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#my goal is that enough of the fandom know the spray bottle
chopper-base · 2 years
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Rex: goddammit, you two! What di-
Echo: *sprays him with the spray bottle*
Rex: *extremely confused*
Echo: *completely straight faced* no yelling at the children.
Fives & Hardcase: *scared*
Rex: I swear, if you spra-
Echo: *sprays him again* and no threatening the ARC troopers.
Rex:
Echo:
Rex:
Echo:
Echo: *runs*
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hopetofantasy · 4 years
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Culture, parallels & meta - S3 E1
Previous season Prologue: Vlogs (1) - Vlogs (2)
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Zaterdag 21:43
The time lapse already showing us a string of places that will be important later, like the dark alley, the Meir with Noor’s workplace, the university neighborhood, the Scheldt river where the boys hang out, ...
Perfect parallel: 
The second season starts Zoë’s POV with a (washing machine) door, whilst the third opens with a door to a party that Robbe attends.
Robbe glances back at Noor passing through the shot this episode, an action he repeats when he spots Sander in the second episode. - A very subtle hint to where his love life may lead.
The first one starts with two unknown LGBT+ girls kissing at a party, the last episode shows two known LGBT+ boys (Sobbe) kissing at their own party.
The aerial shot through the floor to introduce us to Robbe’s POV here and the aerial shot through the roof to say goodbye to him in the last episode.
Moyo saying “No one would do you” to Aaron in this episode, Aaron realizing “No one here wants to do me!” in the last.
Where’s Wally? Noor greeting Marie, accompanied by Jana and Britt. Max dancing with Keisha in the crowd.
How ‘meta’ of you: Newsflash, yes you are!
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Nod to the OG: 
The deliberate messy POV: following everyone that we know already and then slowly settling on the Isak version in a tub.
Robbe saying Noor looks like ‘Natalie Portman’, which is what people said to the OG Emma when they flirted with her. Everyone, except Isak, that is.
Oop, there it is, the homophobia / heteronormativity: Moyo keeps pressuring Robbe into explaining what type of girl he likes. The boys laugh it off when he answers that ‘he doesn’t have a type’.
Lost in translation: Moyo mocks Noor’s Dutch accent, making his ‘g’ and ‘st’ sound harsher, while also adding ‘hoor’ at the end - a typical word used by the Dutch to emphasize a point.
Blink-and-y’ll-miss-it: Jens is playing with the weed bag. Keisha is one of the girls that Moyo mentions as Jens’ ex-girlfriend or ex-fling. Not only did Noor nót flush the toilet, but she didn’t used any toilet paper either!
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Zaterdag 22:44
C is for culture: 
Noor rescuing Robbe on her scooter - In Belgium, you’re allowed to drive a moped or scooter once you’ve reached the age of 16. Nothing is needed if the vehicle doesn’t go above 25 km/h. If it stays between the range of 25-45 km/h and max. 50 cc, you need to pass a theoretical exam, 4 hours of driver’s ed and a practical exam to get the license. Anything other than that, has a whole new set of restrictions, types of driver’s licenses and minimum ages.  Noor and Robbe are, however, still breaking the law. As long as you’re not 18, you’re not allowed to have an extra passenger with you. Especially if they’re not wearing a helmet. (Plus they ignored a red light. Those rebels!)
“You do know that you always have to have it with you?” - The Belgian law states that everyone above age twelve, has to get an ID to identify themselves. Some might have had a Kids-ID already - for travel purposes - but that’s not mandatory. However, once you're fifteen years old, you’re obligated to carry your ID with you at all times.
Perfect parallel:
Luca being all jealous whilst staring at Noor and Robbe making out in S3, her glaring at Maud and Robbe every chance she got in the last season.
Robbe and Noor having fun on the scooter while screaming and Robbe filming their adventure in this episode. Robbe and Sander doing a similar thing, but on their bikes in a later episode.
Wink to other remakes: Robbe sporting a brown jacket. (Eliott, anyone?)
Surprise bitch, guess who: It’s Willem Chanterie, the on-set costume designer and social media production assistant!
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Blink-and-y’ll-miss-it: Noor has a ‘Fuck Trump’ sticker on her helmet. Robbe says “Hey, it’s red” in a very clear Antwerp accent. 
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Zaterdag 23:11
Hello from the outside: The garbage truck they sprayed, still drove around the city regularly. The art piece itself is named ‘#Genoeg mama' (= ‘#Enough mommy’). It blames the consumer society as toxic, making young people its victim.
Oopsie: Inside the graffiti den, Noor suddenly sports a tote bag with supplies, even though we never saw her wearing that in the previous shots.
Blink-and-y’ll-miss-it: Noor has black combat boots. The photographer is obviously Sander, in case you have missed that subtle clue.
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Zondag 13:41
Lost in translation/Oop, there it is, the homophobia / heteronormativity: 
“Check die pekie’s”. The word ‘pekie’ is actually Amsterdam slang for ‘beautiful girl, girlfriend’. In recent years, more and more Dutch slang are making their way into the Flemish dialect, because of the Dutch rap songs gaining popularity with the youngsters.
“Vamos, flikkers”. The word ‘flikkers’ can mean ‘wussie’ as well as a derogatory term for ‘homosexual’. Again establishing the fact that the boys use a lot of homophobic or toxic words for each other.
Robbe’s clumsiness meter: +1, him tossing the bag behind Jens instead of into his hands.
Blink-and-y’ll-miss-it: There is a football right next to the skateboards.
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Maandag 16:04
C is for culture: “The whole art school was talking about it” - 
Secondary school is divided in four sections: general, technical, art and vocational. Which section you choose can have effect on further education. In one of these sections, you pick what you want to study from your first to last year (‘directions’). That means that you have some courses purely focused on the direction and others that are obligated for everyone, regardless.
Art high schoolers can choose to go to work or study a specialization afterwards. Their coursework isn’t solely art based, there are general required courses too. That’s why some foreigners - including the Dutch - come to Belgium, since they’ll get a more rounded and higher level of art education than in their countries. ‘de!KUNSTHUMANIORA’ is the high school in Antwerp Noor goes to and is known for having students with unique styles.
Perfect parallel: 
Noor waiting outside the school for Robbe and him reacting somewhat confused here, Sander doing the same and having an instantly happy Robbe in a later episode.
Robbe having no problem kissing a girl ‘as a straight guy’ in front of the gates in this episode and scared for what might happen if he kissed a boy ‘as a gay guy’ later on. 
Blink-and-y’ll-miss-it: The insta caption underneath the art work says ‘An inspirational message on a Sunday! Just discovered this in Antwerp city today. Artist unknown... Can you remember when you last called on your mother?’ (That last sentence, oooofff, the symbolism!)
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Dinsdag 14:57
C is for culture: 
“Yes, mini enterprises are so chill.” - Mini enterprises are often used as a tool for Economics in the fifth/sixth year. The goal of these is to ‘learn whilst doing it’. Like the name specifies, mini enterprises are actual miniature companies set up by a group of students. During the school year, they’ll try to work together on commercializing a product. All aspects of entrepreneurship are at play here: writing a business plan, holding meetings, doing bookkeeping, marketing the product, produce and sell it, ... If the enterprise idea is good or well executed, it might even win a national prize by the company making this education formula.
“What if he contacts child protection services” - Actually, those services doesn’t really exist in Belgium. There are, however, other youth organizations for these types of things, like JAC - Youth Advice Centre, CLB - Centre for Student Guidance and the Centre for Mental Healthcare.
Perfect parallel: The boys hyping Aaron up to walk over to Amber and talk to her - yet he fails in this episode, them doing the same and he succeeds (after some fails) in the last episode. 
Oop, there it is, the homophobia / heteronormativity: Jens saying “Damn, seems like someone is on his fucking period”, after Robbe snaps at him due to the difficult telephone call with his dad.
Lost in translation: Jens saying “Mijn kop staat er niet naar” (= “My head’s not standing there”) can actually mean different things: I’m not in the mood, it’s not the right time, I don't want to do it, my head’s all over the place, ... It depends on the context, on which interpretation would suit the situation the best. 
Blink-and-y’ll-miss-it: The girls are all fawning all over Britt’s cellphone, so there is a good chance that they’re discussing (pictures of) her boyfriend, Sander. Also, Jana’s braces are gone! 
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Donderdag 17:13
Perfect parallel: Robbe stating that he can’t talk to his dad or he’ll fight and Zoë getting that, as she said a similar thing to an understanding Senne about her parents in S2. 
How ‘meta’ of you: Ah, yes, fandom ship names in SKAM. We applaud!
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Oopsie: If you look really hard, you see that the body type and hair of Robbe’s dad, doesn’t correspond with the version waiting at the restaurant later on.
Wink to other remakes: This shot reminding you of a certain S3 trailer?  👀
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Blink-and-y’ll-miss-it: The numerous references to Zoënne’s relationship in their room (relationship pics, Senne’s guitar). The paper Milan gifts to Robbe is the written permission by his parent to live with them, as is obligated by law.
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Vrijdag 20:04
Perfect parallel: 
Senne pulling Zoë up after a kiss here, just like with their first kiss in S2.
Robbe pushing Milan away after thinking he wanted to kiss him at the party in S2, them hugging it out in after talking about it in S3.
Blink-and-y’ll-miss-it: Zoë and Milan making some healthy party snacks like cauliflower and cocktail sauce, cheese with tomatoes and salami squares. She pulls back the bottle of gin that Milan wants to steal. Senne also bought paprika and tortilla chips from Colruyt (a discount store).
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Vrijdag 20:54
C is for culture: “Noor, Robbe’s girlfriend” - (Teen) dating culture is different in Belgium. Usually, if you have kissed, hung out, texted or just said/did something to show your mutual interest, you’d pretty much consider yourself in a relationship. It can go from 0 to 100 very quick. Unless there is, of course, an agreement that what you’re doing is no such thing. Also, nobody really ask you to be their gf/bf. It just implied or stated to their family or friends. 
Perfect parallel: 
A reluctant Robbe pushing himself to do stuff to Noor (playful dancing, kissing, riling her up) as far as putting his hands on her bra here. A totally different, excited Robbe not even thinking twice about doing these things to Sander, even licking his nipple during their reunion.
Noor pushing Robbe on the bed and climbing over him, whilst Robbe looks all sad in this episode. Him pushing Sander on the bed and being happy as Sander crawls over him during their reunion.
Oop, there it is, the homophobia / heteronormativity: Robbe tries to convince himself into liking heterosexual sex with Noor and fake laughs with his friends about having it.
Where’s Wally? Keisha laughing with Amber and later dancing with Marie.
Blink-and-y’ll-miss-it: Jens is talking to Senne. The decorations behind Milan saying ‘Welkom Robbe’ (= ‘Welcome Robbe’). Noor has a beautiful tattoo of a pin-up girl covered with butterflies on her lower arm.
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savagetrickster · 4 years
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D.Gray Man | Kanda Yu (NSFW)
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Okay so I kinda got carried away while writing for this request. Somehow it has escalated to R-rated stuff oops XD But honestly it was so fun writing this! I hope you wouldn’t mind me putting more than you had requested.  
So this is like my first NSFW for D.Gray man. I guess this fandom deserve a taste of NSFW as well since BNHA got the attention for that XD 
Apologies for errors, again.
Warning(s): 18+, implied breeding kink (duh, you even surprised?), unprotected sex, pregnancy
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.
She thought about how lucky she was to be allocated a relatively simple mission that was only a day away from the branch and partnered with Kanda like he was the cherry on top. 
Missions together were rare. After Kanda was appointed as a new General, the opportunities to spend time with each other became miserably sparse.
He was a busy man then but now with his promotion that comes with bigger responsibilities, he was an even busier man. 
There was nothing but a big empty gap between them. What they have right now felt like a long-distance relationship. Most of the time his room was empty since being a General required his attention outside the branch. 
Even with time granted to them when he was home, kisses were curt and touches were brief. 
That was why being assigned to this mission with Kanda alone was a golden opportunity. Rare and precious to her. 
Even if it meant being attacked by Tyki Mikk on their way back. 
Well, that was what she thought until Kanda appeared before her, standing between a harsh slash down across the air that could have killed her if he wasn’t fast enough to intercept.
Kanda was fast enough to step between them but a second too late from deflecting the attack with Mugen.
.
Gloom stayed stubbornly in her eyes as she worked on bandaging the bloodied wound across Kanda’s chest. 
She had set herself straight to work on Kanda the moment she forced him to sit down on the bed in the inn they had been staying in, despite his protest.
Recurring memory of him taking the blow for her. The spray of his blood over her shook her. 
Throughout the rest of the battle against their enemy, she dealt her blows with rage upon witnessing that. 
She was worried, scared, and angry. 
So damn angry at the Noah. 
So damn angry at Kanda. 
So damn angry at herself.
“Yu, what you did just now wasn’t necessary.” Kanda raised his eyes to her. 
He had already given up trying to stop her futile effort bandaging him. His regenerative seal would heal him but she insisted on preventing infection before it did its work.  
“....please don’t do that again.” 
His gaze turned incredulous. “And let you die?” His fingers curled into the bed underneath.
Bitterness clenched around her heart, “Maybe.” 
A hiss sifted through her gritted teeth. “You’re not a shield. You’re someone precious to me and I’d rather die than see you do that to yourself-”
She didn’t know how or when; it was abrupt and too fast.
Her breath shuddered out of her as she suddenly found herself pinned down on the bed by an irritated, glaring glint blazing down from Kanda’s face.
Kanda stared back down at her, towering over her with a hot swirl of emotions swelling in his heart.
Before he felt anything for her, he was just a man drifting aimlessly in this long, suffering war as an exorcist. 
Missions after missions. 
Akumas after akumas.
Battles after battles against the Noahs.
That was what his life was all about. 
It was like a dark tunnel without the light at the end of it. There was no goal, there was no end.
Given how bleak his circumstances were, he had never spared a thought about his future. He was just a soldier or in a technical, more crude sense, a walking weapon.
That was what Exorcists were. Unwilling hosts for the Innocence - a curse that would follow them till death. Even for him, death was hard to come by.
But with (Name) in his life. 
He wasn’t so pessimistic about his circumstances anymore. The future didn’t seem so bleak anymore. He bore hopes for what the aftermath of this cruel war would bring about.
She was the light at the end of this dark tunnel. 
“If what I did keeps you safe,” Kanda felt his restraint over himself breaking. The words he had kept to himself for a long time wanted to spill.  “I’ll keep being that shield.” 
He had always wished she could be taken off the battlefield. 
Every time he was out there roaming the lands as a General he was made to be, his mind was always crazy worried about her. 
Knowing she was also out there risking her life.
He knew he was being a hypocrite here, but the fear and worry that gripped him every time his mind strayed to thoughts of her made him wistful.
The urge to use his higher authority to pull her out of her duty was tempting every single time. Just to keep her safe and as far away from the lurking dangers this war was embodied with.
The emotions bottled up in him fanned with every breath he took, his piercing eyes wavering on her. 
He wanted her.
It had something to do with pent-up need for her he had neglected due to his duties. The emotions in him were not so innocent either.
The last thread of restraint on himself broke the moment she extended a hand up to his face with a tender soft look in her eyes. 
His body wanted hers. 
There was nothing holding back anymore. 
He couldn’t, even with the rational voice screaming in his head. The carnal urge in him was smothering and drove through him powerfully.
A trembling breath left him as his lips met hers and pressed into her with an urgent need, immediately inciting a soft moan humming against his prying mouth. 
Their mingling breaths were hasty and shivering as the feverish kiss deepened with tilting heads and moans.
His hands were busy. Her hands were busy. 
Clothes were shredded off them and tossed carelessly in the heat of their passion. Between their heated actions, wild hands roamed. 
Her body grew more and more ready for his.
And his for hers.
His hands eventually found their way to her thighs and pushed apart with a firm grip on them as he settled himself between them.
Their panting lips parted as their dazed, wavering gaze met.
A fleeting whimper slipped through her lips as he pushed himself into her, completely buried in one powerful thrust.
His toned, chiseled chest stuttered with a shaky exhale as he pulled himself through the tightness gripping onto him. 
Towering over her with raw hunger in his gaze, the thrust driven back into her tore a broken cry from her. 
The blistering white flash of pleasure accompanied the jolting wide stretch inside her.
The bed creaked and protested under them, joining her cries and his growls as he pummeled into her fiercely. 
Strained grunts and growls rumbled in his chest as he leaned into her, his big hands sliding over her smaller ones and her legs responsively wrapping snugly around his waist. 
Under her digging fingers, his taut muscles rippled across his sweaty back, resonating with every thrust.
Everything else fell past them. Fell past her. Fell past him.
Now, they were only a man and woman making love. They were nothing more than that. 
Not Exorcists.
Not a General.
Not pitiful soldiers picked for a mad war.
Just them.
The wet squelches of their mixed fluids became loud enough to join the erotic reverberation filling the room as his thrusts begun to grow hectic. 
Their lips met again. Desperate and heated. 
Muffled moans and growls slipped into the dense air between kisses. 
Her heart felt like it was about to burst from her love for him. There was so much that the soft, breathy ‘I love you’ she murmured against his passionate lips was inevitable.
Kanda said nothing to that. But the pressing need of his lips against hers and the firm squeeze around her hands right after was a clear answer to her. 
The next stronger and primal thrusts he plunged into her also told her all he wanted to say. 
Enough to push her to the edge fast. 
She was close.
Enough to make her snatch her lips away from his with loud moans tumbling out of her.
She was…so close.
The muscles in her hands against his broad back tensed.
Her legs around him tightened curtly.
The next slam through her, his cock shoving inside with a rough prod did it for her.
A broken cry sitting between a sob and a whimper spiked between her moans as her eyes nearly rolled back at the shattering wave of her orgasm.
The shuddering grunt from Kanda joined her as he relished in the warm pour of her arousal over his aching self in her release.
Breathy grunts continued to fall from his lips as he pushed himself up, his hands slipping away from her to hook under her knees.
Now towering over her, Kanda pushed her thighs wider apart to accommodate his raging thrusts.
The curl of his toned biceps clenching and unclenching as his eyes fell onto where every thrust was announced by loud, lewd squelches, watching with rumbling growls as his cock pounded, plummeting in and out of her dripping, clutching heat. 
His piercing eyes looked even more piercing than ever as he raised them to her face, relentlessly hammering into her with fervor. 
His heated gaze raised to her, greedily taking in her as he worked intensely between her thighs. 
Gazing back at him through weak fluttering blinks, her red, flustered face panting up at him was an added fuel to the hungry, animalistic desire in him. 
To his vigorously rocking body.
He could feel himself filling up almost too much. The load inside his cock was a pressure too tight for him to hold in any longer. Together with the lustful urge to let go in the hazy heat, he drove his next thrust into her with a strong shove.
Her dragging moan joined his strangled grunt as a white flash of pleasure ripped through him. The back of his thighs clenched as he pushed his hip pressingly into her, nestling himself snugly into her as he released everything. 
Ropes and ropes of his seeds spurted into her in one hot burst, filling her rapidly as her tattering moan rode through her. 
His own hoarse one dragged through his throat as he snapped his hip curtly against her to every furious spurt of his load.
Accompanied by her fleeting whimpers and his own grunts, his slowing ruts sent one rough curt prod into her after another, till the very last drop of his semen was emptied into her womb.
A blissful stillness fell upon them the moment his movement inside her slowed and stopped.
Their intense stares held with their harsh pants. Until her eyes widened.
“...Oh no, Yu, you didn’t…” 
A soft gasp of horror escaped her. Despite the horror seeping in her widening eyes, she couldn't help trembling and panting with satisfaction at the warmth inside her. 
“Wha-What if I get...”
Her voice trailed off breathlessly with a gulp, his eyes followed her shaky hands as they moved to her lower abdomen, right above where they were still joined.
A knowing glint was in his gaze when he returned his gaze back to her. “When that happens, I will be here with you.”
“But I-”
“I’ll shoulder your duties for you. I’d rather you stay safe, even if it means getting you pregnant.”
Her breath hitched. 
To hear him say that word himself stirred a strange fluttering desire in her. It came out of nowhere but it filled her with wistful longing. 
Was it really...okay for people like them to enjoy something this mundane?
Was it okay to harbor hopes for something like this despite who she was? 
She wasn’t sure but the firm steel of promise in his eyes was enough for her.
That maybe...maybe it was okay.
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gazelessmenagerie · 3 years
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To the mun: Dude, you gotta stop Broly!! Please!!
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( oh shit when did I become part of this... Ah fuck it, we don’t need what happened in the goddamn jojo fandom again. Alright hold my cat. )
Slipping free of the brackets, our wayward bastard mun had.. enough of an idea to handle this. Would it work? .... Don’t ask him that. Inhaling and exhaling, his goal set itself to his mind mainly because cleaning up this mess would be way more of a hassle than he was willing to put up with this day. Who else better knows the extent of this asshole’s destructive capability? Sheesh, well things can’t be worse...
Alright there is pretty much a certainty he will Die. Shit’s fucked.
With that thought in mind, Kuro steeled his nerves to the bests of his capabilities in taking one step in front of the other. Facing off the much larger Brute certainly... yeah he’s fucked. He’s fucked all ways till Sunday. What the fuck did they feed this guy..! Coughing, there was barely much of an introduction before a giant forearm immediately crashed right into his sternum. Several cracks audibly snapped, splatters of red spraying as the ground suddenly became a blur of motion. Thrown, the earth rushed rapidly before the skidding of rock sloughed off far weaker skin in a streak until the momentum halted itself. 
Barely able to make sense of the ongoing mayhem, feeble strength pushed to lean heavily upon an elbow. Endless waves of pain echoed from lacerated skin and broken bones, the slightest wheeze dripping with scarlet upon the ground. Oh yeah.. shit’s totally fucked. That’s alright though, all that was needed was to stagger to a wavering kneel and plant one foot to the ground. Insurmountable odds, death nothing but awaiting an agonizing end that wouldn’t make any difference. Frankly, Kuro didn’t see this coming in that dinky little fortune cookie he had last night but fuck it.
Shadow loomed upon, the engulfing grab of a hand easily able to crush the entirety of his ribcage grabbed and hoisted a battered frame. Staring back at that asshole called Broly, a minor glance watched a single orb ready itself in the opposing palm reeled back. Oh well, this was it then..
Quickly reaching into the pockets of his coat, twin bottles were grabbed by their necks and smashed against one another. Glass shattered in a spectacle, the mixtures held within reacting to unleash to a blinding mist engulfing both parties. As expected, surprise barked in a ‘ what!? ‘, the extent of a plan finished with the surrounding vicinity clouded in a thick miasma. Throaty coughs sneered, the final smash of a fist pulverizing a weaker being into the ground. Grip released, the heavy collapse of a larger body fell to their knees, senses drifting rapidly to a forced slumber. Stone crunched with a final attempt, choked snarls echoing before falling silent with a final thump. Reverting back to a base form, it would seem the senseless violence brought itself to an end as the mist dissipated.
Lost to the mindless escape of sleep, the victor remained as the one who still drew breath..
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flyswhumpcenter · 6 years
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Bad Things Happen Bingo! The event where you send me requests according to this marvelous card!
My friend and I7-suffering pal @nehamerchant123 (wow Tumblr thanks for sucking even more than a character in an André Gide novel) requested the Izumi brothers + “Big Brother Instinct” (the very reason why I picked it in my form, sorry not sorry)! Knowing me and my tendency to write Izumi bro angst, she went there and I went there lmao.
Content warnings: obsessive fan behaviour/stalking (inspired by Kpop stans and other fandoms) and spoilers up to IDOLiSH7 Part 2 Chapter 1. If you want to go unspoiled into the second season, I’d advise you not to read this one.
Edge of the Razor
Summary: All fans aren't nice people, and all breaks aren't nice to take. (Or: someone isn't happy about how her favorite idols are going, and decides to act upon it. With a weapon.)
Fandom: IDOLiSH7 Relationships: Iori & Mitsuki
Wordcount: 2.8K words
Event organized by @badthingshappenbingo
AO3 version available here.
Being the older sibling was sometimes tougher than single children would expect at first glance. It was a life filled with fears and anxiety: expectations, duties, goals and being a role model were all part of the course one couldn’t be responsible for being a part of.
Usually, it was mundane things: tell your little siblings not to let go off your hand when they’re very small when you’re in a crowd, speak to them about growing up and puberty, show them the ropes of the fun stuff your parents wouldn’t tell you about… and feel like a failure when you see them be better than you in every single field you’ve ever stepped a foot in.
Well, perhaps that last thing wasn’t every older sibling’s reality, but it sure had been Mitsuki’s ever since his little brother could do as much as talk.
 A lot of people would have rather talked about Iori than about him. The former was everything a parent would want to raise: easily disciplined, wise beyond his years, good at everything school-related and outside of school too, mature and sharp. There was no way around it: Iori was simply a much, much better version of him.
That didn’t prevent Mitsuki from having a few issues with him. That kid would always meddle with his dream of becoming an idol or with, well, everything! Baking? Oh, it’d be better if you did that. Redecorating his room? It’d be handier if you placed the furniture that way instead. Practicing dancing and singing for the next audition he’d fail anyway? Perhaps you should watch that idol unit before, if you listened closer to the song, etc, etc. It was hard not to get fed up with this after a while.
 However, that was all petty banter these days, right? He had achieved his dream: being an idol. He didn’t even have to throw Iori under the hype train as he did so: they had both gotten in, in the same unit. The world was finally smiling on him, didn’t it? About time! That meant the kid could stop meddling with his dream or, at least, it wouldn’t be as noticeable as it used to be.
In fact, they had bonded over being part of this unit again. Mitsuki had finally been able to be the big brother he had always sought to be, comforting his sibling when he forgot to sing and triggering one of their biggest group hugs to this day. It had been better for their relationship, but alas, being an idol was a risky occupation and he would rediscover that soon enough.
 The centre switch had been… quite the event, to say the least. This had created a rift in the middle of their fanbase: there were centre Riku fans, centre Iori fans, fans who wanted to see other members be the centre instead… It seemed like their “Perfection Gimmick” setup truly hadn’t pleased everyone, as temporary as it was. Anxiety had settled among their ranks because of that, but they decided to stick together and get through the storm united.
However, that wasn’t the case for their fanbase, and it was made abundantly clear on forums and video comments alike. They could get violent at times against each other, but also against the members themselves. It was all verbal violence, of course.
Or was it just words spelt out in cold letters on phone and computer screens?
 It had all seemed kind of surreal to them, for the first few days of this ongoing switch. It just felt like having some nasty comments about some of them, albeit there was already some discord between them because of it. It’d get better, right? They couldn’t disband from just some dissatisfied fans’ reactions to a sudden change. It’d be fine.
Perhaps Mitsuki had believed in their fans too much. He had always seen them as the nice middle school girls from the plaza or the young women having supported them since their very beginnings for some of them. They had to be nice people who would understand. Right? Well, he’d have to soon revise that judgement.
 Going undercover in the streets wasn’t too uncommon for them. They’d wear paper-thin disguises, sure, and some fans would recognize them, but they usually didn’t get into much troubles when they did so. It was a way to remember they were still humans and that this adventure could, sadly, stop suddenly at any given moment if they weren’t careful enough. It was a tough life he was always ready to face.
Fame came with that price of being recognized in the streets, after all. It usually was a pleasant experience: exchanging quick words with fans, taking selfies, getting some precious (and direct) feedback was anything but bad for them. Alas, there were times where it wasn’t the case. Times Mitsuki honestly didn’t want to believe could happen to them.
 It seemed to be a regular afternoon. He was out with Iori to buy the guys some drinks during a training session, nothing out of the ordinary. It was calm outside, not much going on even for a school-less day, everything was just fine, wasn’t it?
They had come across a couple fans, some of which hadn’t noticed them, when one of them seemed insistent in particular. That was displeasing to see: being followed around was an annoyance at first, then a chore, then turned into full-on creepy behaviour. Mitsuki had to say something: if Iori’s face indicated anything, it was that he felt uncomfortable, yet was determined to make it to the agency without causing a fuss. Too calm for his own good, huh.
 “Hey, you!” Mitsuki bolted in that creep’s direction once and for all. “What’s your deal?! You’re being a creep!!”
“Big brother,” Iori put a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t scream like that. We’ll get in trouble.”
“We’re already in trouble,” the older sibling replied before looking back at the third wheel. “Stop following us around like that! We’re humans too, y’know!”
The chick, a black-haired and brown-eyed teenage girl around Iori’s age, simply stared at the latter in silence.
“If you don’t leave us alone, we’re gonna call the cops on you!”
 Despite all the threats he’d make, Mitsuki had to admit something: it didn’t goddamn work! Why was she being such a creepo anyway?! Did she get off to that shit in secret or what? Words didn’t work: perhaps it was time to simply call anyone to act on her. Standing here speaking menacingly wouldn’t do anything.
Taking a glance at her showed she was a huge Riku fan: her phone’s charm, her keychains, her jacket’s pins and her purse’s zippers all were showing Riku’s face or a red double sharp. If she was a Riku fanatic like that, why was she following them? It had to do with Iori, sure, but was it any positive or negative? In such times…
It had very little chance to be any positive.
 “I don’t want you to be the centre,” she said in a monotonous voice, staring right into the younger idol’s eyes.
“That’s an opinion shared by a lot of fans,” Iori tried to calm the game down. “I’m afraid this will last for a bit longer. I never intended and still don’t intend on replacing Nanase forever.”
“Too honest for his own kind” wasn’t an exact match, in this situation. Mitsuki could easily see Iori was speaking that way exactly because he was afraid and under pressure rather than because he wanted to apologize. The fact they were trapped by walls in a small street didn’t help.
“I don’t care about that! You should have never been centre in the first place! You’re nothing compared to my sweet Riku!! I don’t want to see you in his place!!”
That must had hit Iori somewhere, considering the distorted expression on his face. He’d have usually tried to remain calm in face of such a situation.
“Hey,” Mitsuki attempted to chime in, “c’mon now! That’s just mean! Iori’s trying his best you know!”
“Well, if he’s tried, then he’s fucked up,” she simply replied as she went to grab something in her bag. The older idol was this close to grab the pepper spray bottle he always had in his sweat’s pocket. That was becoming too dangerous.
 The chick pulled out a fucking cutter from her bag and pointed it at Iori, holding it like it was the harmful weapon she intended to use it as on them.
“Are you fucking mad?!” Mitsuki let out in a scream, hoping people would hear him too.
“Sometimes, you gotta do what you have to do,” she simply replied as she got closer to his brother’s throat. “Some people just won’t go away.”
 Okay, she was completely nuts. There was no way reasoning her. It wasn’t Mitsuki’s forte to be a third party anyway: his blood was boiling and he was retaining the urge to insult her because he was in public and in certain danger in this very situation. Iori didn’t seem like he wanted to be a mediator to such a situation: there were big drops of sweat pearling all over his temples.
“That’s enough! Get away from us, you fuckin’ psycho!!” Mitsuki attempted one last time to threaten her, using his deepest voice and harshest tone for this, but she still didn’t budge. She kept glaring at Iori with these menacing eyes.
 She launched herself off her feet with the cutter clenched in her hand, heading straight for the throat, clutching her teeth. Despite her inhuman velocity, Mitsuki had managed to leap into the fight before she could, preventing the knife from reaching Iori’s throat. It was dangerous and reckless, but his self-survival instinct had shut down as soon as he saw his brother having a real chance to die here and there, in this dark corner of a street to a fucking psycho.
 The cutter’s direction didn’t change much, though: when he slapped her hand out of that way, she instead opted for Iori’s broader chest area. In the confusion and heat of the moment, Mitsuki had fallen to the ground, taking her with him as he made her slip using his legs to sweep her off her feet. He would defend his brother to the very end and she needed to get that ingrained insider that little stalker brain of hers.
When he looked up, he noticed red dripping to the ground, right onto his hair and, soon, face. She had pulled the cutter out of a newfound wound. She had managed to cut his brother in the chest, deep enough for it to already be pouring out blood, right between his left arm and what he could assume to be his fucking heart. Iori’s breathing had heaved enough for it to be noticeable.
He wouldn’t forgive her for this.
 Mitsuki got up quickly, jumping to his feet, telling his brother to please muster up his strength and call an ambulance and the police or something. They were in a fucking pinch and she was insane enough to remain there after stabbing someone like that. It was even worse than that, in fact: when he glared at her, trying to keep his punches to himself, he noticed she was clutching onto the blooded blade and had that… crazed expression in her bloodshot eyes. She was clearly enjoying this.
“What’s the fuck is wrong with you?!” he screamed again, needing to let all that steam getting to his head. “How can you be happy about doing that?!”
“You don’t get it! I’m making Ainana better!”
“It’s just about whatever Ainana you wanna see?! There’s something missing inside that head of yours!”
 The psycho titled her head and stared at him as if he had been nonsensical all along.
“Stay out of my way.”
“Fuck no! I don’t tolerate killing people” around here!!”
His blood was boiling inside his veins.
“Why are you this angry? I’m just making things better. Ainana doesn’t need… that as their centre. Nor as a member.”
“Who are you calling that?! Iori?!”
 Something snapped inside his skull.
“We’re not objects! You can’t just decide to one day attempt murdering one of us just because we made a centre switch! For fuck’s sake, do you think of us as just props to amuse people?! You’ve been treating Iori as a fucking item all that time!! You’ve injured someone just for some idol unit!”
As much as Mitsuki loved being an idol and was an avid fan of the idol universe, this was fucking bullshit and he wouldn’t stand for this. She needed to understand and fucking pay.
 She clutched her cutter.
“You really don’t get it.”
“Why don’t I fucking get? You don’t make any sense!”
“He isn’t needed.”
“He is Iori, right?”
“Yes.”
 Something snapped even harder, the anger becoming a pounding heart and boiling thoughts of wanting to see that chick taste the floor already. It had gone from fiery and burning to strangely calm.
“I don’t give a damn if you think Iori’s unneeded. Nobody does, in fact. Our parents don’t. Our friends don’t. Other fans don’t. His classmates don’t. We have a life and you can’t just decide to end my brother’s life end like that just because you don’t like him as a centre or something. I won’t let you kill my brother in the name of some bullshit principle.”
Tears started to appear.
“You don’t get it. You don’t get why a brother would defend his sibling. You’re that unsympathetic and awful? You want me to watch not only a comrade die in front of me, but also my little brother?! Go fuck yourself, that ain’t happening on my watch!!”
 As psycho as she was, she was really fucking stupid: from the side of his view, he could see Iori had called the cops all along, his other hand resting on the cut he had taken to the chest, white shirt getting tinted in reds. His eyes were starting to get unfocused.
Fuck. This was turning into a disaster, and this bitch was still fucking ready to kill them both while she was at it.
 Before he could even think about it, as soon as he saw her get a more forward glance, he leaped at her, making her slam the ground as he pinned her. That wasn’t before she had her chance at getting a hit on him: the pain of getting stabbed right under his ribs in his fall was late to arrive. He kept a scream inside, shaking her hand with his so she’d drop her goddamn weapon already.
When she did, he allowed himself to just grab and get up from her. She had been knocked out by the shock anyway, her head having slammed the ground just as hard as her back had. Stumbling on his own feet, Mitsuki fell to the floor, back against a wall, right next to Iori sitting next to him.
 “Where… where are the cops…?” he asked, voice weakened.
“Near enough for me to hear some sirens,” Iori replied with what sounded like a cautious tone, before looking at him again. “Big brother, how are you?”
At this question, Mitsuki scoffed. “Isn’t the answer obvious…? I just got stabbed… That hurts like hell…”
“I had figured… I didn’t know the centre switch would upset people this badly…”
“Nah, it’s more than just some Riku-obsessed asshole… That girl was just psycho at that point… Don’t even try blaming this fiasco all on you, Iori…”
“Then on who?”
“Her, entirely her…”
 Despite the utter pain and the discomforting feeling of having your blood drained by an injury, he still managed to speak. He needed to keep Iori and himself awake until help arrived.
“Y’know, you can let yourself speak like someone injured. I can tell you’re trying to sound solid, but you’re zoning out… Just speak to me for now, okay?”
His brother’s unfocused eyes turned to him again.
“Did you know she could injure you?”
“Who wouldn’t? She was armed and had already hit you…”
“So you jumped to…” His face distorted as he seemed to have realized something horrific, “…protect me? Why?”
“You’re still asking? Because I’m your big brother, that’s all… It’s my mission to protect my younger sibling, isn’t it…?”
 Mitsuki gave his little brother a weak smile, yet the biggest he could make, which got met by tears and  a sudden embrace. It was weak, kind of awkward in that regard, but the emotion was there and so was the intention.
“Heh, Iori… don’t cry… It’ll be fine…”
No direct response. Silence was enough. As long as neither of them would go cold, it’d be just fine.
 Red and blue lights soon drowned the scene as people barged into the scene. Impossible to hear or see anything decently. Oh well, it was all over now.
It’d be fine.
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ryukoishida · 7 years
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Arslan Senki Fandom Day 2017 [Encounter] | The second instalment of how idol!Gieve and singer-songwriter!Isfan meet and fall in love.
Written for Arslan Senki Fandom Day 2017 – [Encounter]
Title: Primadonna and the Piano Man [Part II] Author: ryukoishida Character(s)/Pairing(s): Isfan/Gieve Summary: This is the story of how one of the nation’s top idol Gieve and bestselling folk-rock musician Isfan meet (and eventually fall in love). [Idol/Musician!AU] Rating: T Warning: N/A A/N: The song that Isfan and Gieve worked on is based on “Lost One’s Weeping”, links of which you will find in the reblog! 
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Sing When You’re in Love Series:
i. We Sing We Dance We Steal Hearts ii. We Sing We Dance We Fall in Love iii. Untitled iv. This Storm, It’s Coming v. I’m Yours (and so are they) vi. Primadonna and the Piano Man [Prequel] [Part I | Part II]
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Despite their temporary truce, their journey to achieve a top hit pop song is perilous and full of conflicts.
The first two sessions mostly involve the two of them throwing general ideas back and forth at each other. The discussion goes from the target audience to the genre of music they want to make. While Gieve is known for his catchy dance pop and sugary love songs mostly aimed at the younger teenage audiences, Isfan’s style strays from folk-rock songs dedicated to nature and romance to melancholic ballads of lost identity and destructive love.
After much shouting, pen-throwing, and paper-crumpling, they’ve finally decided the theme of their song would be about the burdens of education and pressures of expectations that many young people and students face nowadays. It’s a serious but relatable topic that would engage a wide range of listeners. As for the genre, Gieve wants to do a mellower, stripped-down, acoustic version — something that’s more forlorn and heart-wrenching; however, Isfan wants to make it into a rock anthem, angrily declaring the dissatisfaction and resentment, and calling for an action to change.
They reconcile with the decision to try both versions for now, and only after discussion with the producer and other staff will they make their final choice.
Then the song-writing process begins, and it doesn’t get any easier from there.
“This riff here doesn’t sound right,” Gieve, who’s sitting on a stool next to Isfan’s piano bench, is saying as he points at the eleventh and twelfth bars on the music sheet, which have been scrawled with Isfan’s neat handwriting, drawn notes and lines. “It’s not enough…”
“Not enough…?” Isfan glances over at the idol, a single eyebrow quirked up in question and his hands still hovering above the keyboard.  
“You know: flair, energy, pizzazz!” Gieve waves his hands in a huge arching gesture, hoping the other man will understand.
Isfan stares blankly back at him, uncomprehending.
“Can you be any more vague?” Isfan heaves out an exasperated sigh and shifts over a little. “Why don’t you just show me? Here.” He pats the empty space next to him, and Gieve only hesitates for half a second before he accepts Isfan’s invitation and plops himself down on the bench.
The worn-out leather and oak seat isn’t really suited for two full-grown adult men, and so even with Isfan basically sitting on the very edge on one side, Gieve’s arm still lightly brushes against his whenever the idol moves just the slightest.
Not that Isfan is paying any special attention to how warm and comfortable Gieve feels sitting so closely next to him, or how nice he smells from whatever cologne he’d sprayed himself with that day, or how elegant and sensual his pale, slender fingers look against the black and white keys of the piano.    
“Hmm, I’m thinking maybe something like this,” Gieve plays a series of notes that’s similar to what’s written on the music score, but with a slight variation to the rhythm so that the entire riff sounds a little livelier, a bit richer, than before. He tries a few more variations, his eyebrows puckering in deep concentration as he plays and teases the melodies much like how he does with the strings of his guitar. His glasses are sliding down the bridge of his nose but Gieve doesn’t even seem to notice, and Isfan has the strongest urge to reach over and fix it for him.
“Isfan… Isfan! What do you think?”
“Sorry, what was that?” Isfan instinctively shifts back and almost slips and falls off the bench when he realizes just how close Gieve is — close enough that if he ducks his head slightly, his lips would be touching the soft hair by the idol’s temple.
“The riffs — the ones I just played for you — which one do you think is better?”
To be honest, Isfan has stopped functioning after the first one Gieve has played. Gods. Staying in this god-forsaken studio with no natural lighting coming in for six hours straight is doing weird shit to his mind; he needs a break, and maybe a snack.
“Do you want to go for a break?” Gieve asks as if he’s just read his mind.
“Do you mind? I can use some caffeine and cup noodles.”
Isfan’s stomach growls in agreement.
“You know both those things are bad for your throat, right?” Gieve is surprised to find that the singer-songwriter, who seems so solemn and a stickler for rules at first glance, cares so little about his diet. Having healthy bodies and protecting their voices are especially important for artists like themselves, so ever since Gieve started training with his idol unit, he’d maintained a strict diet and exercise regime.
“Let me have some fun, mother,” Isfan yawns, standing up to stretch. His jeans ride low on his hips and a sliver of tanned skin is shown for just a few seconds, but the little display is enough to give Gieve a tiny heart attack, his cheeks flushing and turning uncomfortably warm.
He clears his throat, and turns away to face the piano when Isfan glances down at him.
“Wow. You? Fun? I never thought I’d hear you wanting to be associated with the word ‘fun’,” Gieve chuckles, getting up as well.
“Oh, fuck off,” Isfan is way too tired and hungry to come up with more creative insults.
“Come on, there’s a place close by that opens late and has really good savory snacks,” Gieve winds an arm around the taller man’s shoulders and steers him out the door.
“But the song…”
Isfan is only planning to quickly whip up some noodles and coffee in the pantry, so a thirty-minute break would have sufficed.
“The song can wait! Come on, come on! My treat!”  
-
By the time they are sitting down to write the lyrics, the two musicians with drastically different roots and conflicting beliefs have become quite in sync in terms of their ideas. Occasionally, bickering would still break out, and staff passing by the studio, the door sometimes left a crack open to let in some air, would hear snippets of “what are you even trying to convey with this line here?” or “that doesn’t even rhyme!”
Even stranger still, those same staff members who’d overheard the arguments would often see Gieve and Isfan coming out of the studio after a few hours, and they would either share companionable silence after a long day of work or chattering about where to get dinner.
One night, the two were kicked out of the studio due to equipment maintenance, but neither of them wanted to stop because they felt like they were on the verge of finally writing something good after days of scraped ideas and ripped up notebook pages, so Gieve invited Isfan back to his place to continue.
Isfan didn’t even think twice before agreeing.
When they were satisfied with what they had written, it was already two o’clock in the morning. The public transit had stopped running and Isfan’s car had been left in the company parking lot, so naturally, Gieve volunteered to make spicy instant noodles with extra toppings and treated themselves with a bottle of ice-cold beer each for the conclusion of the gruesome yet fruitful lyric-writing session.  
During the few weeks they spent together, Gieve discovered that Isfan was especially talkative when he got tired, and while they ate, slurping the hot soup and moaning at the deliciousness of cheap MSG-fueled ramen, Isfan began to ask questions.
“Why did you want to become an idol?”
“Finally taken an interest in me, Isfan?” Gieve sent him an exaggerated wink across the steaming pot sitting in the middle of the dining table.
“Just curious.”
“Honestly, it’s the same old story,” Gieve replied after swallowing a mouthful of noodles, “I was scouted by an agent from Ecbatana while I was still in high school. I didn’t have any grand plans back then, and no world-shattering ambitions or goals to speak of, so I thought, ‘Why the hell not? Sounds fun!’ and just went with the flow.”
“That’s so you,” Isfan commented with a small laugh.
“Isn’t it just? And then of course behind all that glamour, rivalry arose, friendships were crushed over jealousy and competition,” Gieve carefully blew on the fishcake dangling between his chopsticks to cool it down before putting it into his mouth.
“But you made it; you’re here,” Isfan said, placing his chopsticks down.  
Gieve hummed, and for a brief moment, the two men concentrated on finishing their food and drinks.
“I’m sorry,” Isfan murmured, gaze dropping to the bottle of beer in his hands, fingers dragging droplets of condensation as they left smears on the table, “for my shitty behavior when we first met. I shouldn’t have judged you or your abilities before I even get to know you.”
“I sure showed you though, didn’t I?” Gieve grinned openly, and through the thin veil of steam that was still rising from the pot of finished noodles, he almost seemed surreal, the green of his eyes beckoning him in the fog, the quirk of his lips bearing a subtler message that Isfan had yet to decode, but that strange, clawing feeling disappeared as quickly as it had swooped down over him, and he found himself turning his head away, feeling uncomfortably hot and prickly.
“Isfan?” Gieve leaned over, his face full of concern.
“Sorry, just tired. It’s been a long day.”
Gieve didn’t ask any further.  
After putting the dishes away, they settled contentedly on the couch, and with the politics and bloodshed of Game of Thrones playing softly in the background, the two men fell asleep leaning against each other, their breathing slowing down until they became one harmonizing melody.
-
The only main task left for them is recording the song. The instrumentals for both versions are recorded without any major hitches; Isfan is responsible for playing the piano in the acoustic version while both he and Gieve contribute to the guitar portions in the rock version. The rest of the instrumentals are filled in by the company’s contracted musicians.
However, recording vocals hasn’t gone as smoothly as they’ve hoped.
It has taken Gieve many, many tries before he can pinpoint the exact emotion he wants — that deep, furious growling that he’s still not quite used to but is necessary for this song — without messing up the lyrics, and this is especially difficult due to the unforgivingly swift tempo that leaves the singer with very little space in between to take a breath.
On the contract, it’s been stated that Gieve will be responsible for the main vocals of the single, so while Isfan doesn’t necessarily need to be present for the vocal recording, he still sits in the recording booth with the audio engineer, entranced by the way Gieve puts everything into his singing while he keeps insisting that he can do better and pleads with the recording engineer to let him have another attempt even though his voice is obviously becoming scratchy from overuse.
During the weeks they were working on the melody and lyrics, Isfan already realizes that despite the idol’s seemingly gregarious and flippant personality, as if he never takes anything or anyone seriously, Gieve is an entirely different being when he throws himself deep into his work: he will nitpick and scratch out ideas until he deems the product near perfect to his satisfaction, and this is certainly one quality that Isfan has learned to respect.  
About two hours into recording, with almost the entire bottle of water emptied, Isfan signals at the idol for him to come out of the booth, but Gieve merely shakes his head and speaks into the microphone to let them know that he’s still fine to continue.
The audio engineer looks between the two musicians, uncertain of how to proceed, but Isfan gives him a reassuring pat on the shoulder before entering the recording booth himself, half-dragging, half-persuading Gieve to take a much-needed break.
“Just let me try a few more takes! I almost got it, come on—”
“No, your voice is cracking. You need to rest,” Isfan insists.
“Isfan’s right. Let’s give it another go tomorrow,” the audio engineer tells Gieve kindly.
Isfan nods his thanks, and then with a firm and steady hand, he pulls the bewildered idol out the door with a polite “see you tomorrow” aimed at the audio engineer.
“All right, all right, will you let go already?”
Gieve has been blindly following Isfan without really questioning where he’s taking him; not that he has any choice to begin with since the taller man still has a strong hold of his hand as he leads them down one hallway after another. A few passerby staff give them odd looks as they rush past, but they keep the muttering to themselves, though it doesn’t stop all kinds of rumours from spreading outside of the company that will gradually accompany the release of the single in the upcoming weeks.
Isfan finally lets him go when they reach the roof. They’ve taken the stairs instead of the elevator to avoid the worst of the crowd, but even walking up three flights of stairs is enough to make Gieve, who exercises regularly through dance rehearsals and gym visits, sweat and breathe raggedly, his arm hanging onto the railing to support his weight when they finally reach the top.
The roof of Ecbatana Entertainment Productions has been renovated into a garden where employees can rest in a peaceful spot away from the stress and worry of their work for a little while. The place is usually crowded during lunch time, but it is now nearing seven o’clock in the evening, the sky deepening into violet and blue and awash with splashes of pink and gold of the setting sun, the rooftop garden is utterly deserted.
Bushes of blooming lavender planted in squares of soil in the center of the garden create a waft of pleasant and sweet floral scent with a trace of evening summer breeze. Leaves of various plants that neither man remembers the names of whisper and rustle softly around them, and for the moment, they share the illusion of being the only ones in this world as the city halts its steps for the night.  
The two men settle on one of the benches that allows them to overlook the city skyline.
“Now that you’ve got me all by my lonesome,” Gieve breaks the silence easily and glances up at him with his infamous smile, the frustration from a few minutes ago gone without a trace as he wraps an arm intimately around Isfan’s shoulders, “is there something you wish to confess?”
Turning to face him properly, Isfan almost loses the ability to speak; their faces are only inches apart, and it reminds him of the first time they met — how irritated he’d felt towards the cheeky idol, how much he’d wanted to push him away and walk out of that room, how much more he’d wanted to pull him in and kiss him until neither of them can breathe.
He exhales slowly, eyes slipping close to refocus, but he doesn’t move away. He doesn’t want to.
“I’m worried about you,” Isfan says.
“Oh,” Gieve chuckles airily, “this is new.”
“I’m serious, damn it,” Isfan grits out, eyes flashing golden and black when he opens them again. “You’ve been pushing yourself too hard for the past week; you’ve barely finished any of your meals, and I know you’ve been chugging energy drinks when you thought nobody’s watching.”
“Well, apparently, someone’s been watching me closely,” Gieve’s grin turns a little mischievous as he leans in even closer, close enough that their breaths are mixing, a hand dragging up to the nape of Isfan’s neck.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Isfan murmurs, feeling the idol’s fingers splayed warm and heavy against the back of his neck, and he’s entirely too distracted by the other man’s eyes, made deeper green by the colored contact lenses and lightly lined in kohl due to an event he needs to attend later on tonight, and his smiling mouth, the subtle twist an alluring challenge, an undeniable invitation.
“Seeking comfort, decreasing my stress levels, trying to make you notice me more, and so on and so forth,” Gieve replies.
Isfan laughs lightly at the last item of Gieve’s statement, clearly amused by the idol’s attempt to flirt with him (which is working weirdly well, all things considered), and Gieve pouts at the reaction, slightly insulted.
“What? Why are you laughing? This is no laughing matter, you know—”
Isfan only laughs harder, the corner of his eyes crinkling and the sound of his laughter soft and rumbling like distant thunder echoing in a forest that sets alight something deep within Gieve, making his blood tremble with delight.
“You’re impossible, you know that?” Isfan says, and then he’s pulling Gieve towards himself by a fistful of his shirtfront, his mouth crashing against the idol’s unceremoniously in a messy kiss.
-
“And this week, on the Pars Top 40 Chart, a newly released single has reached the number one spot: it’s Gieve, featuring guest artist Isfan, ‘The Lost Ones’ Fantasy’!”
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A/N: Goodness. Excuse the terrible writing. I started giving up towards the end and didn’t really bother anymore…
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catsbeforelads · 6 years
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I was tagged by the lovely @roslin to whom i would hereby like to apologise for doing this three hundred years after she tagged me
O N E
·        name: Ludmilla || nickname:  Lud/Loet || zodiac sign: cancer
·        height:  174cm || orientation: lesbian || ethnicity: white/caucasian
·        favourite fruit: strawberries? || favourite season: spring/summer because my depression-prone ass gets depressed when it’s cold outside
·        favourite book: oh man idk tbh I don’t read books that often anymore and i hate that abt myself but The Hours is one of my faves i guess || favourite flower: roses
·        favourite scent:  the smell of coffee before a 9am lecture || favourite animal: cats
·        coffee, tea, or hot cocoa? depends
·        average hours of sleep: 8 usually
·        cats or dogs? cats
·        favourite fictional character: I just remembered that Last Tango in Halifax exists so Caroline McKenzie-Dawson
·        dream trip: Ireland/Dublin
·        when was your blog created? July 8th 2014 apparently
·        what do you post about? (gay) things I find funny, cat/animal videos and idk just whatever pops up on my dash that I enjoy
·        do you get asks on a regular basis? I am wildly unpopular so no
·        aesthetic: honestly I never know how to answer this lmao
·        favourite band/artist? ???? i don’t knowww because I listen to songs rather than artists tbh
·        fictional character I’d date: I don’t know? all of my faves?
·        hogwarts house: ravenclaw i guess
T W O
·        Countries I’ve lived in: The Netherlands
·        Favourite fandom: Don’t have one (anymore)
·        Languages you speak: Dutch, English, a tiny bit of German
·        Favourite film of 2016: i have no idea 
·        Last article you read: sth about prices of stuff going up bc a friend tagged me on fb lmao
·        Shuffle your music library and put your first three songs here: the way you do - dope lemon // cardamom - weyes blood // i can’t go on without you - kaleo
·        Last thing you bought online: Lush tea tree water spray stuff because my skin is being a bitch and Lush promised to give me clear skin so
·        How would your friends describe you? quiet but also talkative i guess, sarcastic, ???
·        How would your enemies describe you? i think bc i don’t talk that much people assume im arrogant, also ppl probs think im weird
·        Who would you take a bullet for? my mother and grandmother and any cat
Getting increasingly personal meme
One insecurity: • lmao i have a lot of insecurities but if i had to name one……i couldnt because i have too many
Two fears: • entirely dark rooms • ending up alone
Three turn-ons: • smirks • when ppl i like subtly touch me but i hate it when ppl i dont really like or know that well do that • ????
Four life goals: • get a room in Utrecht which seems impossible lmfao • get my own cat • find my biological father and confront him with my existence lmao and also find all of my halfsiblings • have my own little place that makes me happy when i look at it
Five things I like: • cats • cooking/baking something and it turning out really well • sinterklaas/pepernoten/speculaas season • when my eyeliner is sharp enough to kill a man • hot chocolate
Six weaknesses: • procrastinating although i could also list this as a talent because damn i am good at that • not wanting to hurt people’s feelings and ending up doing stuff with people that i actually dont like that much • wanting to tell ppl everything about myself but not wanting to bore/annoy them with stories abt my life, resulting in me bottling everything up and pretending everything is fine • wanting to do too much, thinking ‘oh no that’s too much’, losing interest/energy and ending up not doing anything at all • wasting my time on tumblr instead of studying • middle aged women lmao
Seven things I love (things not people): • cats • that feeling when you just showered and washed your hair and shaved your legs and you get into a freshly made bed  • getting good grades or getting positive feedback from a teacher that normally roasts everyone lmao • pizza or just italian food in general tbh • that feeling when you watch a movie/series and theres a giant fucking plot twist or everything suddenly falls into place and ur like ‘ohhhhh shit’ • when something you ordered online is delivered • having done everything you had to do and watching a movie/series without any feelings of guilt
Tag eight people: i dont even know 8 people lmao so im just gonna tag @butterfliesandpumpkinpies and @whendoiturnbackintoapumpkin and @typewritr and also anyone who sees this and feels like doing it
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fanficsandfluff · 7 years
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Neville and Harry: Herbology, Quidditch, lesson
“Neville, wait!” Harry flew down to the ground off his broom and jogged after the other student. 
Neville scowled and he walked as fast as he could off the Quidditch field, “I-I’m done playing, Harry..”
Harry sighed when Neville ducked inside the locker rooms. They were practicing innocently enough. Neville was getting more and more frustrated with how he couldn’t deflect the Quaffle from the goal hoops. And once he missed again, going to retrieve the Quaffle, he and Harry switched places. But Neville was still angry, and he chucked the ball so hard that he smacked Harry right in the nose, causing it to bleed. So Neville apologized repeatedly before finally quitting the practicing. 
Harry had tried to tell him over and over again that it wasn’t his fault and that he was absolutely fine. But the wizard didn’t listen. 
For the next few days, Neville was avoiding Harry at all costs. But Harry was constantly trying to talk to him. Finally, Harry was able to corner Neville in the Herbology greenhouse. He slipped inside right after Neville. 
“Neville,” Harry began, seeing the other wizard jump and nearly whimper, “I haven’t been able to speak to you since we were–”
“Because I didn’t want to face you,” Neville sighed and ducked his head, “I’m… I’m sorry I’m so bad at Quidditch, Harry. You got hurt because of it.”
Harry shook his head, “No, it’s okay. Honestly, Neville. I was just trying to have some fun with you on the pitch. It’s no one’s fault that my nose got smashed up. It was probably mine from not paying attention,” he smiled. 
Neville seemed somewhat more relaxed now and he nodded. He watched Harry come closer to him. 
“Oi, Harry, I wouldn’t walk to close to the–”
But it was too late and Harry suddenly felt something wrap around his wrists and hold him back, “What– Neville, um, what is this?”
Neville watched a few more vines sneak out and he couldn’t hold back a grin, “It’s actually a new plant Professor Sprout has been working on. They’re ultimately harmless, it’s just that they…” and he drifted off when the plant seemed to speak for him. The vines slithered around Harry’s waist and began wiggling against the fabric of his cloak. 
Harry gasped and he squirmed, “W-Wahait! Oho noohoho…” he bit his lip, trying to fight the sensations. But this bloody strong potted plant had him good. 
The plant wasn’t getting its desired reaction, so it switched to sliding under Harry’s shirt, able to tease against his bare skin. This got a better reaction since Harry’s laughter spiked. His wrists were being held and now even his waist was being stabilized by these vines, so he couldn’t move. 
“N-Neheheville! Mahahahahake them stohohop!” he knew his friend was a master at Herbology, so he had to know something about these devious vines. 
Neville merely looked on with a grin and smugness in his eyes. This was quite entertaining to watch. The Boy Who Lived getting incapacitated by tickling plants. 
Harry squealed when the vines worked their way up to his armpits and burrowed in deep into his hollows, “NOHOHO! ACK! NeheHEHEVILLE!” 
The wizard chuckled and finally decided to bring an end to them. He grabbed one of the many squirt bottles Professor Sprout had propped around and approached Harry. Getting a little too close, one of the curious vines began to prod his ribs. Neville giggled but was quick enough to spray it. The vine shrunk back, and Neville continued spraying all over Harry. 
Soon enough, Harry was released and he took a many few steps backwards away from the plant. 
“Yeah, they have that quirk about them,” Neville shrugged, giving the soil they were in another squirt for good measure. 
Harry panted, still letting residual giggles slip, “Wehell… a warning would’ve been nice, you know.”
Neville smiled, “I know. But it was more fun this way,” he smirked at Harry’s blushing face, “But thank you for coming to me, Harry. I won’t avoid you again.”
Harry nodded, “Of course, Neville. And if you ever want me to practice some more Quidditch with you–”
“Only if you allow me to give you a herbology lesson some time.”
Harry tilted his head but he grinned and chortled, “Whatever you say, Neville.”
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