might be better if I chill out a bit. So now for instance when Anii changes up a phrase in a song, I'll say, "Oh, you know that's not bad, it might be better that way actually."

The vocals change the demo immensely as well, don't they?

They do, yes. Because Sakurai-san takes my crappy English that I sing at first, and changes it into Japanese. So of course with that the mood changes, and with the way Sakurai-san picks up on the notes as a vocalist he's able to say, "Ah, you know, I think this would be better here." Because that's the thing right, a demo tape is just that, a demo, and if you only stick to the demo, then you'll never be able to surpass it. I think it's better if they don't just copy what I did, because it's by altering it and removing bits that eventually great things come about.

This is another way of breaking from the norm too. This might sound like a silly question but, why is it that you hate rules and following a set path so much, Imai-san?

Well, it's not that I hate them. I'd say it's more that I like going beyond them. I do think there are times when doing something by the rules deliberately can be interesting too. I guess I just think that it's by trying to do things that rules end up being ignored.

Maybe that's the real thrill of it for you. You might think saying you're a pioneer is an exaggeration but, would you say it feels like none of you have found that thing you're looking for yet?

Yeah, that's a part of it.

Or would you say that it's more that you hate following a fixed format, and you want to break free of that?

Ah. . . . . . .well, I think it's simpler than that actually. I just want to create good things, incredible things. But like you just said, there is a certain feeling of being a pioneer within that like when I wonder, "Is this brilliant enough?" I mean I'm being kinda vague but, I've always thought like that.

OK.

Because that's how it works for me in practice I guess. From the start, I'm working to discover something in it, and when I do, it's like, "Yes, this is it!" But it's not like it's something that I've made up myself, it's more that it was there from the start, and I was just able to stumble onto it by chance. Sometimes that's just how it goes I guess.

So you don't make it up in your head?

Oh, of course some songs are what I've made up. Somehow I end up polishing whatever's swirling around in my head. But that's not how it is when I feel like I've really found something, those times it really is more that I just discovered it by chance.

It's what keeps the five of you going.

It is. Of course there's also the part of me that wants to put things out there, but I think, that's everyone who creates right, it's what makes you a creator. I think everyone who considers themselves an artist has that feeling. And I think if you let negative feelings win, then you end up wanting to quit you know? Like, "Bleh, this is too much work, I don't wanna." At least that's how I always end up feeling when I'm working on music and lyrics.

What do you mean by "everyone"?

It's just what I think. Like the other members, and Sakurai-san. Everyone who creates. I mean, we don't just churn things out automatically.

Even Yuuta-san, and Anii-san? Even though they don't write music?

Yeah. Like for those two, before they put something out first they have to listen to it, then they have to go into the studio and practice. So in order for them to get to the point where they can play the drums, and the bass for a song, they also have to play around with the phrases, and that's a form of creation. I think that's why we keep creating. I doubt it'd be the same if we had different members.

It's because it's you five that it works like this.

Yeah. Exactly.

It's absolutely incredible to me that you all have the will to create even now. When I heard that you guys would take a bit of a rest after the "Locus Solus" shows, I thought for a moment maybe you'd work on alternate projects, like maybe you would do another Lucy album.

Oh, that hadn't even crossed my mind. But I mean I wasn't really thinking of it as a break in that sense either.

Oh, really? But I thought you had done something to make you feel refreshed?

No . . . . . not really. Nothing specifically.

At least doing nothing meant finding that simple riff in "Datenshi", so now you won't have to pursue that kind of darkness and heaviness anymore right? Better to let that go.

Ah, yeah. I'd say so. Like without that it wouldn't be rock, I'd really say it was pop. It kind of has that pop song feeling to me, even the words have Sakurai-san's style of brightness to them, that's why I thought it would be good to put them in.

Speaking of Sakurai-san, he seemed pretty depressed last year.

Ah. Yeah, well . . . . . .that's because he was keeping quiet about some things for a super long time you know. So we just . . . . . . let him stew.

OK *smiles*. I guess that's why there's such intensity in certain lines in the song, like the "Ah ha" part.

Yes. Exactly.

I'd say "Luna Park" could be considered pop too so is that a hint of what is to come in the next album?

It is. Yes. I think it's going to be really incredible.

#buck tick #buck-tick #Imai Hisashi

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maylovexhs · 4 years

Text

everytime - THE LUCKY ONE (Chp. 25)

Author’s Note: You better work! (Covergirl!) Work it girl, do a twirl. . . You’ll get it later. Anyways happy ten years of 1D. As promised, here’s another chapter of everytime. -May

Catch up on everytime here

August 25th, 2019.

I wanna hold 'em like they do in Texas, please

Fold 'em, let 'em hit me,

Raise it, baby, stay with me

I love it

I swayed my foot, listening to the song as I looked out the car window at the countryside.

Love game intuition, play the cards with spades to start

And after he's been hooked, I'll play the one that's on his heart

I felt Lisa poke my shoulder. I took out one of my airpods, turning my head to her.

"Huh?" I asked her.

"I got you an interview with one of Amsterdam's radio stations" Lisa said.

I turned my head back to the window, watching the weeds sway in the wind. We were driving to my Vogue photoshoot in Italy. Lisa especially flew out for it. To her and Adrian, Italy's vogue were notorious for experimenting more with shoots, being more controversial than the US' Vogue. Looking at some of its latest covers, I had to agree. As much as I felt excited for it, I felt something was wrong. Like I was missing something, or someone.

"You did?" I asked Lisa, not surprised. "When?"

"Next Wednesday" Lisa said. "In the morning. It would be good press for your upcoming show there"

"Don't you think I get enough press already?" I asked her.

"Which is why we should appericate it while we could" Lisa said. "It's always been that way"

I took out both airpods, sighing. I put them in my case, throwing them in my bag.

"What's wrong with you?" Lisa asked me.

"What do you mean?" I asked her.

"You didn't say anything to me since we left the hotel and you're acting moody" Lisa pointed out. "Are you on your period?"

"Last day" I told her. "But that's not it"

I looked outside the window again. The field of weeds reminded me of home. There would be miles of weeds whenever I drove somewhere back home.

"I think I miss home" I said, looking back to Lisa.

"You do?" Lisa asked. "Or you miss the people at home?"

"You know what I mean" I told her. "I love touring but doing night after night, sometimes I need more than a two day break. I like going out not having anything planned for tomorrow. I really can't enjoy the moment when I know I have to leave it soon"

"Well, you toured before" Lisa said. "You knew what you were getting yourself into"

"Knew you were going to say that" I commented.

I crossed my arms, feeling somewhat frustrated.

I was just homesick. I was homesick before but never this early on tour. I just started tour less than a month ago. I expected I would miss home later than sooner, considering how I've always craved space for myself. I guess that part of me changed.

"Maybe I should fly Ali out" I said. "Or Jessie. Or Jie Lin"

"Maybe you should" Lisa said. "If Jessie wants to leave her husband for a week and if Ali wants to quit her job"

I bit my lip, feeling my hands were tied.

"I still have Jie Lin" I told Lisa.

I looked at window, seeing we were turning into a trailer park.

"We're here" Lisa said.

"Trailers? Adrian didn't say anything about trailers to me" I said to Lisa. "Did you tell him?"

"And hear Adrian's wrath about mosquitoes and the heat?" Lisa asked as if it was an answer. "Nope"

The driver stopped the car for us. Lisa got out of the car first, slamming her door shut.

"Grazie" I said to the driver as I got out of the car.

I shut the car door and looked at the set. There had to be more than one hundred people here, strange for a photoshoot. Lisa started to walk through the set as the car we were just in drove away. I followed her. A woman quickly approached us.

"Y/N" She said in an Italian accent, pointing at me.

"Yup" I said, nodding. "The Y/N"

"Follow me" The woman said, walking past us.

I shrugged to Lisa before walking after the woman. She led us to a trailer. A paper was hung on the trailer's door, my face and name on the paper.

"Grazie" I said to the woman.

She nodded to me, leaving. Lisa opened the trailer door, stepping inside. I followed her inside.

It was an average trailer, the same I've seen on movie sets. The only difference was there was a vanity table and a rack of clothes. Adrian was already sitting in the trailer, along with a blue haired woman, a blonde woman and a man.

"Ugh" Adrian complained. "Finally arrived"

"We're right on time" Lisa said.

"Didn't you always used to say 'early's on time, on time is late and late is unacceptable?'" Adrian asked her.

"We're on time" Lisa said in a deadpan tone.

"Thanks for telling me about the trailer park" Adrian said with complete sarcasm. "Really love the weather outside"

"Enough Adrian" I told him, looking towards the two women and the man. "You must be-"

"Marinette" The blue haired woman said in a french accent, introducing herself. "Your stylist for today."

"Nice to meet you, Marinette" I said to her.

"Call me Mari" She said.

"Oh, okay" I said, nodding. "Mari"

"This is Ralph and Celine" Marinette said, pointing to the man and the blonde woman.

"Hair stylist" Ralph said in an Italian accent.

'Makeup" Celine said.

"Happy to work with you both today" I said, shaking their hands.

"I've already talked to Mari about what you would like" Adrian said. "Everything she picked has been approved by me"

I smiled at Marinette. I placed my bag on the trailer's couch.

"Can I see?" I asked Marinette.

Marinette walked over to the rack of clothes as did I. I looked through the hangers of dresses, in awe of each one. I stopped sorting through the dresses, seeing one that caught my eye. I took the hanger off the rack, holding the dress up. It was a white flowing dress with some lace black cutout on it.

"McQueen Resort 2019" Adrian said. "Had to get it when I saw it"

"I think I want to take this one back home" I said, admiring the dress.

I looked to Marinette.

"Can I wear this one?" I asked her.

"Tresses de cheveux? On pourrait rentrer sa frange" Ralph said to Marinette.

"Je pense que nous pourrions" Marinette said back to Ralph.

Lisa, Adrian and I looked to them, all of us equally confused.

"Braids" Marinette said, pointing to my hair. "For the dress"

"Okay" I said, nodding. "Braids"

"Let's start on the hair" Marinette said, gesturing me to the chair at the vanity table.

I sat down in the chair. Ralph took out my ponytail, my hair falling down on my shoulders.

"Do you want to start the interview now or later?" Lisa asked me.

"Now" I said. "Get it done while they do my hair"

Lisa and Adrian looked to each other.

"Girl, you know I'm not going outside unless I need to" Adrian said to her.

Lisa sighed. She turned around, walking out of the trailer.

"Have fun outside!" Adrian said, sarcastically.

"Shut it!" Lisa said.

Four Hours Later.

"One more photo . . ." Adrian said, dragging himself into the trailer. "One more photo and we're done with this heat and never get to see it again"

"And the less time you keep blocking me from moving, the more time we do stay here" I said, passing him in the trailer.

Marinette, Ralph and Celine came into the trailer after us. Lisa, who was inside the trailer for the remainder of the shoot, was already in the trailer. I sat down next to her, taking off the heels I was wearing.

"Your brother, Harry and Felix called you" Lisa said to me.

"How about this one?" Adrian asked me, holding up a black Gautier dress.

"If I can get into it and out of it, why-" I stopped talking and looked to Lisa. "Felix called?"

"And he left you a message" Lisa said.

"When?" I asked her. "You didn't answer?"

"Of course, I didn't answer!" Lisa said. "I didn't want anything to distract you. It was less than thirty minutes ago"

"Where's my phone?" I asked her, getting up while wearing only one heel on.

"In your bag" Lisa said.

"Can you give Y/N a minute?" Adrian asked Marinette, Celine and Ralph. "Or ten?"

"Call us when you're ready" Marinette said before leaving the trailer.

Celine and Ralph followed her out. I took my phone out of my bag, looking at the screen.

Felix(Voicemail)

Felix(Missed Call)

Daniel (Missed Call)

Harry (Missed Call)

Felix called. Felix actually called.

Felix, my ex-boyfriend and once was the love of my life, called me. We rarely talked after our painful breakup but we only called each other when it was important. The last I called him was two months ago, to tell him there was some songs on my album about him. The last time he called me was more than a year ago.

I unlocked my phone and went to my voicemails. I pressed on Felix's name and held my phone up to my ear.

"Hi Y/N" I heard Felix say in a bitter tone. "I called you, hoping we could talk. I should have expected you not to answer. I know you're probably rehearsing or doing an interview now but . . . call when you can. Bye"

I removed my phone from my ear. Adrian and Lisa, who both looked anxious, stared at me.

"What did he want?" Adrian asked me.

"I don't know" I said, feeling a bit scared now. "He said to call him back when I can"

"Don't call him now please" Lisa said. "I know you. One bad call from him and you'll be upset for the rest of today"

"Gotta side with Lisa on this one" Adrian said. "Something tells me this is going to be bad and it's not the five bottles of water in me"

"But it's Felix" I said. "He never calls me. I usually call him"

"So, what are you going to do?" Adrian asked me.

I looked down at my phone.

Felix, the person who I almost had a baby with. Felix, the person who made me happier than anyone has before. Felix, the person who I swore I would marry one day and spend the rest of my life with. Felix, who I needed to call back.

I clicked on his name, holding my phone up to my ear again. The phone rang, each beat making me dread what I would hear from him.

Was he sick? Did he get into an accident? Did he want to get back together? There was only a few reasons he could call, each could be worse than the one before.

"Y/N" I heard Felix say my name as it was the first time.

"Felix" I said, my cheeks blushing a little. "H-hi"

"Hi" Felix said.

"Sorry, I couldn't answer you earlier" I told him. "I'm in the middle of a photoshoot"

"It's alright" Felix said. "Always knew you were up to something when you never could answer my calls"

I smiled to myself. Adrian looked to Lisa, not knowing what to expect.

"So, I guess you didn't call to check up on me" I said.

"No, no, I didn't" Felix said in that same melancholy voice I heard before.

Felix stayed quiet for a few seconds, debating how to tell me his news.

"I've been seeing someone" He said. "It's serious, almost a year"

"Oh, really?" I asked, trying to sound excited for him.

I had a feeling deep down that Felix was going to tell me he was engaged.

"Yeah . . ." Felix said. "And we're expecting. She's pregnant"

I didn't say anything for a few seconds. I felt a little sharp pain in my chest.

"Umm, that's great news" I said, trying not to sound hurt. "I'm happy for you"

"Thank you" Felix said, sounding a bit hurt.

I felt my eyes start to tear up.

"Umm, I have to go. Got another photo to shoot" I told him. "Send my congrats to her too"

"I will" Felix said. "Bye, Y/N"

"Bye" I said, hanging up on him.

I set my phone down on the vanity table nearby. I looked to Adrian and Lisa.

"I take it as bad news" Adrian said.

"No, no" I said, fighting back my tears. "It's great. He's been dating someone for a year and now she's pregnant"

Adrian and Lisa looked to each other, sharing a worried expression.

"I should be happy" I said, trying to stop myself from crying. "Because if I was still with him, I wouldn't have an album out. I would be stuck at home taking care of the baby and not be on tour. I should be happy, right?"

I looked to Lisa, hoping for her to calm me down. I sat down on the couch, burying my head in my hands as I cried.

He was having a baby with someone else. I was supposed to have a baby. His baby. I knew this day would come and we both would eventually get married and have Kids with other people but now? Two years after we lost our baby. I may be oversensitive sometimes but how can someone get over losing a baby that fast? How could he move on that fast? I was depressed for a year and a part of me still is hurting from losing my baby. Hell, it even took me another year just to move on from Felix and date someone else.

She should be me. I was supposed to be her.

I felt someone sit on the couch next to me. I figured it was Lisa from the touch of her hugging me.

"I know it's hard to move on" Lisa said. "But you have to try"

"I've been trying" I told her. "As hard as I do, I'll always think back to him. Us"

"Here" I heard Adrian say.

"Take" Lisa said, putting a tissue in my hand.

I lifted my head up, seeing my tears fall onto my dress. I dried my tears with the tissue, smearing the running mascara on my cheeks.

"I'm happy for him" I said. "I'm really am and I know everything happens for a reason but that should have been me. . . It should have"

"It should" Lisa said. "You're right, it should be you but it's not"

"Nice prep talk" We heard Adrian murmur under his breath.

Lisa looked at him, sending him a death glare. She looked back to me.

"You'll be happy again" Lisa said. "With someone who truly deserves you. It's only a matter of time"

I sniffled, trying to get a hold of my emotions. I dried my face with the tissue again. I looked down on my dress, looking at the stained teardrops on it. I slightly smiled. I looked back up to Lisa.

"Thank you" I said to Lisa. "I think I have to buy this dress. I've stained it"

"You should" Adrian said. "It suits you"

I smiled at him, nodding.

"Can you tell Mari and them to come back?" I asked Adrian.

"Are you sure?" Lisa asked. "You shouldn't do anything unless you feel ready yet"

"I am ready" I told her, taking off my other shoe. "It's a hundred degrees outside. My crying could wait but they can't"

Adrian walked out the trailer. I got up, walking to the vanity table. I took some makeup removal wipes from a pack and started to remove the wet mascara on my face.

"We could quit for the rest of the day if you want" Lisa said. "I could call it off"

"I'm fine" I said. "Not that fine but . . . I could make it through one more photo. I'm lucky to be here. I'm not going to let one bad moment ruin it for me"

Lisa nodded. She was about to speak but Adrian quickly entered the trailer with Marinette, Celine and Ralph.

"One last photo" Adrian said. "Just one more"

#harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #hs fanfic #hs au #hs imagines #hs imagine #harry styles imagine #harry styles imagines #everytime HS #everytime chapters

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langdvnshepherd · 5 years

Text

A Change of Heart (Michael Langdon x fem!Reader)

Summary: Michael Langdon drunkenly stumbles into your dorm one night at The Hawthorne School for Exceptional Young Men.

Word Count: 6.5k

Warnings: use of alcohol, angst, smut, heavy petting, fingering, cum play, oral (female receiving), a lil bit of fluff I suppose

A/N: I’ve been seeing a bunch of posts floating around about the bed-sharing trope, and I wanted to write it SO BAD. It took me a while and ended up being wayyy sweeter than I wanted it to be, but this is finally what I came up with! I hope you guys enjoy. Reblogs/likes/comments are always appreciated! Let me know what you guys think! Also, I did no proof-reading whatsoever so I apologize but what’s knew lmao

Masterlist in bio!

Weekends at Hawthorne were a blessing. You cherished them, counted down the minutes until your Friday lecture was dismissed and you were left to your own devices for the next two days. There were no classes, no nitpicky professors, no being bored to death for hours on end with countless spells and potions that you’d already mastered back at Robichaux’s (you’d come to conclude that the warlocks were eons behind the witches, despite how advanced they swore they were). While your prolonged stay at Hawthorne was turning out to be quite miserable, the weekends worked wonders for the permanent furrow in your brow from Mondays to Fridays.

Most witches and warlocks left the boarding school on the weekends, charming their way into trashy clubs and finessing fruit drinks from whoever they could seduce with their powers. It was as if they never slept for the entirety of those two days. They left early on in the night and returned late the next morning, often looking like they’d just been hit by a truck: messy makeup that was smudged to hell and back, blazers wrinkled beyond belief, sometimes one of them even would be missing a shoe. Some of them never returned until the following Monday, getting caught up in the bustling city of Los Angeles and wishing to forget their duties as students of the supernatural.

But not you. You rarely went out, if ever. Instead of leaving Hawthorne to escape your studies, you stayed within its walls, escaping the people. Your classmates annoyed you, and you used every ample opportunity to stay as far away from them as possible. Everyone left Hawthorne on the weekends, so staying indoors meant you’d be able to avoid the chaos almost completely. It was the only time you were glad to be trapped within the underground of the school for warlocks. No one bothered you. No one beat on your door at night asking you to help them cheat on their upcoming exam. It was peaceful. You could catch up on your latest tv binge, indulge in an extensive skincare routine, relax your bones that ached from putting up with absolute imbeciles for five straight days.

And that’s exactly what you were doing. It was late Friday night, almost too late for any sober person to be awake. You had just gotten out of the bath, this time treating yourself to a lavender soak that successfully worked its way into the sore muscles of your back. Your favorite, oversized t-shirt felt especially cozy against your bare thighs, the hem exposing only the slightest sliver of the bottom of your underwear.

There were no noises coming from outside of your dorm. No shuffling of loafers. No clicking of heels. Just silence. Thank Satan, because you had a long night of catching up on some much-needed sleep ahead of you. That was until you heard a series of offbeat knocks on the dark wood of your bedroom door.

What the fuck? Who could possibly be beating on your door this late at night? You were almost certain that any student that normally harassed you for your assistance during the week was out partying, and it couldn’t be one of the Hawthorne professors. They’re far too old to be up this late. Maybe something went wrong. Maybe someone was in danger. Maybe it was Cordelia coming back for you to tell you you could leave this godforsaken bunker. There was honestly no telling.

You padded over to the door, reaching out to grab the cool, metal handle of the knob. You kept your body hidden from behind the thick of the door, because whoever needed you this late at night certainly did not need to see you in your underwear.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” you huffed as the door came ajar and you saw the slender, tall figure that was waiting for you on the other side.

His body towered over yours, much like his ego, his lanky arms leaning casually against the door frame. He was still clad in his Hawthorne uniform that he wore to class earlier that afternoon, only the top of his undershirt was unbuttoned and his necktie hung much looser around the base of his throat. His eyes were still as aquamarine as the Santa Monica oceans that you once visited on a long weekend. It was none other than the Boy Wonder himself, the supposed Alpha, Michael fucking Langdon.

His appearance was quite comical if you were being honest. On any other day, you wouldn’t catch Langdon with a single hair out of place on his perfectly quaffed head or one speck of lint on his onyx black blazer, but given his current posture and the reeking stench of liquor that hit you head on as soon as the door cracked open, you knew he wasn’t in any state of mind to be caring about his appearance in the slightest.

“Oh, come on. You can’t be that surprised to see me,” he daunted, that iconic, shit-eating grin plastered clear across his face.

“It’s the middle of the night, Michael. What do you want?” you asked, disdain dripping from your voice. Your hand went to rest on your hip as you impatiently waited for his answer.

“What you mean, silly? I came to see you. My favorite girl,” he sneered, emphasizing the word ‘favorite.’ His words slurred together as he leaned in to bop your nose with his pointer finger, his drunken state unraveling further and further with each word that left his mouth.

You scrunched your nose up in disgust as his finger made contact with your face. “First of all,” you spat, “I am not your girl. And second, you’re drunk, Langdon. Extremely drunk. How did you even get here?”

Michael chuckled lightly as the cogs in his brain tried to process what you’d just asked him. He ran the palm of his hand up and down his jawline in order to form his next response.

“IIIII don’t realllly knowww,” he mumbled, “Alex called an Uber, but...”

He trailed off, scratching his head in concentration.

“I thiiink they got out at another bar? I kept walking and then I got cold and remembered that I could just use telekinesis and now here I am!” Michael shrugged his shoulders in satisfaction with the nonsense that he’d just spewed from his glossy lips that were sticky from all of the alcohol he’d tossed back like cold medicine.

You stared at him with your brow raised, gobsmacked with the story he’d given you. He was clearly drunker than your intuition led you to believe.

“Transmutation, Michael. It’s transmutation. Not telekinesis.”

“Okayyy. Whatever,” he sassed back, rolling his cerulean blue eyes far back into his head.

“I’m here now, so...Why don’t we have some fun like old times?” his syllables were drawn out and his voice was low, an embarrassing attempt at trying to be seductive. He reached for your sides to give them a playful pinch, but you swatted them away before they could even get close to touching you.

“Michael I already I told you I-”

You were interrupted by Langdon pushing the door to your room open with his foot. He waltzed in casually as if it were his own space, his feet tripping up just slightly as the scuffed the polished hardwood of the floor. There was a sudden shift in the atmosphere as the brazen boy entered your dorm for the first time in weeks. The feeling was all too familiar, but only this time it was under completely different circumstances. Your arms went instinctively to pull down your already oversized nightshirt to cover yourself, as if it mattered. Michael was the last person that cared about your indecency. It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen you in far less before. And more than a handful of times at that.

“I know, I know, sweetheart. You told me. I’m an, ‘insolent, repulsive excuse for a man,’ and you, ‘never want to speak to me again,’” Michael babbled while using air quotes with his fingers as he recalled the explosive argument you’d gotten into where you ended your arrangement with him permanently. You were surprised he could even recall that much of the fight given the way his eyes were glossed over and his cheeks were consumed by a rosy, drunken glow.

“But you know something, Y/N?” he asked as he crossed his arms behind his back and began pacing around the room, “I never understood why that bothered you. It really wasn’t that ba-”

“You told the entire school, Michael,” you interjected, clapping your hands together for emphasis.

“Sooo? Is that such a horrible thing?”

“Yeah, it is!” you were growing angry now at his persistence, wishing he’d just leave and go back to wherever he came from before he’d ruined your quiet night in. His presence was bringing up feelings you had repressed deep into your psyche, and it only got worse as each second passed.

“You need to caaaalm dooown,” Michael began rubbing his temples with each of his middle fingers as if to say your increased volume was giving him a migraine.

He sobered up suddenly, walking right up to you to and taking both of your shoulders into his hands. “I’ve told you one thousand times already, sugar. I never meant to upset you when I said that shit. Honestly, I didn’t think you had a problem with anybody knowing.”

“Well, I did have a problem with it, Michael. What we did-,” you gestured back and forth, referring to the both of you, and the long history you shared before Michael betrayed your trust, “-was private. Personal. It was our thing. And you ruined that by telling everyone. It was so embarrassing, walking into class every day knowing that everybody was staring at me and calling me a ‘dirty whore’ behind my back.”

Michael nodded silently at your words, his lips pressed into a thin line. For a split second, you almost thought he took what you said to heart. That maybe you’d even get a genuine apology from him. That was until he leaned into your ear and you felt his warm, inebriated breath trickle down your neck as he spoke.

“But you’re my dirty whore, right?”

You should have known, Langdon was never one for taking things seriously. You shook his palms away from your shoulders, walking to the other side of the room to be as far away from him as possible.

“You know what? I’m done with this shit, Michael. Get the fuck out of my room. Go find another girl to entertain you for the rest of the night because I’m not the fucking one. Not anymore,” you demanded, crossing your arms against your chest.

A flicker of sadness danced across his face at your harshness. Had you not been staring a hole into his soul, you wouldn’t have caught it. Michael kept his feet planted on your shaggy area rug, not moving one muscle. He was quiet, for once. The only sound coming from him was his heavy breathing that you assumed was due to your outburst.

“What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?” you spat, “Does the magnificent Boy Wonder have nothing to say for once in his fucking life?”

Michael continued to stare at the floor like his pointed, Louboutin oxfords were the most captivating thing since the invention of the wheel. Maybe you’d actually managed to hit him where it hurt. Maybe the disintegration of your relationship had affected him more than he’d let on. Or maybe, hopefully, he’d finally leave you alone so you could permanently forget about everything that had (or hadn’t) happened between you two.

“I think I’m gonna be sick.”

That was all it took. Not even one second later, your favorite, faux-fur rug was covered in vomit. Michael dropped to his knees as he hurled, clutching his heaving stomach to ease the queasy feeling. It was like watching the water at Niagra Falls continuously cascade down its steep drop; you had never seen anyone puke that much in your entire life.

“Ohh, shit,” you muttered to yourself as you padded your way over to where Michael was sitting on the floor.

You suddenly felt bad for Michael. He had tears in his eyes from the strain, and you could feel the fevered hotness of his skin radiating from his blazer. His helplessness compelled you to reach out and stroke his spine comfortingly while he continued to empty his guts out onto your bedroom floor. Michael leaned into your touch, resting the side of his head against your bare thighs to steady himself.

“Are you okay?” you asked when the waves of his vomit had subsided.

“Peachy,” Michael snapped back, wiping the corners of his mouth with the back of his hand.

As much as you hated him at the moment, the thought of Michael being left alone to tend to his impending hangover filled you with the slightest bit of guilt and pity. You expelled a loud sigh from your throat before you spoke again.

“You should probably just stay here. I don’t think you should be left alone tonight,” you posed, your tone in great contrast to how you were screaming at him to leave just minutes before.

“No, no, no,” Michael stated. His voice was woozy again, still drunk even after all of that puking. “You wanted me to leave, remember?”

He tried to stand up, planting one of his large hands on your nightstand for leverage, but he stumbled again much like how he had when he first entered your room. You caught him by wrapping your arms around his torso before he could faceplant into the vomit that had pooled at his feet.

“Okay, but that was before you threw up everything you’ve eaten in the last week onto my carpet,” you began walking him back to your bed so he could be more stabilized, making sure to avoid the pile of bile, “And I’d rather not walk into another lecture on Monday morning about the dangers of teen drinking when John Henry catches you puking again in the hallway on your way back to your room.”

Michael let out an unexpected chuckle to himself at your mention of the Hawthorne instructor.

“I’ve got John Henry under control. You don’t need to worry about him,” he waved his hand in the air nonchalantly, clearly still unable to shake the alcohol from his system, even after the damage he’d just done to your rug.

“Umm, why?” you asked whilst simultaneously digging through your drawers for a shirt Michael could sleep in.

He flopped back on the bed, his arms crossing behind his head like a pillow. “We have a little, arrangement, I guess you could say. He definitely won’t be up my ass about anything anytime soon.”

You paused your rummaging to turn around and give Michael a quizzical expression, confused as to if he was being serious or if it was another one of his drunken rambles.

“Well, that’s not entirely true. He will be up my ass. Just in other ways, I suppose.”

“You’re disgusting,” you huffed, your fingers finally settling on the sweatshirt you’d been looking for. You wadded up the top and launched it at his face, suddenly wishing it was something much harder than a ball of fabric.

“Put that on.”

Michael took the sweatshirt in his hands, his faded vision trying to comprehend where he’d seen it before. It was one of the heather grey gym pullovers that every warlock was given when they arrived at Hawthorne, so he knew it wasn’t yours. He knew it wasn’t his either, because you’d thrown that at him also when you broke things off with him a handful of weeks ago. Which only meant one thing...

“Where did you get this, Y/N? Whose is this?” he demanded, his body shooting straight up from where he had been laying on your down comforter.

There was no reason to, but your face immediately flushed with embarrassment. What happened between Michael and you was in the past, even though you often wished it wasn’t. You had to move on, and in some ways, you had. It was what you were supposed to do. You’d hoped he would be too drunk to even notice that it was another warlock’s pullover, but Michael Langdon always had a way of catching you off guard.

“Don’t worry about it, Michael. Please, just put it on so we can both go to sleep. You’re not wearing your vomit-soaked clothes in my bed.”

“No. Tell me,” his eyes were pleading for an answer. You could see the rising anger in his chest, how his nostrils flared just slightly with every breath he took.

“It’s not a big deal, Michael. Seriously. Now put on the fucking sweatshirt before I make you sleep on the floor next to your puke.”

Michael rolled his eyes at your digression from the subject, wishing he was sober enough to be able to read your thoughts. He made a mental note to do that first thing in the morning. If he would even remember.

“I’m not wearing your new fuck buddy’s clothes, love. It’s not gonna happen.”

That struck a nerve. Just because the relationship between you and Michael never strayed from casual fucking, and lots of it, who was he to imply that that’s all you’ve ever been interested in from other guys? If the supposed Alpha was so good at reading people, why hadn’t he caught on to your own desires?

“Who said he’s my fuck buddy? Do you not think I’m capable of being in an actual relationship with someone?”

“Not saying that at all, princess. I just have a feeling there aren’t very many people you’re interested in. Especially not a warlock anyway,” he said disparagingly.

(Well, shit. Maybe he was good at reading people.)

“Honestly, I’m tired of arguing with you. Can you please just take off your clothes so we can both get some sleep?” you jeered, utterly exhausted at just the presence of the tall blonde.

“Mmmm, yes ma’am,” Michael replied, wiggling his brows at you flirtatiously. He seemed to have forgotten about his bubbling rage for a brief moment. Of course, that’s where his train of thought went to.

You didn’t even have the energy to fire back, you simply rolled your eyes at the mess of a boy in front of you with your arms crossed sternly at your chest. It got your point across.

Michael huffed a low, “fine, but I’m not wearing the fucking sweatshirt” under his breath before he began fumbling for the necktie that had come completely untied at this point. He tried to take off his blazer, but got caught in the thick fabric and began helplessly trying to shrug it off of his broad shoulders.

“You’re pathetic, Langdon,” you groaned, trudging over to where Michael was sitting on the bed to help him shake the remainder of his unkempt uniform.

He was tired now, seemingly floating in and out of consciousness as he tried to keep his heavy eyelids open. When you finally unlatched the last button of his undershirt and your fingers gently grazed the dip of his protruding collarbone, you paused. Just weeks ago, this action would have brought you great joy, a spout of arousal seeping from your core at what was to follow. But for some reason, this evoked a twinge of sadness in your heart. Michael wasn’t yours anymore. He wasn’t yours to touch, wasn’t yours to think about. Despite the suggestive things Michael had said throughout the evening, you knew it was the alcohol speaking on his behalf. He certainly didn’t feel the same way you did about him. You were nothing more to him than a hole to be filled, as he’d let the entire school know it.

You snapped out of your daze after hearing a loud hiccup escape from Michael’s lips. He chuckled like a child at the high-pitched sound it made, only causing you to roll your eyes at him for the millionth time tonight.

“Okay, you’re good,” you said to him whilst giving him a gentle pat on the cheek, “Go to sleep.”

Michael nodded sheepishly, falling back to rest his head on the extra pillow at the head of your bed. He seemed to fall asleep almost instantly as his hiccups subsided and were replaced with small snores that trickled out of his open mouth with each breath.

You walked around to your side of the bed and crawled in, savoring the cool satin of your sheets and the feeling of being off of your feet again. As you threw the duvet cover over both yourself and Michael, you considered stuffing a body pillow in between the two of you. Assuming he was far too intoxicated to even think about trying to pull anything, you opted against it. You’d most definitely wake before him anyway. By the looks of it, he’d surely sleep until well on the next evening.

Just as you felt the beacon of sleep crawling towards you, you remembered the overflow of vomit on the floor next to your bed, as it was beginning to smell more and more foul. With droopy eyelids, a half-hearted wave of your wrist and a low mutter of Latin under your breath, the stain evaporated.

Michael stirred at the commotion, swimming about in the excess of the duvet to turn towards you.

“Y/N?” he beckoned, not even bothering to lift his head from the pillow or open his eyes as he spoke.

You didn’t answer, seeing as it would most likely be another attempt to piss you off with his intoxicated bullshit.

“I’m sorry,” he muffled through scrunched up cheeks and the material of his pillow.

“For what?” you asked him. For interrupting your quiet night in with his nonsense? For puking on your floor?

“I just wanted everyone to know you were mine.”

It felt borderline cruel, the way he’d been talking all night. This was no different. He’d sworn up and down that all your relationship ever was was casual, but everything he said in the last hour, regardless of whether or not he meant it, seemed to contradict that statement.

Before you could question him further, although you were almost positive you knew what he was referring to and that he wasn’t being truthful, he had fallen back asleep. His breathing evened out and his body stiffened, succumbing to his drunken slumber.

But it was alright. You wouldn’t have known how to respond anyway.

Your brain paid no mind to the fact that it was the weekend, as your biological clock withdrew you from your sleep at a rather early hour. Especially given that you’d spent a lengthy amount of time tending to the presumably hungover Boy Wonder that was fast asleep next to you. As you motioned upwards to outstretch your stiff limbs, you realized your body was being constricted by an overbearing force.

Michael’s arms.

In the midst of his slumber, or most likely, on purpose, he had found his way over to your side of the bed. Go figure. Michael had his lanky, toned forearms wrapped tightly around your middle and his head nestled comfortably in between your shoulder blades. You felt the ends of his golden blonde curls just slightly tickling the back of your neck each time he took a breath.

You could move. Shake yourself out of his grasp or shove him back over to his side of the bed, or even kick him out of your room and send him back to his own. But a handful of reasons kept you from doing so.

For starters, he had certainly had a long night. Him puking on your carpet was only the aftermath of what you had assumed was an extremely eventful evening, meaning he could definitely use the sleep.

Second, you couldn’t help but be reminded of how things used to be with Michael. There were only a handful of times that you ever slept together through the night, but when you did, you savored every moment. He was much softer when he slept, a great contrast to how harsh he had always been with you earlier on in the evening, when he had you on your knees, forcing his length down your throat, making you gag on your own saliva as well as his cock while he fucked your face with no mercy whatsoever. He cuddled into you like a child does their teddy bear when he slept, tangling his limbs with yours, tucking his head into the crook of your shoulder. The first few times you’d woken up being practically smothered by Michael’s body on yours he’d tried to play it off, tried to pretend like he hadn’t meant to grab onto you at all. After you’d failed to show any type of discomfort, he stopped making excuses and shamelessly grappled onto you as often as he could. You loved it quite a bit more than you were willing to admit, hence why, right now, you opted to stay put. If lying here for an extra 20 minutes was the closest you would ever be to Michael again, so be it.

And you really hoped he was comfortable, because much to your chagrin, his sharp hip bone was digging into your back. At least you thought it was his hip bone until you accidentally shifted in the sheets and you heard a quiet, hoarse moan spill from Michael’s lips.

To test whether or not your movement and Michael’s subsequent groaning was a mere coincidence, you rolled your hips back again. Another quiet, but more forceful mewl evoked from Michael’s chest, the vibrations muffling against the cotton of your t-shirt.

Now you knew it definitely wasn’t his hip bone. You had been grinding yourself against his impressively hard morning wood, and just the mere thought of it already had you worked up. The girth, the thick, prominent vein that ran along the underside, the way that Michael had the ability to split you in half with it, skewering you onto him until you saw stars. You needed more. To hear his pants and groans while you worked him over and over as you had many times in the past.

Pushing the boundaries even further, you swiveled your hips back once more, this time further back and harder against him. This time, all you got was a low-register grunt.

“Are you having fun?”

His deep, baritone voice filled you with shock, and a little with panic. You’d thought for sure he had been sleeping, as he’d barely even moved the entire time you’ve been awake thus far. Unsure of how to respond, you laid frozen in his arms.

Michael resituated himself on the bed, pulling you closer into him so that he had a better grip around your waist and his cock was pressed firmly against your backside.

“I know you’re not asleep,” he beckoned, slowly trailing his fingers up your stomach and then down again, stopping just before he reached the flimsy waistband of your panties.

“I can smell you.”

“C’mon, Y/N,” Michael teased as his hand crept lower and lower until the pad of his middle finger barely grazed over the fabric that rested above your clit.

“Don’t you want to play?”

He pressed down on your panties gently, eliciting the smallest of whines on your part. You jutted your hips forward in an attempt to grind yourself harder onto his fingers, which did not go unnoticed by Langdon. He clicked his tongue in your ear.

“Not so fast, little witch,” he paused, “You’ve had your fun. Now it’s my turn,” he emphasized with a harsh roll of his hips into your ass.

“Michael, please,” you begged, fighting a moan as he began circling his calloused fingers through your folds.

You could feel your heart beating in your ears, and the flickering of an addictive fire simmering low in your belly. Michael was breathing heavily down your neck, focusing his concentration on your throbbing clit and each desperate sound that weaseled its way up your throat and through your now parched lips.

He clicked his tongue in your ear in disapproval of your begging.

“As I recall, you used to enjoy this,” he mocked, “The chase. The build-up.”

He paused to pull your panties to the side and plunge his index and middle fingers inside of you.

“My fingers.”

Michael quickly withdrew them from your heat, but not without another whine from you. He brought them to his lips slowly, savoring the taste of your sickly sweet saccharine that he’d been denied of for quite some time now. You heard him moan obscenely as he lolled his tongue around his digits, sending another bout of arousal through you, and your patience over the edge.

“Are you done being dramatic?” you posed, the annoyance evident in your voice.

It was obvious where this was going. Why waste any more time?

Your words seemed to have angered Michael, as he abruptly shoved you onto your stomach and straddled your waist all in one, fluid movement. His cock rocked against your ass firmly when he situated himself so that he was hovering just above your face, his silky curls tickling the exposed part of your shoulder.

“What the matter, princess?” he taunted, snaking his arm under your neck so that he could jerk you upwards by the jaw, forcing you to lift your head from the pillow he had just shoved you down onto.

“Does your new boyfriend not know how to treat a lady?”

Michael wiggled his other hand around your middle to toy with your clit through your soaking wet panties once more. You mewled against his tight hold on you, struggling to breathe as he seemed to push his fingers even more harshly against the pressure point on your throat and harder against your swollen bud.

“Or did you just forget everything I taught you?”

Michael released his grip from your throat, hands moving south to yank your underwear from your legs. You were left clothed in only the oversized t-shirt you slept in.

He took your ass in hands, kneading the warm mounds of flesh in circles, admiring the beauty beneath him. As he parted your cheeks, you felt his thumb creep downwards. He began to rub you in circles, from your sticky folds where cum oozed slowly from your core and up to the puckering ring of your asshole. Michael pressed down gently on the skin there each time he returned to it, savoring the exaggerated pants that left your lungs.

“God, Michael,” you moaned against the pillow, fighting tears of frustration and lust.

He was right. All of your hookups since Michael couldn’t compare the racy nights you spend with him, where he teased you for hours, making sure you were a wet, sobbing mess before brutally fucking you into the squeaky, springy mattress in his dorm. You had missed this, but you felt like you might implode if he didn’t do something to ease the aching between your legs, and fast.

“Oh, come on, Y/N. You know better than that.”

From behind you, you heard the sound of Michael tugging his boxer briefs from his hips. Everything inside of you wanted to turn around and look, to see his impressively hard cock bobbing freely against the skin below his navel just before he rammed it inside of you, but you feared he’d only draw out the process further if he caught you gawking.

“There isn’t a God on this earth that could keep you from me.”

“Then what’s stopping you now? Hmm?”

Michael chuckled at your poor attempt to snide him before parting your cheeks again, this time to run his cock through the folds of your pussy and against the quivering ring of your asshole. He made sure you were nice and ready for him, although the overflow of sticky juices that had pooled in between your closed legs spoke for itself.

Your eyes screwed shut as Michael entered you, your fingers moving to pinch the silky fabric of the pillowcase beneath you. He moved slowly, only pressing in an inch at a time. The stretch was unbearable, as Michael was endowed with a cock that was incompatible with any other man you had been with. Even when you two fucked regularly, it was never easy to adjust to his massive size.

When Michael filled you to the hilt and stretched you to your full capacity, he began to rock his hips into your ass. His thrusts were shallow at first, but still caused your breath to hitch in the back of your throat each time he bottomed out. He quickly set a new pace, withdrawing himself further and further until he was repeatedly slamming the entire length of his delicious, oozing cock into your dripping cunt without regard to the small tears that were now falling freely from your eyes at the sheer pleasure that consumed your entire body.

Just when you thought you couldn’t feel any more full with the brazen boy’s illustrious cock, Michael dug his fingers into your hipbones and lifted your backside up, forcing you to bring your knees inward and press the top half of your body even further into the sheets. Your glistening hole was now on full display for him, giving him the chance to penetrate your walls even deeper than you imagined possible. You tried grasping onto the pillowcase even harder, but not even your white-knuckled vice grip could soothe the overwhelming build of pressure pooling inside of you below your tummy.

“Michael,” you whined, embarrassed by the desperation in your tone.

“Don’t you dare, slut,” he scolded, giving your ass one firm, blistering smack, “Not until I say.”

His punishment made you cry out and sent another pool of fresh tears from your eyes as you tried your best to give him an obedient nod of your head. It felt good to be taken care of again.

By the shakiness in his voice, you could tell he was rearing his own end. His thrusts began to fall out of line with his previously remorseless pace and his breathing was becoming more and more erratic by the second. You felt him twitching inside of you, his cock begging for release each time he pounded into the warm, tight hole of yours that he had missed so dearly. He’d never tell, but the pillowy folds and spongy, welcoming walls of your pussy was his favorite by far.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he managed to spurt in between thrusts.

You felt his body heat radiating down onto you, heightening the pleasurable burn inside of you. Michael was panting and moaning and gasping, and his hold on your hips grew so intense that you were almost convinced he’d drawn blood with the crescent-shaped indents left behind by his nails.

You couldn’t take it any longer.

“Michael, can I please cum?” you cried, your sweaty hair trashing against the pillow as you tried to hold out for him.

“What did I just fucking say?” he spat.

“You cum when I tell you to cum.”

His pace quickened suddenly. He began skewering his cock into you as fast and as violently as he could manage. When his hips smacked into your ass particularly harshly, he stilled. Michael’s release was accompanied by a throaty groan. He milked himself in your heat as you felt the thick, rope-like strings of his cum coating your walls.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” you whined.

Before you even had the chance to complain about Michael denying you of your release, he flipped you over, looking you in the eyes for the first time this entire morning.

“When have I ever not taken care of you?” he posed before snaking his body down the bed and stopping when his head reached what laid between your open legs.

He licked a broad, flat stripe up your pussy, eliciting a gasp from you. You watched as he circled your clit with his tongue, your eyes making contact with the vibrant sapphire of his own. Michael was smirking against your folds as he mouthed at them, getting off on the knowledge that he was the only one that could ever see the pretty faces you were making now. He was certain no other boy had the skill or willingness to see you fall apart, with your eyes glued shut, back arching almost unnaturally as you cried out with passion, on their tongue.

Your fingers went to his hair, which was matted to his forehead with the sweat he’d accumulated from splitting you in two just moments ago. You tugged on the curls nestled against his scalp, wanting him to be suffocated by your heat, not able to breathe even the slightest of breaths. And he let you. He burrowed his tongue into your core, his jaw now covered in your slick and nose now pressed snuggly against your clit. Chants of his name echoed loudly against the cinderblock walls of your dorm. You sure hoped no one was awake yet.

“Are you ready to cum now?” Michael asked, licking another tantalizing stripe through your cunt.

As he lifted his lips from your pussy to speak and dipped back down again, you saw the pearly milk of his own release swirling about on the pad of his tongue. He’d been catching it as it dripped out of you, which only spurred you on even further.

All you could muster was a pathetic, half nod of your chin. Your thighs were beginning to tremble and you could barely keep your head up to see the magic Michael was working in between your legs.

“Then cum,” Michael beckoned.

“Let me feel you fall apart on my tongue.

You came directly after he granted you permission, the juices of your cunt soaking Michael as he continued to tug on your clit with his lips through your orgasm. You contracted around him as he held your hips down with his hands, becoming overstimulated almost immediately after you came down from your high.

Michael climbed on top of you, wiping the excess of your release from his chin as best as he could. He lowered himself to your face again, taking in the glowing sheen that now adorned your cheeks.

“You are so beautiful,” he spoke aloud before crashing his lips against yours.

His teeth clashed against your own and you could taste the remnants of his cum left behind in his mouth. Michael held onto your jaw as he pulled back, pulling the flushed skin of your bottom lip gently with his thumb.

“You taste like vomit,” you jabbed, shoving him off of you and onto the empty space beside you on the bed.

Michael chuckled softly at your dig, placing a hand over his heart.

“And you really know how to ruin a moment. Don’t you?”

He missed you and these little moments you shared after fucking each other’s brains out. He wished there was something he could do to get them back. Forever this time. No more “no strings attached.” No more casual fucks. He wanted you to be his and his only. But he had fucked up so badly that he wasn’t sure there was anything he could do to bring that to fruition.

Little did he know, you were thinking the exact same thing.

Tagging:

@avesatanormalpeoplescareme @sloppy-little-witch-bitch26@venusxxlangdon @ccodyfern@readsalot73 @americanhorrorstudies @wroteclassicaly @gold-dragon-slayer @langdonsdemon @langdonshell @1-800-bitchcraft @rocketgirl2410 @hecohansen31 @alice-is-mad @hplotrfan

((I need to work on an updated tag list so if you didn’t want to be tagged and I tagged you/didn’t get tagged and you would like to be, I’m really sorry just let me know and I won’t do it again sorry!!!))

#michael langdon x reader #michael langdon fanfiction #michael langdon smut #michael langdon one shot #ahs #ahs apocalypse #american horror story fanfiction #american horror story apocalypse #my writing #mine #fic

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traditional-with-a-twist · 4 years

Text

xxii. Beauty and Her Beast

@claudeng80 ahhhh he used a sword to answer a sword!! You make my story so much cooler than it starts out in my head X’D

@bubblesthemonsterartist I’m so excited you’re excited!! :DDD and that you enjoyed a day in the life of Izana XD honestly, this was all supposed to be one chapter but that part kind of ran away with me, whoops!

<<Previous || first arc || AO3 || Next>>

If the challenge surprised Izana, he gave no sign of it.

He absorbed Obi’s declaration in silence, receiving it with the same considering stillness with which he would answer a nobleman’s petition or Lord Haruka’s report.

Given Obi’s speed and the short span of balcony between them, the sword might as well have been held at his throat, but he betrayed no sign of physical discomfort. He held his loose, easy stance and regarded Obi with flat, colorless eyes.

Nothing moved between them but the night air.

...

Obi stared back, holding his breath. He held the weapon; he was ready while the other man tarried, but he felt himself at a profound disadvantage.

He had never seen Izana fight, not even a practice match.

It was enough to know that Zen had considered his brother the superior in swordplay.

...

When Obi had crossed blades with the second prince, he had emerged victorious through a combination of luck and foul play.

As a swordsman, Zen was powerful, lethally fast, and devastatingly precise. With the question of Shirayuki’s safety on the line, he had fought with a will.

Even though Obi had let himself into the bull’s pasture with red flag in hand, knowing full well what to expect, the onslaught had pushed him to the limits of his reflexes.

In truth, Zen had defeated him. By any reasonable understanding of the rules of engagement, the match ended when Obi lost his sword.

To carry on the fight by invoking an attack reserved for hand-to-hand combat was tantamount to drawing a hidden dagger against an honorable opponent.

Obi had tricked Zen into expecting a sword fight--then disarmed him with a street move.

...

His master had always been a gracious man; he chose to interpret a lawless instinct of self-preservation as a professional qualification.

He was also practical: In reality, Shirayuki’s guard was unlikely to encounter attackers concerned with rules or fairplay.

It was with a generous heart and a good conscience that Zen had conceded victory to his feral messenger.

...

Obi would be a fool to expect such consideration on the part of the elder brother.

...

Izana was a proud man, and a ruthless one. It would be well within his rights and harmonious with his character if he took this opportunity to dispatch Obi as punishment for his insolence.

He had no love for his brother’s adopted strays - not now that they had outlived their usefulness. There could be no assumption of mercy or even good humor in this match.

Nor could Obi fall back on the element of surprise.

Zen thought the best of people; Izana knew them at their worst. He always anticipated the lowest, meanest motives, and that was how he had kept himself and his family alive--until recently.

Beyond even the natural grief of a loving brother, that failure must have left its mark.

The first prince might have his subjects and attendants fooled with his shows of punctilious ceremony and efficient administration, but inside he carried a secret wound.

The walking wounded were dangerous.

...

Obi knew all this by intuition, not words. If asked point-blank about Izana’s grief, character, and habits, he would have been hard-pressed to answer.

He rarely ever looked the prince in the face, let alone entertained notions of conversation with him. Even as Zen’s lackey, he had concerned himself mostly with sounding out the master’s inner circle, not venturing to inquire after the powers that overshadowed it.

It was instinct that acquainted him with the smell of blood in the air as Izana glided through the castle on his princely duties, the same instinct that had kept Obi alive for so many years in the underworld - the same instinct that told him now that he stood on the brink of death.

...

Even so, he had come, because Shirayuki deserved no less.

Izana’s proposal had reduced their engagement to frivolity; he acted as if it held no more weight than a childhood promise sealed with daisy rings.

The jealous anger this behavior naturally aroused in Obi had banked to smoldering coals, but he continued to feel the insult to Shirayuki as keenly as before.

She was almost royalty, as good as family now. She and Zen had earned that for each other, together.

In disregarding that, Izana spit on all of it: their love, their labor, their loss.

Obi wouldn’t allow that.

...

Therefore he chose this mode of attack: a courtly duel, with all the trappings.

It was, from a tactical standpoint, a disastrous choice.

Obi’s formal training in swordsmanship amounted to no more than a brief, unhappy chapter in his childhood. Otherwise he had picked up the art as a professional ballet dancer might dabble in modern styles: falling back on a mastery of core similarities, fudging the details, managing through a combination of generalized skill and confident audacity.

In a staged duel, he would be constantly on the defensive, inventing his strikes and blocks as he went along, half a second behind his opponent while his mind and body processed the unfamiliar patterns of thrust and parry.

He had no chance against a Wisteria prince trained practically from birth in the martial arts befitting noble blood.

...

That wasn’t the point.

He hadn’t come to kill, or even to fight. He came to force a conversation with those so lofty in station that their ears closed to the buzzings of common people.

To accomplish this purpose, he chose to speak in their language: the language of courts and crowns, of clearly defined engagements and gentlemen’s agreements.

Otherwise he would be no more than an ant, shouting for the lion’s attention.

...

This time as well as the time before, Obi intended a simple message for the princes of Clarines:

They had misjudged him, but that mistake would not keep him from Shirayuki’s side.

To remove any possibility of doubt, he delivered that message in a way they could not fail to understand - at the point of a sword.

He bared his weapon, he set his stance, he waited.

...

Izana moved first.

He advanced with as much grace and ease as if he traversed a ballroom, not the field of battle. His sword swung at his side, but he made no effort to secure it.

Every step he took wound Obi’s nerves tighter. Long years of discipline kept his muscles loose, but his fingers tightened imperceptibly on the hilt despite himself.

...

With a few strides, Izana cut the distance between them in half. He continued at the same pace, unhurried, unfaltering, until a lunge would have brought him to the business end of Obi’s sword.

A step from impaling himself, Izana paused.

His eyes met Obi’s.

His lip curled.

...

“A duel?” Izana’s voice coiled like a silk cord, smooth and deadly. “With a nameless outlaw?”

The words closed around Obi, cutting off his air.

“Hardly.”

...

The prince sidestepped him as he would skirt a stray in the street, averting his gaze with distaste.

He passed so near that the edge of the sword opened the fabric of his sleeve and traced a red line across his arm.

Izana never flinched.

...

The click of the glass doors shutting failed to rouse Obi. He continued as before, sword aloft, eyes fixed forward.

In the stillness, he heard nothing but the sound of his own heart beating.

#Akagami no Shirayukihime #obiyuki #PurePassion #Beauty and Her Beast #I give myself permission to use anachronistic metaphors in this story #like ballet and modern dance #in my defense #Zen has a pocket watch #but there are no guns #what century is it?!?#your reviews got me excited for this story again #it is thanks to you that June gets an update #<3

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musicmaking-basics · 4 years

Text

Approximating the beat of “Firestarter” (Part 1)

Now let me put a sort of disclaimer down before I start. I consider myself a beginner, but whenever I learn something, I feel like sharing it. Sometimes I figure things out myself, sometimes I learn something from an internet source. I’ll try to point out the source of such information whenever I’m still aware of it.

What I’m trying to do in this post is show how Native Instruments’ Maschine software can be used to recreate some of the beat of The Prodigy’s track “Firestarter” from their awesome 1997 album “The Fat of the Land”, a long-time favorite of mine, both track and album. The intention is to use only material from the Maschine software itself, the Maschine Factory Library, and some effect plugins.

Now the part of the song I’m discussing here is this one.

What I wanted for myself out of this was to inch closer to knowing how Big Beat and Drum’n’Bass music could be made today with the tools I have at my disposal.

This is not truly a tutorial. I will lay down some of the process I’ve used in hope it will be useful to you. While there was some structure to it all it involved a lot of trial and error on my behalf, so I can’t claim to have followed the steps as described myself or that this is a good way to achieve results. Just keep in mind I’m still a beginner.

I will reference parts of the Maschine 2 software manual. So when you see a Chapter reference, this is what it points to.

Very clear element is of course the distinctive Kick at the beginning and then things get very agitated and harder to look at. So how can we make this easier for us to take apart?

Looping the original

Maschine can help us with analyzing the track, but first it would be good to know the BPM of the original because Maschine, at least as I know so far, has one big disadvantage over more feature-rich DAWs: You can’t just take your MIDI and stretch it to another BPM. Better to know what BPM we’re aiming at, and you can look that up for many tracks right away and one Google search later I knew it was 142 BPM.

I then took the original track MP3 and exported it as WAV from Audacity. Once you have a WAV, you can use Maschine’s Files tab (top left) to locate the sample:

Select an empty Sound slot in the Group view on the right, for example Sound 1 in a newly created Group, and then double-click the sample in the Files tab and it will be loaded into Maschine’s built-in Sampler plug-in:

Click on the little Waveform that you see left of your 16 Sound slots and you will be in the Sample Editor (Chapter 16.1). Go to the Edit tab. Use the “S” and “E” markers to mark the beginning and end position of the sample you want to use.

Since we’re just interested in looping this one bar of sample over and over, we can simply enter this in our Group View:

Now you can loop the sample as much as you want for learning purposes.

Having fun with original samples

Now, there’s some things you can do to analyze the original sample.

For one, you can stretch it out. Sometimes this helps. The best way to do this is to know its original BPM and then select a considerably slower one. The Sample Editor has a Stretch tool (Chapter 16.2.3) just for this purpose:

I had to switch “Auto Detect” of the BPM off because Maschine didn’t get it right (it sometimes does!) and set it manually, then I dialed it down to 80.

A useful option you definitely want to set for analysing samples is this:

To quote the Maschine 2 software manual:

Formant correction allows the pitch-shifted audio to retain the timbre (or “color”) of the original audio as much as possible. (Chapter 16.3.2)

And that’s what want! (And my life would have been a lot easier I have had spotted this before writing this down. Doh!)

Now another thing you might want to do is pan the whole thing completely to one side so it ends up in your left or right earphone only. I recommend panning the whole Group because we will do the same thing later with our own drumkit, and unlink the original sample it will be a full Group.

What you also can do is to use Maschine’s built-in effects on the original sample to analyze it a bit further.

You can for example use a Gate to identify some key attack points:

Or you can play around with the Equalizer to narrow down a specific part of the frequency range:

(These actual values you see here are nice to find attacks of what I think is a snare and particularly ghost notes from a sampled snare, but I will not use this particular insight in this Part 1.)

Lets approximate!

The first thing I started with was the Kick, and I had a source to draw from you should definitely check out: “Precision Drum and Bass Construction in Maschine”. It’s a course you need to buy but I find it very worthwhile, and the things I’ve taken away from that course so far (I haven’t watched it all yet) are:

You can layer two different kicks, one for the body and one for the attack.

You can use Maschine’s built-in drum synth for quite impressive results.

What the Bend setting does in Maschine’s Kick synth.

So, I layered two Kicks to achieve what I want:

You can see already that I chose one complete Kit (Black Sun) for my group, then changed some Sound slots with what I found more appropriate.

Sound 1 provides a nice “thump!”. It provides the attack and I spotted another instance of it as a syncopation in the 3rd beat.

Sound 3 produces the Kick that bends down over time. This is done with Maschine’s built-in drum synth:

To show you what I did, these are the defaults it comes with:

You can see that I changed three parameters: Decay, Bend, and Time. This gives us a nice, audible, stretched-out descent. (Chapters manual’s 8.2 and 8.2.1, respectively.)

You can also see above I added a crash hit but it doesn’t quite sound like what we have in the original. I haven’t yet figured out if that is pitch-shifted, stretched or what not.

How about some Rim Shots?

At Beat 2 and 4 there’s a quite audible hit. So far I’m doing this with Rim Shots:

The greyed out part are the ghost notes I’m not entirely sure yet how to do well.

To give the Rim Shot some spaciousness, I added some Reverb:

Hi-Hats? Probably. But how?

Adding to the agitation of the track in the background is a “chikky-chikky” sound. Like a Shaker. But I kind of assumed this is a Hi-Hat. But I couldn’t get the hits together in a way that sounded right, no matter how I placed them together.

(By the way, this is partially inspired by the ProducerTech course mentioned above. He does a nice tutorial how he uses Hi-Hats to create agitation.)

Sometimes it’s best to follow intuition. Having hit a wall with trying to replicate this in the Group view with the Hi-Hat alone (and some other things), it came to me that a Reverb or Delay could be the answer here as well.

Since we have our BPM set up so nicely, we can use a Beat Delay and do this:

Then the initial attack is immediately repeated after and gives us a nice “chikky-chikky” agitation in the background that doesn’t cut the first hit short and is acoustically different. Eureka! I might have gone a bit overboard with the Hi-Hat hits, there might be only four equally spaced ones after all, but the result sounds good.

What it sounds like

I uploaded the result to soundcloud.com. Clearly I will have a lot to learn myself about mixing and mastering, and there’s plenty left to do... Best to use headphones and turn it up.

What remains to be done

The ghost note bouncy snare hits need to be woven in.

The pitch differences I seem to hear between the different snare hits.

So I might actually kick out the rim shots and look for a fitting snare and pitch each hit.

The crash doesn’t sound what we actual hear in the beat. (It seems to shift up in pitch and I’ve played around with LFOs and automation, but so far I have not got it.)

Maybe add the synth I hear to fill it out.

Lots and lots of fine-tuning for sure.

Conclusion

I hope you can see that Maschine can be used to learn about your favorite beats and has quite some tools to make your own already on-board.

What you see above was made with a Mikro Mk3 and the software because sometimes it’s easier to tap your pads and sometimes it’s easier to shift things around on screen.

I hope that I can improve on what I have for a more satisfying result and a Part 2. Thanks for reading!

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elysiumwaits · 5 years

Note

If you are still taking the fake dating requests: sterek 8? Love your writing

So this actually sprouted two ideas, one of which wound up being 1500 words and the other being a long multi-chaptered one that I started as well but didn’t want to work on today.

The prompt was: “someone assumed we’re dating but I didn’t realize that’s what they meant until it was too late and I had committed us to a couples’ retreat weekend.”

This is the 1500 words one, which is full of ‘didn’t know they were dating’ and ‘Scott McCall is a sneaky bastard who knows what he’s doing and how to play Stiles like a fiddle’.

Someone Should Have Told Us

Rated: Teen

(AO3 Link)

Stiles has one major weakness these days. It’s gotten him into a lot of sticky situations, and will probably be the cause of his inevitably gruesome supernatural death one of these days. Right now, this weakness is holding a printed itinerary and talking excitedly about bonding and Allison, and just generally looking very, very happy.

A weekend at the beach doesn’t sound bad at all, to be honest, even if it means he has to watch Scott and Allison make eyes at each other at this weird mindfulness-alternative-health kind of resort. And, hell, maybe four days of yoga and peaceful breathing will be good for Stiles’ stress levels. Besides, the whole thing is paid for, they’re just looking to fill the ticket, after all, and Stiles has never been one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

So, like a fool, Stiles says, “Sure,” and then follows it up with, “Sounds like fun,” and “Can’t wait, looking forward to it already.”

Which is when Scott throws the whole conversation from this dimension into what clearly must be a conversation from an alternate universe by saying, “Great! So you and Derek will have a suite in the same villa as me and Allison, but the only thing communal will be the kitchen. There’s this really cool thing about working out past issues with an intuitive and-”

Wait, hold on, back up. Stiles blinks as his brain catches up. “Derek? What… Derek?”

Scott gives him a strange look, like Stiles is just not getting with the program here. “Uh, of course, dude, it’s a couples retreat,” he says, like that’s supposed to mean something to Stiles, like somehow he’s supposed to connect the dots between ‘couples retreat’ and ‘sharing a suite with Derek Hale.’ When Stiles is quiet for just a split second too long, Scott keeps going. “I know you guys haven’t gone public with your relationship yet, which was totally understandable when you were still in high school, but you’re twenty now, Stiles. You don’t have to hide it from us anymore, we already know.”

Scott is patting Stiles’ shoulder and giving him that understanding, sympathetic face. Stiles has no fucking clue what’s happening here, but his brain is desperately trying to make sense of how this has apparently gone horribly awry.

“I’m not…” he manages to get out, but doesn’t actually finish because he can’t even wrap his head around the words ‘in a relationship with Derek Hale,’ let alone his mouth.

“Stiles.” Scott sounds almost disappointed. “We know. The whole pack knows, and we approve. You guys are just better together and always have been. It’s okay.” His phone chimes in his pocket, and Stiles attempts to get a handle on his fucking life while Scott reads a text. “Oh, I gotta head to the clinic. But, listen, we leave tomorrow afternoon to check in around six, so make sure you and Derek are packed and ready by then. It’s gonna be great!”

“We’ll… we’ll drive separately,” Stiles says faintly, and automatically takes the itinerary that Scott hands him.

“Good idea, you guys can talk about what you want out of the weekend privately then.” Scott pats Stiles’ shoulder one more time before he leaves Stiles to slump back against the door of his Jeep and look around the residential street in the hopes that someone will appear out of thin air and injure him so he doesn’t have to do… well, any of this.

Scott McCall is definitely going to be the cause of his inevitably gruesome supernatural death. Stiles’ days are officially numbered, because Derek is going to murder him.

Derek doesn’t kill him, but instead descends into the same spiral of confusion that Stiles had. Stiles has the express pleasure of watching as Derek’s brain shuts down for an entire ten seconds and then tries to reboot again, like an overheated computer on its last legs. Stiles can relate.

“They think we’re dating,” is what Derek finally says. “The whole pack thinks we’re dating?”

“I honestly think they’ve got the idea that it’s significantly more serious and committed than just dating.” Stiles waves the itinerary around. “I mean… there’s workshops like ‘Sanity in Relationships’ and ‘Releasing the Past through Rewriting Your Love Story.’ This is, like, intense and geared toward couples with long-term plans.”

“We don’t have long-term plans.” Derek sits down on the couch and rubs his forehead in that way he does when he’s starting to get stressed out. “Because we’re not in a relationship.” He looks up then, sharply and alarmed. “Are we?”

“We’re not,” Stiles says quickly. “We just spend a lot of time together.”

“Because we get along.” Derek nods, slow. “We go out to eat a lot.”

“That’s because your kitchen is understocked, and I can’t eat like that with my dad. You always pay.” There’s a dawning horror happening in Stiles’ head. “You never let me pay. They don’t even ask if we want to split the check at the diner anymore.”

“Because I have money and you don’t! It just makes sense.” Derek doesn’t look any less alarmed, though. “You cuddle me on movie nights.”

“You’re warm! I have shitty circulation! You let me!”

“You smell sad when I don’t.”

There’s a beat. Derek is staring at Stiles like he’s just seeing him for the first time, and Stiles completely understands that feeling.

“You keep junk food in your cabinets for me.”

“Your window’s always unlocked, still. I never have to wonder if it will be unlocked, because I just know.”

Stiles sits down on the coffee table in front of Derek, staring at the werewolf. “You listen to my music even though you hate it.”

“I like the way it makes you happy.” Derek sounds distant, unfocused, even though he’s looking at Stiles. “You were here on the anniversary of the fire. You stayed the whole night.”

Stiles nods, slowly. “You fixed my Jeep last time. I didn’t even ask you to, I just told you it needed work and you… did it.”

“You invited me to weekly dinners with your dad.”

“You actually show up for weekly dinners with my dad.” The itinerary in Stiles’ hand crinkles a little in his grip. “The pack thinks we’re in a relationship. I… I think my dad thinks we’re in a relationship. Derek, are we... are we in a relationship?”

Derek is quiet for a long moment, but he doesn’t look away from Stiles. “I don’t trust anyone else in this world the way I trust you,” he finally says, and Stiles’ breath catches a little. “I know, without a doubt, that you are the one person in existence who always has my back.” He looks a little lost, to be honest, like he’s just realizing all of this. “You never judge me, you never ask me for something I can’t give you.”

Something clicks into place in Stiles’ mind. “You’re the first person I think to call when shit hits the fan. Not because you’re badass and scary and you have the whole teeth and muscles thing going on, but because I know that if I call, you’ll come.” They’re close - Stiles on the coffee table and Derek on the couch, their knees practically touching. Stiles swallows, and finally breaks the intense eye contact. “Sometimes,” he says with all of his courage in his throat, “you do something badass or heroic or smash through a wall or punch someone who wants to kill us, and I get this really intense urge to kiss you.”

“It’s really hot when you show how smart you actually are.” When Stiles looks up, Derek still hasn’t looked away. “Like, everyone knows you’re smart, but when you do that thing where you fit all the pieces together and figure everything out… I don’t know, it just makes me want to throw you against the wall and-” Derek cuts himself off, going bright red.

Stiles crumples the couples retreat itinerary in his hand. “I mean, at this point, it probably wouldn’t change much,” he says, and a little bit of hope unfurls in his chest. “Like, we’re not in a relationship or dating or whatever but…”

Derek finishes for him. “Maybe we should be.”

There’s another couple seconds of silence before Stiles shifts just enough to remember the itinerary still in his hand, the couples retreat that started this whole thing. “We, uh. I told Scott we’d drive separately but it’s still, like, four days so we’ll need to pack if we’re actually going to do this ridiculous thing.”

“Do you think if we just stayed in the suite the whole time they’d kick us out?” Derek asks, and takes the itinerary to examine it. “Because ‘Becoming One with the Vortex of Your Partner’s Soul’ doesn’t sound nearly as good as four days of making out with you on a beach does.”

And really, at that point, Stiles can’t be blamed for anything he does. Long story short, they aren’t packed in time, they show up to the retreat two hours late, and they never go to a single workshop. Scott isn’t disappointed in the slightest, apparently, instead looking strangely smug, like maybe he knows something Stiles doesn’t or like one of his plans actually worked.

In any case, Stiles is entirely too distracted to care.

#sterek #fanfiction #prompt fiction #send me prompts i love them #fake dating au

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kissmethroughthebone · 5 years

Text

"I'm not like other girls, I don't need an allowance from my man" headass SB

"He doesn't like girls who use sugaring for financial gain or to rise up in society 💅💫"

...yeah, babe, so of course the man with two daughters older than you LOVES the fact that you fucked him at his house, TWO DAYS AND NIGHTS IN A ROW, and all you asked for out of him was a subway sandwich anf his wine cabinet.

.....

My only time EVER having a "fuck me just for fast food" phase, was with FWBs who I literally had no interest in, and, when I never had entered the bowl, nor knew of many places outside of Burger King and Chipotle for their broke asses to get me food from, so. :) thats on that.

And so imagine me, a year later, with experience and knowledge of making men old and young buy me things, clothes, food, gifts, ubers, car trips, anything in the world, and with my ass sitting pretty in the most expensive hotel in all of the city, and 400 dollars richer with pork roast and more in my stomach...

Teaching a newbie SB about the bowl.

And all the advice, tips, about manifesting her goals, funding her schooling, abstaining from sex right off the bat, meeting in public, safety advice, what to look for and avoid....

All that.

Anything you could think of, I fucking told her that.

And she.

Fucked.

Immediately.

.....

Met him at his house at 10pm for the "first date"...... stupid bitch. Strike one, but her not listening to the valuable advice of "dont go to his house, he could kill you or just hit it and dip" was telling enough of how she had viewed our friendship.

Then she saw he put out a *fruit platter* for her.

Nice..... but then didn't serve her dinner.

Smoked her out. Fine, you got weed. Cool...

And maybe an hour or two into them "really clicking", a.k.a. probably her talking while stoned and him just nodding everything on to be fucking polite... she takes him by the hand, leads him into the bedroom and fucks him totally unprovoked.

OH WOW, SIS.

I know some sugar babies still get an allowance or arrangement even after still having sex, but jesus.......

Then he left for work, and let her stay at his place. Fucked again. He gave her a subway sandwich, not even a footlong, since she "wasnt all that hungry"...

1) Cool, so she didnt even get a dinner out of it.

2) She's been rewarded for dick with half of a footlong, (NOT EVEN A FULL ONE SIS HE HAS THE MONEY AND YOU WOULD BE HUNGRY LATER????,) and with all the liquor in his cabinets. That she chugged most of the morning and night, before going "But I'm not really all that into drinking, anyways", while chugging a vodka + white wine + other intense alcohol concoction she whipped up over Instagram Chat.

And..... I was pissed. :)

And 3) She never discussed an allowance before meeting.

.....

You can imagine the screams I have, deep in my soul, after maybe four hours or MORE of straight up teaching her all I know.

Then when I told her I was disappointed in her not taking my advice, she hit me with the Pick Me level shit.

"He doesn't want a girl who uses sugaring for financial gain or social status!"..... so, hes broke, and/or you're dating a sugar daddy that won't give sugar? I hope your hands get soft from all the exfoliation caused by the rock you're trying to cause to bleed, that shit wont work sis.

"I'm a big girl, I can handle myself. Trust me, I know a bad situation when I see one, and THAT wasnt one!".... Sure, a 50 year old pathetic college professor with a slim body doesnt terrify you, but a pathetic college professor can get preeeeetty scary when he roofies and rapes you. But, she wasnt thinking that far ahead if she walked to a random mans house, in the skimpiest clothes ever, at the dead of night while claiming nothing bad would happen and she would not fuck him....

Even if nothing too terrible did, something couldve. If the thing of "i wont fuck him dont worry" did happen and she didnt think shed do it before meeting him, imagine what else she didnt think would happen could've happened....

And just several rants of her saying her intuition would tell her.

.....

I sympathized; she had been in several abusive relationships with terrible men, and wass most recently dumped by some fuckhead who was grooming her.

So the attention of an older man giving her free booze of a big selection, some pretty bomb dick, and letting her sleep over and giving her fruit???? Totally head above heels, when the bar is literally just "be white, and treat me somewhat human, even if it's rooted in selfish acts", and even her last neckbeard boyfriend from discord had her convinced that he was "the best thing to ever happen to her in life".

And.... the one that struck me the most, was the remark of "using men for financial gain" part.

I knew I had an off vibe about her when she was deadpanning and rolling her eyes hearing how good I had it anywhere in my life; but ESPECIALLY with sugaring. (Or an open relationship with two hot guys who treated me right, but alas, she could barely even find one for her.)

And yet once she got single, she was begginggggg to hear how I did it.

And... more signs came that she was interested in the fantasy and not the reality, or sometimes vice versa.

Rolling her eyes when I told her that a 25 dollar weekly allowance was so fucking low.

When I told her that anything she wanted, even a rose gold Apple Watch and a new laptop, an apartment, or whatever she wanted, could be at her fingertips if she plays all her cards right.

When I gave her safety advice.

When I told her about my life.

Anything.

She had been either repulsed, doubtful, disdainful, or nonplussed about it.

And look whar happened....

An old man was shown he could fuck a thick black girl for two to three days, nonstop, for a single subway sandwich.

What a shame.

Thats fucking sad my dudes.

Aaaaand her overall subtle hating on me showed its ass when she said what he said.

So I'M the bad guy, for actually expecting a sugar daddy to do what he says, and knows enough to know that sex too soon wont end well?

So she's gonna hate on me for caring about HER safety and not wanting her to ignore every safety precaution advised?

That's like being mad at a construction site owner for wanting you to wear a hard hat, and your reasoning being "I MISSED THE HUGE ROCK FALLING DOWN, ITS NO BIG DEAL! I TRUST MY INSTINCTS, JESUS CHRIST".

Plus, it did strike a cord.

But I just thought:

Yes, I do want a successful future.

I want rich babies, a funded college education, an apartment and a lifestyle of my own to support.

And most importantly, my fucking heart to keep beating.

So excuse me if a girl wastes my time and hers, by not taking my advice and risking her life all for the sake of a Subway sandwich, and not funding for a huge life of her dreams, and just for a subpar meal for one night.

I know how to flip my future from his shitty bunk bed, to a life of champagne and caviar.

And she knows how to flip her life from wanting to be a successful sugar baby that supposedly makes enough money to move out with me, buy groceries, and have a potentially funded college......

To..... a subway sandwich and an alcohol problem, and a number, that blocks her days after having sex.

......

I was done with her.

I never thought there'd be girls insecure enough to stoop that low.

Low enough to shun another girl, who does the same thing and gets a thousand times more thsn she does.

#black sugar baby #pick mes #sugaring #sb #sbs #yikes

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alternativewinxcontinuity · 5 years

Note

will the winx alt. con. keep with canon relationships? cuz sky and bloom could be a dope couple with good writing, and aISHA AND NABU OHMYGOD-

TLDR:

Yes and No?Stella/Brandon are basically the same, while Sky/Bloom and Aisha|Layla/Nabu|Ophir are getting a little bit of a more obvious over haul they will still be A Thing.

Tecna/Timmy, Flora/Helia and Musa/Riven are... less so, like, if they happen as a romance thing, it will be a long time coming, or less obvious.

Mirta/Lucy& Palladium/Avalon are also A Thing, but more background than any of the others.

So in terms of ships in the Canon show: they are a mess. On the surface they seem plausible, maybe even okay, but the longer you look at them, the worse the relationships get. I've tried to keep the basics, but change certain circumstances so things are less... bad foundation-wise

Bitching and Alt Con spoiler alerts below the cut.

Stella/BrandonBloom/Sky (feat. Diaspro)Aisha/Nabu|Layla/Ophir (feat. Roy (&Nex))Tecna/TimmyFlora/HeliaMusa/Riven (feat. Darcy)Mirta/LucyDaphne/ThorenPalladium/Avalon

Final heads up, I'm about to say a lot of sh*t, and none of you have to agree, we all interpret things differently, I'm the kind of person who pulls things apart and finds the smallest speck of 'rot' and grows it in a mental Petri dish to see how awful things could be... that is a terrible analogy, but long-and-short-of-it: my opinions may be based on worst case scenario analysis, rather than any analysis you may use, and I am not saying you should not ship things, by all means, ship all the things.

I apologise for the high levels of in-coherency and absolute aggro.

Stella/Brandon

On the surface, this ship is changing perhaps the least because they're a “pretty stable” couple, unfortunately, they also began their relationship with a lie and that was never fully addressed in Canon. I tried to combat that by having Brandon and Stella 'test the waters' so to speak, with Brandon asking early on if Stella thought she'd still like him even if he wasn't a prince, and Stella later mentioning to Bloom that yeah, she would.

I say “pretty stable” because they don't break up every other episode, but their relationship is kind of... on the opposite end of the problem spectrum, like: “I'd jump off a cliff with no knowledge of what was below and no safety harness or ability to fly for you,” they've displayed a concerning level of co-dependency.

I tempered that a bit in the Alt Con, mostly be removing the situation where that (jumping off the cliff) happened, because it was the result of characters being sudden!dumb! But I also feel like, whatever universe, they'd be the kind of couple who'd get through rocky points in their relationship because they'd try to make it work because they are connected.

Canon treats them a little weirdly, because they are (excuse my language) psychotically-in-love, despite both being established as generally flirty people, but it only once really put the jealousy thing into play, in season 4 when the writers tried to make us take Mitzy as a 'serious villain' by turning her into Stella&Brandon's 'Diaspro problem'.

Alt Con Stella&Brandon are more reasonable, but are still very much 'our eyes met and something clicked' kinds of in love, but they definitely put work into a stable foundation, and were able to weather the SkyBrandon reveal with only a small wobble and some breathing space.

Bloom/Sky (feat. Diaspro) aka: the Drama Llama ship.

I think this one is changing the most, of the three main ships that are 'staying'. Alt Con Bloom&Sky didn't actually start dating until late in season 2, and are being very cautious with their relationship.

Unlike Canon Sky, Alt Con Sky was hesitant to begin a relationship when he knew he would have to end it, and knowing it would be a douche-bag move. Likewise, Bloom's Canon displayed empathic ability came into play, warning her that Sky was hiding something from her, and making her hesitant to even try dating while that was looming between them.

The biggest change with the Bloom/Sky dynamic is that it didn't start under falsehoods, and Diaspro was treated with the respect she deserved, rather than an unwanted crazy ex (even before she was the ex).

Canon Sky was a cheater, pure and simple, we've (probably all) talked the matter to death over the years, and there's no interpretation where what he did and didn't do, was okay. But it also explains his later douchey behaviour: people who cheat are more likely to suspect others of cheating.

Canon Sky has always been quick to jealousy, see season 2's full on stalking bullshit, and of course the thing with the FrEaKinG unicorn.

And of course, since he did start his relationship with Bloom as a cheater, Bloom knows he has a history of cheating, and cheaters don't typically 'find the right person and change their ways forever'. Sorry, but they don't, which explains why Bloom is so ready to believe Diaspro is succeeding in stealing Sky back, whether she actually is or not.

Canon Bloom/Sky have no trust foundation, like zero, none, maybe even negative trust foundation.

Fixing that was simple: I didn't let them get together while there were lies to be had.

Now, love her, hate her, pity her, Diaspro is a huge part of the Canon relationship, so I do have to talk about her.

Canon treats her like an increasingly manic instant drama dispenser, and I think we're all sick to death of it, not just because Diaspro has become more and more difficult to sympathise with, but because we're sick of the Bloom/Sky (relationship-status: “Yoyo's would be dizzy by now”) continuity.

But she's a princess, which means she should be more politically aware than what she is in Canon, she's marrying in to The Royal Family of Eraklyon. Sky's already there, he's set, he is the 'scheduled in in pen' Future King of Eraklyon, he ain't got to do shit.

Diaspro does. She has to be liked by the current king and the people, even if not her future husband, her marriage is a job.

So Alt Con Diaspro gets to do 'diplomacy' first, she gets to make first contact with the Winx, rather than being randomly attacked by a crazy ass fairy and being humiliated in public.

But this also means that Bloom wasn't humiliated in public, because Alt Con Diaspro was tactful in revealing the truth about the SkyBrandon switch. (Because the switch wasn't actually life or death protection.)

That whole first meeting in Canon was disaster from the word go, and put such a taint on the relationship that it's season 8, and the writers are apparently still trying to beat that dead horse.

The main thing that stops Bloom/Sky from moving past their beginning in Canon, is that they just don't communicate. They run into the slightest problem and suddenly they're breaking up and they stop trusting each other and its the end of the world and boohoo, blah blah woof woof.

They get back together as a matter of course, like its on a freaking check list for the writers to tick off, but they never really deal with what happened. It's all: Inciting incident, zero to sixty in three point five break up, way too long stealing the B plot's screen time being pouty and childish, 'oh we were wrong and are back together now without dealing with the actual problem because there wasn't one we're just dumb.'

Starting them off with knowing that they have an attraction to one another, but listening to a combination of common sense/basic decency and intuition so they wait until they're at a place where they can be honest and upfront about what needs to be spoken about, rather than having them run head first into what is nothing more than a revolving door of relationship drama was important for the Alt Con, because ain't nobody got time for that shit anymore. (Have you seen the new time line, it's condensed AF.)

The Alt Con also does something else I always wanted to see: addresses the fact that Bloom is now in a position to marry into a Royal Family.

Alt Con Bloom/Sky is a lot more tentative than Canon, they started of on a better foot, without that lie and cheating between them, but they're going into the relationship knowing that if they work, and they feel like there's a good chance they will, Bloom will have to assume the role of Queen Consort of Eraklyon one day, she's not just dating Sky, she's dating his family and his Planet which means they have to take it slower and more seriously.

Spoiler alert for season 3 of the Alt Con: the love potion is still happening, the set up of the relationship though means there's less 'why doesn't he love me anymore' and more 'Diaspro was (not totally fine with it but) prepared to accept the change, this isn't like her,' and 'Sky and I were okay last time we talked, he wouldn't do this without telling me, something is wrong here.' (Diaspro is not a psycho b*tch/Mark of Valtor theory coming well into play here.)

Aisha/Nabu|Layla/Ophir (feat. Roy (& Nex))

So in Canon, Nabu and Aisha first met when Nabu just randomly up and stalked Aisha through Magix on her day off after their engagement was announced. And because apparently princesses can't date first boyfriends who don't lie about their identity, Nabu introduced himself as 'Ophir'.

Look, I get that he was shy and embarrassed or something? But what the genuine frick-frack?!

The writers have apparently never had romantic relationships before because that trend was really friggen messed up. Like... none of the relationships in Winx Club are what I'd call ideal and healthy, all of them have some aspect of 'oh god run!' to them, but Aisha got the short end of a ratty stick.

So Canon timeline (allegedly): Middle of third year, Aisha's home world is under attack and she can't do more than she's already done. Trying to take a mental health day with her girls, and this rando dude up and stalks her, then, because she's a decent person, she chooses stalker's life over the Magical Dimension (Agador Box), and it turns out, this random ass stalker has lied about his identity and stalked her because he's the fiance she never wanted.

And yes, they do eventually end up falling in love and choosing one another... right before he fricken dies less than a year later.

So you know, Aisha does her 'vengeance is me' spree, which was awesome but designed to put her in a bad light, let's be real.

And then: nothing, an extra heaping of man hate because Aisha is an angry-girl, but no one really addressed her grief after the fact, like you don't just wake up and get over the death of someone that close, and yes, I know that people do move on, but we never saw her moving on, she calmed down after an episode of revenge and then she was 'all good' bar the aggro-tude. She spent season 5 and 6 angry at everything male, then suddenly she was dating Nex and... I'm sorry, I do block a lot of the later seasons out, but I genuinely do not remember them getting together, they just suddenly were after a season of Nex being an asshole with an almost redemption scene when he saved Roy, who mysteriously vanished, despite sticking around post his job-arc in season 6, but I guess that was for drama.

I don't really care for Nex, but that's a complex and layered issue that is only partly about shipping, and only partly about the fact that he was an absolute asshole who almost killed Roy during training basically on purpose, even if I didn't particularly like Roy, I don't hate Nex either.

Aisha has had all the boys thrown at her, and it was annoying, because she never needed one, she sure as sh*t didn't need a second and a third who inexplicably 'won her hand' or whatever the hell happened there.

I would have been fine if Aisha had stayed single after Nabu, like, just because people do move on, doesn't mean she has to date again.

So, Alt Con, Nex and... urgh, 'Thoren' are persona non grata, because let's be honest, they were introduced for shipping purposes and Daphne/Thoren was the stupidest thing to ever be shipped in Magix, I apologise if you like the ship, I don't mean to start a war, but it felt like it was so forced and it came out of even less than nowhere than Aisha/Nex.

Also Daphne isn't returning to life in the Alt Con, sorry, spoiler.

But Nabu isn't dying either. (I thought about it, but it was a stupid drama grab, so it's been chucked and set on fire. I did have an idea of a plot line for the closure, involving Nex as the son of a Valkyne who'd left Waltevy, and him taking Aisha to say a proper goodbye to Nabu, and freaking waiting for her to be ready to date again and just being a decent friggen person... but, yeah, nah.)

Salvaging Roy, even in Canon is actually pretty easy: Roy volunteered for the duty of driving Aisha around because he was actually good friends with Nabu, they went to school together before Roy joined the royal guard (or whatever), and while they never got the chance to meet while Nabu was alive, Roy wanted to get the chance to meet the young woman who stole Nabu's heart, the young woman who loved Nabu like he did. (yes, Roy is gay now.)

Boom! Roy: kept, forced attempt at shipping: gone, call back to that one dead character everyone loved in a way that could lead to closure: available.

(So yeah, Roy is also gay for his bestie in the Alt Con, but also understands that Nabu will never feel the same, and puts their friendship above his romantic interest... he might get someone one day...)

With the Alt Con, there are places where I want to run parallels, and the Aisha/Nabu|Ophir meeting is one of them, but also not.

Again, season 3 spoilers apply: Aisha will be meeting Nabu under the name Ophir, but it's not for 'nefarious purposes of deception' like Canon, it's just a misunderstanding no one cleared up until too late. Part of (Alt Con) Androsian culture is something called a 'Sidhe name', something that an Active magic user takes on when they achieve a certain level or status. Nabu's Sidhe name is Ophir, which he uses for important or official situations, like during the siege of Andros.

Ophir and Roy are showing up early on to take part in the defence of Andros, and to fight along side the Winx, not as love interests, but just as two guys who were available, who are capable and who are helping out.

'Ophir' and Aisha get along pretty well during the events, and Aisha's parents, having been quietly worried about finding someone who would be a good match for their 'not as courtly as she could be' daughter, reach out to Nabu's folks to see if he's in a relationship, and all parents get a little ahead of themselves which leads to the surprise engagement, which leads to Nabu tracking Aisha down to apologise and see if it is something she'd like to pursue or if they need to sit their parents down for a talk, which leads to the reveal, 'Ophir isn't my birth name, sorry, surprise I'm your fiance' moment, which is no longer a 'surprise your chosen-for-you future-husband is a rando stalker' event.

And because the parents went off the pre-existing mutual attraction rather than just up and picking a dude, it's less stupid when they get together anyway.

(I'm sorry but, Canon Aisha did not want to get hitched to some random guy, but he ended up being her first love? Urgh, maybe I'm just too jaded, but it just always hit me as a 'if you stick it out long enough you'll learn to love him, settle now to be happy later' message. I am so happy they did find love and happiness together, as brief as it was, but... come on not all arranged relationships end well...)

(And yes, Aisha will be taking Layla as her Sidhe name, because it is such A Thing within the fandom, I had to find a place to throw it in.)

Tecna/Timmy

Look, this ship is not a bad ship, I think I just don't like it because I liked that there was a romantic relationship that wasn't... standard hallmark romance or whatever. People aren't all the same, friendships and romantic relationships look different on different people, and I enjoyed that Tecna and Timmy were a... “bromance” style romance, that they knew what they had, and it was enough even if it didn't look like the other couples' relationships. If we had to have their relationship take up screen time, I would have preferred it wasn't a forced dinner date.

They were so uncomfortable, but as that damn subliminal message likes to tell us: 'normal dating is correct dating, your love is wrong, so in the end, their friends forcing them to do something they didn't want to do, and meddling in their relationship was “the right thing all along”'.

>:(

No, none of that in the Alt Con.

Tecna/Timmy is a lot slower in the Alt Con, because their friends are more respectful of their different emotional needs. Tecna is learning how to express herself in ways others can more easily see and recognise, but the Winx are also learning to read how Tecna expresses herself normally (for her).

Timmy is a capable leader, but also a bit introverted, while he can take charge, he's more of a team tactician, gathering the data and making it understandable.

Their relationship in the Alt Con is romantic, but it won't take up much 'screen' time, and it won't necessarily 'look' romantic.

Tecna and Timmy of the Alt Con are... shared spaces, quietly working on their own projects while in the same room, sharing tools as they work, they're technobabble too fast for anyone else to keep up, they're leaps in logic that only the other seems to follow in full, they're hooking pinky fingers together when they stand close.

They're slow and methodical and contented and they know where they are together, and they communicate well, even if they don't communicate like Brandon and Stella who do it loudly and with giant gestures and exaggerated facial expression, or Bloom and Sky who sit and hold hands and sometimes struggle to word things trying to make sure they're understood by the other because they're a little afraid.

Tecna and Timmy clicked quietly one piece of a puzzle at a time, and they know they don't do things like everyone else, but their way works for them, and that's what's important.

Flora/Helia

Look, I'mma be honest: this ship kinda irks me a little. It felt like Aisha showed up so Flora had to start the romantic process, because a maximum of 1 Winx may be single at a time. Again: this is not a bad ship, it just felt forced. (Like in Sailor Moon Crystal, how just because Serenity and Endymion were dating, their friendship group/generals/guards had to be exactly matched and dating each other too. This is not just my K/Z|M/Z shipper heart being bitter, it just always feels weird to me when this happens, like just because Juliet and Romeo had a thing, doesn't mean the Capulets and Montagues had to start dating one another... bad analogy let's move on.)

At this point, I have no plans for Flora and Helia to be A Thing in the Alt Con, but if it feels like there could be some natural development, I won't rule it out. Helia will still be around, he and Flora just won't be auto matched.

...I fell a little bad I don't have more to say about this ship... I guess... as 'blah' as I feel about them, even I think season 7 did them dirty?

Musa/Riven (feat. Darcy)

Ah yes, the other ship we probably all have strong 'fix it or end it forever' feelings for.

We as a fandom have talked this one over as well, we all know that no matter how passionate it was, the writers just could not let them get to a healthy place and stay there.

Any time it looked like these two dorks were going to be okay, and move past their rocky beginnings: NOPE! Misunderstanding because Riven is a 'Bad Boy' and Musa has abandonment issues which makes it hard for her to trust him... or something???

… honestly it's a little tricky to pin down exact reasoning with these two, because again, I don't think the writers have ever been anywhere near a healthy and supportive long term relationship, and they need to prolong the 'she can fix him if she just holds on' token relationship.

Because realistically that's what this one is, the ship that tells young girls that they can fix 'bad boys' if they just stick it out, that boys like that can be or want to be fixed and 'good boyfriends are prizes you get for fixing shitty ones'. It could have been so much more than that.

The problem is there was never any space where Musa wasn't 'in crush' with Riven or in a relationship with him, and there was only a few times when Riven got to not be an asshole, all of which were typically wipe away for status quo reasons within a few episodes.

So the starting point for these two (versus relationships) in the Alt Con, is Darcy. You all remember when Riven and Darcy dated in the first season, but it was so she could use him as a maybe spy? But she might have liked him for reals? But she totes dumped him like a sack of crap once he was no longer useful and once he did his redemption act, no one ever brought it up again?

I'm not the only one who remembers that right?

So Alt Con Darcy/Riven were actually in love, they met and clicked and it sizzled, and Darcy regretted having to choose between Riven and her sisters, to the point where she helped Riven escape, even though it ended up leading to her own downfall.

And Riven was genuinely in love with Darcy, even into season 2 and 3 he's still in love with her, but he's also trying to get over her, because she's a bad person who tried to rule/destroy the universe.

He had a shitty childhood, he has reasons (not excuses) for being the way he is, and being jealous of Sky's leadership position, but (and this is the important part) Riven knows he's kind of an asshole, and he knows he's not the nicest guy, and the one who wants to make Riven not an asshole, is Riven.

(Reasons: This is why I did the thing. | Excuses: This is why you should let me get way with it.)

Riven is relying on his friends, and yes on Musa too, to help him become a better person, but he's not leaving it all to them, they aren't forcibly shoving him down the road to redemption, Riven is taking responsibility and trying to be better for himself.

Fixing him is not Musa's job, she's just a friend who's supporting another friend on his road to self improvement.

That's not to say that Musa has only platonic friendship feels for Riven, oh no, she thirsts for that capable warrior man, but she also knows that he's kind of an asshole, and a pretty face is not enough to make a shitty attitude worth it.

Though she still occasionally checks him out, (because she has eyes, she can look,) Musa has set aside romantic ideas for the time being, and after season 1 the two settled into a bumpy but solid friendship.

If Musa/Riven do become A Thing, it will be far down the road after a long term friendship, once Riven has gotten to a place where he feels both okay with who he is as a person, and that he has moved on from Darcy and can share his heart with a new person the way they deserve (rather than forever being second string to his first girlfriend) ((and because they grew together while they were growing as people, not her getting a reward for waiting it out)).

(Yes I do understand she wasn't some blameless victim in an abusive relationship as this rant may have seemed to indicate, these two were both to blame for their poor communication and hang ups, but mostly because the writers were ass hats. This show is designed for young girls, every message in it is first intended for young girls, though they can be shared with anyone, and because my brain: what's the scariest maessage that can be taken from this fiasco of a relationship? ^that shit^)

Mirta/Lucy

It was Canon, and I'll hear nothing to the contrary, but holy shit did Lucy keep running back to the Trix and treating Mirta like crap.

I am giving them a little more screen time, and an ongoing background arc, so I let them talk it out.

Alt Con Mirta and Lucy are in 'denial' (they just shy) about being 'together' as of the end of season 2, but they've moved past their fears of being abandoned by one another just because their lives and magics have taken them down different roads.

They'll finish figuring their shit out eventually.

Daphne/Thoren

… no, none of this. Just... just no, thank you. She's staying 'dead' and he doesn't exist.

Palladium/Avalon

So in Canon, Palladium had a crush on who he thought was Avalon, but was actually a monster in disguise. This was never addressed, nor was any trauma Avalon may have suffered during his imprisonment, or the fact that people at Alfea would have acted like they knew him, when they didn't and that would have been confusing until he got to know them all.

This was a ship in it's infancy that never got to be, because it was based on even more of a lie than Bloom/Sky, Stella/Brandon, Aisha/Nabu in Canon.

The Canon of this ship was straight up (ha, pun) queer baiting, let's be real, so Alt Con switched a few key details.

1: Avalon was possessed by a demonic sleeper agent rather than an entire fake!Avalon, so the relationship actually happened, and didn't get retconned last minute.

2: The students ship it

3: Avalon feels like shit about being possessed, but he and Palladium are working through it together

End Note:

I personally feel like the two biggest problems facing the relationships in the Winx Club was the absolute lack of communication between people allegedly in relationships, and the writer's need for Status Quo Drama.

(Status Quo Drama: things that happen to create drama and are never truly solved in a satisfactory manner despite being 'resolved' by the end of the arc in a way that leaves all characters right back where they started while pretending their was some kind of progression.)

#Winx #winx club #Winx Alternative Continuity #Winx Alt Con #winx ships #shipping rant #I APOLOGISE FOR EVERYTHING #ranting about shipping #i’m just bitching now #I got an Ask!#Asking Alternix

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instakpop · 5 years

Text

Sehun scenario - Primal intuition

(Image credit)

Requested by anon

Summary: The forest usually attracts all sorts of tourist, camper, or hunters. But here is a clear line of where the human’s territory ends and the werewolf territory begins. When you spot a pair of campers too close for comfort, you put yourself into a situation that you can’t get out of alone.

Genre: wolf!au, fantasy, smut, angst

Warning: threats of violence

“I’m telling you. There’s something out there in those woods!”

“Oh, come on. We’ve been searching for three days, nothing’s there. You probably just dreamt it.”

I listened to the two men bickering and sighed to myself. I’ve made a mess. While going for a jog around the territory, I shifted into wolf form to see if I could beat my previous speed record when I went out too far. One second, I was feeling the wind in my fur, the next, I was spotted by some idiot camper. He looked at me with wide eyes and turned to wake his friend, as soon as he looked up, I was gone. Unfortunately, he stayed a couple more days in search of me.

It was an honest mistake, but now I have to protect my pack. I didn’t tell anyone about this, not even my mate, Sehun. He vowed to always be there and keep me safe, but now it’s me who has to keep him safe.

“I’m telling you this for the last time. We came out here for the annual hunting trip and camp out. I’m not staying another night.”

“Fine, We’ll pack up and leave. But I know what I saw.”

“Who cares about a big wolf? This is a forest!”

Unable to hear another second of this, I turned back to leave quietly. That man was searching for me, but he wasn’t going to find me… ever.

When I walked through the front door, Sehun was closing the oven when he spotted me and immediately stopped what he was doing. He pulled off his oven mitts and came right up to greet me with a chaste kiss on the lips. My lips parted with a smile as I shrugged off my jacket.

“It smells great in here,” I said, breathing in the mouth-water aroma. Sehun held me with one hand on my waist, the other, sneaking lower and lower.

“I think that’s just you.” He said with another, flirtier kiss. He released me and asked, “How was your jog?”

“Great,” I replied, reluctant to tell him the full details of what I heard.

“Great. “ He echoed. “Dinner will be ready in a few minutes.”

“Oh, good. I’ll need a shower.” The only thing I wanted to do wash the sweat off of me.

I stood under the water, feeling my anxiety creep back into the pit of my stomach. What if they don’t leave? What if they see one of the others? I had to tell someone. They clearly have no respect for the territory line and something like this should be brought to the alfa’s attention.

When I finished my shower, I got changed into a comfortable t-shirt and shorts. I came out into the dining room and Sehun clutched his heart dramatically.

“Oh! Such a vision, I must paint you.” He said sarcastically

“Shut up,” I said with a pinch to his bicep. “Would you rather me be in some sweaty workout clothes?”

“Those leggings do work wonders…” His cheeky tone made my eyes roll.

During dinner, he could tell there was something on my mind. He looked up at me with a troubled look.

“What’s wrong, love?” He asked.

“Hm? Oh, nothing.”

He set his fork down, not taking ‘no’ for an answer. “Something’s wrong, y/n/, I can see it all over your face.”

I let out a sigh and confessed. “Okay. When I was out jogging the other day, I shifted into my wolf form to beat my last record. But I jogged too far out and spotted these two men camping just inside the territory line.”

“What?” He said, feeling frustrated. “Did they see you? Have they left?” He was clearly upset. As much as I didn’t want to burden him with the truth, I had to tell him.

“One of them saw me. When he tried to get the other man’s attention, I left. Then, today, I jogged over to make sure they left, I was in human form this time. But they were still there. They are still there now. I heard them saying they would stay tonight and leave tomorrow. The one who spotted me has become obsessed with trying to spot me again.”

“Stay away from that area.” Sehun interrupted. “I don’t want you to be anywhere near them.”

“What should we do now?” I asked. “Do we tell the alfa?”

“Not yet.” He answered. “If they leave tomorrow then there’s nothing to worry about. If they don’t see anything, then there's no reason to stay.”

“You’re right. Thank you for understanding.”

“Thank you for telling me. I don’t ever want to see you get hurt.” His hand found its way to mine from across the table, squeezing my fingers gently.

The next morning, I woke up with a start. Rather than a jog around the territory, I decided to just skip my workouts today and just stay home. For the first time in a while, Sehun and I treated ourselves to a...steamy shower. When we first became mates, we practically locked ourselves in our house for days, exploring each other, finding our passions, falling deeper in love. Over time, we just came to a point of comfortable silence, but with the full moon rising tonight, who could resist?

When the full moon rises, we, the pack, will surrender our human forms and become wolves. It’s a tradition. We do this to give honor to those who came before us and show respect to our natural, primal selves. During the full moon, new mates are marked and current mates spend the night with the rest of the pack. Children run around and play, adults sit by the pond and interact or stare up at the moon. Some even chant to the moon, though, it just comes out as a howl.

Sehun and I usually just find a private corner and enjoy each other’s company in peace. His deep brown eyes always have a sparkle to them under the full moon. I’d nuzzle my face into his chest, feeling his thick fur against mine.

After the sunset, Sehun and I walked outside, hand in hand before shifting into wolves. We walked side by side to the middle of the grounds. He looked at me, his warm, espresso eyes peering into my soul. I brushed against him while we walked. When we reached the meeting place, the other wolves were still filtering in. Soon enough, the full moon began to rise over the horizon. It’s reflection bouncing off the pond water.

The alpha and beta walked to the front of the pond, taking a drink from the water while we all watched. This was a ritual we did with every full moon. After drinking the crystal blue water, they turned to the rest of the pack, dismissing the new mates to their marking ritual. Everyone else disburses to whatever activity they wish. Sehun and I immediately walked over to our usual spot.

Sitting beside one another, he lifts his head above mine, grooming my fur lovingly. I turned my head to his chest, feeling his strong heart beating. We stayed by the lake for a few minutes, watching everyone on the other side, playing, howling, running around together.

All was well until I heard the snap of a stick far off. Sehun and I both look in the direction of the noise. I looked at him briefly, worried that it may be a lone wolf. He and I rose, looking closer at the woods. Sehun took a few steps forward and I followed. Whatever it was, I had to know too.

We walked through the trees and I searched further. Suddenly, I heard a crunch of dead leaves beneath someone’s foot. I looked over and there he was. The man I saw the other day. He came back, even closer to the pack’s territory than before.

“Woah.” He quietly explained.

Irritated, I growled at him, warning him to leave quickly. His eyes went wide and he pulled out a knife. I recoiled, not expecting him to put up a fight.

“Keep your distance.” He warned. If he only knew how many of us were here beyond those trees. Then it clicked. The others, the children. They were all in danger.

Taking another step back, I crouched down, showing my sharp teeth, giving him one last warning. I’ve never thought of hurting someone, but he clearly had no regard for us. He didn’t want to see a big wolf, he wanted to hunt and kill a big wolf. His hand shook while holding the knife, but he remained a threat, so I kept my stance. Growling again, I licked my teeth, striking him with fear.

“Stay where you are!” He hollered.

As if he was pulled out of thin air, Sehun appeared and charged at the man from behind. With a simple swipe of his head, Sehun knocked the wind out of the man, sending him and his knife back several feet. The man groans and struggles to rise to his feet. He holds his hands up in surrender as he crouches down to get his knife, but Sehun wouldn’t let him. He jolted forward with a growl, giving the man one last warning.

Leaving his weapon behind, the man races off into the night. Sehun looks at me. A look of concern and anger. I knew what he was thinking. I veered away from him and for that, it nearly cost me my life. He tilted his head toward the pond and we walked back in silence. I hesitated when we reached the water, but sehun kept going, so I continued behind him.

He walked all the way back home and shifted back into human form, combing his fingers in his hair. This was bad. I shifted too, entering the house to await my punishment. He was never this angry with me, but he had every right to be. None of this would have happened if not for me.

“Say something.” I pleaded, not wanting to live in suspense any longer.

“What’s there to say? You walked away from me, and he spotted you, again.”

I lowered my head in shame, fiddling with my fingers. “I’m so sorry,” I said, my voice hushed.

Sehun walked up to me, taking my chin in his gentle hand and raising it, making me look up at him. “Do you have any idea what would have happened if I didn’t make it back in time?”

“I know. I put myself in danger.”

“No, y/n. If he killed you nothing would ever be the same. I would never be the same. You are my mate. My one and only. If I lost you-” His voice broke, cutting himself off.

“Sehun, please don’t be upset.” I raised my hands to his law, petting his supple cheeks with my thumbs. “I’m here. He left. And by the look of it, he won’t be back. You did make it back in time. You saved me.”

His hands, held my wrists as he looked me deep in the eyes. I saw every emotion, every thought, every ounce of pain. Closing his eyes, he pressed his forehead to mine.

“You are everything, Y/n. Everything.” He said.

Pulling back, he held my hands, bring me with him down the hall and up the stairs. All the fear melted away when he turned to look at me on top of the stairs. He held me close to him, kissing me softly. My lips parted, wanting to feel more of him. His warm tongue slid into my mouth with a groan. He took hold of my waist, pulling me into the bedroom.

It wasn’t rough, harsh sex. We didn’t tear each other’s clothes off and mark each other with bites and scratches. We made love, sweet, blissful, ever-lasting love. Each kiss had a purpose and each touch had a reason. His hands wandered over my body, appreciating every inch of my skin. His mouth opened with a soft moan as he sank into me, savoring the feeling of my tight wet channel.

“Y/n…” He groaned.

Maybe it was the leftover adrenaline of the close encounter or our heightened feelings toward each other, but it brought us here, to this moment. His muscles rippled above me as my back arched, our sweaty bodies meeting in the middle while we came undone. His shallow pants in my ear made me melt under the heat of his breath.

Looking up at him, I was completely infatuated by the power he has. The way his chest rose and fell, the effect his touch had on me, the way he looked back down at me. I was all that mattered to him at this moment. And he was all that mattered to me. He was able to take my darkest hour and transform it into a night I will never forget for all the right reasons. He wasn’t just a sweet talker telling me that he will protect me. Tonight he proved it. He was a man of action, and it made me love him all the more

THE END

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