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sqoiler · 3 years

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On the Thursday of the last week of kindergarten, the DVD that Miss Martinez was going to play turns out to be scratched beyond recognition, and so she gets out construction paper, scissors, markers, and glitter glue.

“Father’s Day isn’t for a few more weeks,” she says. “But why don’t we make some cards, just like we did for Mother’s Day, okay?”

The kids all get to work, reaching for the pile of brightly-colored paper. Stephanie Brown, who will be turning six in August, is the last one to get up. She shifts through the leftover colors--black, a pukey shade of green, blue, white. She picks up the black one and takes it back to her desk. She does not want to make a stupid card for her stupid dad. The other kids at her table are enthusiastically chattering about their dads’ favorite colors and jobs and drawing crayon drawings onto the paper. The girl next to her is cutting a snowflake out with safety scissors.

Steph picks up a white crayon and stares at her blank card. Across the room, Dexter raises his hand.

“What if we don’t have a dad?” he asks. Steph remembers from Mother’s Day that Dexter has two moms.

“Make a card for someone else,” Miss Martinez suggests. “Your grandfather, maybe. Or a neighbor, or a hero.”

A hero?

Steph looks at the black card before her, and her white crayon. She smiles.

And she makes a Father’s Day card for Batman.

-----

On the Monday of the last week of first grade, Mrs. Arnold, the art teacher, sits down her class and passes out white paper.

“Father’s Day cards,” she explains. Stephanie Brown, seven in August, considers making her own father a card. She didn’t get him anything last year but he didn’t seem to notice, and she’s not really that mad at him this year. But he didn’t seem to notice, and when Steph thinks about it, she thinks Robin probably doesn’t make Batman a card. Steph could make another card for her own dad at home, and make one for Batman at school.

Mind made up, she reaches for black markers and gets to work.

-----

On the Tuesday of the last week of second grade, Stephanie Brown, almost eight years old, sits down in art class and carefully draws a black blob with pointy ears, and a red and green and yellow stick figure, next to it, and she tries to remember what Nightwing looks like, and when she can’t remember she just draws Robin again but bigger.

HAPPY FATHER’S DAY, she writes in red marker, and she closes the card.

------

On the Wednesday of the last week of third grade, Mrs. Arnold passes out watercolors in art class with pieces of thick paper, and tells them to make presents for their dads. Stephanie Brown, nearly nine, hasn’t seen her dad in almost four months, and she uses up almost all the black water colors at her table painting a picture of Batman.

------

On the last week of fourth grade, nobody sits down their class to have them make Father’s Day cards.

On the Thursday before Father’s Day, Crystal passes Stephanie Brown, age almost-ten, a card bought from the store and tells her that they’ll mail it to Blackgate the next morning. Happy Father’s Day, the card says. You’re the best dad ever! the card says.

Steph stares at it for a long time.

Then she tears out a piece of notebook paper and folds it in half, taking the rainbow gel pens she got in December and picking up the pink one. She squints at it and sees that it’s nearly run out, so she picks up the purple one instead.

When she’s done drawing Batman and Batgirl and Robin and Nightwing, she decides she likes purple, and she folds the notebook paper inside the card her mother gave her, and she doesn’t mail anything to Blackgate the next day.

-----

On the last day of fifth grade, Mr. Robinson turns on The Great Mouse Detective and sets out a stack of colored paper and scissors. He tells the class they can do whatever they want during the movie and even sets up chips and cookies, then he sits in the back of the classroom and maybe falls asleep. Stephanie Brown, ten-going-on-eleven, wants something to do with her hands, so she takes a black piece of paper and cuts out a batsymbol. She learned how to draw them by sticking her head out her window at night and looking at the sky, and she’s proud of her newfound skill. When she’s done cutting it out, she’s not really sure what to do besides maybe tape it to her shirt, but her dad’s been out for a week now and she thinks he’d be mad if he saw that.

Instead, she folds it in half and writes HAPPY FATHERS DAY across the middle using white-out. Skye, the girl who sits next to her, leans over and asks what she’s doing, and Steph pauses. She’s...she’s not really sure why she keeps making these. To prove a point, maybe. She’s not really sure what point, though.

“Do you think Batman ever gets cards?” she asks in a whisper.

“Yes,” Skye says. “Probably every day.”

“Oh,” Steph says. “Well, I probably won’t send it then.”

“Okay,” Skye says, and then she downs half of her dixie cup of orange juice and turns back to the movie. Steph puts purple glitter glue on her batsymbol.

------

On the first week of April, Stephanie Brown, age seventeen, pulls a plastic bin out from under her desk. There’s a cardboard box beside her, and two other cardboard boxes on her empty mattress, full and taped shut. There’s a full duffel bag of clothes next to her, and her posters from her walls have been taken down and rolled up. All she has to do is finish going through her desk, and then she’s done. The rest of her things will be sold or something, she’s not sure.

She pries off the lid of the bin before her and takes out old school binders and ragged notebooks, paper folders falling apart and ancient art projects. She lifts out a collage she probably made in seventh grade and tries to decipher the meaning behind it. There is a cutout of red heels from Kohls on top of a blue betta fish.

Steph decides it will go in the trash pile and sets it aside, lifting out a yellow plastic folder. She opens it, curious, and lifts out a black paper batsymbol. She gasps when she opens it.

Her Father’s Day cards!

Of course, she had never sent them, so she has all--she counts quickly--six of them. She looks them over, laughing at her kindergarten misspellings and looking at the evolution of her drawing ability fondly. This is--she totally forgot about this. Steph closes the folder reverently and puts it on top of her duffel bag. There’s no way she can get rid of this--especially with the purple cape still in the hidden part of her closet. Especially not with where she’s packing up to move to.

----

On the third Sunday in June, Stephanie Brown, age eighteen-in-August, takes up her yellow plastic folder from where she hid it under her new mattress, and she leaves her room, tucking it under her arm. She gets like four steps down the hall before another door opens, and already an accusing voice says, “What’s that?”

Steph whirls around.

“None of your business,” she says. Tim makes a face at her and she makes the same one back, because she is very mature. To prove her maturity, she slides down the banister on her way to the kitchen.

Dick and Cass are in there, doing the dishes. Steph watches them for a second and then says, “Why do you have dishes at this hour?” ‘This hour’, upon checking, turns out to be almost noon, but nobody wakes up early in this house.

“Breakfast for Alfred,” Cass says.

“You can do that?” Steph asks, thinking that Alfred would get offended if someone tried to cook for him.

“You can today,” Dick says, shrugging, and Steph frowns, realizes that they ganged together to make breakfast on Father’s Day for Alfred and didn’t invite her.

It was probably an accident, she reasons, but then she remembers Tim and turns to face him.

“Why didn’t you make breakfast for Alfred?”

“I was sleeping,” he says.

“He’s impossible to wake up so we called it a lost cause,” Dick says. “We have extra pancakes, though, help yourself.”

Steph is still a little affronted, but she knows that she’s the newest person in the house and she’s only staying here until her mom’s done with rehab and whatever, so they probably didn’t think she’d want to be included, even though Alfred is everyone’s grandpa, even Babs’s. She goes to pick up a pair of pancakes and bites into one, deciding syrup can wait, and she leaves before they can rope her into conversation. Besides, she’s a little scared they’ll start referring to whatever plans they have with Bruce, and she doesn’t know how she’s supposed to react.

She heads to Bruce’s study and pushes open the door, glad to find him in there. She thinks if she had to search for him she’d probably lose her nerve and chicken out. Bruce glances up for like half a second and then looks back at the computer, and she takes a deep breath and steps inside fully.

Now or never, she thinks, and so she marches right up to him and slams the yellow folder on the desk.

“What’s this?” Bruce says, and Steph isn’t really sure how to explain, so she says, “It’s, uh, I found it when I was packing my stuff, and it’s...it’s from a while ago, but I thought you might, um…”

She trails off as he picks up the folder and opens it, raising an eyebrow at the contents from inside. She kinda wants to look at his face, but also totally doesn’t want to do that, so instead she looks at the desk, and opens her dumb mouth back up. “They always used to have us do Father’s Day cards at school or whatever and I never wanted to make one for Arthur so I made those instead ‘cause...well I don’t really remember why but whatever I thought you might want to see them.”

“Stephanie,” Bruce says, and she shuts up and bites her lip, looking up at him. “You...made these?”

“Yeah,” she says. He looks back down at the cards in his hands, all spread out--even the one that was intended for Arthur that Steph never sent. He touches the one from kindergarten. “Um. You can keep them.”

Bruce stands up. Steph isn’t really sure at all what he’s thinking, but he steps away from his chair and wraps his arms around her, holds her tight.

“Thank you,” he whispers.

“Happy Father’s Day,” she says, and when he squeezes her she closes her eyes, exhales, and squeezes him back.

(based on this post x) (ao3 here x)

#(posts fathers day fic in december)#stephanie brown #bruce wayne #brotp: slap #my writing #long post

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beauenfer · 3 years

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𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐟𝐚𝐧‘𝐬 𝐭𝐰𝐢𝐧 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞𝐬;

· * · ✦ fandom: The Vampire Diaries

· * · ✧ pairing: Stefan Salvatore x sibling!Reader

· * · ✦ warning: Language, sadness, vampirism and grr, Spoiler at the end if you haven’t finished the series, so totes don’t read the last line

.｡.:*★.｡.:*★.｡.:*★.｡.:*★.｡.:*★.｡.:*★.｡.:*★.｡.:*★

✦. just like you and Damon, you and Stefan would be alike if you were twins

✦. Stefan was kind, compassionate, understanding, and you were somewhat the same (you were a little bitchier)

✦. you and him shared that brooding in silence expression, and had the same hazel colored eyes

✦. you struggled at the sight of human blood but that doesn’t mean you didn’t drink it. Stefan was always the dramatic one

✦. you and him always watched over Damon and made sure he wasn’t going to do anything stupid

✦. you weren’t reckless, but you weren’t scared to take action either

✦. you read books in your free time and mostly stayed in your room, and you didn’t really like Elena

✦. you were a bit more harsh when it came to the girl, and you weren’t so quick to risk your life just to save her

✦. you were an eye-roller, and a blunt person. I kinda picture Stefan’s twin to be a meanie for some reason

✦. “Stefan, I love you. Damon, I love you. but I could care less if a vampire is after Elena. it’s just another day to me.”

✦. you and Stefan had deep conversations about life and other philosophies

✦. you always teased him about girls that liked him because you knew he didn’t want anything to do with them

✦. you helped him with his control around human blood, but you weren’t scared to lock him in the brig if he got too excited

✦. you were like his Lexi (big rip)

✦. you also had a little book club, where you two were the only members. Damon would laugh whenever a discussion on chapter 3 would turn into a fight between you two

✦. you both liked to stay out of the drama but always got dragged into it anyways, being forced to be the hero

✦. you started commenting on Stefan’s hero hair whenever Damon said something about it

✦. Stefan was the type of brother who would put a blanket over you if he found you sleeping in the living room with a book in your lap, a glass of bourbon on the table next to you

✦. you and him would go on jogs together in the woods, and end up making it a race to see who could get home first

✦. Damon would be alarmed when you guys were having fun, saying he was the only one that could

✦. “wait, are you two having fun? somebody must’ve spiked your squirrel.” 😎😏

✦. “oh my god, Damon. you’re so funny.” 😐🙄

✦. you would hand Stefan tools whenever he fixed cars, and maybe even learn a thing or two

✦. you guys reminded each other to drink vervain daily so you could get immune

✦. Stefan and Damon were your favorite people

✦. you read Stefan’s journals behind his back, and would treat him extra nice the next day from what you read

✦. whenever he had no humanity he was a handful. he picked on you the most because you were the one most likely to bring him back

✦. you always tried to make Stefan accustomed to human blood so he wouldn’t freak out

✦. and Stefan would try to get you on the animal diet, but you would spit facts and would be like, oh no. Animal blood makes you weak and all that other stuff

✦. Stefan didn’t like not having you around because he was bored easily, and didn’t see the point in going out if you weren’t

✦. you guys were the type to belt out song lyrics in the car, mostly listening to classic rock

✦. you knew him and Caroline were going to get together before he did, and would try to put them in situations together a lot to make it go faster

✦. “Stefan, how about you take Caroline to the dance? You know, have fun for once.”

✦. “Hey, Caroline, just go with Stefan. I’ll go with Damon.”

✦. you would sneak into his room and steal his vinyls, then say you didn’t when he would ask you

✦. despite what the group thought, you and Stefan were actually a lot of fun to be around

✦. you guys shot darts at the Grill, and got competitive very quick about it

✦. you guys had drinking competitions, again betting who would win

✦. you guys also liked to spend the whole night trying to get drunk, then you’d push Stefan in front of a truck LOL

✦. Stefan gave you a necklace in the 1960s that you never took off

✦. Stefan wrote about you in his journals, saying he had deep regret for turning you into a vampire and everything he ever did to you when he was the ripper

✦. you’d always find Stefan on his banister when he was in a mood, or something bad happened that day

✦. you’d give him a glass of bourbon and ask him what was wrong. this would lead to him confessing how sorry he was and everything he regrets

✦. “i gave you this life. you and Damon. I’ll never stop apologizing for that.”

✦. “it’s not that bad, Stefan. At least we’re all together.”

✦. Damon came to you with his problems because he felt like Stefan judged him too much, which kinda was the case

✦. you were like Stefan in a way when you just liked to lock yourself in the room and drink your sorrows away instead of confronting them

✦. you both tried to work on that with each other

✦. people would ask you who’s the evil twin, to which you’d both say Damon

✦. Damon, despite it being very clear who was who, would mark your hands in marker so he knew who he was talking to

✦. “Damon. You’ve been doing this since we were kids.”

✦. “I know.”

✦. “even then, we’re not identical. it’s very clear who you’re talking to.”

✦. “I know.”

✦. “Jesus Christ.”

✦. you guys have always had a special bond since birth that you can’t explain

✦. you’re besties for life 🥺

✦. you guys also had a little handshake Damon always tried to copy

✦. you and Stefan rarely fight because your minds are so in tuned

✦. you guys think similarly

✦. despite what you tell Stefan, a very very small part of you can’t get over what he’s done to you when he was a ripper, or back in 1864 when you were turned because he forced you

✦. you tried to write in journals like Stefan did, but you barely ever write in it

✦. Stefan was always wary of the people you liked or dated, and it took him a long time to come out of his shell

✦. you guys watch I Love Lucy together all the time, his favorite show

✦. and on his birthday, you gifted him the whole series and an autographed poster from Lucille Ball herself

✦. you guys didn’t like going to the parties Damon threw in the house, but you went anyway because Caroline convinced you

✦. but let’s be real, y’all tore those parties up because you secretly loved them

✦. you’d be doing handstands at the keg and Stefan would be fuckin’ up the dance floor with his tubular moves

✦. on Halloween parties, Stefan and you would dress up as the cast from The Great Gatsby, another one of his favorites

✦. speaking of dancing, you and Stefan could dance

✦. you and him always had a cup of coffee in the morning and discussed random things before Damon would get up and wreak havoc

✦. you and him, since we’re on the subject, would watch fancy coffee videos and try to figure out how to make it

✦. whenever you were kids, your father would always make sure you were poised and didn’t embarrass him

✦. he held you and Stefan to a high standard

✦. you and Stefan would stay in each other’s rooms and goof off until morning back when you were children

✦. you always bought Stefan books he loved or wanted, or just gave him the original

✦. back in the 50’s, y’all were greasers let’s be real

✦. you were there when Stefan got his rose tattoo done

✦. you guys liked to sit in front of the fireplace after a hard day with glasses of bourbon

✦. “just another day in our lives, huh?”

✦. “just another day...”

✦. Stefan worried about you too much sometimes and would call you nonstop if he got bad news

✦. you were always asking him about his and Caroline’s relationship

✦. and at their wedding you were the best man (no matter the gender)

✦. but anyways, this boy dead and I miss him

#stefan salvatore x reader #Stefan Salvatore #stefan salvatore fanfiction #stefan salvatore headcanon #Stefan Salvatore imagine #tvd #the vampire diaries imagine

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pinkhairedlily · 3 years

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Chapter 6 - Student Council President Sakura

SCPS AO3 | PREVIOUS CHAPTER

“When’s your birthday, Sasuke?” Naruto asked unprompted. He was eating an onigiri in one hand and writing in a notebook with another. “Captain Haru gave me a journal and told me to fill in the dates.”

“Why are you treating it like a slam book?”

“What’s a slam book? Why are you even changing the topic?”

“July 23.”

Naruto went silent for a moment as he jotted down Sasuke’s name. “Oh, last week? During our sleepover?”

“You mean, hostage sleepover.”

“Ah shit. We didn’t get you a present. Sorry, grumpy.” Naruto’s face was sincerely apologetic and Sasuke was on the verge of nonchalantly assuring him that it was all right when he heard his following reply. “But make sure you get me one okay. It will be on October 10.”

“I wish I was allowed to physically harm you right now but your training next week will suffice,” Sasuke jested right back. “I’ll put in a word with Haru to make you suffer.” He would have said more clapbacks if they didn’t hear loud footsteps running their way.

Their two heads popped just a few inches above the bushes that lined behind the fence and saw a disheveled Sakura catching her breath with bent knees and her arms full of folders. Sasuke surmised she might have come from a council meeting.

“It’s Sakura – “ Sasuke covered Naruto’s loud mouth with his palm.

Her phone rang inside her skirt’s pockets, and her expression panicked when she saw the caller id. The folders fumbled out of her grasp when she answered it. “Oh hello, Kakashi-sensei.”

Both the boys’ brows raised in curiosity when her voice went a pitch higher.

“Ah, I’m actually out of the campus right now, Sensei. Got an errand to run. I’ll see you for consultations…..soon?” Then she ended the call. They all heard another set of footsteps nearing their location, and Sakura repeatedly said I’m screwed to herself.

Naruto wrestled out of Sasuke’s headlock and pulled a surprised Sakura inside their hiding place. The latter grumbled but quickly gathered the folders from the ground and followed suit. Three heads now looked over the bushes, and true enough, Kakashi appeared in the clearing with his phone in his hand. “That’s funny. I thought I heard her voice here.”

When they were sure he was out of their sight and earshot, Sasuke signaled a thumbs up, and Naruto, not missing a beat, started with the obvious question. “Why are you hiding from our mathematics teacher?”

Sakura blushed with intensity, her cheeks the color of cherry tomatoes with a ripeness Sasuke liked the most. She flushed so intensely she couldn’t hide it for her sake. The thought of wanting to have that kind of privilege crossed his mind. “Uh, he wanted a report from me, but I wasn’t able to finish it.” Like the self-aware person that she was, she immediately got her bearings and recognized the place. “This is behind the library.”

“It’s Sasuke’s favorite hiding place until I barged in. And now, it’s yours too.” Naruto grinned at her even when he just revealed this place’s existence to their student council president.

“Shouldn’t you be asking me permission first?” Sasuke arranged the folders first before returning them to Sakura who seemed to calm down a bit.

She laughed dryly. “Technically, it’s public property so we don’t need your permission…grumpy.”

Naruto erupted in laughter while Sasuke closed his eyes in annoyance. Two loud-mouths in what was supposed to be in his safe space and yet all he felt was just mild annoyance. Stopping his thoughts before they ran him aground, he rummaged through their storage bin and found an extra sandwich he bought this morning and the last pack of his cherry tomato juice.

He passed the food to her and gave her a little bit of scolding. “At least have your lunch first before making fun of me.”

“You’re really giving her a tomato juice?” Naruto never could hide his disgust for certain food. “Don’t tell me this is your rite of passage.”

Sasuke glared at the blonde, forcing him to shut up. “Bring any more people here, and I’ll tell your captain to drag you to hell.” That wasn’t so difficult, given that Haru has taken a liking to him, for what he didn’t know. He just treated him like a big brother would, like Itachi would.

Sakura took a sip in the middle of their banter, and she emitted a surprised sound. “So this is what it tasted like? It’s actually good.”

That was the first time someone liked what he liked, and he vaguely realized he was waiting for her opinion. With that, he had trouble suppressing the smile that started to form on his face, so he looked away and mustered his focus on the nearby yells of a practicing dragonboat team.

“Oh, I forgot, belated happy birthday Sasuke.”

He strengthened his resolve not to turn his head just as quickly because he was sure the shock was visible in his face. He was so taken aback he didn’t hear Naruto ask Sakura where she learned of it.

“I came across our class records during the meeting and saw the date. Sucks we weren’t able to get you a present. Anyway, I gotta run. I have another presentation to the principal for a personal project.” Sakura finished off her sandwich in one bite and ran out of the secluded space.

Naruto stared after her disappearing figure, the bunched-up juice carton and sandwich wrapper in his hands. “I should make her a decent lunch sometime. I don’t think she’s eating well.”

But Sasuke had another observation in mind. “Why didn’t you ask for her birthday?”

“I know already. I asked Hinata about it.”

--------------------------------

Sakura tried to catch up with the baseball captain in the seniors’ hallways before she would lose him to his after classes dates with Hinata. “Haru, wait up please.”

His brown hair has grown longer to hide his undercut which Naruto wanted to replicate as he often mentioned in between their conversations in classes. It was actually a wonder how the usually demure Hinata gravitated towards Haru who had a strong personality. His annoyed gaze softened when he realized it was her calling him, his smile turning into a wide grin as she raced through the halls.

“No running, Ms. President,” he chided.

Sakura playfully punched his shoulder, her fist’s impact light as she struggled to catch her breath. “Can I at least have some of your time? I promise I won’t take long.”

The captain’s face took on an incredulous look. “How the tables have turned.”

They found themselves on a rooftop, away from the incidental eavesdroppers (if there were any), and moreover they needed some quiet space to talk about important matters. The first of which was the baseball team’s finances.

“I gotta hand this to you rather straightforwardly. The board didn’t foresee your qualification in the preliminaries hence they didn’t allot a big budget for your team – not for training, not for travel expenses, not for uniforms, and miscellaneous expenses.” He towered over her, her height a third short from his shoulders, but when he hunched them forward and leaned against the railings, he was almost shoulder to shoulder with her. “So what are your plans?”

Back in junior high, he would often ruffle her hair out of her immaculate ponytail, and this closeness wasn’t really odd because they were from the same town and grew on the same block. Distance just crept in as they made more friends and entered different circles.

“My personal savings,” Haru simply replied. “Our coach will chip in half of our projected expenses so we’re good to go.”

Sakura sighed. “As always, you don’t like to rely on anyone.”

“We’re not really too far from each other, Sakura. So what’s your plan anyway?” Haru turned with his back this time against the railing.

“Pass-the-Hat.”

Haru nodded. “And your savings.”

Sakura shook her head vehemently. “Hell no.”

“Gears are turning in your head, and I can see you’ll fill in a part with your savings. Stop it, Haruno.”

“I’m telling you, I won’t give you a part of my savings. Anyway – “

“Anyway? There’s more?” Haru hastily looked at his watch to check the time, almost formed a reply, and thought better of it, hiding his wrist from his view.

“I saw your career sheet form. You know you could always try to apply for an athletic scholarship, right?” If she can hazard a guess, Haru may not be planning at all to proceed to college. He always has his father’s fishing business to take over back in their town.

“No association would vet for a player who only qualified for prelims on his senior year.” Haru playfully ruffled her hair, the gesture she thought was once forgotten between them. “So don’t feel sorry for me. I already have Hinata to deal with.”

“You sound so pessimistic when you’re just going away for a year until she decides to follow you. Your story’s almost like a fairytale,” Sakura scoffed.

“First of all, long distance relationships don’t work and second and last of all, there’s her father to think about.” Haru let out a long sigh. “Believe me, Sakura, I want to make it work, but I feel like the distance between us had already set in even before I go.”

--------------------------------

Haru was right. While Pass-the-Hat garnered lots of amounts enough to shoulder the logistics of the training of the baseball team before the semis, there wasn’t enough to pay for their new equipment. She could ask the teachers, but she knew Haru and the coach have already asked for prior favors. At the last minute before the trip got cancelled, Sakura anonymously put in two-thirds of her savings into the donations pool which the captain got wind of and somehow reached Kakashi.

While she was successful in avoiding him for the first few days of the school trip while Naruto and his team was in Fukuoka, he caught her alone as she was reading the markers outside the walls of a castle.

“Haruno Sakura.” His voice startled her. She turned around, like a good student that she was, and waved a bit too enthusiastically. “Mind telling me why you won’t talk to me outside of our council meetings? Did I say any directive that offended you or overworked you? I need to have an open communication with you kids.”

Kids. “Ah, I was just a little busy these past weeks,” Sakura assured him. She nervously fidgeted with his rubber band that was still on her wrist. His eyes followed her movements, and she hid them quickly behind her back, afraid of what he would say if he realized.

“I heard from the principal that he greenlighted your personal project, and that you will be presenting this to the board next week for a possible funding. You accomplished that on top of the feats you pulled to bring the baseball team to the semis.” As Kakashi recounted her accomplishments, she couldn’t help the blush that rose to her cheeks. She was finding it difficult to say an excuse right now. “So I’m returning your personal donation.”

Sakura stared at him directly, never mind the raven irises that drowned her in undivided attention. “What?” He smiled, highlighting even more his mole, and she gasped, breathless at the sight.

“Don’t worry your pretty head over these things. You’re too young for this. I’ll have the funds downloaded to your bank, all right.” Kakashi patted her head softly and disappeared in the meandering crowds.

She slapped the rubber band against the thin skin of her wrist repeatedly. She didn’t know whether she should feel grateful that her savings were back or feel angry that she was patronized because of her age. Didn’t Kakashi know that teenagers grow up faster than their actual age and that she had every right to worry her pretty head? When will he start seeing her as she was?

Her self-deprecating thoughts ran awry when someone took hold of her wrist that has gone red from the slap of the rubber band.

For someone who alternated between being grim-faced or stoic, Sasuke’s hand was gentle and kind. She knew that ever since she saw him in the café, all the good things in him seeping out through cracks in his wall. Right now, she knew he was worried about the supportless baseball team.

“They’re losing, aren’t they?” Sakura suppressed the overwhelming emotions from her earlier interaction with Kakashi and concocted a plan in her head.

She coordinated with the guides and had them add a stop at the baseball field at Fukuoka for one last hurrah for the team.

--------------------------------

Thirty minutes later, their school witnessed how the top teams decimated Naruto’s team. No innings won, batters relentless, and Haru got injured. Sakura, sensing the dampened atmosphere among the student body, rallied yells, earning surprised looks from the team members.

Through the crowds, Sasuke saw Hinata, her fingers twirling the ends of her long braid, and her eyes scanning the place for her boyfriend…until her gaze shifted to Naruto. He traversed the space to stand beside her, breaking his own rule to remain uninvolved in other people’s affairs.

But he owed this to Naruto and Haru who never failed to include him in after practice dinners and effectively kept the gaping depression in his apartment away.

“Your boyfriend has a broken arm, but you’re looking at Naruto.” He said, even before he could announce his presence to her.

Hinata turned her face to him and repeated his words. “My boyfriend has a broken arm but I cannot look at broken limbs for too long. Thanks for pointing that out.”

“There’s a second statement after my but.”

“Hmm, my eyes just probably gravitated to him unknowingly. But it couldn’t be helped, right? He just has this bright, sunshine energy.” Hinata shrugged, seemingly confused by her words as well.

Sasuke wanted to prod more but her eyes narrowed at something behind him. When he glanced back, he saw Sakura stood in tiptoes as she hugged a downtrodden Naruto. If he wasn’t so sad, he would have blushed and awkwardly pushed his crush away, but for this instance, he choked back his sobs and eventually cried on her shoulder.

“Maybe the student council can also support other teams which are gearing up for nationals. You may suffer backlash if favoritism becomes obvious.”

He scoffed at Hinata’s advice. “I’ll tell our student council president that.”

Sasuke made his way to the blonde and pinkette, his arms engulfing both of their heads in a very rare hug. He felt Sakura stiffen beneath him while Naruto changed shoulders and cried openly against Sasuke’s shirt.

This he didn’t mind, as long as both of their faces were hidden from her view.

AO3 LINK | NEXT CHAPTER | CHAPTER 7

#SCPS #student council president sakura #sasusaku #uchiha sasuke #haruno sakura #narusaku #uzumaki naruto #kakasaku #hatake kakashi #hinata i will redeem you soon but for now you're a menace love you

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writersrealmbts · 4 years

Text

Shattered Pieces: Glue

Description: Kittens and Cubs grow quickly, and life goes on faster than you would like, but you still get to enjoy the ride.

Warnings: If this doesn’t destroy you a little, I give up as a writer.

Posted: 03/16/2020

Tags: hybrid bts, yoongi x reader

Mostly fluff with a surprise: 4,288 words

A/N: Last Part!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I’ve been really stuck on this for a while, and I just wanted to finish this series so I could move on. So, I hope you guys like it and please let me know what you think of it!!!!!

You checked the clock again, then shrugged at Hoseok. “If they’re not back in half an hour we might have to send a search party.”

He nodded. “I know they thought to do this because Jimin used to catch the turkey every year, but Jimin spent days getting the turkey, and he mostly rounded up turkeys and then picked the one he wanted and released the others before humanely killing the turkey. A couple days before he planned to cook it.”

You rolled your eyes. “They were determined.”

“Predators,” Jungkook sighed, dramatic. He jumped back as you slapped at him for sneaking bites of the stuffing that you were preparing for tomorrow.

Jin hummed softly. “The babes are awake.”

You smiled and followed him to the nursery, checking on your coloring babes (all but Jihun—who had been dragged along despite his reservations) before getting your bitty babes who were still roly-polying in their separate cribs.

Yerin was babbling a little.

Cheolmin was sucking on his hand, but his eyes fell onto you and smiled.

Soyoung was barely awake.

You picked up Cheolmin, cuddling him close with a purr. “Look at my sleepy boy.”

Jin had Yerin, changing her diaper while she made various babble noises. “I still can’t believe they went hunting on Christmas Eve Day. There’s so much to do! I know Namjoon hasn’t finished Christmas shopping yet.”

“He’ll realize his mistake sooner or later.” You shrugged a little, and rubbing Soyoung’s belly as the kitten slowly blinked awake. She had mostly black fur like Yoongi, and you honestly thought she was the spitting image of her appa if it weren’t for the white stripe on the back of her left ear.

Yerin had your coloring.

Cheolmin was mixed between the two of you, but he had his dad’s eyes.

Yerin had your mother’s eyes, and sometimes when she blinked up at you….

You smiled softly as you stepped to the side for Hoseok to pick up Soyoung.

“So soft,” Jin whispered, nuzzling one of Yerin’s ears. “Baby fur is the best. Misuk’s baby fur is growing out.”

“I know, she’s getting big.” You sighed in resignation. “Soon we won’t have baby-soft fur to play with on her.”

“Terrifying,” Hoseok said, shuddering. “They’re growing too quickly.”

“Jihun reminds me of Jimin when we first met him,” Jin said, smiling.

Jungkook grinned and nodded. “I know. I found a picture of us from back then.”

“You’ll have to show me,” You said, pushing away the dissatisfaction of not being able to meet your cubs real parents. It was driving you crazy, because you couldn’t even watch their home videos because no one knew where they were. They’d been searching for the past three weeks because Jihun asked about it at Thanksgiving and all of them were certain there were home videos but none of them were certain where they were. You figured you’d probably find them the moment you started looking, because that’s a mom’s superpower and you’ve had that power for a long time. You just hadn’t had the chance since the kids were especially clingy ever since you’d had the kittens. You didn’t mind, it wasn’t an unhealthy clingyiness, but the addition of the milky scent on you made you a little more motherly and comforting to them. And Jihun needed a lot of help with his homework lately.

“Moooommm! We’re back,” Jihun sounded desperate and distressed.

You handed Cheolmin to Jungkook and darted out, freezing and covering your mouth.

All of them were filthy. Muddy, covered in leaves, dirt smeared on their faces and they definitely didn’t catch a turkey.

Jihun looked like he’d been dropped in a lake before the mud and leaves, his hair dripping.

Yoongi winced. “We, uh, we fought a muddy hill?”

“And thought coming in the back door was a good idea? Go around to the front. I’ll get some towels, Jihun.” You ushered them back out, darting to the linen closet and grabbing the beach towels for them. Your baby was probably chilled to the bone, and you didn’t want to send him back out, but you really didn’t want to deal with mud on the carpet.

Jihun was shivering but you quickly wrapped him in a towel. “Cold.”

“We’ll get you in a bath, baby,” You said comfortingly, helping him out of his shoes.

He nodded.

You managed to scoop him up (getting objecting sounds from all six men) and carried him to the nearest bathroom, setting him down and running a bath. “I’ll go get you some clean clothes and a towel, okay? Hoseok will be here to help you wash behind your ears. And your tail.”

He made a strangled sound, but nodded.

You kissed a clean spot on his forehead, then tested the water. “Alright, test the water before you get in, but I think it’s okay right now.”

He nodded again, shivering out of his clothes as you got out a big fluffy towel and let Hoseok slip past you.

The other boys were carefully traipsing to the other bathrooms, but you quickly passed them to get to Jihun’s room and grab him clean clothes, opting for his favorite pajamas since it was toward the evening anyway.

Hoseok took the clothes, gesturing that Jihun was half-asleep.

You nodded and went to check on the rest of your babies, seeing they were still coloring contentedly and talking to the kittens like they would understand.

Then you hurried upstairs to check on your mate.

Taehyung was pouting at the bathroom door. “Oh, come on, Namjoonie!”

You snorted and headed further, guessing Yoongi went right to the bathroom the others didn’t use—the one in Jimin’s old room.

He was already out of the shower and in boxers when you slipped in, but winced as he saw your face. “Yeah, I know, that was dangerous. I didn’t mean for that to happen, and we got him back here in record time.”

“No more pretending you know how to hunt. Stick to fishing, you’re better at it. Anyway, we figured this would happen and bought a turkey. It’s already brining.” You shook your head at the pile of muddy clothes. “You guys are so doing the laundry.”

He nodded. “Yeah, I’ll gather up the muddy clothes and take care of them. How were the other kids?”

“Angels,” You replied, hearing the relief in it and laughing a bit. “Heirannie is teaching Jowoon to color in between the lines, not very successfully, but he’s actually improved throughout the day. Misuk is using the magic markers so she can’t make a mess.”

“They’re growing up so fast,” He whispered.

“Soyoung looks so much like you,” You whispered back, wrapping your arms around his neck. His skin was still warm from his shower, and it felt nice.

He purred a little, seeming embarrassed at how pleased he was by that. “Yerin looks more like you.”

“Has your hair, my mom’s eyes, and my fur,” You whispered. “But your adorable nose and mouth.”

He melted a little more under your touch, a mess of purring and fur. “I just want this time to last forever.”

You laughed softly. “I do too. We’ll keep them young forever, you and me.”

He laughed with you, hugging you more tightly. “You and me.”

——

You didn’t keep them young.

Jihun had been so excited to go to school. He’d woken up an hour before everyone else, he’d eaten breakfast and gotten ready for school, and then waited on teh couch for everyone else to get up, asking the first person—you, getting up to take care of the triplets who were two years old at the time—if it was time to leave yet.

You’d gotten him to help you with the triplets to distract him.

The only moment he seemed to be reluctant was when his siblings started crying at his leaving them. Heiran was especially inconsolable.

But Hoseok, Yoongi, and Yourself ushered Jihun out the door, and took him to school.

You and Hoseok cried on the way back to the house because Jihun was growing up so quickly and he was so independent.

Yoongi was quiet, but he spent an extra long time with all of the younger cubs that day.

Jihun had come home, quiet, eating his snack and cuddling up next to you without a word. Apparently not having said a word to Namjoon and Taehyung except to say hello and get into the car.

When he finally did say something, he murmured that he’d missed everyone here and that everyone else already had friends.

Seokjin had chuckled softly, then pulled Jihun into his arms. “Your father felt the same way. But he met Taehyung. And Taehyung introduced him to us. Just do your best, be nice to the other kids—”

“But if they bite you, bite back,” Yoongi muttered, earning glares and scoffs from Hoseok and Taehyung.

Seokjin just leveled him with an unamused look before turning back to Jihun. “And eventually you’ll meet some good friends. And if you don’t…well, we love you and we’ll find you sports or something you can play to make friends that way.” He stroked Jihun’s hair.

Jihun looked up at him, then shifted so he could hug the bunny-hybrid, face in the crook of his neck like he did as a cub. “If I don’t like it….”

“Then you can go back to homeschooling,” You agreed softly. “But I want you to give it a chance, Jihunnie.” You stroked his tail.

It flicked and he peeked at you to smile. “Okay, Mom. I’ll try. But…” His nose wrinkled. “Are we sure I’m in the right classes?”

“Oh?”

He slipped out of Jin’s arms, and grabbed his backpack, pulling out his school books and passing them to you.

You looked over it and sighed internally. The cubs ate up their lessons faster than you could come up with them, and Jihun was especially attentive in his schoolwork. Which meant he’d surpassed his classmates. But the schools insisted that he stay with his age group. “Well, we’ll figure something out, okay?”

He nodded, curling up into Hoseok’s lap with a soft chuff before falling asleep.

And he did make friends, quickly growing popular among his classmates, and yet he still spent most of his time at home with his siblings. He would go to their houses now and then, and he would have them for outdoor playdates, easily explaining that his siblings got sick really easily.

And he joined the soccer team, quickly becoming one of the star players.

Heiran was growing quickly too. She was active and playful and fast. So fast. She picked up languages like they were the triplets blocks, and while she still clung to you, and her family, she also was confident and strangely self-assured. She laughed easily and was excited for the day she could finally go to school—but didn’t do nearly as well there, reverting to her muteness and asking to be pulled out after the first three months. She blossomed again once she was home, though she still bounced back and forth between mute and loquacious.

Jowoon didn’t even want to try public school, but he joined an outdoor adventure club and quickly made his own friends. He was a bit of a home-body, having been cuddly all throughout his childhood and he definitely was still your baby. He was thoughtful, often sitting and asking Namjoon questions for hours after you would run out of answers, until Yoongi would step in and get him to help with some chore or other. Jowoon loved helping fix things, and there was a bet between Jungkook, Taehyung, and Hoseok about what his future profession would be.

Misuk was probably the sassiest of all of the cubs, extremely independent as an elementary-aged cub, and oddly protective of the triplets. She had strong opinions, and was so expressive that sometimes you all had to stop yourselves from laughing when she needed to be scolded for talking back because she was so…confident in her decisions. She hated messes, and was picky about her clothes in the cutest way. She would only get messy if she was in her messy clothes. She was the hardest to keep away from her siblings friends, because she wanted to be with them but it was still dangerous given her immune system.

And then there were your triplets.

All of them were doted on by the cubs, and they didn’t mind staying away from outsiders for their siblings sake—not really even noticing because they were too busy listening to Jihun read a story to them. Or the girls would be playing with dolls while the boys were outside playing soccer.

Heiran bounced between both groups on those days (not that they were always separated, they especially all loved swimming together—though your kittens were definitely not fans at first and Soyoung definitely wouldn’t swim unless her oldest brother and Uncle Taehyung were also swimming), and she was usually on one team while the boys were on the other because she was fast and fierce. Everytime you saw her win with an astonishing amount of ferocity, you were reminded of your first Thanksgiving with the cubs, when she batted every kill-spot on Taehyung.

The scariest moment was when she found one of Jihun’s friends inside the house—with a cold. Granted, he’d only run in to use the bathroom, and with your permission.

But she’d literally dragged him out of the house with a growl (he was taller than her and weighed more and she wasn’t struggling), and the way she snarled at Jowoon had your fur rising and your kittens hiding in Yoongi’s arms while you had to calm her down.

She hadn’t even been thirteen.

Time flies too fast.

Jin and Jungkook lived in the carraige-house, never too far, but sometimes retreating to themselves. They were a mess, but a pretty happy mess that were actively involved in the cubs lives.

The other boys had their own lives, still coming around as often as they could—especially Hoseok, who eventually become some part of the strange relationship that Jungkook and Jin had.

You didn’t care to ask as long as your cubs and kits were okay.

Taehyung ended up mating with a sweet dog-hybrid, and they had pups some five years after your kits were born.

Namjoon ended up going overseas to open another division of his and Taehyung’s company, leaving for a few months at a time, before coming back for another few months to catch up with his favorite tigers, kittens, and pups. Eventually, he brought home a mate from his trip, who melded right into the family.

And Yoongi somehow started a revolution that established so much protection for humans that their numbers started rising again while still being the most active father/father-figure anyone could ask for. He was often exhausted, but you liked to think that you rewarded him well for his hard work.

———

“I can’t see,” Yerin whined, going up on her tiptoes again.

Namjoon scooped her up, putting her on his shoulders. “See him now?”

“Yes! Jihun!” She called.

Jihun turned and grinned, waving before signaling her to be quiet.

It wasn’t long before the Cheolmin and Soyoung were perched on Seokjin’s and Taehyung’s shoulders—respectively—to watch, though Soyoung did so with her hands over her ears from the noise of the crowd. She didn’t like noisy places, usually clinging and hiding with Yoongi or whoever was closest.

Jowoon and Misuk could see a little better, having both better positions, and standing on the chairs.

Heiran could see without standing on a chair, though she did have to go up on her tip-toes.

Both girls were carefully surrounded by yourself and the guys, having gotten more than their fair share of their mother’s looks, and getting quite a few lingering looks. They were already increasingly careful around their own brother’s friends and Misuk was only eleven.

Yoongi sighed. “This has to be a dream. He can’t be graduating high-school next week.”

You just smiled, looking at your family, then back at your oldest. “What are you going to do when it’s Heiran? Or Jowoon? Or Misuk—”

“Stop,” he grumbled. “You’re making me sad.”

You purred, taking his hand. “Just enjoy it, you softy. He’s valedictorian. And he wants to be a doctor.”

“He’s been taking college classes for the past two years, does it really count?” Heiran asked casually, but her gaze was proudly fixed on her brother as he stepped up to the podium to make a speech that had been a long time coming. It wasn’t his speech as valedictorian, but it was a speech his teachers had asked to give after he turned it in for a class.

You shushed her, grateful you didn’t have to worry about filming since Jungkook definitely had that covered.

Jihun—looking every bit like his father, with a certain something of his mother in his smile—gazed over the crowd after his initial greeting. “Next Friday marks the day that all of us have been waiting for. It’s a day of transition. It marks the end of one part of our lives, and the beginning of another as we leave the safety of this institution and enter the world of our parents and teachers. This can be terrifying, the unknown can be terrifying. My life…” He stopped, looking down and then quickly looking up, seeking you all out again and nodding. “My life has been filled with days of transition. Some that I don’t remember, such as the day I first became an older brother, and others that I do. I remember the day that I stopped thinking my life was normal, a day I know my family wishes I could forget, when myself and my mother were kidnapped and rescued by my father. I had never given thought to the fact that my mother was human, or what my species even meant for myself—and I didn’t understand until much later. I remember when I transitioned from having two parents that loved me and my siblings so completely, to being an orphan.”

Yoongi’s grip tightened on your hand, and you could see Heiran glance at you in the corner of your eye, but your gaze was fixed on Jihun.

“I remember my Uncles—friends of my parents, the only thing close to family that they had—desperately trying to fill the void my parents had left. The day my mom, my adoptive mom, came into our lives and made us into a family again. I remember wondering if my sister would ever talk again after losing our parents, and the pure joy that came when she did. I remember deciding that my mom could be just that, my mom. Finding out that those responsible for the death of my parents finally paid the price. Becoming an adopted brother. Watching my family change, and grow. Being able to finally go to school with other kids my age and make friends outside of my siblings. There have been so many days where my life has changed so completely, even if it was just from a change in my own perspective. In the way I viewed things. Our lives will always be filled with unknowns, but…because of my life before now, I’m not afraid of what the future holds. I know that my family will always catch me if I fall. I want to be a doctor, and I know that the road ahead of me will be hard. I know there will be times when I get scolded because I haven’t been taking care of myself—because I was raised by the most selfless people I will ever know. I know they’ll catch me when I do fall, because I watched them catch each other.”

He met your gaze across the crowd. “We are entering a world that has been changed by those that came before us. A world where humans are more than just…a means to an end. A world my parents died trying to make, and that my family continued to fight for—all while protecting us from those who opposed it. We are the next generation, and we have the ability to further that change, and make the world even better for those that come after. To learn from those that came before us. We will fall, and we will rise again. And we might fall a lot. But to change the world, and to help others…sometimes we’ll have to step back and take care of ourselves first.” He smiled a little to himself. “We help when we’re healthy, we rest if we’re sick, but if there’s a fire—we jump in and help as much as we can. And that doesn’t mean we get ourselves killed, Jeremy.”

His class started laughing and heckling Jeremy.

Not that your family wasn’t laughing, you all were familiar with Jeremy and the kid sometimes lacked common sense in a comical, life-threatening sort of way.

“I’ve had everything and nothing in my life,” Jihun continued after they calmed down. “I don’t know what’s next, but we’re going into this world with everything this school and our parents could provide us. Not everyone is that lucky. I want us all to leave here, and do at least one good thing. Just one. I know I can never surpass the things my adoptive family have done, I can never hope to be half as good as they are, but they make me want to try. To try and honor my deceased family. To set a good example for my younger siblings. To take care of myself and others. To gather up the shattered pieces and put them together again, just like my Mom did for me and my siblings, and my Uncles. That, which is far easier said than done, is my impossible dream that I hope to work toward everyday with my family to guide and support me. That is the one thing that I learned here, that I will never forget.”

You stood there, breathless as the audience clapped for him. Your little cub, all grown up.

Cheolmin was on the ground again, and he tugged on your sleeve. “Mommy, he’s adopted?”

Heiran started laughing, but she was crying as well. She tugged the 9-year-old into a hug. “We’ll explain later, Cheol.”

You ran a hand over her hair, pressing a kiss to her temple.

Jihun slipped in, taller than you now, taller than Yoongi. A young man, only shadows of that seven-year-old cub you first met evident in the way he looked at you.

You squeezed his hand, knowing he was out of words. Knowing exactly what he was saying.

Yerin practically ran into his leg, hugging it with her ginger tail lashing playfully, looking up at him with a grin. “You talk pretty.”

Jihun started laughing, scooping her up easily since she was tiny (even smaller than Soyoung) and he definitely had the musculature befitting a white tiger. “Thanks, Yerin. You’re always pretty. So is Soyoung, and Misuk, and Heirannie,” He added quickly when her mouth opened, then he rubbed his nose against hers. “And Mom.”

She giggled and kept hugging his neck.

Soyoung was falling asleep on Yoongi’s shoulder.

“Let’s get home,” Yoongi said.

Sitting at home later with your cubs and kittens, and the six men who had unknowingly changed the course of every life in that house, watching home videos that ranged from when Jihun was just a newborn cub, to a couple of years ago, you figured that even though it might not be the same as before, the shattered pieces of all of your lives had come together to create something new and even more beautiful.

And (unless you could bring their parents back, without losing your life with Yoongi, and your cubs and kits) you wouldn’t change it for anything in the world.

Jimin woke with a start, checking on his precious mate before rushing down the hall to check on all of his cubs, then Yoongi and Seokjin—who had just moved in that day. The other guys would be moving in later that week.

He shook himself and got a glass of water, taking it back upstairs.

She was awake, and she looked at him sleepily. “You okay?”

“Bad dream. Weird dream. We died.”

She hummed shifting and sitting up. “Just us? Or the cubs—”

“Cubs were fine, the guys took care of them. They had help, but…everything worked out.” He set the glass down and crawled back into the bed with her.

She was humming a song now, stroking his cheek. “Oh?”

He nodded. “That meeting. I think it’s a good thing we didn’t go to it.”

She smiled. “Who helped them?”

“She was a teacher. Cat hybrid. Her and Yoongi ended up becoming mates.”

She nodded. “Well, maybe we should finally do as we’ve been discussing and get Jihun a tutor?”

Jimin nodded. “I’m starting to struggle.”

“Then we’ll look into it in the morning, and increase security otherwise?” She asked, sounding only a little uncertain.

He chuffed lovingly at her. “You’re so perfect.”

She just grinned at him, perfectly irresistable.

“Eomma?” Jihun whispered softly from the doorway.

She sat up again. “Jihun? Everything okay?”

He ran in and climbed onto the bed, snuggling between Jimin and her. He sighed in relief. “I had nightmares again.”

Jimin pressed a kiss to his forehead. “You’re safe, kiddo. I’m not letting any of you go.”

–

Previous Part. Masterpost. Masterlist.

Tagging: @kimmie113080 , @jungshaking, @ephemeral-mindset, @young-yellkie, @alex–awesome–22, @pearylove, @bryvada, @missmoxxiesworld, @knjhe,

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ruby-rainy · 4 years

Text

He was home before her, sitting on the couch on his phone. He hadn't yet changed out of his work clothes, but his tie was loosened, his blazer hung over the back of the chair. She came home, a normal day, but still glad it was Friday after a long week. She hung up her coat, set her purse on the table. She brought him a glass of water, and flopped next to him on the couch. She breathed in his scent. He kissed her forehead and smoothed her hair back. "Thank you, darling. Go in the bedroom and wait for Daddy." She wondered what kind of night he had planned. Sometimes nothing happened, but telling her to go in the bedroom was pre-cursor to Daddy diaper time. She went and sat on the edge of the bed. He came in a few minutes later, with his blazer, and hung it up in the closet. She watched, saying nothing, just wondering if Daddy was feeling strict or loving tonight. His tone was ambiguous. He took off his tie and hung it up, but didn't change out of his work clothes. He stepped over to her and traced his finger up her stomach and over her titty. He began to open her blouse, exposing her cleavage. He lifted her shirt up over her head. He began to ask her about her day. "Did you get your report finalized for Monday?" He pushed her back on the bed and undid her pants zipper. "Yes." "Yes, what?" he corrected. "Yes, Daddy, I did." She raised her hips for him to slide her pants and underwear off. "I finished it and I am waiting on a review from another department." He stepped over to the drawer and pulled out a diaper and a diaper booster insert. "That's good, I like to hear that my little one is a hard worker," he said as he unfolded the diaper and busied himself situating the insert at the crotch. "Up." She lifted her hips up once more, and lowered them when she felt him slide the diaper under her. She spread her legs open and the backing crinkled a little as she adjusted. Daddy rubbed alongside her inner thighs, inspecting. "You will have to shave again soon for Daddy. You know Daddy likes your pussy smooth." "I'm sorry Daddy," she apologized. "I will." "It's ok for now sweetheart. I just want to make sure you remember like a good girl. I know you're my good girl." He was pulling the front of the diaper up over her and eye-measuring the tapes. He ran his hand from the back to the front of her crotch, to make sure the boost insert was lined up correctly. "You know, you might need two of these inserts today, baby. What do you think?" "No Daddy! I only need one! Please not two." She sounded a bit whiny. "Well that is ultimately my decision, but I suppose we'll just do one and see how it goes." He agreed, while taping the diaper into place. Her legs were still spread and he rubbed the front of her diaper and gave it a few quick pats. He pulled a short nightgown out and motioned for her to sit up. The familiar puffy cotton pressed against her vulva and she sat up and lifted her arms. Daddy slid the nightgown over her head and spent a few extra seconds adjusting it and caressing across her titties. He patted the front of her diaper again, tweaked her titty, and booped her on the nose. She laughed. He kissed her forehead and wait for what she would say next, "Thank you for taking care of me, Daddy." She hadn't wanted to be in diapers at first, and was especially resistant to thanking him for it, so he was pleased she was thanking him without any prompting. This was the moment she watched for after they had their evening diaper routine. If Daddy changed out of his work clothes and into basketball shorts, she was in for a loving night. If Daddy stayed in his work clothes, he was feeling stricter. Apparently, this evening, Daddy was feeling strict. He pulled her off the bed and brought her by hand to the kitchen. He stood her facing the corner of the table. Knowing this routine, she automatically spread her legs a bit further than shoulder width apart. He put one hand on the corner of the table, and placed her other hand on top of it. She looked up at him wondering how long he'd want her to be in position. He set her there and went over to the cabinet. She watched as he opened it, pretended to reach for one of the small cups she used, but then changed to a larger, tall glass. He filled it with water and placed it in front of her. She was to finish the water before she could do anything else. This was a power play on Daddy's part. When he first put her in diapers, she would just hold it. He knew he needed to make her fully submit to his role in charge, so he made her drink water to ensure the diaper would be needed. She would also put on yoga pants to try to hide the diaper he put her in, so he bought her a few short cotton nightgowns. Not babyish, bit not sexy negligee either. The standing position was so she couldn't try to hide by sitting down. When he first started making her stand this pose, she would quickly gulp down the water so she could be done. He decided that was not enough time in submissive position so he set the kitchen timer. Today it was for 10 minutes. She had to stay for 10 minutes or finish the water, whichever was longer. She could only pick up her hands to drink from the glass. If he was feeling really strict, sometimes he made her just use a straw. It was harder to drink fast with a straw. Sometimes he moved her legs farther apart. Sometimes he'd tease her to make sure she stayed in position, coming over to rub her hair or her diapered backside. If she moved from the submissive position, the timer would restart. There had been lots of trial and error as she was learning these rules, but was now generally cooperative. She looked at her Daddy in his button down work shirt and dress pants. His watch encircled his big wrist, she watched as he flipped through the mail and went and sat on the couch. He glanced up and not-so-subtly hinted, "Aren't you thirsty?" She obediently took a large sip of water. He didn't mind how she entertained herself during submissive position, as long as she fulfilled the time and drank her water. Today she was in a good mood, because she was humming a bit and swaying her butt. His phone rang, and he answered it. He leaned back on the couch, looking over at her while he talked. "Naw, I can't tonight man. I'm bushed from this week." He reached forward and grabbed her diaper from behind, daring her to turn around. "Well I'm definitely up for it, how about meeting at The Top Hat for the game on Monday. I hear your team is going to lose coming up. So much for your bet," he laughed. He finished making plans and hung up. The timer was down to less than 2 minutes. "How's that water," he asked giving her a light swat on the behind. "Nice and cold Daddy," she finished it, and waited out the remaining time. When the chimes sounded, she obediently turned around. "Thank you for teaching me how to submit to you, Daddy. I love you." "I love you too," he pulled her over onto his lap. The cuddled and he turned on the evening news after flipping through a couple channels. She was suspicious, since Daddy was still in his work clothes. Usually she could cuddle and color and play her video games when Daddy had changed out of his work clothes. She usually got tasks to do if he stayed in his work clothes. She didn't have to wait long. "Tonight I want you to clean your nursery," he said, holding up his hand to silence the protest. "There are several things that I have let slide and you know it." The one-bedroom apartment they lived in did not have an actual nursery. She guiltily thought of the doll clothes and markers all over the floor in the hall alcove, which they referred to as her 'nursery,' since it's where all of her things were stored. It was easy to close off the alcove if people came over, hiding their Daddy Dom/ little girl dynamic. She got up and went down to the nursery, and started putting things away, only getting sidetracked a little to play now and then. Daddy could hear this, but he ignored her playing and instead watched TV. She was breaking the rules only a little bit, and there was always a threat of 5 minutes in submissive pose if it got to be too much. When she finished putting away everything in the nursery, she went back to Daddy and crawled into his lap. He said, "I have a special project for you tonight. You've been so responsible lately, I think I want to allow you to do another task." She was intrigued by this, because it meant something different than submissive pose. "I want you to get all your dirty clothes from the hamper and put them in the laundry basket. I want you to do your laundry." Her eyebrows raised in surprise. Obviously she knew how to do laundry and often did it for Daddy, but when she was in Little mode, she was too small for chore like that. This was a change. She got up and started pulling on her jeans. As she was yanking it up over the diaper, Daddy appeared in the doorway. "What are you doing?" "Laundry, like you told me," she said. "I didn't say you could get dressed. I said you would do laundry." She reluctantly pulled the jeans back off and started to fill the laundry basket. Daddy went back and sat down. She continued and sorted the clothes to wash. She slipped her jeans back on when the basket was full and went to the cupboard to get the laundry detergent. The apartment's shared laundry room was on the second floor, near the gym and the main door. Daddy came around the corner. "I already reminded you I didn't tell you to get dressed." She was confused, "But you told me to do the laundry," gesturing towards the basket. "Exactly." She realized that he had meant for her to go to the laundry room in just her nightgown and diaper and her face crumpled. "But Daddyyyyy, no!" Daddy had already thought it through, as the laundry room was generally empty on Friday nights. It was very unlikely that anyone would see her the whole time. "You can hurry and go and come back, or, you can stand her and pout; either way this is what I'm telling you to do." She jumped up and down like she was going to throw a tantrum, "Why are you such a mean Daddy!" He turned her by the shoulders, back to the bedroom, where she slid off the jeans for the second time. "I'm not being Little right now, Daddy. I don’t want to go out wearing only this!" He put the laundry basket back in her arms and gave her 5 quarters for the machine. He walked over and opened the front door. She peered around the corner to see if anyone was in the hallway. It was silent. He softly pushed her into the hallway. She ducked back around him back inside. He turned around with a warning look. "I need my shoes! He knew it was an excuse, but he relented. Her prolonging going into the hall dressed like that only increased his excitement, which he hid from her. The idea of her being forced into the hallway and facing potential humiliation was very arousing. So was knowing she would do what he says. He pressed her up against the wall, and reached down, his lips nipping the top of her cleavage in the nightgown. His left hand pinned her hand above her head, and his right hand reached down and grabbed her diaper. He lightly shook it left and right, enjoying her anxiety and pleading look. "Now stop the phony delays," he said fiercely. "I will be watching. GO." She stepped into the hallway, realizing that it was unlikely that she'd see any neighbors. She tried to walk slowly so her diaper wouldn't crinkle. Daddy stepped into the hallway behind her as she was walking. "Walk normal," he commanded. He watched her walk away down the hall. She looked normal from behind, no one could tell anything - if they didn't know to look. He shut the door and locked it, for his own amusement. He went back and sat on the couch. She continued down the hallway, pausing before entering the stairwell to see if she could hear anyone coming. It seemed safe, so she took the stairs. She would have to pass the main entrance of the apartment, the gym, the mail room, the pool, and several more apartments before the laundry room. She felt like a spy, trying to be so quiet. She could hear some machines from the gym that were in use. She tried to angle the laundry basket as she passed the gym. She saw 3 different people in there, two guys, and a girl on the treadmill. She scowled in jealousy, knowing the other girl didn't have a daddy to make her wear a diaper! None of them paid her any attention as she passed by. In the laundry room, she fed the coins into the washer and started the load. As she was bending down, another person walked by the laundry room, heading towards the front door. Her heart raced, even though he didn't look her direction or even seem notice her. She set the laundry basket on top of the washer and realized she'd have to make the trek back without the protection of a full laundry basket. She stepped into the hallway, hoping that the guy was no longer in the hall. She passed the front door, no one. As she was nearing the gym, the treadmill girl stepped out. She was wearing leggings, a sports bra and had her hair in a ponytail. She tensed, fearing that the other girl would recognize the outline and sound of her diaper. Fortunately, the girl had on earphones, and turned the other direction out of the laundry room. The girl got a few steps, and stopped short and whipped around and started walking towards her. Terrified, she slowed and tried to think of an excuse. But the girl turned back into the gym, so she kept walking. She got a few feet past the gym, when she heard the girl come back into the hallway. She peeped back and saw she was now carrying a water bottle. She was on her phone, not really paying attention, but still only 10 feet or so behind. Her diaper would be obvious! The girl would laugh at her! Tell all the neighbors! Her heart sunk as the girl walked behind her, knowing that this embarrassing secret would get out. Not knowing what else to do, she kept walking. The girl turned down another hallway and disappeared. Back at the apartment, she grabbed the doorknob and found it locked. Frantic, she rapped at the door, "The door's locked!" knowing Daddy was getting a kick out of it. Daddy had been waiting right on the other side of the door, she heard the lock turn. A man came around the corner at the far end of the hall just as Daddy opened the door and she raced inside. "That wasn't so bad, was it? I bet you didn't see one person." She told him that she saw 5 people, and he felt a little remorse. She told him about the treadmill girl and he momentarily imagined the treadmill girl pushing her against the wall to shame her in front of the whole apartment complex. He enjoyed this thought. "Well, maybe you won't see any when you go back to start the dryer. You didn't wet yourself did you?" Joking that her fear would cause incontinence. Her stomach knotted at the idea of the ordeal for a second time. "No, I didn't" she was indignant. While she was gone, Daddy had set out her markers and color books at the kitchen table for her. He had stopped at Kroger on the way home. "I got you a surprise," he announced as she sat at the table. He walked over to the freezer and got out a box of ice cream. "I love ice cream!" She bounced a little in her chair. "Yes but that isn't the surprise," he got out the blender. "Daddy's going to make you a milkshake!" He started assembling the ingredients. After he blended it, he got out the Reddiwhip and made a curly-q on top, before setting it in front of her. She beamed. "Thank you Daddy!" He let her color, keeping an eye on the clock for the washer, while she colored. When the time got closer, Daddy got up and grabbed some coins. "I'll change the washer, Sweetie," he said, as she colored and enjoyed her milkshake. She was relieved Daddy was going down to the laundry, saving her the embarrassment. When he came back, he said, "Well I didn't see anyone!" referencing her nervousness, and she pouted a little at the injustice since he hadn't been trying to avoid anyone. When the dryer was finishing, Daddy let her know she would be resuming the laundry duty to retrieve from the machine. "I put the basket on top of it, you just have to pull everything out." Her confidence strengthened by the fact Daddy hadn't seen anyone, she stepped into the hall. "Don't lock the door this time!" she cried out. She could feel the nightgown swish against her plastic diaper. The water and milkshake were beginning to take their toll on her bladder. She didn't like using the diaper in front of Daddy, even though Daddy said little girls don't need to be embarrassed in front of their daddies. Daddies diaper their little girls to remind them who is the boss and to remove any pride. He encouraged her to tell him when she would pee, but knowing her reluctance, he didn't press the issue. She decided she would use her diaper in the laundry room. No one would be there and she wouldn't have to think of a way to hide it from Daddy, like going down the hall and hiding in her nursery to wet her diaper, even though that little ruse was entirely transparent. In the laundry room, she walked over to the basket on the machine. She opened the dryer door and stood behind it, legs slightly apart, slowly emptying her bladder. She would wait until she was done before pulling out the clothes. As the pee was flowing into her diaper, a shadow passed in the hallway and a man came into the laundry, room, carrying a basket. She froze, with the door open and basket on top of the machine. The man glanced at her, probably wondering why she was just standing there motionless, and walked over to a machine. She fiddled with the basket, not sure what to do. If she bent over, her diaper might leak, and the man might see it if her nightgown rode up. If she squatted down, he would see the white crescent on her crotch. She settled on kneeling down, which was tricky since she was still peeing. She cursed herself, wishing she had waited until she got back and done her nursery room trick instead, no matter how pathetic. She pulled the basket down in front of her and started pulling the clothes out of the dryer. She glanced down, seeing the wetness indicator on her diaper had disappeared. The diaper insert was a good call on Daddy's part. She reached under her crotch and adjusted the diaper, cradling it against her forearm with her hand on her butt. The man left the room, and she straightened back up, now with a wet diaper and empty bladder. The good thing about a wet diaper is that they don't crinkle as much as dry ones. It was also a bit more cumbersome to walk. She carried the laundry basket back, and thankfully Daddy didn't lock the door again. She brought the basket and folded all the laundry and put it away, and resumed her seat at the table. Daddy waited a little while, and called over, "Didn't see anyone, did you? See, you were safe!" She looked down without saying anything and Daddy knew she was feeling embarrassed. "Come over here," he said to her. "What happened? Did you see anyone?" "Yes, Daddy." "Did they see you?" he asked, pulling her hand and positioning her in front of him. "Yes Daddy." "And what happened?" Now he was concerned. As much as he liked the idea of her embarrassment, he didn't actually want their secret to be exposed. Suddenly the whole story came tumbling out. "It happened when I was using my diaper!" She hated admitting peeing in her diaper. "I was standing by the machine and a man came in!" "What did you do? Did you stop?" "No," she was shaky. "I kept going in my diaper." As she recounted the whole story about deliberating how to bend down to hide her diaper, Daddy started getting turned on at her embarrassment. He relished that she had did as he told, even though she hadn't wanted to. She did what he said, even when he was wrong and she was right. "Did the man come over and touch your diaper?" He knew the question was ridiculous, but asked so she could see that it COULD have been worse. "No!! He didn't see it. I don't think." "But you wet it and stood there in front of him? Did you say anything?" "I didn't say anything because you told me not to talk to strangers Daddy, and I stopped wetting then. He got his laundry and I got mine. I waited until he left to go." Daddy lifted up her nightgown. "Ah, see? Maybe I should have given you two inserts!" He cupped her diaper where the wetness indicator had been. He was extremely turned on, not having planned for this situation. She was actually telling him that she wet, and how she had been humiliated. He usually planned for every variation in a scene, which is what made him a good Daddy. She could see Daddy's cock through his work dress pants. He was a large man and had a cock to match. Daddy placed her hand on it, aroused, and said, "See how proud Daddy is of you?" However, she was embarrassed still, that she told him about her diaper and someone saw her using it. He kissed her titties and let go of her hand. "You can go color again, my little one." She returned to the table, starting a new page in her princess coloring book. She knew this story would turn him on, but she did not feel aroused, just embarrassed. Daddy leaned back on the couch and went over the situation again in his mind. The erotic excitement was getting to him. He pictured how the fear must have shown in her face when the man walked into the room. He imagined the scorn if the stranger had known there was a saturated diaper hidden under that thin nightgown. He surged with arousal, feeling his balls tighten. He ached to blow his load. She was coloring when she heard Daddy undoing his belt buckle. She looked over her shoulder to see him unzipping. His boner was sideways in his boxers. "Get over here." She pushed her chair back from the table and ran over, hearing the urgency in his voice. She pulled his pants down to his knees. He pulled her down, between his knees and pointed her face at his dick. "Daddy needs his dick sucked. Now." "Yes, Daddy." She pulled his boner out of his boxers and began gripping it in her small hands. Daddy leaned his head back and spread his legs a little more. She took the head in her mouth, feeling its warmth on her tongue. The belt buckle pressed into the side of her diaper and she hoped the latch wouldn't tear at the plastic. She tried to move it but Daddy began lightly thrusting against her mouth. That in itself turned her on. Her diaper pressed against his leg, which she knew would make him even more crazy. Her tongue moved all over his dick, she moved her head up and down on the shaft. Her hands cupped his balls and gave them a slight tug. His fingers felt for her nipples and he strained forward to touch them as she sucked. "Oh god baby, my cock needed this. Daddy's cock needs to feel good and you're doing such a good job." She massaged his shaft and looked up at him. His eyes were closed and mouth was open. She could smell his aftershave. His dress shirt was pushed up, exposing his belly a bit. His arousal became her own. She wanted to climb on top of him and feel his hardness inside of her. She stood up and started pulling at the tapes on her diaper to settle herself over onto his cock. He opened his eyes and looked up at her, "What the hell do you think you're doing?" "I... I just wanted your cock in me," she stammered, her vulva tingling. She put her hands on her diaper tapes and looked scared. "I did not grant you any permission to 1, stop sucking, 2, take your diaper off, and 3, heed any arousal you might feel. The last thing I remember telling you was that Daddy needed his dick sucked. Did you hear me grant permission?" "No..." "No, WHAT" he corrected. "No, Daddy. I did that without permission." "What happens to little girls who do things without permission?" "They get spankings," she mumbled. His dick was softening, flopped over on its side. "Get in the bedroom and assume position. I am very angry that I was interrupted when I needed to come. Especially by such a greedy, horny brat!" She ran into the bedroom, worried. Daddy was already in a strict mood and she had been greedy. She had also whined when he suggested two diaper inserts, protested when he told her to clean the nursery, dawdled when he assigned the laundry, and tried to hide wetting her diaper from him. If only she hadn't been so turned on by his dick. If she could just get that desire under control she wouldn't get into these predicaments. She stood at the foot of the bed and placed her hands on the mattress. Daddy came in behind her, taking his pants and boxers off, but leaving on his dress shirt. He ignored her position and sat on the bed. He pulled her over his knee, saying, "Why am I spanking you?" "I disobeyed my Daddy," she admitted. "You've been pressing your luck all evening. I changed you into your diaper. I made you a vanilla milkshake. I let you do a new grown up chore. I take care of you because you're too little to yourself. And this is how you behave? Tell me every way you have been bratty since you came home." "I didn't want you to put two diaper inserts." His large hand came down across the back of her thighs. No way would he let that diaper protect her from his punishment. He ran his other hand through her hair, pulling her head back. "Correct. Two smacks for that, one for each insert. What else?" "I didn't shave as close as you like." Smack! "I didn't want to clean my nursery." Smack! “I played with my toys when I was cleaning the nursery.” Smack! “I tried to wear jeans and hide my diaper.” Smack! "I tried to avoid doing laundry." Smack! “I called you a mean daddy.” Smack! "I didn't tell you I wet my diaper." Though she knew this was not a requirement to tell him, but saying so might assuage Daddy's anger. Smack! Daddy was growing hard again as he smacked her thighs. "I tried taking my diaper off without asking." Smack! "I stopped sucking without permission." Smack! "I interrupted your come when you needed your dick sucked." Smack! "I was greedy and tried to put your cock inside me without asking." Smack! "See, when bratty little girls do things like this Daddy must spank them. These are all Daddy's rules and displeasing Daddy results in punishments." He turned her around and pulled her up into his lap, holding her legs across his arms, and her head on his shoulder. "I love my little one and I set these rules because I know what's best for you. Of course you want Daddy's cock inside you, but you're too little to always get what you want. Because I know what's best, your body is mine to use when I need to get off. I don't like you making me have to spank my sweet little girl, I wish you wouldn't be so bratty and just obey Daddy. Then I wouldn't be forced to do this. You know Daddy loves you. Who loves you?" "Daddy does," she murmured, snuggling into his shoulder. He caressed the back of her thighs, which were red and tender from punishment. His hand ran across her left thigh, diaper, and right thigh. He smoothed her hair and kissed her forehead. "Daddy loves me and he can use me when he needs to come." "That's my girl. See, if you had not done those bratty things, you might get to feel Daddy's dick pounding your tiny pussy. But because of your greed, that's not an option for you tonight." She looked up at him, with tears welling in her eyes, more upset over this than the spankings. "Don't you want me anymore?" "Of course Daddy wants you. That's why I'll let you suck on my dick to make up for the way you behaved. If I didn't want you, do you think I'd let you do that? Now, tell Daddy again about what happened in the laundry room." He stood her up and spread her short legs a bit, groping her wet diaper. She started the story again, hoping to make Daddy feel better so she spelled out every bit of shame she felt. "I was wetting my diaper when someone come in the laundry room. I didn't want to hold it anymore. I thought I could be sneaky and wet without you knowing. My vagina tingled and I was scared he might see. He might see the outline of the diaper through my nightgown or hear the crinkle of plastic. He would know I was just Daddy's little fucktoy if he did. I was afraid of being found out that I'm not really an adult even though I have titties and look grown. He might find out I'm learning to obey my Daddy and that's why he makes me wear diapers. I do what my daddy says even if I don’t want to." By now Daddy was rock hard again. He loved knowing this beautiful woman would willingly become his little girl. That she would humiliate herself for his approval and love. He loved being in charge of her and training her to his will. It turned him on to know that she trusted him enough to do all these things. He nodded and she got back between his legs again, resuming hungrily sucking on the head. He pulled her nightgown up over her head and threw it on the bed. Now she was naked except for her diaper. Daddy was still in his dress shirt and she felt very exposed and vulnerable. She could taste pre-cum and was thrilled Daddy was happy again. "Oh that's right little one. You can be greedy by sucking my dick, I won't spank you for that. Daddy needs to come. Daddy needs to use you to feel good." She could tell he was getting closer to shooting his load. She was getting aroused again, anticipating the hot load against the back of her throat. Daddy groaned as she glided her mouth up and down on his cock. He was pulsing and running his fingers through her hair. Suddenly he put his hand on her forehead and prevented her from his cock. He threw her face down, bent over the bed. He put his hand on her diaper to keep her from moving away and slammed his boner up against the crotch of her diaper. She felt his hot breath in her ear. "Ah, see? You thought you'd get my come, didn't you?" He pinned her to the bed, dominating her physically, knowing she was in subspace. "If you weren't so bratty maybe you could." She felt his wet dick sliding between her thighs, rubbing against the plastic. She wanted to feel it against her pussy lips so badly. She arched her back against Daddy's hand which was still forcing her down. With his other hand, he was pumping his cock without her, jacking it hard. Without her mouth, without her hands, without her pussy, without her help. She felt so aroused and so useless and unwanted at the same time. "Please," she begged, frantic he would come before she could take part in it. "Please!" "Oh baby, don't you worry. I'll give it to you," he muttered with each pump. "I'll - give - it - to - you!" And suddenly she heard the splatter of his come all over the back of her diaper. She didn't get to help, didn't get to taste it, didn't even get to feel it when he came. All she got was the sound of it. Daddy got up and threw some kleenexes down on her. "Clean off your diaper, because I'm not changing you until tomorrow." He walked out of the room as she laid there, a fucktoy that wasn't even fucked. She ached to get off too, feeling Daddy's breath in her ear and boner along her thighs put her into dizzying subspace. Her diaper was a little saggy from being handled so much and wet. She regretted rejecting the second diaper insert. Her nightgown lay on the bed, rumpled from his domination. She was grateful Daddy came, especially since he had been so strict tonight.

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strangebrews · 4 years

Text

perfect complements

chapter two // on ao3 // chapter 1 // chapter 3 // chapter 4

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Tommy had gotten divorced the year before, the papers making it official arrived a week after he had moved into this new house.

He did not elaborate on who it was, only said that they were the one to make the decision. “Claimed I was too cold—too distant and emotionless. Being with me was more of a challenge than a pleasure.” His tone was nonchalant throughout it all—whether that was because of genuine indifference or a refusal to reveal his pain was unclear.

They were sitting on Alfie’s back porch, sipping on warm apple cider and listening to the crickets sing. The complaints Tommy’s ex had were understandable. He was reserved and his scarce enthusiasm could be interpreted as rude, but the silence was misleading, Alfie had learned. Tommy simply expressed his appreciation in tiny spurts—you had to know what to look for.

Eye contact was the most common. He would stare straight into Alfie’s eyes when he spoke, nodding along with the rhythm of his words, entirely expressionless. It was robotic, seemed like he had tuned out somewhere in the middle of the third sentence. Yet Alfie knew that was not the case, because Tommy filed all of the information away carefully, referencing it in different situations. Or sometimes he would take a day or two to digest before returning to the topic, prompting it with “You know, I’ve been dwelling on what you said…”

Another month had passed and their relationship blossomed further—Tommy now prepared a teapot every Saturday morning in anticipation of Alfie’s visit. He’d been shopping for an extra chair, a few more plates and some utensils—everything necessary to make their little routine as comfortable as possible. He bought precisely what he needed, never in excess.

It took a batch of shortbread cookies, a carrot cake and 3 sourdough loaves—Tommy very much liked those—for him to finally ask Alfie to help him haul the mattress up to what would become his room.

Patience —that was the main requirement for a bond with Tommy and Alfie was brimming with it.

The task was more taxing than they had anticipated, but when they had finally succeeded in rolling the mattress over onto the bed frame, Tommy dusted off his jeans and said, “I want to plant a garden. Some flower beds or…..or vegetables.” He was directing his words to the floor, which, Alfie presumed, were supposed to deflect onto him.

It was mid-November, the morning air was growing frostier with each day—hardly the time to start planting anything, but Alfie scanned the room. It was just as plain and gloomy as the rest of the house. A winter in this setting would be horribly somber.

“You could start with some house plants, until the seasons turn again. But you’ll need more shelves or stands—places to put them. Curtains to regulate the light, depending on the kind you buy.” he would have continued, these were necessary details, but Tommy was staring at him now, eyes growing wider with each word.

“Ah...right.” he kicked one of the metal legs gently. “It was a stupid idea anyway.”

“I can help you, I’ve done it all before.” It slipped out before Alfie had enough time to evaluate whether that would overstep another boundary, but Tommy had replied with his Ok before he had time to overthink that as well.

They visited one of the smaller flower shops in town. Alfie was a regular, knew all of the workers by name, but it took this trip with Tommy and the chorus of Alfie ’s in the entrance—all from elderly women—for him to realize how long it had been since he’d spent a considerable amount of time with someone closer to his own age.

Tommy was particularly drawn to the succulents, brushing their stems with the pad of his thumb. He chose two large, bowl-like pots of assorted kinds—mini gardens, one of which had a ceramic gnome poised in the corner, right next to his mushroom hut.

“I thought it’d be nice….to have someone else around—you know?” he explained it sheepishly, catching Alfie staring at the figurine, his voice hitching at the end.

But Alfie wasn’t judging, he was simply fitting this piece of information into the Tommy puzzle.

“I think you’re right.” and he assumed his smile was successfully reassuring, because the strain in Tommy’s jaw vanished.

Alfie made the rest of the suggestions. A few varieties of orchid, one blooming peace lily, a sword fern growing in a hanging pot, and some African violets—for some color.

Tommy did not refuse any of the choices, instead lined them up in neat rows within their cart and made the occasional “Hm...yes.”

A watering can was added to the purchase—because, just as the food liked when the cook was dressed up, Tommy reasoned flowers would appreciate not being watered with some chipped mug he’d abandoned in the back of his cupboard.

And Alfie, suddenly choking on the sentiment, for once had nothing more to say.

It had started to drizzle lightly by the time they returned. They’d taken Tommy’s car, engine now idling in the driveway.

“The shelves and things will be easy to find, just buy whatever furniture you think will fit best for your vision.” This single shopping trip was enough. Alfie didn’t want to overindulge in their time together.

He turned the door handle, but a hand on his upper arm stopped him. Tommy jerked it away quickly once Alfie had turned back. His mouth was open. Then closed. Open again.

“Um...what if we—I mean I—” closed again. He blinked rapidly, eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks. So incredibly pretty.

The raindrops had grown heavier, sky darkening around them. He opted for “I’ll let you know once it’s ready,” instead.

It played out much less romantically than the thousand and one scenarios that Alfie managed to fabricate in the span of that minute. Tommy sounded defeated. Or disappointed. Perhaps a combination of the two.

But Alfie only nodded his agreement, rather than grieving on the lost opportunity, and escaped before his own mixture of reactions could manifest themselves on his face—and other places.

He dreamt of meadows and butterfly lashes that night.

The setup was ready the following week, when Alfie arrived on the doorstep with a plate of coconut custard, in the shape of a mini dome. “Something new for a change,” he shrugged, hoping inwardly that it would be an omen for other things.

Tommy had done quite a lot of work, his plants now decorating the newly arranged stands in his living and bedroom. The fern hung from the ceiling at the end of the kitchen, one of the violets soaking in the sunlight on a windowsill.

“And the gnome garden?” It would be the centerpiece of his coffee table, Tommy explained. A simple black one, still packaged.

A bit out of place, Alfie thought, but Tommy was glowing with pride so he agreed it was the perfect location for it.

The home, in general, was still quite drab, but visibly happier with the greens and purples and yellows vibrant against the white walls. Tommy was visibly happier—the creases in his forehead had smoothened out a bit, his skin no longer a sickly pale.

It was good. Nice, even, to see the smiles reach his eyes more often.

Nice was of course an understatement, but Alfie had to restrict his choice in adjectives to resist the overwhelming urge to hug him.

The flowers had created another visible change: Tommy talked more. Still less when compared to an average person, but he asked questions and appeared on Alfie’s front porch unannounced.

They were all regarding the plants—he’d grown very preoccupied with their well-being and, inexperienced as he was, kept requesting that Alfie come over and check on their condition.

He was tending to them well—much better than the flower Alfie remembered in the front window the first day. Perhaps a leaf or two had browned slightly, but nobody could avoid that. Though Tommy kept returning with the same set of worries, questions rephrased, and Alfie addressed them gladly.

This continued for around two weeks before Alfie began to struggle with balancing the visits with his own work. So he developed a system, terrified that if he mentioned the difficulties, Tommy would retreat entirely.

When they’d been moving the mattress, he noticed a window at the end of Tommy’s hallway upstairs—within clear view of and identical to the one on the side of Alfie’s home.

“Write your questions here and I’ll respond as soon as I see them.” He gave Tommy a stack of white papers and a thick, blue marker—the assortment of things Tommy owned and did not was entirely random. Alfie could spare a few sheets.

Tommy accepted the idea with what could have bordered on excitement.

There was a question waiting for him, taped to the glass, virtually every day.

One of the orchid heads has fallen off….what now?

The grey succulent—you know, the spiral one, beside the gnome—I think it’s gotten greyer. Is that even possible?

Can I keep the violets over the heating vents? They look a bit cold.

The first snow had fallen, third week into December. Alfie wrote out the NO in big, block letters to emphasize his message, then added the (you can knit some pot warmers) underneath, beside himself.

A few hours later, a new paper awaited him. I have no idea how to knit—can I buy them online?

Sarcasm—that was the one thing Alfie forgot Tommy had difficulty grasping.

I don’t think this will come as a surprise, but I don’t really have anywhere to go for Christmas this year either. If you make the fruitcake, I can provide the tea and music (:

Alfie had mentioned that he spent his holidays alone—seeing as he was an only child and both his parents had died—but it had been in passing, he refused to dwell. Tommy Shelby, always listening.

He read and reread the words, letting each one soak into his memory, chest tightening each time he reached the smiley.

Walnuts or no walnuts?

#tommy x alfie #alfie x tommy #sholomons #tofie #tommy shelby #alfie solomons #thomas shelby #peaky blinders #mine #anyway this is literally just fluff but i suppose this is my Humble Offering for #all the angst i've been force feeding you for months

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callboxkat · 4 years

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Second Chances part 6: Run Away

Author’s note: I decided to fill some prompts and got carried away. Anon(s), I would just like to remind you that you asked for this. Sort of. Also, believe it or not, this is the less angsty version of what could have been.

Warnings: homelessness, stealing, food mention, violence, humiliation, hunger, cold, hypothermia/frostbite mention, censored swearing, homophobic slurs, death threats, non-descriptive vomiting, injuries, blood, knife. It’s possible I missed something because this is a doozy, but those are the major ones.

Word count: 7165

Second Chances Masterpost!

Prompts (that middle one made me laugh, thank you):

...

The outdoor market was bustling with life, crowds of people heading this way and that, different vendors selling clothing, jewelry, baked goods, handmade soaps and candles, paintings, and whatever else you could think of to buy spilling out of neat rows of colorful tents. The sounds of laughter, conversation, music, and the popping of kettle corn filled the air along with an array of pleasant aromas. It looked like a very nice place to spend a few hours, whether or not you planned to buy anything.

Roman wished he could be a part of it. Instead, he walked around the edges of the market, never venturing within, looking for a good place to sit. He wanted to find somewhere where he would be out of the way, but near one of the most travelled walkways. He felt very out of place among the marketgoers, clutching a ratty cardboard sign and dressed in dirty, mismatched clothes, shuffling along on limbs stiff with cold and sore from night after night of sleeping on barely-cushioned concrete.

Yes, it was true. He, Roman Prince, was looking for a place to sit and beg. The very idea felt unthinkably demeaning, but the young man had been homeless for three months now, and his situation didn’t seem to be about to improve any time soon. He had perhaps not been the most frugal with his money, so he had run out some time ago. Things were… not good. He hadn’t eaten anything in two days now, the weather was getting colder every day, and he was growing desperate. So, he’d gotten his hands on some cardboard; and he’d borrowed a marker to make his sign. And now here he was, getting ready to beg for pocket change.

Eventually he found what he deemed a fairly decent spot, and he sat down against the wall of the building, propping the sign up against his legs. He took a small, beat up plastic cup out of his pocket and set it down in front of himself, dropping a small rock inside to weigh it down. Here, he was in a slight alcove, more sheltered from the wind, but still visible, and not in anyone’s way.

Plenty of people passed by, on their way to and from the rows of tents across the street. Music drifted his way, along with the tantalizing, heavenly smell of food, a smorgasbord of temptations vying for his attention. It felt rather torturous, to be sitting so close and to be unable to buy any of it, but Roman hoped that perhaps people would feel generous. At the very least, maybe they’d be willing to part with the coins that they received as change from their purchases. No one liked to carry around a purse full of heavy coins, right? At least, that was his hope.

...

Roman had been sitting in his spot on the sidewalk for more than three hours, and the market would be closing down soon.

In Roman’s cup sat a handful of change, pennies and nickels and dimes, along with a crumpled $1 bill. Not a great haul, but he knew it could have been much worse.

Would this be enough to buy something? Roman peered down at the cup. Probably not at the market, unfortunately; but there was a McDonald’s a few blocks away. He could go there. Their dollar menu had been a blessing these past few months, and sitting in the restaurant meant he would get to be inside for a little while. He could even pick up some ketchup and salt and pepper packets while he was there. It wasn’t the most glamorous thing, but he could use them and some water to make a sort of tomato soup. It was a tip he’d been given by another homeless man he sometimes bumped into around the city, a man named Juan. And the workers never cared enough to say anything about it, as long as he bought something. Sometimes they even heated up his cup of water for him.

Decision made, Roman started getting ready to leave.

He had just started packing up his things, putting the change in his pocket, when he noticed it: a fairly full shopping bag, just sitting there about five feet away, perched on the edge between the sidewalk and a patch of weed-filled dirt that could be perhaps be called a flowerbed once spring arrived. It was clearly from the market based on the cheery design, and a few languorous curls of steam rose from within.

Roman’s mouth started watering at the sight. He looked around for the bag’s owner. There were a few people here and there, but no one was looking at the bag. Was it possible that it had been forgotten?

He waited a moment, watching, biting his lip uncertainly; but the temptation proved to be too much. He hurriedly folded up his cardboard sign, stuffed that in his coat with a plastic bag of his other belongings, and snatched the shopping bag.

“HEY!”

Oh, sh*t.

Roman took off. He didn’t think. He just ran, dodging people and cars and tents, focusing only on getting way. He sprinted through the crowd, barely avoiding smacking into a burly man holding a tiny girl with braids; and something fell out of the bag he’d just pilfered. He didn’t look back to see what it was, let alone try to retrieve it.

“Get back here, you—!” Whatever the man said next was interrupted by the sound of a car horn, but Roman could guess that whatever it was wasn’t exactly friendly.

Roman made it away from the market, nearly getting hit by a car in the process, and ducked down an alley. He slowed down only somewhat, hoping to be less conspicuous, and continued on foot for several blocks. His breath billowed out behind him, creating clouds of steam in the cool air. The shopping bag clutched tightly in his fist felt like it weighed an extra twenty pounds, thumping against his leg with every step.

Half convinced he was still being chased, Roman didn’t stop moving until he came to a small pocket park a good distance away from the scene of the crime. He found some overgrown bushes there and ducked down to hide.

Ten minutes went by. Roman’s feet started to go numb from how he was crouching, the pebbles and twigs digging into his knees. Finally, not hearing any sign of pursuers, he slowly sat up. He peeked through the foliage, then cautiously emerged when he saw no one. He sat on a bench, nearly invisible to the road thanks to the bushes and a pair of well placed trees, and opened up his prize, swallowing his guilt and telling himself that it would be worth his efforts.

Or at least, that was what he thought until he saw what was inside.

Whatever had been creating the small cloud of steam, the food he’d been after in the first place, was gone. It must have fallen out back in the market.

What was in the bag were some simple white boxes, carefully packed in with tissue paper, and a small box of gourmet chocolate truffles. Not a complete waste, then, at least.

Roman pulled out the truffles and set them in his lap, already salivating at the thought of them, and then opened the first of the white boxes to see if it was something he could use.

Inside the box sat a very, very expensive-looking watch.

Roman’s eyes widened, and he nearly dropped it. His mouth gaped like a fish.

“No, no, no, no, no,” he whispered, staring at it. He slowly set the watch down. This was a lot more serious than stealing a few baked goods. This was bad. Probably the worst thing he had ever done, at least from a legal standpoint.

Roman simply sat there for a while, letting the reality of what he had just done sink in.

Of course, guilt wasn’t very filling, and after a few minutes, Roman’s stomach growled. Barely taking his eyes off of the watch, he slowly picked up the box of truffles. He figured he might as well have them—the mistake was already made, after all. He peeled off one glove, barely feeling the cold, and tore open the package. He barely tasted the sweets as he stuffed them into his mouth, one after the other. Roman’s mind was elsewhere.

If this watch was in one of the boxes, he thought, then the other boxes probably contained items just as expensive, if not more so.

Roman had just wanted some food, not this. He would be well and truly screwed if he was caught.

That was when he caught a glimpse of the actual price tag on the watch box, a small sticker in the corner with numbers printed in a neat black font. He momentarily forgot to breathe.

This watch had cost somebody nearly four hundred dollars. And it was on sale.

Suddenly Roman knew that he absolutely could not be caught with this. He had to get rid of it. He impulsively shoved the box back in the bag, rolled up the top of it, and shoved the whole thing into the bushes he’d been hiding in earlier. He got to his feet, stuffed the empty chocolate box in a trash can, and quickly walked away, sweating despite the cold.

…

A couple of hours later, sitting in the enclosed space under a bridge that currently served as his “home”, the truffles were not sitting well in Roman’s stomach. It felt like they were trying to claw their way back out. He shifted uncomfortably, the paper shopping bags layered underneath his blanket crinkling in complaint.

The bags were meant to help keep out the chill from the concrete slab beneath him, but it was debatable how much of a difference they actually made. Sometimes it felt as if they did nothing at all, given that the air was almost if not just as cold as the concrete. Still, Roman kept them, since they created a (perhaps pathetic) cushion between his body and the hard ground. Truthfully, they probably were helping to insulate him a little, even if he still wasn’t exactly staying in a five star hotel.

Sitting atop those paper bags, Roman glanced over towards where a couple of figures stood talking. It was dark, and Roman had a feeling that they were probably not supposed to be doing whatever they were doing, but it wasn’t any of Roman’s business. People like that showed up sometimes in this part of the city, but they seemed to know that Roman wasn’t going to bother them, so they usually ignored him, too. He was just another random homeless man, after all. Who cared about him?

Except now, after what had happened earlier that day, Roman found himself more paranoid than usual. He watched the two figures out of the corner of his eye until they were done with whatever they were doing and started walking away in different directions. Neither moved towards him, thankfully. Roman released his breath. He leaned his head back and looked up at the bridge overhead. A car passed by, rumbling over the bridge. Its headlights cast a faint glow in the air until it disappeared.

Roman adjusted one of the napkins he had shoved in his gloves, one of which had been poking him and making his wrist itch. Then he pulled the blankets tighter around himself and lay down on his crinkly bed. He hid his face under the blanket, putting his nose in the crook of one elbow to try to keep it warm. It took him a while to fall asleep, more due to nervousness than the cold or the uncomfortable position he lay in; but, eventually, he managed to drift off into a fitful sleep. His dreams, as always, were filled with visions of the life he could have, should have had.

And as always, he woke up to his own harsh reality.

Roman sighed as he opened his eyes. A bit of frost had formed in his hair overnight, which crackled as he uncurled his stiff limbs from the awkward position he’d slept in.

It was still fairly early, watery gray light leaking over the horizon; but the occasional car ambled down the street. There weren’t many people venturing outside on that crisp Sunday morning, and Roman wasn’t too worried about being bothered. Most people usually chose to ignore Roman, if not outright avoid him.

As if to confirm this, a man and a woman, some of the few daring to walk to work in these temperatures, chose that moment to pass by. As they did, they actually stepped into the street to avoid being too close, as if Roman were going to give them the plague. As if homelessness were contagious.

Rude, but understandable, he supposed.

Roman lay back down for a while and contemplated going back to sleep. But he really had to pee, and his stomach felt like it was trying to gnaw its way out of his abdomen; so, eventually, he reluctantly pushed his blanket to the side and sat up. He pulled a comb through his hair, arranging the greasy locks as neatly as he could. He double checked that he still had the money he’d gotten the day before (several times before, he’d woken up to find some of his things missing, especially in the beginning before he’d learned to keep them better protected). Then he pulled a blanket around his shoulders and got to his feet. He grabbed the plastic bag that held most of his possessions, anything that anyone might want to steal, and set off.

He lumbered down the sidewalk, one untied shoelace skittering across the pavement with each step, the blanket wrapped tightly around himself. The morning was quiet and still, almost pleasantly so, if only it weren’t so cold. Roman missed summer.

He sighed in relief when he made it to the McDonald’s. He ducked inside, nodded awkwardly to one of the cashiers, and made his way over to the restrooms. He did his business, even taking the time to wash his face and hair in the sink. By the time he reemerged, the breakfast menu had been changed to the lunch menu, which was fine by Roman.

Roman ordered a cheeseburger and somewhat sheepishly asked for a cup of hot water to go with it.

While he waited, Roman set down his things at a table and sat down, drumming his fingers absently on the tabletop.

His number was called, and he picked up the bag and the cup with a small, grateful smile. He grabbed far too many packets of ketchup, some salt and pepper, and a straw, and sat back down. He opened up the bag, and swallowed against a lump in his throat when he saw a small order of fries inside along with his cheeseburger.

He decided not to draw any attention to it, not wanting to get anyone in trouble, or worse, risk someone taking the extra food away. Instead, he just ate his cheeseburger and fries, and then made his makeshift tomato soup, stirring the ketchup, pepper, and salt together in the hot water with the straw. He put the rest of the condiments that he hadn’t used in the bag with his other belongings.

He took his time drinking that concoction, not eager to go back outside, but eventually he couldn’t stall any longer. It was approaching midday, the restaurant was growing more crowded, and he figured it was only a matter of time before someone started objecting to his presence. So Roman gathered up his things and took his leave.

…

Roman spent most of the day wandering the city. He didn’t have much else to do, and sitting under a bridge like some kind of troll grew old pretty fast. He avoided the part of the city where the market was set up, just in case the person whose belongings he had stolen returned to try to find him. Under different circumstances, he might have been able to convince himself that he was just being paranoid, but the price tag on the watch kept flashing in his mind’s eye. No, he was going to avoid that area for a while.

Finally, the sun was going down, and Roman made his way back to the bridge.

Other than about thirty cents left over from the day before, Roman only had a dime that he’d found in the street during his wandering. He certainly didn’t have enough money to buy anything for dinner. It seemed he’d have to make do with the ketchup he had left over from his earlier meal. Not exactly a meal fit for a prince, but it was better than nothing, if not by much. He probably should have gone and tried to beg again, but staying in one spot with the same sign as the day before only seemed like a more sure-fire way of being recognized. And if the owner of the watch had gone to the police, they were probably on the lookout for him.

Roman tugged on the collar of his shirt—a Saint Gabriel Academy of Fine Arts shirt, turned inside out—and winced. Just look at what his life had come to. He was supposed to be away at college, right now, pursuing his dreams of becoming an actor. Instead, he was homeless, jobless, penniless, and now, a thief. No better than his brother, after all.

Juan was sitting at the opposite end of the bridge when Roman returned, on the other side of the road. Roman nodded vaguely in his direction, too tired to give more of a greeting. The other homeless man didn’t acknowledge him, busy methodically stacking a pile of plastic bottle caps in different arrangements.

He sat down amongst his paper bags and dirty blankets, and he set down the plastic bag of his belongings. He was hunched over, digging through it for the ketchup packets, when he heard someone’s shoe scrape on the sidewalk. Roman paused, glancing up towards a small group of men, one of whom had just pulled to a sudden stop. He glanced away again just as quickly, not looking to draw unwanted attention.

Too late.

“Fancy seeing you here.”

Roman’s blood ran cold. He knew that voice.

“Hey! Get back here!”

“What, you know this ugly f*cker?” one of the other men laughed, coming up to stand next to the first. His dark hair was wild, his eyes glittering.

“Oh, hell no, I don’t. This dirty piece of crap just owes me some money is all.” The man crouched, sneering at Roman, his ice blue eyes piercing right through him. “Ain’t that right?”

Roman scooted back, eyes widening, searching for a way out. Adrenaline hummed in his veins, and yet he felt frozen to the ground. They’d found him. Of course, they’d found him. His mouth opened and closed a couple of times, words failing him in his sudden panic.

“This the guy who stole your stuff?” A third man asked, going to stand in front of his other friends, casually blocking Roman’s only escape route.

“This pathetic f*ggot? Really?” said the second. “Man, Mikey, you’re getting robbed by bums now?”

Mikey rolled his eyes. “Shut it,” he growled. Almost immediately, he looked back to Roman with a crocodile grin, crouching down to stare directly into his eyes. “Now, how about it? We don’t want any trouble. So why don’t you just give me back what you took, and we can all go on our merry way?”

Roman’s breath left him in a wheeze. He didn’t have what they wanted. Not anymore. But he knew they wouldn’t believe that. He practically pressed himself against the concrete wall at his back, as if with enough effort he’d be able to pass through the barrier that kept him trapped here with these men.

Mikey’s eyes hardened at Roman’s lack of a response. “Come on, I’m trying to be reasonable here.”

A fourth man, who hadn’t spoken until then, said, “Guys, maybe we should just call the cops, let them take care of this.”

“I bet you sold ’em already, right? What, traded ’em for some drugs or sh*t like that?” The second man, standing at Mikey’s side, sneered.

“You some kind of mute?” the third asked at the same time. They were all clearly growing impatient. Roman had to say something.

“I—I don’t….” Roman stammered, fishing for the right words, for anything that could help get him out of this situation. He looked desperately around them, towards the other side of the street, but Juan had conveniently disappeared, and no one else was around. He wasn’t getting any help. He was alone.

“Ah, he speaks!”

“I paid good money for that stuff,” Mikey said. He squared his shoulders and stepped closer. “So you’re going to tell me… what you did with it. NOW!”

Roman got to his feet and scrambled away so fast that he nearly fell over, tripping on the blankets in his haste. “I don’t—I don’t know what you’re talking—Agh!”

He was cut off as a fist sank into his gut, forcing him to bend over at the waist. Tears stung his eyes and he gagged, bile dripping down his chin.

Mikey took him by the shoulders roughly. “Now, lets try that again,” he whispered in Roman’s ear, too loud.

“Mike, I don’t think—”

“Shut up,” Mikey said, still right next to Roman’s head. “Go home if you don’t want to be a part of this.”

A second passed. Roman’s harsh breathing grated on his eardrums. One set of footsteps retreated. Roman choked, still struggling to pull air back into his lungs and straighten back up.

“Third time’s the charm,” the second man suggested, sounding all too happy to join his friend. His breath smelled strongly of menthol. “Where’s my buddy’s sh*t? You see, he paid a lot for it, and it sure would be a shame if he didn’t get it back, wouldn’t it?”

“Might make him angry,” added the third voice, now much closer than before. He shoved Roman, and his back hit the concrete wall, making him cry out.

“I don’t have it,” Roman said desperately, knowing they wouldn’t believe him. He was still looking around, desperate for an escape. But the street was deserted.

Hands appeared on Roman’s back and shoved him forward, sending him sprawling to the ground. Roman’s head smacked the concrete, and he tasted the iron tang of blood as he bit his tongue. His hands felt scraped raw, even inside his gloves, and a painful pins and needles sensation ran through one of his knees. His rib cage felt like it had been hit by a bowling ball.

Roman groaned. A pair of shoes stepped into his field of vision.

“What’s this you’ve got here?”

“Noth—nothing,” Roman offered weakly, not even sure what they were talking about. He was definitely going to have some impressive bruises come morning. If he lived that long. “Just… trash.”

“Hm, then you won’t mind if I have a look, would you?” Roman heard the rustle of plastic as someone, probably Mikey, dug around in the bag he kept his things in. Apparently, the contents—specifically, their lack of any of the items Roman had stolen—didn’t please him. He kicked it to the side. Roman heard some of the items roll into the gutter.

Mikey’s friends dragged Roman to his feet and pinned him against the wall. Roman put up a struggle, but it was almost obligatory. There were three of them, and only one of him. He couldn’t fight them all off if he tried. And if he called for help, would anyone even hear? Would they come, if they did? Or would he just make things worse?

“Where is it?” Mikey snapped, impatient.

Roman was very aware that the odds of him keeping all of his teeth were getting slimmer by the second. “It’s—they’re… they’re in the park. This park, like five blocks from here, I swear. I left them in a bush, you can go right now—”

Smack!

Roman’s head jerked to the side, and he whined despite himself as blood began to drip from his nose, closing his eyes tight. He’d been trying to answer them! This wasn’t fair!

Menthol Breath put his hand on Roman’s neck, his fingers digging in painfully. The smell of menthol was dizzying. Or maybe that was the head wound.

He heard a loud crunching noise, and opened his eyes to see that Mikey was stomping on Roman’s bag of belongings as hard as he could, clearly trying to break them. He picked it up and smacked it repeatedly against the edge of the sidewalk to do even more damage. Bits and pieces of the contents flew out, rips appearing in the plastic.

The two men pinning Roman to the wall laughed at the sight.

“Aw, hell, Mike, you’re gonna make ’im cry,” Menthol Breath cackled. “Little f*ggot gonna cry?”

“’Nooo, please, not my garbage!’” the other mocked in a rude, falsetto voice.

“Now, I know you didn’t just throw my sh*t in a bush,” Mikey said, emphasizing his point by stomping on the bag again. “So you best tell the truth. Right now.”

One of the men, the one who didn’t smell like menthol, let go of Roman and started tearing through his setup, upending his blankets and the paper bags that made up his “bed”. Roman would have taken this opportunity to run, but Menthol Breath was still on him, grinning like the Cheshire cat, and Mikey blocked the way out.

Of course, the man came up empty. Because Roman didn’t have their stuff anymore.

Mikey stomped on the bag again, angry, then started cursing. “God f*cking d*mn it, what the hell? What is this?”

Roman’s eyes drifted down to Mikey’s legs, one of which was splattered with a messy arc of red. He must have stomped on one of the ketchup packets.

“You good, M?”

“Urgh, disgusting.”

Mikey ignored his friends, stalking forward to stand in front of Roman.

“Answer me, now!” Mikey snarled. He reared back and kicked Roman in the stomach, making it rather difficult for him to do as the other man asked. Dark spots swam in his vision as he gagged once again.

Roman was heaved back upright, a dribble of bloody bile dripping from his chin onto his shirt. “I panicked,” he offered weakly, gasping for breath. “I didn’t… I just… wanted food… I didn’t know… the other stuff was in there… swear.”

“Right, right,” said Mikey. He put his foot on top of Roman’s and slowly leaned all of his weight on it, crushing his toes, his face barely an inch away from Roman’s. Roman resisted the urge to spit in it, his eyes watering.

“You believe this guy?” asked the other man. A distant part of Roman, either left over from his theater days or hysterical from fear and pain, decided to dub him Henchman Number Three.

Mikey stared at Roman for a moment longer, eyes narrowed. “You know, he’s just pathetic enough that I actually kind of do,” he said. He stepped back, and Roman gasped slightly as the weight was lifted from his poor toes. “So… here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to tell me where this park of yours is. My buddies and I are going to go there. And you, you are going to hope and pray to God that my stuff is still there. And if it isn’t, I think you know what’s gonna happen.”

Roman swallowed. Or tried to, at least. “It’s—it’s the pocket p-park, the one on Lincoln,” he quickly stammered. “It’s g-g-got those bushes, by the bench. It’s right there, I swear, you can j-just go there, and find them.”

Mikey looked at him appraisingly for a few seconds.

“Drop him.”

Roman was tossed to the ground for a second time, and he barely avoided receiving a second bump on his head to complement the first. He tried to push himself back up, but didn’t make it very far before collapsing back down.

“You sure about this?” Menthol Breath asked skeptically. Roman could feel his eyes on him. “He’s seen our faces.”

Mikey scoffed. “Come on, like he’s gonna go to the cops. He ain’t that dumb.”

Henchman Number Three snorted.

Menthol Breath hummed. “Still,” he said, kneeling next to Roman, “why take that chance?” Roman tried not to choke, barely able to breathe with that overwhelming smell so close to his face. “Who’s going to miss a dirty homeless thief? We’d be doing the world a favor.”

There was a thoughtful sound. “You know… you do make a good point.”

Roman tried to squirm away, eyes wide, but a foot pressed down on his back, pinning him down. He kept struggling, gasping, trying to get up, begging for them to just let him go, but the weight on his back only increased. And then something cold and sharp pressed against Roman’s face, and he immediately went still and silent. The blade slowly traced a line of ice across his cheekbone and down to his neck, settling just under the jawbone.

Roman’s heart felt like it just might explode.

Menthol Breath exhaled right in his face. The blade nicked his skin.

“Oh, f*ck, he’s pissed himself!” someone shouted. Chaos erupted, cackling and various sounds of disgust echoing around him as the men scrambled away from him. The knife disappeared from his neck.

Three sets of footsteps pounded down the street, leaving Roman a battered, shivering heap on the sidewalk.

…

He wasn’t sure how long he lay there, sprawled on the concrete, trembling and bleeding. But eventually, he dragged himself over to what was left of his belongings.

Inside, along with the remains of pretty much everything else he owned, was Roman’s cell phone. It had been off ever since he realized that it could be used to track him; but he’d kept it because… well, he wasn’t quite sure why. As a reminder? A comfort item? Perhaps for situations like this, just in case?

Did Roman want to call the cops? An ambulance? Hell, his parents?

He reached into the bag and pulled out the device that had somehow gone unnoticed by his attackers. He wiped off the disgusting mixture of ketchup, toothpaste, and dirt with one of the paper bags, then simply stared at it.

Cracks spiderwebbed across the phone screen, chunks of glass falling out or missing at the edges. The case had broken under the onslaught, hanging off in two pieces. One corner of the phone had bent harshly, and the metal was scraped

For a long moment he just lay there, taking it in. Then, he reached up one hand and pressed the power button, holding it down. He didn’t know why he bothered. He wasn’t even sure if the thing was still charged after so long.

The screen flickered. Random colors spasmed across it, purple and green and blue, odd lines and shapes that followed the cracks like contours on a topographic map.

And then, without any fanfare, it died.

Roman bit back a sob, shoving the useless phone away from him. He didn’t know why he was so upset. Who would he have called, anyway? Who would have answered?

Roman rolled onto his side and struggled to sit up, grimacing as he took in the dark stain on his pants.

How brave he was.

…

After a few hours, Roman found the strength to get to his feet and limp over to the closest open building that he knew had a public restroom. The smell was, admittedly, a strong motivator, as were the sticky feeling of blood and bile on his face and chest and the stiff, cold feeling of his trousers.

He gathered up all of his things—what was worth taking, anyway—and set off. He didn’t plan on returning to the bridge.

Feeling more humiliated than he ever had in his life, Roman shuffled inside the gas station, not making eye contact with the cashier, and made a beeline for the restroom. Thankfully, it was empty, and he locked himself inside.

Roman leaned his head against the closed door and let out a shaky breath, then turned to the sink.

One small miracle was that some of Roman’s clothes hadn’t been in the plastic bag, so he had something to change into that wasn’t covered in ketchup, toothpaste, and bits of broken glass. He set these on the sink and then turned on the faucet, washing his hands and then his face. He rinsed out his mouth, cupping his hands together and spitting out bloody water. He didn’t dare look in the mirror until he was done, afraid of what he would see.

A friend of his in high school who had gotten his front teeth knocked out in a fight had once said that he hadn’t felt any pain. In fact, the guy hadn’t even known that they were gone until he looked in a mirror. At the time, Roman had found the idea surprising, almost laughable in how strange that was, to not even feel your own teeth being knocked out; but now he just felt afraid. Roman knew that he hadn’t lost his own front teeth—he’d actually checked, probing at them with his painful tongue on the walk over—but that didn’t mean another surprise wasn’t waiting for him.

Finally, when the water in the sink ran clear, Roman slowly lifted his head to see the damage.

His right eye and cheekbone were swollen and red, obviously bruised. He would have an impressive black eye in the coming days. A thin red line ran along the opposite cheekbone, down his cheek, and ended in a shallow, inch-long cut just under his jaw. That side of his face was also tinged pink and felt hot to the touch, swollen from the blow he’d received. His nose, meanwhile, had stopped bleeding a while ago, but one nostril still felt clogged. Roman didn’t dare try to clear it, afraid that it would start bleeding again. At least his nose didn’t seem to be broken, even if it was quite tender.

Next, he slowly opened his mouth, taking in his poor bitten tongue with a wince, and gently pulled back his split lip to inspect his teeth. All appeared intact and still in his mouth, where they belonged. He sighed in relief.

After that, Roman moved on to getting out of his disgusting clothes—the pants and underwear went straight in the trash, even though he knew he should try to clean them. At the time, he just wanted them gone. He did, however, do his best to clean the shirt in the sink. He didn’t want to lose that—he knew that his future at Saint Gabriel was as unsalvageable as his shattered phone, but he wasn’t ready to let go of this last relic of that alternate timeline quite yet. While that soaked, he got some damp paper towels and cleaned himself up, wincing whenever his hand passed over the scrapes and bruises.

Occasionally, there was a knock on the door, but Roman just called back “occupied!” in a hoarse voice, and he was left alone.

When he finally emerged, still feeling like garbage but at least relatively clean, there was a worker standing just outside the bathroom. They peered past him, clearly expecting the bathroom to be trashed or something. They turned back towards Roman, probably about to demand why he had been in there so long; but at the sight of Roman’s face, they came up short, their mouth simply hanging open.

Roman looked away and made his way outside without a word.

He left the gas station almost feeling a bit better—almost—and headed straight to the train station.

Obviously, Roman did not plan to stick around. Not with Mikey and company still out there. He didn’t think they would go to the police, not after what they’d done to him in retaliation for his theft, but that wasn’t what Roman was worried about. What if they didn’t find their stuff in the park? What if they did, and they still decided Roman couldn’t keep his mouth shut? What if Menthol Breath just wanted to have some fun?

No, it was better to leave while he still could.

Not that he had a ticket, or the money to get one. But he had to try.

Ideally, he would head somewhere south. Somewhere warmer, where he wouldn’t have to worry about frostbite and hypothermia as the weather got colder. But, truthfully, he would be willing to go anywhere. Even just the next town over, if it meant putting more distance between himself and his problems.

Sometimes it seemed Roman would never stop running from his past.

…

Roman set up shop on one of the benches at the station. His cardboard sign now had a reverse side, which read, “Need Ticket To Anywhere. Anything Helps. God Bless.”

By mid morning, with a grand total of about five dollars and a stick of gum, Roman was starting to nod off. The waiting area of the train station was heated, and the sounds of people walking to and fro, and even the trains when they arrived, settled into a rhythm that felt unexpectedly soothing. He hadn't gotten any sleep the night before, which only made the temptation harder to resist.

As he drifted in and out of a doze with only a minimal amount of his own input, Roman began to grow paranoid that someone would try to steal his earnings, so he reached forward and took the money out of the cup, sticking it in his pocket instead. He left only the stick of gum and a pebble behind. A little more at ease, Roman leaned against a nearby pillar, closing his eyes and going back to listening to the background noise around him.

Another train or two came and went, and Roman was eyeing the vending machines despite himself. He was starving, but he really needed this money for a ticket. He needed at least twenty dollars, or he wasn’t going anywhere.

A few coins clinked as they were dropped in his cup.

“Thank you,” Roman murmured, unsure at that point of who had even given them to him.

Only fourteen and a half dollars to go, and he was out of there.

…

”…this?” a voice asked.

Roman forced his eyes open, blinking, to see a small hand stuck out in front of him, holding a granola bar. He stared uncomprehendingly.

“Do you want this?” the voice repeated more insistently.

Roman looked up. A kid stood there, certainly no older than 10 and probably younger. Her parents stood behind her, looking a mixture of impatient, exasperated, and wary.

“Yes, please,” Roman croaked.

The girl set the granola bar in Roman’s cup with a small, satisfied nod. Then she looked back up at him. “What happened to your face?” she asked.

The girl’s mom shifted, glancing up from her phone. “Ella, you shouldn’t ask people things like that.”

“It’s okay,” Roman said, straightening slightly. He looked back to Ella. “I had a battle,” he told her after a few seconds, “with a mean old dragon witch.”

“A dragon witch?” the girl repeated, tilting her head.

Roman nodded sagely.

“You’re messing with me.”

“No, no, they’re real,” Roman assured her. “They’re not very nice, though. I had to fight one off.”

“Did it take your ticket?” she asked, frowning.

Roman hesitated. “No,” he decided. “I just need to go someplace else is all. I think the dragon witch might come back, you see.”

“Ella, we need to go,” her mom said. She kept eyeing Roman, probably wondering if he was crazy.

“Okaaay, mom,” she sighed. She turned back to Roman even as her parents pulled her away. “Bye. I hope you beat the dragon witch.”

“Bye, Ella. I hope so, too.”

…

Roman spent several days in that train station, begging during daylight hours and sleeping uneasily on the benches at night, never straying far while he healed from his ordeal and attempted to collect the money for his fare. The setup was, he found, much nicer there than it had been under that bridge. It seemed that the owners of the station didn’t bother turning off the heaters after hours, so Roman (and several stray cats) had a warm place to stay at night.

At one point, he briefly considered going out into the city to find Juan and tell him about it, knowing the other homeless man would probably appreciate a heated place to sleep. And then he remembered how Juan had abandoned him, had left him to be beaten into the ground by Mikey and his friends.

He couldn’t exactly blame the guy. They weren’t exactly close, and what could Juan have done, really? Even if he had helped, it would still have been two against three—four, counting the man Juan had had no way of knowing would back off—and Menthol Breath had had a knife. Juan had been right to run when he did.

Still, the thought of facing him again made Roman’s blood boil and his stomach twist in knots. So he didn’t. Maybe he should have felt bad about that, but he didn’t at the time.

Regardless of any of that, as nice as the train station was in comparison to his previous setup, it was not somewhere that Roman wanted to stay for much longer. He didn’t feel safe there, knowing that Mikey and company could show up at any time. That fact made it all the more stressful each time he had to use some of the money he had collected to buy some food from the vending machines, since it meant he had to stay even longer.

On the morning of the fifth day, when those final quarters were dropped into his cup, Roman almost cried.

Clutching the money, he hesitantly entered the main building, where the tickets were sold. He waited in line, practically shaking with apprehension. But before he knew it, he had his ticket, and he was standing in the crowd of people waiting to get on the train. Maybe most of them avoided standing too close to him, whether due to his obvious homelessness or his still battered appearance, but Roman found that he didn’t mind it that day.

He got onto the train, settling into a seat with all of his possessions piled into the one beside him. He stared out the window, feeling a sort of excitement he hadn’t felt in a long time as the train began to move. The landscape slid by as the train picked up speed, taking him to a new city, and, he hoped, something better.

#this was supposed to be like 2k tops #anon(s) tricked me #sanders sides #roman sanders #thomas sanders #sanders sides fan fiction #fanfiction #ts fanfic #ts roman #ts sides #ts creativity #second chances fic #SPOILERS AFTER THIS TAG!#the thing I like about the ending I gave this is that it can be interpreted multiple ways #is it positive because it's hopeful?#negative because with the rest of the story we know that roman has years more of homelessness ahead of him?#positive because this train is what eventually brings him to meeting logan and patton and everyone else and turning his life around?#is it bittersweet for all these reasons?#it's up to you how to view it

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lettersinscarlet · 4 years

Text

Pumpkins (Colby Brock Imagine)

Hey y’all! I know I’m late with the spooky season stuff but I’ll do better in the future. I’ve got tons of Thanksgiving and Christmas stuff planned and I hope that makes up for it. Anyway, I dyed my hair today and if you guys see it you can tell me what you think but don’t roast me too hard I still having feelings. Anyway, I’ve been crushing on this boy and so I’ve got all this extra energy and side inspo so hopefully more stuff will be coming. Anyway, hope you enjoy this!

——————————————————————————

“Baby,” Colby whined, rolling over to look at you. He was obviously bored and you smiled at how cute he was. Since you had been dating for three years, it was easy to read some of his moods. “Do you know what today is?” he asked with a whiny voice.

“The 26th?” you asked. He sighed and rolled his eyes.

“No,” he corrected you, “it’s spooky season.”

“It is,” you responded. He waited expectantly for you to ask and you sighed. “So?”

“We should do something spooky related,” he suggested and waggled his eyebrows. You laughed at him and ruffled his hair.

“What do you have in mind?”

“Well,” he started, “I have a few ideas in mind,” he murmured, looking you up and down. “BUT,” he interjected, “I did have something seriously in mind.”

“What would that be?” you asked.

“I want to surprise you,” he stated. “Go get changed into something you can get messy,” he ordered and sat up.

“You’re sure this doesn’t have anything to do with the first thing?” you questioned as you got up. He chuckled and you smirked as you went to do what he said.

You changed into one of your old t-shirts and a pair of sweats. You threw your hair up in a ponytail and found some of your old tennis shoes. You walked down the stairs and Colby whistled.

“One-hundred percent the hottest outfit I have ever seen you in,” he commented. You rolled your eyes and he got up and pulled you in to kiss your forehead.

“Are you gonna tell me what we’re gonna do?” you asked as you leaned back against him.

“No, but we need to go to the car,” he informed you. He kissed your forehead again and then he grabbed your hand and started walking towards his car.

As he drove, he blasted some music and you guys were rocking out. After some time, Colby pulled into a grocery store parking lot. You looked around, confused, and Colby just laughed. He parked and then led you to the entrance to the store. He stopped and gestured in front of him, revealing to you two buckets and some shelves filled with pumpkins. He had a huge smile on his face as he gaged your reaction. You had a smile equally as big.

“You wanna carve pumpkins?” he asked. You nodded and looked over the pumpkins, seeing which one’s caught your eye. Colby went yo and slapped one, smiling when it made that dull noise. “So it claps,” he mused.

You laughed and walked to one of the buckets and picked one. It was the perfect orange color and even though it was a bit wonky, it was big and you loved it. You hoisted it up and wrapped your arms around it and you turned to face Colby.

“I found mine!” you announced. He kissed your nose and then turned to look at the selection. He grabbed two pumpkins and tucked them under each of his arms. You raised your eyebrows at him.

“I’m gonna make Sam a surprise pumpkin,” Colby answered. You nodded and then you went inside. Colby picked up two carving kits and a couple of fake candles to put inside the pumpkins when they were done. You helped him load all the stuff in his trunk and then hopped in the car. Yo were super excited.

“You know how much I love spooky season,” you told Colby as you got closer to your shared apartment. He nodded and looked over at you.

“I know how much you love it and so do I.”

You squealed with excitement when you finally got your pumpkin out of the trunk and headed upstairs.

Colby found some old sheets and he spread it out the table. He then set two towels down for the two of you to sit on. He set out the carving tools before he set the pumpkins down: one on your side, two on his side.

“Alright, before we start, I want to set some rules,” he said and clapped his hands together. “First of all, we have to surprise each other. You can’t tell me what you’re doing, I can’t tell you what I’m doing. And no sneaking around to see anything. Second, when we do the big reveal, the lights have to be off and the candles have to be on. It’ll be spooky. And third, the winner gets a kiss,” he finished. You mulled over his terms for a moment.

“Sounds good to me, Brock. It’s game on.” You went and grabbed a marker from the kitchen before you plopped down on your side, trying to decided what you wanted to do. You decided that you were going to do a carving of Jack and Sally from The Nightmare Before Christmas. You had seen something like it in your feed a few days ago and you were excited to carve it.

You looked around your pumpkin and saw Colby already cutting out the top of his pumpkin to start getting the guts out. You quickly traced a circle at the top and grabbed a knife to start cutting it out.

You grimaced when you pulled the top off and were met with that first scent of pumpkin. You would get used to it, but it was still gross the first minute. Then came the fun part: scooping out the guts.

While you were hard at work, you barely heard Colby call your name. You looked up in enough time to get hit in the face with pumpkin guts. You gasped and Colby started cackling. You quickly reached in your pumpkin and grabbed some of the insides. Being careful not to make a huge mess, you tossed some at Colby, hitting him right between the eyes. He started spitting because he got some in his mouth and you fell over laughing.

“Oh, you think that’s funny?” he asked. He got up and ran over to your side. Colby reaches into your pumpkin and pulled out a clump of guts and smashed them on your face. You gasped as the scent and the feel washed over you. It was gross.

“You are so gonna get it, Brock,” you threatened, sitting still as the pumpkin insides slipped down your face.

“Sure I am,” Colby said with a smirk. He watched you take the guts off your face and drop them on the table. You wiped off your face and wrung your hands out a few times before you got back to work.

“You’re gonna lose,” you taunted him after he sat down. He just shook his head as he went to clean out his pumpkin.

When you deemed the insides clean enough, you grabbed a marker and you started to draw what you wanted. Sure, your lines were a little wonky and sure, it wasn’t perfect, but you thought it was pretty darn good. You looked over and you noticed that Colby had already started cutting his out.

You started carefully cutting out your carving. There were so many intricate lines and pieces you had to cut out before others. It was a bit frustrating, but you knew it would be worth it.

Eventually, you started to see your figure coming together. You were amazed that the lines actually worked and that you hadn’t accidentally carved yourself. You glanced up and you saw Colby smiling at you.

“What are you smiling at, Brock?” you asked him. His smile got wider.

“You look cute when you’re focused,” he commented.

You just blushed as you looked at your pumpkin. Three years and the boy still knew how to get to you.

“Finished!” you yelled triumphantly. You saw him smirk before he answered.

“Me too. Grab a light and turn it on and I’ll hit the lights.”

You reached towards the center of the table and you grabbed one of the candles for inside your pumpkin. You turned it on and put it inside and you saw Colby do the same before he turned off the lights. You stared in awe at your art work before you looked up and saw Colby. He looked spooky in the candlelight.

“You go first,” he said. You let out an excited breath before you turned you pumpkin to face him.

“Ta-da! It’s Jack and Sally!” you announced. Colby looked shocked for a second before he looked back up at you.

“It’s so beautiful! This guarantees it: you have to help me figure out what to do on Sam’s surprise pumpkin,” he told you. You just smiled and shook your head.

“Alright, Brock, you’re up,” you told him. You saw him visible swallow before he put his hands on his pumpkin. He turned it slowly and looked up at you as you read it.

“Will you marry me?” the pumpkin read.

“Will I marry the pumpkin?” you asked, but the tears were already welling up in your eyes.

“You are a such a dork,” Colby muttered before he walked closer to you. “No, it’s not asking if you’ll marry the pumpkin, although that would be interesting. (Y/N), I have loved you for a long long time. I love everything about you: your dorkiness, you laugh, your personality, your kindness, your everything. You are perfect and I know that I want to spend the rest of my life showing you just how true that is. So (Y/N) (M/N) (L/N), will you make this the best spooky season ever by marrying me?”

You looked at his sparkling blue eyes and the ring that had suddenly appeared in his hands.

“Yes, a million times yes!”

Colby got closer to you and kissed you. His lips fit perfectly with yours and the kiss was full of passion and love. Colby finally pulled away and he gently took the ring and put it on your finger.

“How did you know my ring size?” you asked him after he finished putting it on.

“Remember when I took you out and bought us matching rings a few months ago?”

“You sly devil,” you said, but leaned up and kissed him again. Colby’s phone buzzed and he sighed as he pulled away.

“Sam’s known about this for awhile and he wants to know if I actually proposed yet,” Colby explained. You laughed and you quickly took his phone and pulled up his messages with Sam. You snapped a picture of the ring on your hand and sent it before you gave Colby his phone back. Moments later, you heard pounding on the door and the two of you laughed.

“Let us in!” you heard Kat from the hallway. You took Colby’s hand and pulled him to the door. When you opened it, Sam and Kat were looking at you expectantly.

“You guys finally came!” you announced. “Colby threw pumpkin guts at me and it got in my hair!”

Colby shoved you playfully and you laughed at the look on Sam and Kat’s faces. You then showed them your hand and they heard gasped and screamed with joy.

You spent the rest of the night celebrating with the duo and Colby and you had a lot of fun. They left after a few hours and it was just you and Colby.

You walked closer to Colby and he wrapped his arms around you and you swayed to a nonexistent beat. You leaned your head against his chest and you stayed quiet.

Colby pulled away and he used his hand to tilt your head to meet his gaze.

“So Future Mrs. Brock,” he started and something sparked in his eyes, “wanna have some fun?”

———

Taglist:

@sp00kybrock @yikes-xander @daddydobrock @trapbrock-local @thenameisbabe @far-to-many-bands @lyssaholic @wacky-webber-458 @colbysbaby @katiaw2 @brocks-girl @chesterbenningtonaremylife

#colby brock imagine #colby brock #colby fanfic #colby imagine #colby #colby brock fanfic #colby fanfiction #colby brock fanfiction #colby x reader #colby brock x reader #x reader #imagine #fanfic #fanfiction

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beltline9 · 3 years

Text

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gerbiloftriumph · 4 years

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So you wanna be a king (pt6)

Or, at the least, you want very much to cosplay one, and you have put too much time and energy into this to stop now. Let’s finish this costume.

Part 6: The Adventuring Cap (and also hair and some makeup)

The rest of the tutorials are here: cloak, tunic, pants/boots, bracers/pouch, accessories, and as always, I’m a novice cosplayer making all this up as I go along, so feel free to ignore me or steal my ideas and run.

There’s one last piece to this costume. Something important. Something that unifies Graham across the years from 1983 to 2015: his adventuring cap.

Even when he has his crown on, that old hat isn’t far away. So let’s get into it.

But before we can actually start sewing a hat, we need to talk...hair. Because that will probably alter the hat size.

Hair (and also make-up):

Should you be blessed with the slightly curly black hair Graham has, then that’s fantastic!

I do not have such hair.

You remember how hot this costume is? At least three shirts, one and a half pants, a cloak, a cowl, bracers, and knee high boots? Let’s make it worse by adding a wig.

I buy all my wigs from Arda Wigs--I love that quality and those nice prices. I’m the sort of person who pulls the wig out of the bag, fluffs it up with hairspray (got2b glued is a miracle in a can), and runs, but should you want to try heat sculpting, they’re great wigs for that too.

Since I’m revealing all my secrets, this particular wig is a Benny in Deep Brown (when I bought it it was called Natural Black, but I think it’s the same color). It’s warmer than their pure black, which I wanted for this sunshine boy. https://arda-wigs.com/products/benny-classic?variant=27836199174

Incidentally, while we’re here, some quick make-up things:

If you can’t grow your own beard, spray some hairspray on your chin and sideburn patches, take an old tube of mascara (the older and weaker the more control you have--gosh that sounds mean), and build up your own with downward brush strokes. A little goes a shockingly long way--I tend to overdo it myself. Use an eyebrow wand brush to shape the beard and make it look more natural. Seal with more hairspray, maybe a touch of setting powder.

For the freckles, I smear a thin layer of eyeshadow primer across nose and cheekbones, and then go ham with a marker eyeliner in dark brown. Seal it with a touch of setting powder. I promise, it will go absolutely nowhere, even in the hot RenFest July sun, unless you yourself rub it. (I carry both beard and freckles makeup tubes in my pouch, just in case.)

Okay, fine, we’re done stalling. You want the hat, so let’s do it.

Hat time!

First, vocab lesson! Repeat after me: bycocket. That’s the name of your hat. It’s a medieval cap popular among men, women, nobility, and business classes. And also, yes, with Robin Hood too.

http://honorbeforevictory.com/14th-c-embriodered-bycocket-cap-of-maintenance-with-a-split-loop-seam-tutorial/ - I found my template from this page and scaled it up. Other Robin Hood hat tutorials will also likely suit, but this is my semi-tutorial, so this is what I used.

I bought what looks like less than a yard of some light blue denim and some dark blue denim. I wanted the stiffness of the fabric to help hold the triangular shape, thus, the denim. I also happened to have a large quantity of semi-stiff orange felt for some reason, which I used as a core strengthener, but this core is almost certainly unnecessary. The hat keeps its shape really well once it’s on your head--no wonder it was so popular. Feel free to skip the core if you want.

Grab your measuring tape, plonk your wig on your head, and measure where the hat will sit. I got 24″ around. Feel free to make tests with that boundless scrap from the rest of this cosplay to get the size you want. My shape is 14.5″ long, and 11″ from its highest tip to its brim. Don’t forget to add half an inch of hemming space to your pattern (which in my case is made of scraps of paper taped together because I Am Cheap).

Test your samples, adjust the pattern as necessary to make sure you’re happy with the brim length and how it sits.

At this point, I made another one of those choices. For some reason, I intentionally transposed the colors, putting the darker color for the main body and the lighter color for the brim. I don’t know why.

The following tutorial will get confusing if you look only at the colors. I didn’t have a lot of images of the process, and I felt like redoing the hat with the correct color order this week. Because I could. So, ignore the colors as some pictures are old and some are new, and look at the text instead. For reference, all things will be referred to via this image terminology:

Your top color will be cut exactly to the pattern size you like (with that .5″ hem margin, as usual). Your brim color, however, gets an additional half inch on the bottom, where you wear it. For a visual, like this:

This way, you can fold the brim over the rest of your hat sandwich (...I’ll explain that, hang on), to sew a video-game-clean line.

Cut two identical shapes from each color, not forgetting that extra half inch on the brim bottom pieces. Sew them along the half inch hemline, so that you have two (three if you’re making a core) separate triangles, open at the bottom since that’s, y’know, where your head goes. They’re kinda like little tents.

Take your scissors and cut out tiny triangles close to, but not into, the hem stitch at the top curve, so that you can poke a smooth arc into the top (see visual below). Iron all hems flat. Take your top piece and turn it inside out, with the hem sitting inside. The core (if you’re making one) and your brim will remain inside-out looking, because that’s how you’ll build your hat sandwich.

It’ll look like this. I stuffed the core piece inside the top piece, then shoved the brim piece into the core piece. All three pieces are tightly, cleanly, stacked together. It’s a hat sandwich! Stitch the hats together in key places so they don’t shift--like at the top of the arc, and in a few places along the hemlines.

Starting at the hemline in the back, fold the extra half inch from the brim piece up, curl it over itself just a smidge so your line stays nice and clean, pin, and hand stitch the top and brim together.

It’s a bit tricky to get a photo of what it looks like, but once it’s all done and you fold up the brim, the stitches will be hidden, giving you that nice clean edge.

Should you be so inclined, at this point you could get fancy with embroidery (that split loop stitch from the bycocket tutorial is one I eventually want to add), or determine a nice way to add the trim to the brim. Which I haven’t yet so...you’re on your own.

(Incidentally, if you’re in a hurry and you have one fabric choice like a sturdy felt, or maybe you’re doing Ch1Graham and don’t want to deal with this double-color nonsense, you can always go with a single sheet method. Cut the usual two triangles of your single sheet, sew them together like normal, but stop sewing when you get to the fold of the brim. That’s about 4.5″ along the back for me. Turn the whole hat inside out, so the nice hem is along the top, pin and sew the back flap that you had left unstitched, and when you fold up the brim, the ugly hem is hidden inside. A visual example is here:

For the feather, I chose an ostrich feather because A: It’s huge and flouncy and bouncy and I like that, and B: ....it’s what the craft store had at the time. Because I figured I’d need to eventually replace it over time and wear, I did loose ugly stitchwork just under the brim, so I can unpick it and replace it as needed.

And with that, my friend, you are A Whole Entire King.

Go memorize some addenda, go act with bravery and compassion and wisdom, go make friends with some squirrels, and please watch out for fairy tale obsessed goblins.

Always seek adventure~!

(And that’s all for the cosplay how to semi-tutorial series! I hope it was helpful! If you have questions, feel free to DM me. I’m happy to help you look your best! At this point, that’s my last post on this topic unless someone asks for how I made the crown. 👑 Let me know if you want that too~)

#King's Quest #kings quest #King Graham #ta-daaaah that's it~ i hope it helped someone~!#cosplay #tutorial

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blankdblank · 4 years

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Loki Baby Pt 8

…

Wk 22 - The beauty of the moment may have faded, but the joy was still there.

…

Work since that suit appointment had kept your freedom at bay. Breakfasts were kept as shared meals with Loki treasuring hearing about your plans while he had made good on your offer of lending him your car to pick up a few things he had forgotten to stock up on in your shared trip to the shops. Stolen moments of freedom came behind the wheel of the sports car he was allowed to borrow and even with sights of Natasha and other agents on his route still keeping the Prince under surveillance, though now at a milder distance. Monitored freedom but a freedom none the less with clear links to the source of said freedom just a call away if they dared to try and rope him back to the tower again.

The upcoming event on top of the sparse times with you had his nerves mounting. A stolen slip into your nightly reading from a feigned borrowing of a book at the end of his short stack he had bought however had calmed him at least with another joint drift off to sleep at opposite ends of the same couch.

The gentle sunset waking the Prince, who in his sleep had shifted to his side extending a hand to drape over the ankle of the woman on the couch beside him felt his eyes opening when his thumb pressed a bit tighter onto a vein in your ankle clearly revealing quite an odd heartbeat. Though just waking and still swimming his way out of his sleepy daze body had a different idea of what to do past inspecting it further. In a shift he sat up and turned to drape behind you properly lulling your body to melt against his under his arm laying across your middle. Sleep had been hard to come by and for now at least the goal was another night with you in his arms.

A leg had slid between his with a knee pulling his higher holding his hips flush against yours, arms tangled under the blanket and in the burrowing of his head into the back of yours a smoothing of fingers eased under the sleeve on his green shirt. That was what brought you out of sleep, curious raised ridges under finger strokes far from readable. In a deep inhale cracking an eye open to see what it was the swirling ridges around the wrist branched up in solid lines with diagonal dashes and dots in between on the inner side of the arm. Again in his sleep the Prince’s arm tightened around your middle and closing your eyes the sleeve was tugged down and over it a grip on his arm was returned calming the slumbering belief you were trying to break out of his hold.

It was clear he was not Asgardian, he was not like Thor, the red eyes were evident enough and now with such markings over his arms he clearly kept hidden from you in his earlier days of having his dress shirts rolled up. Nestling back into his hold it was decided to wait, allow him to bring up his hidden traits, unless you couldn’t help yourself of course. They reached up his inner arm, it was a hope they were like fingerprints, that he was born with them and not having been self inflicted, you could never handle that, him being in such pain to have etched such a vast set of markings into his skin. Warmly you were cuddled back to sleep and joined the Prince in grumbling at the alarm sounding from the panel on the wall to wake up hours later.

“I’m up,” The chiming dropped to soft trickling of notes had you grumbling again and dipping your hand lower to grab Loki’s leg making his eye crack open, “Your leg’s longer.” In the tap of his foot to the floor the alarm silenced making him chuckle and settle his head behind yours on the pillow.

“Intriguing addition to getting up out of bed. Easily bested though.”

“That, was merely the snooze, we have seven minutes or the couch gets tilted up.”

“That intent on remaining in bed?”

“I do love to lounge.”

“Do you need to go somewhere?”

“No, manicure appointment, did you want in?”

“Hmm,”

“If you like you can watch mine get done and decide then.”

“Would I be able to choose a color, or clear coat only?”

After a giggle you said, “They’re your fingers, Prince Loki.”

“I might try gold.”

“Ooh, with sparkles?”

“Perhaps, though Pepper once had this forest green that looked interesting.”

“You could always alternate, or have diagonal designs in alternating colors.”

Again the chiming picked up and huffing to yourself you found your feet and said, “I’m up.”

After tugging up your sleeves you led Loki down to the lowest floor with tea in hand where you chose black nail polish topped with silver glittery specks across them randomly resembling stars while Loki grinned seeing his forest green shimmering nails with golden glittering arches around the edges and bed of his nails. Pedicures were set to match the base colors and in paying you led the way up to breakfast before you would split up to get ready.

Though a grin from you held him in place and at the boxes you accepted from the floating otters they had fetched from your closet that had arrived the night prior a curious smirk eased across Loki’s lips. “Thought you might need a couple finishing touches.”

Wetting his lips he opened the top box, the smaller of the two and his lips parted seeing his symbol in the Norse faith of two interlocked snaked above his name in Norse Runes etched into the golden cufflinks. “I know the stories recorded and what actually happened for you and your family aren’t exactly cohesive, though I thought you might like them. Even if they aren’t-,”

“They are incredible.” His eyes locked onto yours, “Even though I do not have a symbol, per se, on Asgard, I do admire this one, and the runes are correct. I will be honored to wear them.” Looking down he said, “I cannot imagine what the other surprise might be.”

With a smirk you said, “Not hard to guess, though the details, might be a bit harder to guess.”

Inside the second box his lips parted again seeing the black ring coated face of the watch with white glowing speckles he shifted the outer ring around the face revealing different settings. One to follow the moon cycle exposed by the moon in the center and various constellations and planets with a special marker on the ring he could hit showing the galaxy around Asgard. When his eyes locked on yours you said, “I thought you might like it, not just for telling time and the date. To help you find your way, or just remember our little corner of the world when you are on Asgard again. Water proof, shatterproof and solar recharged battery included, has a compass and all that, and,” in a reach into his view you pointed to an extra dial he could pull out and you said, “If you needed to get in touch. A communicator.”

Smirking at you he asked, “How powerful a communicator?”

Smirking back playfully you quipped, “You might be surprised.”

“Thank you, truly. You must have put quite a great deal of effort into this. I will treasure it always.”

Nipping at your lip you nodded then said, “Well, I should let you get ready. Tails take a while.” In a chuckle he nodded and thanked you again turning for his own apartment still in awe at the watch he had eased onto his wrist smiling at the etching across the back, ‘Always believe that something wonderful is about to happen.’

It was simple, and hopeful, and for a moment everything he needed to have strapped to his wrist to help keep him going on his worst days. A glimpse of home, a glimpse of you, a bridge of sorts between the two. Layer by layer he readied after basic primping and finalized the look with the securing of his cufflinks in the hall only to turn with lips parting at your long sleeved silver shimmering gown practically poured over you with only a cutout over your back revealing any of your skin. Your silver clip secured bun held in place for a sleek look already making him feel under dressed out of his armor and cape. A gown like that you were ready to be presented to a King, not being taken to some Midguardian dinner, no matter how fancy the occasion was slated to be.

A loop of your arm in his extended elbow and his heart began to flutter imagining the faces of the men seeing you arrive on his arm. Though that came with a landslide of doubts on being the one on your arm. The killer, the invader, mass murdering psychopath. How could he ever be deserving of an innocent’s attentions or company? How could he ever make anyone understand the reasons behind it when this planet was so far behind his own? How could he ever be enough for all your kindness?

Small talk led to dinner and more talking while the orchestra readied. A single glance of a man tapping your elbow at the bar in his step away to explain a painting fuller to a woman who asked if he knew about the artist and his heart dropped. His answer was given and the woman gone leaving him turning for the terrace. Straight to the stone half wall he went unbuttoning his outer jacket in a sharp exhale trying to reign in his tears threatening to fill his eyes imagining you spending the night in another’s arms to dance and at the worst to sleep. There was no bond past monetary partnership and in fair exchange he had fulfilled his duty, escorting you here tonight, just as you had fulfilled yours, housing and pampering him to comfort.

“I hate realtors.” The sound of your voice tore his eyes open and his mind from the edge seeing a glass of champagne set in front of him, “Every party nonstop offers on my building.”

“Realtors?” The frailty of his tone and bare glace at you made you dip under his arm and have his wide eyed teary gaze looking you over.

Moving closer in a simple ease of your hands around his sides his chest rose in a deep inhale as you hummed out, “I believe you owe me a dance, Prince Loki.” The reach for his folded back vest had his eyes shut and body inching closer in a sort of timid hug in the ease of his arm around your back followed by the other. In his next inhale showing he was readying to release you, you hummed near his ear, “I would not abandon you. I arrived with you and perhaps we should take a spin or two around the floor then let the land hungry men watch us go back to our apartment for some dessert?”

“Those tarts were disgraceful,” making you giggle in his hands slowly sliding off your back allowing you to secure his vest for him and watch his downing the glass as you did the same with yours followed by an offer of his hand paired with a confident grin mustered up by your assurance and embrace. A gentle press of his lips to your knuckles and back into the room he led you in a camera drawing set of dances, close and intimate with whispered conversation appearing far from the childish jokes and gossip it was, followed by an early departure flooding stories out across social media of the supposed serious relationship.

‘Lovers caught in an embrace.’ The title read and the picture behind it showed what seemed to be your lips on Loki’s cheek and him smirking in the drawing of his arms around your lower back. Below the picture Loki scrolled down and read the brief synopsis of your smirk and loving stare filled dinner followed by a subtle slip from the Prince out of the ballroom allowing you both the private moment. A kiss to your knuckles and several comments on the intimate holds in dancing, subtle traces of his fingers lower on your back and down your arms and a final stolen imagined kiss to your cheek, really a whispered secret, but not from that angle.

Closing the app on his phone in your putting away your phone after it’s alerting you to your father’s ship being within a week’s distance away. A grin slipped onto his face and keeping the news to himself to keep the night from being spoiled he kept his mind focused on the hour prior with you in his arms imagining you were dancing in his home and not here for the mortal’s supposed need for gossip.

Talk of what treats was shared and upon return a simple stripping to your pajamas was had and around the ice cream set on your kitchen island you chose your dessert to go with your brownies and cookies and went to lounge through the movie Loki had picked.

Washed and comfortable away from the public eye back to your continued bliss of the protected apartment building and couch where once again he could hold you possibly through the night. It was impossible to stop now, imaginings Royal occasions with you on his arm, a chance to return the favor and flaunt you proudly in return once he found his way home.

A momentary flash of awkwardness slid across your face making his head tilt in a glance at his exposed arm in cleaning up your dishes and he asked, “Is something troubling you, Miss Pear?” Again refusing to cross that line of intimacy out loud hoping partially you might insist again on his using the informal title for you.

“When we were sleeping last night, I felt some marks on your arm.” His lips parted and you said, “I know you’re not human and according to Thor not Asgardian, but I have to ask,” Inhaling deeply he gave a slight nod only to have his brows furrow in shock at your asking, “You didn’t carve those in your arms yourself, did you?”

All at once it washed over him in the concern in your eyes how worried they had made you for his well being and he flatly replied in his still shaken tone, “No.” Hastily he wet his lips and extended his arms lowering your gaze at the rising of his Jotun ridges, “I am a Jotun, I have them on my back, face and neck as well. Though I prefer to keep them to myself.” A timid lift of your fingers to stroke one of the swirls had him saying, “They are unique, for each Jotun.”

“Like snowflakes?” You asked catching his gaze and his nod.

“I did not mean to concern you, merely they rise again in my sleep occasionally.”

“I’m just glad you wouldn’t hurt yourself.”

In a tilt of his head he hid the marks again saying, “Not counting plans for myself and Thor to harm one another or my playing dead to distract others, no, I try to avoid physical harm as others would.”

“Good.” A glance towards the living room in a wonder as to what film you would choose to end up taking you from the minor tasks on your to do list possibly ending in another morning of waking up in the grip of the snuggle happy Prince.

Tonight however Thor would call and ask to finish their marathon and the blonde would be the one he would wake beside on the connected lounging couches of their private theater. The night however would continue to play on in his dreams while you tinkered in the bunker far below sharing with your precious Tardis that parts were soon in the way knowing your father would never allow you to be stranded for very long anywhere or any time. Tonight was flawed but perfect all the same. The beauty of the moment had faded but the joy was still there.

@theincaprincess, @himoverflowers

Pt 9

#Tale Teller’s 52 Week Writing Challenge #Loki x Reader OC

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lovemesomesurveys · 4 years

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why are you where you are right now?: I’m in bed because it’s 5 in the morning. I’m here a lot of the time, though.

did you used to watch blues clues?: Yeah.

what’s your opinion on people wearing high heels to school?: Doesn’t seem like it’d be comfortable and seems a little dressed up for school, but hey you do you. Perhaps they have a presentation to give or they just like looking nice. *shrug* I can’t wear heels, so I can’t relate.

what game system(s) do you own?: An Nintendo Switch. My brother has a few gaming systems that I use or have used as well, but they’re not mine.

are you a twilight fan?: I was back in the day when the books and movies were coming out. I got sucked (har-har) into the vampire craze.

what are you hungry for right now?: I’m already thinking about having Wingstop for dinner lol. It’s only 5 in the morning. D:

when’s the last time you threw up?: It’s been a couple years. I get random waves of nausea or my medicine sometimes makes me feel sick, but the feeling passes and nothing happens.

why did you throw up?: I caught some stomach bug.

play any musical instruments?: Not anymore. I used to play some piano, but it’s been over 10 years now since the last time I played. I’d be so rusty now.

what difficulty do you play on guitar hero?: I rocked out hard on easy mode. Felt all legit like I was really playing lmao.

do you have any piercings other than on your ears?: Nope, those are it.

what school did your father attend?: He attended a few different schools in different cities and states.

are your nails painted at the moment?: Nope.

what will you be doing tomorrow?: Same stuff, different day. That’s my life.

do you still buy cds or do you just download everything?: The last CD I bought was like a decade ago. I don’t even have any CDs anymore, I sold them all at an old record/music store years ago. I haven’t downloaded anything in almost just as long. I’ve been using Spotify for awhile now.

do you listen to any music that doesn’t have lyrics?: Not very often, no. In fact, it’s been awhile.

do you stutter when you get nervous?: Yes and just stumble over my words.

describe what you were wearing yesterday: Black leggings and a black shirt.

that last person you talked to on the phone said: It was my dad yesterday to let me know he was on his way home from work.

you’re at the grocery store, what 3 fruits do you get?: Let’s be real, I wouldn’t buy any fruits. :X It’s not that I don’t like any, but I just don’t eat a lot of it or gravitate towards it.

your lunch consisted of?: I haven’t had lunch, yet, it’s 530AM.

do you attend church regularly?: Every Sunday via livestream.

any superstitions?: I do the knock on wood thing, but I think it’s really just out of habit.

what is your favorite superhero movie?: I love Marvel and DC films. More of a Marvel fan, though.

do you watch gossip girl?: I never watched that, actually. It’s the type of show I would have been into, but for some reason I never did.

what do you get whenever you go school shopping?: I’m done with school. However, back when I did do school shopping it included typical stuff like binders, paper, notebooks, folders, dividers, pens, pencils, and highlighters, as well as new clothes, shoes, and a backpack. I loved back to school shopping.

what is your #4’s dog’s name?:

do you have a temper?: I get irritated easily, but it takes more to make me angry.

do you consider yourself responsible?: I feel like I haven’t been the past few years in regards to some things.

what is the time?: 5:38AM.

anything special going on today?: No.

are you tired?: Yes.

what is your favorite kind of chips?: Doritos Cool Ranch and Nacho Cheese, or just original Ruffles with ranch dip.

last time you ate chocolate?: I had a brownie a couple days ago.

would you live in another country if you had the chance?: I don’t see myself doing that.

do you think that aliens exist? I believe in other life forms, but not the little stereotypical green men that we’re all supposed to picture in little UFO’s. Lol. <<<

what kind of mascara do you use?: I liked Maybelline, CoverGirl, or L’Oreal. I haven’t worn mascara or any makeup in like 3 years, though.

what do you doodle most often?: Hearts, stars, and random words in cursive for some reason.

if you went to jail, what would you go for?: I have no idea. I don’t do anything or go anywhere.

are there any bruises on your body right now?: Not that I know of.

what about scratches?: I got a papercut like a week ago. Ugh, I literally heard it slice through my skin. It hurt so bad.

what are they from?: ^^^

if you died next week, what would be the cause of death?: I don’t know??

what do you think about dating websites?: Not my thing, personally. They can be great for some people, though.

what is your favorite thing to get at starbucks?: White chocolate mocha or caramel macchiato. I like some of their seasonal drinks, too. Wow, I haven’t had Starbucks since back in March. That’s a long time for me.

what about at mcdonalds?: Their breakfast burritos and hash browns. Every once in a great while I’ll get a random craving for a Big Mac.

do you wear contacts or glasses?: Glasses.

your ex, do you still love them?: I’ll always care about him.

are you two still friends?: No.

what is one memory you have from elementary school?: For some reason in 4th grade we’d go to the cafeteria (I think it was just once a week, like on Fridays) and the tables were all put up and out of the way so we could do square dancing and other random dances like the popcorn dance, chicken dance, the Macarena sometimes.... I don’t know if other schools did that or what the reason for it was, but yeah.

do you own a pair of converses?: Yeah. Also, it’s just Converse.

do you own a box or markers or crayons?: No, but I have a couple packs of colored pencils.

how many clocks are in your room?: I have an actual wall clock, but there’s also my TV, laptop, and phone.

how many fridges are in your house?: One.

what about freezers?: My fridge has a freezer as well, but we also have a mini freezer in the garage for extra storage.

do you like seafood?: No.

what is the best way to tell someone that they stink?: I wouldn’t tell someone that.

what time will you go to bed tonight?: My usual 7 or 8AM, I’m sure. That’s how it has been the past few months. :/ It’s already 6AM and here we are.

#personal #text #survey #surveys

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desparikon · 4 years

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Fanfic misfires feat. Murdoc

1. Murdoc/Mac (really short, but I wanted to experiment with a texting convo format)

2. Murdoc/Bozer (Bozer paints Murdoc’s nails.)

3. Murdoc/Bozer, but kinda ended up leaning toward Bozer/Murdoc/Mac (Bozer and Murdoc feeding off each other’s chaotic energy to out-drama each other.)

My heart was overjoyed when I saw that notification Knowing that you missed me so much that you had to text me... 🖤 I knew you wouldn't be able to stay away

💘 How can I not think about you? We're inseparable now But do we have to be doomed to fight until separated by 💀 ?

Is it terrifying to know that it'll be yours? By my hand?

I don't believe that you want me dead

Whether or not you want to believe it, even though it physically hurts me to say it I'll be the death of you

You say that to hide what you really want 😏 😏 😏 😏 😏 😏 You're lonely, I'm lonely... 💔

Talking with you only makes me miss you more, sets my heart 🔥 Maybe I'll come visit you, I'm not far...

Only if you promise to be gentle

Through pain comes pleasure, and you've teased for far too long Surely you know that the longer you deny yourself, the more pleasure you gain

🔥 🔥 🔥 🔥 🔥 🔥 What're you gonna do? Sneak into my room and stab me??? 😏 😏 😏 😏 🍆

"Oh fuck." Mac flattened himself against the edge of the kitchen counter, wide eyes staring down at his phone.

"What?" Bozer grabbed his phone after receiving no answer. And struggled to contain his laughter once he saw what Mac had been texting to Murdoc. "Mac, what the Hell!"

"I--The phone did that!"

"Twenty bucks says he'll be here in ten minutes."

"M-Maybe he didn't notice it. Y'know what? It's fine. I don't think he's actually nearby. ...Fuck."

"I mean, yeah, what'd you expect? Flirting with Murdoc like that."

"It wasn't flirting! It was banter!"

"What's the difference?"

The doorbell rang, sending Mac into a panic, while Bozer sweetly called out, "Who is it??"

"Boz, stop!" Mac harshly whispered, grabbing Bozer's arm to prevent him from opening the door.

"Mac, let go! Someone's at the door!"

"Doesn't mean you have to answer it!"

The doorbell rang again. "Coming!"

—————————————————————————

"What're you doing?" Bozer felt like he was babysitting, the quiet clinking of glass tipping him off that Murdoc was probably getting into something he shouldn't.

The clinking abruptly stopped. "Nothing!"

"Are you going through my stuff again?" He recapped his marker, and turned around to find Murdoc rummaging through one of his drawers of art supplies along the garage wall. "Hey!" He walked over to shoo Murdoc away, but his annoyance turned to surprise once he saw what Murdoc was holding. "You're going to paint your nails?"

"Once I decide what color." He showed Bozer the violet nail polish he was holding. "I like this one, but do you have anything sparkly?"

"I think." Bozer searched and handed him the sparkly colors. He'd only found four, but he hoped one of them would be acceptable. All he wanted now was to see Murdoc with painted nails.

"Oh, I like this one!" Murdoc held the bottle up to get more light. It looked like plain black with sparkle flecks, but the light revealed the rainbow holographic effect. "It's like a space rainbow trapped in a bottle." He put the others back in the drawer, and sat in Bozer's chair at the table.

"Hang on a sec!" Bozer grabbed the bottles out of Murdoc's hand on his way to sit across the table. "I'll paint your nails."

Murdoc leaned forward, and attempted to steal them back, but Bozer held them out of reach. "Why? You're already busy." Bozer slid his project to the other end of the table before Murdoc's hand could make contact.

Definitely not because he'd love to use Murdoc as a live canvas for future projects...

And definitely not because he simply enjoyed touching Murdoc.

"Because. It's mine and I said so."

"But then I won't be able to present my hand to you so you can compliment it," Murdoc whined.

"Do that to Mac when he gets here."

Murdoc laid his hands on the table. "I guess that's a fair trade. Can't really say no to being pampered."

Bozer adjusted Murdoc's hands on the table until he found a placement where he could be comfortable and hopefully have the best angle for lighting. He shook the bottle of violet nail polish, deciding that the lighter color would show fewer mistakes than the black, and he needed all the help he could get until he got back into practice.

"Does it matter which hand?"

"Left."

"OK, just...hold still and let me do this."

He concentrated on making three brush strokes per nail, vaguely remembering that he'd heard that somewhere. The first stripe he made down the center of Murdoc's nail was mostly straight. But the two side strokes bled onto the skin.

"My hand just has to remember how to do this," he quickly reassured Murdoc (and himself).

Less polish on the brush for the next nail.

And now he'd left see-through spots that'd need another coat. While still getting nail polish onto the surrounding skin.

By the time he'd completely finished Murdoc's first hand, Bozer was frustrated with himself and his messy paint job. He inwardly sighed, preparing himself for Murdoc's snarky comments.

"One hand done. Do you like it?"

"I do! You did such a good job, I feel so spoiled."

A small smile spread on Bozer's face, Murdoc's compliment easing his frustration. He absently ran his finger down a couple of Murdoc's. "It's not perfect, but I think I can get some of the extra off. I'll look it up later."

"It doesn't have to be perfect. I just like having the color on my nails."

Why Murdoc was being so nice, he didn't know, but he'd take it.

At least the black hid the brush strokes, and easily covered in one coat. Though, it was more obvious when the polish ended up on Murdoc's skin, but he was too distracted by the holographic effect.

"It’s definitely eyecatching. Too bad you wear gloves all the time, huh?"

"Only when I'm working. But I'll still enjoy knowing it's there." Murdoc fluttered his fingers, smirking as Bozer watched the rainbow. "Jealous?"

"Kinda."

"...Do you want me to paint your nails?"

"Yes!"

—————————————————————————

"Touch the baby again, and I'm pressing charges!" Bozer slapped Murdoc's hand away as he spun around to prevent him from getting his new prop.

"Who decided that you get full custody of our child?"

"I did! I'm judge, jury, and executioner all in one!"

"I can't visit even once?"

"Well... Yeah, it's OK, I guess." He turned back around, and held the baby up so Murdoc could get a good look.

"The fu...?"

Bozer had bought it when the Halloween stores were running clearance, and they'd since dubbed it the Zombie Vampire baby. It looked like a zombie, with its greenish-gray skin, and evil, cloudy red eyes, but that didn't explain the fangs hanging off each side of its mouth, and the long, pointy nails.

Mac stifled his laughter at Murdoc's surprise. He admired Bozer for being able to keep a straight face.

"Do you like it? It definitely takes after you."

Murdoc quickly recovered, a grin spreading across his face. "Mmhm. Wow, yeah, I see."

Mac immediately recognized the syrup-sweet voice that Murdoc reserved exclusively for shit-starting. They were in for it now; Bozer had effectively challenged Murdoc for the title of Most Dramatic, and Murdoc is not one to be easily out-drama-ed.

Murdoc clapped his hands together, and stared at Bozer with wide, eager eyes. "So when's the exorcism?"

Bozer pulled the baby back and glared. "How dare you talk about our child like that!" He hugged it tightly, whispering, "Did you hear that? Daddy Murdoc doesn't love you."

Mac groaned as he started down the stairs to go inside. "'Daddy Murdoc'?! I'm out."

"Your bad attitude made Mac leave!"

"Me? I just wanted to know if you plan on waking up tomorrow morning."

"Are you threatening me?"

"I’m not.”

Mac hurried to the fridge and grabbed a few sodas. Bozer and Murdoc feeding off each other's chaotic energy was a special form of entertainment. They could rapidly get out of hand, and he hated to miss a second of it.

When he stepped back out onto the deck, he could feel the dramatic mood change. And he'd hadn't even been gone for a whole minute. Bozer stood at the railing, glaring daggers into Murdoc's back. Murdoc stared at the ground like it was most interesting thing in the world.

Dammit. He'd missed something good.

"How's the happy couple?" He dumped the sodas on the nearby table, eager to hear what ridiculous stunt Murdoc had pulled in his absence.

"Fine." Murdoc glanced at him and smiled, looking guilty as Hell.

"I want a divorce!"

"We're getting divorced. Irreconcilable differences."

"Irreconcilable differences?! You threw our baby off the balcony!"

"It's not my fault that thing decided to propel itself over the railing, and into the distance, never to be seen again!"

Murdoc gasped as Mac burst out laughing. "Angus! How dare you laugh at our broken marriage!" He flopped into the nearest chair, and sniffled, "Rude."

Bozer smirked before walking over, and putting his hand on the chair's arm, over Murdoc's. "What if I want to save our marriage? You'll help me, right?"

"Anything for you, darling."

"I was hoping you'd say that. See, I was thinking that there's two options that could save us."

"Oh?"

"The first choice is giving me snacks."

Murdoc rolled his eyes. "So you're too lazy to go into the kitchen. Fine."

"It has to be something you brought."

"You know I don't carry around food."

"But everything tastes better when you bring it."

"I'm a guest in your house. You should be giving me food, not the other way around."

"Alright, alright. Want to hear your other option? I really think you'll like it."

"I'm sure."

"We make this a party." Bozer pushed Murdoc's coat off his shoulders. "We all know what's coming later." He ran his hands down Murdoc's sides, and rested them on his hips. "Why don't you save us the trouble, and just take it all off now?"

"Yesssss!" Mac leaned over the back of Murdoc's chair.

Murdoc snorted. "I feel like these choices are just a little...unbalanced."

"But this one's your only choice, isn't it? Since you just admitted that you don't have any food."

"So that's it then? Bring snacks or strip?"

"Are you getting shy all of the sudden? Or do you just need some help?" Mac pulled the bottom of Murdoc's shirt up so Bozer could run his hand over Murdoc's bare skin.

"OK. OK! I'll give you what you want." He pulled his coat off, and into his lap so he could bury a hand into one of the deep pockets. He pulled out a large ziploc bag of candy, and presented it to Bozer.

Bozer's eyes lit up as he grabbed the bag. "Divorce is off!" He pulled a couple pieces out of the bag before handing it to Mac, happy to share the bounty. "But your clothes will be coming off later."

"Hey, a lot of these have Halloween wrappers... Did you take Cassian trick-or-treating, then steal his candy?"

Murdoc shot him an offended glare. "Of course not! I traded him out of my secret candy stash for the candy he didn't like. And since I don't like any of those either, I thought maybe you two would like them. See how my kindness was rudely taken advantage of?"

"I've never seen your candy stash any of the times I've been in your house."

"That's why it's a secret."

"You don't have a secret candy stash. You bought candy specifically to trade with Cassian!"

"I did not."

"You totally did!"

"No. It's just--It sucks when you hate some of the most popular candies, and--"

"That's adorable!!" Bozer threw himself into Murdoc's lap and wrapped his arms around him, while Mac hugged Murdoc around his shoulders and rubbed his face against Murdoc's cheek.

"So cute!"

"Ewwwww, feelings."

#macgyver #mine

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recentanimenews · 4 years

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My Favorite Art Books of 2019

This year I reviewed 62 art books, a dip again from the 74 I did last year, and 82 back in 2017. I attribute the reasons for the falling numbers to a combination of reduced readership for my blog ( less readers = less conversion, which unfortunately gives me less resources to procure books ) as well as the comparatively smaller number of interesting Japanese art books that I felt was worth picking up.

Despite the reduced quantity, there’s still plenty of great art books that were published in 2019, and these particular 10 are my favorites. I hope you’ll find something of interest in the list, and here’s to a happy 2020 ! –

1) Spider-Man : Into The Spiderverse – The Art Of The Movie

Published in late December 2018, this book narrowly missed my fav art books list of 2018, so I’m including it here for posterity.

Winner of the 2018 Academy Award for Best Animated Film, and a movie I’m super proud to have worked on, this book explores the stunning concept art created for the film, with a surplus of sketches, storyboards, character/environment designs as well as color scripts. The beautiful images that you see in the film were greatly informed by the amazing visuals the concept artists created, so if you like the movie, you’ll the art work in this book too.

Read the full book review | Buy From Amazon.com | Buy From Amazon UK | Buy From Amazon Japan

2) Tokyo At Night – The Artworks of Mateusz Urbanowicz II

Tokyo based Polish illustrator Mateusz Urbanowicz‘s first art book Tokyo Storefronts was one of my favorites in 2018, and he’s back again this year strong with Tokyo At Night, a collection of delightful watercolor illustrations that explores the the moody nocturnal sights of the sprawling, skyscraper topped metropolis saturated with neon lights, mysterious back alleys, wet cityscapes lit by reflections and more. It’s a stunning art book from start to end, and I love it.

Read the full book review | Buy From Amazon Japan | Buy From Amazon.com | Buy From Amazon UK

3) Real Size – Katsuya Terada Art Book

Renowned Japanese illustrator Katsuya Terada’s Real Size is a superb collection of his black marker art works, many of which were created during his live drawing events. The title refers to the print size of the reproductions which are at 100% scale of the original art works, large mural pieces which are cropped and presented across several pages in the book. The complete drawings are also included, scaled down to 16% of the original size.

Read the full book review | Buy From Amazon Japan | Buy From Amazon.com | Buy From Amazon UK

4) Making Solo: A Star Wars Story

Industrial Light & Magic Presents : Making Solo: A Star Wars Story is a handsomely photographed making of book by Rob Bredow, the SVP, executive creative director, and head of Industrial Light & Magic.

As a child, the production photographs of the AT-ATs from The Empire Strikes Back inspired Rob to become a filmmaker, and in meticulously documenting the progress of the production on Solo he hopes to do the same – to inspire the next generation of artists, engineers and storytellers.

The beautiful set photographs gives readers an intimate glimpse into the journey that Solo took from pre-production, production, and post-production, fully documenting how this film came to the big screen.

This book is a great companion for the equally fantastic Art Of Solo – A Star Wars Story, which focuses on the concept art behind the film ( and incidentally one of my fav art books of 2018 ).

Read the full book review | Buy From Amazon.com | Buy From Amazon UK | Buy From Amazon Japan

5) The Idol – Sushio

Sushio is a Japanese animator/illustrator who started his career as an animator at studio Gainax for the TV animation series Neon Genesis Evangelion. After working on many renowned anime series and movies such as One Piece, he took on the character design work for the anime hit series Kill La Kill, catapulting his status in the animation world.

This book is his long-awaited first commercial collection that looks back over his career to date. It features notable works from Kill La Kill, Gurren Lagann, Momoiro Clover Z, along with a panel illustration of Anime Matsuri 2015, his work overseas for an annual anime convention held in Texas, and much more. This book also features Sushio’s illustrations of AKIRA: two original illustrations depicting the imaginary post-AKIRA world, which was officially approved by Katsuhiro Otomo himself, and two illustrations taken from the Tribute to Otomo art book.

Read the full book review | Buy From Amazon.com | Buy From Amazon UK | Buy From Amazon Japan

6) The Making Of Alien

The Making Of Alien is an in-depth and comprehensive book charting the complete story of how Alien was made, featuring new interviews with Ridley Scott and other production crew, and including many rarely-seen photos and illustrations from the Fox archives.

I already own several excellent books on the making of the Alien films, Alien The Archive and Aliens – The Set Photography just to name a few, but this huge hard cover volume explores plenty of material that I’m only seen for the first time, most notably the huge collection of “Ridleygrams”; detail storyboards draw by the director himself, as well as on set production photographs and a giant depository of concept art pieces by several artists like Eliot Scott, Chris Foss and Ron Cobb.

But the book isn’t simply your regular coffee-table book glossed over with just pictures and images. The small print text accompanying the visuals are cramped with detailed production stories and are more scholarly than just a casual read.

As a big fan of the franchise I’m absolutely delighted with this book, and I really look forward to the upcoming Making Of Aliens book, also by J.W. Rinzler.

Read the full book review | Buy From Amazon.com | Buy From Amazon UK | Buy From Amazon Japan

7) Children Of The Sea Background Art Book

Children Of The Sea ( Kaiju No Kodomo ) is a Japanese animated film directed by Watanabe Ayumu and produced by Studio 4°C, based on the highly acclaimed manga by Daisuke Igarashi. The art direction and background art is supervised by Kimura Shinji, who previously bought us the amazing background art in Tekkon Kinkreet and Steamboy.

Published in the same format at the fantastic Shiro ( White ) background art book for Tekkon Kinkreet, this hardcover volume is bursting at the seams with stunning background art painted by Kimura Shinji, with some 250 pages of art work.

Read the full book review | Buy From Amazon.com | Buy From Amazon UK | Buy From Amazon Japan

8) Hellboy – 25 Years Of Covers

I enjoy every page and panel of Mike Mignola’s Hellboy comics, but the art covers he has illustrated for the comic are something special; often drawn with just that extra, delicate detail. Over the years as the volumes of Hellboy and the shared universe BPRD grew it became harder and harder to keep track of all the covers that he has illustrated, and I started hoping for an art book that is dedicated to just the covers. Hellboy – 25 Years Of Covers is exactly that.

This hardcover volume features more than 150 full-page cover pieces from Mike Mignola, Richard Corben, Duncan Fegredo and more, all neatly collected for easy viewing and enjoyment.

Read the full book review | Buy From Amazon.com | Buy From Amazon Japan | Buy From Amazon UK

9) Ikegami Ryoichi Art Works

An art book that is long overdue, Ikegami Ryoichi Art Works is a superb collection of illustrations from the famed manga artist of Crying Freeman, Sanctuary and Mai The Psychic Girl.

Running at a sumptuous 288 pages, the art book is split into 2 separate volumes, with one book dedicated to male characters, and the other female. While a good portion of both volumes feature illustrations from Crying Freeman, likely the artist’s most famous work; there’s still a good spread of content from Ikegami’s other mangas, and this is the biggest collection of his art work published yet.

Read the full book review | Buy From Amazon.com | Buy From Amazon UK | Buy From Amazon Japan

10) Akira Art Of Wall Art Book

This book arrived just in time to be included in this year’s list, and also made for a very splendid Christmas present.

Four sets of giant Akira murals ( see the pictures I took here, here and here ) used to decorate the construction walls of the Parco Shibuya shopping mall in Tokyo from the period of 2017-2019 are fully reproduced in this stunning boxset. The panoramic art work looks spectacular when fully extended, and would immediately class up any wall lucky enough to be adorned with it. I think this might very well be my favorite art book of the year, among all my favorites.

Read the full book review | Buy From Amazon.com | Buy From Amazon UK | Buy From Amazon Japan

Besides the 10 books that I’ve listed above, some other noteworthy mentions include Marvel Monograph: The Art Of Esad Ribic, Perfect Blue Storyboard Book ( New Edition ), The Art Of Kazuchika Kise and Bram Stoker’s Dracula – Mike Mignola Graphic Novel ( B&W edition ).

You can take a look at the full list of 2019’s art book reviews here, and I also recommend my favorite art books of 2018/2017/2016/2015/2014/2013/2012.

If you need help with ordering on Amazon Japan, the FAQs below will guide you through, step by step.

One small request – Due to the falling readership of my blog, I’ve been finding it harder and harder to purchase more books for review. I kindly ask that you use any of the Amazon purchase links in this post or anywhere on my blog to buy books; it won’t cost you anything, but the affiliate fee I earn as a result will allow me to continue reviewing more books. Thank you !

And lastly, I’ll love you hear about your favorite art books this year too, if you have any to share. Happy New Year !

The post My Favorite Art Books of 2019 appeared first on Halcyon Realms - Art Book Reviews - Anime, Manga, Film, Photography.

My Favorite Art Books of 2018

My Favorite Art Books of 2015

My Favorite Art Books of 2017

My Favorite Art Books of 2016

My Favorite Art Books of 2014

By: yonghow

#Anime #News #Halcyon Realms – Art Book Reviews – Anime #Manga #Film #Photography

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