#I have written retellings of both of these plays I am in DEEP | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

raibebe · 4 years ago

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Love shot

Genre: Tooth rotting fluff Words: 8.590 Prompt: Hockey Player Jeno feat. best friend Jaemin, love letters? Warnings: none..?

A/N: This was written for @woahhwa for the @kafenetwork kafeholidays event! Hi Ru! I had so much fun talking to you when tumblr wasn’t eating my asks! I hope you liked this and it incorporates some of the things you said you liked. Also. Warning: I know absolutely nothing about hockey so please bear with me :] As always thank you to @burtonized for always listening to my rambles and telling me that my writing doesn’t suck. Also literally no one asked for me to put Johnny into this but I am a simple woman and miss him and his gorgeous hair. I am sorry for this horrible title...

The red numbers on the clock over the rink slowly counted down, the last minute of the game beginning. You had your hands tightly clutched together, sitting on the edge of the seat as you watched your home team in the orange and blue tricots trying to defend the last push of the opposing team. Mark Lee - on the defense - body checked the opposing wing player, who had been pushing forward, hardly into the banister, causing him to lose the puck. Quick on his feet like always, Ten snatched it from him and took a sharp turn to avoid the second wing player, using his smaller size to his advantage so he could push forward into the last third before the huge defender of the opposing team tackled him harshly. But like the genius player he was, Donghyuck had anticipated it, screaming Ten’s name at the top of his lungs so the elder had the time to pass the puck on to his wingplayer. Using his momentum from following Ten, Donghyuk pulled both of the opposing defenders towards him, leaving the star player of the team - Lee Jeno - free right in front of the goalie. A huge mistake. With a mischievous grin on his lips, Donghyuck waited until the very last second to pass the puck straight to Jeno who didn’t hesitate even for a second to take his shot: Hitting the puck with all his strength, he sent the rubber flying right past the goalie’s body, slamming into the net of the goal.

The crowd around you erupted in loud screams and cheers, everyone jumping up from their seats and celebrating the last minute goal as the red timer on the scoreboard ticked down to zero, the loud noise of a horn mixing with the cheers of the students. In the middle of all of this you were hugging your best friend, screaming loudly before turning back to look into the rink where the other boys had buried Lee Jeno beneath them, hockey sticks scattered around them. The other team had already angrily left the rink, collecting their stuff to make their way to the locker rooms when the boys finally let off and let their MVP breathe. Grinning broadly they took their helmets off one by one, shaking out their matted hair and just like after every game, the sight of Jeno’s midnight blue messy hair took your breath away. Once you could muster up the courage to talk to him, you wanted to ask if he had dyed it to match the color of their blue and orange jerseys. But even though you went to every single one of their home games and sometimes even went down to the rink to congratulate them, you had yet to speak more than three words with their handsome center forward player with the 23 on his back.

“Let’s go down to congratulate them, this was insane,” Jaemin said before already pulling you down the stairs against the tide of people that were already leaving. A couple of the player’s friends had already gathered at the rink, cheering them on and clapping them on their padded shoulders. You could make out the University’s heartthrob Johnny Suh - a volleyball player himself - fondly petting his best friend’s head which made Ten smile brighter than the harsh lights that illuminated the ice. A group of other boys from your year that you knew from a couple of your courses had rounded Donghyuck and Mark and looked like they were currently mocking the elder for his misplay that had led to the early goal of the opposing team, leaving their goalkeeper Yangyang almost no time to react. With a loud thud Jeno joined the circle, clinging to Mark’s back who cried out in pain from how hard the impact had been. The newest addition to the team, a tall freshman with the number 27 on his back, awkwardly shuffled on the ice before the team captain - Sicheng - pulled him over to where they were celebrating.

“Yooooo, boys this was sick!” Jaemin called out when he jumped down the last couple of steps before joining his friends who had stopped mocking Mark for a little while. But that wouldn’t be for long and you knew it. You had been their fan for quite some time now and knew that Donghyuck would not let Mark live and would bother him about it for a long time. “Watch your back, stupid,” you mumbled after your best friend who had been part of the team last year but had to quit playing for an undefined amount of time due to some issues with his back. He was the one who had originally gotten you into this sport which had led to your crush on Lee Jeno. So basically Na Jaemin was the reason you had the worst everlasting crush on a boy you barely knew and were way too shy to talk to even if he shared a ridiculous number of classes with you this year. But to Lee Jeno you must just be Jaemin’s weird friend he still knew from his childhood.

Slowly you approached the circle of boys, trying to hide as much of your face as possible in the bright orange scarf you had wrapped around your neck to shield yourself from the cold of the stadium. Jaemin was already retelling the highlights of the game in rapid-fire double time rapping speed, gesturing broadly and making the players laugh. “If you were to commentate the games they would probably be twice as fun to watch,” you spoke your mind when your best friend had to take a deep breath, making all of them stare at you which promptly lead to blood to rush to your face. “Yoooo, that would be such a good idea,” Mark broke the silence, his eyes wide, “Since you know all the rules and stuff.” “Also I wouldn’t be biased at all,” Jaemin just rolled his eyes. “Yeah, he can’t just trash talk the other team during the whole game,” Sicheng threw in. “But it would be fun,” Yangyang mused. He had finally managed to get all of his extra protective gear off, his dark hair hanging into his eyes. “You should try it, Jaem,” Jeno also agreed. “I’d rather join you on the ice, you know,” your best friend mumbled, shooting the rink a longing gaze. “You’ll be back with us in no time once your back is healed,” Sicheng smiled, patting him on the shoulder with his still gloved hand, “Just give me a call and I’ll unlock the rink for you to make a couple of rounds.” “What am I, a short track athlete?” Jaemin grumbled but nodded his head anyways. He had been an amazing sprinter until he had exchanged the goggles and tight suits for heavy padding and a stick some time in high school.

“What’s this gloomy atmosphere? We won guys!” Ten shouted over from where he had been talking to Johnny and some other upperclassman, “Let’s get out of these uniforms and have some food to celebrate, Sicheng is paying.” “I am what?” The team captain protested but his complaints were lost in the cheers of the younger members of the team who quickly scrambled to get to the lockers to shower and change, their stomachs always bottomless holes after an intense game. “Let’s go home then,” Jaemin suggested, raking a hand through his caramel hair. You could tell he was still sad about not being able to be with his boys but he made an effort to hide his inner struggle. “Jaem!” A voice called you back when you turned to climb up the stairs and Lee Jeno skidded effortlessly over the ice to roughly collide with the side of the rink again. “You know you can join us, right?” A smile spread over your friend’s lips but he shook his head. “I can’t leave this one all to herself.” “The more the merrier,” Jeno just answered, looking you straight in the eye which lead to your heart missing a beat or two. He was covered in sweat and his hair was matted to his head, he should not have looked this attractive to you with his stupid half-moon eye smile and mole beneath his right eye. “I- I don’t want to mess up your all-boys time,” you tried to politely decline, scolding yourself for stuttering like this. You did not need to make an even bigger fool out of yourself. “It’s fine, really. Mark’s girlfriend is probably going to join us as well,” Jeno reassured you, “I’ll see you two outside!” He quickly added before crossing the rink again to disappear into the lockers, not leaving you two any more chance to decline.

“We’re not going to say no to a free meal, are we?” Jaemin grinned. “Wipe that grin off your face Nana,” you grumbled, scolding yourself for going for comfortable and warm clothes instead of pretty ones. What would Jeno think of you in your oversized blue hoodie and orange scarf? “Stop stressing, I can hear you thinking,” your friend whined, pulling you out of the by now empty stadium. “I look like a potato.” “No you don’t. You look fine. Jeno is not into the whole dolled up thing anyways.” Slapping his arm hard, you looked around if any of the players had already changed and overheard his comment. “You better keep your mouth shut, Na Jaemin or may god have mercy over you,” you hissed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he innocently blinked his eyes at you. “Na Jaemin, I swear to god. If you make me look like a fool in front of my crush that I should have never admitted to you, I WILL make you regret it.” “You don’t need me to make a fool out of yourself,” your best friend laughed, just barely dodging the punches you threw at him.

“Please be nice,” you whispered when the boys came out from the locker after a couple of minutes, their hair still damp from the shower they must have taken, their bags slung over their shoulders. Pictures of what a certain forward player must look like beneath his heavy padding and jersey flooded your mind for a second and you had to fight the heat that threatened to creep up on your cheeks. Mark’s girlfriend who had arrived a couple of minutes earlier and who you two had already told about the game, raced to fling herself into her boyfriend’s arms, giggling loudly when he almost toppled over from being thrown off balance. Somehow that image tugged at your heart and you wished that one day when you were finally not too shy to talk to Jeno, this could be the two of you.

Dinner was filled with a lot of loud laughter and just mildly annoyed waiters at the restaurant that had the best hot pot in town or so Sicheng claimed. But you really couldn’t even blame the poor waitress that had to deal with the hyped up hockey players. You mostly kept quiet, listening to their bickering and their stories. Donghyuck only retold how Mark had messed up in today’s game about three more times until he earned himself a rather hard slap to the back of his head from both Mark and Jeno. During the whole time you tried to steal secret glances at the forward player, admiring how fluffy his hair got after it had dried and how his glasses would fog up from the heat of the food until he took them off with an adorable but also really annoyed huff, stuffing them into the pocket of his neon green hoodie that should have looked ridiculous but he could pull it off. At this point you thought that he would look good in a plastic bag. God you really had it bad for him.

“Alright children, it’s bed time,” Ten exclaimed after everyone’s bellies were full, clapping his hands, “We should leave quickly so Sicheng can pay for the meal.” The team captain just sighed and leaned back in his seat while the others quickly shuffled around to sort out their bags and their jackets to hurry out of the restaurant, muttering words of thanks to Sicheng. You felt bad for him and lingered behind for a little before pressing a note into his hands that he declined with a little smile. “It’s fine,” he shook his head, handing the money back, “One mouth more or less doesn’t matter.” “Thank you for the meal, Sicheng,” you smiled. “Thank you for your support, you’re at every of our games, aren’t you?” Flustered you followed him to the register where a woman took his card to pay for the meal. “I try to make it. Jaemin doesn’t like going alone when he’s not allowed to play and I really enjoy watching you guys play. Your freshman really did so well.” “Sungchan is really talented,” Sicheng nodded, “He is such a great assent to the team and he compliments Jeno well. He’ll give Jaemin a run for his money when he comes back.” Smiling, you nodded. “I hope he’ll recover fast, he really misses you guys.” Taking his card back, Sicheng grimaced at the receipt. “We all miss him.”

Stepping outside in the cold, you were glad you had brought your thick jacket, your breath came out in little white clouds and Jaemin’s nose was already red. “I thought you’d never come back out, I am freezing over here,” he complained. Rolling your eyes at your roommate, you quickly said goodbye to Sicheng who once again told Jaemin to give him a call if he wanted to use the rink to skate for a while. On the way over to your apartment a little off of campus, you both kept quiet, each lost in your own thoughts. Even through your thick layers of clothing, the cold began seeping into your bones and you buried your hands deep into the pockets of your jacket. But instead of the soft material of the inside of the pockets, your right hand came into contact with a neatly folded piece of paper. Confused you pulled it from your jacket and unfolded it. You didn’t remember stuffing that in there. In neat handwriting, a single sentence was written:

You look so pretty in blue.

What? You were so perplexed, you halted in your steps, staring at the piece of paper as if it would tell you what in the world was going on or how it had ended up in your pocket. Had one of the boys snuck the note into you jacket when they all had left before you and Sicheng? But why would any of them do that? What if... What if it had been Jeno? No, that couldn’t be. He was way out of your league and most definitely confident enough to tell you in person if he liked the honestly very much not special or pretty blue hoodie. “Hello? Earth to best friend?” Jaemin’s voice ripped you from your thoughts. He was standing a couple of steps in front of you, a questioning look on his features. “Did you just remember you left the stove on or something?” “N... No,” you muttered, shaking your head before shoving the note back into your pocket, catching up to Jaemin.

What you didn’t know was that would not be the last weird note you would find. The next one didn’t take long. You found it stuffed in your bag between your books on your second class of the day. Trying to not catch your friend’s attention so you wouldn’t have to explain the note, you carefully and secretly unfolded it to read the neatly written sentence.

You look great today, have a great start into the new week! Fighting!

Not unlike last time, you wondered who could have dropped the note into your bag. And when? Looking around the class you were currently in, your eyes caught on Lee Jeno’s midnight blue hair just a couple of seats in front of you. Had he been in your previous class as well? You couldn’t remember. But even if he had been, it was just wishful thinking that he had been the one to write the note. It was most likely a cruel joke someone was playing on you. Sighing you crumbled the piece of paper and focused back to what your professor was saying, trying to concentrate on taking notes instead of daydreaming while staring holes into Lee Jeno’s head like you had done way too often in this class. You weren’t very successful and when Jeno answered a question the professor had thrown at the class flawlessly, earning himself a couple of back pats from his friends that were seated around him, you couldn’t help but sigh. God, why did he have to be both smart and incredibly handsome? And on top of that a very talented hockey player.

A slap from your friend to your shoulder brought you back from your daydream to find the professor staring at you intensely. Shit. What had he asked? “Alright miss, I’d like a word with you after class. Now who can answer my question instead?” He spoke and you just wanted to ground to swallow you whole.

For the rest of the class you were just imagining all the worst case scenarios in your head of what the strict professor would scold you about. Would he make you do extra work for the class? Give you a bad grade all together? Or just humiliate you further? “Alright class, that will be it for today, you’re dismissed. Don’t forget to do the reading for next week and hand in your assignments on time,” the professor dismissed the class, immediately finding your eyes to nod his head sharply to indicate he hadn’t forget about you zoning out.

Discouraged after the scolding you had gotten from your professor about dozing off in his classes, you climbed the stairs to your seat to pack your stuff to go hide in your room until everyone would have forgotten how embarrassing the whole situation had been, especially Lee Jeno and his friends. But yet again another note was placed right on top of your notebook, seemingly written in a haste and carelessly ripped out of its original page.

Don’t take it to heart, it could have happened to anyone. Cheer up!

Okay maybe the someone who was writing you these notes actually wasn’t playing jokes on you and actually cared about you. You’d be lying if the few words hadn’t made you feel any better.

Over the next few weeks you found more and more notes. Some longer than others, some just a few hastily written words. Some were just a quick cheer up to help you get through a long day of class, some compliments about your outfit or your hair and some even little stories about the day of your admirer. Somehow you felt like you got to know him a little through his little messages. You even dared to say you looked forward to finding more and more notes.

One time your secret admirer even left you a coffee on your table at the library when you had gotten up from your seat to get more books to look up some information for the essay you were trying to finish. When you got back to your seat, you looked around quickly to see if the admirer was still around. But you only saw more students perched over books or their laptops, typing away. Just when you were about to get back to your own project, a white hoodie caught your eye between the dull lighting and brown colors of the library. Below a mop of blue hair, Lee Jeno shortly smiled at you from behind his glasses, toasting towards you with his own cup of coffee and you couldn’t help but notice that it was from the same shop the steaming cup in front of you was from. Picking it up, you toasted back and took a small sip to not completely burn your tongue before examining the cup which just said your name with a little heart on it. It could have been just a coincidence that Jeno chose to get coffee from the same place your admirer had. The shop was just a few meters from the library after all but the way Jeno had smiled at you, not his usual bright smile but something maybe a little more shy, made you believe it could actually have been him and you really hoped that he actually was.

But today you hadn’t found a single note from your admirer and for some reason that was really bothering you. He had managed to sneak you at least a little note every day for a while now. And you still hadn’t figured out how he did it. Or when. You didn’t leave your bag or jackets unattended for long periods of time and it seriously baffled by how sneaky he must be.

“Stop staring holes into the air and get back to work,” your coworker Yuta scolded you, clapping a hand on your back on his way past you. “I’m sorry, I was lost in my head,” you apologized but he just shrugged his shoulders as he collected the mugs a group of students had left behind. “Exams?” He asked as he came back, putting the mugs into the sink. “Something like that,” you lied. You really didn’t know the upperclassman well enough to vent to him about how someone you didn’t even knew who they were send you secret messages and somehow they hadn’t done it today yet. Before Yuta could ask any further questions, the bell on the door jingled happily, announcing the arrival of a new set of customers. “I’ll go, bring those to the back,” your coworker instructed you. Sighing, you bunched up your sleeves to stack up all the dishes that had been piling up in the front during the time Yuta and you had been too busy with orders to put them in the big dishwasher in the kitchen.

With a couple of freshly washed cups and plates you emerged back into the main room to see Yuta flirting with the group of girls that had just come in to probably order some way too overpriced season special with more sugar than actual coffee in it. Of course only after they had been completely charmed by the objectively speaking very pretty foreigner with a silver tongue. Rolling your eyes at the group, you instead made your way to where the customers were sitting to check if anyone new had come in while you were in the back. After most classes were over for the day, the cozy café usually filled up with students pretty fast; either to relax for a little before going to the library or to discuss group projects.

Today was no different and you easily spotted a group of boys from one of your courses squished together in one of the booths, your best friend smiling brightly at you when he saw you approach. “My favorite waitress is working,” he spoke, awkwardly hugging your waist from his sitting position. “You just want my employee discount,” you fondly rolled your eyes at a now pouting Jaemin, “So what can I get you.” You quickly collected all the boy’s orders including Jaemin’s horrendous deathpresso. “Oh, add another iced Americano, someone is still missing,” Donghyuck called after you when you had confirmed their orders, a knowing smirk on his lips. Quickly scribbling another one on your little notepad, you didn’t look where you were going and suddenly collided with a very solid chest and you were pretty sure you would have fallen if it was not for the customer’s quick reflexes. So instead of on the floor, you found yourself pressed against his chest, his perfume clouding your senses. “Careful where you’re going,” he said and you could already tell that your eyes would meet ones with the color of molten amber, hidden behind a cute pair of round glasses, before you even looked up to see Lee Jeno’s smile. “You... You too,” you stuttered, feeling your face heat up, quickly scrambling back a step. “Are you alright?” He asked, looking you up and down once. “Yeah, I was just taking your orders, I’ll be right back,” you tried to smile while trying to tell your heart to stop beating like you had just ran a marathon. “I’ll help you carry, we’re quite a few people.” “No, it’s fine really,” you quickly declined, “This is my job after all. “I feel bad for running into you though, let me help,” Jeno insisted, a slight pout on his lips that you really could not resist. When you ended up nodding, his whole face lit up with his famous eye smile and your insides might have just melted a little. While he was quickly putting his bag down and greeting his friends, you busied yourself with the orders. Yuta was still no help whatsoever, telling one of the girls an obnoxious story of how he had ended up at a university in Korea. You barely held back your laugh when the girls gasped, their eyes glued to Yuta. The story might have been impressive to you if you hadn’t heard it about 30 times already, always a little different but always pretty far from the actual truth.

“I didn’t know you worked here,” Jeno ripped your attention from your coworker when he leaned against the counter to watch you work the big coffee machine. “I was working in a different shop a little off campus before,” you smiled, focusing on pouring the milk into one of the cups of coffee to form a pretty picture. “You’re really good at making them look pretty,” Jeno complimented you, his cheeks tinted a rosy color. “It’s just practice,” you mumbled, hiding your own shyness behind the counter to quickly grab the cake slices the boys had ordered. An awkward silence hung over the two of you while you worked on finishing the other drink orders (it always took a ridiculous amount of time to make Jaemin’s) and your brain ran on overdrive trying to come up with a topic to talk to Jeno to fill up the silence while willing your hands to not shake and make a fool out of yourself in front of him.

“Do... Do you work between classes?” You chose to ask in the end, scolding yourself immediately for asking what must be the most lame, basic question ever. “I hardly have time between classes and practice,” Jeno explained nonetheless, scrunching his nose adorably to push up his glasses,” I’m here on a scholarship so I have to show results in hockey or I’ll be out.” “Ooh, I didn’t know that. But you’re really good so it shouldn’t be a surprise,” you spoke your mind before you could think about the words but as soon as it registered, your face immediately was heating up. Jeno just laughed awkwardly and scratched the back of his head. “I’m not bad I guess. It’s just a lot of practice, it’s nothing special,” he mirrored the words you had said earlier, an easy smile on his lips. “Even I can see you have an unfair amount of talent for hockey, Jeno.” At that he barked out a short laugh. “You should have seen me when I stood on the ice for the first time, I couldn’t even skate in a straight line without falling on my ass, no idea what the scouts saw in me when they talked to my mum to recruit me.” “I bet you’re just being modest,” you argued. “I am not I swear,” he laughed, “I was really bad but I trained a lot so I could make the team. I’m not like Donghyuck who can just skip half of practice because he’s hungover. I have to work for it.” “That makes it even more admirable,” you mumbled, not able to look him in the eye when you spoke the words even though you meant them with all your heart. “Th- Thank you,” Jeno stuttered and when you looked up at his face again, you could see that his ears were bright red. “I mean it,” you smiled and when he finally met your eyes you couldn’t help but get lost in his for a while.

“And you tell me to stop flirting with customers,” Yuta broke whatever moment you just had with Jeno and shoved you from the spot on the coffee machine. “I wasn’t,” you tried to argue but your colleague just clocked his tongue and rolled his eyes. “I... I wouldn’t mind if you were,” Jeno mumbled so quietly you had almost missed it, causing butterflies to erupt in your stomach and a smile to creep onto your lips again. “We should bring the drinks over,” you smiled, grabbing the tray that held the drinks so Jeno could take the one with the cakes. “Ye... Yeah, orders, drinks, sure,” he stuttered, grabbing the second tray and following you through the café back over to where his friends were seated. “I thought you would never come back,” Jaemin already whined, grabbing his deathpresso off of your tray. “It takes a while to make eight freaking extra shots of espresso,” you scolded your best friend while giving out the rest of the orders to the other boys who all agreed, joining in on telling Jaemin how unhealthy his coffee drinking habits were. “Let me know if you need anything else,” you smiled politely when everyone had gotten their respective drinks, leaving the boys to banter playfully.

Over the course of your shift, the boys stayed to study and ordered another round of hot drinks before they left just shy of the ending of your shift. Jeno threw you another shy smile and a little sweater pawed wave when they left the shop that almost send you into cardiac arrest. “I’ll clean that table and then head out,” you announced to Yuta who was glued to his phone, checking his twitter feed. Among the chaos of used napkins and dishes, you found a neatly folded piece of paper with your name neatly written on it, a little heart drawn in the corner that set you own one racing again. You quickly put it in your pocket and cleared the rest of the table, all but throwing the dishes into the dishwasher at the back so you could get out of your apron and take a look at the note your secret admirer had left. While you were changing into your warm jacket, you couldn’t help but to think and to hope that Jeno had left it for you. After all he had been at both the gatherings that had led to you finding these notes and he also shared lot of classes with you where he could technically have slipped you a note or two. And on top of that he had also been at the library when the coffee incident happened.

Once you stepped out of the café and into the cool air of the early evening, you sat down on one of the benches surrounding the building to read the little note in peace.

You look so cute when you’re concentrating on making pretty latte art, did you know that? I loved the little talk we had but I am too shy to talk to you. Can you tell by these notes? My friends all make fun of me for writing cheesy notes instead of manning up to actually talk to you. I don’t even know if you would want to meet me. But if you want to, then meet me at the ice rink tomorrow at 7pm. I’ll be waiting for you there, I promise.

You couldn’t hold in the little shriek of joy that made its way past your lips. It had to be Jeno. It couldn’t be anyone else. It had to be him. Holding the little note close to your furiously beating heart, you smiled and kicked your legs in joy before storing it carefully into your bag. Jaemin better be ready to help you choose an outfit for tomorrow and listen to you whine without asking too many questions about who you were actually going to meet.

When you arrived at the stadium the next day, clutching the note tightly in your hand, you double checked the time and carefully looked around before you tried to open the front door which to your surprise was actually unlocked. Taking a deep breath, you went in, closing the door firmly behind you before walking up to the second door that would take you to the bleachers. Slowly you pulled it open as well, hoping it wouldn’t make too much noise. The rink itself was just dimly lit, most of the lights turned off and on the ice there was a single figure skating around the perimeter, seemingly lost in their thoughts while aimlessly taking sharp turns that send pieces of ice flying, making the skids screech. You would have recognized that person between hundreds of other skaters, the midnight blue hair easily giving him away.

Jeno seemingly hadn’t noticed you yet and it gave you time to sort out your racing heart and thoughts. Had it really been him to write you all the sweet notes that you had begun to collect in a little box you hid from Jaemin in a box beneath your bed? Or was the universe playing a prank on you and it was just a coincidence that he was practicing right now, alone at night. But then again no one else was around and he really wasn’t dressed for practice, just wearing one of his big hoodies and jeans. It had to be his notes. And thinking back on it, he really had been the only person who had been at the same places, the notes had been showing up. From the dinner with the hockey team to the ones in your classes and at your work or in the library.

Slowly you made your way down the steps of the bleachers, keeping quiet so you wouldn’t disturb Jeno who was still skating around the rink. Once you arrived at the bottom row of seats, you took a seat next to a pair of skates and a pair of sneakers that probably belonged to Jeno. Sitting in silence, you watched his movements for a while. He was captivating to watch: Seeing him effortlessly glide over the ice before suddenly sprinting forward only to come to an abrupt halt or take a sharp turn. It was beyond you how he held his balance through it all.

Suddenly he halted in his moves completely to stare at the big clock on the back wall of the stadium that showed that it was fifteen minutes past seven already before he sighed deeply, raking a hand through his fluffy hair. Was he nervous? Nervous you wouldn’t come? Just when he was taking off, his eyes caught your figure and he stopped again, a big smile spreading across his face that made his eyes curl into the beautiful half-moon shape you adored. While you were busy trying to remember how to breathe, he was skating towards you, effortlessly jumping from the ice through a little door in the rink, walking towards you. “You came,” he beamed, kneeling down in front of you after he had grabbed the skates that were still lying next to you. “Yeah I did,” you answered, still not entirely sure what to make of this situation. With how fast your heart was beating, it must have climbed all the way up to your throat and you weren’t sure if you could have produced a proper sentence if you wanted to.

“I hope I didn’t misinterpret all of this,” Jeno mumbled while he carefully undid your shoelaces before slipping them off your feet, “And you’re just here to tell me to stop being creepy and not leave any more notes around.” The way he looked up at you from beneath his midnight blue bangs tugged at your heart and you couldn’t find any words to tell him just how okay you were with this, so you just nodded, feeling heat rise to your cheeks, the skin feeling way too hot against the cold of the stadium. Smiling brightly Jeno quickly prepared the skates to slip onto your feet and laced them up tightly, his nimble fingers working fast and efficient. “Is this alright? Not too tight?” “Seems fine,” you smiled back at him, experimentally wiggling your toes. “Alright,” Jeno smiled, extending a hand to you. “Come on, let’s go.”

Shyly, you took his hand to let him pull you upright. On wobbly feet, you followed him to the little door in the rink, letting him step onto the ice first. “I’ve never done this before,” you confessed, almost reflexive reaching your gloved hands out towards him which he took with a gentle smile, squeezing them reassuringly. “I won’t let you fall,” he promised, tightening the grip on your hands. “Okay,” you whispered, carefully stepping onto the slippery ice, unsure how to work with the skates. “You’re a natural,” Jeno beamed when you finally stood with both feet on the ice. “I- I don’t know,” you shied away from the praise, wishing you could hide in your big scarf. “Hold on tightly now,” the hockey player warned before he skillfully moved his legs so he was sliding backwards, effectively pulling you with him. A little surprised sound escaped your lips and you clutched his hands tightly, worrying your gaze to your feet where you tried to stabilize yourself and keeping the skids up right.

“Don’t think so much about it. Look at me,” Jeno’s voice cut through the soft scratching noises of the skates. “I’ll fall if I do,” you argued. Also your heart would most likely leap out of your chest if you did. As if it wasn’t already beating furiously enough now that you were basically on a date with your crush and he was holding your hands. “I told you that I won’t let you fall,” he promised, slowing down his own movements until you came to a halt. Steadying yourself on the skates, you took a deep breath before looking up to meet Jeno’s eyes. And just like that time stood still. Under the dimmed lights in the stadium, it felt like you two were the only people on this planet. You got lost in the deep brown shade of his eyes and adored how his nose and cheeks were tinted a pretty blush color from the cold. “Hey there,” he whispered, tucking your scarf neatly around your neck where it had come undone, the gesture so intimate, it made your breath hitch. “Hi,” you answered dumbly and it made him smile, his eyes curving into the beautiful half-moon eye smile.

Before you could do anything stupid like coo hat how pretty he looked, his smile turned into a mischievous grin and he quickly let go of your hands to skid backwards a couple of meters further towards the center of the rink. “Jenoooo,” you whined once you had found your balance again, glaring to where he was making a couple of sharp turns, creating indents in the smooth ice and sending pieces flying. “Come over,” he called, opening his arms wide. “You just want to see me fall.” “You won’t, have some faith in yourself. Just kick with your skates until you gain momentum. It’s like walking just with a little more glide.” “Do you realize how ridiculous that sounds?” “Just try it. For me,” Jeno smiled, sliding a little closer to you and opening his arms again. Sighing, you nodded, balling your hands into fists before you kicked your feet just how you had seen Jeno and the other’s do a hundred times before. Albeit very wobbly and slow, you were sliding over the ice. A smile slowly spread over your face as you kicked your feet again and again and you weren’t even mad when you noticed that Jeno steadily moved backwards to keep you going. “See, you’re a natural,” he beamed but just when he said that, you stumbled over one of the indents he had created earlier when he was showing off. You already prepared yourself to meet the cold unforgiving ice, making a complete fool out of yourself but instead two strong arms curled around you to pull you against a strong chest so you were stabilized again.

“I told you, I wouldn’t let you fall,” Jeno whispered, his hands steady on your waist. “Thank you,” you mumbled, slowly snaking your arms around him as well until your bodies were flush together. For a while you just stood on the ice, hugging each other until your breaths evened out, hearts beating in the same rhythm. “I’m so glad you actually came.” “Why wouldn’t I?” You mumbled into his neck. “Maybe you thought all my notes were creepy.” “I was really confused at first,” you admitted, “I thought it was a joke. I couldn’t think of a reason why anyone would write these to me. I was waiting for someone to bring up the topic so they could make fun of me. But deep down I really wished it was you who was writing them and that you actually meant everything you wrote.” The longer you spoke, the more you felt your face heat up. “I wish I had more courage to actually ask you out properly,” Jeno confessed, his voice quiet, “I kept seeing you around Jaemin and then you started to come to our matches. And then we ended up in so many of the same courses and guess what you’re not only very pretty but also incredibly smart. And I guess I kind of developed this huge crush on you with your big scarves and hoodies.” “Me... Me too, Jeno,” you whispered, your heart making summersaults in your chest and a smile spreading on your lips. Beneath your fingers you could feel Jeno chuckle. “Will you let me kiss you?” He asked softly and who were you to deny him?

Slowly you lifted your head from his shoulder and he carefully cupped your face before he leaned in to kiss you until your noses were touching. His bangs were tickling your face but you wouldn’t have wanted to have it any other way and crossed the last few centimeters between you to press your lips against his slightly chapped ones. Like you had all time in the world you just stood on the ice, lazily moving your lips together only ever separating to heave in a couple of breathes of air and share a soft giggle before claiming each other’s lips again with hearts beating like one.

Eventually Jeno pulled back when you leaned in to kiss him again, a big smile on his lips when you pouted. “You’ll get another one when you manage to skate a whole round in the rink,” he grinned, his eyes sparkling. “You’re the worst Lee Jeno,” you kept pouting, “You’re hurting yourself just as much as me.” “Come on, it’s going to be fun,” he smiled, snaking free from your grip to skate around you in quick motions. “Show off,” you mumbled underneath your breath but tried your best to copy his movements to fulfill his quest.

In the end he had been right, once you got the hang of it and didn’t lose your balance every time there was a dent in the ice, it actually as fun to chase each other around the rink even though you knew he was purposefully letting you catch up to him at times to steal more kisses. It still somehow didn’t feel real that you actually were here with Lee Jeno and that you were actually allowed to kiss him just like this. After what felt like hours, Jeno helped you out of your skates and you just sat on the bleachers cuddled up together beneath a blanket, looking down at the rink. “Are you going to see the match tomorrow?” He asked. “Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I?” Jeno just hummed, a blush creeping up his cheeks and ears, this one definitely not from the cold. What was making him shy all of a sudden? “Would you... I mean... If you wanted to... Would you,” he stuttered before he groaned loudly and grabbed your hands tightly, “Willyouwearmyjackettothegame?” “What?” “My jacket... Would you wear it tomorrow?” He asked again, slower this time but still not meeting your eyes, instead looking at your interlocked hands. “Do you want me to?” You asked him back, a big smile on your lips. “I mean... I understand if this is a little fast but... But I’ve had this crush on you for the longest time and... And I would really like to show everyone that you’re you know...” “That I’m your girlfriend?” “Y... Yeah,” he admitted, shyly looking at you from beneath his midnight blue bangs. “Of course I will,” you smiled broadly, throwing your arms around him to hug him close.

And you did. After you and Jeno had talked for a little while longer about everything and nothing at all (and maybe some more kissing) until you had yawned more than he found acceptable, he had quickly run to the locker rooms to fetch his jacket that he had promptly laid over your shoulders on your way home. In front of your apartment building he had kissed you goodbye and wished you sweet dreams before he walked away to his own dorm room that he shared with Donghyuck so you had found out. You turned the key as silently as you could so you wouldn’t wake up your best friend who was out cold on the small sofa in your living room, the Netflix ‘Are you still watching?’ screen illuminating the room. Shaking your head, you draped a blanket over the sleeping boy and turned the TV off before getting ready for bed as well. The next morning you had to explain why you had Jeno’s jacket to a screaming Jaemin at an ungodly hour but in the end he was just excited as you were if not more because he didn’t have to hear both of you pining anymore because he had promised Jeno not to meddle.

You slipped into Jeno’s big jacket when you and your friend where about to leave so you wouldn’t be late to the match, you couldn’t help but smile, snuggling deep into the collar until your boyfriend’s smell engulfed you like a blanket. “Stop being gross or the best seats will be taken,” your best friend complained, tugging you with him and filling the way over to the stadium with chatter. “There are so many people,” you exclaimed when you had entered the stadium, looking around for free seats. “It’s the highlight of the season, what did you expect?” Jaemin asked, tugging you further down when he spotted Mark’s girlfriend waving excitedly at your two. She also was wearing a jacket with the name ‘Lee’ on the back just that hers had a big blue 2 on the back and not a 23 like yours. “You and Jeno?” She excitedly jumped up and down when she had spotted your jacket and you could only nod shyly. “I’m so happy for you. Mark told me how Jeno kept pining after you.”

“What’s with all the Lees over here?” A male voice cut in before you could answer anything and Johnny Suh sat down next to Jaemin, not clad in his usual dark red jacket with his name and the 9 on the back but in a rather small orange one with a giant blue 10 on the back. “You’ll fit right in,” Mark’s girlfriend chirped, making Johnny blush and hide his face in his knitted scarf, mumbling something about how stupid it was that it had to be so cold to play hockey and how much rather he’d be in his heated gym. “The joy of dating Korean guys,” Jaemin laughed, jumping up and climbing in a seat the row above you, “Let me take a picture, this is hilarious.” “Ten and Mark aren’t even Korean,” Johnny argued, “But Leechaiyapornkul would have been a bit excessive to put on a jacket.”

The rest of his argument was drowned out by the cheers that erupted when the players came from their lockers, the starting 6 quickly rounding the rink, making a couple of sharp turns and going through moves with their stick. Being their center forward player, Jeno was in the starting team along with Sungchan and Donghyuck. On the defense, Winwin and Mark were checking their gear before the captain made sure that all of Yangyang’s protective gear was on right. In the meantime Jeno was searching the bleachers and you couldn’t help but feel shy before you waved at him, jumping up and down so he would notice you. Because of the helmet you couldn’t know if he smiled at you but your heart made summersaults nonetheless when you playfully put on the hood of the jacket to show him that you were indeed wearing it. You imagined him laughing before he blew you a kiss with an over exaggerated movement that made quite a few people turn their heads to see who he could have blown the kiss to. Before you could even think about hiding, Johnny gripped your arm tightly and hissed: “If I am out here wearing Ten’s stupid jacket that is way too small for me while he refuses to wear mine in public because he’s not some trophy wife, you will not hide now.” Not knowing whether you should be afraid of Johnny or laugh at what really sounded like something Ten would say, you just nodded at the blonde, straightening out your back. From the opposite side you could see Ten sitting in the exchange box, a huge grin on his face when he must have spotted Johnny in the crowd (which really wasn’t that hard, the dude was unnecessarily tall).

“They better win this game or I will be mad,” the blonde grumbled when everyone had sat back down and the referee had called both team captains over. “It’s going to be a tight game,” Jaemin filled him in, “The gorillas have been on a roll for the past couple of games. But I have the feeling that a couple of players might just try extra hard today, trying to show off.” At the end, he threw both Johnny and you a very over exaggerated look completed with wiggling eyebrows which earned him slaps from both of you. “Now shut your mouth, Na Jaemin, I actually want to see this game.” “Wow she gets a hot hockey player as her boyfriend and suddenly she doesn’t need my top notch commentating anymore, that hurts.” “Shut up, Nana,” you smiled, focusing back to where in fact your boyfriend was playing on the ice just now. And even if you loved to see Jeno playing, you couldn’t wait for the game to be over to be back in his arms to congratulate him.

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mystery-star · 3 years ago

Text

Waiting for you - Spock

Pairing: Spock x reader (gender neutral)

Warnings: mentions of injury and death

Words: 1838

Star Trek universe: AOS

A/N: Just a lil thing I wrote because I haven’t written (at least for Spocko) in ages. And didn’t feel like writing on a series.

“She’s here. She’s here” you heard someone shouting beside you and looked around and finally you could see the Enterprise approaching in one of many tunnels above you. You smiled and stepped forward a little and waited for the crew to dismount. When you saw the first of them, your smile got broader and you got onto your tiptoes to look out for your husband. Not many people of the Enterprise had someone waiting for them and those who did seemed overjoyed. It made you look down for moment because you had a feeling that Spock wouldn’t greet you like others greeted their loved ones. Finally, you could see him and slightly raised your hand, hoping he’d see you. When he did, he came straight towards you, stopping half a meter in front of you

“(Y/N)” he said “What brings you to Yorktown?”

“I’ll give you three guesses” you replied and just threw yourself around his neck “I’ve missed you, Spock” you breathed against his skin and he hugged you back slightly.

“Am I therefore right to conclude that you came here in order to see me during my shore leave?”

“Right” you let go of him but only that you could kiss him. He cupped your face and kissed you back. At some point his hand found yours, slowly stroking his first two fingers against yours. But then he pulled away from you all of a sudden, just holding your hand. You turned around and saw two older Vulcans behind you.

“Commander, might we have a word? Alone?” you wanted to ask why you couldn’t come when Spock threw a glance at you and squeezed your hand

“Do you mind?”

“Just be quick” you pecked his cheek “I’ll be waiting for you, okay?” you handed him a keycard of the hotel where you had booked a room for you both. He gave a nod, then let go of your hand and followed the two men. With a sigh you looked after him and returned to the hotel, knowing he would be clever enough to find it when he was done.

But he only came when it was dark and you were already in bed, reading a magazine on your PADD.

“Have you been waiting with sleeping until I return?”

“Well, you got some days of shore leave, then I won’t see you for another two years. I want to use every minute with you that I can” he gave a nod and sat down on the bed, placing a device on the nightstand. “What did they want?”

“I will tell you in the morning”

“Alright” you put the PADD aside and stretched yourself a little before sitting up, crawling closer to him and wrapping your arms around him again, kissing him. “We now have better things to do, don’t you think?” he kissed you back and placed one of his hands in the small of your back, pulling you closer while he ran his other hand over the side of your face. After the kiss he leaned his forehead to yours and you bumped his nose with yours. “Did you have fun out there on the mission?”

“I have written and called you three times per week, as we have agreed on, and informed you about what you call ‘adventures’ and have also answered each question concerning them I was allowed to answer”

“Well yes but your last message was two days ago. I need a recap of the past two days. Or retell me your favorite mission. Doing it face-to-face is much better” you pecked his lips. He gave a nod, pulled you into his lap and started telling you how the Captain had attempted to make peace between two species that didn’t work out as planned. Then he went on to their arrival to Yorktown and suddenly his communicator beeped “Tell me that’s your private comm”

“It is not” he leaned forward to get it and you just wanted to stop him but let it happen with a sigh. Placing you back on the bed, he gave your hand a squeeze, took the comm, opened it and left the room. With a sigh you fell back on the bed, glancing to the PADD and considering if you should continue reading but then looked at the ceiling, repeating everything you had planned to do with Spock in the following days in your mind. Soon Spock returned and you sat up with a smile but his words ruined it “I must go”

“Go? Go where? Aren’t you on shore leave?”

“I am. However, there is a matter that requires my assistance”

“What is it?”

“I cannot tell you much but I must leave Yorktown”

“You’re shitting me”

“I do not joke”

“But… but… will you at least get that time off later on? How long will you be gone?”

“I suppose it should not take longer than 36 hours”

“Oh well…. Then you owe me yet another debriefing upon your return” he gave a nod, came closer to put his comm on his nightstand and pecking your forehead.

“Please make yourself a pleasant day tomorrow”

“Okay. And then I’ll be waiting here for you… again”

But Spock didn’t come home the evening or morning after he had left, so you decided to make yourself another nice day exploring another area of Yorktown. In the late afternoon, you suddenly heard how the station went on alert and after looking around you saw that a swarm of tiny ships tried attacking Yorktown. Around you everyone was in panic, screaming, rallying kids and running away while you stood there frozen, staring at the many little ships on the other side of Yorktown.

“We have to leave. Come. Now” someone next to you shouted, pulling on your arm

“Can we go somewhere safe? Like a… bunker?”

“A bunker on a Starbase?” the man started laughing slightly and shook his head.

“Or can we do something? Something to help? Is there a defense station or militia? Or help evacuate people?”

“That’s Starfleet’s business” as if on cue, there was an announcement, informing the public that there was an attack and that you should not panic. You let out a snort and watched how the people around you seemed to panic even more. You looked around and finally saw a security, officer, going over to him.

“Excuse me, Sir?”

“Don’t worry, we’ll all be safe, just stay calm and…”

“No, I wanted to ask if I can help something.”

“Help?”

“Yeah. Weapons, evacuate people or something” he looked at you, considered it a while then said he’d have to check it out. But before he could return, they managed to somehow blow up all the small ships. Somehow you couldn’t believe that this was everything and sure enough, there was another announcement informing the public that a great part of the ship had been destroyed but that three of them had gotten into Yorktown but that they still had the situation under control and would do everything to stop them. For some reason, you found that three ships hand entered Yorktown almost worse than the initial attack. Because you knew there probably wasn’t much you could do unless the ships came to that part of Yorktown, you sat down in a café, ordered a drink and watched the news on the big screen that gave a permanent update on the situation at the other end of Yorktown. Not even 15 minutes later, you heard that everyone was out of danger and the intruders had been rendered harmless. After a sigh, you finished your drink and then returned to the scene of the action, maybe there now was something you could help, like tidying up damage or helping the wounded. You stayed there and helped until it was dark and the volunteers were sent home, so you returned to the hotel. But you didn’t get far and the receptionist called you over.

“You are (Y/N) (Y/L/N), right?”

“That’s me, yeah”

“I have message for you, from a doctor Leonard McCoy”

“I know him. He’s the doctor on the Enterprise. What is this message about?”

“He lets you know, that your husband… Commander Spock will spend the night in Yorktown hospital”

“Ho-hospital? They’re back? What does he have? Is it bad? Can I visit him? When did they get back?”

“He only told me that so you know where your husband is and in case you wish to see him. I don’t know anything else” you nodded and with a thank-you you ran out of the hotel, to the hospital, where you had brought a few people earlier today. You went to a visitor station to register your visit and once you knew where your husband was and that he currently could be visited, you rushed to the elevator and then to his room. When you saw Spock lying in bed awake, you let out a deep breath and moved closer.

“Spock” you breathed, not sure what to say and having a hundred questions at the tip of your tongue. "How are you?” was the first you asked

“I am well, (Y/N). The doctors insisted I stayed the night to ensure that my condition does not become worse” you nodded and came closer, taking his hand, pressing a kiss to it as you sat down on the edge of the bed. To your delight, he squeezed your hand.

“What happened? To you, I mean?” he explained how on the mission his side was impaled by a piece of metal and that McCoy didn’t have the correct equipment to properly treat him. “At least you’re safe” you ran your free hand through his hair. “When did you even get back?”

“4.2 hours ago”

“That was… that was when the attack happened” he agreed and said it was them who played a great role in stopping them. “Oh so that big ship that destroyed the central plaza was you, the Franklin?”

“Indeed”

“And what about the Enterprise?”

“She has been destroyed”

“Oh no. What about the crew? Are they safe?”

“We have not yet been able to ascertain who has survived the attack on the Enterprise and who lost their life, however, I am certain that at least 350 people have survived”

“Out of 428 that’s still a lot that could have died”

“Besides, I also know of at least 16 casualties from the crew” you gave a nod

“And what now? I mean is your mission over? The Enterprise is gone”

“We do not know yet but it is certain that we will remain her for longer than the originally scheduled 12 days of shore leave”

“Well, then we got more time to do something as long as we’re here. And I get to see you longer. Ha that visit was worth it” you leant down to kiss his forehead. “Now we just gotta make sure you’ll be on your feet as soon as possible because I have lot planned for the next days”

Taglist: @softsapphicideals

#spock #spock x reader #spock x you #spock imagine #aos spock #imagine

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venteamocha · 4 years ago

Note

Hello! Sometimes I see you post stuff from IF blogs and I've recently started playing some IF games, which I've enjoyed so far. Do you have any IF stories you'd recommend in particular? I'm not attached to any particular genre and I don't need romance or a self-insert main character, (though I'm not opposed to either). Though, it's a definite plus if it's LGBTQ+ inclusive! I'm not really sure what the "cornerstones" are of IF so I'll take any and all recommendations haha

Oh god, I play so many IFs. So many. And it’s not even close to all of them, but I’m trying!!

Tbh IFs without romance seems to be very rare, I think because when I think IF I think Choice of Games, and those pretty much always have romance in them. At least, the most well known ones do. But a well done one without romance would be nice too!

Okay, this is a list of my favourites! They’re all LGBT+ inclusive, and most have gender selectable love interests, or at least ones that change gender depending on the gender and sexuality combination you pick. In no particular order, of course. Behind a cut because I’m gonna give them each a mini review. Because I haven’t done that yet.

(There are so many.)

Mind Blind: I absolutely love our big brother Nick, I love how witty and sharp so much of the dialogue is, I love how the MC clearly has a rather large handicap, but is still such an important person to so many people and not looked down on in the slightest. And when they are, we all know it’s because that person is a jerk! They’re not defined by what they aren’t, but what they are, and that’s a great message.

Shepherds of Haven: Part of why I love this one so much is I just love fantasy settings and this one just pulls it off so well. The cast is full of amazing characters, and I gotta say I die inside pretty regularly for not being able to afford the patreon content, lol. The author puts so much amazing stuff on there, and gives us so much great content in the game and through answers on tumblr, and you can tell this whole thing is just the best thing ever to them, and that makes it the best ever for us readers too!

The Wayhaven Chronicles: I’d be shot if I didn’t mention this one, the series that literally killed dashingdon when the book 3 demo dropped!! Again, another author that cares a lot and does their best to do right by their fans. We’ve been given drip after drip of these amazing characters backstories, and I just cannot wait for more! It’s definitely very romance centered, but the overall plotlines are also very good, and I have to say that no matter who I romance, I just feel like the group as a whole is a family. And that’s wonderful.

Speaker: I really like the lore. I really like the lore. I can’t wait until we get more of the overall plotline. Mostly I want my Speaker to get in deep trouble so Seb, Li and Seer (best sister ever) go off and beat the shit out of whatever is causing it. This probably says something about me, but what can I say, I thrive on angst and inflicting near death injuries on my OCs. Sometimes I even kill them, although all of this is offtopic. Or is it? I guess we’ll find out, although I doubt we’ll actually be able to kill off Speaker. And yes, I am definitely playing the Seb & Li poly route. I love them both so much.

Wilhelmina: I love vampires, ok? Ok? And this one is based off Dracula!! The OG!! And you can choose Drac’s gender!! Shit, sign me up forever!! Yeah, she might be literally killing my bff, torturing my fiancé and low key fucking with my mind, but vampires are hot!! Let me live! Or not. But yeah, this is a really well done retelling of the Dracula novel and I like how well it works as an IF. Did I mention I like vampires?? Especially when they get all monstery?? (This one has an MC with a set gender, as it’s based on an already existing literary figure. Mina can have a same sex relationship with dracula, if you make drac a female, or with Lucy, a female love interest.)

More Things in Heaven and Earth: Hi Nell!! First off, I gotta uncover a deep shame of mine. My family literally has a Shakespeare heirloom collection. As in, my greatgrandfather passed down through the family a collection of Shakespeare that was published in 1911. In ye olde englishe. I tried to read it when I was like 10 and was like what language is this?? What the fuck? What the fuck??? And ended up reading As You Like It, a bit of Romeo and Juliet, and a little of Hamlet. Didn’t touch the rest of it. I only got into the other stories through trashy ya reimaginings. That said, this retelling of Hamlet inspired me to go read the whole of the original and now I have a lot of fears for these characters that I’m so much more attached to, oh god I hope my Ophelia has a happy ending. I hope Hamlet himself has a happy ending. The dialogue is so well done, everyone is engaging, and yeah it made me finish an old af book when nothing else did. (This one also has an MC with a set gender, female, for the same reason. However, there are two gender variable love interests, so you can very much play a bi or gay Ophelia if you so choose.)

Guenevere: I love King Arthur. All the myths. I have so many books based on the King Arthur mythos, oh dear god. I love pretty much every version of it. All the movie and tv shows too! I just can’t get enough of those knights. I could go on for paragraphs about how courtly love worked and how all the different social castes were, but I’ll try not to. This series lets you customize Guen as a character to an amazing degree, considering that she’s also based on an actual literary figure like the other two I mentioned above. It really feels like she becomes your own character, and yet she still exists within this world very very well. I worry quite a bit that the author might have bit off more than they can chew with the current book they’re working on, what I’ve seen of it looks absolutely massive in scale. What is out so far is a wonderful read though, full of drama and laughter and lots of chances to make the story your own.

Bastard of Camelot: Yep! Another King Arthur series! Sue me! This one lets you set Mordred’s gender though, so it’s more inclusive in that way. It is very interesting to play as one of the “bad guys” of the King Arthur mythos. You can play them as straight up evil, as good, or you know, a bit of column a and a bit of column b. Or they can just be a rude little shit. It’s got dragons too! You get a dragon pet! Dragons are cool. It can be a bit tough to play sometimes, since a lot of people dislike Mordred quite a lot because of prejudices. Hopefully this will change a bit later in the series if you’ve been a fairly good person up to that point. Gotta say though, as a warning, that Mordred is a product of incest. It’s not glossed over, and it does cause a lot of problems for them in the story.

God of the Red Mountain: I just love that this inspired me to read more chinese mythology tbh. There is just so much here! And it’s just such a good read. I wish I was better at describing things. The MC being a spirit that you can define, the whole setting, most of the love interests also being spirits, the massive amount of history and culture and lore, how it all fits together. It is such a well done story. I really wish it got more attention than it does. I still miss Big Sister. I still can’t wait to find out more about the foxes, and how we can heal our MC.

The Nameless: Another one that lets you play as something otherworldly. I love the lore behind this one, and I love all of the cast I’ve met. I kind of like that our MC isn’t loved right off the bat, that we’ll have to win over all of our love interests and even the other npcs. I’m up for the challenge! Everything I’ve read on the tumblr for these characters just makes me love them all more tbh. I love how much they’ve written for all of them! Most of all though, I love Oisein. All the art of them is just *chef kiss* and their personality is magical.

A Mage Reborn: This is a really recent one but!! Wow, it’s really well done! That cliffhanger!! Oof!! Not many books literally start with killing your MC off! That takes guts! I told the author this already, but I love the way they formatted this, the way it starts with the end, so to speak, and then fills it all out. It just made everything feel so poignant, how MC is literally looking back at all these moments in time in the last minutes they have before they die. Shit. That’s powerful. And there’s gonna be more??? Can’t wait for that angst. Give me that drama. Of course I picked the one who had me killed, that’s just how I am!

These are all just the COG type games, there are a few twine games with graphics I’d throw on here, but the list is long enough as it is and they feel like they’re in a different category to me. Maybe it’s just me?

#if #if recs #rivi's recs #interactive fiction #there are more than these that i like too!#these are just the ones i feel the strongest about #and as i said these don't include the itchio twine ones #there are amazing ones there too but that feels like it should be a separate post?#i'd put links but i think it won't show up anywhere if i do #because tumblr is A Site #i can pass them on though if needed

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shelovescontrol91 · 3 years ago

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Cinderella is a tale old as time and we’ve got plenty of versions to go by. Whether it’s Disney’s 1950s classic or the Charles Perrault original, everyone has come across the infamous story, but nobody has done it quite like Amazon. In this new retelling, Camilla Cabello stars as Cinderella and Idina Menzel as Vivian aka the evil stepmother. Produced by James Corden and written by American screenwriter Kay Cannon, the new musical lends its voice to a high-fashion cinematic reboot. GAY TIMES sat down with stars Camilla Cabello and Idina Menzel to find out more about their roles in the sparkling new film.

This new vision of Cinderella steps away from the traditional narrative. How do you think this Amazon remake serves the legacy of the classic story?

Camila Cabello: Fairy tales have a lot of lesson power and they carry a lot of messages. They get to a lot of people, especially young people, and I think Cinderella adds to the legacy in that it’s kind of an updated value system on fairy tales. It has these feminist ideals of equality for women and inclusivity, with Billy Porter playing the fabulous godmother as a genderless magical entity. It’s an updated version and I think it captures where we are now and where we want to go as a society.

Has there been a moment where, like Cinderella, you’ve had to rely on your personal resolve and self-determination?

Idina Menzel: Yeah, especially when you say you want to be in the entertainment industry, a lot of people go, ‘Oh, that’s hard, such a small percentage of people make it and it’s so much rejection’. You get that a lot when you’re younger. I had very supportive parents and I think you have a sense of yourself and love what you’re doing, and this idea that you’re destined to do it, and nobody’s going to stop you — that’s how you have to feel.

Kay Cannon’s version of Cinderella has significantly more representation than previous iterations of the fairytale. Do you think these changes reflect Hollywood becoming more inclusive?

Camila Cabello: I think women like Kay Cannon are very aware and have these progressive ideals and strive to be really inclusive, ethical, and have fought to get here and these opportunities. She’s going to be a trailblazer for other women. She already is and that’s thanks to the women that came before her and the kind of minorities that came for her. So, I think slowly but surely, hopefully, I think the people that are underrepresented are having more of a voice and more time to shine.

Idina Menzel: I feel a real sense of pride to be in a project like this. I think it’s important to take note of it and see how important it is and celebrate it. I also feel a sort of shame sometimes that we even have to make it a subject that isn’t the norm.

Have either of you experienced your own Cinderella moments?

Camila Cabello: I’ve definitely been lucky to have had a few Cinderella moments. I think the first moment of getting a chance to audition for X factor when I was 15 literally changed my life. That was somebody taking a chance on me and it completely changed my life. A lot of full-circle moments like that completely changed my life, even being Cinderella was a Cinderella moment for me!

Idina Menzel: We’re doing what we love and that is our fairy tale for us. It’s funny, I want to stay away from it being about a man and, yet I think it’s important to give good men credit as well. I would say that my husband and not because he saves me, although I have felt that before. He supports me in being who I am being my best self. Being a good mother, having a career and doing everything that I want to do and being my best friend. I think that’s the kind of Cinderella relationship that we would hope that she would have, healthy. It’s beautiful.

Both of you play vastly different roles in Cinderella. Did either of you find a moment where you resonated with your character?

Camila Cabello: For me, off the top of my head right now, I think of the compassion that my character shows for Vivian. Vivian has been a little bit annoying and hard on Cinderella. She still wants the best for her and wants her to find her own happiness and forgives in a very short amount of time. It’s a movie but that can be hard to do sometimes, so I think that’s really beautiful.

Idina Menzel: I think Camila’s version of Cinderella is a very forgiving person who sees the best in everybody and wants everyone to have their dreams just like she wants to. She wants the best for everyone and I believe that deep down.

#camila cabello #idina menzel #cinderella

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veorlian · 4 years ago

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honey tongue

The stories will tell you that falling in love with your best friend is as easy as breathing, that it's the height of romance. Varric Tethras had written far too many stories to believe that crock of nonsense.

my submissions for @hightown-funk are up!! here’s the first one <3

read it on ao3 here

The Hanged Man was legendary for two things: bar fights, and ale that was at least 50% vinegar. There were also the suspiciously sticky floors, the rooms you could rent by the hour, and enterprising individuals keen on relieving you of all that burdensome coin you had on you. It was what people had come to expect. The barkeep had offered a higher-quality ale once, and the regulars had stormed out in protest. And Maker have mercy if they ever decide to clean the place up a bit. There’d be riots in the streets.

Well. More riots than usual, at least.

Marian Hawke spent most evenings in the Hanged Man. The petty crime and general chaos faded into the periphery as she played Wicked Grace with her friends. It was replaced with a different kind of petty crime and chaos, but at least this was hers.

And speaking of chaos, at the moment Varric was regaling the crowd with the tale of their most recent trip to the Bone Pit. There was a rough semi-circle of regulars standing around Varric, with the kind of slack-jawed, wide-eyed expressions that normally accompanied one of his particularly tall tales.

He was in fine form. Marian had never quite figured out how he could look so laid back and engaged at the same time. She’d tried it once. Carver had just said that she looked constipated. Varric made it look easy. He made most things look easy.

“And then Hawke raised her sword and leaped through the air, landing on the dragon’s back, killing it in a single blow—”

“It was already mostly dead,” Garrett called. Marian flipped him off. A few of the stragglers towards the back of Varric’s audience turned to face the two of them.

“It was not,” Marian tossed back.

“Was too."

Marian rolled her eyes at her brother and leaned forward on the pitted table.

“Hey Varric, tell them about the part where I did a sick back-flip off of the dragon—”

“And fell on your ass—” Garrett interrupted. More of Varric’s audience turned now, their eyes bouncing back and forth between the twins like a tennis match.

“And landed perfectly and took a little bow,” Marian finished, pointedly ignoring Garrett. She kept her eyes fixed on Varric’s face, and the wry little twist of his lips.

“Of course! How could I forget,” he said, his eyes dancing. “As she struck the killing blow, the dragon came crashing down to the ground. Hawke gracefully leapt off of its back, landing neatly on the ground.”

“I can’t believe this,” Garrett complained. Varric continued to regale the audience with tales of the twins’ exploits. Marian patted Garrett on the arm in a way expertly calculated to be both patronizing and comforting.

“Sorry little brother, it’s just not very dramatic when you wave your fancy baton around,” Marian replied. “Doesn’t have the same impact as a bigass sword.”

“Last I checked, fireball has a hell of an impact,” Garrett shot back.

“Potato, potahto,” Marian said dismissively.

“There’s only one way to settle this,” he said. He rolled up his sleeves and set an elbow down on the table, his hand open. Marian smiled crookedly and did the same. Varric lost his audience again, as they formed a loose circle around the table. There was the clink of coin changing hands, and an exaggerated sigh and eye roll from Carver.

“My money’s on Hawke,” Isabela called.

“Which one?” Garrett and Marian asked in unison.

“Whichever one wins,” Isabela said cheerfully.

“I’m not sure that’s how that works,” Merrill murmured anxiously. Isabela waved her away airily and tossed a few coins on the table.

“Have you seen how ripped I am? Of course I’m gonna win,” Garrett said. Marian snorted and shook her head.

“Bigass sword. Fancy baton,” she said. She gripped Garrett’s hand, and the arm wrestling began. It was evenly matched, as most things were with the twins. But not for nothing did Marian swing around a giant hunk of metal nearly the same height as herself.

She slammed Garrett’s hand down into the table, grinning widely.

“Best two out of three,” he said immediately. She laughed and shook her head.

“You lost fair and square,” she said cheerfully. Garrett flipped her off and went to refill his drink. Marian glanced up to find Varric making his way over to the table, settling in his customary spot at her side.

“You couldn’t wait until I was done?” Varric asked agreeably. Marian shrugged nonchalantly.

“Not my fault your admirers couldn’t resist the lure of my rippling muscles,” she said. “You’ll just need to make me sound even cooler. What if I had a sword for a hand?”

“No good,” Varric replied, shaking his head, “it’d interfere too much with the romance scenes.”

“Varric, I’m not exactly seeing a lot of that kind of action at the moment,” Marian said dryly. “Let me have a giant sword for a hand. It’d be cool as hell.”

“C’mon Hawke, a romance plot is always more compelling. Why not ask the pirate?” he said, gesturing to Isabela. Isabela caught the motion and winked broadly at them. “I can see it now; a daring love story, set against the backdrop of a ship tossed at sea. Readers love that stuff.” Marian snorted derisively and shook her head.

“I’ve got enough going on trying to stop this city from going to hell,” she complained. There was a deep ache in her chest that she couldn’t quite place. Fortunately, she didn’t have to think about it for very long, because Garrett arrived back at the table, his arms full of terrible beer.

“How come I never get the big dramatic retellings?” he griped.

“Because you keep heckling me,” Varric said dryly. “Plus, you’re not as good-looking.”

Marian’s heart stuttered and fully came to a stop. She ducked her head to hide the blush that threatened to set her face on fire. What the hell…?

“Nonsense, I’m the prettiest person in Kirkwall,” Garrett said primly.

“C’mon, we all know that’s Merrill,” Marian said, swallowing down her embarrassment. A crooked grin spread across her face. “At least, that’s what Carver always says.”

“Hey—” Carver began.

The ensuing chaos and overlapping voices covered up the weird and alarming thoughts floating through Marian’s head.

Plus, you’re not as good-looking.

Did Varric think she was good-looking?

Andraste’s sacred knickers, did that actually matter to her? Marian tossed back her drink in one go and stumbled to the bar to grab another.

Somewhere between the witching hours of 2am and 4am, the others traipsed out. Now, Marian was good at traipsing. She’d elevated it from a science to an art. She could traipse with the best of them. But when 4am rolled around, she didn’t.

It was a weekly ritual at this point, and it happened more often now that she was in that stuffy old mansion. Such a big place, but it felt like the walls were constantly creeping in on her. More than a few hours there and she felt like she couldn’t breathe.

And so.

“Varric, don’t make me walk all the way back to Hightown,” she would groan, and he would chuckle that warm chuckle that brought the blood rushing to her ears. Probably just the alcohol, she always thought.

“Alright, you can stay just this once,” he would say, and she would flash him a crooked grin.

“You’re my favourite.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere, serrah,” he’d say. She’d generally waggle her eyebrows at him suggestively, and they’d both laugh.

She didn’t remember when the flirting had started. A few minutes after they’d met, she figured. It was just a part of them, both of them. An easy way to keep everyone at arm’s reach. If they both agreed that it didn’t mean anything, then there was no harm no foul.

After all, it’s not like anything was ever going to come of it. Varric was happily married to a crossbow, and he’d repeatedly told her that he wasn’t into humans. So that was that. Marian was perfectly happy being Varric’s best friend and partner-in-crime.

And if she couldn’t sleep these days without hearing the gentle scritching of his quill on parchment, well, no one needed to know that. … Varric Tethras was a storyteller, most comfortable staying unobtrusively on the sidelines of a tale. It was safest that way really. Fewer people shooting at you, for one.

He couldn’t remember when it had started, becoming a part of Hawke’s story. He hadn’t been, at first. He’d been a plot device, a quest-giver just tagging along.

“You won’t even notice I’m here,” he’d told her. Varric Tethras: such a gifted liar that sometimes he almost convinced himself.

It had shifted by inches, their friendship. They’d gotten along almost instantly, like they’d just been waiting for the other to come along. So it was natural for them to spend most of their time together. And then it was natural for her to sleep on his couch when she was too drunk to walk home. His palatial suite at the Hanged Man was her palatial suite. That was all perfectly natural and normal and fine.

Until it wasn’t.

He couldn’t fall asleep these days until he heard her snoring (she and Dog seemed to be in a competition for who could be the loudest. On occasion it shook the dilapidated rafters).

She’d slipped into his life as easy as breathing. Easier, in some ways. So many little rituals. Like putting extra jokes into his manuscripts, just for her.

“Hey Hawke, you think you could give this a read for me?” he asked. She glanced up from where she was lounging on one of his chairs. She arched an eyebrow, a slow grin spreading across her face.

“Am I going to blush?” she asked. He chuckled and shook his head.

“I just want to make sure that I’ve got the character right,” he replied.

“Aw, you’re no fun,” she said cheerfully, already on her feet and moving to lean over his shoulder. She rested an elbow on top of his head, like he was an armrest. He cleared his throat pointedly.

“Problem, serah Tethras?” she asked innocently.

“Hands off the merchandise,” he said easily. She leaned down to meet his eyes, her haphazardly cut bangs flopping in her face.

“I think you’ll find it’s my elbow on the merchandise. Very different part of the body,” she pointed out. To prove her point, she shifted her arm and rested her hand on his shoulder instead. He rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t quite keep the smile off of his face.

“Just read the damn passage,” he said. She shrugged and turned her attention to the page. She hadn’t moved her hand, and the warmth slowly seeped into him. He realized with a start that he was leaning into her touch. What the hell?

The smell of cinnamon and honey drifted through the room. Not that that was unusual either. It clung to every part of the room. Even his trademark leather coat smelled permanently of cinnamon and honey, from that tea she drank at all hours of the day and night.

He missed it, when it wasn’t there.

He knew she’d gotten to the unflattering description of the Knight-Captain when she began to laugh. He thought her laugh was the best thing he’d ever heard. It wasn’t graceful by any means, caught somewhere between a cackle and a snort. But she laughed with her full body, like it was the funniest thing she’d heard in her life. Joyful, reckless abandon.

It was beautiful. She was beautiful.

Oh.

With Hawke’s hand digging into his shoulder, her laughter ringing in his ears, the smell of cinnamon and honey on the air, Varric Tethras realized that he was in love.

Shit. … The stories will have you believe that revelations of love are dramatic, that they’re accompanied by flights of angels or some other shit like that. Marian Hawke had heard too many love stories to believe in them anymore.

She was sprawled along the couch leafing through Varric’s latest draft of The Tale of the Champion. She liked to leave little notes and doodles in the margins. It drove Varric’s editor up the wall. She heard Varric’s familiar footfalls coming up the stairs.

“Hey, you forgot to mention the bit where I single-handedly took down a chimera,” she called, not looking up. Varric hummed noncommittally in response. She glanced up from the page to study him. He was swaying slightly on his feet, eyes a little unfocused as he leaned against the doorframe.

“You okay?” she asked. “Merchant’s Guild crap?”

A ghost of a smile flickered across his face and he shook his head, running a hand through his graying hair.

“No, it’s not that,” he said. Marian’s eyebrows knitted together, and she shifted on the couch to make room for him. When he didn’t move, she pointedly patted the space next to her. When he still didn’t move, she made her way across the room to meet him.

“Then what is it, Varric? Crossbow troubles?” she asked. He looked away and his hand came up to rub at the back of his neck.

“Marian, I—” Record scratch, freeze frame. Varric never called her Marian. Never anything than Hawke, actually. He’d never even given her a nickname, like he had all the others. She was just Hawke.

“Didn’t realize you knew my name,” she managed. Another faint smile, only barely reaching his eyes. It was gone as soon as it came.

“Shit, I’m not good at this kind of thing,” he said. The smell of cheap ale and whiskey clung to him like a second skin.

“What kind of thing? You’re freaking me out, Varric.”

His warm amber eyes turned up to meet hers. Carefully, seemingly giving her every opportunity to move away, he reached up a hand on her face. Distantly, she realized he must be standing on his tip-toes. She might have laughed, if he hadn’t gently tugged her face down towards him.

His lips were softer than she’d imagined they’d be. His calloused hands tangled in her short hair, bringing her closer. She could taste the faint touch of alcohol on his tongue as her mouth slanted over his.

She looped an arm around his waist and easily lifted him up into the air.

“Hawke, put me down,” he said indignantly. She laughed breathlessly against his mouth.

“My shoulders were getting sore from bending over,” she said. She wound her free hand through his hair and tugged him back to kiss her again. She realized suddenly that she would be quite happy staying right here, like this, for the rest of her life. Well, maybe with a stool. She was strong, but Varric was sturdy. He’d probably whack her on the arm if she told him that though.

She set Varric down on the table, standing between his legs and bringing both hands up to cup his face.

“Better?” she whispered. He grumbled something indistinct and unflattering that was abruptly cut off as she began to trail kisses down to his neck.

“Would you believe that I’ve wanted to do this for years?” he rasped. Hawke stilled. And then, she began to laugh, resting her forehead against Varric’s.

“Well, there’s no call to be rude,” he said. She pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, still chuckling.

“I have as well,” she said at last.

“Ah,” Varric managed. And then, “So, what now?”

“You in a rush, Tethras?” Marian asked. She gently tipped his chin up to face her. “Seems to me we’ve got all the time in the world.”

“So we do,” he said, and he kissed her again.

#this was such a joy to write #da2 #hawke #varric tethras #varric x hawke #hightown funk

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tornrose24 · 3 years ago

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Heyo! For the fanfic meme, can you do P, S and T please?

For the fan fiction ask meme

P: I fell that I’m a bit of both. I like to plan out a story as much as I can–especially key bits. But there are moments in-between where I let things evolve as I go.

For example a lot of my AU fics need to follow a certain start and finish and I know what most of those beats will be if they are a retelling of a specific story. For example my recently completed ‘Deep in the woods’ Resident Evil 8 fic has a clear structure because it follows the in-game fairy tale (with the exception of how the Iron Steed chapter ends, because I didn’t want it to be so predictable if the reader is familiar with how the fairy tale goes). However there are certain moments that I let evolve as it goes–specifically, how Rose interacts with the four fairy tale monsters/lords. Each ‘monster’ has an iconic personality that plays off of the innocent, yet not completely naive five year old. There’s also how they interact with each other–when I did my edits, I found that I could have them argue with each other a little more and it made the scene a lot more entertaining.

Another example is pretty much any Captain Underpants fic I’ve done. Again, there’s a clear structure to those fics, but when you have a clear understanding of pretty much all the main characters’ personalities, you know that there’s going to be some 'gardening'–their actions are going to help direct the story if you know how they’d likely react in a certain situation. Its a great learning tool for writing your own stories.

S/fandom tropes I can’t resist:

-If done with the right character, the amnesia trope can be amusing.

-role swap fics. I’m a huge sucker for them and my Zelda fics have this as the big concept. (Not just for the main character, but for the companion character and a few others as well).

-Getting some revenge on a character you don’t like (as long as its in good taste)

-Original characters that have actual personalities and aren’t flat out OP Mary Sues.

-Fix it fics.

-AUs

-Angst fics written for certain characters

-Fairy tale AUs

-What kind of Pokemon would this character have?

-Fourth Wall breaks (as long as they are done right)

And etc.

T/fandom tropes I can’t stand:

-Y**i fics that are clearly just fan service and not written in respect for actual LGBTQ characters. Back in the day, these were in abundance (especially in Kingdom Hearts or Hetalia). And this was before we had decent fictional LGBTQ couples. If I want to read a good LGBTQ fic, I want one where I know the characters have had some actual chemistry and WERE an actual/potential couple in wherever they came from.

-MPreg fics never made sense to me and I’ll leave it at that. (However if the character is a trans man that wants to physically have a child, I am ok with it.)

-Actor shipping: I feel like it’s weird (and a bit of a waste of time to be honest) that people write real life people ship fics rather than fics of the characters they play.

-Song fics (It depends, but often I’m not a huge fan of them.)

-Fics that follow a pre-existing movie/book/etc. to the point that it’s literally line for line. And they actually sing the songs. It kind of bugs me when people don’t try to actually use the characters they have to tell something that could be more fitting to them.

-I**est: I’m sorry... why do people like this one? Shipping Dipper and Mabel, or Towa and Setsuna is creepy on so many levels.

-Villifying a character because ‘they got in the way of my ship.’

-And there’s a few others, but I think they are ones most people can agree with.

#meme #fan fiction

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strangertheory · 4 years ago

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i’m sure this has been talked about somewhere but regarding the will has DID/created the upside down theories, what are people speculating the source of his powers to be? like was he experimented on at a young age, or did they come from lonnie/joyce, or what? this has probably been covered but i’m not sure where to find it

I can share with you the two hypothetical interpretations that I myself have considered for the source of characters’ powers in the Stranger Things universe. I don’t want to speak for any other fans that are discussing the possibility that Stranger Things is about a DID System because we all have our own unique thoughts on the way it might play out within the series, and I have yet to speak to a fan that is entirely enthusiastic about the second layer of hypotheticals that I’ve personally considered regarding where characters’ powers come from.

To me: Stranger Things is like an onion. This story has so many possible layers. And as we peel back the layers of what is going on in the story there are new possibilities revealed at every single layer.

I’m going to tell you about the two different layers that I’ve considered regarding where characters’ powers come from and how those powers manifest themselves within the story.

▪️ ▫️ ▪️ ▫️ ▪️ ▫️ ▪️ ▫️ ▪️

My “first layer” theory regarding where characters’ powers come from in Stranger Things is that they might be like the X-Men or the espers in Akira and have genetic mutations or evolutionary predispositions to developing their abilities. Agent Connie Frasier appears to be seeking to identify intelligent children in the Hawkins area when she asks Mr. Clarke if he has any students at Hawkins Middle that would be interested in an Indiana AV Club program. It’s implied that the Lab seeks out precocious children for their work because they believe there is a correlation between intelligence and psychic ability. Stranger Things basically offers us the “first layer” explanation that the events of the story are inspired by the historic experiments (and abuses) done by MKUltra on human subjects in the United States in its efforts to unlock the potential of the human mind and potentially control that power and wield it against perceived domestic and international threats. Within this “first layer” theory we can speculate that perhaps children with latent psychic abilities are more likely to learn to control their powers at an early age when they are pressured to do so under extreme circumstances. For El these extreme circumstances could be the abuse that she experienced at the Lab, assuming that she was there her entire life. For Will these extreme circumstances could be Lonnie’s abuse during his early childhood, or extreme circumstances that Will experienced elsewhere (perhaps also at a medical facility or at the Lab.) A person’s instinctive need to have control over their powers while responding to a threat (or after attempting to use those powers very intently and with deep focus within a perfectly calibrated lab environment?) could account for those powers being recognized, used, and trained.

Within the DID Theory the question of which circumstances were the origin-point of El’s powers becomes more vague. Was El created as an alter within the DID System while Will was being abused by Lonnie? Is the Lab and El’s backstory actually a distorted trauma memory that has been fictionalized by the DID System as a defense mechanism? Does the Lab exist as an explanation that the mind subconsciously invented in order to explain to itself the terrible things that happened in a way that it was willing to face and cope with? Or, perhaps, was there a point in time that El emerged from Will’s mind into the real-world and then imprisoned by the lab and experimented on by Dr. Brenner? Do El’s memories of the Lab and Dr. Brenner reflect memories that she experienced as an alter in a DID System while she was still sharing the same body as Will, and Will’s consciousness was dissociating and depersonalizing a traumatic experience that would have otherwise been his own? Or are El’s experiences at the Lab completely separate from Will’s own story?

Before I leap to my “second layer” theory, I’d like to comment that I strongly suspect that we will find out precisely how El and Will’s stories intersect in season 4. I believe that we will find out the way in which Will and El are connected to both Dr. Brenner and the Lab and each other. I look forward to seeing how the writers peel back that layer of the Stranger Things onion. I think it’ll be a huge plot twist and most fans will not see it coming.

Now. My “second layer” hypothetical regarding the way that characters’ powers may (or may not) work in Stranger Things is based on the circumstances that are often faced by alters in a DID System that are called "fictive alters.”

Fictive alters have a fictionalized sense of who they are that is not grounded in the rules that exist in our “real” world. Fictive alters may have superpowers. Sometimes they might be based on a character from a movie or a book or a song that the child was familiar with. The fictional aspects of their identities will be often very real and accessible to them when they are conscious within the internal worlds of the mind and inside the DID System. However, whenever a fictive alter is “fronting” (meaning: when they are conscious of the outside “real” world) then that fictive alter will no longer have superpowers: they will only have whatever abilities that they have learned as an ordinary human person in our world. Within the mind they have their superpowers, and in the real world when they are conscious they will not have superpowers because they are in an ordinary human body with the limitations of an ordinary human body.

Now: why am I summarizing information about fictives? Because one possible hypothetical scenario that I could see being the case with Stranger Things is that it is a story-within-a-story. Perhaps the story that we are watching, which has each of its episodes named as a “chapter,” is being written by a character within the Stranger Things universe. Perhaps this character is telling the story of “what happened.” Maybe what we see in Stranger Things is an imaginative representation of the experiences of alters in a DID System that is explained from their perspectives or explained by a friend retelling their story.

And if this is the case, then I propose a “second layer” hypothetical: perhaps there are no “real” superpowers within the Stranger Things universe at all, and the supernatural events of the series are either taking place within an internal world exclusively or some of the supernatural aspects of the series are supernatural because the character that is writing the story of “what happened” is embellishing the events with their own imagination as they write it. This could mean that although certain characters do have powers within the DID System, their powers only manifest when they are interacting inside internal worlds that exist exclusively within their mind. Or, as another possibility: perhaps their “powers” are merely imaginative explanations that the writer who is sharing “what happened” is granting these characters in order to explain circumstances that they artistically prefer to represent in a more fantastical way. (Ex. My mom threw a plate at me. vs My mom threw a plate at me with her mind.)

Am I effectively saying “many events in the show might simply be taking place within the mind of certain characters?” Yes. Sort of. Am I saying that all events in the show might only take place within the mind of certain characters? No. And even if they did: the “realness” of the story is still, to me, intact. Even if these events are taking place within internal worlds of a DID System the events that we are seeing in the story are based on real memories and experiences that the characters experienced at some point in the “real” world. In this “second layer” theory, I am proposing that characters’ real experiences and memories are being transformed into a creative and fantastical re-telling of “what happened.” This might be part of the mind’s way of coping with traumatic experiences.

I know that many of you reading this are probably thinking “No, no! That’s way too meta for my taste. We need more grounding in the story than creatively-embellished memories alone!” And I completely understand and respect that reaction. It would be quite a dramatic departure from what we currently understand as “true” in the series: even more than if we interpret the story as being about a DID System whose alters (and internal worlds) have supernaturally escaped the mind and become flesh and blood in our real world because characters have the ability to bring them to life.

Even when I do consider the more extreme “none of the powers are real” hypothetical I still think that many characters that we’ve grown to love would be introjects (or NPCs) based on figures that the DID System knows in their “real world.” I argue that those relationships would still have emotional weight and importance and meaning because they are based on real experiences and real feelings: but they might not manifest quite how we expect them to in future plot twists.

I understand if most fans visiting my blog prefer to take the “first layer” interpretation of the DID theory: that there are real psychic powers in the Stranger Things universe and that through supernatural means the alters from the DID System have escaped the mind and have become “real.”

But I wanted to address the “second layer” interpretation that I have considered because if we imagine that all the alters share not only one mind but also one body just like those who have DID in real life: how does that impact our interpretation of each of the events in the series when we re-watch it? To me, the incredible way that certain scenes in the series are transformed by this “second layer” theory’s lens make it worth contemplating this second layer as a possibility whether or not it’s actually what’s going on in the show. Many scenes in Stranger Things take on added depth if you watch them with this concept in mind. I think some scenes become much more powerful within the “nobody has 'real’ powers” interpretation, whether it’s what the creators of Stranger Things had in mind when writing the series or not.

Keep in mind that I entertain multiple hypotheticals at any given time, and sometimes my thoughts regarding what is happening in Stranger Things might appear to contradict each other. I like considering multiple possibilities all at once. I am not devoted to my interpretation that there are no “real” powers. I am equally charmed by the idea that there are real powers and that the alters have escaped the mind into the “real” world in Stranger Things.

Thank you for Asking!

#stranger things #stranger things theory #stranger thing theories #the did theory

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bush-viper-cutie · 4 years ago

Text

“One Eyed Witch” || YEAR 3 – Ch.19 (HP au)

Chapter List

<-- Last Chapter Next Chapter -->

Day posted: 9/11/2020

Word count: 3, 010

Relationship: EVENTUAL severus X oc (slow burn)

Rating: E for everyone

Warnings: none

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A/N: This is my first fan fic I’m writing mainly as a way to practice. This is a retelling of the hp books with an inserted character. Although most every character will be written about, this is mostly for the pro snape fandom. Please do not fear, although this is a severus x oc story, it is an incredibly slow burn as I do not intend for them to get together at all until after the final book events. Chapters will be posted twice a week.

This derivative work follows the events of the Harry Potter books by Jk Rowling and is intended as a fun way to practice my writing. Thank you for reading :D

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It took a month, but Harry’s spirits seemed to finally have recovered fully from October’s horrible first game of the season. Heather noticed his mood change from quiet and constantly annoyed to loud and annoying but cheerful. The second Ravenclaw flattened Hufflepuff and Gryffindor was put back in the running, it confirmed for her how very simple Harry’s emotions were sometimes.

“Be quiet!” she hissed at him.

He rolled his eyes at her and leaned away from Ron and went back to stirring his potion.

She shook her head and glanced at Professor Snape who had been eyeing them from behind Neville. If it wasn’t for Neville’s inability to follow safety procedures, they’d have gotten yelled at and sent to detention already for all of Harry and Ron’s snickering.

“But could you imagine the look on Malfoy’s face when you flash a dementor away?” Ron looked over at a glaring Malfoy and back. “Make sure to flash them towards him.”

Harry held in a laugh and nodded. “There might not be any at my next match. Professor Dumbledore’s been keeping them away really well. The sky’s not even dark anymore.”

“Harry,” Heather hissed again. “Can you please focus on one class at a time? Your potion’s about to bubble over!” She took his stirring rod and dispersed the bubbles before they spilled over onto his dried cocoons and turned them to ash. “We still have two weeks before the holidays! And Professor Lupin still needs to feel better.”

Harry seemed to have calmed down and focused for the rest of class. The bells rang in the distance and it was time to turn in their potions. Heather packed her things and rushed to keep up with Harry and Ron who were attempting at bolting out the door to get as far away from Professor Snape as possible.

“Where’s Hermione?” Ron looked around.

Heather and Harry looked around too at all the exiting students and spotted her brown bushy hair already outside. She noticed them searching and waved at them from the corridor over everyone’s bobbing heads.

“How.” Ron frowned.

Heather narrowed her eyes at Hermione, feeling her suspicion growing. They were almost out the door when Draco called her from his seat.

“What’s he want?” Harry frowned.

She shrugged. “Probably Quidditch stuff… I’ll see you guys after lunch.”

They let her stay behind reluctantly and watched her make her way back down to the front of the class from outside the room before walking away.

She walked up to Draco who was leaning against his desk with Crabbe and Goyle right behind him, writing out stuff on long rolls of parchments.

“What were they laughing about, Potter? They kept looking over at me. Are they planning something?”

She almost laughed. “They’re not ‘planning’ anything. Harry’s just happy Hufflepuff’s not going to win the Quidditch Cup this year.”

Draco smirked and looked back at Crabbe and Goyle. “I didn’t know he’d be so excited for Slytherin’s victory.”

Crabbe and Goyle laughed and nodded.

“Focus.” Professor Snape’s voice made them jump and turn back to their rolls of parchment.

Heather looked back at him, absolutely astounded that he’d let students stay behind to finish what looked like extra assignments or to just hang out in Draco’s case.

“We’re playing Ravenclaw next, pretty sure. Flitwick still needs to decide on which team but they always think they have a chance against Slytherin’s for some reason. So I’m sure we’ll be playing them.”

Heather already guessed that by the way Marcus was making them practice the trickiest of plays that he normally saved for Ravenclaw. Her shoulders still ached from yesterday’s early morning practices.

Draco pushed himself onto the table and sat with his feet on a stool. “So, have you and your dumb brother found a way to get permission to go to Hogsmeade?”

Heather shook her head and smiled. “No. Why? Eager to see us there?”

His face turned pink and he scoffed. “As if.”

She heard a deep sigh and turned to see Professor Snape rubbing his temples at a botched potion he was holding up. He shook his head and set it back down among the other jars that had been turned in and sipped from his mug. She noticed four jars set aside and recognized one of them as her own, based on her crooked label. She smiled and turned away. Her potion had been grouped in with the other near perfect potions from class.

Now her sprit’s remained as high as Harry’s knowing that despite Professor Snape’s constant look of disgusts at her potions, she was at least on the same level as Draco and among the top in the class.

“Heather? Earth to Heather?” Hermione waved her hand in front of Heather’s face.

Heather blinked. “Hmm?”

“I SAID, what do you want from Hogsmeade? If I’m going to get you a present today I need to know and preferably before the line leaves.”

Mr. Filch was holding up the line, waiting for precisely twelve o’clock to let them go despite everyone being present and ready to leave a minute early.

She put a finger to her chin and thought. “I’d really like to start growing plants in my dorm. So maybe a nice pot? There are fallen leaves on the ground in the green houses that I’m sure Professor Sprout won’t miss.”

“Take one of the carnivorous ones with the long tongues and grow it next to Pansy.” Ron dodged Hermione’s hand.

“That’s a terrible idea Ron! Please tell me you won’t do that.”

Heather frowned and shook her head at Hermione and winked and nodded at Ron.

“Heather!”

“Oh of course not!” She crossed her arms.

Harry sighed. “Line’s moving. See you guys.”

They waved Ron and Hermione goodbye and watched them leave down the stairs.

“Go on, move away!” Mr. Filch shooed them away after all the other students had left.

Heather kept her eyes on the falling snow outside for a few more seconds before pulling Harry into the eerily quiet castle. They were on their way to the library, per usual during Hogsmeade weekends, when they were pulled behind a corner by Fred and George.

“Follow us young nifflers – ”

“And let your days of treasure hunting be over.”

Fred and George smiled wide and motioned for them to follow. They followed them into a nearby classroom and sat at one of the desks while they secured the door closed.

“What’re you guys doing?” Heather looked at them wearily as they checked all around the classroom.

“We have something to give you.” Fred walked back to them as George finished inspecting the closet.

George joined them. “Early Christmas present from us, to the both of you.”

“To share.” Fred winked and took out something from inside his cloak pocket.

He twirled it in his hand and smacked it down on the desk. Heather recognized it at once and turned to watch Harry’s bewildered reaction.

“Spare parchment? Very old spare parchment?”

Heather smiled. Harry didn’t know what it was.

George looked at Heather and winked. “No Harry, it’s more than that. This is how we do it.”

“Do what?”

Fred smiled wickedly. “Everything.”

“See, Harry,” George stood straight and put a hand to his heart. “Back when we were young little first years, we got in trouble with Filch.”

“He sent us to his office where we noticed a drawer labeled ‘Confiscated and Highly Dangerous’ while he yelled at us about the Dungbomb we let off in the corridor.”

“What’s so dangerous about old parchment?”

Fred chuckled and hit George’s shoulder. “He still doesn’t get it.”

George crossed his arms. “He really doesn’t.”

Heather tilted her head at the map. “Wait… Filch knows it exists?”

Fred shrugged. “Not sure if he ever found out how to work it. Being a squib and all.”

“But he probably guessed at what it was, r’else why would he have confiscated it?”

“But what IS it?” Harry reached for it, but George swatted his hand away.

“Let us finish Harry!” George opened the parchment up.

Fred took out his wand and tapped it.

Together they said, “I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.”

The second their mouths closed at the last sound the ink on the map began to spread from the point of Fred’s wand. It spread like a spider’s web and fanned out in every direction until the words began to blossom and turn green.

‘Messrs. Mooney, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs

Purveyors of Aid to Magical Mischief-Makers

Are Proud to present

The Marauder’s Map’

Heather grinned, remembering how cool she thought it was. She looked over at Harry who looked beyond intrigued. George opened it further and suddenly every detail of Hogwarts was visible to them. They could see the castle, the grounds, the edge of the lake, and tiny ink blots moving around with tiny, scribbled names attached. There weren’t many in the castle, and even fewer out in the grounds.

“It’s a map… to all of Hogwarts?” Harry pointed at a dot labeled Professor Dumbledore, who was pacing back and forth in his office.

Heather pointed at Mrs. Norris, who was stalking around in the second-floor corridor. They spotted Peeves in the trophy room.

“Wait a second,” Harry gasped. “Are those – ?”

Fred grinned. “Secret passages.”

Heather frowned. “They lead to – ”

“Hogsmeade.” Fred and George chorused.

“Seven secret passages in all.” Fred tapped on four of them. “Filch knows about these. But these ones – ” He pointed out the three others. “We’re sure he has no clue ‘bout these.”

“This one’s caved in… And that one’s really dangerous. The Whomping Willow’s planted right over it so don’t even bother. This one though…” George grinned. “Right into Honeydukes’ cellar.”

Heather inspected the secret passageway they were talking about and noticed their little dot selves right next to it.

“The entrance is at that one-eyed humped witch statue outside the room here,” Fred pointed. “But something very important you have to remember.”

“You need to wipe it after you’re done.” George tapped the map with his wand.

“Mischief managed,” they both said and the map cleared.

“Money, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs. We owe ‘em everything.” Fred said solemnly.

“Alright well, we’ll see you in Hogsmeade.” George tapped Fred’s shoulder and they both left the room.

Harry reached for the map but Heather snatched it up fast. “Harry. Have you forgotten we’re not supposed to go? It’s not safe?”

Harry took it from her hands. “Except if we had gotten the signatures we’d be there already! So technically… it’s fine.”

Heather huffed angrily.

“Besides. We’ll be going from Hogwarts directly to Honeydukes. So we can’t run into Sirius Black. It’s the safest way, really.”

Heather narrowed her eyes at him. He had a point and she hated it. “You know what the Weasleys say about magical artifacts… Dangerous ones Harry.” She waited for him to look at her. “If it can think for itself, and you can’t see where it keeps it’s brain – ”

“Don’t trust it,” he finished. “But Fred and George are Weasleys and have been using this thing for years. It’s fine, alright?”

She sighed, giving in. “Fine… meet by the witch in five minutes. You can’t go out like that. You’ll catch a cold.”

They snuck out of the room and went their separate ways, meeting back at the witch in their Weasley green sweaters and old hand-me-down knitted black hats. They stood by the witch and while Harry looked around for anyone, Heather opened up the map and traced her finger along the passage. She looked at the old crone and back down at the map and a tiny speech bubble had taken over the label of her name.

“‘Dissendium’,” she said and the witch began to move.

The hump opened wide enough to fit them one at a time.

“Quickly go, go!” Harry pushed her in.

She stepped in and felt a decline. “Lumos… Careful on your way down – AH!” Harry had knocked her over and they both tumbled down the slope onto earthy ground. Heather stood and dusted off. She picked up her wand and map. “Mischief managed,” she tapped it.

“I’ll hold it,” Harry reached for it.

Heather pulled it behind her back. “You have the cloak. I should have the map.”

“No way. If Pansy or Malfoy find it, then it’s good as lost. If Ron or Neville do then it’s still safe.” He reached around her and tore it out of her hands.

She pushed him away and straightened her sweater. She’d bring this topic back up later. It wasn’t fair he got to keep both things, especially since they were supposed to share it and own it together.

“Let’s go.” He led the way down the passage.

The passage curved and bent, twisted left then right until finally, after almost an hour, Harry tripped over stone steps. Heather picked him up and made her way up the steps, feeling something level graze her head as she climbed. She put her hands up and pushed, feeling the flat ceiling come loose.

She shifted the loose stone tile and pushed it back, poking her head up into what looked like a cellar full of barrels, crates, and large sack bags. She looked around and saw they were alone.

“Clear,” she whispered and climbed out.

Harry moved the stone tile back and headed for the wood steps. They heard laughter and voices and a distant high-pitched bell with the sound of a shutting and opening door.

A door opened nearby, and they jumped apart and hid behind boxes. A man came down the stairs and headed for the opposite wall, searching deep inside one of the barrels. She looked over at Harry and he jerked his head up. They both climbed back on the stairs and headed up and out of the cellar through the open door.

They were standing behind the counter and quickly ducked down, creeping out from behind and straightening out as they reached the main floor of the shop with all the candy and other people. There were so many Hogwarts students picking out treats and sweets that no one paid them any attention at all.

There were tall, curved shelves of sugar treats in jars, baskets, boxes, and tubes. There were all variations of cream consistencies, from frosty drinks to chewy nougat. There were squares and circles and swirls of colorful candy. And in a jar to Heather’s left were blue sugary springs that bounced and hit the glass lid, trying their very best to escape – or jump into her mouth. She wasn’t sure.

“Can you imagine how crazy Dudley would go here?” Harry laughed.

“I’d rather not.” Heather nudged him towards the door.

Harry stepped away from the rows of dark chocolate frogs and stopped at a barrel of exploding toffees. Heather remembered a second year in the common room eating one when it exploded in her mouth and got all over her teeth. She was picking it from her teeth for a week.

“You don’t want those.” She pulled him and spotted Ron and Hermione in the very back just as she reached the door. “Oh look!”

They headed to the ‘Unusual Tastes’ section and stayed quiet behind Ron and Hermione as they looked at a tray of blood-flavored lollipops.

“No, I don’t think they’d like those,” Hermione shook her head.

“What about these?” Ron held up a box of Cockroach Clusters. “They might – ”

“No. Well maybe Harry – ”

“Definitely not Harry,” Harry spoke up quickly.

Ron and Hermione jumped and turned around.

“How’re you two here!” Hermione frowned and crossed her arms.

“You two apparated?” Ron’s jaw dropped.

“You can’t apparate from Hog – ”

“Hogwarts, yeah.” Ron rolled his eyes. “How’d you two get here?”

Heather shushed Harry before he opened his mouth. “Too many sixth years here.”

Harry nodded. “What’ve you got so far?”

Ron opened up his bag of Honeyduke sweets. “Just the usual. Every Flavor Beans – ”

“Not every flavor,” Heather murmured.

Ron rolled his eyes. “Some Fizzing Whizbees, levitating sherbet balls – Hermione’s Toothflossing Stringmints – black pepper imps, Ice Mice, exploding bonbons, and sugar quills – also Hermione’s.”

“Restock,” Harry gave him a thumbs up and turned. “What should I buy?”

“You brought your money?” Heather looked at Harry incredulously.

“You buy loads of books with yours and I don’t complain.” He pushed Ron away and together went to look at the Jelly Slugs in their tank.

Heather and Hermione looked at each other and sighed before joining them.

“Oh, don’t try those.” Ron took the Acid Pops from Harry and put them back. “Fred gave me one once and it burned a hole in my tongue. Mum gave him a walloping with her broom after that.” He shivered. “Maybe I will get the Cockroach Clusters for Fred this year. I can put ‘em in a peanut box.”

They spent another hour looking at sweets and tasting as many samples as they could. In the end Harry ended up buying a large bag of sweets that he had to split and stuff into several of his cloak pockets. Heather walked over to Hermione who was standing by the door.

“It’s a blizzard outside,” Hermione said as Heather approached. “You’re lucky. Otherwise it’d be very easy to spot you in here.”

Heather nodded. “You know there was no stopping Harry. I had to go with him.” She dropped her voice, “I know more spells than him,” she smiled.

Hermione sighed. “How did you get here?”

Heather looked over at Harry and Ron who were making their way over to them. “We’ll tell you soon. Just not in here.”

Harry gave Heather a chocolate frog leg – still kicking – and bit into the other leg. “Where should we go?”

Hermione looked around. “Well. If it’s really that secret, we should talk in the Three Broomsticks.”

Ron cheered. “Butterbeer!”

They opened the shop door and stepped out into the blizzard, squinting hard and headed for the tiny inn.

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Chapter List

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#harry potter #heather potter #pro snape #severus snape x oc #severus x oc #snape x oc #severus snape x reader #severus x reader #snape x reader #snape fanfic #snape fanfiction #snape fan fiction #fanfic #fanfiction #fan fiction

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sugarfreecapsicle · 5 years ago

Text

old magic (2/3)

A/N: well it is spooky time, my dudes. although this isn’t all that scary, it’s a little rattling. written for and with lots of support from @moonstruckbucky and her Halloween writing challenge! As always, huge props to @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan for beta-reading, helping me when I’m stuck, for adding the read more cut while I’m limited to mobile and for this gorgeous moodboard!

prince!bucky x reader

warnings: 18+ smut, angst, sub!bucky

DISCLAIMER: this is in no way a reflection of anyone who identifies, practices or otherwise affiliates with witchcraft. I bastardized some basics and ran with it. Please don’t come for me and correct my poor development of a fake magic system.

James stares in bewilderment at his trembling hand. Brow knits together in confusion, eyes dart quickly between the hand and your knowing smirk.

“A simple protection charm,” you answer. “No physical contact without my permission.”

He whines in the back of his throat, knees wobble as if a child in a tantrum. James had for the past week been a man in a desert in search of an oasis found only with you. Your skin, your body, so close and yet too far. Tears prick at the corners of his eyes, desperate and wanting.

“Please.”

———————-

You’d bottle it if you could - the pretty keening of a desperate crowned prince, heir to the throne of one of the most powerful kingdoms in the realm. His right hand glides a short distance from your arm over your stomach to your shoulder to finally rest close enough to your cheek you can feel the warmth radiate from his palm.

“Please, love, let me touch you.”

The pet name unravels in your chest, tender, softer than you’d expected. You waver, a part of you moldable to his whims and pretty words, but the stronger part wills against such foolishness.

“And why should I allow it?”

The exasperation overflows into his posture - sagging shoulders, knees finally weighing him down to the floor, trembling hand weakly hovering over your hip and thigh.

“I ache for you in a way I have never longed for another,” he croons. “I fear if I cannot be with you, I may burst into flame. Without your love I will starve, waste away. Please, please don’t deny me.”

James leans in as if to place his forehead against your stomach and chokes on a whimper when he knocks against firm air guarding your bare belly. The tears dot his long eyelashes now, dangerously close to spilling out onto ruddy cheeks.

You crook a finger below his chin and direct his attention to your face once again - giving yourself ample time to appreciate each glimmer of desperation in his blue eyes.

“What kind of woman would I be to deny such lovely poetry?”

James’ entire body sags in relief, pushing out breath held deep in his lungs, chin pressing into your pinched finger.

You tsk quietly, and he startles.

“Conditions, my prince. Let me help you.”

James is astonished when he realizes belatedly you’ve touched him. The prince has never known a hunger like this - compelling, painful, obsessive. Since his resurrection, an event his father demanded be kept quiet, James only thought of the witch. Your beauty, your scent, your voice. An all consuming force. Compelled to go to you, must go to you, even if only to see you once more. No, even that would not be enough. He longs to touch you, to feel your skin against his. He wonders if it’s soft, supple, if it would bruise under his rough touch.

Would you keen, make noises in the back of your throat as he feasted upon you? Thoughts such as that surprised him. He is far from a blushing virgin, but he hardly ever fantasizes about tasting a woman. He wants to worship your body, bow down and pray at your altar, confess his transgressions, beg forgiveness. On his knees before you, James realizes the control he craves belongs to you, and pleasure washes over him as a wave in the sea.

How he stays upright on his feet without your constant aid, he’s unsure. An afterthought has both hands, flesh and metal reaching for you but without purchase.

“I can touch - you cannot,” you explain with a gentle shove against his thick chest.

The mattress on your bed is lumpy, scratchy - a far cry from his plush featherbed in the castle, but this foreign land of magic and lust erases any discomfort. His body simmers where your hands haven’t touched, blazes where they do. Careful, spindly fingers dance across his shoulders, chest, shivering stomach. Deft teasing, nails combing through wiry hair - he’s breathless.

His own hands betray him, reach for any part of you within inches of him but the damned charm holds true, keeping his fingertips close enough to feel heat but no friction. Unbearable torture for a man starved, deprived.

“What would you do, my prince, if you could touch me?” Even your words are made of sin. “Tell me. I do so love to hear your voice.”

James can barely breathe let alone form a sentence when your thighs flex against his hips. Dry lips babble out nonsense, his gaze focuses on your smug expression. Pouting mouth, mischief all over.

“I would- I’d, gods above, I’d bruise you, make you mine, anything to touch, please,” he whines, back arching for more of you.

“Should I not be afforded the same opportunity, James?”

He reels, explosions of desire barreling through him at the idea of your teeth biting into him, nails tracking pink lines on his chest and back. Willingly he would trade his family’s crest on his heart for your own mark.

A long drag of a single fingernail commands his body’s curved answer, stinging a trail from clavicle to hip. Sweat lightly covers him, his restraint on a fraying tether.

“Have I made you suffer? Am I too cruel a mistress?” Desperate eyes watch as you lift and align yourself with his pulsing need, red, angry, begging. “I can soothe your pains, my prince.”

Stars collide when he’s sheathed inside you, your clenches in time with the throbbing ache of him. Somewhere in the distance he hears blankets rip and tear by his own hands - the price of inability to touch you directly - and howls, all gravel and raw that eviscerate his throat.

With your palms splayed over his chest, at last comes a minute relief. Your touch ignites every nerve in his body, once dead alive again. Every shift and roll of your hips pulls cries of bliss from deep within him, and he catches a few soft moans from you.

The beauty of you writhing in sensual dance above him is obscene enough to make a harlot blush from head to toe. James understands now what it means to bed a woman, what he has been missing, why men flood brothels. Nothing compared.

“Oh, my prince,” you breathe against his lips, ghosting a kiss. “Come undone for me.”

Delayed only by a moment of your white hot climax and gnashing teeth against his lower lip, he releases, loses his vision behind a plethora of colors and whimsical patterns. His entire body stutters then falls loose to the bed, sated at last.

The required fire in the hearth crackles on long after the throes of passion dissipated. Delicate fingers wind and furl over tracked skin, broad chest heaving in breath. Cool metal plays at the small of your back affectionately.

“Tell me about your castle,” you offer, something to bring back the dazed prince. He inhales deeply, settles into the lumpy mattress.

“Old, wet, miserable.” The grin is all mirth in nostalgia, as if he could never return to a distant memory. “Why trouble yourself with such a thing as that? That place is nothing more than a prison of unhappiness.”

“It made you happy once.” Regret pricks at your heart briefly, but James seems undeterred.

“Once,” he allows. “Not anymore.”

You watch orange flame dance against the calm blue of his eyes, your prince’s mind taking him back to the castle, back to his proper life with a sardonic grin that you aren’t sure tells the truth.

“Did she make you happy?”

James shifts under your gaze, meeting it with all the wrong understanding.

“She could have, if Sophia had been you.”

The name halts your entire being, heart stopped, breath held. “Sophia?”

“The daughter of a land baron who owed great debt to my father. The marriage came to be since she was the only woman of title who could -“ James ends his retelling upon seeing your troubled expression. “Love?”

“James, I — there’s something I must consult with the Mother, don’t trouble yourself with awaiting my return,” you rush, saccharine and final. “Rest well, my prince, and I will be here when you wake.”

The ritual takes the remainder of your night, and exhaustion sweeps over you as the tears shed down your cheeks. Breathing hurts, air pulling tightly in your lungs in wheezes. James deserved this much. As did you.

Magic comes at a price.

#bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky x reader #bucky x female reader #bucky fan fiction #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes angst #bucky angst #bucky smut #my fic

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princesssarisa · 4 years ago

Note

10 facts about Shana and her mother Darika. Plus the full OC interview with each of them :)

Here they are! Shanna, the “Beauty” of my wlw Beauty and the Beast retelling (which still lacks a definitive title, though I intend it to include the word “rose”), and Darika, her mother.

Shanna 10 facts 1. She is 14 years old during the story’s prologue, 17 when the main plot starts, and 19 by the end.

2. My facecast for her is the late Israeli singer Ofra Haza (best known to some of us for providing the voice of Moses’s mother Yocheved in The Prince of Egypt) when she was very young.

3. She’s mixed race. Her mother’s ancestors were white pseudo-Europeans, while her father’s came from a Middle Eastern-inspired culture. Both practiced the same Judaism- and Shamanism-inspired religion, though. She’s her world’s equivalent of a Jewish person who’s half Ashkenazi, half Mizrahi.

4. Her name is partly a variant of the Yiddish “Shaina,” meaning “beautiful,” and partly an abbreviation of the Hebrew “Shoshanna,” meaning “lily” or, more significantly, “rose.” It has nothing to do with the Hebrew “shana,” meaning “year” – they’re just almost-homonyms.

5. Unlike most traditional Beauty and the Beast Beauties, she’s the eldest of three sisters, not the youngest. Her two sisters aren’t wicked, but they are a bit of a handful because they’re so young, and she’s had to be their responsible caretaker. She plays that role well – her little sister Zuri sooner calls for her than for their mother when she needs help – but it’s kept her from fully exploring her own potential, which she finally does get to explore during her time with Liriel, the lady beast.

6. Her personality is very much like Disney’s original animated Belle: bookish, sweet, emotional, full of dreams, yet intelligent and strong willed too. She’s more socially awkward than Belle, though, and unfortunately, she also has the self-doubt of Robin McKinley or Megan Kearney’s Beauties. Unlike Belle, she’s internalized the idea that she’s odd and oversensitive, so she tries to act like a “normal” down-to-earth villager, until the year she spends with Liriel makes her realize her worth just as she is.

7. She’s an aspiring author and poet. At age 13, before her family fell into poverty, she wrote a play based on the popular story of the heroine Lady Yasfira, portraying her as more flawed and dynamic than in most retellings, giving more sympathy than usual to the “evil” queen who opposed her, and portraying them as having once been friends. (Think either The Prince of Egypt or Wicked, or both.) The play was never performed at the time, but years later, with Liriel’s encouragement, she fine-tunes it, and then they perform it together for Liriel’s animal servants – this plays an important role in their growing feelings for each other.

8. She rarely lets herself get angry, but when she does, she can verbally annihilate you.

9. She realized she was bisexual at age 11 when, after her first crush on a boy at her school ended, she developed a new crush on a girl. She probably realized this more quickly than most real-world bi girls do, because the setting, Zalina Island, has no homophobia. She never acted on her crushes, but only out of shyness, not because she saw anything wrong with liking girls.

10. Despite her gentle personality, she’s not especially femme: she’s more soft butch, or maybe futch. She dislikes dresses (fortunately, Zalina Island has no taboo against women in pants) and generally wears just one or two feminine articles, like a shawl or earrings, with otherwise boyish clothing.

Interview (as she would answer it around the middle of the story)

What did you want to be, when you were a kid? There were so many things I wanted to be at different times. A queen, a princess, a duchess, a prophet, a traveling bard, an actress, a shepherdess, a farmer, a lady knight, a prime minister, a priestess, an acrobat, a cook, a kitchen maid, a dressmaker like my mother, a merchant like my father, a doctor, a midwife, a goldsmith, a fairy… and eventually, I realized that the one way to be all those things was to be a writer.

When did you know you wanted to be a writer? As soon as I was old enough to realize that stories didn’t come out of thin air, but where written by people. I wanted to do it as soon as I knew I could.

Who inspires you? My mother, my father, and a wide array of fictional heroes and heroines.

If you got to choose, where would you like to live? With whom? I’d love to live in a castle. I try not to care where I live as long as my family is with me, but my dreams of living in some splendid beautiful place never seem to die. I wouldn’t want it unless my family was there too, though.

Which item would you never give away? My journal, where I write down my secret thoughts, poems and stories.

Tell us about the biggest mistake you made in your life. Until recently, I might have cited the time I forgot to write an important history essay for school because I got lost in writing my play Yasfira and Anefri. Or else the time I lost my temper with my three-year-old sister Zuri and hurt her feelings so badly that she ran away and was missing for over an hour. But now, there’s no doubt that my worst mistake was asking Mama to bring me back a unique flower if she could find one on her trip to the city. Who would have thought a flower would cost so much?

Did you ever fear for your life? Yes, the moment when I saw Lady Liriel for the first time, after I followed Mama back to her lair – half wolf, half dragon, and entirely terrifying – and even more so, when she sniffed the air and I knew she smelled me hiding there.

There’s people who say you’re strange. Do you have any comment on this? I’m afraid it’s true. So often my imagination feels more real than the real world, my mind flies off to places that no one else believes exist, my emotions swell and crash like tidal waves no matter how much I try to swallow them and put logic first, I’ve always asked too many questions, and I feel less alone with only my books, paper and pen than I do in crowds of people.

Tell us something about you that nobody knows. Well, not many people know how strange I am anymore. I’ve learned to copy Mama and pretend to be as sensible and down-to-earth as she and our neighbors are, instead of spewing my feelings and dreams the way I used to. If the villagers knew about my romantic fantasies or the stories and poems I write in my head, they would laugh or scold even more than the people in the city did when I was small.

What would make a perfect day for you? A few hours spent reading, a few spent writing, and maybe a trip to the theatre in the evening, with people who understand me and let me feel free to be myself.

Darika 10 Facts 1. She takes on the father’s traditional role in the Beauty and the Beast story. Her husband was a merchant, but he died in the same shipwreck that destroyed his merchandise and left the family impoverished. But a few years later, she learns that one of his ships survived after all, has to travel to reclaim its cargo, but gets lost in a forest… and we all know the rest. Recent BatB retellings have put a lot of effort into answering the question “What happened to Beauty/Belle’s mother?” in interesting and poignant ways. To be different, I thought “Why not make her mother the living parent?”

2. My facecast for her is the New York City Criminal Court judge Rachel “Ruchie” Freier. Not that I know much about Judge Freier, but her face look right for the character.

3. At the beginning of the story, she’s 35 years old. By the end, she’s 40.

4. She was born in a small, poor village at the base of the White Pine Mountains. Her parents died when she was a baby, so she was raised by her grandfather and her older sister, who have since died too.

5. She worked as a seamstress in the village until she met and fell in love with a wealthy young traveling merchant from an elite port city. Despite the disapproval of his social circle, they married. After his death, she took their daughters back to her home village to start a new life.

6. Her impoverished upbringing and family tragedies have toughened her. She takes a very practical, hardworking, no-nonsense approach to life, tries to teach her daughters to do the same, and is calm and resolute in the face of hardship, focusing on “What are we going to do about it?” She sometimes loses patience with her daughter Shanna’s dreaminess and sensitivity, which makes Shanna, who adores and idolizes her, feel inadequate and weak.

7. Inside, though, she feels just as deeply and intensely as Shanna does. Her love for her family is limitless and she’s actually very dependent on Shanna, who fills the role of the family’s nurturing caregiver more than Darika’s temperament lets her do.

8. One thing she and Shanna have in common, which Shanna learned from her, is strong integrity and deep compassion for others. For her, the best part of being rich was all the good she could do for the poor, while the hardest part of becoming poor again was having so little to give to those even poorer.

9. Her sewing is more than just her job – it’s an art. She embroiders the clothes and quilts she makes with all kinds of colors and unique designs. The vibrant images she creates are an outlet for the emotions she doesn’t express.

10. Her personality is inspired by assorted beloved literary heroines, both classic (Jane Eyre, Elinor Dashwood) and modern (Tamora Pierce’s lady knight Keladry of Mindalen). For all their differences, and though they’re much younger than Darika, all these heroines are quiet, practical, dignified, staunch in their integrity, deeply caring and passionate on the inside, and yet with masks of stoic self-control that they only drop when intensely provoked. I like those heroines and admire them, yet sometimes their popular role model status annoys me, because it’s hard for a highly sensitive, naturally effusive person to act like them. So Darika pays tribute to them, but the story will also emphasize that her daughters don’t need to be like her.

Interview (as she would answer it around the middle of the story) What did you want to be, when you were a kid? A forest sprite or a good witch. I had a wild imagination in those days, before the real world tamed it.

When did you know you wanted to be a seamstress? When I first learned that the flowers and birds on my childhood quilt hadn’t sprouted there by themselves, but were embroidered by my mother, and that the storytelling tapestries that hung on the village temple walls were sewn by other villagers in the same way. I wanted to create beauty like they had, and to tell stories through pictures, while at the same time creating useful things for others: clothes, blankets, handkerchiefs, etc. I think I willed my own talent for sewing into being to do just that.

Who inspires you? My older sister Shanna; the namesake of my daughter. We lost our mother very young, so she took on the role of mother for me, and every day her love and strength have inspired me as I’ve raised my own children.

If you got to choose, where would you like to live? With whom? I would live in a clean, elegant, comfortable house with my daughters, a servant or two, and my husband, if only I could bring him back.

Which item would you never give away? My wedding ring.

Tell us about the biggest mistake you made in your life. Three of them, one directly after the other. First, when I was lost in the Great Forest during a storm, I took shelter in what I thought was an ordinary cave. Then, when I found that the inside looked like a castle, I should have turned and left; even then I knew that such an enchanted place would be dangerous. But I was cold, wet, and afraid I would die if I went back out into the storm, so I stayed. Last but not least, when I discovered the greenhouse garden in that castle-cave, I crept in and picked a rose as a gift for my daughter Shanna. Who would have dreamed a single flower would cost so much?

Did you ever fear for your life? I feared for my life when I was lost in the storm, but even more so when I came face to face with Lady Liriel. I’ll never forget the sight of her matted fur and vampire-bat fangs as she glared down at me.

There’s people who say you’re cold and stony. Do you have any comment on this? They don’t really know me.

Tell us something about you that nobody knows. Very few people fully know me, not even my daughters. I play the role of the calm, practical peasant woman, but it’s only skin-deep. Shanna thinks all her wild passions and romantic dreams came from her father, but really she inherited them from me too. My grandfather knew the secret me, and so did my sister, and my husband. But they’re all gone, and as I’ve buried each of them, I’ve buried those aspects of myself more deeply.

What would make a perfect day for you? A quiet day of embroidery by the fire at home, with my daughters all near me and all happy.

#my writing #oc ask #10 facts #oc interview #shanna #darika #my ocs #cinefantastiquemitho

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the-prince-of-professors · 5 years ago

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@tremendousdetectivetheorist at last, here is Part II of your story!! 🎻💌 I’m sorry it took so long, and once again this is not super polished and edited, but it’s already been so long and also, I hope it can cheer up your evening :) <333

(Part I)

Watson watched as the two lovers greeted each other, decided his presence would not be missed, and left the room in search for the conservatory. It was not difficult to find the set of beautiful, eye-catching glass doors leading into it, as they were close to the main entrance; but what business Holmes would have in there, Watson could not fathom. Nevertheless, he entered, and followed a stone path to the left past some exotic bushes and plants with colourful flowers, until he found the second palm tree as Holmes had instructed. Here he sat down on the small bench beneath it, and, closing his eyes to the soft sound of a babbling fountain somewhere nearby, he waited.

His thoughts effortlessly wandered to the case at hand, and to the two unlikely lovers involved in it. Before his inner eye he saw once more Stevens’ face as Webster walked up to him and placed his hands on his shoulders; the way his stern features softened when tender fingers stroke his cheek, and the way they both seemed to melt into each others’ presence, relieved not so much by the prospect of a solution as by seeing it through together. It was an unlikely love to the eyes of the outsider, that it was; but one peek behind the curtain, and who would ever again doubt its fierce authenticity?

He was pulled from his thoughts by a hand on his shoulder, and a breath in his ear; and he opened his eyes to find those of Holmes twinkling at him.

“Did I startle you?” asked Holmes.

“I was only dreaming.”

Holmes sat down next to him. For a moment or two neither spoke. Holmes hummed a quiet tune while idly inspecting his surroundings, and Watson patiently waited for some explanation for this odd meeting place.

“Are we waiting for someone?” he asked at last.

“Not to my knowledge,” Holmes answered.

“Then why are we here?”

And Holmes met his eye with a look Watson could not remember ever seeing in him before: it was as if every line on his face had smoothened at once, and his eyes had grown young with innocence, and his smile was that of a secretive school boy—and he lowered his gaze, and pointed to a spot on the worn and scratched piece of wood on which they were seated. Watson bent forward, squinting at the marks barely visible among less deliberate damages.

“S.H.”, he read, then looked up. “You?”

“Yes, Watson,” Holmes said with a chuckle.

“I don’t understand.”

“This house used to belong to my dear uncle and aunt. And this,” he continued, looking at his surroundings with a smile, “was my very own sanctuary, whenever I would visit them in town. I could sit here for hours; scribbling, or reading, or thinking. Webster’s father bought the place no more than ten years ago. I heard he had showed a great deal of appreciation for the conservatory upon buying, and I guessed he would have kept it much as it was: I am happy to see I was right.”

Watson looked at him, trying to imagine Holmes the boy hiding out under the protective leaves, lying stretched out with his nose in a book on this very bench, marking his initials in it with a penknife.

It was surprisingly easy.

“It is a very peaceful place,” he said, and Holmes met his eye.

“It was the safest place on Earth, in my world,” he said, and Watson could not decide whether the faint smile on his lips was one of sorrow, or of happiness.

So he took his hand, and pressed it firmly.

----- ♥ -----

It was again sunset, and again the two men made their way up the path to the house that had belonged to Holmes’ late relatives. Once again, the door opened almost immediately upon knocking, and Steven’s stern figure became visible. He showed the gentlemen into the morning room, where Webster was waiting—this time seated in the velvety chair, and tapping his fingers anxiously on the armrests.

“Mr Holmes!” he exclaimed, jumping up from the chair, “and Doctor Watson! Oh, am I glad to see you! It is a beautiful day, a happy day indeed—I can’t begin to tell you how grateful I am!” And he shook both of their hands fervently, grinning with his whole face.

“I take it you have had a talk with Mrs Chaillard,” said Holmes.

“Indeed, why she left in a rage not an hour ago! There is a passionate woman, if there ever was one, and she was most upset—most upset! But I need not tell you more, since you already must know every detail of this business!”

“On the contrary,” Holmes smiled, “apart from setting the operation in motion, we know very little of its actual execution. Now,” he continued, taking a seat upon the divan, “it is clear that the solution proved successful; but if you don’t mind, I would very much like to hear the details.”

Webster looked wide-eyed at Watson, who nodded in agreement; and he clasped his hands together in excitement.

“Well! Then please sit down, Doctor,” he said, “and I will gladly tell you! She came her in the morning, as she had promised, asking me one last time if I would not accept her ‘most generous offer’. I did as you told me yesterday: I stuck to my initial decision and fully and wholeheartedly refused her.

‘My heart is not for sale,’ I said, firmly. ‘You must understand that, Mrs Chaillard. There is nothing in the world which will stop it from belonging to him.’

“She was disappointed, I could see that—I think she had held some hope all the way to the end, despite my constant protests. Well, she said I would be sorry, and she left—and as strong and unruly as I had been during our interview, I must admit that at that point, I was all shatters and shivers again. I could not help but think she had the advantage after all, and that she was on her way to ruin our little utopia like a locomotive running full force through a rotten picket fence—it was only the assurance in your telegram last night that we should not lose faith, and Stevens’ infinite comfort and support, which kept me from completely falling apart. Well, Stevens forced me to take some lunch; and then we waited, for what felt like an eternity. I know you were also anxious at that point, my dear—it was written all over your face,” he said, taking Stevens’ hand and giving it a squeeze; and Stevens raised his eyebrows the very slightest, in a way which with some imagination could be interpreted as agreement.

“But then,” Webster continued, “we suddenly heard a carriage stop outside, and before we had time to do as much as get up, there was a furious knock at the door. It was her, of course; Stevens opened, and she pushed right past him; and I shall never forget the look on her face as she entered this room, nor the feeling it produced in me, for I could see right away that something had gone horribly wrong on her end, which must mean horribly right on ours. She stopped right in the middle there, on the carpet; I raised to my feet; and she simply stared at me for some moments, with the burning gaze of a wounded tiger.

‘Mrs Chaillard,’ I said then, ‘you look upset.’

‘Upset? Upset!’ she cried, taking a step towards me—but I stood my ground. ‘How dare you stand there as if you know nothing of the humiliation I just went through in the office of the editor of the largest magazine in the city! What is this trick you have played on me?’ she went on, and held up the same velvety bag in which she had placed the photographs and the letters after waving them in my face the day before.

‘But I assure you, I do know nothing,’ said I.

‘Nothing of THIS?’ she cried; and she reached inside the bag, and threw its contents at me.

“And what was it?” asked Watson.

“Nothing but this!” said Webster, and laughed as he reached into his pocket and produced some small pieces of paper. “Some biscuit wrappers, and a few tickets stubs to Lord’s. You can imagine I had some difficulty keeping a straight face. But I looked her in the eye, and said very sternly:

‘Perhaps the trick is one you have played on yourself all along.’

“I was quite pleased with myself for that, especially since it caused an even stronger emotion in her. All she could do was stomp her foot and let out a scream like you’ve never heard before. That last part was not very pleasant on the ears, of course; but then she cursed me in at least ten languages, and I was never so grateful to be so thoroughly insulted before in my life. You see, until now she had—despite threats of my destruction—been nothing but affectionate and seductive and pleasant with me. It was the most welcome change of behaviour, I must say. At last she cried:

‘This is the last you have seen of me, Lord Webster—mark my words!’

“And she left the house. I sank down upon the sofa, for by then I was shaking again, though this time with relief; and Stevens, who had heard everything, came to sit beside me—”

“—I was very proud of you, my dearest,” said Stevens, this time with clear affection in his deep voice, and kissed Webster’s hand.

Webster stopped in his retelling, for a moment or two forgetting all but his lover’s touch, and the eyes gazing into his own.

“Well,” said he then, “after blessing our fortune that we were once again free and that this horrible business was over, we immediately sent for you. It is all over, is it not, Mr Holmes?”

“I dare say that it is, my Lord,” Holmes said softly. “She has nothing on you now, and I hardly think anyone would believe her story should she decide to try it anyway, which I don’t think she will.”

Webster put his hand on his heart, smiled, and took a deep breath, much like one would do on the very first day of spring. Then he raised to his feet, to once again clasp the hands of his rescuers.

“I thank you, Mr Holmes,” he said, “and Doctor Watson. I cannot begin to describe the happiness you have brought us both.”

“We played a very small part in it,” smiled Holmes. “I’m quite confident, too, in saying that the photographs and the letters will soon be returned to you in the most discreet manner. Take good care this time, that they do not fall into the hands of another ill-willed enemy!”

“You may be certain of it, Mr Holmes,” said Stevens, reaching out his hand as well, “and may I also express my deepest gratitude for what you have done for us both. I hope you know how much this means to us.”

“Indeed, I’m sure we do,” said Watson, shaking his hand.

“You know,” said Webster then, “this whole business has been such strain, and now I truly do feel like celebrating. I think I finally shall take the plunge, and travel to the continent. That is,” he continued, taking Stevens’ hand again, “if my valet would be so good as to come with me.”

Stevens carefully raised Webster’s hand to his lips once more.

“I would like nothing better,” he said.

----- ♥ -----

It was with a puzzled mind that Holmes again entered the glass doors to the conservatory—and that says quite a lot when it comes to the man in question. But Watson had asked him here, to meet below the same palm tree as before—the usual palm tree—and he would naturally oblige. So there he was, walking down the little stoned path, and sitting down on the worn wooden bench to the sound of the friendly fountain. And he had not sat there long when he felt a familiar hand on his shoulder, and looked up to see Watson’s smiling face and twinkling blue eyes looking down on him.

“I hope I did not startle you.”

“Not at all.”

Watson sat down next to him, and again they both sat in comfortable silence for some minutes.

“Holmes,” Watson said at last. “May I ask you one thing?”

“Anything, my dear Watson.”

Watson turned towards him. With great affection, he looked him in the eyes for a moment; then he said, in the most serious manner:

“May I borrow your penknife?”

Holmes started a little in surprise. But he reached into his coat, and produced a small knife. Watson took from him—carefully, as if it was the most precious of relics—and then he got down on the ground and, sitting on his knees, he traced the wooden surface of the bench with his fingers. When he had found what he was looking for he put the knife to the wood, and carefully carved six scores in it. Then he sat back up on the bench, and handed the knife over to Holmes, who looked bemused upon the initials now next to his own.

“J.W.” he stated, placing the knife back into his pocket. “But… I must admit, John, that I do not quite understand.”

“I want you to know,” Watson said, looking intently into his eyes, “that wherever your safe place is… I will be there with you.”

And he smiled his kindest and most genuine smile, the one that will, I’m afraid, never be reserved for you or me, but is but for one person alone; and it was met with that special glimpse lighting up in Holmes’ eye—the one he had learnt to recognise.

----- ♥ ----- ♥ ----- ♥ -----

#holmes and watson #my writing #yes of course they had to be there too somehow ^^#again sorry it took so long #me saying ''i will do this soon'' is just not realistic #and if you'd like me to put it on ao3 eventually let me know #<3

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poedamern · 5 years ago

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hi! could you write one about the reader and mena at a party and he pretends to be her boyfriend so the guy will back off? extra fluff plz!!

PAIRING: Mena x Female Reader / LENGTH: 2.5k / DISCLAIMER: Gif is not mine! / NOTE: This one is a lot longer than anything else I’ve written but it’s what you guys deserve for me being gone for almost a week! Also I love au’s like this, ugh thank you anon. / WARNINGS: Swearing, Nonconsensual touching (low), Drinking.

“Hey sexy.” The tall frat guy came up behind you, hand sliding up your arm with more contact than necessary. You move away from his touch, turning in your spot, giving him a cautious but standoff-ish smile. “Do I know you?” You ask, not trusting this man’s intentions. Your friend’s parties usually involved a few men like this who tried to hit on anyone and everyone for their own validation. It was the sad reality of friendship groups, there was always those who shouldn’t have been invited but tonight you just seemed to be the best pick for idiotic men.

“I’m Y/Friend’s/N! You know, we met like, pft, I don’t remember, ages ago. But it’s fine, I’ll make sure you remember me, most women love me.” He winks, a gross sly smile on his face as he leans against the fridge, where you were trying to grab a drink from. As you reach for the handle, his hand grabs a hold of your wrist so you won’t move away from him. Your fake smile quickly fades as you grow more uncomfortable with each passing moment, your body visibly tensing. “Something tells me you don’t know women at all.” You frown, words laced with disgust, trying to move your hand back from the stranger. “Aw, come on. I can show you just how well I know women, it won’t take long either, I promise.” His hand now runs down your side, hand only inches away from–

“Babe!” A voice comes from behind you, startling both of you. A firm hand wraps protectively around your waist and pulls you safely away from the man in front of you, the frat letting go of your side instantly. You stumble into the other man’s form, leaning against him before looking up to see who it was. Mena. You had been in the same friend group for a little while now but you still didn’t have too many moments alone together. Mena was a friendly stranger to you – though, in that moment, you couldn’t be happier to see him, compared to the creep trying to take you to some empty room in this massive house. “I was looking everywhere for you.” Mena says, raising his eyebrows at you, signalling to follow along. You panic momentarily before understanding the situation, trusting his act to get you both out of this without causing a scene for everyone to see.

“Baby, I was waiting for you so we could talk to everyone.” You smile, almost cringing at how sweet the tone you used was, bringing a hand up to his chest, playing with the collar of his shirt. Was that necessary? Probably not. “I figured you’d be in the kitchen for some drinks.” You shrug, like it’s not a big deal. “Remind me to make sure we get drinks together next time.” Mena laughs. “He’s your boyfriend?” You notice the frat trying to question you but you just ignore him, grabbing a hold of Mena’s hand, pulling him with you. “Let’s go say hi to Friend’s/N. It’s been so long we need to catch up with them.” Mena quickly follows as you pull him along and turns to make sure the guy wasn’t following you two. Good news, he wasn’t but the bad news was that he continued to stare at you as you walked across the room.

You greet your friend as you normally would but you make the conversation sweet and short, giving them some excuse as to why you had to continuously be on the move. You walk, with Mena’s hand still in your own, until you stand in front of one of the french windows. “Is he watching us?” You ask as you pull him close. Mena makes a face, cringing. “Unfortunately.” You groan, turning your face to look out the window so the guy couldn’t see you. “But first off, are you okay?” Mena asks seriously. You look up at him, surprised. “Oh, I– yeah. I am. I was just a bit taken a back but I’m okay.” You smile softly, Mena’s slight frown fading away, happy to know you were okay. “But something tells me this is going to last the whole night.” You purse your lips. “Does this mean I get to be your boyfriend the whole night?” Mena can’t help but smirk at his question. You chuckle, giving him a look. “Are you excited about that?” Squinting as you ask him. “Not exactly but I wouldn’t say I’m disappointed about it either.” He grins as you roll your eyes playfully. When was he such a joker?

“Alright, babe.” Your teasing tone coming off strong. “You need to be convincing otherwise this guy won’t leave us alone.” You instruct him, crossing your arms. “That’s a two way street, baby.” Mena banters back with you. “You’ll look like the worst girlfriend ever if you don’t join in.” – “Maybe that’s exactly what that guy needs to see.” You both laugh at your jokes before you see an idea come to Mena, eyebrows raised, a playful look on his face. “Well, here goes nothing.” Mena says, rubbing his hands together before grabbing a hold of your hand and taking you over to the other side of the living room where a beer pong table has been set up.

“No, no, no.” You warn Mena but he ignores you, tapping the organisers shoulder and putting you two into the next game. “What about ‘No’ do you not understand?” You tug on his hand. “We can’t just stand around all night, It’s a party right?” He asks. “Don’t worry, I’ll drink all the beer if you don’t want any.” He offers like it’s nothing. “Oh no you don’t. If you’re getting drunk so am I.” You declare before walking up to the table when it’s your turn. “Well then, game on Y/N– Oh shit.” Mena curses, staring directly at who’s across the table. The same frat from before steps up with his other friend, staring both of you down.

“Let’s make a deal, a bet.” The guy slurs, pointing his finger at you. “Even though I know I’ll win anyway.” You look at the guy with pure disgust and annoyance. “A bet? You’re messing with the wrong people.” Mena warns the guy, raising his arms, a smile on his face. “What do you even want to bet? Money? Alcohol?” Mena asks, genuinely curious but the guy pulls a blank. Of course he didn’t think through his dumb plan.

“Winner gets the girl.” You say, arms crossed with a smirk running across your lips. Mena turns and gives you an exasperated look. “Are you insane!? We’re trying to get you away from this guy.” You ignore Mena’s reaction and wave him off. “I said what I said, winner gets the girl and a kiss for celebration. Deal or no deal?” You ask the guy. “Fucking deal.” He replies, confident, chest puffed. Of course you planned to just leave the party if the frat won but you wanted to see the look on his face if you two really did win. Oh the satisfaction.

The game starts, the frat guy and his equally frat friend start with a strong lead, getting four cups in a row while you and Mena had only gotten two. “Don’t tell me we’re choking.” Mena jokes with a weak laugh, genuinely concerned with the outcome that’s slowly approaching, chugging down the cup of beer, grimacing at the taste. “Don’t jinx us.” You say, pinching his side before handing Mena the ping pong ball. He takes the ball and takes a deep breath, looking at you and giving the ball a kiss. “If we go down, we go down together.” You can’t help but laugh at his words, the act endearing.

Back and forth, both teams take shots, a crowd starting to form around the table in anticipation, people spreading word of the prize at hand. Somehow, over the span of the last ten minutes, both teams were down to 1 cup. The two frats had probably way too much to drink and their throws were getting worse while you and Mena were just average at best. But this was it. It was your turn and you had to get this in, to get this torture over and done with.

You focus on the last cup, taking a deep, steady breath. The room falls silent as everyone watches in anticipation. Lifting your arm, you aim your shot. Exhaling, you take the shot, flicking your wrist, watching as the ping pong ball bounces right into the cup. “Oh my god.” You say in disbelief. The room cheers and yells in celebration. “You did it!” Mena yells with joy, grabbing you and picking you up off the floor, spinning you around. You can’t help but laugh, wrapping your arms around his shoulders for support, your legs wrapping around his waist so you don’t hit anything. “Fuck this!” The frat yells, hitting the cup off the table and storming off. You can’t even be mad about him not drinking the last beer because you’re just so happy you won. Mena stops in place and gently lowers you to the ground, still smiling widely.

“Kiss the winner! Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” Some girl calls out from the crowd. For a moment, you had forgotten about the celebratory kiss but after all Mena has done for you tonight, sticking by your side to make sure you were okay and joining you for the night. A kiss doesn’t really seem out of the question. You see Mena flush slightly, looking around as the room starts chanting for you two to kiss. Amused by the sight, you smile. “Don’t get shy on me now.” Bringing your hand up, you take his chin in between your index finger and your thumb. He looks down at you, shocked, before you pull him forward into a kiss. He tenses at the touch, a hand grasping onto your arm before he relaxes and kisses you back.

The room cheers as you kiss and you can feel each others smiles pressed against lips. Pulling back, you notice how shy Mena has gotten, eyes staring at the ground as his hands find yours. You figure your time in the spotlight is finally over so you pull Mena along with you back out of the living room. You decide to give him a little space, getting drinks for you both from the kitchen and going to meet with your other friends as they retell what just happened, laughing and joking about the situation. It isn’t until its late at night, very tipsy, on your way out the door that you get to have a moment alone with Mena.

“My uber is on it’s way.” You say with a soft sigh, taking in the fresh air, adjusting your bag on your shoulder. “Mine’s not too far either.” He adds, putting his phone away in his back pocket. You both watch as the crowds disperse, people tripping over lawn ornaments making their way back home. The silence is comfortable but empty, you decide to speak up. “Mena–” “Y/N–” You both speak at the same time, causing you to laugh. “You go.” Mena offers. “I just wanted to say thank you. You didn’t have to do all of that but. You did. So, thank you, again.” You laugh nervously, watching as Mena’s smile grows on his face. “Honestly, when I saw that guy hitting on you it was the only thing that came to mind, over the hundreds of others things I could’ve done. I just hope I was able to make you feel more comfortable about it.” He says as he scratches the side of his face. “You did.” You say softly.

You see your Uber is only minutes away and you feel a sense of urgency wash over you. “I hope you were comfortable too, I mean the kiss might of been too much– I should’ve asked. Just in the moment it was– well you know.” You start to worry, playing with your fingers. But Mena instantly grabs a hold of them, comforting you, reading your thoughts. “It was more than okay, great even.” He grins. “I was kind of hoping that maybe– I can’t.” He hesitates, shaking his head. “No, say it. Please. I want to know.” You encourage him, wondering if he was thinking the same as you. His eyes soften as he looks at you, watching as he grows the confidence to speak up.

“I was hoping maybe it wouldn’t be the last – that sounds cheesy, but, what I mean is. I’d like to see you again, not under the pressures of some idiot frat guy and beer pong.” He laughs, causing you to do the same, taking a step closer to him. “I’d like that– Babe.” You can’t help but tease, causing you both to laugh yet again. Your phone lights up, altering you that your uber was here, turning to see the same car driving down the road. “My uber is here, so uh–” You hesitate but before you can say anything else, Mena pulls you into a tight hug. “Promise to text me when you get home okay?” He asks, pulling back and looking down at you. “Of course, you too. I won’t be able to sleep otherwise.” You sigh dramatically with a smile. Mena takes out his phone and quickly exchanges phone numbers with you. Out of Mena’s sight, you save his number under the name ‘Babe’ with a heart emoji next to it. If he ever found out, you’d say it was tipsy you who named him that, it was a foolproof plan.

“See you next time, Y/N.” He steps back, waving you goodbye. You wave in return, turning towards the car to get in. But you stop in your tracks, knowing if you don’t do this, you’ll regret it in the morning. Quickly, with the turn of your feet, seeing Mena still standing on the footpath, you run back up to him, placing your hands on his chest for support. He frowns in confusion. “What is it?” He asks, truly unaware. Instead of an answer, you lean up and press a soft goodbye kiss on his lips. This time around, Mena is quicker to react, eyes fluttering close, a hand placed on your cheek, he gently kisses you in return.

You both pull back, smiling, giddy, before Mena playfully turns you back around by your shoulders. “Go, before your Uber gives you a bad rating for being slow.” He jokes, grinning from ear to ear. Rolling your eyes, you laugh. “Fine, fine.” You say before running off to your car, waving one final goodbye to Mena, jumping in the car. From the car ride home to taking a shower, getting ready for bed and closing your eyes for the night, you feel beyond happy, excited for what the future holds for both you and Mena.

#mena massoud imagine #mena massoud x reader #mena massoud fanfic #writing:imagine #pairing:mfr #imagine:fluff #this could've been 100000% better #if it was like 5k words hahaha #fluff

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