i HAD NO IDEA GORILLAZ HAD PHASES AND STORYLINES could you try and explain them quickly for us new bbies getting into this fandom??
so the WHOLE ENTIRE STORY of gorillaz is actually extremely ridiculously long and very very complicated and confusing so i am going to try my very hardest to sum everything up as best as i possibly can without missing too much
(also the “phases” don’t really mean much besides marking the different album releases, which is why you may have noticed the band members look different every few years)
phase 1 (celebrity takedown) started around 1999. before phase 1, there was only this guy:
murdoc niccals. on august 15th, 1997 (d-day), he wanted to steal music equipment so he crashed a car into a music store where this guy:
stuart tusspot (then in his young twenties) was working, and he hit stuart in the eye and sent him into a coma. murdoc was arrested, but rather than serving time he had to do a lot of community service and also take care of stuart while he was in his coma. murdoc being murdoc, he crashed his car a second time and sent stuart flying from the backseat, through the windshield and he hit his good eye on the concrete, which woke him from his vegetative state, thus “creating” the stuart you know today:
he was nicknamed 2D because he now has two “dents” in his head (which are actually 8-ball fractures if you wanted to know how this look could be possible). murdoc saw that 2D was really attractive and he could sing, so he made 2D the singer of his band
now, this is russel hobbs:
he was involved in a drive-by shooting when his best friend Del (Deltron 3030 irl):
was shot and killed. del possessed russel, thus turning his eyes completely white and haunting him from time to time when he plays the drums. he also raps in some of the gorillaz songs.
murdoc and 2D needed a drummer so they kidnapped russel and russel for some reason forgave them and agreed to be their drummer.
the guitarist for a short while was 2D’s girlfriend, Paula:
and together the four of them formed the band “GORILLA”:
and the only song they recorded together was “ghost train”. paula was kicked out of the band because russel caught her having sex with murdoc in the bathroom. they needed a new guitarist, so they sent out an ad in the paper. not too long later, this little angel arrived at their front door:
she saw the ad and fed-exed herself from osaka to kong studios:
in essex, england. she was only ten and she only knew one word: noodle. therefore, they named her noodle and they made her the guitarist because she was really really good.
thus, gorillaz was born:
then they made the first album around 2000, titled “gorillaz”. they released a bunch of music, music videos, interviews, merch, a completely interactive website where you could walk around their house, and they even released little shorts that were shown on MTV for a while. you can watch all of their videos and interviews on youtube. they won some awards too, and even performed live using holagrams.
around 2002, they got a little tired of one another. lots of different personalities living under one roof. they faught a lot, especially murdoc and 2D (2D is not “all there” and he takes a lot of medication, murdoc is an asshole and abuses 2D CONSTANTLY). so they all left kong studios for a while, but not before releasing some b-sides (g-sides).
at the end of two years, murdoc ended up in a mexican prison, russel excorcised del’s soul from his body (but kept the white eyes), which sent him into a horrible depression, 2D got a job at his father’s amusement park, and noodle went back to osaka, japan to discover more about her past.
while in japan, noodle found out from some old dude that she was actually a part of some kind of organization that turns young children into war-machines (yeah, i know, fucking crazy, right?????). her memory had been erased by the old dude so that she could live a normal life, and when her memory was restored, she remembered everything, including how to speak fluent english. having found herself, she was the first one to go back to kong studios. she wrote most of the second album by herself before the others came back to kong and helped her out.
(btw, that is noodle’s pet monkey, mike. murdoc had a pet crow named cortez, and 2D had a pet dog named Prince, but no one knows what happened to them. keep reading)
this was around 2004 and would start phase 2 (slowboat to hades):
note the drastic style change. this phase was famous for its darker look, and the music became a lot darker in their second album, “demon days”.
they released some more teasers (which were “filmed” during their two-year break), more music, more music vidoes, more live performances, and more merch. even some gorillaz games. very cute, very fun (especially if you have a dark sense of humor? there is one game in particular that has the murdoc/2D fans feeling some type of way lol). if you watch the videos and interviews, you can really tell how their personalities shift from phase to phase. also, this is the phase where the windmill island makes its first appearence:
and this is where things get very weird and very very complicated (especially for a cartoon band). in the feel good inc. music video (watch it), noodle is on this island and she is being chased by helicopters from afar.
in the el manana video (watch it now or you might be confused), however, noodle was supposed to get “shot” by the same helicopters before parachuting safely off of the island where she would then flee to the maldive islands to get away for a while (she just wanted a vacation but i guess she didn’t want people to find her). however, in the gorillaz autobiography, murdoc says that something completely different happened.
murdoc was trying to get some guy killed (i forget his name) because murdoc is a horrible guy who holds a lot of grudges. murdoc tricked this guy into hiding inside the windmill to wait for noodle to “die” so he could take her place. noodle did not know about ANY of this. she wasn’t going to get hurt either way because she was given a parachute. so when DIFFERENT helicopters (DIFFERENT PEOPLE THAT WERE NOT HIRED BY MURDOC OR GORILLAZ!) started shooting at her, TRYING to kill her, she freaked out and the windmill ended up crashing into a canal. there is a picture in the autobiography of her parachuting off the island, but no one knows where she went after she hit the ground. everyone searched for her, but no one could find her. at this point, murdoc was confused as well, but everyone assumed she still went to the maldives to mellow out—or that she DIED.
this left 2D, murdoc and russel in deep depression. russel left kong studios first, as it was falling apart due to it being built atop a landfill and infested with zombies. 2D left afterwards to live in beirut, and only murdoc was left in the rubble that was kong.
after this, murdoc got word that the organization who tried to murder noodle (the black clouds) were now after him. he had no choice but to leave kong studios forever. so he set kong on fire and left. then the autobiography was released (it is implied they started writing the book well before even the middle of phase 2).
and then gorillaz were on hiatus for about four years. not a single word. if you went on the website, nothing changed. shit was cryptic. but the fandom was loyal and WAITING.
THEN. OUT OF FUCKING NOWHERE, sometime in 2009, murdoc showed up in an interview talking about new gorillaz music. and very slowly, more information was released on the “unofficial gorillaz website”. the fandom was BATSHIT. half of us were butthurt about how ugly murdoc looked, and the other half was excited about NEW GORILLAZ MUSIC, and more importantly, THIS PICTURE:
people were mostly concerned with noodle and the fact that her eye was all fucked up, presumably from either the fall from the island OR from when she was “in hell”. also, peope assumed the whole band was together again, but this was FAR FAR FAR from the case.
murdoc wanted to make new gorillaz music that would “top” their second album (which could never happen, but a pickle can dream). murdoc couldn’t get a hold of russel, and noodle was presumably MIA, so murdoc kidnapped 2D in beirut and shipped the poor guy to plastic beach:
plastic beach is essentially murdoc’s hiding place where he is “safe” from the black clouds, and it is literally an island made out of garbage and spray painted pink. 2D did not want to be there, but murdoc held him captive:
in a bedroom at the southernmost tip of the island, underwater, guarded by a whale (2D has a crippling fear of whales, murdoc is a GIANT ASSHOLE). he made 2D sing, and 2D agreed because he has been agreeing to murdoc for a long time and he knew better than to disobey him.
since gorillaz was lacking a drummer and a guitarist, murdoc had to improvise. to replace russel, murdoc used a drum machine to mimic the way russel plays the drums. to replace noodle, murdoc gathered some of noodle’s DNA from the el manana crash site and built CYBORG NOODLE:
she was just as good on guitar as noodle was and she was also the “war machine” that noodle was “supposed” to be, i.e., murdoc stuffed her with weapons. she even had a gun that fired from her mouth.
thus, this was the “phase three: plastic beach” crew:
they recorded the new album, titled PLASTIC BEACH, and murdoc “kidnapped” all of the artists that gorillaz collaborated with and they just had a grand ol’ time. the album was released in early 2010, followed by a revamped website featuring a full tour of plastic beach, more merch, and LOTS AND LOTS AND LOTS of interviews. some of them are probably no longer findable, but it doesn’t matter because pretty much every single interview was just murdoc hooting and hollering and drinking because IT WAS ESTABLISHED THAT AT THIS POINT HE HAS LITERALLY GONE INSANE.
the music video for stylo was released and did not contribute much to the “main plot”, which disappointed some people because we all wanted to know where noodle and russel were. after a long time, murdoc made a twitter to communicate with the fans who were more interested in the now extremely involved plot line of gorillaz as well as the music.
sometime in 2010, new “idents” were released. 2D’s showed him getting kidnapped and shipped to PB, murdoc’s showed him getting SHOT AT on a boat, probably on his way to plastic beach. then RUSSEL’S ident was released, and it showed him jumping off of a dock into the ocean in an EXTREMELY ANGRY MANNER. lots of people speculated he was mad because he found out what murdoc was doing or he was going to confront murdoc about noodle’s whereabouts or both. cyborg noodle’s ident was released after that, it was nothing special, it was just really creepy (btw you can watch all the idents on youtube!
AND THEN. AND. THEN. noodle’s ident was released and IT WAS THE GREATEST DAY. AFTER FOUR YEARS we finally got to see what happened to noodle, dear, dear noodle:
her ident showed her on a boat (she is around 18-19 at this time), being asked to evacuate because the boat was being attacked by pirates (presumably the black clouds, coming after noodle). being the supreme badass she is, she grabbed a gun and stormed out of the room, and that was all we got. the fandom was in uproar. why the cat mask? was it to cover her eye? why was she on a boat?
shortly before the “on melancholy hill video”, murdoc stated he could see a brown rock moving towards plastic beach (official art told the fans it was russel’s head, as russel had eaten toxic waste and had grown into a giant):
and it was implied from this that russel was going to meet up with noodle sometime in the near future.
hope you’re still following me. im trying my best lol
in the “on melacholy hill” video, murdoc was now aware that noodle was very much alive and also in some kind of trouble, so he and all of the album’s collaborators went on a giant search for noodle, but never found her. they ended up finding some manatee on top of a rock (random af), while noodle defended her boat from the black clouds, and ended up escaping on a life raft with her guitar. and then this happened:
in both the stylo and OMH videos, a mysterious figure called THE BOOGIEMAN appeared:
he is implied by murdoc to be a symbol of death, as he “murders” both a police officer and the manatee on the rock. not much more is known about him.
after this, not much more happened. there was more official art, more games on the gorillaz website, more merch, a gorillaz live band tour (not featuring the actual memebers of gorillaz, much to murdoc’s frustration), one new single called doncamatic, and a music video released during the tour featuring russel and noodle:
about a year later without any more activity, gorillaz released a fourth album titled “the fall”, composed entirely on an ipad by 2D (note how “gorillaz” = russel, “demon days” = noodle, “plastic beach” = murdoc and “the fall” = 2D). it was not entirely popular, but there were some really good tracks.
the gorillaz hype slowed to an almost-halt as far as plot was concerned. noodle and russel never made it to plastic beach, murdoc was still on the island with 2D, 2D was still a wreck, etc etc etc. the fandom was content, but the plotline was pretty stagnant for another year or so. there were a lot lot LOT of unanswered questions, but the fandom was used to it, as gorillaz was never really “designed” to have such a convoluted plotline to begin with, as you can probably imagine. who would have thought “gorillaz” would evolve into such a CRAZY, INVOLVED STORY?? we were at least content knowing noodle was safe with russel, and they were both happy (russel loves noodle like a daughter btw its adorable af). as far as 2D and murdoc went, a lot of people kind of knew that their relationship, as dysfunctional as it was, was still salvagable as 2D is pretty much infatuated with murdoc, as fucked up as that seems.
in 2011, rhinestone eyes was supposed to get a music video. alas, this never happened because the music video was no longer being funded for (it costs a looooot of money to make gorillaz music videos, and gorillaz lost a good deal of popularity after phase 2, mostly because of the plotline. no one besides the die hard fans knew what the fuck was going on in the music videos).
now, even though the music video was never made, it is implied that everything that happened in the storyboard happened irl. but we still had so many questions left unanswered regardless.
in 2012, gorillaz released a music video to go along with their new single DOYATHING feat. ANDRE 3000. the hype for this video was as real as it could get, and the gorillaz fandom was practically pissing their pants after they saw the storyboard.
and, according to murdoc a short while after the release of the video (or before, i cannot recall), after russel and noodle arrived on the island, the cyborg attempted to kill murdoc (which was a surprise to no one….). noodle and the cyborg duked it out and the real noodle ended up coming out on top. and they all left plastic beach after the black clouds fled the scene, probably because it was shot to bits.
and that’s it as of right now. that is the gorillaz story, in summary. there are still a plethora of unanswered questions, however, as we have yet to hear ANYTHING from russel and noodle. we still do not know what exactly happened to noodle after el manana. we do not know why russel jumped into the ocean, we don’t know how russel and noodle found the beach, we don’t know what happened to noodle’s eye. we don’t know a lot of things. hopefully some of our questions will be answered in PHASE FOUR! which has officially started as of yesterday.
i hope i have given you a sufficient insight on the wild, wild world of GORILLAZ. they are more than just a band, they are characters with complex backstories and their adventures are pretty fucking crazy if you have the patience to keep up with them
How are you? I hope well! Can you do a rfa+v and Saeran having to do seven minutes in heaven? Like honestly not even as drunk just sober. (Requests aren't open;-; but maybe later? Also I rlly love your blog like I'm most done with the masterlist^°^)
Author’s note: I hope you guys like this!!!! i’m still rusty ok it’s been awhile edit: I FORGOT V AGAIN someone please send in a request that says “add v” so I remember to edit him in here
“You wanna play cards? I brought
them with me so we wouldn’t be bored!!”
Does he… Does he really not know what we’re supposed to be doing?
You looked down at Yoosung, who
was already on sitting on the floor shuffling the deck
“Lemme guess… you’ve never played
Seven minutes in Heaven.”
Yoosung paused for a second before
shaking his head
You sat down next to him and
He’s so cute…
“So what game do you wanna play,
But then again, this IS
Seven minutes in heaven
Yoosung’s face turned bright red
In one quick moment, your shirt
was thrown across the room
“Okay, now you’re turn.”
Yoosung who had now achieved a
new shade of red blatantly
stared at your chest
“I-I… uhh, w-well-“
“SAY SOMETHING, YOU IDIOT!!!”
What the hell?
Yoosung looked behind you
“I think it came from the other
side of the door.”
You stood up and opened the closet
door, and in tumbled Zen and Jumin.
“So,” you crossed your arm and
looked down at the two very guilty looking boys, “You wanna explain
The two of them began stuttering
“W-Well Yoosung’s never played
“-I heard you were taking off your
“-And I thought he might need
“-So I wanted to hear the rest.”
You glared at them
“First, Jumin don’t be a perv, and
“We were in the middle of
You looked back at Yoosung, who
had taken off his shirt
“And now that MC and I are even, I’d
like to get back to the game.”
Despite the confidence behind Yoosung’s
words, his face was as red as ever
You turned back around and smirked
“You heard the man!”
Jumin and Zen slowly got up, both
mumbling curses under their breath.
You closed the door behind them
“Now, where were we?”
In the end the two of you ended
up stripping to your underwear and then just playing go fish for the rest of
“W-What? I can’t be in a closet alone with MC!! How will I control
You walked over to the closet and
gave Zen a smirk
“Who says you need to?”
0.1 seconds later Zen was standing
in the closet how the hell did he even get there so fast???
You closed the door and
“So,” you clapped your hands
together, “Show me what you got.”
“You sure you can handle it?”
You raised an eyebrow, “I think
you already know the answer to that.”
“This is gonna be-“
Was all Zen could get out before
hitting his head on the light
You rushed over to Zen, who was
now bent over in pain
“Are you okay? Do you need ice?
How bad does it hurt?”
At 11 o’clock at night, you moved across the train car to sit far too close to two girls about half your age so you could interrupt our conversation to tell us how pretty we are. We said thank you, have a good night, and went back to our conversation.
You interrupted us a second time to say that you didn’t want to bother us, but we needed to hear it, how pretty we are. We said cool, thanks, have a good night, and went back to our conversation.
You interrupted us a third time to say you wouldn’t say anything else, you didn’t want to bother us, you just had to let us know. We said have a good night, and went back to our conversation.
This seemed to perplex you. You came all that way across a train car to bestow upon us this life altering knowledge - the fact we were pretty - and all you got was a polite thank you? You grumbled about gratitude, about how you better not end up on facebook, were we putting you on facebook? Why was my friend looking at her phone? Was she putting you on facebook? All you’d done was tell us we were pretty.
At this point, my friend says, “Sir, we’re trying to have a conversation. Please don’t be disrespectful.”
This was when you got angry. Disrespectful? YOU? For taking the time out of your day to tell us we were pretty? Did we know we were pretty?
“Yes, we knew,” says my friend.
Well, that was the last straw. How dare we know we were pretty! Sure, you were allowed to tell us we were pretty, but we weren’t allowed to think it independently, without your permission! And if we had somehow already known - perhaps some other strange man had informed us earlier in the day - we certainly weren’t allowed to SAY it! Where did we get off, having confidence in ourselves? You wanted us to know we were pretty, sure, but only as a reward for good behavior. We were pretty when you gifted it upon us with your words, and not a moment before! You raged for a minute about how horrible we were for saying we thought we were pretty, how awful we turned out to be.
I took a page out of your book and interrupted you. “Sir, you said you wouldn’t say anything else, and then you kept talking,” I said. “You complimented us, we said thank you, and we don’t owe you anything else. It’s late, you’re a stranger, and I don’t want to talk to you. We’ve tried to disengage multiple times but you keep bothering us.”
At this point, our train pulled into the next stop. My friend suggested we leave, so we got up and went to the door.
Seeing your last chance, you lashed out with the killing blow. “I was wrong!” you shouted at us as we left, “You’re ugly! You’re both REALLY UGLY!”
Fortunately, since our worth as human beings is in no way dependent upon how physically attractive you find us, my friend and I were unharmed and continued on with our night. She walked home; I switched to the next train car and sat down.
So, strange man, I know you’re confused. I don’t know if you’ll think about anything I said to you, but I hope you do learn this: when you give someone something - a gift, a compliment, whatever - with stringent stipulations about how they respond to it, you are not giving anything. You are setting a trap. It is not as nice as you think it is.
But you’ll be happy to know that when I sat down in the next car, a strange man several seats over called, “Hey, pretty girl. Nice guitar. How was your concert?”
“Thanks. Good,” I said, then looked away and put on my headphones, the universal sign for ‘I’d like to be left alone.’
hands clasped tight: the secret married teachers au
“Harry, did you see this?” Liam holds out his phone to Harry, who sets his fork next to his lunch and takes a look.
It’s an Instagram page, and one of the pictures is of his face. There’s another of the heart tattoo on his arm. A third picture shows Louis in class, clearly taken behind cover of a backpack.
“What am I looking at here?” he asks, handing the phone back to Liam. Louis reaches across the table to intercept it, and his face mirrors the same confusion a moment later.
“This, my friends, is an instagram ‘proof’ account, dedicated to the two of you,” Liam announces.
“A proof instagram?” Louis asks, confused.
“A… proofstagram,” Harry says, giggling into his salad. In unison, Liam, Niall, and Louis groan.
“It’s got all this stuff about how the two of you are together,” Niall says.
“I heard about that,” says Kristen, one of the math teachers who’s sitting at the next table. “Confiscated a kid’s phone today when they were looking at it. I have to say, the evidence is pretty damning.”
Harry leans forward and rests his head on the table. Eating lunch in the teachers’ lounge is always an experience.
“I bet the two of you will be discovered by the end of the year,” Niall says.
“‘I’ll bet on that,” Kristen says, turning to face Niall fully.
“Me too,” says Bebe, one of the science teachers. “The two of you are horribly obvious. How much are we betting?”
“Nothing,” says Louis. “You’re not betting anything.”
“Fifty bucks,” Niall says, ignoring him. “We’ll put it in a pool. Whoever gets closest to the date when these two fuck it up and get caught — without going past the date — gets the whole pot.”
“Works for me,” Kristen says, and then she pulls out her wallet.
“I cannot believe this,” Harry says. “I don’t know who’s more ridiculous, the students or you.”
Louis meets his eyes over the table and blows him a kiss. Once again, he’s reminded of how life with Louis is the greatest adventure of all, and suddenly he can ignore all the rest.
Warning: Smut, awkward sex gone wrong (but it gets fixed!)
Word Count: 3000ish
A/N: This is all written with love for fan fic. I’m teasing, not putting it down in any way. Hope you enjoy! (Sorry, tag list is closed!) XOXO
It’s a little sweaty when you wake up. Dean’s on his stomach with his face turned away from you, snoring a tiny bit, his body sprawling over the king-sized bed and leaving you curled up in one tiny little corner.
He does look good, though. The sunlight can’t get through the curtains, but you left a lamp on, and the muscles of his back are all exposed in the dim light. You lean up to get a better view and appreciate him fully, and instantly groan. Your muscles hurt. Apparently, you’ve been curled up in knots all night, and you desperately need to stretch out.
That whilst Harry lost his parents, that day, Minerva MC Gonagall lost four of her students. One of them used to be a head girl the other the head boy and all of them were her dear friends. Who btw. where also part of the order. She hears that Sirius Black. **Sirius Black** , Potter’s best friend , killed him, his wife and Peter Pettigrew, also one of his closest mates. She learned that , without reason but only the order of a dark lord, he killed his friends and laughed at their corpses.
She learns that their lovely son will grow up without knowing his parents.
She hears that he will have to stay with the muggles who hate him and his kin. And don’t tell me she didn’t know that.
Then, 11 years later she meets the boy and he looks just like James. Except for his eyes. Of course. Don’t tell me she didn’t , just for a second, felt that thug in her stomach. The grief. Don’t tell me she didn’t want the very best for that boy so many people loved and lived and died for.
(Because I honestly don’t think Remus wanted to keep on going after he heard what happened)
Then, again, two years later it turns out that Black is actually innocent. Don’t you think she felt absolutely horrible and guilty for letting him being shipped off to azkaban when he was in fact innocent. FOR 12 BLOODY YEARS!!!
And then, in Harry ’s fifth year Black fucking dies?? I mean, bugger off arsehole! Sirius Black, finally free. And then? He falls into the bloody veil and leaves as well. He wasn’t even hit by the bloody avada kadavra! By that time she lost four of her former students!
And last but not least. Two years later. Remus Lupin dies. As the last of the mauraders, he dies with his wife’s hand clasped in his own.
DO YOU EVER THINK ABOUT HOW AWFUL IT HAD TO BE FOR MINERVA BLOODY MC GONAGALL? A TEACHER THAT OUTLIVED HER OWN STUDENTS. THE STUDENTS THAT WERE THE VERY HEART AND SOUL TO HER HOUSE? WHO WERE ALWAYS JUMPING AROUND, PRANKING PEOPLE AND ALWAYS, I MEAN ABSOLUTELY ALWAYS FOUND A WAY TO CHEER OTHER PEOPLE UP?
and it didn’t even stop there. I mean, she had to watch her own pupils die once again during the battle of hogwarts. Just so she could then, later on, be the headmaster for their sons and daughters and brothers and sisters.
ALL I WANT TO SAY IS:
SHE NEVER GAVE UP. SHE NEVER LOST HOPE. SO, THANKS MINERVA MC GONAGALL FOR BEING SUCH A BADASS.
Hi. I love your blog and all the little headcannons (canon?) you do. I also noticed you're amazing for writing little stories for people who are having a tough time. Would it be too much to ask if I could have one? I'm suffering from a bout of depression/insomnia and I'm running on about 4 hours sleep in about 3 days. What do you think of Derek or Stiles getting insomnia from all the stuff they've seen and the other just cuddling them through it? Trying to stay awake so they're not alone?
Hey, sweetheart. The depression/insomnia combo is horrible. I don’t know if it will work for you but earlier this year I stumbled upon ASMR videos. I know some people find them weird but they really helped me when it came to getting to sleep. In the mean time, I hope this little fic does something to help.
Stiles thought being able to sleep after the Nogitsune had been the universe’s way of balancing out the good and bad in his life: get possessed by a psychotic Japanese fox but sleep like a baby every night after. As it turned out, being able to sleep after a spirit uses your body to murder a bunch of people came down to the fact Stiles hadn’t had a break since finding Laura Hale’s body that night in the woods.
He believed joining the academy would be a fresh start, and in many ways it was. He just didn’t count on the fact that now he didn’t have pure evil trying to kill him at every waking moment that his brain would finally find time to process it. Stiles had always been a fan of ignoring his problems until they eventually, just, go away; watching his friends die, looking down at his own body and knowing it wasn’t really his but the cardboard cutout left behind by the Nogitsune, the memory of watching Derek almost -
He assumed - stupidly - that he had been successful in that particular endeavour. As long as he had his pillow, he was fine. You’re going to be fine. That was what the faceless people of the internet said.Stiles didn’t think “fine” was ever going to be an option for him but he guessed hope was a nice sentiment.
“Insomnia,” Scott said, repeating the word back to him. Stiles could practically hear the concern, loud and clear, ringing through the phone. It instantly made him feel worse. Heaving a sigh, he scrubbed a tired hand down his face. Maybe he shouldn’t have called.
Scott was quiet for several seconds. “Do you have your pillow?” he asked.
“Yes,” Stiles answered. He was currently clutching it to his chest, sprawled out on his bedroom floor. It was 3am, the floor was hard, and if he didn’t get some sleep soon he was going to start crying; the kind of crying he hadn’t done since he was a kid and his mom took ill.
“What about drugs?” Scott suggested. “I could ask my mom-”
“No drugs, Scott.”
“I said no drugs, Scott.”
The line went quiet again and Stiles felt his eyes begin to sting. This was a mistake.
“Sorry, man, I have to go.”
He hung up before Scott could respond, deciding he could feel guilty about it later.
At the academy, he was on auto-pilot. Luckily, Stiles had come up with some of his best plans during the last four years on little-to-no sleep, so it wasn’t overly obvious to his fellow agents-in-training that he needed several cups on coffee just to get through the day.
It was obvious to someone though. Someone who clearly thought it was their sworn duty to haul Stiles over their shoulder in the middle of his third run to the coffee shop that day and deposit him in the back of their car.
Stiles wanted to protest - he should protest, call for help, maybe? - but he had had his eyes closed when the stranger grabbed him, had been drooling on a statue, leaning against it for moral support, as he had waited for his order.
Plus, the stranger’s arms felt nice.
In the back of his mind, Stiles couldn’t decide if thinking a stranger’s arms felt nice during a potential kidnapping - fuck, please don’t let it be a supernatural kidnapping - was because of his sleep deprived state or if that was just the way he was wired now.
It was only when a door opened and a familiar pair of eyebrows slid into the driver’s seat did Stiles begin to laugh. Hysterically.
“Of course,” he said, shaking his head and pressing his lips against the cool leather interior. Familiar hands strapped him into the his seat. “Of course it’s you, big guy.”
Derek just gave a slight huff and muttered something Stiles couldn’t hear, but it sounded an awful lot like, yeah,I missed you, too.
Stiles laughed again. It was crazy, what your mind came up with when it wasn’t functioning properly.
“Roman, they’re not your- whatever, fine. Favourite… book to movie adaptation.”
“Ooh, fancy schmancy. Okay, one, two, three-”
“Prisoner of Azkaban.”
They answer perfectly in sync, and Roman gasps, clapping his hands in excitement and delight. “I knew it!”
Virgil rolls his eyes. “Oh, please, you probably just like it cause Harry’s hair is at its most accurate.”
“True, it is fabulously disheveled, but I was more going for… I don’t know, it’s more intangible, just the- the atmosphere is portrayed so well and… of course, there’s still issues- like, The Marauders were not given nearly enough time to explore, nor the Animagi concept and-”
“How about we just watch it, then?” Virgil smirks. “I swear, you’re getting nerdier with every passing day.”
Roman scrabbles around for the DVD, shouting back, “Excuse you, I’ve always been passionate about Potterlore.”
“No, really? I don’t think anyone’s noticed.”
Roman has already pressed play on the DVD, loudly humming along to the theme tune. The beginning passes pleasantly enough, although Virgil starts to feel a horrible prickle of familiarity when Harry storms out of Number 4, Privet Drive. Things are different now, he reminds himself, and he concentrates on trying to keep his breathing measured.
Roman glances at him out of the corner of his eye. He doesn’t say anything, but subtly taps 1, 2, 3, 4 on a pillow, and it helps, a little.
They reach The Knight Bus scene and Virgil hears the laughter building in Roman’s voice, even as he tries to say it casually: “Oh, look.” He points as the talking head cracks another pun. “There’s Patton.”
Virgil bursts out into surprised laughter. “D-doesn’t that make Logan Stan Shunpike?!”
Roman chuckles. “Wait, wait, hold on!” He snaps his fingers and a replica of Logan’s glasses appear on his face. He adjusts them in an uncanny impression, that shatters as he drawls, “Objectively!” in an appalling cockney accent.
“Oh God, never do that again, Roman, I’ll have nightmares.”
There’s comfortable silence for a while. Virgil finds it oddly endearing how enraptured Roman gets while watching the movie: he mouths along with some lines, and his face goes through a roller-coaster of expressions.
And then, they get to the scene where the Hogwarts Express stops.
And Virgil can feel his uneasiness grow, and he should just be silent, damn it, but he feels like just saying something will make him feel better and, hey, Roman will find it funny, right…?
“Oh, look.” Virgil points as Ron’s hand reaches up to cover the ice forming along the train window. “It’s me.”
Roman’s brow furrows. “…Say what? You’re not Ron.”
Backfired, bad idea, horrible idea! “No, I-” Virgil clears his throat. “I meant-”
The dementor looms onto the screen, and Roman’s face turns white.
“Uh, relax, Roman, it was just a joke.”
He doesn’t need to know it’s a defensive mechanism, ha ha ha, just laugh please-
Roman stares at Virgil. His eyes are wide in absolute horror. “But that’s not true at all!”
And… wow. He bellows it out with such ferocity that Virgil feels touched.
“It’s fine, Roman. Here.” He nods at the screen. “This means Logan is Lupin, in a way.”
Because isn’t that the truth? he thinks despondently. If not for Logan and that… curve thing, he could never be… managed.
Roman still doesn’t look remotely happy. But, he keeps quiet, brow still furrowed, as if in deep concentration. Eventually, he blessedly breaks the silence by saying, “Perhaps Lupin is a mixture of Logan and Patton.”
“Uh, yeah.” Virgil breathes out, grateful that the subject has been changed. “I can see that. Cute.”
They continue watching, but Roman is still distracted, Virgil can tell. Every so often, he bites his lip.
When they reach the first Divination lesson, Virgil asks, “Hey, um, what house is Trelawney in?” He tries and fails to hide his smirk.
“Hmm.” Roman hums thoughtfully. “Ravenclaw, if memory serves. Why?”
“Oooh. You might need to change Houses.”
Roman gasps, affronted, as Trelawney walks into a table. “I beg your pardon, but I am nothing like her.”
Virgil raises an eyebrow. “Oh, really?”
And then, he tries it out, this whole teasing thing they seem to have going on. It’s new, but it’s not bad new, and Virgil finds it surprisingly easy to imitate Roman’s booming projection of a voice:
“Are you in the beyond?!”
He is stunned that Roman now doesn’t look the least bit offended- he just throws back his head and laughs.
“An accolade worthy performance, Virgil.”
Virgil smiles. “I just watch and learn from the drama queen.”
They slip into silence again. This time it stretches on for so long that Virgil thinks Roman might have fallen asleep. Maybe he should turn off the-
“A-ha!” Roman exclaims and Virgil jumps.
“Woah, woah, what?”
Roman is smiling, fist punching the air in victory. “I finally figured it out! That is, who you are. In… in this movie, certainly.”
Virgil sighs. “Look, I told you, I’m not bothered about the whole Houses thing-”
But Roman cuts him off, and he points at the screen, as Harry screams, “Expecto Patronum!”
“Why, you’re a Patronus, of course, Virgil! I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before.”
Virgil blinks, then looks at Roman uncertainly. “I don’t get it.”
“Oh, it’s all in the spell. A lot of them are rooted in Latin words, Logan was telling me. Expecto can mean I wait, and a Patronus is a protector. So Expecto Patronum is like saying, “I wait for a protector.” And, you said it yourself, your goal is to protect. Isn’t it wonderful, Virgil!” Roman claps his hands together. “You’re the Patronus charm!”
Surely he must be mishearing things. It takes Virgil a few attempts until he’s finally able to speak. “You’re… you’re saying that I- that I’m…” Strength? Light? I can drive away darkness? I… protect?
He feels like his throat is closing up. “That’s… Jesus, Roman.” He sniffs. “That’s… probably the- the nicest thing anyone…”
His voice fails again, but he doesn’t care. He shuffles closer next to Roman on the couch, and Roman just smiles at him, briefly half hugging him with one arm. Then, he’s off waxing lyrical about all the different forms a Patronus can take, and how Virgil’s would probably shapeshift because that would be sweet, and what would everyone else’s be…
Virgil lets his words wash over him. Even if it’s ‘just’ fiction, he knows he’d be able to conjure up a strong Patronus. He already knows what his happy memory would be.
Once upon a time - which is a terrible way to start a joke - there was a little boy named Billy.
Billy was six years old, and for the whole of his short life, he had been utterly and intensely obsessed with clowns. He had clown bed sheets and clown posters; he had clown toys and clown-themed games; he had towels with clowns on them, a toothbrush in the shape of a clown, and - if it had existed - he probably would have used clown-flavored toothpaste, as well.
Try not to think about it.
The point here is that Billy loved clowns, and his parents were well aware of that fact. (They’d have to be, right? I mean, how is a six-year-old going to buy all of that stuff?) Thus, they decided that for their son’s seventh birthday, they’d purchase front row seats at the circus, which just happened to be in town at the same time. Upon hearing this, Billy was absolutely overcome with excitement, and he was scarcely able to sit still until his family arrived at the big top.
Billy and his parents walked in, took their seats, and waited for the show to start.
The music flared to life and the lights came up, and in a dazzling display of merriment, everything began. First came the lion-tamers with their whips and chairs… and yeah, they were intriguing, but they didn’t hold Billy’s interest. Next came the feats of strength with strongmen (and one excessively suspicious woman) smashing bricks and bending bars… and yeah, it was impressive, but Billy didn’t really care. The sword swallowers followed, and the trapeze artists, and the tightrope walkers… and yeah, someone might have died at any moment, but it all seemed so boring.
Eventually, Billy began to worry that he wouldn’t get to see clowns at the circus. After all, he knew very well that clowns usually only appeared when something went wrong. (You didn’t know that, did you? Yeah, clowns are typically kept on standby in case someone screws up.)
Suddenly, all of the lights went out.
A single spotlight shown down to one corner of the arena.
A tiny car came puttering into view, while discordant, almost forlorn circus music played.
Deet deet deedle-deedle deet deet dee deeeeee…
The car’s doors sprang open, and out poured the most amazing collection of clowns that Billy had ever seen! There were fat clowns, thin clowns, tall clowns, short clowns! Clowns with bright red hair and enormous red noses! Clowns in silly suspenders and oversize shoes! There were clowns wearing every color of the rainbow, and clowns that moved like psychotic ferrets on speed! There were more clowns than Billy had ever dreamed of watching all at once!
Then, just as it seemed like that tiny car couldn’t produce a single soul more, another clown stepped out. He was too fat to be thin, yet too thin to be fat… but somehow wasn’t average, either. He was too short too be tall, yet too tall to be short… but still managed to be both at once. He had pale, almost white skin - not the product of makeup - and deep, almost black, sunken eyes. He had a shock of bright red (and completely natural) hair, and a bulbous, equally red nose.
Billy looked on with awe and wonder as he realized what he was seeing: This wasn’t a person in makeup who was putting on an act; this was a real clown. The man - if indeed you could call him a man - reached into the front of his pants, wiggled his hand around for a little while, and pulled forth a bright silver microphone. After offering a conspiratorial wink to the audience, the clown cleared his throat… and his dry, raspy voice boomed out for everyone to hear:
“I need a volunteer!”
Before Billy had even completely processed what he had just heard, he discovered that he had leapt from his seat and thrust his hand as high as it would go.
“Pick me!” Billy screamed. “Pick me!”
The clown extended a finger and cast it over the audience, drawing lazy circles through the crowd. After what felt like an eternity, he finally aimed his cracked fingernail directly at Billy.
“You there, little boy!” the clown barked.
A cheer went up as Billy clamored over the railing and dropped down into the arena. The smell of sawdust and sweat reached his nose, but he paid it little mind: He was focused entirely on this dream of his coming true; on the opportunity to meet and perform with a real clown.
“I need to ask you a question,” said the clown. “Tell me: Are you a horse’s head?”
Billy laughed aloud, as much from glee as from the absurdity of the question. “No! No, I’m not a horse’s head!”
The clown nodded, apparently having expected this answer. (After all, who would say yes to that question?) “Well, then… are you a horse’s body?”
“No!” Billy giggled. “No, I’m not a horse’s body, either!”
Once more, the clown nodded, and his broad smile - his thick, red lips - grew wider. “I see. Are you a horse’s leg?”
“No, I’m not a horse’s leg!” Billy replied. His own smile grew to match that of the clown.
“So…” the clown said, pacing around Billy. “You’re not a horse’s head, and you’re not a horse’s body, and you’re not a horse’s leg.” He paused then, and stood completely still. A hush covered the audience. Then, in a whirl of motion, the clown jammed his finger through the air and brought it right up into Billy’s face.
“Then you must be a horse’s ass!”
Laughter exploded from everywhere at once. Billy looked around, shame and betrayal filling his heart, and saw the faces of all those strangers laughing at him. He saw his friends from school laughing at him. He saw his own parents laughing at him. Something broke inside of Billy in that moment, and with a scream of agony and anguish, he ran from the arena and didn’t stop until he had reached his house.
When Billy’s parents returned home, they discovered that their son had trashed his bedroom. He had snapped his clown toothbrush and torn apart his towels with the clowns on them. He had smashed his clown-themed games and broken all of his clown toys. He had shredded his clown posters and burned his clown bed sheets. (I don’t know where this kid got access to fire, but clearly he was pretty serious about destroying stuff.) Worst of all, Billy’s parents found that their son - who had once been so cheerful and outgoing - had sunken into a deep and unbreakable silence.
Billy did not speak for a year. Therapists and counselors were wholly ineffective, and no amount of bribery, threats, or pleading could pull even the smallest word from his lips. His parents eventually gave up, resigned as they were to the fact that their son was lost to them… but then, on his eighth birthday, the little boy held up his head, blinked his eyes once, and spoke with a clarity and a maturity not heard from most adults.
“Mom, Dad,” he said, “I want you to know that I’m okay. From now on, though… it’s just ‘Bill.’”
Ten years passed.
Bill went on to become something of a legend in his little hometown: He was a perfect student and a dedicated volunteer. He was involved in every extracurricular activity in some way or another. He was captain of the football team, head of the chess club, first-chair violin in the orchestra, and valedictorian. By the time that he was ready to graduate, Bill had been offered a complete scholarship to literally every college in the country (with some schools even offering free alcohol after he turned twenty-one).
It came as something of a shock, then, when after crossing the stage, Bill approached his parents.
“I know that you won’t understand this,” he said, “but I’ve decided that I’m not going to college. You see, all of my success and all of my ambition has been driven by a deep, horrible wound that I still carry. I’ve tried desperately to cover it, to let it heal… but each night, I still hear the voice of that clown in my head. That’s why I’m leaving for Tibet. I’m going to seek out and join the monastery where they teach the ancient art of Comebackery, and once I have mastered all that they can offer… I’ll come back and have my revenge.”
Bill’s parents tried to dissuade him, but he was adamant. True to his word, Bill boarded a flight that very evening. He landed in China and trekked on foot to a village at the base of a snow-covered mountain. A year passed as he learned the language and earned the trust of the people who lived there, until the day when one of them gave him whispered directions to the hidden temple. Bill set out again, carrying only a few days’ worth of supplies, and finally found himself at the doorstep of the monastery he had sought.
A knock at the door was answered by the head monk; a small, wrinkled man with a bald head and a serene smile.
“My son,” the head monk said, “I can see that you have been wronged.” (This guy spoke Tibetan, obviously, but the general meaning was the same.) “Normally, you would have to wait here for three days and nights to show your devotion… but I sense that you are a special case. Come into the sanctuary, and we will teach you what you wish to know.”
Thus began Bill’s life as a Monk of Comebackery. He learned jokes, japes, and jeers. He learned witticisms and retorts. He learned insults, insinuations, dares, and double entendres. Before long, he was able to verbally spar with the very best of his brethren.
Yet still, even after another decade of training, Bill did not feel any closer to learning what he had hoped to find.
One cold winter morning, Bill approached the head monk with his concerns. “Master,” he said, “have I not been a good pupil?”
“You have been exemplary,” answered the head monk.
“And have I not upheld and embodied everything you have taught?”
“Indeed you have,” the head monk replied.
“Then,” Bill said, steadying himself, “I wish to learn the forbidden knowledge. I wish to learn… The Ultimate Comeback.”
The head monk looked into Bill’s eyes for a long, ominous moment.
Eventually, he smiled.
“My son,” the head monk said, “when you came to us, you were but a youth with a scar on his soul. You had been cut more deeply than any man should have to endure, and yet you persevered. More than that, you excelled. You have inspired us all with your strength and conviction, and also with your insight.” The man stepped forward and clasped a hand over Bill’s shoulder. “I cannot teach you what you seek, for you already know it.”
At first, Bill felt himself reeling inside. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Had he thrown his life away for nothing? Had he wasted all of those years training, only to fail at the last step? The thought was too terrible to consider, and Bill experienced a sense of loss unlike any he had felt since…
In a flash of clarity, Bill understood.
The Ultimate Comeback, he knew, was a weapon of untold power. It was to be wielded only by they who had discovered it for themselves, and it could only be discovered by they who had felt its devastation firsthand. It was so elegant, so perfect, and so deadly… and Bill knew that it had always been inside of him.
The head monk, watching Bill’s face, smiled again. “You are ready.”
Over the next few days, Bill made preparations to return home. He bade goodbye to his brothers at the monastery, then trekked back down to the village at the base of the mountain. He worked tirelessly in their fields and households, saving every bit that he could in order to afford a plane ticket back to the United States. It took still another year, but finally, Bill found himself stepping off the airplane onto American soil (or, rather, onto American linoleum in an American airport), and hitchhiking in the direction of his hometown.
When he finally arrived, Bill was aghast at what he discovered. This once-welcoming neighborhood had descended into squalor and disrepair. Shops were boarded up and trash littered the street. Stray dogs ran in packs, fighting over scraps of rubbish. What few people Bill encountered would quickly avert their gazes and hurry on their way. The warmth and compassion that he had experienced in his youth were both gone, replaced by a desolate despondence and an overcast sky.
It didn’t take long to find that Bill’s parents were long dead. His friends had all moved on, and the legend of Bill’s high school success had faded into little more than an unlikely memory. Despair filled Bill’s heart, along with a thrum of rising panic. Was he too late? Had he spent so much time abroad that he’d missed his chance to have his revenge?
As if in answer, a gust of wind brought a scrap of paper to Bill’s feet. He reached down and retrieved it… and realized that it was a ticket to the circus’s last-ever show. Not only that, but the performance was being held that very day, and the ticket would grant Bill access to the very same seat he had occupied all those years ago.
This, Bill decided, was fate.
He squared his shoulders and walked in the direction of the big top.
When Bill arrived to the circus, he found that it had fared no better than the rest of the town. The tents all hung in tatters, barely more than faded scraps of cloth. The seats were rickety and rusty, and even the sawdust bore the telltale scent of rot. Despite the dilapidation, though, it seemed that the final performance had drawn an enormous crowd, and Bill had to shove his way through the audience to reach his seat at the front row.
He held his breath, waiting for the show to start.
The music moaned to life and the lights flickered up, and in a halfhearted display of merriment, everything began. First came the lion-tamers with their whips and chairs… and yeah, they were intriguing, but Bill was otherwise occupied. Next came the feats of strength with strongmen (and one excessively suspicious old woman) smashing bricks and bending bars… and yeah, it was impressive, but Bill stayed focused on his own thoughts. The sword swallowers followed, and the trapeze artists, and the tightrope walkers… and yeah, someone might have died at any moment, but it all seemed so irrelevant.
Eventually, Bill began to worry that he wouldn’t get to see the clowns. After all, he knew very well that clowns have a remarkably low life expectancy as compared to other professions. (That’s probably not accurate, but it sure sounds true, doesn’t it?)
Suddenly, all of the lights went out.
A single spotlight shown down to one corner of the arena.
A tiny car came puttering into view, while discordant, almost forlorn circus music played.
Deet deet deedle-deedle deet deet dee deeeeee…
The car’s doors creaked open, and out shambled the most pathetic collection of clowns that Bill had ever seen. There were fat clowns, thin clowns, tall clowns, and short clowns, all of them bent under the weight of age and depression. Clowns with ancient wigs and crumbling rubber noses. Clowns in stretched-out suspenders and orthopedic shoes. There were clowns wearing every faded shade one could imagine, and clowns that moved like they were inches from the grave.
Then, just as it seemed like that tiny car couldn’t produce a single soul more… the outpouring stopped.
Bill’s heart jumped in his chest. Where was the clown who had wronged him as a child? Where was the monster that had haunted his dreams? Where was the target for his Ultimate Comeback?!
A shaking, rattling cough called Bill’s attention to the other side of the arena, and he watched as an old man limped into view. Streaks of grey marred what had once been a shock of bright red hair, and those deep, blackened eyes seemed to have sunk even further into the white face that contained them. Yellow teeth spoke of fetid breath behind those broad, cracked lips, and tremors shook each lanky limb… but it was very clearly the clown from Bill’s past.
The clown raised a tarnished microphone to his mouth and spoke.
“I need a volunteer.”
Before Bill was even aware of his own actions, he discovered that he had stood from his seat and thrust his hand in the air.
“Me,” Bill said. “Pick me.”
The clown extended a finger and cast it over the audience, drawing lazy circles through the crowd. After what felt like an eternity, he finally aimed his cracked, dirty fingernail directly at Bill.
“You there, sir!” the clown rasped.
A reluctant cheer went up as Bill climbed his way over the railing and dropped down into the arena. The smell of mildew and death reached his nose, but he paid it little mind: He was focused entirely on this dream of his coming true; on the opportunity to get his revenge on the clown before him.
“I need to ask you a question,” croaked the clown. “Tell me: Are you a horse’s head?”
The single word rang out like a gunshot, echoing in the silence that followed.
The clown, visibly shaken by the response, coughed and continued. “Well, then… are you a horse’s body?”
Once more, the syllable cut through the air, piercing everyone who heard it to their very soul. There was an icy, powerful venom in Bill’s voice, and it utterly captivated everyone within earshot.
The clown shivered, clearly unaccustomed to this kind of behavior, but pressed on nonetheless. “I see. Are you a horse’s leg?”
“No,” Bill calmly replied, “I am not a horse’s leg.”
Nobody said a word. Nobody even breathed. Nobody had ever experienced anything as chilling as the tone in Bill’s voice… but the clown had a secret weapon, too. With an evil, sinister smile, that pale-faced, red-haired monstrosity summoned forth the unspeakable power that rests within the blackened heart of every clown, bringing it to bear in a horrifying smile that should not have been able to exist outside of a nightmare.
“So!” the clown said, pacing around Bill. “You’re not a horse’s head, and you’re not a horse’s body, and you’re not a horse’s leg.” He paused then, and stood completely still. A hush covered the audience. Then, in a whirl of motion, the clown jammed his finger through the air and brought it right up into Bill’s face.
“Then you must be a horse’s ass!”
Laughter exploded from everywhere at once. Bill looked around, and suddenly, he was a little boy again. All of that shame and betrayal filled his heart, and he couldn’t help but imagine the faces of all those strangers laughing at him. He saw his friends from school laughing at him. He saw the ghosts of his parents laughing at him. Something broke inside of Bill in that moment… but rather than scream and run, he held up a hand.
Hi; I really like your blog! The #AskDrarry are so funny, and well thought out! Question: After you first kiss, followed immediately bye you first time together, how awkward was “The Morning After”?
(Thank you very much! :D)
Harry: It was surprisingly non-awkward.
Draco: I mean, for you. ‘cause it was your flat. You didn’t have to dread doing the walk of shame.
Harry: Walk of– You were ashamed of having slept with me?!
Draco: *eye-roll* No, that’s not what I– It’s just what it’s called, love, and I was joking!
Harry: *grumbling* I made you breakfast.
Draco: He did. I woke up alone in his bed and was seconds away from Disapparating home straight from there when I heard…singing– really, really horrible singing.
Harry: *grins* And you smelt the bacon.
Draco: Fine, yes, I smelt the bacon. And so I make my way over to the kitchen and I find him there, in nothing but his jeans, doing this clumsy little dance and braying along to the Wireless, frying up eggs.
Harry: I turn around and see him just standing there, staring.
Draco: Because, god, you were adorable and I was more or less already head over heels and literally didn’t know what to say!
Harry: And he stood there in his rumpled clothes, shirttails hanging out– fuck, his hair was this gorgeous mess, he was covered in hickeys– *dodges elbow-jab* –and he absolutely took my breath away. So I kissed him.
Draco: Thus effectively making my decision for me regarding whether to stay or not. Plus there was coffee.
Harry: And we actually talked all through breakfast - talked. No bickering, no snark–
Draco: Well, there was some snark, what do you take me for?
Harry: Then I took him straight back to bed.
Draco: …And we pretty much stayed there until the next morning.
“I promise I’ll make it up to you, Y/N!” Of course Jensen subjects you to his dazzling signature smile, the one that reminds you of kittens and rainbows and all of that corny shit.
He drags you in for an insanely tight hug as if that will make your moodiness disappear. Well, the joke’s on you because it’s starting to work.
Damn his perfect physique. How are you supposed to stay pissed when an attractive man who smells delicious is touching you?
You gather up enough super strength to shake those distracting thoughts away. That’s an exhausting problem that you’ll save for another day. As of today, there’s no way in hell that you’re letting him off the hook this time.
The moment Jeff saw you making your way down the hall towards him, he knew something was wrong. He noticed straight away that the smile you offered him just before you reached him was not genuine. Though he became more concerned with you when you greeted him with a kiss.
You had been dating for almost six months and never had you once initiated a kiss so publicly-you much preferred to keep your relationship private. You were shy and hated attention, you even tended to shift away from your boyfriend when he tried to hold your hand around others so this abrupt change in behaviour definitely took him off guard.
He froze as your lips met his.
It only lasted a few seconds and when you pulled away you couldn’t stop the small giggle that left you as you took in his expression.
“You okay there?” you asked, amusement filling your features.
Jeff snapped out of his daze and quickly shut his locker before addressing you so you could have his full attention, “Should I be asking you that?” he countered.
He noticed the slight hesitation that passed over your face, the subtle change in posture. You only shook your head as you leant against the locker beside his, “I’m good,” you insisted, not realising Jeff had caught your lie. “We should head to class,” you suggested, “the bell will be going soon.”
Jeff sighed, not wanting to push you on the matter and deciding to wait until you wanted to open up to him, he agreed.
He almost jumped in surprise as you slid your hand in his and held him close to your side. As worried as he had become, Jeff had to smile.
Granted he was concerned, but it was hard for him to not take advantage of the rare occurrence.
Jeff pressed a kiss against the top of your head as they walked down the corridor, a warm feeling igniting within him as you smiled up at him rather than shield yourself away.
After school, Jeff met up with Clay as usual but his mind was somewhere else. Something Clay noticed rather quickly. “What’s up?” he questioned, placing his pen on the table.
Jeff ran a hand through his hair, “I don’t even know,” he groaned. “Something’s up with (Y/N) today and she hasn’t spoken to me about it…she’s acting different and I don’t want to bring it up just in case it makes her push me away.”
Clay leant back in his chair, “Look,” he said. “Usually you give me the relationship advice,” he laughed, “and I know I’m kind of useless when it comes to this, but it’s (Y/N),” he stated, as if it was the most obvious answer in the world.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jeff demanded on the defensive.
Clay smiled to reassure his friend that he meant no offence, “I’m just saying, she’ll come to you when she’s ready. You know better than anyone that sometimes she just needs some time to herself to process things before she can talk about them.”
Jeff slowly nodded, “I guess. But did you see the way she was today?” he asked, in which Clay shook his head in reply. “I just want to help her…” he whispers. “I’m just really worried.”
“Speak of the devil,” Clay said quietly, his focus on something, someone behind Jeff.
He turned around and found you heading their way. Jeff smiled as his girlfriend sat herself in the seat beside him. “Hey Clay,” you greet.
He raised his hand to wave his hello before picking up the discarded piece of work he was reading over to give you and Jeff a moment.
You take hold of Jeff’s left hand and move his arm closer to you, hugging it against your chest as you rest your head on your spare arm against the table. Letting out a small yawn, your eyes slowly closed.
See, Jeff mouthed to Clay who had looked over at them in curiosity. He merely shrugged and went back to reading.
Jeff shifted in his seat and moved his right arm towards you and began moving the hair out of your face that had fallen down when you had laid down. Your smile made Jeff’s heart quicken.
He stopped himself from asking what was wrong as his hand stopped moving on the top of her head, resting amongst your hair.
Movement from across from him caused Jeff to look up at Clay who had stood from his seat, “Where are you going?” he asked, their session no where near done.
“Your somewhere else at the moment and I don’t think you will be able to focus until you know what you want to,” he told him sympathetically. “I’ll see you around, you know where I am if you need something.”
Jeff thanked his friend and watched as he walked away, finally turning back to you as you mumbled a quiet apology.
“It’s not your fault,” he assured her.
You lazily opened your eyes, peering up at him-you took in his expression. “Your a horrible liar,” you informed him. He let out a small laugh at her words but didn’t speak. “You shouldn’t worry about me,” she told him.
“I can’t help it.”
Your smile only grew and Jeff ran his fingers down your cheek. “I know what’s been going through your head all day,” you continued, closing your eyes again as his soft touch relaxed you. “But you really shouldn’t have worried. I’m sorry for not talking to you earlier about it.”
“Don’t apologise,” he insisted.
“You’re too sweet,” you sighed happily, wondering how you were so lucky to have him. “But really, I was just feeling a little down today. Nothing happened, I’m just…not entirely feeling like myself. But I’ll be better when I’ve had a good rest, I think.”
Jeff hesitated before responding, “That doesn’t really explain why you’ve been so…” he trailed off, not sure how to word what he wanted to say.
She chuckled, gripping his hand tighter, “You make me happy,” she said easily. “Being around you just makes everything better.”
That warm feeling inside of him returned and Jeff was beaming, “I do, huh?” he grinned. If Jeff could have seen your eyes, he was certain you would have rolled them.
“I noticed something today,” she frowned, continuing their conversation. “Something else I should probably apologise for.”
Now Jeff was frowning, “What is it?”
“I realised how little I show you that I love you.”
Jeff scoffed, moving his arm out of your hold and forcing you to sit up. Your eyes lock on his and there was disbelief in them, “Are you kidding me?” he asked. “You think that just because you don’t hold my hand in school or want to kiss me around these people that I can’t tell that you love me?”
You were confused, not understanding his point.
“(Y/N),” he groaned, gripping your chin between his fingers gently so you were still looking at him. “You show me how much you love me each time you look me in the eyes and each time you smile across the room, the love you express through the little things…that’s what matters. That’s what makes my heart race and my head go cloudy. I don’t need you to kiss me every time you see me or tell me in words you love me every other hour of the day. Okay?”
You nodded slowly, taking in his words.
“I love that our moments-are our moments. And that only I get to see that side of you. Don’t get me wrong, I loved how you were today just like how I love you are every other day. I love you. Every part of you and you shouldn’t be thinking that it’s not enough. Because you’re more than enough.”
Your hands grip his shoulders and you tug him towards you, kissing him like you had never done before in public, suddenly grateful that the library was relatively empty. Jeff’s hands found their way around your waist as yours trailed along his chest and down his sides-the kiss never once breaking.
Finally pulling apart, you smiled shyly, leaving one hand on his hip as the other made its way to the side of his face. “I love you, too,” you whispered. “And thank you.”
I thank (and blame) @pixletta for this. This is based on a short story they gave me and I just-
Au where your world is black and white until you kiss your soulmate
Jeremy had always thought of his life as simple. For years he only had to focus on three things: his music loving best friend, his obnoxious teenage bully and the love of his life - the main ingredients for a teenage boy. He had grown used to the black and white surroundings he had grown up in. However this all changed when he got the Squip.
The little computer in his head was adamant on him becoming more than his nerdy persona. He insulted him, manipulated him into getting what he wanted and soon Jeremy found himself rising above his ranks. He was talking to the popular kids, he was wearing more fashionable clothing and his once teenage bully was not practically his best friend. All he wanted now was her - his soulmate.
But apparently, that was too much to ask.
"What do you mean it might not be Christine?“ Jeremy questioned his Squip out loud in his bedroom where no one else could hear. His dad had gone out to get groceries (thankfully with pants) so the house was his for the time being.
"I’m saying,” the CPU stated, taking his physical form over to the end of the bed, “that soulmates are not the result of science, therefore I am unable to calculate who the particular human will be, given that there are roughly 7,500,000,000 people roaming the Earth at this given moment. It is very unlikely that your soulmate is Christine."
"But it has to be!” Jeremy interjected. “Soulmates have a bond, and I can feel that bond between us."
"You don’t even know her Jeremy.”
"I don’t need to! When I close my eyes, I can picture us together, and we’re happy. Whenever I see her, I just want to kiss her and tell her how much I love her. I want her to tell me how much she needs me… I want to know that I’m her favourite person.“
Jeremy was soon lost in his own daydream and failed to notice that the Squip had suddenly taken interest.
Plot: The reader is kidnapped, left alone in utter darkness. Once the day of her auctioning comes, she’s given to the head of one of the worlds most powerful gangs, Jungkook. She was nothing but a gift to him. But her little soul turns out to have the power to turn the tides in the worlds angriest ocean. And it turns out, Jungkook isn’t the only man whom eyes have settled upon her.
For anon…reader is Tony’s daughter as requested. This imagine has mentions of an abusive relationship. I will place a ‘keep reading’ line in order to avoid accidental reading. You’re beauties’s health is much more important than my writing.