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justmywritingstuff · 4 months

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Speechless Changes~Number 5

Summary:

When you always have done whatever it takes to get your goals, it's very hard to change or surprise people--even harder to leave them speechless.

In other words, the six firsts of Shadybug and Claw Noir's relationship that left someone speechless.

AO3

Warnings: language, panic attack

Word Count: 6.9k+

Author's notes: Hi! Sorry this one took a bit longer with work and the holidays and everything, but this part is at least a bit longer to make up for it. It's going to start as a little fun but then it's going to be a very quick tone change. Also a slight look into how I picture some of the other characters in this universe that probably won't really come up in this series. It came out a little choppy, but I really like it--I based some parts of it on something that really happened, so it's a little different. Lots of POV shifts in this one, so remember a line break means a shift in POV! Enjoy!

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Number 5: Alya (first time they find the words for what they are)

Adrien is not off to a great start today. His photoshoot this morning was a complete mess and he no doubt would probably get an earful for his behavior later, nothing new there, but it threw his plans for the rest of the day for a loop.

He’s running late because of the stupid photoshoot and it’s very important to him that he manages to finally befriend Nino as Adrien with a ridiculous movie, if it works, it’s well worth skipping his Chinese lesson today. He’s tried several times already but something always happens, one of the Supreme’s minions starts terrorizing the city to get his and Shady’s attention, he got the address wrong and couldn’t ‘accidentally’ bump into Nino, he did something embarrassing and would rather die than be in public.

Why is this so hard? He’s just trying to coincidentally bump into Nino right when he’s walking home from school at the street by the movie theatre and coincidentally have tickets to see Nino’s favorite movie on the day Nino just so happens to be free because Adrien memorized his schedule…he’s aware how creepy it sounds when he says it like that, but that’s literally his most logical and least fucked up route.

Since he can’t join Nino and Marinette’s school until the next school year, he needs to improvise a way to meet Nino that isn’t ‘oh hey, you should be my fucking friend because a me from another universe told me we’d make great friends and I have shit social skills, so I really want that! Wanna see a movie I know is your favorite with me?’ Yeah, no, that isn’t an option, that’s how he gets sent to a mental institution and never sees his Bug again—even Plagg agreed that was a terrible idea.

He considered for a bit asking if maybe Marinette could find a way to stealthily introduce them to each other, but she’s just as socially inept as he is and is trying to do something similar with Alya—granted she’s made more progress than he has, but still not a great option for this.

Today is the day that it would finally work if he could just get to the right spot in time. His plan is perfect, he’ll literally bump into Nino by ‘accident’ and drop his movie tickets, Nino would pick them up and they would start talking and then he would casually mention that he had an extra ticket and invite Nino and wa-la! Friendship!

At least, that’s what he keeps telling himself as he’s run-walking to the spot he’s supposed to ‘accidentally’ bump into Nino. If his stupid photoshoot hadn’t run late, he would have had time to get there on time and not worry about missing his chance.

He turns the corner, seeing the street he plans to cross to look more casual when running into Nino—cross the street, turn to the right, walk right into Nino’s walking path and into Nino because he’s checking his phone, he’s gone over the plan in his head hundreds of times. He hopes he doesn’t say the wrong thing and embarrass himself, he might die and crawl into a hole if he fucks this up.

He sighs in relief as he sees Nino walking the way he walks every day, distractedly looking at his phone like always. He takes a deep breath and crosses the street putting his plan in motion, this is going to work.

He turns to the right and pulls out his phone and the movie tickets, but right as he does so, a pigeon flies into his face.

He leans back in surprise, trying to get away from it, and loses a bit of balance. His nose starts to itch and he sneezes so hard it hurts, and the momentum from his sneeze propels him forward—falling face first to the ground in the most ungraceful, embarrassing, and ridiculous way he ever could.

He prays to every divine entity in existence that Nino didn’t see that. If he did, he’ll never want to be Adrien’s friend because Adrien is too much of a dumbass. If he’s lucky, Nino will just keep walking because he was too busy on his phone to notice and Adrien will take his idiocy to his grave—Nino never needs to know that it was Adrien.

—

Nino isn’t doing anything today, normally he’d go meet with Betterfly or hang with Alya, but Alya is helping Marinette with something and Betterfly didn’t need him until later, so today is a do-nothing-and-play-videogames-by-himself day. Maybe he should make more friends he can hang out with for days like this?

He got along fine with his classmates, but he didn’t really spend time with any of them outside of school. Neither did Alya, really, they’re both always so busy working together with the resistance that friendships were kind of harder to keep. He hopes that she and Marinette might be good friends, Marinette has always been quiet and kept to herself (which he couldn’t really blame her with everything with Chloe), but she had been a bit more receptive of other people lately and her and Alya could probably get along pretty well. Nino, however, didn’t really have any great options to consider in that department. Nathaneal is completely antisocial, Ivan is too cheery and always with his scary girlfriend, Kim is a jerk who tries to hang with Chloe, and Max is always busy with his robot death matches.

He sighs as he walks home from school about to pass by the movie theatre. He just wants some dude who will chill with him and watch a dumb movie or something every now and then.

He puts his phone away and looks up to see some guy on his phone that looks incredibly familiar walking toward him. Is that…Adrien Agreste? The angry model dude?

Before Nino can be sure of that, a random pigeon comes flying directly towards the guy’s face. The guy leans back like he’s terrified of the thing and then sneezes so hard he’s pushed forward, falling face first into the concrete.

On the one hand, Nino should make sure he isn’t hurt or anything, that should probably be his first thought as someone who fights with the resistance for hope and all that. On the other hand, though, that is the funniest thing he’s ever seen. So, laughing his butt off is what he does first.

“Dude,” Nino says as he closes the distance between them between laughs, “I’m s-sorry. I’m trying really hard not to laugh. Dude, are you…are you okay?”

The guy groans and slowly raises his arm up to give a weak thumbs up, causing Nino to laugh again.

“Here, dude.” Nino says, finally calm enough to speak. “Let me help you up.” He grabs the guy’s arm and helps to pull him up. Now that he’s face to face with the guy, he’s certain it’s the model guy, Alya is gonna have a field day with this when he tells her. “Hey, aren’t you that Adrien Agreste guy?”

Adrien’s face turns a deep red and he nods. He grits his teeth and turns around, sprinting away at full speed.

“Huh.” Nino says to himself, confused at whatever just happened.

He looks back to the ground and notices the guy had dropped something. He kneels down to pick it up and sees that it’s two movie tickets for next week to his favorite movie that Alya refuses to watch with him.

“Weird guy.” Nino says. “Great taste in movies…maybe I can meet him next week to give him back his tickets.”

Nino puts the tickets in his pockets, hoping the guy is okay and will still come to the movie theatre next week so he can give them back to him. Nino did say he’d like someone to see a dumb movie with…maybe this Adrien guy would let him tag along?

—

It was a terrible, horrible day, the worst day that Adrien’s had in a long time. It was the kind of day where one bad thing happened after another, each worse than the last. He lost his temper at a photoshoot that went longer than it was supposed to, he missed one of his lessons, he had badly embarrassed himself in front of Nino when he tried to invite him to the movies, and to top it all off he had to follow his embarrassment with Nino immediately with a long difficult conversation with his father.

Truthfully, the other stuff was bad, but talking to his father is what really pushed him over the edge.

Before the other universe, he would deal with a bad day with incredible violence or screaming matches with Shady, anything he could throw his anger at really. Now though, whenever he has a bad day, all he wants is to spend time with Marinette and just be around her—whether as Adrien or Claw, he didn’t care as long as she’s there. If she’s there with him, then that’s all that matters and he could be okay.

He thought that being contacted by Betterfly at this time at night would mean exactly that, that one of the Supreme’s minions is running rampant and he and Shady could go beat someone up then she would sit with him, and they would talk or kiss for hours and the world would feel less shitty because he was with her. He was excited for some super-powered person to be out and about fucking shit up, he wanted that. Is that a fucked-up thing to want that to happen? Yes. But, that’s his life, he has to find happiness or whatever somewhere. So, that’s what he was hoping for when Betterfly contacted him.

This, however, is not what he wanted after the day he had.

He didn’t want to listen to Betterfly lecture him and only him on all the things he’s trying to be better at. He didn’t want to listen to how much hope can make things better and what a great job he’s doing. He didn’t want to hear this man who is good and kind and cares about everything tell him how much he worries and cares about him and all the things he’s noticed while they fight for a better world. He didn’t want to hear a stranger tell him how he’s doing a great job when his own father just spent all his time ignoring him and tried to lecture him on how he was worried about him making mistakes and hoping that he would change for the better. His own father ignored him and ignored the pain he felt about his mother then had the gall to look him in the eye and tell him that he wanted him to change because of a stupid Chinese lesson.

Before speaking to Betterfly, he would have dealt with everything he was feeling like it was anger. But with the way Betterfly is almost saying the perfect opposite of what his father told him, what he’s feeling is starting to feel more and more like pain.

How could he sit and listen to a stranger that reminds him so much of his father go on about how much he’s improved and changed when his own father had told him how disappointed he was that he hadn’t? That thought in itself is too much, he can’t do it.

“I can’t be here.” Claw growls in the middle of Betterfly’s sentence. He stands from the chair across from Betterfly in the debriefing room.

“I’m sorry.” Betterfly says. “Did I say something insulting? I swear, I didn’t mean—"

“You didn’t.” He answers with clenched fists.

He knows it’s not Betterfly’s fault, he knows it really isn’t and that Betterfly means well. But, he can’t help but think of his father around him and right now he can’t be here because of that. He can’t think of his father right now, he can’t let himself get dragged down that rabbit hole. This isn’t anger, this is him about to fall apart into a shit ton of broken pieces and that can’t happen—not here.

He grits his teeth and walks to the door.

“Is something wrong?” Betterfly asks, sounding genuinely concerned.

He can’t be here, he can’t deal with this now. The longer he stays and listens to Betterfly complimenting him and saying things he wishes his father would say, the harder it is to breathe.

“I can’t be here.” He says again as he steps out the door, barely holding it together.

He doesn’t know where he’s going, but he just needs to leave.

He bumps into someone in the halls of the resistance headquarters as he’s trying to keep his feet from giving out under him, but his vision is starting to blur so he pays no attention to whoever it is. His breathing is picking up and he doesn’t know what this is, but he just can’t focus, he needs to get away to somewhere, away from everyone. Before long he finds himself in a secluded room in the resistance’s headquarters, one that led into the sewers nearby.

His hands shake as he grabs his baton from behind him, he can hardly see what’s in front of him but it’s like his shaking hands are working on their own as they use his baton to call the one person he needs to see more than anything.

“Hey fleabag,” Shady’s voice answers. “What’s—”

“M-M-Marinette?” He barely croaks out.

“Stay where you are.” She responds immediately. “I’m coming.”

He nods, even though he knows she can’t see it, and slides his back down the wall. He hugs his knees to his chest and covers his ears with his hands.

Everything is so loud, even the silence is deafening, and he can feel himself shaking as tears form in his eyes.

He hates it. He hates himself for losing it. He hates that his father’s voice is always in his head. He hates that his father ignores him. He hates that his mother is gone. He hates that he feels so alone and empty sometimes. He hates that this feeling never really goes away.

His chest feels tight and for a moment he’s afraid he’s having a heart attack, or maybe the disease from overusing his powers is coming back. He doesn’t know what’s going on, he just knows that everything feels wrong.

—

Marinette needs to be Shady tonight, she needs an escape from the day she had. It wasn’t the worst of her days, but with Chloe and her parents, it was definitely a long one and she needs some fresh air. She isn’t expecting Adrien to join her as Claw, though she certainly is hoping he might, she just wants to see where the night will take her.

Her yo-yo vibrates and she smiles, seeing Claw’s familiar face on the screen. She’s excited he happened to be out at the same time as her, maybe they could have a relaxing night together just the two of them until sunrise since she hadn’t seen him all day like she desperately wanted.

“Hey fleabag,” Shady says, answering her yo-yo. “What’s—”

She’s interrupted by a barely audible croak on the other end from Claw, “M-M-Marinette?”

“Stay where you are.” She responds immediately. “I’m coming.”

She checks his location on her yo-yo and immediately starts jumping over rooftops and sprinting to get to him faster than she’s ever gone before.

She and her partner aren’t normal when it comes to a lot of things, whatever it is that they are is one of those things that can’t really be explained to anyone else. So, to pretty much the rest of the world, the things that they both did or said weren’t easy to see the meaning of. To her, though, her partner is a puzzle that only she can put together, a book she knows how to read.

One thing that has always—always—been a big part of their ‘more’ situation is that their real names are never said lightly, even if they aren’t in the costumes, they always use one of their hundreds of nicknames for each other. She never questioned it, it’s just one of those things they never really needed to talk about. But the unspoken rule between them has always been that the use of one of their real names meant it’s time to be serious, time to be a bit vulnerable together, time to be honest, or that something is very very wrong. Hearing her partner’s broken voice saying her name like that…she knows that something is wrong and she doesn’t know what, but whatever it is, she knows she has to get to him fast.

She finally yo-yos her way to the resistance’s headquarters and into the secret entrance. She checks his location frantically as she runs down the halls, running past Betterfly, Nino, and some of the other members. She crashes into Alya for a moment, which brings them both to the ground.

“Hey!” Alya says.

Shady doesn’t answer, she’s already getting up and continuing her sprint to find her partner—she’s so close and she’s already taken way too long to find him. She couldn’t stand the thought that something is terribly wrong and he’s all alone.

She turns down several different halls at full speed until she finally finds herself in a secluded room that leads to the sewers where Claw is against the wall, shaking with his head against his knees. She’s never seen him look so broken, so vulnerable.

She sits beside him and pulls his head against her heart, holding him like he might slip away.

He takes a shallow breath and slowly wraps his arms around her, still shaking—he seems like he might be crying, but if he is, she wouldn’t dare comment on it.

She gently pets his hair as his grip tightens. She can feel him sobbing against her chest and every inch of her body is screaming at her to help him, to stay with him forever.

“I’m here.” She whispers. “Stay with me. Breathe.”

She’s never seen him like this before, which, unfortunately means she doesn’t know the right way to help him. She would give anything to take away whatever is wrong, she’d take it all on herself if she could—there isn’t a thing in this universe or any other for that matter that she wouldn’t do for him. She doesn’t know what happened or why, but she hopes the words she tells herself when she falls apart on her worst days are enough to calm him down too, that’s all she can do for him.

“I’m here. Stay with me. Breathe.” She repeats with a slight squeeze to show him it’s true.

His breathing slows down, getting less erratic, and he starts nuzzling into her chest as he seems to calm down.

“I’m here.” Shady says as she pets his hair and kisses his head. “I promise I’m here.”

Shallow breaths against her chest send vibrations through her whole body as she lets him rest in her hold. She couldn’t tell you how long they stay like this, it could be seconds or hours or days, but she doesn’t care—she would stay like that for months or even years if it meant that her partner would be okay.

As Claw’s breathing finally evens out, he hugs her tighter like she isn’t close enough to him. She couldn’t blame him, when she sees him after she breaks down it feels like he’s never close enough…not even when there’s nothing between them but skin.

“I-I’m not fucking crying.” He says into her chest.

“Course you’re not.” Shady answers.

They were taught by the Supreme and everything else in this fucked up world that crying meant weakness, and despite the fact that they both know now that isn’t true in the slightest, it’s hard to unlearn things like that when it feels like the whole world is falling on you. So even though she knows that he is crying, she would never dare contradict him if he says otherwise and God help anyone else that fucking dared to comment on it.

Claw hums and nuzzles into her chest again. He presses his ear to her heart, listening to her heartbeat as she sees him close his eyes.

She takes a deep breath so he can feel her chest rise and fall, so he knows that she’s there with him and he isn’t alone.

“…You haven’t asked.” Claw whispers after a long bit of silence, his eyes still closed as he leans against her.

“Do you want me to ask?” Shady whispers back.

His lip quivers and he tightens his grip on her.

“…No.” He says weakly.

“Then I won’t.” She answers.

She keeps petting his head, trying to give him as much comfort as he needs.

If he wants to tell her, he’ll tell her when he’s ready, if not then she’ll still be there to keep his head out of the water no matter what. The two of them are anger, violence, always have been and maybe always will be. What people often forget she figures, is that also means they’re angry and violent to themselves, so they break harder when they hit the ground. She knows that’s how she’s always been, it’s how she keeps going—she’s so broken that she breaks all at once over everything instead of all the time. People like her and Claw…one small thing could break them into millions of pieces because they spent so much time trying not to be broken. She’s never seen Adrien like this before, so she knows something set him off that broke the dam. Whatever happens or happened, she’s there and would never leave him to deal with it on his own.

They both stay quiet for a long time as she comforts him and he calms down.

“I-I missed a lesson today.” Claw finally says.

“Oh?” Shady answers, letting him speak on his terms and only answering to show him she’s listening intently.

“I get angry a lot…have a nasty reputation for it.”

“Hmm.”

“I cause trouble and chaos sometimes.”

“Yeah?”

“But I’m trying. I’m trying so fucking hard.”

His voice comes out scratchy at the end of his sentence and she leans her head against his.

“I know.” She says, and she did, she knows how hard it is.

“He-he can’t stand me.” He chokes out. “All of that and all he cares about is that I missed a lesson…that I’m going down a bad path and need to be better.”

“Oh.”

“And then Betterfly…he-he’s proud of me and…and…” Claw trails off and squeezes Shady again, clearly fighting fresh tears.

Shady grits her teeth and tightens her grip on him, realizing what set him off.

Betterfly had pulled him into a lecture about how much he improved and was doing good…which in itself, would probably be whatever on a normal day. But he missed a lesson today, which meant that likely sometime today before Betterfly lectured him about the good he is doing, his dickhead father had lectured him about how he needs to change and be better.

How could he not see how hard Adrien is trying? Marinette definitely isn’t the best person for advice with a parent—she couldn’t even bring herself to talk about the issues she has with her own—but when it comes to Gabriel Agreste, she wishes she could just grab him by the shoulders and scream in his face ‘Hey fuck-head, your son is a fucking masterpiece work of art who’s doing his best and you’re an asshole for ignoring him. Stop being a fucking dickhead.’ It broke her heart to know that this man could make her fearless partner crumble so easily and didn’t even think for a second that he was doing it—it’s enough to make her want to cry.

“Maybe he’s right to ignore me.” Claw says. “Maybe I’m not worth knowing.”

Oh, hell no. At that, her heartbreak turns to rage and protectiveness. Shady is not letting her partner think something like that about himself for a single second.

“Hey, listen to me.” She says as she grabs his cheeks to bring his eyes to hers. “You are amazing exactly as you are, if your father doesn’t see that, then fuck him.” She leans her forehead against his. “You are the reason I can see the world getting better, the reason I’ve come this far. You are incredible, and if the rest of the world can’t see it, then screw the whole damn world. You’re trying to be better and you’re making a difference.”

“But I’m a—" He tries but Shady cuts him off with a kiss to his lips.

She pulls back a bit so she can look him in the eyes so he knows how badly she means it.

“What you are is my partner, my best friend…my everything more and inbetween.” Shady says with determination. “You are so important to me, and I love you more than anything, so know that I’m here at your side no matter how shitty things get because I’m with you no matter what.”

He blinks at her, taken aback by her sudden bluntness. He leans back into her chest and pulls her into his lap so she’s straddling his hips, holding her in his arms. It’s something he’s done before, usually when his lips were on hers like they were animals and things were about to get incredibly heated, but this time she knows it’s just because he needs her close—nothing more and nothing less. He moves his head up to her shoulder, resting his face in the crook of her neck like he’s trying to memorize her scent.

“Hmm.” He says into her neck, his voice scratchy from crying. “You always smell like fresh bread…it’s how I know I’m home.”

She hums in response, melting into his arms. They had never said that out loud before, it had always been another unspoken thing between them—for them, home would always be a person and though they don’t know when it became the case, they both know that home is each other.

He’s calmed down enough that now all he wants is to be with her, just have her close to him—it’s the clingy protective side of him that comes out when the lights are low and their voices are silent, the side of him that pulls her closer when they sleep next to each other like he’s afraid he’ll wake up and she’ll be gone, the side that no one but her gets to see.

She moves a hand up to the back of his neck to scratch his head comfortingly and a low purr rumbles from his chest. She smiles, she already knew that he purrs sometimes, but he isn’t always aware that he’s doing it. Normally, she might tease him about it when he stops, but given how he’s feeling today, she decides to let him do anything he pleases without any remarks as long as it helps him.

Claw takes in an uneasy breath and nuzzles his nose into her neck.

“That’s the first time you told me you love me.” He whispers like he might start crying again.

She blinks, suddenly realizing what she had said to him. She didn’t even realize it…it had just slipped out. She could deny it, say she meant something else in case it was a mistake, but then that would be a lie because she meant every word. As frightening as saying her feelings out loud is, when it comes to Claw, she thinks he deserves to hear it—even if he doesn’t say it back.

“Yeah, I guess it is.” She says back.

“Did you…did you mean it?”

“…You know I did, Cat.”

He sighs and she can feel the slight smile he has against her shoulder.

“I love you too, Bug.”

She lets out a sigh she didn’t know she was holding in.

They always had trouble saying how they really feel, they left so much unspoken and were so unsure of themselves that direct communication like this is rare. This isn’t how she pictured this…she always figured they would say something in the heat of battle or when one of them got hurt. She never would have thought it would happen when he had been crying into her chest and it would just slip out as easily as a hello. She’s relieved he said it back, but there’s no fireworks, no dramatic declarations, no big emotional ‘I love you, I love you’s. It simply is and was, as nice as it is to hear it, she didn’t need that and she didn’t think he did either—they both already knew.

They stay like that in silence for a minute, content just to be.

He hums a tune she doesn’t know then pulls back from her shoulder, resting his forehead against hers as her hands move to his chest.

“That’s what we are…you are.” He says, breaking the silence.

“What?” She answers.

“I’ve been trying to put words to what we are, but nothing seems to fit for how much we mean to each other. I call you my partner but…girlfriend, lover, friend…none of those feel right for what we are, but what you called us? That sounds perfect to me.”

“What?”

He looks down and moves one of his hands from her back to her hands, entwining their fingers as they both look at them.

“My everything more and inbetween.” He says as he meets her eyes.

She smiles at him and pulls his hand to her lips, gently kissing his knuckles.

“Yeah…” She says, “I like the sound of that.”

—

“Hey!” Alya growls as Shadybug crashes into her in the Resistance headquarters.

Shady doesn’t answer, she’s already getting up and continuing her sprint to wherever she’s running to so panicked.

Alya huffs in aggravation and quickly gets up, following after her. She can’t be up to anything good to be running like that in their headquarters.

Despite what Nino told her and the fact that he’s suddenly very supportive of Claw Noir and Shadybug being a part of their team, Alya is having a hard time believing that the two former villains could ever be anything but evil. After whatever happened when Nino was alone with them in the debriefing room, he’s been cheering them on and acting like their advocate. He keeps trying to tell her to give them a chance, that they’re just teenagers like them that are trying to be better—though they’ve been helping the Resistance, she hasn’t seen anything to point to them being more than murderous brutes.

She follows Shadybug down several different halls, barely keeping up with her. Shadybug finally stops in a secluded room and Alya stays by the entrance, trying to catch her breath and not let Shadybug know she’s there.

Alya expects to stumble on Shadybug meeting with one of the Supreme’s minions or find her with a beaten hostage or see her dragging a dead body or some other terrible villain thing that would explain why she was running to get here. The last thing she expects to see, however, is Claw Noir against the wall, shaking with his head against his knees. She blinks, not sure if she can trust her eyes, he looks so…broken.

Shady sits beside Claw and pulls his head against her heart, holding him gently like you would hold a kid. He takes a shallow breath and slowly wraps his arms around her, still shaking—he seems like he might be crying.

Alya blinks, confused. Shady wasn’t running to hurt someone or deal with something she did…she was running to Claw. She…she cares about him? How could that be?

Alya thought they hated each other, even with the weird incident with Nino, she couldn’t see them NOT hating each other. Not even two days ago she saw them screaming at each other before Shady had tackled Claw, she left before anything else happened, but she imagined things got very violent. But with the scene in front of her…maybe Nino has a point?

She watches as Shady gently pets Claw’s hair and he sobs against her chest. It seems like a private moment that she shouldn’t be there for, but she’s never seen them look so incredibly…human. She can’t bring herself to look away and poises her ears to listen, the reporter in her needing to know more even though she should probably leave them be.

Claw’s breathing slows down, getting less erratic, and he starts nuzzling into Shady’s chest as he seems to calm down.

Shady says something in a whisper, something Alya tries and fails to hear.

“I’m here.” Shady says as she pets Claw’s hair and kisses his head—at normal volume now, so Alya can actually hear. “I promise I’m here.”

Claw’s breathing finally evens out.

“I-I’m not fucking crying.” He says into Shady’s chest.

“Course you’re not.” Shady answers.

She hears Shady take a deep breath, then more whispering she can’t hear.

“…No.” Claw says weakly, loud enough that she can hear it but soft enough that she has to strain her ears to do so.

“Then I won’t.” Shady answers.

Shady and Claw stay quiet for a long time as she continues comforting him and he calms down.

Alya doesn’t know how long she watches them sit in silence, and frankly, she really should go. This seems like something incredibly private, and even if the two of them are supposed to be these ruthless and crazy villains, this seems like something that comes from pain and Alya can’t help but feel a bit heart broken at the sight of a broken boy who looks like his world is crumbling. She should leave, she really shouldn’t eavesdrop on them in a moment like this, but she can’t bring herself to move from behind the wall she’s watching them from.

“I-I missed a lesson today.” She hears Claw say after awhile.

“Oh?” Shady answers.

“I get angry a lot…have a nasty reputation for it.”

“Hmm.”

“I cause trouble and chaos sometimes.”

“Yeah?”

“But I’m trying. I’m trying so fucking hard.”

His voice comes out scratchy at the end of his sentence and Shady leans her head against his, his scratchy voice pulling at Alya’s heart strings like a kicked puppy.

“I know.”

“He-he can’t stand me.” Claw chokes out. “All of that and all he cares about is that I missed a lesson…that I’m going down a bad path and need to be better.”

“Oh.”

“And then Betterfly…he-he’s proud of me and…and…” Claw trails off, clearly fighting fresh tears.

Alya’s heart breaks a little more at that. What is this poor boy dealing with at home? Is that why he’s so angry all the time? Because of what his civilian life is like?

If Claw is dealing with this kind of thing, maybe Shady is too, maybe that’s why they’re always at each other’s side, because at least they have someone who slightly gets it. Before, Alya tried not to admit it, but Shady does sometimes remind her of Marinette, her new friend. Marinette is a bit socially inept and has a temper, but Alya could tell that she was dealing with something that puts her in a bad place (Alya assumes it’s the pressure of working for her parent’s bakery way more than she should), and she’s been trying really hard lately to come out her shell—like how Shady might be trying to be better, to be good.

She sees Shady grit her teeth. Shady must have a really good idea of what he’s dealing with at home, maybe that’s why she fought so violently sometimes—she’s protective. Actually, thinking about it…all the times Shady got too violent against one of the Supreme’s minions, Claw had gotten hurt or hit. This is dangerous, seeing them like this, seeing them in such a human way. Alya’s already starting to doubt what she knows about them, it’s dangerous to let her guard down so easily.

“Maybe he’s right to ignore me.” Claw says. “Maybe I’m not worth knowing.”

Oh, now that’s messed up. Is he talking about his dad? Before Alya is able to think about that, she sees Shady’s face flash with anger.

“Hey, listen to me.” Shady says as she grabs Claw’s cheeks to bring his eyes to hers. “You are amazing exactly as you are, if your father doesn’t see that, then fuck him.” She leans her forehead against his. “You are the reason I can see the world getting better, the reason I’ve come this far. You are incredible, and if the rest of the world can’t see it, then screw the whole damn world. You’re trying to be better and you’re making a difference.”

That doesn’t sound like something you’d say to someone you hate. That almost sounds sweet enough to be a confession of affection. She’s comforting him and building him up, even if it is a bit intense, she seems so angry that he would talk about himself that way. Maybe she’s starting to genuinely care about him?

“But I’m a—" Claw starts to say but Shady cuts him off with a kiss to his lips.

WAIT. THAT WAS A KISS. Alya just watched the two people who hate each other more than anything KISS. Was Nino right? Are they dating?

Shady pulls back a bit and looks Claw in the eyes.

At that, Alya’s mouth opens completely and she’s gaping at them like a fish, completely speechless as they don’t even really react to the bombshell Shady just said that’s taking a wrecking ball to Alya’s brain.

Claw blinks at Shady and leans back into her chest, pulling her into his lap so she’s straddling his hips, holding her in his arms. He moves his head up to her shoulder, resting his face in the crook of her neck.

“Hmm.” Claw says into her neck, his voice scratchy from crying. “You always smell like fresh bread…it’s how I know I’m home.”

Claw whispers something Alya can’t hear. Not that it really matters, her whole world view is shifting as she witnesses all of this.

Shady hums and says, “Yeah, I guess it is.”

“Did you…” Claw hesitates. “Did you mean it?”

“…You know I did, Cat.”

Claw sighs and says, “I love you too, Bug.”

Alya blinks, finally snapping herself out of it.

Nino was right…they, they’re together. More than that, they’re in love. They aren’t the crazy vicious villains (okay, maybe they are a bit a crazy and vicious, but not as much as Alya thought) that Alya knew them to be. They’re just two people who are messed up because of their lives and who are trying their best. And they love each other, maybe just starting to feel each other in something new and complicated that they don’t understand. Whatever the case—new relationship or not—they genuinely care about each and that in itself meant there’s more to them than just being evil murderous villains.

Claw hums a tune Alya doesn’t know then pulls back from Shady's shoulder, resting his forehead against hers as her hands move to his chest.

“That’s what we are…you are.” Claw says, breaking the silence that had Alya’s mind reeling.

“What?” Shady answers.

“What?”

Claw looks down and moves one of his hands from her back to her hands, entwining their fingers as they both look at them.

“My everything more and inbetween.” Claw says as he meets her eyes.

Oh. Wait. Oh no.

Shady smiles at Claw and pulls his hand to her lips, gently kissing his knuckles.

“Yeah…” Shady says, “I like the sound of that.”

Oh God. Oh no, no, no. She shouldn’t have heard that. They’re not dating, no, that’s not what they are. They’re existing for each other like there’s no one else in the world, like nothing matters without the other.

Alya turns around with a blush on her cheeks, anxiously trying to leave the couple without either of them noticing.

How is Alya supposed to look them in the eye knowing that they’re the most beautiful thing together? She’s in love with them as a couple, freaking ‘everything more and inbetween’. Who says something like that after having a breakdown? How is she supposed to cope with the fact that the two most violent bloodthirsty people she’s ever known make a couple so sweet she wants to cry?

And just like that, Shady and Claw go from being two people Alya could never trust to becoming the two people in a relationship that Alya is determined to protect.

#speechless changes #claw noir #shadybug #miraculous ladybug #fanfic

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gyujeongfmd · 2 years

Text

famed verification — missing you

summary — writes the song sometime in 2018, picks it back up to use on his album four years later. warnings — none wc — 1860 (not including lyrics)

it starts with a whistle.

the no bullshit of overproduced music or too many notes jammed across the screen of a computer.

it’s the tune he whistles empty-minded, strolling through the corridors of gold star, his home. the streets, the late night pull of coffee. and to a degree, it’s almost as if he’s in his own romantic comedy as the star gallant in distress — going through the woes of living life in a bustling city he can’t seem to comprehend.

instead, he shelters himself in the safe haven of his studio, presumably as a getaway from the schedules and nonstop promotions of whatever song’s he’s supposed to be crooning to on stage. sometimes, he uses imagination for his own matters — an escape to pretend like he isn’t tethered to a company that doesn’t give the slightest damn.

young. that’s what he calls age nineteen — now, in retrospect, the age just seems like sheer misery. especially when he’s sitting down on the same chair he should’ve replaced eons ago, writing the same songs for the same company willing to eat him whole if it meant an extra buck in their pockets. how he manages to keep on going? beats him, and he swears it’s just a matter of habit at this point.

habit, sure.

exactly why he’s sitting down writing a poppy song that seems so far out of the constraints that he’s held to in regards to music. usual choppy beat patterns with the mix of occasional trap, excessive autotune that smears the melody into a cacophony of just sheer sound, incoherent words. yet, somehow, he’s nearing the end of his twenties, writing a song that starts with that damn whistle he’s been recording for the past hour.

and with any pop song, he knows it’s the keys next. sure, that’s how it always goes when his brains racked haywire — he’s lost any creativity to diverge into anything different. instead, he just starts punching in chords like it’s nothing. minor, major. duos. triplets, and through a series of mixed takes, he ends up with a duet of electric guitars and the mash of keys — all scrawled up the screen.

save for later, he’ll finish it another day.

another day comes when he needs another escape. a quick excuse composed of: sorry, i have to get back to the studio. works like a charm each time, and he echoes on like a broken record when the only pieces left of an easy way out’s the void of the percussion.

there’s an easier way out, he knows. knows enough that he’s saved some mediocre cliche baseline to the line of presets in logic, and now, it’s just a mellow cliche pile of bullshit he’s created. (he pretends it takes longer to create than it does, kills time with nicotine and the constant back and forth path to the coffee machine).

contrary to popular belief, settling that image of a ‘creative’ artist’s easier than what meets the eye.

it’s forcing each piece together, each preset and string of chords. the beat reminiscent of whatever pop replays on the top ten charts, rotating through the speakers lining the streets of busy seoul. an addition of a steady piano line, highlighted with the primitive outlines of an electric guitar — boom, you’ve got yourself the next best steady seller (at least, what he can manage on his end). so, by the time the piece is done, and he stamps his piece on another track seemingly ready to enter the conveyer belt of gold star’s possessions, he knows — he better use the remaining time well.

the song done, already playing in the back. (he doesn’t bother to double check, no alterations needed. it’s a dead piece, signed haon.) his eyes catching a glimpse of the time — about three hours he can milk and pin the excuse on ‘buffered artistic freedom’. and all of this bullshit turns into an escape — the only way he learns to manage a slip away from the world he signed onto.

he calls it a funk when he’s in the loop hole of singsonging each melody one by one. a funk when he swears he hasn’t sold his soul completely, and isn’t an empty outline of what he used to be — giving the same sort of beat that coincides with the back track of a song. the cheap way out, and he’s damned if he isn’t a sell out now.

it’s all about contradictions in the industry. play the game right, and you survive. if not? well, you land in the same predicament he sees himself in now: on the tail end of his golden twenties, writing songs for a shit company. all while pretending he’s a golden product on display, happy. satiated. full.

the songs turn into meaningless nothings, and it’s a probable cheap shoot out for another group. in that case, he turns into logistics — following the patterns of everything outlined before. the top ten? he listens. easily, it turns into a quick fix of mismatched notes, punched together in a cheery pop tune. the melody doesn’t stray far from its roots, and the back track drowns out any distinctiveness of the words spoken.

note taken.

he copies and pastes method one, humming to an empty mic. it can’t be called rap, can’t be called singing. an easy pass for the token member of a group who offers nothing but cheeky looks and winks to a moving camera and carefully calculated choreography. (no shits given, he takes the first few cuts, and chops it up to fit the fragments into a puzzle on a screen).

see, the finicky thing about creating group music is in the details. weaknesses, strengths. masking each inadequacy enough that it’s failed to be seen through the movements on stage. but he’s given to boundaries or lines, no group in mind nor the tone deaf features of its members. instead, it all lies in the possibilities. possibilities for another paycheck cashed, royalties becoming a matter of survival — the only morsel of hope keeping him afloat when he finally reaches some semblance of liberation.

no outlines, no rules. so, he’ll continue down, revving up the hums in a tongue-twister of beats, dancing between the lines of singing and rapping.

for an issue of creative blocks when he’s rambling through the same patterns for what feels like hours, there’s another cure. it’s the punch-first effect of singing a melody, smack-dab in a middle of a song that drones out the same.

gyujeong takes his pitch a notch higher, still no words form on his mouth. (today’s a day for the creative process — or at least, he tells himself.) warped words to a slowed down melody, mellowed out, still stagnant to the whistling patterns echoed in the beginning. one space bar down, he pauses the take — repeat.

call it being a workaholic because he’s far from a perfectionist.

there’s take two where he subdues the melody, rolls it down to a slower beat. another take, and he fleshes out the beginnings with another iteration of the high-pitched hum echoing through the mic — internally, he’s lamenting over the fact he’s given the slightest damn to a song that doesn’t mean shit in the end.

he’s a creature of habit. this habit, he works.

a lazy yawn escapes his lips, the finale to the take that’s finally dented a sense of suitability for what he’s envisioned in his mind. a gut feeling that can’t be ignored: he’s sold his soul. waived his rights, and now, he’s on the one-lined path to creating ddandara music for nobody who gives a fuck.

it’s three am. and he really shouldn’t be on this downhole mess of old songs written circa 2019. somehow, he manages on the screen going through each half-assed recording of ideas, rushed songs written too quickly and passed over with no polishing. instead, it’s just choppy — evidence of how too many americanos in one night leads to a lapse of judgement, and a finite amount of creative freedom.

under the layers of shit songs, one after another, he recalls the recording. a peculiar recording with no coherent name — titled: eatshitgoldstar.wav. the title’s enough to garner the first crack of a smile he’s given in days, and curiosities triggered the double click to listen.

he leans back on his chair, languid and lazy. hour four or five he’s been in the same position, imprinting his spine on this chair he really ought to be replacing sooner or later — still, save that for another day because tonight, he’s dousing his self-woes and misery in the bitter taste of shitty songs he’s written.

thirty seconds in, he’s ready to turn that shit off. a mumbled mess of whatever he was trying to say that night completely obliterated with how the melody syncs with the backtrack, and he deems it one of his finest pieces to go in the trash. yet, something inherent like a moth to flame keeps him listening till minute two.

what the hell, he’s got nothing to lose. he listens to its end.

the whistle’s like a mindless thought buzzing through his head, and keen judgement should scrap it. re-write it to something worth substance. but there’s just something he can’t articulate as the melody reverberates through his mind — it’s catchy. it’s taken a piece of interest. he brings open another vocal layer, and turns the mic back on.

now, it’s a matter of puzzle placement.

despite how many open pieces and fill in the blanks he’s left with the mumbling jargon pressed into the melody of the song, he’ll take it over the melancholy of heartbreak and never-ending line of tears he’s wasted.

the tears pass, and the melancholy remains through the only explicit thought ringing in his mind.

maybe, i’m missing you

it echoes, drags on. repeats in sequence one line to the next, right in the middle of the song. in any other sense, he could attempt another concept — avant guard in the imagery of the lyrics. in retrospect, the only thing he can iterate over and over is the jab in his gut that mirrors the same sentiment echoed into the mic.

there’s no halfassing the song at this point, not when he’s already pulled out the notepad from the corner of his desk and the pen strewn on the other side. the end of the pen tapping against the quick-paced beat of the line, he turns again and again to each point of honesty. (the mask unravels. he’s let all guards down. truth prevails)

memories of you and i, i thought were always good only misunderstandings that weren’t cleared up and scars remained, and i hated it i knew i should have held in the words ‘let’s break up’ till the end but the days we used to fight and argue are way better than now

it starts with the cliche, grass is greener on the other side. ends with how he stands on the other front, looking in — the grass scorched with the heat of the summer sun. withering away into hues of yellow. it’s only how he reckons, the beginning brought a sensibility of warmth sans the faux extension of the sun.

a few more words scratch against the top of the notepad. solitude no longer synonymous with liberation, instead it rakes in the waves of desolation.

(post-breakup, and he can’t salvage anything besides a few shitty songs).

#famedverification

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minknows · 4 years

Photo

UNVEIL : TRACK "B Me" || OTSKZ

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izzielizzie · 3 years

Note

Hey you know how I’m At Last it’s mentioned that Skye went to prom last minute in a lab coat? Maybe could you do a fic where Skye goes with Melissa?

yes i do remember that! fic under the cut

"Skye?" somewhere in the world of microbiology - a world Skye isn't very fond of but has to explore for her semester's grade - she can hear a voice calling her. If it's a sister she's ready to stab her with a pen.

Fortunately, it's not a sister. Unfortunately, it's Melissa Patenaude. Skye pulls her goggles off her head and smiles at Melissa, who's leaning casually against the doorframe of the school's lab, already in her soccer uniform.

"Oh, hey," Skye says, nervously tucking a lock of choppy blonde hair behind her ear.

"Hey Penderwick," Melissa uncrosses her arms then crosses them again. "You're going to be late for soccer."

Skye glances at the clock and - rats - she is going to be late. The being late part isn't that bad, she's good enough that the coach won't yell at her or make her do extra drills. No, the real problem is Jane. After becoming captain, Jane made it a point to make an example out of Skye, and Skye is ready to accidentally push her sister out their bedroom window.

"Okay, yes, give me a moment," Skye says, pulling the goggles back on to gently put the petri dish back in the incubator. Once she's done, she wipes off the bench and pulls off her goggles and gloves. She's acutely aware of Melissa watching her, and for the millionth time, she's frustrated by the blush creeping up her neck. It's not like she doesn't know why - Skye's had a girlfriend before - but she really doesn't know how to deal with liking a girl she was once willing to pitch off the school roof. Not that she'd do that now.

"Science looks confusing," Melissa says as Skye pulls off her lab coat and hangs it on a hook.

Sky tugs her soccer bag out from under lab bench and loops it over her shoulder. "Says the girl who was in a play," Sky counters. After the whole Sisters and Sacrifice debacle, Melissa realized that she not only really likes plays but is good at acting. She’s even taking a stab at producing, and her show is playing this weekend.

“Oh speaking of,” Melissa says, reaching out and grabbing Skye’s arm, pulling towards her. “You’re coming on Saturday right?” She looks up at Skye pleadingly.

“Just as long as you don’t make me act in it, I’ll be there in the front row.”

Melissa grins at Skye as she adjusts her soccer bag. “Good. Now hurry up your sister’s going to kill us.”

The girls don’t talk again until the next day at lunch. “Penderwick, what are you wearing to prom?” Melissa asks as she drops into a seat next to Skye.

“Prom?” Skye asks, munching on a carrot stick. Melissa takes one from Skye’s tray and mimics the way Skye chews on it thoughtfully. Skye sticks out her tongue and Melissa laughs, pulling her dark hair into a bun, directing Skye’s attention to Melissa’s earrings. “Hey we match!” Skye says suddenly pointing to her own ears. Skye had never pierced her own ears since she hates earrings, but she deigned to wear clip-ons after Lydia enthusiastically gifted her shooting star earrings.

“Yeah, I saw them at the store and they made me think of you,” Melissa says casually, like she knew that Skye would point out the earrings, but she looks secretly pleased.

“That’s nice,” Skye says helplessly. After the surprise wore off, she now has no idea what to say to something so sentimental. Melissa snorts.

“You look so lost.”

“I am,” Skye says truthfully. This makes Melissa laugh a loud laugh.

“Shall I call Jane?”

“No, it’s fine,” Skye says, laughing along with Melissa. “So anyway, what were you asking?”

“What are you wearing to prom?”

Sky shrugs. “I don’t plan on going.”

Melissa sighs. “I knew it. Well, there goes my fallback.” Skye politely tilts her head, waiting for Melissa to continue. “Well you know how Genevieve and I broke up?” Skye nods. After years of listening to Melissa, she’s learned that trying to talk mid-rant doesn’t work with Melissa. She’s like Jane in that way. “Well obviously I needed a prom date so I asked Jane’s friend Artie - I mean he’s cute right?” Skye makes a noncommittal noise in the back of her throat. She’s never thought of boys as anything other than someone to be friends with. “Well he can’t go, I think it’s because he likes Jane. And so, pride ruined, I asked Pearson and he’s going with Genevieve can you believe it?”

Skye shakes her head as she chews meditatively on a celery stick.

“So this brings me back to the only other person I’d like to go with.”

“Who’s that?” Skye asks as she swallows. Melissa stares at Skye for a moment as their friends groan around them.

“I’ll figure it out.” Melissa says, disappointed.

“Cool!” Skye says brightly before turning to Molly to ask her about the passing drills they did the day before.

It takes Skye three days - the morning of prom night to be exact - to realize what Melissa had been saying. She sprints down the steps to the kitchen, jumping fully over a tottering Lydia. Iantha, Rosalind and Mr. Penderwick look at her, startled, as Skye barrels into the room. “I’m an idiot!” she announces to the room at large.

“We already knew that,” Jane says casually as she cuts waffles into pieces.

“Why?” asks Batty more politely as she leads Lydia into the room. Iantha quickly bends down to put Lydia in her high chair. Ben follows, looks Skye’s face, and skirts around her, heading straight to the pile of waffles in the middle of the table.

“Melissa was asking me to prom!” Skye cries, clutching at her cropped hair.

“We already knew that too,” Jane says as she takes a sip of orange juice.

“Jane,” Rosalind says in a warning tone. It’s a miracle she’s awake this early. Usually she sleeps late during vacation. If Skye believed in fate she’d pin the presence of her entire family on it. But she doesn’t so it’s all her fault.

“Iantha what do I do?” Skye asks pleadingly to her step-mother, who’s looking at her with a sympathetic albeit resigned look.

Iantha purses her lips as she hands a fussy Lydia her recently dropped crown. “I’m not sure honey. It’s too late to get you a dress or a suit isn’t it?”

“Rosy? Do you have your dress?”

Rosalind nods. “I do, but Skye will it fit?”

Skye heaves a dramatic sigh. No, it won’t. Skye and Rosalind are built differently enough that none of Rosalind’s dresses will fit Skye. Skye turns to her father, always a steady ship in times of crisis. “Dad? What do I do?”

“I’m sorry filia mea but I don’t know. Perhaps just try speaking to her?”

“Speak. That’s a good idea. Thank you,” Skye says mechanically as she turns towards the front door, marching towards it with determined strides, pausing momentarily to grab her car keys before leaving.

“What about breakfast?” Iantha calls after her. She turns to Jane who sighs.

“I’ve got it,” she says, secretly pleased at this turn of events as she packs some waffles for Skye. She’s always thought Skye and Melissa had potential.

Jane’s good mood dissolves, however, when she runs into Skye standing on the front steps looking dejected. Jane, who was ready to trek the mile to Cameron High School, stops short. “What’s wrong? Do you have a headache? Shall I bathe your forehead?”

“Stop with the headache,” Skye says, waving away Jane’s hand. “I just realized I’d promised my science teacher I’d work in the lab tonight, help her clean it before school ends.”

“On prom night?” Jane asks.

Skye throws her hands in the air. “I hadn’t planned on going when I’d accepted!”

Jane doesn’t say anything to Skye, who’s stomping around the front yard trying to find a tree she can kick while she rants about the pressure of school dances and dumb crushes. “Some maidens may balk from the fear, but Sabrina Starr never wavers in the face of pressure.”

Skye stops her pacing. “What?”

“Nothing! Get in the car, we’ll be late.”

As seven in the afternoon draws closer, Skye’s mood worsens, until she nearly stomps into the lab. She’d sat through an entire day of school with Melissa, who seemed glowing as Skye’s heart sank. Now, she feels even worse as she sees Jane fiddling with the rack of graduated cylinders.

“Jane what are you doing here?” Skye asks as the science teacher steps out of the back room. She catches sight of Skye and grins as she puts the box in her arms on a dry bench.

“Hello Skye, why aren’t you getting ready to go to the dance?”

“Dance?” Skye asks.

“Yeah don’t you remember? You mixed up the dates when you agreed to help tonight. You thought prom was next week, not this week,” Jane jumps in, making her just go with it face. Skye had seen that face enough times to know nothing good came out of it. “So I offered to help instead.”

“You’re cleaning a lab?” Sky clarifies. She’s pretty sure Jane would rather die than go near anything science related.

“Of course! I mean who wouldn’t want to wash one hundred graduation cylinders?”

“Graduated,” Skye corrects.

“From what?”

“Never mind. Jane may I talk to you for a moment?”

Skye not-too-gently takes her sister’s arm and drags her towards the rack of lab coats. “What are you doing?”

“Cleaning gr-”

“Graduated cylinders I know. Jane this isn’t gonna work.”

“Why, it’s just in the gym. That’s a three minute walk.”

“I have nothing to wear!”

Oh. Right. How had Jane forgotten that? She looks around and catches sight of the coats. “There,” she points.

“You want me to wear a lab coat?”

“Yeah. Or you could just stay here and let Melissa go to the dance on her own.”

Skye sighs. “Fine. Help me put it on.”

Ten minutes later, after donning the coat and letting Jane twist her hair this way and that way until her eyes are uncovered, Skye slips into the gym. She looks around for a moment to get her bearing, and instantly someone is wrapping their arms around her. Skye turns to see Melissa grinning at her. Skye steps back and does a double take when she sees the blue gown Melissa chose.

“It matches your eyes,” Melissa says.

“Yeah,” Skye says, smiling a little.

“God you really don’t know what to say do you?” Melissa asks with a grin.

“No I do not.”

“Then why don’t I save you the trouble: ‘I, Skye Magee Penderwick, formally apologize to Melissa Patenaude for being dense and not realizing that she’s been asking me to prom for three months’.”

“That works,” Skye says, silently thanking Jane for cleaning the lab so Skye can be here, burning up under the gym’s bright lights in a lab coat as the prettiest girl she’s ever seen teases her.

“Good. Hold out your hand.”

“What?” Skye asks, doing as she’s told. She looks down to realize that Melissa has tied a white rose corsage around her wrist.

“Here. To match your lab coat.”

“Thank you,” Skye says softly.

“I assume there’s a story behind the coat?”

“Obviously.”

“And it has to do with Jane?”

“The one and only.”

Melissa links her arm with Skye’s. “Tell me all about it.”

#skye penderwick #jane penderwick #iantha aaronson-penderick #martin penderwick #rosalind penderwick #ben penderwick #batty penderwick #lydia penderwick #the penderwicks #melissa patenaude #ahh sorry if it sucks #izzielizzie's fics

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hoodedwing · 3 years

Text

Babybird, please?

Summary: Jason returns to Gotham after a year-long sabbatical at his Arkansas safehouse. Nothing has changed in Gotham, but he probably did. Dick realizes and puts the pieces together to make a horrible discovery.

Characters: Red Hood, Nightwing. Roy Harper (brief mentions). Cheshire (brief mentions), Lian Harper(brief mentions)

Warnings: Drinking. Injury flashbacks (we’re looking at an event gone too far). Anger issues. Also, swearing but from the last dude you’d expect.

Additional Notes: Jason deserves a happy Christmas and yep, I wrote this after Christmas so sue me. Also this seemed a little choppy to me

Word Count: 1,306 words

***

Christmas had long gone by and left trees still adorned with tinsel and other décor. It was supposed to keep people in a cheery mood, keep away the post-Christmas blues and amp Gothamites for New Year in an otherwise gloomy town.

It didn’t do the trick for Jason. With his hands shoved in his leather jacket, he kept his head low and speed fast, nimbly dodging excited throngs exchanging the occasional cheers and here’s to a happy new year, folks. Snow crunched under his boots as he rounded the corner to a bar.

Quietly, he sat down and warmed down a bit. A bartender amicably approached Jason who mumbled.

“Whisky, make it extra strong.”

Nodding, the bartender left. Jason drew himself closer, making his presence as small in possible. His eyes kept shifting to not spot a certain Dark Knight or at least (for small mercies) Bruce Wayne as another civilian. A rich and seemingly happy civilian who was often seen ruffling his sons’ hair and chatting away.

The last time Jason saw Bruce, there wasn’t a happy civilian, no stroking of hair.

There was a batarang at his neck.

Jason absentmindedly rubs the faint scar as the bartender placed the alcohol in front of him. He pushes spare change with his other gloved palm and nods imperceptibly. He takes a small sip, lets the whisky warm him up internally and space out awhile.

He wasn’t supposed to be in Gotham but Jason was a rebel. A rebel since childhood. It’s probably the rebellion that kept him alive in Crime Alley’s dark and unlit paths. Paths even Batman would be scared shitless to enter himself, even when armed with his fancy toys up to the teeth.

He suppresses what he believed was probably anger or a by-product because man, today the whisky was definitely strong. He felt a little light-headed at the kick of it but it was good, it distracted him from the fact he returned to Gotham from Arkansas for Christmas.

He never celebrated Christmas outside Gotham. It seemed strange to suddenly break the tradition. Some things shouldn’t change, it probably does alter a person entirely. With the whole shitshow of a showdown on the rooftop with Batman, he probably didn’t want to go even remotely close to them.

Nope, not even touching five streets near them

He finished the rest of his drink before his thought loop threatened to swallow him whole with old memories. Trudging outside the snow, he thought about calling Roy.

Maybe check in with him?

See how Cheshire and Lian were?

He hoped Lian didn’t mind too much about his absence on her fourth birthday that year. She was a sweet girl in such a cruel world, Jason could only hope she would still retain that sweetness under such a caring dad.

Dad

God, Jason really hated that word. Reminded him of Willis but Bruce wasn’t that much of a dad to him either. The word tasted acrid on his tongue, almost unnatural, like it didn’t belong there.

Is it bad he sometimes longed for dad?

Somebody suddenly knocks into him, pretty hard by the shoulder and distracts Jason from his second thought loop of the day. Bags spill everywhere and Jason isn’t sure where the pavement is anymore from under all the obnoxiously wrapped gifts and overly expensive-looking bags.

‘“Sorry! I’m in such a hurry. I missed Christmas with my family. Kinda sucks actually”

“No bother.”

Jason rasped a little, voice unrecognizable as he bent down to help pick up the scattered mess. He quickly shoves the gifts into each bag till some names caught his eye.

For Damian.

For Tim

For Bruce

Jason’s heart stops.

He doesn’t have to look at the rest of the gifts to know who it was for.

“Hey, is everything alright?”

A hand outstretches towards Jason who takes it and held with more force than necessary. He heard the man let out a small ouch.

“Thanks man. Hey, if its too much, can I drop you anywhere? It’s really cold out here today. My car is a street down, we can stop by for donuts and hot coffee?”

Jason momentarily looks up and the man lets out a gasp.

“J.Jason?”

He looks the other direction, angry that he’s betrayed himself to look up to the voice because he knows its Dick and older brothers would keep younger ones safe.

Why does he have to gravitate again? Fall for the same trick? Didn’t Bruce, dad, Batman make it clear?

“What?”

“Offer for donuts and coffee still stands. Come.”

Jason finds himself at Dunkin’ Donuts with Dick.

He wouldn’t be here, surrounded by warm coffee and sugar-glazed creations as Dick smiled at him. Jason knows that smile is stretched thin, probably filled with questions

Where were you on Christmas?

I couldn’t look for you, did you hide somewhere?

We miss you, aren’t we brothers?

He is prepared for all of them till Dick asks the one thing that strikes an arrow.

“Your neck, babybird. Who did that?”

Jason cannot answer, He contemplates lying for a while, testing the silence till he realizes that right now Dick could kick him back out into the lung-freezing cold.

He wouldn’t do that.

Bruce almost killed you. He did that.

“Jay?”

He registers someone’s hand on his shoulder. Jason licks his lips, tests the words. He knew the implications of telling Golden Boy right here and now that Bruce could’ve murdered him though somehow he ended up voiceless for some months instead.

“Bruce.”

Dick’s smile drops from a million kilowatts to one of anger.

“Asshole.”

Jason’s ears pricked up, when did he even pick up swearing?

“Wa-”

Dick held up a finger, commanding Jason into silence and thought through it. His eyebrows further knit in realization when he thought more about it. It seemed to add up.

Bruce returning home, untouched. A brief intercepted transmission of Roy that he’s taking Jason to Arkansas because he frankly looked like he went head-to-toe with Deathstroke. Jason not returning for awhile.

“You didn’t fight back.”

Tears form in Dick’s eyes. The words didn’t sound right to him. The Red Hood not laying even a bruise on Batman?

“You let him hit you!”

Dick cried out, slamming his fists against the table. A few patrons turn briefly to the scene before refocusing back on their own conversations.

Jason turned his head down, of all the people that would come in defense for him, it was Dickie Bird.

“Jay, he could’ve killed you.”

Again.

“Dick-”

“Don’t Dick me! Where are you staying right now?”

Jason doesn’t bother coming up with a lie anymore.

“Arkansas still.”

Dick considers awhile.

“I can get you a place in Bludhaven. Shift in with me for now while I deal with the bastard.”

“But Bruce-”

Dick angrily turns to Jason.

“You of last people should be giving fucks about what Bruce says or does.”

He almost laughs at the sheer fucking irony of it right now till Dick squeezes Jason’s hand gently and he knows Dick actually means it.

He has a chance at actually living instead of hiding and being on the run for the rest of his life.

“Sure. If that’s okay with-”

“It’s always okay, Jay. Please tell me if things like these happen again. Bruce cannot get away like that. Beating the shit out of you and then prancing away. Jay, I’m so sorry.”

Dick buries his face into his palms and Jason sits there, twisting his hands together.

Till he gathers enough courage to calmly place a hand on Dick’s shoulder.

“Hey? We still have to finish these donuts and I can’t do it alone.”

Dick turns up, eyes red but cheekily smiling back as they devour the donuts on a cold, snowy day.

Except this time, Jason feels warmer than ever.

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infraaa · 3 years

Text

Everyone always kept a close eye on two particular students at Nanjing University— the two student body council Presidents, Mu Lingchen and Mu Linghao. However, two of their individual student body associates were also worthy of watching...

tw// minor mention of blood (just for descriptive factor,) alcohol mention, implied manipulation, just in case...

Clouds painted the blue skies white that fortunate Saturday morning. No classes, just the painfully short weekend to study and catch up on coursework. On the second north street sat a small café, sheltering in warmth and the fresh earthy smells of tea and coffee and other baked goods, luring in the female students that would come and go. But, that warmth, comforting scents, and those beautiful amber, garnet, gold and silver lights weren’t the only things that attracted those young women.

An attractive young man usually worked the front bar by himself, long choppy hair that resembled oxygenated blood held high in a ponytail, pale skin that mocked the moon itself, and eyes of icy blue, that man was a student that belonged to one of the most top tier fraternities of the school-- Pi Kappa Alpha. The man loved his job, running that small coffee place with one of his good friends. Wan’er and Pan’An had always worked well with one another. Two serious people there to lower each other’s pegs and to get things done while still having a good time in the process. Saturdays were always the slowest. Normally, things would pick up around ten or eleven in the morning, but they got their first customer around nineish, which was sort of unorthodox, but not to be unexpected.

A woman in ruby and gold, eyes of red roses and pale dark brown hair-- half done up, half down. She always carried a pink Michael Kors purse with her, and her light, yet vibrant pinkish eye makeup never faulted. One of the most popular girls in the university, Daji, she never showed up at this little place, lest her friends were already there and they were always pestering Pan’An while his assistant was out on break. But why was she here now? There had to be a reason for her sudden arrival.

“Pan Yue?” She playfully mocked as she sat on his side of the bar. She knew that he hated being called by his birth name, He continued to polish the glasses in his pale hands, not a single sound being emitted from him. He knew that voice all too well, and he isn’t looking to try and get himself all tied up by her. “Pan Yue, I know you hear me,” she continued, “always such a stick in the mud, why don’t you just loosen up a little? You’re always so busy...” He put the glass up in its correct place in the cupboard and closed the soft shutting doors, turning his head over his shoulder in the process. “May I remind you ever so kindly to call me Pan’An?” His icy eyes, stern and darkening with each breath he took. Daji giggled at his passive aggressive temper. “My, someone’s grumpy this morning!~” The redhead sighed as he fully turned his body to face her, his hands cupping together around his abdomen. He raised an eyebrow at her, which made her cheekily smile in pride. “What will you be having this morning?” Daji scrolled over her phone, as she already took the time to scan the QR code sitting on the bar table. “My usual, if you could.” “I can’t serve anything alcoholic until after six,” Pan’An breathily stated, blinking, “If I may, I could make a recommendation—” “No, that’s fine, just give me a cappuccino, two extra shots of espresso.”

He immediately got to work on preparing her drink, being eyed by Wan’er, who was filing her nails to his right. She looked at Daji and sent her co-worker a look that stated, “I’m sorry for you.” He gave her a troubled smile before focusing back. The café was all set in silence until Pan’An finished with her drink with impressive speed, all the while, chaotic augmented screams were playing over and over, looping in his head like a faulty record. She received her drink, a rosy smile showing on her lips. “Would you like to pay your tab now or—” “I may just stay in here for a while, take up the atmosphere while it’s still serene, you know?” Those internal screams got louder and louder with each tick and tock on the clock that hung on the wall. He had a feeling now that she wasn’t just here to get a morning beverage, rather to talk with him, to see if she can get what she wants out of him. He sent Wan’er away to the back to perform weekly inventory before facing the brunette in front of him with his usual resting bitch face. “What?” he started. Daji snickered and put her phone down, drink in hand. “What?” “I know you want something from me. What is it?” He asked bluntly, almost in a rude way. She rolled her eyes at his tone. “Pan, you know the election this coming weekend? Next Sunday?” He nodded slowly, his mind already putting the pieces together.

“Mu Lingchen, I know he’s bound to go down! Literally, everyone is all up on him right now, which is my cue to make my shot known to the council.” Pan’An knew that a situation just broke out with Mu Lingchen and the new students that just enrolled, his younger sister, Mu Lingxi, she had already posted about the issue. It spread around social media like a chaotic wildfire, scalding the school’s populous with shade filled talk and frequent cat fights between the new girl and Mu’s current fiance, Xiao Lianyi. Mu Linghao had told his troop to stay out of the problems that had arisen, but, as a curious power person, Pan’An had already delved into it, having already invited the new girl over to his cafe, talking to her, all for the details about her current predicament with Xiao, Nian Suyan, and Miss Peace. He already had her wrapped around his pretty finger, allowing her to use him as a shield, a friend in all this chaos.

“I am already aware that Lingchen has already came onto Ling Ruo. His little crush to the ground however isn’t your opportunity to try and make his life any worse. He already has a lot on his plate, he doesn’t need you crashing down his castle.” Daji pouted as she swallowed a small gulp of her coffee. “Aw, come on,” she dragged, “You know you want to see Mu Lingchen go down. Aren’t you one of the boys that likes to watch the world burn?” He glared, his light pink cardigan sweeping past his calves as he walked around his station, just doing simple housekeeping as he listened. “I will not assist you in your climb to power. I’m not a fool, Daji. You only want to use me for your own gain because my position in the council is higher than yours.” He was right. As her superior. Pan’An had been in the council for about a couple years longer than her, thus, he had more power and influence, not to mention he was very much respected amongst the mainly female portion of the school’s population, and among men, he was feared as well as respected for his wit and unbeatable charm. Daji hated that. “No, it’s not that, you self absorbed little prick. I just think that if we were to work together, not only could I gain something, but so could you. It would be a win-win situation for the both of us, even if the council is separated into two teams, we could both get what we want, with me, more status, and with you, more power~. What do you think, hm?~” “Chénmò*!” Pan’An cut through Daji’s words like a heated blade, his voice normally raising up higher than normal in volume.

She chortled at his now rushing to surface anger, winking at him quite inappropriately for the situation. “You know, has anyone ever told you that you look cute when you’re angry? Especialy when you start yelling out in Chinese, that’s always very amusing.” Daji put on a dreamy looking expression, but it was seared away when he sent her a look that showed that he was close to rage. His back turned to her, eyed darkened, all se could see was the bottom of his pale blue irises. He didn’t have to say another word to her before she hastily got out her wallet and pulled out a ten, placing it slowly on the bar table before quickly walking out. He sighed roughly and got back to work, hearing Wan’er come out of the back. “I was contemplating on whether or not I wanted to come out. Are you okay?” She was smart enough not to disturb and angered Pan’An, but she knew that he couldn’t hurt her. He nodded. “I’m fine.” She could sense the negative undertone in his smooth tenor voice, chuckling slightly. She put a hand to his shoulder with a sorry looking smile. “Let me make you a Snickers Latte.” He looked at her and slowly smiled, his anger flushing out a bit. “I really am fine, Wan’er-” “Oh, don’t be like that! Go on, go on! Sit, sit!” She ushered him to the other side of her bar, starting to prepare that latte for him. He only sighed as he sat down in compliance. “I don’t understand your humor, Wan’er, and I don’t think I ever will.”

Translation Log

*Chénmò (沉默) - Silence

#Royal Chaos #royal chaos modern au #fanfic #character drabbles #infrawrites #tw//

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thepilotanon · 4 years

Text

a happily married man.

I wanted to expand a little bit more of Flip being married, and how he would behave as a husband around his wife. Since, in this short, Ron would have already known of Flip’s wife, I thought it would be fun for him to try and get some stories (advice, hint-hint) from our favorite Detective and have a trip down memory lane! I also tried to look up and imagine what a high schooler/young adult Flip Zimmerman would be like, looking up 50s/60s fashion and...I went to town. Please let me know if you enjoyed, and thank you for reading!

warning: old school standards, religious discrimination, my choppy-ass attempt to write german.

Flip caught the phone ringing while buttoning his flannel, picking up the line and cradling it between his cheek and shoulder while fixing his sleeves properly. It was only ten to six in the morning, and he was on his way out the door to head down to the precinct for another regular day at the office - although, he wasn’t expecting any calls to come right before he would head off to work.

“Zimmerman house,” he spoke, still a bit tired, checking his pockets for his keys. “This is Flip speaking.”

“Philip, what have I said about speaking so grouchy on the phone? You’re going to scare anyone away who tries to call you!” This voice, for Flip, was all too familiar. Scrunching his face in displeasure, he silently panicked before standing straight with a quiet sigh. “Is that any way to speak to your mother when she calls her only child?”

“No, Ma, it’s not,” Flip answered accordingly, running his hand down his mouth. “I’m sorry, I’m just trying to head out the door for work. Why are you callin’ so early in the morning? Figured you would call sometime this weekend, or after dinner.”

“What’s wrong with me calling? I’m trying to get ahold of Alice,” his mother explained plain as day, and Flip raised a curious brow at this new discovery.

“Why do you want to talk to Alice?” Flip narrowed his eyes, turning to see his lovely wife scuffle out to the kitchen. Seeing her yawning and wrap her robe tighter around herself, Alice blinked sleepily as she came closer to her husband, into his waiting arm. Once she rest her head on his shoulder, Flip held her close and gave her a quick good-morning kiss to the top of her head, making her hum softly.

Flip’s mother huffed, and he could resist the quick, naughty grin to flash on his face when Alice looked up to him with a curious stare. “What does it matter to you, junior? I can’t talk to my daughter in-law every once in a while for simple lady-talk? It’s been a while since that sweetheart and I had time to ourselves. I have so much to talk to her, about that recipe she told me about, and that dress we picked out together the last time we went out to town - you know the one, it’s green with -!”

“Yeah, I’m just gonna hand you to her, alright?” Flip quickly stopped his mother when he stole a look to the clock hanging over the oven. Pulling the phone away from his ear, Flip was quick to wrap his arm around Alice’s waist and practically lifted her up a bit to seal her lips in a deep kiss, making her squeak cutely as he gently demanded her attention.

Alice managed herself to smile into the kiss and held his face with both of her soft hands, kissing him back as he gently settled her back to her feet. Fixing his collar properly, along with the gold chain of his most treasured accessory (not counting his wedding band) of the Star of David, Flip then gave her lips another kiss, then her cheek, and then her forehead before handing her the phone.

“She’s your problem now, baby doll,” Flip teased with a wink as she rolled her eyes. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Alice laughed softly, and he kissed her head just once more time. She made a face at him, making him pinch her nose before taking off to the door. Waving to him with her fingers, Alice brought the phone to her ear and kept her smile on her face as she spoke with more energy to the older woman waiting on the other line. “Good morning, Mom, it’s Alice. How are you doing this morning? I - yes, I miss you, too.”

Hearing his mother exclaim happily on the other line, Flip knew he was safe to leave his home and make it to work on time, all thanks to his lovely wife’s assistance. He will have to thank her in his special way when he gets home tonight. As much as he loved his mom with all of his heart, he couldn’t risk getting into trouble for being a few minutes late with Chief Bridges again. It happens every time either his mom or dad call or see him and Alice in person; always wanting to spare a few more minutes to be with their beloved son and daughter in-law. As much as Flip has tried for so long to get his father to retire and find more time to tend to some hobbies with his mom, Flip knew he inherited his stubbornness from somewhere.

Not to mention both of his parents just really, really love and adore his little wife and like to hog all her attention from him.

To him, Flip always enjoyed seeing Alice interact with his parents, ever since they were dating in high school. Seeing his dad laugh over a story of Flip falling asleep during history, or even during study hall with Alice trying to tutor him with the response ‘that’s my boy’ echoing throughout the house. Or, how his mother would scold Flip while giving Alice all her attention when she asked for an honest “report” of how his test scores have been, and then praising the young woman for doing extra credit, despite already being the best in class. His parents made Alice feel at home, and it felt important to him to have someone so special in his life (and someone he wanted to marry someday, at the time) to feel accepted by his family...

Rather, in comparison to how Alice’s parents reacted to meeting Flip.

It was when they both graduated high school together, a month after the ceremony, in fact, and it was surprisingly hot that sunny Saturday in the venue center. It was in a different side of town Flip wasn’t completely well-known with, with too many people in fancy outfits and shiny cars. The venue was huge: a properly kept and cleaned venue with patios and gazebos with white-clothed tables and pretty glasses; waiters and staff working around before the final moments before they open up the lines to their financially successful visitors. The sky is blue and really, really hot -!

“Flip?”

Spinning around from behind the neatly-trimmed hedge he was (not hiding) by, he took a deep breath when he saw his sweet, sweet Alice in her pretty baby-blue sundress with her hair done in soft curls with her ribbon tied perfectly. His beautiful baby doll was never too fond of using hairsprays and using a teasing comb to create unwanted knots, unlike the big fashion fads and popular girls back at school try to replicate. Seeing her just as she is, looking up to him with her bright eyes made his heart do funny things in his chest.

God, he was so in love with her.

“Are you alright, hot shot? Everyone is going in and getting ready to be seated,” she informed him, obviously leaving out another addition of the obvious for his own sake.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine,” Flip shrugged, clapping his hand and rubbing his palms together for no reason.

She didn’t believe him, her smile perking more on her lips. “Do you need a smoke? I’m sure I can ask for a lighter -?”

“No!” he yelped, suddenly feeling his ears burn. Approaching her and taking her hands with both of his, kissing her knuckles quickly, he tried to play it off with a shrug. “No, m’not gonna go in with a cigarette dangling from my mouth, no! Why would I need to smoke, anyway?”

“Because you’re nervous.”

“I’m not nervous.” Flip broke eye contact with her, knowing he was caught red handed. “I’m not going smoke before going in, okay? I don’t want you feelin’ dizzy when I hold your hand.”

A soft chuckle slipped from her as she pulled her hands out of his sweaty palms, only to hook her fingers through his belt loops and get on her toes to press a kiss to his freshly shaved jaw. “I know smoking helps you calm down, Flip, and I doubt we’re going to be cuddling during a brunch for me to inhale smoke. Don’t try to act like you’re not nervous about meeting my parents,” she told him sweetly, resting her cheek against his shoulder. “If you want to be a detective, you need to work a little bit more on your acting skills. You’re going to be under a lot of pressure, you know.”

Sighing, Flip dropped his shoulders and rest his hands on her back, hugging her close to him. “Yeah, under lots of pressure…”

“I know, I know.” Patting his chest, Alice propped her chin to look at him with a sort of sad gaze. “Dating for most of high school, and now you’re finally meeting my mom and dad - it’s ridiculous how long we’ve put this off.”

“Well, more like they’ve put this off from us for a long time,” he gruffed under his breath, which caused her to sigh, slow and long. “Hey, I’m sorry, but you and I know it’s been us who put more effort into trying to make it happen for the past few years, baby doll.”

“I’m not arguing, I completely agree. My dad has never really been social for anyone outside of his family or close friends.”

“Oh, that’s great.”

Humming her laugh, Alice got on her toes while tugging on the collar of his shirt for his attention. Flip willingly brought his head back and kissed her lightly, making her not to ruin her soft colored lips. “They will love you, Flip. You’re charming and wonderful, not to mention smart and the man of my dreams,” she listed off with a sweet smile, looking at him with pure joy. Being complimented by someone who had him wrapped around her little finger, he couldn’t hold back his own bashful smile back to her, his cheeks burning. “They will have to love you, anyway. If your folks can love me and want to see us happy, mine should be able to see all the things that’s wonderful about you, too.”

Pressing a soft kiss to her hair, he took a deep breath before nodding. “You know what’s amazing about you? You make everything so much less scary. I don’t know what I would do without you.”

“You would be hiding by a bush, pacing back and forth until someone starts to think you’re doing something suspicious,” she told him, making him snort again and earn another kiss to her head. “Come on, you know I don’t like having you with an empty stomach. They make really good French toast and ham that I think you’ll like.”

“Doubt anything can ever beat you or my ma’s cooking, but I’ll believe you.”

Flip knew from the first day that his girlfriend, Alice von Schonburg, came from a very upper-class family. Her father owned a private candy company that distributes between the US and Canada, as well as working to have business across the sea. He also co-owned some grocery stores around Colorado, thus making a very profitable income and a well-known aristocratic member to Colorado Spring’s high society. While Flip knew of his girlfriend’s rather expensive lifestyle and upbringing, she was much more soft and kind to anyone she meets and caught hearts of everyone around her.

Her father was not the same.

He was definitely a hard man; steely, bright eyes in the same color as his daughter, but held no friendly sparkle. His stares were more cold and unsettling, even when he was having “friendly” conversation with another group of people. He was taller than his wife, dressed in a finely pressed suit and a tie that matched his daughter’s ribbon and his wife’s sundress (as did other parents with their young adult children), and had a cane to support the left side of his weight. He had graying hairs and a thick mustache that could easily hide any sort of scowl or smile...if he ever did. Even seeing him across the back patio of the venue made Flip feel like he was choking on the collar of the button up dress shirt he borrowed from his father.

Even so, Alice held on to his sweaty hand and guided him through the small crowd of people - most of who also swam in their riches, paying the two no mind.

“Father! Mother!” Alice called out, catching both their attention, as well as the two other adults they were conversing with. Bringing her boyfriend over, Alice gave them all a bright, sunny smile underneath the canopy next to the tables filled with assorted glass drinks. “Excuse me, I’m so sorry to interrupt.”

“Alice, looking lovely as ever!” The other man with blond hair and thick glasses offered them both a smile, raising his drinking glass in a greeting to her. “Good to see you, sweetie. I should leave you to your table, hm? Gotta get myself a good spot with Nancy. Good to see you, Al. Elsa, good luck on your next project with Susie.”

“Do not mention any’ting about Nancy’s gloves, Bruce,” the other man, around the same age as Alice’s parents, with a slight accent. “She does not want to think about how her nails habe been ruined from habing to do housevork.”

The man, Bruce, gave off a cheeky smile before taking off. Alice clears her throat once more as she smiled to the remaining three.

“Mother, Father, I want to introduce you to Philip Zimmerman, my boyfriend,” she introduced proudly, making Flip’s heart sputter from her voice. She looked and sound so happy to finally introduce him to her family. “And, Flip, my mother, Elsa, and my father, Alphonse,” she told him with gentle eyes to him, her hands holding his arm with comfort. “And, this is also Otto - he’s like my uncle. He and Father have known each other since they were very young.”

“It’s absolutely vonderful to finally meet Alice’s dear Süsser,” Otto said with a big grin, reaching a hand out for Flip to shake. The young graduate jumped and was quick to take Otto’s hand, shaking strongly, just like he practiced with his dad for hours last night. It seemed to work, since Otto chuckled when they broke the greeting. “Knew Mäuschen liked de tall ones, too. Very tall.”

“Onkel Otto,” Alice scolded under her breath, her cheeks immediately going bright when the man chuckled again.

Seeing how her parents didn’t verbally respond, Flip swallowed as he nervously smiled and dipped his head in greeting. “It’s nice to finally meet you,” he said quickly, seeing how her mother, Elsa, gave him a painted smile. When she held out her gloved hand, Flip was extra careful to cradle her fingers within his palm and bow. “Alice always tells me amazing stories about you two, and all you do in Colorado Springs. She was telling me about this charity event you’re planning in the fall.”

“Yes, I’m working with my ladies group to help raise money for a Christmas event for the children’s hospital. We want to make a big dinner and give grand presents, so the parents don’t need to worry as much,” Elsa answered brightly, seeming to like how Flip took note of her hobbies. Flip noticed that she didn’t have such a strong accent like Otto, but there was a little bit of a German touch when it came to her “v”s sounding like “f”s. “It’s lovely to meet you, Philip.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he blurted, unexpectedly. Attempting to fix his little mistake, Flip straightened his spine and held his hand out to Alice’s father, offering him a smile. “And it’s great to finally meet you, sir - Mr. Alphonse, or, uhm…”

Flip watched, in what felt like slow-motion, as Alphonse von Schonburg looked at his offered hand with a sort of disturbed twitch in his bright eye. Then, just like seeing a fly in his line of sight, the older man shifted his weight with his cane and looked elsewhere, seeming to look at his daughter. “Prefer Herr von Schonburg.”

Dropping his hand back down, wiping his sweaty palm on his dress pants, Flip did his best to keep his cool as Alice have his other arm a reassuring squeeze. Stealing a glance, Flip could see how she was trying to tell him with her eyes that this was normal of her dad’s behavior. Elsa didn’t seem to do anything about her husband’s remark, but Otto didn’t hesitate to sent his old friend a short glare before looking to the two young adults with a big smile.

“Shall ve take a seat, und get our trinkts, ja?” Otto suggested, reaching to pat Flip on the back with an encouraging laugh. “Philip, you und Alice both still too young for mimosa or vine, but ve make it dry! Alice, dis boy likes ham?”

“Flip likes ham.” Alice brought back her sparkling smile towards her uncle, letting her boyfriend escort and guide her to where Otto had reserved their seats at a covered table on a wooden patio deck. “I made him the ham sandwiches you liked so much, from the picnic, and there wasn’t any left for him to take home. I was telling him about how they have good ham here, before we came in.”

The table was arranged in the shade and was decorated with white tablecloth; shiny silverware and numerous plates, napkins folded into what Flip thought were boats at each placement of the rectangular-shaped table. It looked like it could have fit an easy amount of almost ten people, but there were exactly five chairs and five arrangements. Flip thought it was very fancy, similar to his family’s Thanksgiving dinners at his grandmother’s house...

“Ah-ha!” Otto gave a loud, belly laugh, seeming to not care when some of the attendees look in their direction. Elsa tittered to herself by Otto’s gesture, allowing her husband to escort her to the other end of the long table. “Though, I must ask, vhere de name...Flip, not Philip?”

Flip first held Alice’s hand in one while the other pulled out a chair in the corner, letting her sit down first and pushing her in. “It’s - uh, it’s a nickname I’ve had since I was little, and it just stuck to everyone I went to school with,” he answered honestly, making sure his girlfriend was comfortable first before going to the seat right next to her - until Otto caught his arm.

“No nonsense, young man, you are a guest und shall sit at the other head of the table. Come here, still next to Mäuschen!” Otto commanded, dragging Flip to sit directly across from Alice’s father, who took his seat and watched with unreadable eyes. “Perfekt! Und I sit here, then ve vill habe better conversation. Tell me more of de nickname.”

Flip felt a little too warm from the seating arrangement and being put on the spotlight, but seeing how Elsa and Otto genuinely seemed to be interested in it, he took a deep breath. Feeling Alice’s Mary Jane press against his large foot, he felt a little bit more confident. “My folks sent me to summer camps, especially when I was in the scouts, and I had a habit of flipping off the docks into the lakes. My cabin buddies started calling me Flip, and then, by dinner, the whole camp was calling me that. A lot of the guys I went to camp with went to our school, so I guess they made sure it’d spread.”

Otto chuckled warmly at the story. “Of course, vhat kind of friends vould they be if they habe not reminded people of your big talent,” he commented, glancing to Elsa and Alphonse with a cheeky smile. “Vonderful to know that camp traditions of nicknames still exist.”

“Well, Philip, perhaps someday we will see your amazing flips into a lake or pool,” Elsa offered before Otto opened a can of worms that wasn’t appropriate quite yet. “So, please, tell us: what are your parents like? Surely, they’re wonderful people, if they allow such a polite boy in scouts and camps.”

“My father is a mechanic. He’s very proud whenever he works with cars or machinery,” Flip said fondly.

“Zimmerman...as in Ackerman and Zimmerman Auto Shop?” Alphonse, surprisingly, spoke up.

Flip was quick to nod. “Yeah, yeah, It’s been a sort of family business with the Ackermans,” he answered eagerly. “My father and a close friend of his started it way before I was born.”

“How wonderful.” Elsa was giving an honest smile, which was surprising to Flip, never thinking such a laboring, dirt job like working under and inside cars would be appealing. Then, he thought, of how it was in the family and it was obvious that there was a profitable income. He didn’t take it to heart. “And, your mother? Does she work, too, or is she a housewife?”

“She’s a nurse at the local hospital. Maybe, if you’re interested, Mrs. von Schonburg, she would like to volunteer for your charity plan? I’m sure her and other nurses would like to help with the children’s hospital…”

“Oh, that would be wonderful! And, please, dear, call me Elsa,” she responded joyously, making Flip smile back to her.

“Ackerman und Zimmerman are strong names,” Alphonse suddenly spoke up, interrupting whatever else his wife was going to say next. Flip saw from the corner of his eye how Alice’s lips fell to a hard line and looked her father’s way. He couldn’t see her expression, but her shoulders were tense. “Common Deutsch names. Say, vhich church do you attend vith your family?”

“Father!” Alice suddenly leaned in, her voice thick and testy. “Das ist -!”

“Schatzchen,” Alphonse grounded back, his eyes piercing at Alice. Flip managed to slip his hand under the tablecloth and tugged on her fingers, letting her hold his hand back with a tight grip. “Do not interrupt, it is unbecoming.”

Alice eventually leaned back, keeping her gaze down and her hold on his hand tightened even more. Flip brushed his thumb over her knuckles. He wanted to hold her in his arms and kiss her head, like he always did, but he knew he couldn’t…

“I don’t attend a church with my family,” he answered, strong and brave in his tone. “My family and I attend the big synagogue that’s near the city hall and community college.”

There was an uncomfortable silence at the table, even when the waiter came to deliver glasses of iced water, even though Alice mouthed a ‘thank you’ to him. Alphonse stared with a stoic expression at Flip, and Flip himself couldn’t stop from staring back. Yes, he was scared and ready to shit his pants, but he wasn’t going to let go of something - someone he really loved, all because of his family’s belief. Even Alice told him that she wanted him to always take a stand to anyone who would try and see his religion as a negative, when it wasn’t. Alice adored that about Flip and his family, always grateful to be accepted into the Zimmerman household and being taught of their customs and traditions, and it made Flip grateful…

Although, now, Flip was feeling negative with just the look on Alphonse von Schonburg’s face.

“Ein Juden,” he said slowly, making Alice give her father a hard look.

“Yes, sir,” Flip stood straighter, trying to feel tall and confident in himself, “I’m Jewish.”

Flip swore he was watching the man’s nose grow red, but he didn’t say anything more as the trolley of the brunch arrived to their spot, the waiter smiling and unknown to what was going on. He began serving the dishes, and Alphonse simply took his folded napkin and snapped it open a little bit too hard. Elsa was a lot more gentle, but still uncomfortably silent all the while their plates were served first. Flip was grateful that Alice refused to let go of his hand from underneath the table, and was surprised with Otto leaned back, unceremoniously, on his chair.

Smiling.

“I’ve only seen your synagogue from the outside, yet the arrangement of de stained glass is very, very detailed,” Otto said, taking his napkin and ready to tuck it into his shirt. “Be vonderful to see de sun shine inside. Und de gardens outside is alvays lovely to smell on valks in de spring. You go often, Philip?”

“My mother tries to get me to go once a week, although it is a little bit harder now that I’m going to the police academy. She tries to go for every service, or she helps bring them to the hospital, for her patients.”

“How vonderful. My mutter vas de same vith her church,” Otto responded affectionately. “Mittwoch, Samtag und Sonntag, every veek. Soon as I got old enough, I did vhatever I could do to not vear de church pants - terrible stitch dat rode up my -!”

“Otto!” Elsa bursted into a genuine laugh. “Mind your manners, you old hound!”

Otto gave her a cheeky laugh and then reached over to pat Flip on the back, as if they shared a secret joke that no one knew about. Once the plates have been served and the waiter reminded the table to call for anything else, everyone seemed to try and begin eating with ease.

“Thought Juden do not eat pork,” Alphonse blurted out casually, causing both Elsa and Alice to freeze their utensils.

Flip, at this point, didn’t hesitate to use his knife to cut his piece of ham into smaller bits. “Some Jewish people don’t eat pork, and some do, depending who it is. My parents allow us to eat pork, unless it’s for a specific holiday, then we do our best to respect Kashrut.” It wasn’t necessary, but Flip took a generous piece of ham and ate it, swallowing and then wiped his mouth with his napkin. “Again, it’s different for everyone within the community. It’s a lot more complexed, but I won’t bore you with them, sir.”

“But you had Alice’s sandwiches before,” Otto questioned. He grinned when Flip nodded with some sort of enthusiasm, despite having his mouth full. “Mäuschen is blessed in the kitchen, I say. Been to New York, Chicago, Italy, France und all, but never had the best ham sandwich until Alice made me hers.”

“Alice makes the best sweets, too,” Flip willingly added in, looking to his girlfriend and squeezing her hand. Seeing her roll her eyes slightly and try to hide her embarrassed smile with her fork, Flip snickered. “Whenever she helped with our school events, all her stuff is always sold out. I think she has Betty Crocker running for her money.”

“And you say you’re in the police academy, Philip?” Elsa asked after sipping from her glass. “What made you want to go for the police force?”

“It sounds childish, but...I wanted to be a superhero, when I was really little. I think I’ve always just wanted to make people feel safe, save the day once in a while… I always looked to cops being the first step to becoming a superhero growing up,” he confessed with a half-smile. “I’ll say it’s a lot of work, but it’s pretty great, especially with the support I have. I know it’s going to be all worth it.”

Looking at Alice, the young couple caught their eyes and smiled warmly to each other. Flip knew he wouldn’t have gotten as far as being accepted into the academy without her help. With studying at the library and checking the public records to learn from solved cases and the manuals he was recommended to look over, Alice always made sure to quiz him, get him coffee and food and encouraging kisses. Flip’s parents were also supporting his career choice, too, but it was really Alice who was making sure that he kept his focus on his studies whenever it was necessary. She always made sure to get him back on track when he would rather throw the towel in. Alice never gave up on him.

Elsa and Otto immediately caught on and seemed to have a positive reaction to it, seeing how honest and appreciative he was for Alice and all the help she’s done for him.

“Das mag ich nicht.”

Flip watched Alice’s face suddenly transform from happy and in love, to pure sadness, releasing a long sigh as Elsa reacted to Alphonse in shock. She was saying something to Alphonse, Flip had no idea word-for-word, but he was sure she was scolding him for what he said, igniting a quiet argument between husband and wife. Flip doesn’t speak a word of German but, thanks to Alice, he has learned bits and pieces whenever he would ask her. The many times she would mumble something under her breath, usually when she was frustrated with something and didn’t want to openly curse in front of others… But, besides that, Flip had a good idea what Alphonse was responding so negatively about.

Seeing Alice trying not to cry out of frustration towards her father, doing her best not to cause a scene, Flip completely dismissed his own brunch and focused on his girlfriend. Otto also stopped eating and looked to Alice worryingly.

“Flip Zimmerman, come back to Earth, please!”

Coming out of his trip down Memory Lane, Flip looked over to see his partner and friend, Ron Stallworth, giving him a pointed look to the two coffee mugs in each hand. Sighing, Flip kicked off his feet off his desk and thanked Ron for getting him his fourth refill. He tried his best to ignore Ron’s stare at him, watching him take a few big gulps and give his friend the stink-eye, but that only made ‘the rookie’ grin.

“What’s got Flipper’s head rolling today, huh?” Ron asked, all cheeky and teasing as usual when it was a slow day in the office. “Got your head in the clouds, probably thinking about Playmates?”

“Hardly,” Jimmy’s voice cut in from the other side of him, making Flip sigh. “The only lil bunny you’ll ever catch this man thinkin’ is his wife. Did she pack you any lunch today? I’m starving.”

“Nah, I was hoping you’d treat me to lunch down the street from the last time ya ate my food,” Flip snipped back with a friendly smirk, making Jimmy snicker.

“Anyway, as I was sayin’,” Ron broke the incoming banter that usually happened around this time between Flip and Jimmy, “I was trying to ask you how you proposed.”

“What? ‘Proposed’?” Flip’s face twisted in confusion, looking to his friend with narrowed eyes. “What, you planning on proposin’ to Patrice, after all this time?”

“I didn’t - if you were paying attention to what I was saying before, you would know I was askin’ because I was just curious!” Ron was quick to respond, making Flip slowly turn in his chair to face his partner more directly, just seeing him getting flustered. “Y’know, nothing’s going on here, so why not make small talk; always wondered how ya made the move to whisk a nice lady like Alice into marrying you, anyway.”

“I’d say it’s personal business, but -”

“Oh, this big guy did it in the most public place possible. At a big-ass dinner party her ma was hosting at some fancy as hell arts museum,” Jimmy interrupted again. “He gave her ol’ man a heart attack when she said ‘yes’!”

“What, Alice’s daddy don’t like lumberjacks?” Ron earned a playful punch to his arm from his friend, making sure not to spill his own mug of coffee.

Flip shook his head. “No, he didn’t like the fact that his little girl was marrying a Jew.” When Jimmy went quiet and Ron did a double-take, Flip shrugged his shoulders as casual as possible. “Her father was the only one from his immediate family to move from Germany, her mom was born and raised here, but her own parents were from Berlin, if I remember right.”

“So, wait a minute,” Ron stopped him and took a seat on the edge of Flip’s desk. “So, you, a Jewish man, married to Alice, who’s...not Jewish? Assuming she didn’t convert -”

“She didn’t.” Flip shrugged. “Not a big deal. It’s like I’ve said: never been really big into that part of me, being Jewish, and Alice wasn’t big on her family’s beliefs either. That also blew her parents out of the water when she said she wanted to just get a civil marriage, instead of a big church wedding.”

“But, Alice’s ol’ man ain’t a -”

“No. Just doesn’t...like my kind. The way he was brought up, I guess. I never really asked, but Alice doesn’t know much either. Never got to be in the military, or ever into politics, really, just doesn’t like me.”

There was a long period of silence between the three, allowing Flip to finish his mug of coffee before it got too cold for his liking. Not enjoying the tension that was coming from his two buddies, the tall man cleared his throat before grabbing a cigarette from the carton next to his phone. “But, yeah, like Jimmy said - I knew I wasn’t going to get any blessing, so I decided to be a cocky little shit, and propose to her in front of a lot of rich, high-and-mighty people in one of the nicest suit-and-tie junctions in Colorado Springs history.”

“Certainly made history with driving a man to curse and raise Hell at a silent auction, but alright,” Jimmy slipped in, making Flip bark out a laugh and try to force him to fall back by kicking behind Jimmy’s propped legs. “What! You know what you did was your talk of the first week ya came here.”

The rest of the day carried on like usual, Flip filling out boring paperwork and answering calls. It was only a breather for him once he punched out and stepped outside the precinct, catching Ron digging for his keys in his coat pockets. Flip startled him into a quick jump, making Flip snort a laugh.

“Don’t go sneaking on me, you damn Flipper,” Ron groaned before finally finding his keys in his breast pocket. “Did you finish the report to send upstairs yet?”

“Yeah, dropped it off on the front desk.”

“Alright. Cool, that’s good,” Ron mumbled, nodding and fumbling with his keys. Flip watched him with a knowing look, head tilting to the side as he propped his jacket over his shoulder.

“What did you want to ask, Ron…”

“What? What?” Ron stammered before meeting Flip’s stare. “I don’t…”

“Look, if you don’t ask me what you want, it’s going to bug the shit outta you, and I don’t like doing that to my friends. You know, Alice would kill me for not being open with you, when you’re not hurting anyone,” Flip told him, raising a brow. “You wanted to ask me something earlier, I’m giving you the chance now.”

Ron took a deep breath, looking around for a second before summoning the courage for himself. “It’s just - you know, you say Alice’s old man never gave you a blessing, and you didn’t convert to either religion. Well, I mean, when you said that Alice’s father is from Germany, it just -? I’m just… How do you two make it work?

“Anytime I see you and Alice together, you two just make yourself to be the happiest married couple in the whole world. Not saying you’re not, but, when you look at it in that detail,” Ron made a gesture with his hands, his keys jingling in his palm. “You came from very different backgrounds, and I guess just seeing how your lady accepts everyone, with no second thought, despite…”

Flip leaned against the chilly brick, popping a cigarette in his mouth and lighting it before he drove home. “When we were in high school, I never brought up the fact that I was Jewish when we first started dating. It wasn’t until my mom begged me to bring her home to meet the family,” he started out. “Again, my folks didn’t make it a big deal to raise me Jewish, but my mom had our house decorated; we had a mezuzah, family portraits that were taken in tradition ways back, and Star of David. I already knew of Alice’s family. People talked at our school, of who’s parents were who. Alice was that kind of popular, pretty-girl who everyone talked about and knew about.

“I didn’t want her walking into my house and - I don’t know - think how we all thought German people thought of us, or something,” he laughed at the memory, seeing it clearly as if it was yesterday when he and Alice were teenagers again.

Sitting in the library, her trying have him memorize his history notes for the upcoming test he had to retake, and he could only just stare like the lovesick boy he was. He’d tell her that his mother invited her over to join them for dinner on Friday, remembering how she brightened up and tried to contain her excitement of getting to meet his parents. She asked him what she should wear, if she should bring something for his mother to impress her - flowers, a dessert or maybe a box of candy for his mother to bring to the hospital, and another for his father to bring to the shop. Flip could see himself trying to calm her down, holding her hand…

Then, getting unsure of himself.

“Then, knowing her, she could tell that something was wrong. She always does, I don’t know how she does, but she asked me what was running through my mind. I couldn’t hide anything, so I told her.” Flip swallowed, remembering how he felt, that sort of pressure of waiting for a response from her. Alice listened to him when he said ‘I’m actually Jewish’, and blinked, seeming to process it. The next memory made him actually snicker next to Ron, who was listening almost like how Alice always did: intentive, curious and respectful. “Next thing I know, she just smiled and said ‘okay’.” Flip shrugged, his face splitting into a huge grin. “Okay? What did she think of that? Honest opinion, because I’m about ready to either crap my pants or have my head pop off. She told me that all she really cared for was me being comfortable and happy with her. You know what she thought about me being Jewish, when I asked her?”

Ron shook his head and Flip chuckled.

“When I asked her, she told me she thought it was really interesting and wanted to learn about what I knew. She just...wanted me to tell her more about myself, and didn’t judge anything that would have otherwise been weird to anyone else.” Flip shrugged again, his smile never leaving his face. “I asked her if she thought it was weird to date me, after that, and she gave me a look and snapped back with ‘why the hell would I think it’s weird? I think it’s amazing, and I want to know more!’ Something about how she snipped at me and then smiled like an angel got to me.”

“Is that when you figured you were going to marry her?” Ron asked, a knowing smirk on his face when Flip sighed, slow and long.

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s when I knew.”

XXX.

It was dark out by the time Flip made it back home, but still earlier than usual for Flip’s rather packed to the last minutes of the days schedules. Seeing the lights on in the living room, even with the drapes closed, it felt welcoming and safe with the warm, yellow glow of the lights and the front yard light guiding him home to where he knew his beautiful, loving wife was waiting for him. Entering through the front door, announcing his arrival, Flip couldn’t help but grow still as an odd aroma overpowered his nose. He stopped immediately after taking off his shoes, taking a deep inhale through her nose and out of his mouth…

It smelled familiar, but not quite what he expected walking into his own house.

“Alice?” he called, hearing a shuffle coming from the kitchen and his wife cursing under her breath. Coming further through the living room to the wall hiding the kitchen and dining room around the corner, Flip caught Alice attempt to pluck something out of one of her little bread pans, only to drop it back with a hiss and suck her thumbs.

“Mmmm!” she whined loudly all while her thumbs in her mouth, then jumping at the sight of Flip at the corner. Popping them out, the pads of her thumbs red in irritation, Alice stared wide-eyed at him. “Flip! What are you doing home so early? You’re suppose to be still at the station!”

“I finished paperwork early, so Chief let us all go,” he explained, looking carefully between her and the little bread pans. They were the ones Alice usually made her chocolate-banana breads or little cakes in, but what they currently had cooling wasn’t anything he has seen her make before. The tops of whatever they looked braided in a way, with chunks of brown pieces of some mix spread on the top. It looked a bit too brown to be a regular cake or bread, making him wonder if Alice accidentally burned it.

Seeing him look at her baking, Alice peeped with a sliver of terror before scurrying to him, trying to push him out. “Don’t look at it! I messed up,” she rushed, unable to make the solid brick that is her husband to even budge. “You were suppose to come home later, after I clean everything up and started dinner to hide the smell -!”

He was careful to grab her wrists and bring her hands up. Holding her thumbs propped out to him, he kissed the irritated skin and then her palms, turning his head left and right each time before standing to look down to her.

“What are you trying to hide, baby doll? It’s not my birthday...is it?” Flip was terrible at remembering his own birthday, since he usually had other things in mind (but always remembered Alice’s birthday, or their wedding anniversary), but he was sure of himself that he still had some odd months until then. “You’re acting like you’re tryin’ to hide a body on me.”

Alice went red in the cheeks out of mere embarrassment, pouting so cutely at him to see her getting more bothered at being caught - with whatever she’s doing. “I was planning on surprising you with it, but now it’s all ruined. How is it that guys always walk in on surprises all the time? You know, your mother told me the story of how you always seem to ‘walk-in’ on her wrapping your birthday and holiday presents? Passover and Hanukkah, you had her routine down and -”

“You’re not answering me, honey.” Flip cupped her cheeks and squished them up, making her look like a chipmunk with too much food in its cheeks. He gave her an encouraging smirk and shook her head gently. “C’mon, what are you trying to do here?”

Alice huffed and puffed a bit, unable to meet his gaze as she caved in. “I’m trying to make your mother’s chocolate babka,” she confessed, and it all came together as he grinned.

“Is that why she called so goddamn early today?”

Nodding, Alice sunk her cheeks into his palms, seeming to try to look down. “I called her last week, asking if she would tell me her recipe, or where I can find a good one in magazines or books, for starting out,” she explained. “She said she’d call me as soon as she found hers, and we spent all morning rewriting it over the phone and double-checking. I honestly thought you would be home later, so I would have time to call her back before dinner to see what I did wrong.”

“Why’re you trying to hide it from me, Alice?”

“You mentioned a couple weeks back how you missed your mom’s chocolate babka, and I figured it was about time I tried to make something special to you, since your parents live a long ways away now,” she admitted, tugging his wrists to let go of her face and sighed. “I didn’t want to push your mother, since it always seemed so special in your family, but she was...really happy I asked. I just feel like I would have let her down by burning them, even with step-by-step instructions.”

Flip just hummed before reaching over to the still-hot pan, tearing off a decent chunk of the top. Before Alice could stop him, he shoved as much of the bread into his mouth; it was a good thing that his hands were callous enough to ignore the burn, and the fact that he always drank his coffee as hot as possible to be used to it in his mouth, and he just threw his head back and began chewing.

“Flip, you ass! Spit that out!” Alice hissed, trying to reach to the piece hanging immaturely out of his mouth, like a mother trying to take a hazard out of a toddler’s mouth...when the toddler happens to be over six feet tall. Flip was behaving like a bird trying to eat a chunk of burger whole. “I don’t want you to eat it when it’s all burned like that!”

Being able to chew and swallow the first bite and then start working on the remaining bit, making crumbs stick to his facial hair and sprinkle into the collar of his flannel. Alice tried to remain grumpy with him, but there was a smile on her face.

“You’re a jerk, you know that?” she told him with a muffled laugh in her voice, shoving her face into his shoulder when he playfully patted her ass with his clean hand. She tried to brush the crumbs from his shirt while he finished eating with a grin on his face.

Once swallowing, Flip was quick to cup her face with his clean hand, squish her cheeks to pucker her lips and gave her a deep kiss. His wife made a noise, a cute one that reminded him of whenever he would tease her to get her into the mood, and he smiled against her mouth before breaking the kiss. He snickered at the sight of her trying to wipe the dark crumbs he stuck to her face with her sleeve.

“I don’t know what you were complaining about, babydoll, but this tastes pretty damn good to me,” Flip told her confidently, licking his lips before kissing along her cheek repeatedly. Hugging her in his arms, to prevent her from escaping, he hummed a chuckle when she eventually went limp in his arms.

“You’re just saying that because you’re my husband who ruined the surprise I tried to make,” she sniffed with amusement, causing him to angle her face again to kiss her lips. Sighing against his mouth, she pulled back and he went back to nuzzling her neck with kisses and gentle touches. “I think I’m going to call Ma and ask her to show me how to do it properly. We should really have them visit for a weekend - the weather is suppose to be nice next month, and there’s going to be some community events that they would like -”

“You’re the most amazing woman in the whole damn world,” he said against her skin, squeezing her for a moment. “I love you so damn much.”

“I don’t know what you’re trying to butter me up for, but it’s not working. I’m still upset you -”

He hushed her with a deep kiss, making her whine and have it fall into giggles when he didn’t let up. Rocking them both while he just gave her kisses and making her laugh when he used his teeth on the tickle spots on her pulse, making her shiver, Flip took a deep breath and let himself just feel at home. Feeling Alice snuggle her face into his shoulder, he knew he got her right where he wanted her.

“I still want to eat the rest of it,” he told her warmly, nuzzling his large nose into her hair lovingly. “I think it tastes pretty fuckin’ great.”

“It’s burnt, and I bet it doesn’t taste anything like your m -”

“Probably burnt because I have a smokin’ hot wife, and the babka couldn’t handle it.” This made them both laugh at his unusual corniness to the point that Flip snorted, only making Alice laugh harder against him at the whole situation. “I really do like it, Alice. I’m proud of you,” he told her honestly. He knew why she wanted it to be ‘perfect’, and why she was making this a big fuss. He knew his wife, and he watched her stare into his eyes, unshedding tears welling up in hers as she sniffed and smiled.

“Thank you…”

Flip smirked adoringly and wriggled himself against her. “And, I love you very, very much,” he told her, making her smile bashfully.

“I love you, too, hot shot. Very, very much...even though you ruined the surprise.”

“I can be surprised next time,” he promised her with a cheeky grin. “So, can I have another bite, or are we going to have to tango again?”

XXX.

taglist of buds: @ayatimascd @adamsnackdriver @babbushka @formerly-anonhamster @the-wayward-rose @ben-solo (please message if you would be interested in being added to the oneshot tags!)

So, I understand German pretty well, but I can not for the life of me speak/write it properly. I want to refine my speaking ability, even though I don’t use it for anything in my everyday life...I just find it fun. I like learning languages and learning phrases!

I figured, for Flip being a Jewish man and (possibly) marrying someone who would either be a) not Jewish, or, b) from of German ancestry (especially if they were first generation), would kinda show how he personally handles his own identity with his in-laws and how is ‘affects’ his marriage. In my opinion, I think anyone who would be with Flip wouldn’t look at him as any different or anything negative than the man they love him for, but would want to still be respectful in the same while.

I hope you enjoyed and will let me know what you thought! I really do appreciate feedback and knowing what you think. Thank you again for reading!!

#pilotanonwrites #pilotanonblerb #flip zimmerman x reader #flips wife #flip zimmerman #oc/reader insert #reader insert #female reader insert #female reader

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egoiistas · 6 years

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may i feel, said he (3)

first | tag | ao3 | ffn

a/n: blessings on you, blessings on your cows, blessing on your crops, for the feedback on this trash heap! <3

Rated: M | royai Words: ~4500

CHAPTER THREE

Riza waits after class.

As she’s pacing in the front of the bathroom stalls, it feels more like hiding. The surprise coffee on her desk has given her the jitters and everytime she had taken a sip out of it, she felt an unsettling guilt like there was a secret she was hiding.

This is ridiculous, it’s literally just coffee... even if it had a personalized note written on it. He was doing something nice; her professor was doing something nice for her. Maybe that’s what it boiled down to. But she couldn’t just expose him by thanking him in front of the auditorium.

Indecisiveness wiggles its way into her en route to his office. Perhaps a simple thank you note would suffice then she would never have to think anymore of it. A coffee maker would make for a good investment as well.

In the end, she doesn’t have a say in the matter.

“Miss Hawkeye.”

Riza steps out of the way and into him almost knocking into him trying to get out of his way. She was under the assumption to be in his office already, judging by the embarrassing amount of times she’s been there.

He gives her concerned looking pointing to his coffee cup as if to say: “Not again.” Instead, she picks up uncertain undertones when he casually mentions, “You didn’t fall asleep.”

Riza doesn’t consider herself shy - reserved maybe, but the amount of times she’s been mortified in the last three weeks in the presence of this man alone is throwing her through a loop. She trails behind him with her heartbeat drumming in her ears. “No,” she says quietly. “I did not.”

“What a joy it is to not have to interrupt a lecture to wake you up.”

She bites her lip at the sarcasm. Even though she vowed to never come back, he opens the door for her and Riza edges her way inside. She keeps her arms close to her body eyeing him carefully as he strolls by her, fluffing strands of her loose hair. “I wanted to thank you.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He fans out the papers across his desk and the rich oak surface disappears as he empties his bag, just like the night before.

She tries to look over a little, to read his expression because she thinks he’s joking. “For the coffee?” Riza clarifies a little bit braver, clearer.

She straightens herself when his suddenly head snaps to her; his eyes narrow and he pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. Wordlessly and intimidatingly, Mustang walks over to his office door and she can see him checking either side of the hallway before he shuts the door. Riza takes a step back. She’s thoroughly confused when a hand on her shoulder guides her away from the door. “I know it’s from the same place where you get your coffee. It wasn’t from an on-campus cafe.” She doesn’t know why she feels the need to state it out loud; it’s not quite an accusation, nor is it just an innocent statement. She doesn’t understand why this is bugging her so much - yes, it’s a little unusual but as far as she understands there are no rules about it being wrong to be given a coffee by your professor.

Right?

He runs a hand through his hair and it somehow gets even messier, sticking out in all the wrongright places. “Please don’t misinterpret, Miss Hawkeye. I don’t make it a habit to reward students who sleep in my class with coffee in the morning.”

“No,” she says to the floor, uncharacteristically, and then, unintentionally glances the length of him until meeting his eyes. She cranes her neck a bit just to do so. “Of course not, sir.”

Mustang clears his throat as he walks away. “I am your professor and you are my student. It’d be precarious to both our careers if you assumed our relationship extended beyond anything than an academic one.”

Her brow twitches and it feels like she’s been hit with something out of left field. She turns and his back is already to her. Pursing her lips, her cheeks radiate with heat. “I only came to thank you.”

He turns his head slightly to regard her out of the corner of his eye. “Then why are you still here?”

“I - “ Riza struggles with her words; a thick knot caught in her throat as if she’s been caught when, in truth, there isn’t any red on her hands. She racks through her brain, frustrated that he expects her to explain her reasoning when he’s the reason she’s standing in his office in the first place. “I’ve calculated the totals for possible grades at the end of the semester alongside past assignments, and even if I achieve top marks on your assignments, at most I’ll get is a C for the class in the best possible situation.” She lies to save face, but, to be fair, she’s made a really broad estimate in her head.

“And?”

She sighs, starting to feel like a parrot, “Extra credit.”

His shoulders visibly drop as he exhales emphatically. “I don’t even know why I asked.” Mustang turns around properly and leans on the edge of his desk, crossing his arms. He fixes a gaze on her and she almost loses her nerve from the scrutiny. He shrugs, ”Take the C. I’m not changing the rules for one student.”

Riza huffs, pushing her bangs away from her face. Her request isn’t unreasonable. She can feel a little tempering simmering in the back drop from the way he shoots her down, almost cruelly. She can finally empathize with Rebecca whining about her stubborn professors. But Riza can’t back down herself because she can’t risk her scholarship - it’s her only real means of paying for her exorbitant tuition and her job is her only real means of paying for her lifestyle, however meager.

Her brow flattens but his demeanor doesn’t change. She defiantly mirrors him, crossing her arms over her chest as a lightbulb goes off, “You just said you don’t make it a habit to buy a student coffee.” Right then, she doesn’t know what that means; she doesn’t connect the dots that it means more than just her ace in the hole.

His face drops. She swallows hard. The air is stifled from her little stunt and she holds a breath looking at him looking at her wordlessly. She becomes painfully aware that she is a student in a closed office with a professor who has bought her coffee.

His abrupt laughter fills the room, like she’s told the funniest joke, and it adds a different tension to his office. Mustang sets aside his glasses to rub at his eyes.“I didn’t expect that to come back to bite me so quickly. Do you always bite the hand that feeds?”

She doesn’t say anything. She’s won and he knows it. Anything said to her beyond that confirmation is distraction, so she lifts an eyebrow emotionlessly.

He smiles and that manages to stir something in her otherwise steel gut, “Right. Since you managed a successful checkmate, I’ll concede to your victory.”

The rigidity in her muscles dissipate, finally.

“Please note, Miss Hawkeye,” he says matter-of-factly with a push to his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. “That I won’t just give extra credit. You will have to earn it.”

“Understandable.” She nods, and despite her relieved smile she knows enough stories, true or imagined, to be wary of that tone and diction, for her own reasons. “What will you have me do?”

Mustang chews on his bottom lip while staring at the space in front of her feet, contemplating. His fingers drum on the overhang of his desk.

Riza’s eyes wander around the room while he thinks - an order for herself to stop staring at the man and, for as many times as she’s been here to grovel, she’s never noticed how spartan the room is. Filled with books and frames with diplomas, but nothing telling about him, like pictures, personal or professional. There isn’t a ring on him either, not that it matters for her, but she hasn’t considered how young he really looks for a professor. Couldn’t be older than thirty. She couldn’t be sure. Something tells her that, underneath his clothes, he’s undeniably fit for someone in academia.

Blushing lightly, she doesn’t follow that train of thought, but her attention snaps back to him when speaks again.

“I chose to work for this university because of its extensive resources.” He raises his eyebrows but not his unfocused gaze. “It’s amazing, actually, how much this place pours into scientific research.” His eyes fix on her. “It’s why you saw me yesterday night at the library and why there are papers all over the place on this desk.”

Her head tilts in the slightest way, unsure.

Mustang pushes off the desk and at last takes a seat in his rolling chair. “I need an organizational assistant. The department had informed me I’d be able to choose one in a couple of weeks from the class list, but I really don’t have the time for that...nor the patience.”

Papers she can do. No problem, easy. But being around him more than she should feels like a red flag. Something in her gut tells her to walk away from it, like a premonition of danger -- or bad decisions. She repeats back to him, “You want me to be your assistant?”

“Unofficially,” he corrects. “To help me organize and other administrative tasks, like finding books and indexing sources, until I’m cleared to find one of my own.”

Riza breathes out. “I’m sorry, sir, but I barely have time as it is with my courseload and my position in the library.”

“It shouldn’t be a problem. Overnights can be surprisingly productive for me.” He smirks, flipping a pen in his hand. “Think of it as a few extra tasks to do while you work at the library. For only a limited time.”

Rebecca’s cackling laugh is one of her…less endearing features and it grates on Riza regardless if she’s had any restful sleep or not. She finds herself slinking away from her food and into her chair. It’s already boisterous in the dining hall on campus and people are still looking in their direction.

Her words are choppy, in between breaths. “I cannot believe you convinced him to give you want.” Rebecca obliviously remarks, “You look so angry all of a sudden. ...what did you have to do?”

“Please don’t phrase it like that.” Riza pokes at her fruit. “And try not to draw attention.”

“I can tell it’s not an easy feat, Riza. You said you’ve been living at his office for the past month.”

“Rebecca please.”

“Relax, I’m joking. I’m happy that you won’t have to lose your scholarship. Really. You wouldn’t shut up about it. Are you sure you shouldn’t be in law with Olivier with your uncanny powers of persuasion?”

Without answering, Riza looks up from her plate and a knot forms in her throat when she sees him at a distance picking up a to-go order. She only notices him for a second.

“Oh, fuck.”

Her eyes snap back to Rebecca. “What is it?”

Rebecca glances behind her and swivels back with a quirked, suspicious eyebrow. “Did you fuck him?”

A chunk of strawberry nearly lodges in her windpipe. Strained, she says, “I won’t dignify that with an answer. I managed through respectable means.” Technically, he bought her the coffee. “You, of all people, should know that.”

Rebecca slumps in her chair, “You’re right.”

“I’m terribly sorry to disappoint,” Riza says unapologetically.

Her friend is quiet for a moment and Riza earns a moment’s peace from her. That is, until Rebecca’s switch flips and she perks up again, leaning eagerly into the table. “You totally have the hots for him, don’t you?”

Riza frowns, brow knitting in disapproval. “No,” she responds pointedly, aggressively poking her fruit now. “Absolutely not.” Riza sees him leave and Rebecca follows her gaze.

“Riza.” Rebecca scoffs teasingly, “Did I or did I not just see you ogle at him?”

“I don’t ogle.”

“He caught your attention like the heavens above shined a light for your --”

“All right!” Riza glares. Into her plate, she mutters, “He’s not the most unfortunate looking.”

The gasp Rebecca releases is obscene, along with the flailing in her chair. “I’ve never thought I’d see the day! You have such high standards - usually. But, I mean, I can’t totally blame you. The boys here are just that - boys.”

“This is why I can’t take you anywhere.”

“You love me. Okay, now that the cat’s out of the bag, sweetheart, what assignment has the hardass given you? Something tells me it’s not just a paper.”

“I’ll be helping him organize his research.”

“Scandalous…” She shimmies her shoulders. “Alone? In his office? At his place?”

“At the library. While I’m working there overnight.”

“It might as well be alone.” Rebecca’s voice is dripping in innuendo, and Riza flicks a piece of pineapple her way.

“Even if I find the man attractive, that doesn’t mean anything. There are consequences for things like that and I’d rather not risk my education for something so careless. I’m acting as an assistant until he finds a new one - and that’s all there is to it.”

And she does. With her best intentions.

Mustang arrives at the library that same night and every night the following week. Riza gives him access to the study room; this time away from where she can sneak glances from the help desk. She’s still tired from her eight o’clock classes (three bloody times a week - why can’t they just be combined escapes me) except now there’s always a warm coffee sitting on her desk with only an R.H. to tell her it’s hers. She’s learned to tolerate black coffee. The sheer bitterness is more than enough to keep her awake, though Riza is hesitant to admit that there might be another part that is beginning to enjoy his classes - not for the knowledge he is imparting, but rather that he’s become somewhat of a character study for her. The margins of her notebook are littered with observations and witty responses to things he’s said in class. She’s grateful that she sits at the back of the class; he can only suspect she’s not giving him her full and rapt academic attention now that she’s conscious during his classes.

She encounters a different obstacle however.

Riza didn’t account for the consequences following Rebecca’s conversation where she verbally, and foolishly, admitted she finds him attractive. On the first night, her awareness of how she acts around him becomes keen and that makes her feel off. His presence sends off little pings in her head that tell her “don’t look at him too long”, “don’t laugh too hard at his jokes”, and “don’t overanalyze his gestures.”

Ever since then, she never stays in the room with him, decidingly taking the notes back to the help desk and sorting it there -- a clever maneuver on her part. She finds the many books and articles printouts he requires.

In light of it all, Riza is eternally grateful for his professionalism. If he’s noticed her frigid behavior, he’s said no word of it. The focus the man has is something to be admired. She catches glimpses of it whenever she has to walk back into the room and it feels like she’s invading a very private and personal space. Even when she’s reshelving books, she sneaks in a look from the open door.

There’s nothing wrong with simply looking. It’s like window shopping without any of the costs.

At the end of the week, her perfect maneuver to stay out of his hair backfires when he asks her to stay with his notes. Mustang tells her he needs them to be readily available, but would still like them to get organized and, with a distracting smile, that the little colored tabs she puts on them makes it really accessible.

She doesn’t say much; she minds her own business, working diligently through his handwriting. Just like in class and the first night, he walks around the room as he thinks, stepping up to the dry-eraser board in the room, toying a marker with his mouth.

He always comes dressed comfortably, probably to gives appearances of a student, and today is no different with sweatpants and a sweater to combat the bitter cold that has settled over the city for the last week. It’s precisely when he rises from his chair that she notices, to her misfortune, that it’s a bit too… tight to be decent. She doesn’t have the heart, or enough energy for the gall to say anything and honestly, it’s none of her business - let alone inappropriate. That would be admitting that it was obvious, plain as day, calling her attention and she-

Riza takes a deep breath for focus, looking away from any and all prohibited areas. With every stride, she tries very very hard not to notice his ...endowments shifting around. By the time she is back to blankly staring at the notes, the image is already ingrained in her mind. She’s baffled by how it is clearly outlined under his pants, including which side its favoring, and she can feel her ears getting warm with a rapid pounding pulsing in them.

She’s sitting at the end of a four person desk and Riza tilts her head the opposite direction when he walks to the chair on her right. He asks her plainly, “Can you hand me the stack you have?”

Riza glances at him cautiously when he takes it, but he’s mumbling to himself sorting through the looseleafs and she swears his habit of keeping writing utensils in his mouth is a punishment or maybe all of it is. She is a statue in her chair, looking forward, until he begins to scribble a name and a title on a sticky note. Leaving the room, she reminds herself not to spring out of her seat so quickly next time.

Eventually, Roy finds her in the 800 section - again. She cradles a heavy tome in her hands, and is completely diverted by it. At first he’s a little annoyed - he had sent her off half an hour ago - when really, it should’ve taken her ten minutes at best. But she’s curled up against the metal shelving, completely distracted by the words in front of her, her mouth sounding them out quietly. All thoughts of chastising her flies out the window as he watches her more, watches how her fingers descend with each line, stopping in places as she murmurs to herself - the barest hints of a smile curls into her lips.

It feels like he’s intruded on something sacred, not meant for his eyes. She seems smaller in this space; completely unconcerned with what is happening around her and absorbed wholly with what’s in front of her, and it isn't until he crouches down next to her that she’s pulled out of her reverie.

Gentler than he intended, he says, “This isn’t the journal I asked for.”

She smiles guiltily, and gestures to a printout next to her, already stapled and highlighted. “There’s not much in that one,” she says by way of excuse, gripping the book tightly. “My apologies, sir, I didn’t mean to-”

Roy shakes his head and sits down next to her, resting his head against the cool shelf behind him. “You’re probably right. Yoki has always been full of his own bullshit.” He sees her relax, and it’s probably the most relaxed he’s seen her the entire week. “What I’m more interested in is a chemistry major spending her free time with the likes of-” he leans in closer to read the name on the front of the book, brushing against her fingers with his own and tipping the book forward. “e. e. Cummings?”

He ignores how that surname rolls off his tongue.

“A long-time favourite of mine,” she says quietly, almost reverently. “Poetry isn’t for everyone, but the sentences he creates are…”

Roy knows he should should tell her to get back to work. He knows he should stand up and return to his cubicle. However, not for the first time this semester, curiosity meddles in the way of reason: he taps a finger on the page. “Which one of these is your favourite?”

She hums pleasantly, flicking to the front of the book and slowly working down the index.

“I like my body when it is with your body,” she begins, still staring down at the index page, and the words alert him like splash of ice water. He thinks she’s joking until she goes on: “It is so quite new a thing. Muscles better and nerves more. I like your body. I like what it does, I like its hows. I like to feel the spine of your body and its bones, and the trembling-firm-smooth-ness and which I will again and again and again-” She stops here, a shaky smile on her face. “It’s not-” she says quickly but he holds up a hand.

“It’s lovely,” he says tensely. “An you’ve memorised it all?”

She nods once, hesitantly, but he doesn’t discount the pride gleaming in her eyes. “Only the important ones,” she explains.

“Is there more?” he prods carefully, investigating. Roy had never been much for poetry in his younger years. They were just words in his eyes, prettily arranged at best and desperately misaligned at worst. Hearing them recited, with such reverence and affection was an entirely new experience. Fleetingly, he speculates if this is really her favorite, or if this is a play of hers.

“Yes, but-”

“I’d like to hear the rest,” he says, nudging her shoulder slightly with his own.

She exhales heavily, murmuring under her breath, her tone rising and falling as she quickly recants the first half of the poem. “...which I will again and again and again kiss, I like kissing this and that of you, I like - stroking the - shocking fuzz of your electric fur-” her cheeks are stained pink and she keeps her eyes firmly on the book in front of her. “And what-is-it comes over parting flesh...and eyes big love-crumbs - and possibly I like the thrill - of under me you quite so new.”

He’s silent for a moment and averts his eyes from her face, trying to give her some semblance of space and propriety and for himself, some composure. Her hands grips the thick book tightly, her knuckles blanching white.

The next question falls from his mouth before he can catch it. “Why is that one your favourite?”

Her head jerks around and Riza gapes at him a little inelegantly, her cheeks rapidly shifting from pink to a darker hue. She quickly scrambles to her feet, stumbling over the piles of books surrounding her and she scoops up the printout, thrusting it towards him. “I need to - to do restocking again,” she says jerkily, and Roy sighs, accepting that he may have gone a step too far.

In hindsight, he should’ve walked away.

She visibly struggles with the weight of one of the book. Her toes push down on the carpet floor and she stretches up, bearing some skin from her lower abdomen. The book wobbles from the inadequate support the tips of her fingers supply and it doesn’t take a genius to know it’s about to smack her in the face.

All in good faith, Roy closes in swiftly, standing behind her, to catch the spine of the book before it falls on her. He nudges it back into its place. She turns around and he’s blindsided by an alluring scent of perfume still lingering on her skin. Their hands touched again when he helped her, and the electrifying sensation was present there too. He looks down on her with a hooked arm over her head. Her mouth is slightly parted like she still has a line of prose she wants to recite, but she’s searching for it in his own eyes.

He’s not moving. He doesn’t want to.

The scant distance between them is all too small; too charged in the respect that there is something unspoken between them. The breathing changes for them both, hitching or holding breath or a combination of the two. It seems all too cliched that it’s a secluded area of the library in the quiet of an early morning.

Roy finds it intoxicating to be on the precipice like this and for a while, for the good innocent days he's dealt with her help, he thought he could dwell on the edge. Yet, something else, something carnal, yearns for more in that specific pocket of time, probably because it’s within grabbing distance. He admits to being ensnared by her little poetry, but it’s a slippery slope that could cost him everything. Unfortunately, he knows he has a blurring line in the sand, for inexplicable reasons, when it came to her. Trying to make sense of it in the few silent seconds they stood like that, he’d say: she's the exception, his exception.

He really should have walked away.

In the same moment she curls and tugs at the strings of his sweatshirt, Roy angles her jaw towards him. Their mouths meet, joining together like they were magnetized, crashing like waves from a turbulent tide. The fragrance from earlier wafts prominently as his fingers comb through her hair - not a perfume, a shampoo - and it only adds fuel to the fire coursing rapidly through his blood.

Theirs is not a timid or gentle kiss, it is forceful and heady, gripping at each other. He learns that she enjoys nipping at his lower lip and teases with the echo of an amusing whimper when his tongue dances with hers. She abandons the strings and grasps a handful of his sweatshirt.

Without thinking, the hands on her hips push against her. The shelf behind collides with her back and his leg pushes to part her own. To his delight, the moan-that-wouldn’t-escape finally does, wreaking havoc through his body and encouraging the small tenting in his pants to grow. But it’s only seconds before the books on the other side hit the ground. They rip from each other, wet sounds entering their ears as they do, and the severity of it dawns on them simultaneously.

Roy takes note of the coloring of her lips before he turns his shoulder away from her. He leans on a shelf with arm and a hand covering his pulsating mouth. He can hear her catching her breath. He wants to say something - anything. But conflicting thoughts murks his clarity, and he cannot conceive a rational one. He’s speechless, astonished, unsure. Roy stammers just trying to formulate a sentence in his own mind.

When he shifts to face her, Riza is already gone.

#royai #fma #roy mustang #riza hawkeye #fma fanfiction #royai fanfiction #roy x riza #roy mustang x riza hawkeye #*may i feel #*shine #sO THIS ONE IS A LOT LONGER #honestly that was unintentional #but HEY #/I/ THINK ITS A GOOD ONE #and honestly #i hope you do too #bc we're about tog et to the gud shit #fgkdjfngjdkngjdkfngdfjgkdnfgd #:')

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all-the-hurt · 6 years

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It doesn’t go away

VLD Whumpmas 2017 Day 8: Mental Health @vldwhumpmas2017

A/N: So I had an unexpected and poorly-timed bad depression day today. And so I backpedaled to this day. I’m sorry; it is admittedly a bit choppy and not exactly entertaining; this is really more of a vent than I’d like, but i tried. Writing this did end up making me feel a little better though. I hope everyone is doing ok as the holidays come upon us. and if you aren’t, it’s okay. be gentle with yourself and take care as you can. try to accept help when it’s there for you.

It doesn’t come with an explanation or a cause. And it doesn’t go away. He’s forced to face that ugly truth for himself for the first time.

No amount of hot chocolate, blankets, or light shows can make it go away. Keith can’t make it go away himself either. He wishes, oh so much more desperately than usual now, that he could. He has this realization in a simple and painful moment when he wakes up the morning of Christmas Eve with the weight sitting on his chest.

He’s in the Shirogane household’s guest room. The bed is soft, dressed in warm fleece sheets and more pillows than Keith has ever seen in one room. The room--and the entire home, really--smells like cinnamon and pine, not dust and old food as Keith recalls from distant holiday memories. The light filtering in from the window is soft and warm, and as he opens his eyes, he also catches the smell of pancakes and bacon cooking from the kitchen.

He doesn’t want to get out of bed.

He isn’t sure if he can.

Everything feels heavy and unbearable. His chest is tight and his head is buzzing, his eyes itch and his chest is aching. It’s a bad day. It’s a very, very bad day.

It’s Christmas Eve.

It’s Christmas Eve, it’s Christmas Eve, it’s Christmas Eve. His mind screams back at him in a loop as the dread pools deep in his stomach, hot and uncomfortable. It’s Christmas Eve and he’s woken up feeling horrible and not at all like he should. He’s here, with Shiro and his parents. They’ve given him a bed and a space in a warm house, and more food than he can eat and, and, and…

And for some reason he’s just woken up feeling unbearably sad and angry and scared and annoyed and, and, and…

They’re going to hate him. If he has to face them and they start to ask him questions, he thinks he’s going to explode. Or maybe they’ll try to feed him pancakes and ask him what he wants to do today and he’s going to clam up and forget how to speak. He’ll go silent and they’ll think he hates it here, and that he isn’t thankful, that he isn’t having any fun.

They’re going to realize he’s an ungrateful and broken kid and they never should have brought him into their holiday.

He doesn’t know what’s set him off but he descends quickly into a foul mood and tries desperately to push it down.

He emerges from his bedroom eventually. The last thing he needs is for them to come looking for him; that would be worse. He feels simultaneously like his heart is in the pit of his stomach and his brain is rattling in his skull.

Mr.Shirogane talks to him as he serves him pancakes and Keith doesn’t comprehend his questions. He nods, and the man makes a displeased face, so he shakes his head no instead. The frown on his face deepens at that and Keith just sinks into his seat.

He ends up throwing over half of his breakfast in the trash.

Somehow, the hours pass by. He feels nothing. Mrs. Shirogane has talked to him and Keith has answered her in as little words as possible. He’s forgotten everything they’ve said. Shiro and his father have been having lively conversations around him but he’s been sat in the corner, keeping silent. Christmas specials have been playing on the TV, and Mrs. Shirogane is baking cookies. He’s clutched onto a soft green blanket around his shoulders all morning. It should make him feel warm and satisfied, but he doesn’t. He thinks maybe Shiro’s asked him some things too, but Keith hasn’t answered.

Then, all at once, it becomes too much. The sound of the television in the background grates on his ears, the scent of baking gingerbread is sickening, and the warm air is pressing on his chest. Shiro calls out to him but to look at his face will be irritating. He can’t open his mouth. Talking will hurt.

He gets up and dashes out the back door.

He should be thinking about anything else… How amazing Mrs. Shirogane’s Christmas Eve dinner will be, whether Shiro will like his gifts, and how lucky they are the weather is mild today.

He sits on the steps of the back porch and watches birds flit about in the trees. It’s still a little warm here, even though it’s December. The sun on his back would feel nice, but it makes him feel hot and the sensation is a tad itchy in a way he can’t quell. It’s under his skin and he hates being in his body.

All he can think about is the pooling sense of dread deep inside. How much this day is going to drag on, how unpleasant he looks to the Shiroganes, how this is all going to end soon and Keith will have to go back to the Garrison and his dorm, alone. He has homework, and his grades at the end of the semester were bad. He’ll have to start tutoring. His instructors all think he’s indignant and lazy; Iverson hates him. He’s been at the Garrison for two years already and he hasn’t made a single friend. He’s got Shiro, but Shiro was obligated to talk to Keith from the moment they met.

“Keith,” he hears Shiro’s voice behind him and is torn away from his spiraling thoughts. He opens his eyes--never realized he closed them and turns.

Shiro stands leaned against the fence with his hands in his pockets and an easy smile on his face. It’s as if Keith hasn’t done anything wrong--doesn’t Shiro know anything?

“What’s going on?” Shiro says softly. Keith was honestly expecting an ‘are you okay’ or a ‘why did you storm out like that.’

Keith wants so badly to answer, “nothing,’ or ‘I’ll be okay.’ ‘don’t worry, Shiro.’ But once more, he can’t say anything. His tongue is clumsy and foreign. His mind is muddled.

Shiro settles beside him, kicking up his feet like he just came out here to relax.

“Would you hate it if I touched you right now?” Keith shrugs.

After a beat, Keith feels Shiro’s hand on his, and his fingers wriggle their way under where Keith’s lies, dead weight, until Shiro is clutching Keith’s cold hand in his.

Shiro’s hand is so large. It’s warmer than Keith’s… it isn’t cold outside but Keith guesses that he’s cold from the inside out. He focuses on the calloused feeling of Shiro’s palms, built in years of working at mechanics at the Garrison, of piloting, and of home improvement for his mom and dad. Keith’s hands are like a baby’s.

He tries to talk to Shiro, but the words die in his mouth and he has to swallow them like cough syrup.

The sun begins to sink lower in the horizon. Shiro stays, and he holds onto Keith’s hand tight. Somewhere in the distance, out of nowhere, the soft tune of a faraway Christmas carol starts up. The neighbors, somewhere down the road are playing “Joy to the World” with the windows open.

“You don’t have to talk about it,” Shiro says, startling Keith out of the trance he’s apparently lapsed into. “But can you listen to me?”

“...Today’s a bad day, yeah? I know that sometimes you can’t do anything, even talk. Mom and dad I won’t make you talk about it. And it’s okay; you don’t have to say anything.” Shiro pauses, taking a measured breath and gazing out at the sunset. He lets Keith think for a second anf goes on. “...But… we want you with us. It’s okay to be angry, or sad or in a bad mood. But don’t isolate yourself.”

“We can… watch movies or eat cookies or take a nap, and you don’t have to talk or do anything. But we’re… we’re here for you.”

The Christmas music from down the street gets louder. Somewhere, a dog barks, and Shiro takes a deep breath, smiles at Keith, and runs his fingers over his knuckles. The sensations ground Keith, and bring him slowly back to himself.

He remembers it’s Christmas Eve, and that they have dinner plans and more candy and hot chocolate than Keith could ever want. He looks to Shiro, and finds him still smiling, and he hasn’t let go of Keith’s hand; doesn’t think he will unless Keith pulls away.

“I”m sorry,” Keith murmurs, when he feels like his voice has returned to his body.

“It’s okay,” Shiro promises again, voice low. “Do you want some hot chocolate? I think dinner is almost done too.”

Keith tries to smile, but it probably comes out as a grimace. He croaks, “Hot chocolate sounds good.”

“With extra marshmallows?” Shiro guesses. Keith gives another warped smile, but Shiro beams back at him like all is okay. It isn’t. It hurts, and it crawls under his skin, but with Shiro beside him, Keith thinks he can let it be.

Hot chocolate won’t make it better, but it will still taste good.

#keith kogane #takashi shirogane #sheith #or platonic #broganes #take your pick man #fic #my fics #mental health #hurt keith #self indulgent stuff

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danganronpa-imagines · 7 years

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Ultimate Herpetologist

Hello Mod Kiibo! Thank you so much for replying to me :)

Here is my OC, I hope it’s ok as I haven’t created one in a long time. She’s heavily influenced by myself actually, other than the second name and some of the animals kept. I do own 15 pets though, just no venomous or poisonous ones! I hope everyone’s OCs can get along!

Edit: Hi Mod Kiibo, sorry about this, but I forgot to add my OC’s ability that is given to the protagonist after obtaining all of her friendship fragments! The ability is called “Snake Charmer”, and it cuts the damage recieved by saying an unsuccessful lie during class trials in half :) Sorry to be a pain! Thank you for all the hard work you do for us

P.S: Please don’t copy her, she is a work from my own heart!

Hello there, tea-drinking-dragon! I hope you are doing well and are taking care of yourself! Thank you so much for your submission! I very much enjoyed reading about Amy! What a wonderful and distinctive character! I like snakes myself, so I loved reading about The Ultimate Herpetologist! This is my first time receiving a submission like this and responding to it, so please excuse my inexperience in responding to it and formatting it! As you requested in a previous post, I will write about how my OC, Yoite, will react to her. Thank you so much once again for this submission! It is very much appreciated!

Please do not copy or reuse Amy Blackadder! She belongs to tea-drinking-dragon and them alone! Please do not copy or reuse Yoite Inoue! She belongs to me and myself alone! Thank you!

“Her presence is quite reassuring…”

Because of Amy’s concealed reserved nature, Yoite makes the effort to spend time with her and understand her. The former’s contentment with animals and quiet is favored quite a bit by the latter, as Yoite succumbs to tiredness and lethargy easily. She will occasionally unapologetically rest her head on Amy’s lap and nap for a short period of time, simply because she has decided that Amy is to be trusted. It is especially pleasant when Amy rubs her thumb back and forth gently on Yoite’s sleepy head.

Aside from napping though, Yoite does enjoy spending meals with Amy and spending quiet time with her snakes. She especially is attached to Amy’s Corn Snake. She lovingly refers to it as a ‘snek.’

Amy Blackadder

Ultimate Herpetologist

Characteristics:

Gender: Female

Height: 5′7″ (ENG)

172.2 cm (JP)

Weight: 72.5 kg (160 lbs)

Birthdate: 30 July (Leo)

Blood Type: O+

Likes: Reptiles, Birds, Video games, Sweets, Gardening and Mythology.

Dislikes: Parasites, Centipedes, Spiders, Non melted Cheese, Slippy floors.

Appearance:

Amy is a pale skinned adolescent woman of slightly above average height, and carries a few extra pounds. Despite this, she isn’t unfit and is actually surprisingly strong, which she claims is due to handling some of her more heavy animals and their tanks. When hugged, she tends to be a little squishy. She has slightly broad shoulders and a DD cup size. She has black hair in a choppy bob that is longer near the front of her face and gets shorter towards the back of her head and heterochromatic eyes that are green and brown respectively.

Amy has poor eye sight and wears a pair of navy coloured glasses to correct her vision. Clothing wise she wears a navy blue kennel coat made out of tough synthetic fibres and cotton over a loose turquoise button up shirt and ripped black jeans. Her shoes are black steel toe capped safety boots and have an iron plate running through the sole.

Her accessories consist of a small bottle of hand sanitizer clipped onto one of the belt loops on the right hand side of her jeans, a thick pair of handling gloves that hang out of her kennel coat pocket when not in use alongside a fold away snake hook, a white scarf with navy stars and rests a special pair of safety goggles that are designed to go over her glasses on her head.

Personality: Amy is generally laid back and won’t usually bother someone unless they speak to her first, unless it is someone she is already friends with. She’s naturally calm, and does her best to try and stop people from panicking. To do this, she purposefully comes up with cringey jokes and tries to push herself to bring up humour in bad situations. Whenever she herself is struggling with things, she’ll redirect the conversation with jokes, sarcasm or white lies. This is partially because she’s embarrassed and unwilling to share her vulnerable side to others, as well as not wanting to show weakness to make people think she’s an easy target in the killing game. She suffers from depression and can be prone to some serious low moods, to combat this she interacts with her animals, who she doesn’t mind sharing her secrets with. If she has no access to them, she tends to isolate herself in her room until she knows she can convincingly tell a cover story or make satire out of the situation. She prefers to hang around with one or two close friends rather than get too close to everybody. She is well aware that not everyone is free from malice and that dead men tell no tales.

Quotes:

“Oh? Um, hello! My name’s Amy, I’m the Ultimate Herpetologist. It’s nice to meet you, shame about the circumstances though.”

“A herpetologist is someone who studies reptiles and amphibians. It can be a useful talent outside, but in here… Not so much. Haha, don’t worry though, I’ll try to make sure nobody croaks!”

“Let me know if you get hurt ok? I’m not a nurse, but I know emergency first aid. The amount of bites I got when I first started training was quite embarrassing. At one point I just wanted to tell anyone asking me to catch a snake for them to hiss off!”

Responses:

“Hmm? What’s up?”

“Would you like to talk about it? Or, I could just listen if you want.”

“I doubt it.”

“Lets go friendo, I’ve got your back!”

“Hey, I made some cake earlier! Here, let me take your mind off it.”

“Want me to make us some tea?”

“I’m certain.”

“Definitely not.”

“… Lets go over it again. Maybe we missed something?”

“Not everything is black and white. Lets investigate the grey area. All 50 shades of it.”

“It’s ok to be afraid. Please, let me help you.”

“What’s a snake’s favourite subject? Hisssstory! Oh… Not funny? Shame, I found it hisssterical!”

“There’s no turning back now. Even if it takes tooth and claw, we have to fight!”

“This… this is for me? Oh, wow, um, thank you very much! I promise to take good care of it!”

“ Whatever way you wish to play this, I will back you up. Just because people don’t like something or don’t want to believe it, it doesn’t make it any less real or true. Also, it’s surprising how fast people stop talking shit when they find a black mamba in their room, want to see how long it takes?”

“If that’s the truth…”

“I understand.”

“It’s people and situations like this that is reason why I prefer animals to humans.”

“… What? Really?”

“Oh…”

“Hm? Oh no, I’m fine, really. I was just thinking about my pets back home… Anyway, did you hear about the tortoise who bit a power cable? He was shell shocked!”

“Um…. I’m sorry to bother you and if I’m annoying you just tell me, but would you mind if I talk to you for a bit? It’s just… I just need a friend right now…”

“I suppose I have room for one more being to take care of… Where do you want your enclosure? Next to the Asian water monitor, me, or the giant African bull frog? …. Hehe, are you sure? I bite!”

“Ah, it’s ok! Sorry, did we scare you? It’s ok, I’ve got him on a harness!”

“Hey Kirumi! It’s ok, have a rest. I really appreciate all the things you do for us so I…. Oh? I can smell…. Oh no I left the oven on!”

“Oh? You’re interested in snakes Kokichi? Hehe, kind of ironic, no? Hehe, just joking. Anyway, I’ll show you a couple if you like, but no venomous ones. It’s not that they’re unpredictable, it’s just I haven’t handled those ones around strangers and don’t want to risk it. I don’t want to be the next blackened cause of an accident!”

“Come on Shuichi, lets turn that frown upside down. Have you been in the games room yet? I’ll grab some snacks and we can chill out and play! ”

Free Time Event Presents:

Loves: Boba Tea, Bubblegum Bomb, Teddy Bear, Steel Glasses Case, Helping Yacchi

Dislikes: Monkey’s Paw

Trivia:

- Despite being openly friendly, it is thought that she is secretly lonely, and has been observed talking to her companion animal if she has one with her when no else is around.

-The “Adder” in Blackadder is actually a venomous snake from Amy’s home country in the UK and can also be linked to a comedy show originated in the UK called Blackadder. She has been known to quote parts of the series in some of her interactions;

“My dear Gonta, you wouldn’t see a subtle plan if it painted itself purple and danced naked on top of a harpsichord singing “Subtle plans are here again!”. “

“Well that was about as useful as a barber’s shop on the steps of the guillotine…”

- In Amy’s DanganronpaV3 talent lab, she has a variety of venomous, poisonous and dangerously large animals who tanks have padlocks on and have a red colour coded danger sticker. These include:

Inland Taipan (Venomous)

Black Mamba (Venomous)

Mozambique Spitting Cobra (Venomous)

Reticulated Python (Large Constrictor)

Green Anaconda (Large Constrictor)

Gila Monster (Venomous)

Rough Skinned Newt (Poisonous)

The “Safe” animals in her lab include:

Bearded Dragon [Lovingly nicknamed “Skittles”]

Leopard Gecko [“Disco”]

Asian water monitor [“Ruby”]

Black throat Monitor [“Lancelot”]

Giant African bull frog

Blue tongue skink [“Bingo”]

Uromastyx

Corn snake

Ball Python

The animals with nicknames are ones that she actively takes outside her labs for walks, either holding them or using a harness.

FreeTime Event:

Amy: “Hey Kaede, how’s it going? Don’t mind me, I’m just… Investigating. Other than us, it looks like there’s nothing else alive here… Not even insects. I mean I’m not complaining, but still.”

Kaede: [I watched as Amy left the long grass and brushed herself off, looking concerned. Should I ask her to hang out?”]

[Yes]

Amy: “I’d love to! I was starting to get a little bored, everyone has this dire look on their faces and I didn’t want to accidently tread on any toes so I haven’t really gotten to know anyone yet… So Kaede, do you like extreme wrestling, pineapple on pizza and bad jokes? No? Good! Cause I don’t either. Apart from the last one, but hopefully it’ll grow on you like penicillin on an orange. Might take a while to fester though.”

[I spent time today chatting with Amy and trying to cope with her sense of humour.]

[Looks like Amy and I grew closer]

[Would you like to give Amy a present?]

[Gives favourable present]

Amy: “Oh? For me? Are you sure? Thank you! Lets see… I don’t have anything in return, but I’ll have a look in the dining hall later and if I can, I’ll make you some of my special chocolate orange cupcakes!”

Kaede: “Cupcakes, huh? Do you like baking Amy?”

Amy: “I do! The only thing is though, is that once I’ve made something I have to eat it. I live alone so I don’t normally bake unless I have friends coming over, but when I do I’m essentially putting myself and everyone else on a fast track to diabetes. I haven’t had the time to do it in a while though because of caring for my animals.”

Kaede: “Oh yeah, I remember you mentioning earlier. Snakes and lizards right? But… Aren’t snakes slimy?”

Amy: “Haha, no, not quite. Frogs are, but not snakes. A lot of people assume that they are though because they’re shiny. If you were to stroke a snake, most feel cool, and smooth. A little bit like a leather sofa, but more sleek. Some snakes might have specialised rough scales which when they vibrate make a rattling sound, or on their belly to help them grip trees.”

Kaede: “I see… Are you ever afraid of getting bitten though?”

Amy: “Are you afraid that I could bite you?”

Kaede: “What? Uh, no, I guess…”

Amy: “Haha, don’t worry, I won’t. However, think of it this way. If something has a mouth, it can bite. People often fear snakes due to the possibility of being bitten, but in reality a snake would rather just run away. Biting is usually a last resort because it’s frightened of you. You’re much more likely to be savaged by a dog than harmed by a snake. It’s a fact that’s often over looked because dogs are cute and fluffy, whereas many people think reptiles are ugly.”

Kaede: “That is… A unique way of seeing it, but it makes sense. If we get out of here, would you help me touch a snake? Even if it’s just a little one, I’d like to try.”

Amy: “I would be very happy to, I know just the snake to introduce you to!”

Reaction Yoite: Amy would likely get on with Yoite, and would be interested in working together with her to help educate people on reptiles, providing a handling session and keeping the animals under control as Yoite controls the students and explains information to them in a way that they’d understand.

#tea-drinking-dragon #original character #oc #danganronpa #submission

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rkxsunggyu-blog · 7 years

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TRC’S Triple Threat Challenge | Pray & Loser (Sunny Hill & BigStar Mashup)⚙️ Time: 1:36

The first words out of his mouth weren’t ones he meant to say aloud: “WOW, it’s really Tiger JK!” He’s so shocked to see one of his heroes that he stands there, dumbfounded and clutching the microphone with sweaty palms. This is happening. This is really, really happening. If he wasn’t held upright by the metal braces encapsulating his legs, his knees would be knocking together.

“Hello, I’m twenty-three year old Kim Gyusung-- I MEAN, Kim Sunggyu!” he stutters. The sour sting of bile surges from his stomach to the back of his throat. It takes everything in him not to projectile vomit at the judges table. His nervous laughter is accompanied by the usual snorting, amplified to nightmarish proportions by the microphone. “I’m p-performing a song that has a special meaning to me,” he says. Deep breath. Deep breath. Deep breaths.

“I’m the Triple Threat that’ll keep on multiplying!”

Why did he say that? Why did he say something so cheesy and cringe-worthy? He can’t go anywhere without coming off like a goof, can he? Embarrassing himself wasn’t part of his audition plan, which was meticulously outlined in a journal at home. Sunggyu’s strategy for the performance is to stay within his ability. As he takes a deep breath, he reminds himself to keep his performance clean. He can’t let the competition make him desperate. From the moment he’s stepped on stage, he’s been restraining the desire to kick his performance up a notch. It’s tempting to add vocal runs or extra flair in his dance. But, he refrains and sticks to his plan. It’s better to be excellent with the basics than be mediocre – or worse, make a total fool of himself – by trying to reach the level of the other contestants. Even if he doesn’t realize it, his charisma may carry most of his audition.

Sunggyu does a complete bow before the judges, clicks the microphone back onto the stand, and takes a deep breath. He’s going to tackle dancing first. The crowd must be wondering, he supposes, how someone like him planned on dancing. For the first few nights after reading about the competition, he’d wondered too. The official rules never outlined what kind of dance they wanted to see. As long as it classifies as a dance, he can check off that box for the competition requirements. It’s unrealistic for him, both physically and training-wise, to burst into contemporary dance. The competition seemed impossible. He’d mused that if sleight of hand counted as a dance form, then maybe his zero chance of winning could be bumped up to one percent. He’s always been good with his hands -- quick with working wooden puzzles, excellent sleight-of-hand for his magic tricks, and fast to wrap holiday presents at his mother’s shop.

His hands. His hands were the solution. He doesn’t need his legs to dance.

It’s just his style to have a clever answer for everything.

The music begins, but there’s not a single instrument to be heard. Instead, it’s a careful selection of sound effects he’d spliced together on a friend’s computer. Screeching tires. Scrunched metal. Heavy breathing. Cellphone dial tone. Sirens. All the while, he’s been creating a story using his upper body alone. It’s a form of street dance called tutting, the art of creating illusions through finger and wrist movement. Masters can make it look hypnotic -- like their bones are liquid, like their muscles are silk, and like each movement is a puzzle piece sliding into place. Sunggyu is only moderate in skill, but his background in sleight of hand finally seems useful. His fingers loop and twirl, wrists rotate and snap, and shoulders roll when necessary. He concentrates and is thankful he didn’t choreograph anything beyond his current capabilities. He needs to finish the combinations seamlessly if he doesn’t want to look like a fool.

Here comes his favorite part. Sunggyu closes his eyes and keeps them shut, but it’s part of the routine rather than nerves. In the backing track, the sirens fade so voices can be heard instead. He’d recorded one of his friends saying “clear” and melded it with another royalty free sound effect: the zap of a defibrillator. Eyes still closed, his hands are clasped over his chest as he introduces another street style. He’s bopping, isolating the chest to move it back and forth while flexing. Every time he hears a zap, he double-bops and stops. There are only three zaps to save time and on the third, the hands locked over his chest unfurl like flower petals. They twirl in a final, spinning illusion and grab the microphone. He hopes that he made it clear his hands were supposed to represent his heart...or should he not have done that? It’s not like he’s supposed to be writing an essay thesis on stage.

The background transition to the instrumentals are choppy, no better than the average high school student assigned an editing project. But, the ideas and authenticity were still there. A great performer can entertain. A great artist can make people feel -- make them cry until each blink stings, make them belly laugh until they gasp for air, unbottle the emotions they keep inside of them. He might not be able to hit a whistle note, but he could try telling a story with his voice.

“Someone told me...”

The first few notes wobble. He’s nervous, no matter how meticulously he’s prepared. From the baggy clothes to help mask stiff body movements to the chunky glasses that obscure most of his face, he’s put thought into every detail. Then why is he sinking?

...To pray, to dream...”

The next few notes wobbles, too. The stakes are high and he’s choking. He’s choking in front of Tiger JK – oh, and it’s so obvious. The performance anxiety happened the morning of the modeling competition as well, but he doesn’t have a bottle of soju to loosen him up this time. All he has is himself. He closes his eyes and thinks about his performances at the spring festival. He thinks of his candid performance of To The Happy World. He thinks of how free he felt – the whirling, soaring, cage-breaking feelings as his worries slipped away. Sunggyu feels the tension in his shoulders melt away.

Now, his notes are crystal clear. They’re strong and it’s free, just like that day at the festival. He came in with nothing, so nothing is lost if he leaves empty-handed.

That it will come true no matter what it is Tell me everything, please look and tell me Please tell me to stop.

He knows that feeling. He knows that earth-shattering moment when you realize your parents and teachers lied to you. Nobody is special in this world; your report cards and mother’s report cards don’t mean shit in society. There’s no safety, no guarantees, and no happily ever afters when you’re an adult. Maybe you’re not good as everyone thought you were. Maybe you’re disappointing them. Your teachers promised that you could be astronauts and CEOs, but you end off paying debt by doing laundry for rich kids. Maybe your parents promised to protect you from the monster in your closet, but what about the bank? The big, cold building that seizes your home and let’s you sleep on the streets. You can’t just wish on a star for a home, even if all your childhood movies promised it would come true.

You know this, yet you keep dreaming. You keep dreaming and dreaming. You wish you could give up. Oh, you would give anything to stamp hope out like a light. Hope is cruel, mocking you as you dig your own grave of fantasy and make-believe.

I only hear rough, heartless sighs I never get to hear a sigh of relief I’m praying and calling for someone to rescue me.

If everything is going to plan, he should be around forty-nine seconds into the audition. Instead of jumping into the chorus, he’s inserted a rap segment that went well with the instrumental. The original song didn’t have a rap portion, so he’d selected one that helped convey his story best. The weight of people’s eyes -- expecting entertainment and ready to thrash him online if they didn’t get it -- fall heavy on him. His hands are sweaty and he grips the microphone a little harder, not wanting it to slip.

Honestly, I’ve never fit in with the world I was always alone It’s been a long time since I’ve forgotten about love I can’t listen to hopeful love songs anymore You and me both We’re just sad clowns, tamed and scripted I’ve come too far I’m coming home I wanna go back to when I was young.

He hopes he delivered the lines the way he wanted to; abandoned and bitter. Rapping to one of Tiger JK’s own artists was pretty ballsy. He feels like he’s moving into autopilot to keep from breaking apart on stage. Would that piss off the CEO? It’s a quick, twenty second rap to make sure he qualifies all the requirements. But, it was carefully selected to emphasize what he wanted people to feel from his performance. He’s careful that way -- an authentic individual, even if at times he’s written off as a fool or outright crashes and burns.

The rap should clock in at twenty seconds and without wasting time, he dives back into the song. He’s delivering the chorus, then a few closing lines taken from the end of the song that should wrap up the performance well.

Stand by me in necessary Little by little you get more sick Lalala lalala lalala lalala Don’t cry for me and I’m sorry

He’d only tampered with the lyrics once. In his eyes, it was a good reason: he never wants people to feel sorry or pity him. He just wants to be himself, not a sob story or pity party.

Little by little everything you lost starts to cave in. Someone said that life is like this That things become so dull, no matter what it is Tell me everything, please look at me and tell me Please tell me to wake up.

That was the end.

All that charisma melts into a puddle of awkward as he stares at the judges table, wide-eyed like the weight of what he’s just done finally hit him. What was he doing up here? No, that wasn’t the right question. The question he asks himself is why does he think he belongs up here? What does he do? Should he thank them? He has to do SOMETHING, he’s just standing there holding the microphone.

Sunggyu isn’t sure if he mumbled a thank you. All he knows is he jammed the microphone back into a stand, backed up like he committed a crime, and ran off stage.

#rkttc #we end this like napoleon dynamite #gyu is so embarrassing but also SO EMO???#solo #cw: hospital mention

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book-o-scams · 7 years

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Double Dee Weekend Analysis Challenge

This weekend, for Double Dee Appreciation Month, a bunch of EEnE blogs have been asked by @eene-fangirl to analyze the climactic swamp scene from Ed, Edd n Eddy’s Big Picture Show. In this scene, Eddy tricks Edd into believing Edd has allowed Ed and Eddy to drown in quicksand. This leaves Edd alone with the audience for about a minute, attempting to rescue them and then sobbing over survivor’s guilt. If you’re ready to deal with that, keep reading!

If you’re interested in how my opinion of this scene has evolved, here’s another analysis of it from a few years ago. Hopefully I don’t repeat myself too much, I only gave myself a moment to gloss over it before I started this: http://book-o-scams.tumblr.com/post/128634520423/do-you-think-you-could-do-a-review-about-the

What if the last time you saw your best friends safe and happy before their tragic deaths, one of them was pretending to be an alligator-skin bag and the other was running away from him in half naked mock-terror? This is Edd’s lot in life.

To be serious, I want to take a moment to say this swamp is beautifully designed. The water is so much more detailed and colorful than the flat colors on the animated water we usually see, and the silhouette trees exist in a really surreal season 1-inspired style that I can’t put into words. What are those stripes on the trees meant to be? Just weird lighting? Fumes?

“WAIT!” Love this little hand gesture.

I always wonder if Eddy was already planning the prank when he led Ed away. It IMMEDIATELY upsets Edd that Eddy is out of view. Eddy’s prank seems like it could be a response to the argument Edd and Eddy were having prior to this scene about why Edd ISN’T on this road trip (”to impress your brother”).

Graceful Swamp Nymph Edd over here....

Whoa

How did he land that jump!?

This whole shot is great.

As much as I would love to watch close-ups of Edd slipping all over these platforms, the crane shot communicates the loneliness of the moment, the distance between Edd and his friends, the dread that makes Ed n Eddy’s deaths seem like a possibility, and all while giving us a moment to appreciate the background art.

The decaying stagnant location could probably be taken as a metaphor for the state of the Eds’ friendship...

The small drawings are a little sloppy, but kinda charming. They remind me of the EEnE comics that weren’t drawn by AKA artists.

This moment of isolation also feels like a parallel to shots from the previous prank in the movie....

I love the subtle extra detail in Eddy’s hand, and the grime is good and creepy.

Maybe it’s just because lately I’ve been listening to the music I listened to backwhen BPS came out in 2009, but I feel like there’s a metaphor for Edd’s friendship with Eddy and Ed behind this whole “quicksand” visual hook. I’ll let you psychoanalyze that yourselves, but here’s a song about quicksand to help you think:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Zo50Wv2A4uk

Gotta love that escalation from whispering to panicking! In my previous analysis of this scene, I believe I considered the possibility that Eddy fell in this muck by accident and just ran with Edd’s suggestion that it was quicksand. On the other hand, it’s pretty suspicious that Eddy ran off shirtless and then got dressed before jumping in here... I think Eddy really does just know how to fake his own ignorance and predict Edd’s phobias.

I mean look at Ed in the very next shot! He’s not even trying to make this convincing. Very good dramatic touch on Eddy’s part to reach out for Edd, though.

I know I’m supposed to be analyzing Edd but I’m always taken by Eddy’s acting during these pranks. In the Gag Factory, he just goes for horror movie shock value, but here it becomes clear that Eddy has thought through the dramatic potential of his own death. Look at this pageantry!

Ed’s comments, “In Manure” vs “Immature” and “to all the girls I’ve loved before,” also suggest the scriptedness of this prank.

But at least Ed’s choking here sounds genuine enough to make his other banter more believably sad that he’s going out with jokes.

More staging focused on isolating Edd from his friends.

Ed and Eddy dragging each other to their deaths, their voices fading out in the background, while Edd frantically races in the foreground to do what’s best for them. Eddy really could not have set up a prank that conveyed the cracks in their friendship more VISUALLY, could he?

Suffocating close-ups. This anxiety is drowning Edd more than Ed and Eddy are drowning themselves!

Like tightening a noose, right, Edd?

BTW, don’t forget the significance of nooses to Bro, and by extension, Eddy!

So, seriously, what’s causing the bubbles here? Are Ed and Eddy waiting out this prank with no oxygen or are they back in the bushes or something?

I’d like to mention how much I appreciate the subtle gritty spraypainty detail on the coloring of the quicksand, it definitely helps create the illusion that this may be more threatening than the show’s usual grimy environments.

Today on Ed, Edd n Eddy, Double Dee processes the existential horror of accidental death!

“No.” Edd clutches his heart and attempts to restrain himself.

OOOH, good expression matching between shots!!!

“No!”

This is such a goddamn sweaty movie.

“NO!!!!”

The very first frame of the next shot is Edd already digging and slathered in mud. The urgency with which he throws away his germ phobia to save his friends makes his leap into the quicksand so fast it cannot be caught on film.

I love that the movie does not overstate Edd’s germ phobia and instead lets the grotesque thickness of this mud’s animation speak for itself. Nobody would want to start wading in anything this gloppy, but Edd does it with so much energy, he is not kidding about how much he does not want Ed or Eddy to die no matter how they’ve mistreated each other in the past year.

OOH THEY FORGOT TO LINE SOME TEETH!!!

ah there they are

The first frame of Edd crying in this scene and the tears are already down his cheeks! He’s sprung a leak now.

Edd demands to know where Ed and Eddy are.

AND WE’VE STRUCK GOLD WITH THIS FRAME-BY-FRAME ANALYSIS

to be clear I am skipping some frames. sorry there isn’t more commentary but i think this glorious ugly-crying speaks for itself.

Edd begs them not to give up on him, the survivor’s guilt coming out full force.

“ANSWER ME!”

Edd whimpering after “...please...” is the part of this scene that breaks my heart the most. That quiet acceptance that death is real, even in the Eds’ static world, definitely hits on the pain of losing someone close to you for the first time, a note that’s really important to land when this is so obviously (to the audience) a prank.

The tear animation on this particular expression is REALLY smooth. Some of the dripping loops are kinda choppy but this one looks great, I love the touch with the darker eyelid skin being colored differently through the tears. It’s a perfect capper to a shot full of really incredible Edd drawings.

Again I’d like to point out that Edd’s perspective keeps switching between claustrophobic close-ups and devastating isolation.

I love how he SCREAMS and stomps around in a circle!

A little foreshadowing of the physical violence he’s going to bestow upon Eddy when they fight after the prank is revealed...

“WHY OH WHY DIDN’T YOU LISTEN TO ME!?”

I love that I can’t tell if Edd is referring to these swamp antics or the entire show. It feels a little underhanded for Edd to say this stuff out loud at what he believes to be the scene of their deaths, but that sort of darkness is necessary to justify this scene after the prank is revealed. Ed and Eddy don’t exactly deserve a better requiem, at this point they’ve brought almost nothing but despair to all the people they wanted love from, even if that’s not what they intended.

In an ask earlier tonight, I interpreted a line Edd says after this scene that informs why he reacts to their “deaths” this way. I just want to underline that: Ed and Eddy are officially more important to Edd than any member of his family, any acquaintance, anyone he’s ever met. And this is the way they treat him after ruining what little bit of a life he had accumulated through all his mistakes. His reaction to their death and his reaction to them being alive but lying to him have a similar fury behind the expressions, fueled by how much Edd has lost over both the last year and the last 24 hours.

Edd finally faceplants in the mud, to punish himself for failing to steer Ed and Eddy away from their doomed quest, for failing to save their lives, and for insulting them at their graves.

This is the beginning of the last shot of the “Ed and Eddy are dead” sequence, but I want to savor it.

This is the moment where their “death” has finally lingered long enough to feel like the new reality, to Edd as well as the audience. A moment sooner would have rendered it meaningless, and possibly made Ed and Eddy seem nicer or at least more concerned with Edd’s heartbreak, while leaving our thoughts on Edd’s slight about Ed and Eddy ignoring him. Keep the death going too long and it would DEFINITELY feel like a waste. This feels like Ed, Edd n Eddy tugging at heartstrings with the exact balance of sweet and mean that defines the show.

“This is all my fault!”

“I should have never let you leave the cul-de-sac!”

I like that Edd’s thoughts would return to “the cul-de-sac” at their death. Even with the traumas we witnessed in Peach Creek, “the cul-de-sac” still sounds like a safe nostalgic place, the natural habitat of the Eds.

Is that a miscolored sleeve?

This shot was important it because it allowed Edd to show remorse and get more to the heart of what he meant with that slight.

And I think Ed and Eddy quietly offering Edd a tissue is a really good beat to end the death sequence on as well. Mean as they are and as rightfully angry as Edd is, we are still given the sense that they heard what Edd said, and want to return with a semi-caring gesture with a little of Ed’s personality mixed in to help restore normalcy. It’s almost like they are saying “let us laugh right now and we won’t blame you at all for thinking so little of us at our deathbeds.” It is specific and in character. But it doesn’t make up for their actions as much as they think it does.

Edd initially complaining about Ed’s gross handkerchief and then drooping as the dots connect that this was a prank is also a pretty well-timed gag.

These shit-eating grins, Eddy looks like Norbert Beaver right now with that little beak.

Hmm, Ed’s face doesn’t match between these shots... I wonder if a line got cut out for time here.

Ridiculing Edd for caring, which probably reflects how little care Ed and Eddy receive from their families and peers.

Just like old times, huh Double Dee?

...Maybe too similar to old times...

Thousand yard stare while tears stream down his cheeks...

“This muck’s only ankle deep, can’t sink in it!”

Edd untethers himself. Symbolism.

Ed starts making some stupid free-associative response to Eddy’s line.

And Edd spins around and stomps away with stifled anger.

In light of how deeply he just felt about these two, he cannot bring himself to give them the fight they deserve without Eddy dragging it out of him. But Edd can sure as hell walk away.

And with that Edd silently quits and Eddy makes a series of strange faces.

Also in this shot, tiny Eddy’s animation does not sync up with the dialogue at ALL, so I really want to know what line he was animated to...

Anyway, that’s it for this challenge. I hope you enjoyed this mini-analysis grande-screenshot-gallery and have been enjoying these character appreciation months as much as I have! Have a good night.

#Double Dee Weekend Analysis Challenge #double dee appreciation month #ed edd n eddy #ed edd n eddy's big picture show #Big Picture Show #movie #the movie #analysis #double dee #edd #double d

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