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live incidentally
Title: live incidentally
Fandom: Bungou Stray Dogs
Character(s): Fitzgerald, Lucy, Steinbeck, Lovecraft, Mitchell, Hawthorne, Twain, Melville, Poe, Alcott
Pairing(s): some minor pairings implied but nothing major
Genre: Fluff
Word Count: 670
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Summary: F. Scott Fitzgerald takes some photos of his coworkers to show his wife.
Notes: More Guild fic, wow.
“Lucy!” Scott calls, and Lucy has no choice but to turn and look at him. “Hold still for a moment. And smile!”
“Why are you taking my picture?” Lucy Maud Montgomery asks, eyes narrowed at the phone in his hand. “If you’re trying to tie me down to the Guild with physical evidence-”
“Nothing as dour as that,” he says with a chuckle. “Zelda wanted pictures to prove that I have coworkers. And if you’re going to be in my pictures, you should be smiling!”
Scott can see her turn the matter over in her head, the ‘if it’s for Fitzgerald’s wife there’s no getting around it’ almost visible on her face. “...Alright, one picture.” She puts on her very best smile.
(“Yes, dear, I’m sure she’s old enough to be working here. ...She looks unhappy? But she’s smiling…”)
“John, old sport!” Scott says with a grin, waving his phone around. “Stand still for one picture.”
John Steinbeck gives him a camera-worthy smile, then relaxes once the flash of the camera is over with. “You wouldn’t believe how long it takes to shoot family photos over at my place. It’s the best training for standing stock-still I’ve ever gotten.”
“I can’t imagine,” Scott says. “My family isn’t nearly as large as yours.”
(“He looks unhappy too? ...Of course, sweetheart, if you say so. He must be miserable.”)
Howard Phillips Lovecraft he doesn’t ask, just snaps a photo of while he’s standing around. He’s slow-moving enough that Scott doesn’t need him to stay still in order to avoid blur.
Lovecraft blinks at him. “Hm?”
“Nothing at all,” Scott says. “Nothing of any importance.”
(“That is his actual face. ...I agree, it’s most unfortunate.”)
Margaret Mitchell and Nathaniel Hawthorne are together when Scott says, “Smile!” Margaret can smile on command, but Nathaniel… “You look like you ate a lemon, Mr. Hawthorne. Actually smile this time.”
“You’re asking the impossible,” Margaret says. “He hasn’t smiled a day in his life.”
“It’s better to save expressions of joy for times that deserve them, rather than hand them out to every passing stranger,” Nathaniel replies.
“Why you-!”
Scott gets a few shots of them arguing. At least their eyes are open.
(“In love with each other? You can’t possibly tell that from one photo - of course, Zelda, whatever you say.”)
Mark Twain is cooperative, at least, even if he has to be told a few times, “Try not to look so bored.”
“Can’t help it,” he says. “And you won’t let me have Finn or Sawyer in the picture either?”
Scott replies, “Zelda doesn’t need to know what kind of business I’m really in. Now smile.”
(“Handsome? Surely not more handsome than me, my love. ...That’s what I thought you’d say.”)
Herman Melville is sitting down when Scott finds him, but willing to stand up for the photograph. He blinks a few times at the camera flash, but eventually Scott takes a picture he’s satisfied with.
“Thank you, old sport,” he tells Herman, who shakes his head.
“For you and Zelda? The least I can do is stand through a photograph.”
(“That’s right, it’s Herman. You’ve met before. I’m surprised you remember him…”)
When it comes time to take a photo of Edgar Allan Poe, he fidgets for a moment, then nods and braces himself for the flash.
It doesn’t come. “Would you get your hair out of your eyes first?”
“...No?” he answers.
Scott, tired of taking pictures, shrugs and holds the phone up anyway. “Say cheese.”
(“I don’t know how he keeps from walking into everything, either. But I’m fairly sure it’s not magic, dearest.”)
Louisa May Alcott is the last one, and though she hates standing for photos, and Scott knows it - “I-I’ll try for you,” she says. “It’s for Zelda, right? So it’s important to you. Just… just warn me about the flash, and I’ll be fine...”
“Thank you,” he says, and means it.
(“Cute? Well, certainly - no, sweetheart, I’d never cheat on you! ...I think she’d die of embarrassment first.”)
Fandom: Bungou Stray Dogs
Character(s): Fitzgerald, Lucy, Steinbeck, Lovecraft, Mitchell, Hawthorne, Twain, Melville, Poe, Alcott
Pairing(s): some minor pairings implied but nothing major
Genre: Fluff
Word Count: 670
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Summary: F. Scott Fitzgerald takes some photos of his coworkers to show his wife.
Notes: More Guild fic, wow.
“Lucy!” Scott calls, and Lucy has no choice but to turn and look at him. “Hold still for a moment. And smile!”
“Why are you taking my picture?” Lucy Maud Montgomery asks, eyes narrowed at the phone in his hand. “If you’re trying to tie me down to the Guild with physical evidence-”
“Nothing as dour as that,” he says with a chuckle. “Zelda wanted pictures to prove that I have coworkers. And if you’re going to be in my pictures, you should be smiling!”
Scott can see her turn the matter over in her head, the ‘if it’s for Fitzgerald’s wife there’s no getting around it’ almost visible on her face. “...Alright, one picture.” She puts on her very best smile.
(“Yes, dear, I’m sure she’s old enough to be working here. ...She looks unhappy? But she’s smiling…”)
“John, old sport!” Scott says with a grin, waving his phone around. “Stand still for one picture.”
John Steinbeck gives him a camera-worthy smile, then relaxes once the flash of the camera is over with. “You wouldn’t believe how long it takes to shoot family photos over at my place. It’s the best training for standing stock-still I’ve ever gotten.”
“I can’t imagine,” Scott says. “My family isn’t nearly as large as yours.”
(“He looks unhappy too? ...Of course, sweetheart, if you say so. He must be miserable.”)
Howard Phillips Lovecraft he doesn’t ask, just snaps a photo of while he’s standing around. He’s slow-moving enough that Scott doesn’t need him to stay still in order to avoid blur.
Lovecraft blinks at him. “Hm?”
“Nothing at all,” Scott says. “Nothing of any importance.”
(“That is his actual face. ...I agree, it’s most unfortunate.”)
Margaret Mitchell and Nathaniel Hawthorne are together when Scott says, “Smile!” Margaret can smile on command, but Nathaniel… “You look like you ate a lemon, Mr. Hawthorne. Actually smile this time.”
“You’re asking the impossible,” Margaret says. “He hasn’t smiled a day in his life.”
“It’s better to save expressions of joy for times that deserve them, rather than hand them out to every passing stranger,” Nathaniel replies.
“Why you-!”
Scott gets a few shots of them arguing. At least their eyes are open.
(“In love with each other? You can’t possibly tell that from one photo - of course, Zelda, whatever you say.”)
Mark Twain is cooperative, at least, even if he has to be told a few times, “Try not to look so bored.”
“Can’t help it,” he says. “And you won’t let me have Finn or Sawyer in the picture either?”
Scott replies, “Zelda doesn’t need to know what kind of business I’m really in. Now smile.”
(“Handsome? Surely not more handsome than me, my love. ...That’s what I thought you’d say.”)
Herman Melville is sitting down when Scott finds him, but willing to stand up for the photograph. He blinks a few times at the camera flash, but eventually Scott takes a picture he’s satisfied with.
“Thank you, old sport,” he tells Herman, who shakes his head.
“For you and Zelda? The least I can do is stand through a photograph.”
(“That’s right, it’s Herman. You’ve met before. I’m surprised you remember him…”)
When it comes time to take a photo of Edgar Allan Poe, he fidgets for a moment, then nods and braces himself for the flash.
It doesn’t come. “Would you get your hair out of your eyes first?”
“...No?” he answers.
Scott, tired of taking pictures, shrugs and holds the phone up anyway. “Say cheese.”
(“I don’t know how he keeps from walking into everything, either. But I’m fairly sure it’s not magic, dearest.”)
Louisa May Alcott is the last one, and though she hates standing for photos, and Scott knows it - “I-I’ll try for you,” she says. “It’s for Zelda, right? So it’s important to you. Just… just warn me about the flash, and I’ll be fine...”
“Thank you,” he says, and means it.
(“Cute? Well, certainly - no, sweetheart, I’d never cheat on you! ...I think she’d die of embarrassment first.”)