#I made that up purely because old guy and haunted doll are in the same apartment | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

yandere-wishes · 4 years ago

Text

⭐Yandere Joestars⭐

(Parts 1-7 + Bonus Charcter: Joseph and Johnny’s characterizations are based off @dear-yandere ‘s interperations) I tried to write this mostly in the Joestars' POV. Their respective darlings resemble lifelike dolls rather than human beings to further illustrate how out of touch with reality the Jojos have become.

Warnings: Gore, kidnapping, dehumanization.

Edited: By the amazing Peri!! (@tealyjade-libran )

⭐Jonathan Joestar is possessive. ⭐

It's only when you lose something, that you start to cherish it...

It's an old saying, one that Jonathan remembers from an antique storybook his mother use to read him. It didn't mean anything back then, when he was still an infant too young and new, to fully comprehend what "owning" and "losing" was. But as the years ticked by faster than any clock could keep track of, things started to change. What had once been a passing quote in a chivalrous story about knights and dragons, soon turned into the epitome of Jonathan Joestar's life.

Soon love wasn't about saving a princess or impressing the neighborhood girls with his boxing skills. No, all too soon love became about own and guarding.

There may have been a time -long before "Jojo" and Dio met- when Jonathan was just like any other gentleman. Tender and sweet, flirtish at gatherings and charming in ladies' companies...but that was a Jonathan from a could-be-past that had been demolished the minute Dio Brando stepped foot onto the Joestar estate. From then on things depleted all so quickly. Everything Jonathan had come to unconsciously cherished had been so easily stripped from him by his beloved new "brother".

Everything he loved had been killed, destroyed, or broken in some inhuman way. His friends had abandoned him, his lover had distorted him, his father didn't even notice him...

"It's only when you lose something, that you start to cherish it". The second time he hears that phrase, it freezes him to the pavement, his body star-struck like he just received a message from the heavens. Although it's rather peculiar, why "heaven" would convey a message to him in such an unholy place.

With Dio having practically kicked Jonathan out of the mansion and countryside. Jojo had no other place to go but the back allies of London. Sure he still tried to be home for supper and bedtime and any other time his father may get an inkling of his absence. But when there was no need to 'appear' Jonathan took to the London streets away from Dio and his lackeys.

In fate's bizarre game, it's in a backstreet that reeks of days old licker and rotting flesh of paupers that no one has bothered to bury. That Jojo hears that life-defining idiom once more. His dulling sapphire blue eyes follow the mist of those melodious words. Staring until they're practically itching to cut through his sockets and run after those little words. But they stop right before they can leave their eyelets, they stop and stare at the figure that strolls out of the shadows, in such a way, that would make Jojo's father slap him across the face for being "barbarous".

It's luck or fate or maybe even destiny that leads the heir of the Joestar legacy to meet his darling in the slums of England.

"How my heart resonates when I lay my weary eyes on your enchanting face..."

There's an odd sweetness about the naivety that surrounds his little friend. A sort of innocence that comes with not knowing about the hell that he's gone through. It's charming in a moderate way, his darling can't come to despise him if they haven't got a clue who he is. Keeping both his worlds as far apart as possible is really the only option left. Dio and his friends can't hurt his new friend? Lover? Companion? In actuality, Jonathan really doesn't know what you are to him. At first, you're merely a distraction from his crumbling, lonely shell of an existence. A sort of invisible pillar holding up London's bridge before it collapses into the River Thames. Sure he views you as another person, unlike the other noblemen Jonathan has no desire to treat you as anything less than a respectable young lady despite your social statutes.

Dio can have the noblemen and ladies, he can have all of George's affection and favor, Heck Dio can have the whole goddamn world for all Jonathan cares. So long as he has his darling, his sunflower, his only means for living, then he will be content.

Jojo lost everything he once loved, but he swears it to every star in the night sky that'll preserve his darling from the wickedness that runs this cruel world. He'll cherish her while she's still in his arms...

He'll protect her, just like the knights did in the old bedtime stories his mother would tell him.

"...I swear on my honor as a Joestar that I shall never lose you to the likes of anyone, I'll be a true gentleman, a true knight and I'll protect you from any who wishes cause you harm."

⭐Joseph Joestar is Protective and all so patronizing.⭐

Why must Love hurt so much?

It's solitude, pure utter solitude that attracts Joseph to his darling. Oh sure, he must have known them from an earlier time in his life, back when the words Hammon and Ripple just sounded like fancy dessert names. Back when he was still a naive kid wishing on every goddamn star that he could just meet one of his parents for a fraction of a second. Back when life was easy when everything made sense. That's when he first met his darling. Although all so many years ago he probably just thought of them as the little sister he never got a chance of having.

There's a numbness growing inside him now that his life has slipped off its axes, hurling into unknown darkness that plagues him in the form of Pillarmen and red gems.

Everywhere he looks there's a reminder that nothing's going back to the way it used to be. No waking up to Granny Erina's voice calling him down for breakfast, no running around chasing Old Man Speedwagon. Everything is gone, replaced by Lisa Lisa's brutal training and Ceaser's endless taunting.

Day by day nothing changes, but once he looks back every little thing is different. Ruptured and mangled into something unrecognizable.

But then there's his darling. Someone -or rather something- that's still the same. Just like before. Her smile is still the same as ever, bright and cheery as she runs up to him wrapping her arms around his abdomen muttering about how much she missed her "Dear Big Brother".

(Y/N) is a comfort, a familiarity in a strange new world. She's something so frail and vulnerable, not to mention naive. Thrusted into a world where horror writers don't dare venture into. It's so likely that she'd be captured by one of Kar's zombie vampire things or -even worse- charmed by Caesar’s silver tongue.

It's thoughts like these that haunt Joseph at night, keep him up and wandering into her room just to gaze at her sleeping form. He's lucid enough to know how it might look. Like he's the bad guy trying to take advantage of a defenseless little girl. But he can justify his actions, he's her big brother, he has to watch over especially when she's at her most vulnerable. If Ceaser ever tried anything or some vampire freak snatched her away in the dead of night, Joseph would never forgive himself!

But what does he get for all his efforts? What does he get for all his sleepless nights and hours upon hours of worrying? Just a small smile and a fleeting kiss on the cheek. No sincere, "Thank you big brother," or, "You're my hero Joseph!" Nothing, nothing worthwhile anyway.

Now it's a competition, a battle to the death if it has to be -funny how he takes this more seriously than his match against Wamuu.- He's competitive by nature and he's willing to do anything to earn his darling's affection once more. He doesn't care who he has to beat within an inch of their life so long as he can have his darling back in his arms.

There is an aftermath to all of these, once all the fighting has ended and the battle's won. Once Joseph has finally claimed his prize. There's a certain way his darling has to act. She’s got to smile and play the role of the dotting little sister once more. Just so Joseph can justify his actions...

"And your next line is, 'I love you more than anything else big brother Joseph!'...at least I wish it was."

⭐Jotaro Kujo is cold and sadistic.⭐

Never learned how to love...

A lover by Jotaro's book is nothing more than a walking, talking doll. Someone who cooks meals, irons clothes, and kisses him on the cheek before he leaves for the day. Sure they have other uses, in flares of passionate moments, they're something to hold onto, another pair of limbs to get tangled in. Something hot and solid, someone to push down, to weigh his force on.

That's it, that's all there is to it...

A lover and a convenient toy are one of the same.

He knows it's wrong to think about someone that way. To deprive a living thing of all their thoughts and feelings just so it's suitable for him. But at the end of the day who wants to hear idle chatter and gossip or go outside for walks in crowded areas. All too social, it's all so troublesome. All Jotaro wants is a closed-off life, away from the scums of the earth...away from people in general.

It's such an inconvenience to seek out a lover, to hassle through dates and meetups in hopes of finding someone that clicks. Jojo would even go so far as to call it wishful thinking. So it has to be a pure accident that he even meets his darling. They're just someone who gets tangled in with the crusaders. A perfect living perception of 'wrong place, wrong time'. Someone who's life gets blown to bits and shambles just because fate decided to play a cruel joke on them.

And that's what piqued Jotaro's interest. The desperate, depleted look of pain cemented over their face. The sparse dying gleam of determination that blazes within their eyes. Oh, what Jotaro wouldn't do to snuff that little ray of hope. To watch as what little purpose they have is ripped from their arms. What he wouldn't do to see them in pain...

Pain is submission, that's really all Jojo wants. A darling submits, not out of their own free will, but because every little thing they've ever loved has been slaughtered, all that they cherished has been stolen from them.

But it's not enough

It's never enough

Although Jotaro adores the looks of anguish that decorates his lover's face. There's something more satisfying about maltreating them. About leaving marks all over, about leaving bruises that never lose their violet glow. He's claiming his darling, physically and mentally. Not a single day goes that Jotaro doesn't remind his lover who they belong to. From verbal taunts that plague his darling's mind day and night, to punches that break bones leaving them paralyzed on the floor begging for help, to cuts that are just a little too deep to ever heal properly.

Even when his darling is behaving, even when the poor little thing does everything her lover tells her to do, there's still going to be some sort of violence directed at her. Some backhanded remark about how useless they are just because they couldn't follow his mother's recipe. Some sort of blow just for greeting him 'too late'. Trivial things morph into punishments, just for Jotaro's sick amusement.

At his core, Jotaro is an unresponsive man, one with no regard for how others feel. He's distant, it's a trait he can't change. He likes how he does things, how there's no room for slip-ups when it's only him. Even his darling isn't someone he'd consider opening up to. Their opinion of him doesn't matter and their feelings are irrelevant. Most days he's gone until the last possible moment, leaving his darling an endless amount of time to mull over every word and scar.

But here's the catch.

As the clock ticks by, as the nights and days begin to merge into an endless existence, as all hope burns in the pits of hell, darling's mind is also going to stray. Ever so slowly losing its perception of reality.

'Maybe' spiders begin to spin webs of doubt through darling's empty cranium. The isolation begins to bite at her skin like the razor-sharp fangs of frostbite. They start to crave Jotaro's harsh touches, they start to miss the venom-like words. Every insult and slap to the face is welcomed, all the misplaced anger and death threats start to feel like sweet kisses and flowery touches.

Poor darling no longer sees big scary Jotaro as a monster. They've lost the ability to see him for what he truly is.

And what happens when Jotaro does finally come home? Oh, how little (y/n) will ravish in the gut kicks and loathsome words. How she'll take every beating with a sweet sugar-coated smile.

Cause this is her life now. A meaningless existence that revolves around Jotaro and his bleak personality. A life that's only worth living when Jotaro is around.

Is it even a life?

"Yare yare daze you're such a hassle, be glad I keep you around...”

⭐Josuke is obsessive with delusional tendencies.⭐

Maybe I'm the one you'll fall in love with next...

Just like his "father" Joseph, Josuke is stuck in a perpetual state between diaphanous and phantasm.

There's something all too wrong with Morioh nowadays. The narrow streets and verbose buildings have started to feel like a transparent cage. The town has always been small, barely reaching a population of 3,000 despite all the new families that keep moving in.

Nevertheless, everything has dulled, faded, and withered into a monochrome collage. The layers of repetitiveness had finally begun to pick at Joskue's nerves...

And yet somehow, by some diabolical twist of fate. In the mists of the oceans of familiarity, Josuke’s eyes grab onto some shimmering pearl lounged into between the crowd of familiar faces.

Sure he's seen this girl before, but he's never actually seen her. Never stopped to look at the odd way their eyes twinkle like newborn stars or how their skin shimmers with the glow of a thousand suns.

One second is all it took, a fleeting compliment as you passed by Jojo in the peppermint flavored afternoon. Your hair flowing like a tapestry of the galaxy as you disappeared in the crowd of dead pulsars. Not a care in the world, not for him, not for anyone.

Destiny was definitely up to its old cruel tricks again.

He's not stalking. Josuke will swear on his grandfather's grave that he'd never "stalk" a harmless little girl, like some distorted maniac. He just happens to bump into you at the beauty parlor when he's picking up a new brand of hairspray. And it's totally an accident when he meets you out in the abandoned fields! Honest! It's not his fault fate wants the two of you to keep meeting, it's not his fault that you guys are meant to be!

It's not technically a friendship that you two start to build up, it's far from one. Friends don't dream about sugar-filled kisses behind school walls. Or about ice cream that tastes like scandalous touches and candy induced moans. No, Joskue isn't your friend, he NEVER wanted to be your friend. He knows that! He knows what he wants...but with each passing day, he's beginning to doubt that you know that.

He'd never realized he's been so sensitive on you. So entranced by your out of tune voice that muttered rather than spoke. He's seldom been so eager to throw a punch and crack his knuckles on someone's skull, just for saying you looked "lovely today".

Whenever his eyes don't land on you, a rage-filled volcano bubbles in the pit of his gut, uncontrollable anger that festers inside of him, like lava waiting to spill out and burn anyone that wanders too close. His palms itch with the need to hold you, to feel your soft skin rubbing against his.

The jealousy is always there, pricking at his skin like rose thrones. Until they inevitably cut through his flesh and make him lose his composure. He's ready to kick and punch and hurt and kill anyone that comes too close to you, anyone that saunters off their orbit and makes a beeline for you, disturbing the balance of solitude that Josuke so eagerly sets you into.

Sometimes in the dead of night, when the world has finally dozed off, Joskue's mind begins to wonder. He thinks the way he feels about you is the same way an addict feels about his drugs. Maybe to him, you're even more addicting than heroin and ecstasy...and yet he can't quit you, he just doesn't want to quit you. Nothing in this world could compare to your sweet voice that tickles his ear when you lean in, to whisper a secret, or the may your full lips move when you throw another honey-filled insult at him.

He prefers when you're alone when he's the only one you talk to.

Sure there are exceptions like everything in life, although in the end

there's a sort of backhanded irony.

It's those exceptions that are going to hurt him in the.

Josuke trusts his friends, he knows that Okuyasu and Koichi would never do anything to hurt him...

But you're not on that list and to be fair you're surely the only one who can truly hurt him.

You fall for a friend of his. Not him, not the boy that's been driving himself insane just to earn a smile from you, not the boy that let you get away with insulting his hair and poking insults at his look, not him never him, it just can't be him.

"You're like an older brother to me"...Did you wash your mouth with acid before you spat those words at him? Did you intend to lace your words with knives and blades and rubbing alcohol before you stabbed him? It's figurative, sure. But it might as well be literal. No pain, no cut, no punch from any stand would ever hurt so much! You really don't know what you do to him, do you?

"I'm happy for you," it's a lie, blank and simple. Automatic words that he's practiced in the mirror a thousand and one times. He'd rather watch you suffocate on your own blood than in the arms of another man. He'd rather break every bone in your body than watch you kiss one of his friends.

How on earth had he ever come to love you? Someone as cruel and cold. Were you even human? You resembled some ice stand more than a flesh and blood person. HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO HIM.

He really hadn't meant for it to become an addiction, he hadn't meant to get all so used to the crunch of bones beneath his foot, and the bloodied lips quivering, shuttering out apologizes for having the gall to utter your name in his presence. But there's only so much a teenage boy can take, only so much torture that he can bury inside with a moonlight smile.

Addictions really do funny things to semi-sane people, huh?

It's a split-second decision, done in the heat of an all so regular moment. It's just a simple half-hearted punch when you beat him at another videogame. Then another

And another

Then a crack, another and another, and before either of you knew it you're on the floor screaming out in pure agony.

Josuke vows he's not being cruel when he breaks your bones so delicately. He can justify every crack, every fracture. Although it's rather repetitive and in certain cases borderline petty.

Five broken bones on your left leg just for "kissing" your new boyfriend. Your right leg is bent at an angle you're sure it's not meant to be. All because you hugged said new lover before going to class.

Josuke's once liquidy blue eyes that held the softness of clouds have been dulled over by a sort of thick mania. His once soft touch is nothing but nails digging into already bruised tissue. His lips wobbling as stray tears flow past his eyes. Muttering apologies and stuttering curses at both you and himself.

It's not really like his darling can leave after that incident. Josuke is known around town as the boy with a diamond heart. There's no way in hell anyone will believe what he did to you. It's just better, safer, to stick close to him, to swallow the indignities and paint a loving smile over your face when you gaze into his depraved eyes.

It's better to pretend to love him, rather than have another limb broken...

"Come on (Y/N), it's just a little crack. If you promise to give me a tiny kiss I'll let Crazy Diamond fix you right up."

⭐Giorno Giovanna is sneaky and manipulative. ⭐

Sono pazzo di te. Sei la cosa più bella che mi sia mai capitata...

There's a sleekness to Giorno, a cunning that's hidden behind layers of charisma and charm mimicking that of his birth father's. It's so easy for him to fool his darling into believing that he's a charming prince from a storybook. He's the good guy trying all so damn hard to make his dream a reality. He's admirable, he's noble, he's Giorno Giovana, the golden boy.

It's not like he ever intends to hurt his darling. He'd never dream of laying a hand on them, he's all too familiar with the wounds that come from endless beatings. The bruises and phantom pains, that get worse as the days slip by. He knows real pain, and unlike all so many others on both sides of his family, Giorno doesn't want his lover to experience an uncia of it.

He'd never repeat what his stepfather and mother did to him. He's going to try and do everything he can to make sure that his darling is safe...

Because isn't that what's important? To make sure the one you love is safe. To make sure they don't get swept off their feet by some masquerading drunkard or taken advantage of by some fanciful sadist.

Giorno will do anything to keep his darling safe, even if it means tampering with their mind a little. Nothing too serious, he'd never even considered changing anything about them. Although isolating them isn't completely off the table and a few verbal threats are fine from time to time. Just for precaution...

Giorno is a rather determined boy, he'll go to any lengths to isolate his lover. Scaring away friends by letting Gold Experience give them a small out of body experience. If they're persistent then he can't guarantee that that out-of-body experience will simply remain an experience much longer. It's not out of malice, but it's what must be done for the sake of his darling, the only other thing he cares about.

There's a shift, a difference between the young naive Giorno Giovanna, the golden boy with starry eyes, and the new boss of Passione, the Mafioso who holds the whole country in the palm of his hand.

Oh sure, as a simple Soldato Giorno was dangerous in his own right. But Don Giorno? He's the sort of monster written about in the grimmest fairy tales. Wearing the appearance of a true king but underneath the luxury suits and priceless watches, he's just another greedy, fire-breathing dragon.

As the Don of Italy's most influential gang, Giorno's manipulation tactics have gotten rather ....hazardous. He doesn't have time to waste getting rid of every single person that poses a threat to his darling. If someone looks their way, he'll send some goons to take care of them.

Although it's so much easier to keep his lover locked away, he even has the perfect excuse now. He's the head of the mafia, he has all so many enemies who jump at the opportunity to hurt him in some way. So he has to keep his defenseless little lover locked away in some mansion that's all so far away.

He's also a bit more violent now. Giorno's more physical, ready to break a bone just for a wrong word or a cracked jaw from a punch for even asking to go outside. He blames it on the stress of running an organization...although it's more likely that all the power from passion has begun to rinse away Giorno's caring side.

"Cuore mio, Resta con me per sempre"

⭐Jolyne Kujo is clingy and obsessive and delusional.⭐

I can't stay away from you...

Jolyne is a rather condescending yandere. Her rough ragged exterior does little to hide the clingy neediness that writhes inside her shattered heart.

She's soft, dependent, desperate at best. Wanting her darling to approve of every tiny trifling thing she does. Needing their words of praise and approving smiles to have the courage to live another day.

At times it seems like the only thing keeping Jojo alive is the "good girl!" and "I'm proud of you!" her darling throws her way. Chanting the words of praise with closed eyes and fluttering smiles of anxiety.

It's difficult to make her sweetheart realize how virulent this relationship is, far too hard to call Jolyne a Yandere. The derogatory term applies to someone who ceases all control from their lover, who locks them in a basement, and throws away the key. It applies to murders and

stalkers and lunatics that roam the streets in the dead of full moon nights. It applies to those who were thrown into Green Dolphin for a reason.

Not to some girl whose life has been demolished over and over and over again.

Not to the girl with a star birthmark that follows her darling around like a lost puppy in the freezing rain.

But even Jolyn has her limits. She's been let down time and time again, abandoned and framed by those she thought she loved unconditionally. From friends to boyfriends to even her own father, everyone leaves, they take what they want, and then they leave.

Flesh like strings, stitched into a web of antithesis and distraught moods, act as a solid, interchangeable reminder of who really holds the power in this relationship. Of how Jolyne can go from needing her darling to controlling her darling in just a fraction of a heartbeat. She loves them, she swears she does...but they need to stay close to her, they need to only think about her.

Her addiction gets worse as the days tick by. It's less romantic, less loving. Morphing into a dependency, a compulsion. Rotting thoughts of her darling suddenly leaving, plague her every waking moment. The once semi pleasant conversations between her lover and her friends, get cut off like a severed limb.

Even Hermes and Foo Fighters aren't "good enough" to be around Jolyne’s lover. She's all so, scared they'll try to take them from her. Stealing the ONLY good thing in her life.

There's a certain degree of control that Jolyne's willing to give to her darling. A sort of freedom to make, revolting appalling choices, so long as they include her. A freedom to boss her around and make her submit. Her darling is free, so long as that freedom revolves around Jolyne.

"(Y/N)~ don't look at them! You should only focus on me! I'm supposed to be your world!"

⭐Johnny Joestar is sadistic and manipulative.⭐

Arrogance disguised as affection...

It's all degradation, all harsh words that sting worse than bullet wounds. Glares from dull wicked blue eyes that might as well kill, cause it's better than the alternative. Smirks that make being alive so damn distasteful. Kisses that engrave the lingering taste of rotting lead into your tongue.

Johnny isn't sweet, he doesn't smile at his little sweetheart. He doesn't pat their head and kiss their temples while uttering sweet nothings into their blushing ear. No, his lover doesn't deserve a honey-coated life. They don't deserve to have what was stolen from him by his so-called "loved ones". Instead, he uses them as a living dart board, for both his acid-laced words and bullet-like fingernails.

There's no love when it comes to Jojo. He doesn't want to waste time on something so frivolous as a "significant other". But he does like having someone -or rather something- to play with, a form of entertainment that bends at his will. Not a pushover, not someone who's too proud either. But a living doll that can take a few verbal spats and survive an armada of fingernail bullets through the stomach.

Oh, sure he wants to break them, having a toy that's so conflicted, that questions their own sanity is so much more fun. But it's the intervals that count. Johnny wants to be the one to break his darling. To engrave the helpless look of distress into his memory. He wants to preserve every scream, every tear. That's the whole purpose of even keeping a darling.

Johnny rarely lets his darling out of his sight. It's so much easier to play with their mind if he's the only one they ever talk to. They'll become so easily dependent on him if he's their only companion. Although sometimes Gyro can get a little too touchy and friendly. And there will be occasions when Hot Pants start to pry into the darling and Jojo's personal life. But the incidents are few and far between. Not like Johnny minds, if anything these minor secondary "meetups" are useful to the paraplegic jockey. They refill his darling with the most precious thing..." Hope". Just so Johnny can beat it out of them all over again.

There's a darkness that resides deep within Johnny. A toxicity that laces his actions. His life is miserable and he's damn well sure it'll always be that way.....

So why not take his lover down with him?

"Don't you love me darlin' ? Cause I certainly don't love ya."

⭐Jorge Joestar is delusional and obsessive.⭐

What if we lost our minds, together?

A love story better than his parents, that's all Jorge wants. Flower field dates, and quick lingering kisses before midnight. Something sweet, that doesn't have a macabre end. A romance without body-snatching vampires and zombies that shed their flesh. Something normal, gentle, lovable.

Although with the family he's been born into and the kind of things that keep finding him. Jorge doubts he's ever going to get such a hopeful love life. He's all so desperate to carve a life for himself outside of his family's shadow, but in the end, it's simply eager wishing.

He's not exactly sure what he's even looking for in a lover. Someone sweet but strong-willed, an average answer. Someone who bears a sort of resemblance to Lisa Lisa. Not physically but rather mentally, he's not a coward, he swears he's not, but he just wants someone who can protect him. A fair exchange in his eyes. His lover will guard him against the bullies and freaks of the island and in turn, he'll protect them from the grim ghouls that run amok through the world. Although when push comes to shove he isn't sure if he'll really be 'protecting' his lover or running away and hiding somewhere with them.

He just wants to fall in love and not go insane, a reasonable request, if he hadn't seen the worst that the world has to offer. It's just wishful thinking, sweet dreams for a boy designed to attract trouble.

He doesn't want to have conversations with his dead lover's head. He doesn't want to wear their skin and waltz around town. He doesn't want any of that creepy, supernatural stuff that destroyed his parent's love.

He just wants normal. But as the years slip by Jorge's grip on "normal" slowly begins to decay.

Normal is something, but what that something is has become a blur. Normal isn't vampires and zombies and ghost clowns that throw nooses around people's necks...Yet on the other hand maybe it is?

He's so far gone that he can't even differentiate between methodical and irregular. His brain's capacity to understand the difference has gotten so altered and broken.

Once he finds his darling he does try to act like the ordinary people of the Canary Islands or England, depending on where he's residing at the time. He tries to follow the mode, just to impress his lover. It's a façade, a bloody masquerade that's bound to deteriorate once he and his lover have settled down.

Although a poetic, domestic life had always been Jorge's dream, he soon comes to learn that it just doesn't suit him. Jorge's paranoia starts to increase. It's comical at first, the way his eyes dart to closed doors, half expecting a killer to emerge. Although the same paranoid tendencies can become rather smothering at times. He's all so certain something is going to jump out of the shadows, some creature with sharp fangs and knife-like claws is going to rip his lover's body to rags.

He's gotten rather umbrageous now that he's the one who's married and living in the Joestar estate. His tendency to run away from any form of conflict has morphed into a rogue-like sense, much similar to a rabid dog barking at anyone who gets too close to its territory. He keeps his darling locked away inside, triple-checking the locks to make sure no one or thing can get in. He avoids the probing disquieting neighbors who still speak ill of his widowed mother and murmurs about the "curses" bestowed on the Joestar bloodline. Sometimes even getting physical when the insults shift towards him and his new lover.

Punches are thrown.

Insults exchanged.

And then the door and windows are locked once more.

Leaving both Jorge and his darling in the chilling company of the semi alive shadows.

It's safer in the basement. It has to be safer down there. After all his mother kept his father's severed head down there for decades before anyone found it. So it's only sensible that his lover will also be safe, tucked away in the darkness of a brick room some few meters under the earth. He's not acting like his mother -and deep down he prays that this isn't something his late father would ever even consider doing- It's a thin line of justification, but he can reason with himself so long as he knows it's not something his other family members have ever done. He does try to keep his darling comfortable down there. Buying them the most luxurious furniture and comfortable bedding. Constantly bringing them new forms of entertainment.

Keeping them in this preserved state is what any reasonable person would do. Not just another insanity driven Joestar.

"It's for your own safety" he's repeated that phrase an umpteenth amount of times, although every time the sculpted words leave his tongue, Jorge becomes less sure of who he's really trying to convince.

Jorge is all so sure that he's doing all of this for both his lover's safety and to erase whatever misfortune follows around the Joestars, like an airy plague. Even his enrolling for the great war is done with this mindset...

Even though in the end it's also this mindset that gets him killed. Leaving his darling a wide window to freedom.

"Darling, what do you think when you look at me?"

⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

851 notes · View notes

moonlighttfoxx · 3 years ago

Text

The girl with the golden eyes: Chapter Four

Summary: Y/N’s come to some realizations

Warnings: jealous Steve, smut, dry humping, Bucky, Sam

A/N: I’d appreciate some comments and tips! :)

Steve couldn’t wait to spend some time at the gym. Boy, did he need that. Lately he needed it more than ever. He was extremely angry recently. And extremely horny. Not that he would ever admit it. Not even to himself. It certainly didn’t help that his best friend was a huge pain in the butt too. But some gym time would surely do him good. He could at least blow off some steam.

‘Hey, Cap, going to hit the gym?’ Sam’s voice interrupted his thoughts. Steve turned his head around to his left, where his friend was standing now.

‘Yeah, I am. And what are you up to?’

‘Same.’ Sam said shortly. Steve nodded and they fell into somewhat comfortable silence, walking side by side in the direction of the gym.

‘Hey guys! Wait up!’ Bucky’s voice echoed in the empty hallway. Steve rolled his eyes. As much as he adored his best friend, he needed just a little break from him. ‘I’m going to the gym as well’ he said once he caught up with them.

‘Sooo, game night tonight, huh?’ Sam started, obviously attempting to ease the tension that had suddenly filled in the air around them. ‘I wonder what the game will be this time’

‘Probably some Truth or Dare or something like that. I heard Nat talking.’ Bucky answered.

‘Truth or Dare?’ Steve asked.

‘Yeah, you pick one and they either ask you a question, usually an embarrassing one, that you need to answer truthfully or they give you some sort of task to do, again an embarrassing one or maybe a naughty one and you have to do it, you can’t refuse once you’ve agreed to play.’ Sam explained, knowing his friend being over a hundred years old probably had never played that game before. Well, of course it was Nat’s idea. She usually picked those type of games.

‘Oh, I wouldn’t mind a few naughty tasks’ said Bucky. Of course he wouldn’t. Especially if they involved Y/N.

‘We know’ Sam answered, opening the gym door. The three men entered.

‘Oh God’ Sam whispered. ‘Isn’t that a sight for sore eyes…’

Steve wasn’t sure what he was talking about, so he looked up and let his eyes travel around. It didn’t take long before he found the source of Sam’s admiration. Y/N. Of course. She had laid a purple yoga mat on the floor in the corner. She had changed the baggy shirt she was wearing earlier to black sports bra and tight yoga pants of the same color that hugged her hips and defined her ass perfectly. She was currently warming up, Steve assumed or maybe doing some yoga, based on the position she was in. And she was a sight for sore eyes indeed. She was on her hands and feet, stretching with her ass high up in their direction. As if she was trying to torture whoever walked in that gym, begging for attention. She must’ve been doing it on purpose. It was like it was her mission to make him fantasize and think of her. As if it was her mission to make him hard all the time whenever she was in the same room as him. And as if sexual frustration wasn’t enough, she had the same effect over other men as well, which was driving Steve crazy even more. For no apparent reason. Uh.

Now, seeing her in that position, what man in his right mind, wouldn’t just want to go behind her, slide down her pants, revealing that perfect ass and lose himself in the warmth of her depths, stretching her out. Now, wouldn’t that just be nice.

‘Mmm… it’s a sight, alright’ Steve heard Bucky whisper next to him. There it was again – the anger. But Steve was tired of feeling that so he decided to keep it under control this time and instead of thinking too much about it and her for that matter, to actually focus on his workout. So he ignored Bucky’s comment and went over the closest punching bag, not far from where Y/N was, starting his training, his punches slow at first.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Bucky moving in her direction, so that made him circle his punching bag a little, positioning himself, so he could subtly watch what was going to happen. For no apparent reason again.

__________________________________________________________

You were doing your yoga routine in the gym. Lord knows you needed it. You needed to get full control of your body and mind again. It was definitely an eventful morning, especially after your encounter with Steve. You discovered something about yourself you didn’t know existed: your attraction to Steve. You usually tried to be as far away from him as possible, because you knew he wasn’t very fond of you. And he was right not to be, he didn’t trust you. He had to protect his team, therefore trusting people came hard for him. And after everything you’ve been through, you fully understооd him. If you were him, you’d be the same way. That’s why you decided to give him space until he warms up to you and sees you were no threat whatsoever. You kept your distance, but this morning you were put face to face with him. Both literally and figuratively.

It was just then you noticed how handsome he was. He had the perfect and yet manly features. Everything in him screamed perfection – from his dirty blonde hair to the thin line of his lips. Absolute perfection. He was usually so composed all the time – his expression stern, hiding all the thoughts running in his head behind a pair of stormy eyes, his hair tidily put back, his beard, which was a new occurrence, always perfectly trimmed. But you could tell that this morning his guard was down. Probably because he was still sleepy, his hair was a mess and yet it was still perfect in every way and for the first time since you had joined the team, you could see that the storm in his eyes was quiet. No, there was something else instead, something deep, intense and powerful, something that made those perfect eyes even more blue than they were. You had no idea what it was, but you knew you wouldn’t mind a taste of it. As unwilling you were to admit it, this morning for the very first time you noticed Steve Rogers and that awakened a new craving for you that would haunt you for a very long time if not for the rest of your life, you were sure of it.

Deep in thoughts, you continued to stretch, hoping that the yoga exercises would help you get a grip of yourself and would chase away the memory of this morning. So far, it wasn’t working. But you kept stretching anyway. Child pose. Bridge. Four limbed staff. Downward dog.

Then suddenly, out of nowhere, you felt someone behind you. You were in the downward dog position, your ass as high up as you could possibly put it and there was someone behind you! You could feel them putting their hands on your thighs and sliding them up and down slowly. You looked down, still holding the position and you saw a pair of tracksuit covered legs.

‘Hey, doll… I love that position’ Bucky said from behind. You could hear the smirk in his voice.

‘Jesus, Buck’ you breathed. ‘Is there any reason why you’re standing there of all places? Is there any way I could help you?’

‘Why, yes, there is. Wiggle for me, doll. Wiggle that beautiful ass of yours’ he said, his hands still on your thighs, but he moved his whole body closer. So close his crotch was against your ass. So close you could feel him pressed against you. In normal circumstances this would be considered inappropriate of him. But that’s just how your friendship worked. You teased each other like that. Of course, he was much more open about it. And truth be told, it felt nice. It’s been awhile since you felt anything, but your fingers down there. So feeling him right then, was nice.

‘Oh yeah? Aren’t you excited to see me?’ you laughed, referring to his semi – hard cock, pressed against your ass, wiggling just a slight bit to tease him. He groaned. Yep. The nature of your friendship was definitely out of the box.

‘You’re such a good friend’ he praised. His hands moved up slowly, from your thighs to your ass, caressing it teasingly and then further up to your waist. He held on it firmly. ‘Now… let me help you with your workout. You can improve it a little bit’

You laughed again.

‘Since when do you know yoga?’ you asked.

‘Yoga is all about stretching. I know everything about stretching. I am pretty good at it too. Now, open your legs further.’

‘I’m still not sure about your yoga skills’ you teased not moving one bit.

You heard him growl a little. He moved his right leg in between yours, his knee pushing your legs further apart. Then you felt his grip around your waist tighten and he forcefully slammed your body against his, which earned him a surprised gasp from you. It was weird how his actions in combination with your burning limbs (from being in the same position for way too long) made you feel even more aroused. Jesus.

‘Still not sure?’ he asked, smirking.

‘No, no doubts anymore’ you laughed. ‘Just pure curiosity. What else can you stretch so good, Buck?’

Bucky was about to answer, when a loud ‘bang’ interrupted both his answer and your little game. He moved back, which allowed you to stand up again. Both of you looked around, looking for the source of the awful noise. What you saw in front of you made your eyes widen. Steve breathing heavily, all sweaty and a face burning red, looking at the punching bag in front of him on the floor, torn from its ceiling holder. What the fuck? Did he do that himself?

#steve rogers smut oc #steve+rogers+x+reader+smut #bucky barnes #sam wilson #series

74 notes · View notes

inkribbon796 · 5 years ago

Text

Jackieboy Man Origins: Chain Letter

Another Origin story, I did one for Silver a while back and I wanted to do one for Jackie.

Summary: For an Irish web developer, it’s been a long night. A long night that turns into a strange morning when he wakes up in the hospital and no memory of how he got there.

~::~ 25 Years Ago ~::~

As a young man was dragging himself and his friend back from a haunted, twisted mansion in a half-dead hypnotic stupor, an Irishman was sitting at his computer in the dark early morning. Unseen to him, something in the wires of his computer were waiting, watching him for the slightest mental distraction, a fatigue to help it.

For the man at the computer, it was late. Later than Sean usually liked to be up. Especially in the cabin he lived in with its thin walls and out in the middle of absolutely nowhere, Ireland.

At the moment he was getting a call from his old friend, Chase. Both of them worked as coders and web designers for the same company.

“Look, it’s not that I don’t believe ye,” Sean told him. “It’s just that yer full of shite.”

“Hey, I did what I could, an’ it’s not workin’,” Chase answered, contacting him over the phone.

Sean audibly groaned, “Fine, send it. If it’s because yer wife downloaded another virus again, I will personally come over to Brighton and kill ye and yer computer.”

“If yer gonna buy me a new computer, then bring it,” Chase dared.

Sean groaned, “I’ll tell you when I’m done with it. Prolly gonna be done later in the week. I’m tired as shit.”

With a goodbye and a couple barbed insults, Sean hung up. He was about to shut down his computer and go to bed. Closing up programs until the email from Chase came in.

“Come on,” the Irish man groaned, and against his better judgement opened up Chase’s email and started reading through some of Chase’s notes.

Two paragraphs in though his eyes started to get itchy, and his throat began to feel dry.

“I’m tired,” Sean muttered, not meaning to say it out loud.

“I’m tired.”

Sean looked around, trying to find the voice.

“Tired”

The Irishman was looking around for his glasses, his eyes tired and having problems focusing. It made it look like the whole monitor was going fuzzy with static.

“Tried”

“Ugh,” Sean groaned, scratching at his own throat. “Arrrghhh!”

“Aren’t you just sooooooo tired?”

Sean stared at the screen, hazy with static and it seemed to be reflecting his smiling face back at him.

“Ch—” Sean scrambled for the phone. Something was wrong, as if thousands of strings were being tethered to every muscle in his body. “Chase—”

The Irishman’s head hit his desk and then . . . like a stiff marionette puppet being suspended by strings . . . he got back up again.

The next thing Sean became aware of was lying down on a slightly cold surface, with a beeping noise echoing off the walls.

“Ugh,” Sean coughed out, more and more of his body aching by the second. “Am I dead?”

“No, but you’ll wish you were when the guards get back in here.”

Sean startled and saw another of his friends sitting in the chair next to him was one of his friends, and his roommate, Marvin. “Marv, the fook happened to your face.”

Scored down Marvin’s face were long claw marks, stitched to hold the wound closed. Marvin glared at him, looking like he was about to punch him in the face.

“Yah get inta a fight with a cat or somethin’,” Sean tried to joke.

Marvin leaned over him, glaring murderously at the other Irishman, pointing to his own face. “You did this to me?”

“What?” Sean tried to sit up, but found out that he had both hands closely handcuffed to his hospital bed.

“Yah scratched up my like a fookin’ demon cat,” Marvin spat at him. “Ye almost tore yer own throat out, an’ then ye tried to take my eyes out.”

“I didn’t,” Sean tried to defend, but a sinking pit formed in his stomach. As if his body knew what he’d been up to last night, but for the life of him he couldn’t remember a single thing that had happened. The web designer was pretty sure he’d fallen asleep at his desk while working. “I wouldn’t—”

Suddenly, Sean felt like a lump was forming in his throat, and it itched. The urge to reach up and scratch the skin of his throat was eating at him. His brain spiraled into a panic attack, and it felt like his body was physically spinning out of control.

It took Marvin, two nurses, and a doctor to calm Sean down again. Now with Sean knocked out, Marvin was left to think. He’d known Sean for a long time, and the last thing he expected the other man to be, was violent. Marvin was pretty sure Sean didn’t actually have a violent bone in his body. He could get loud and belligerent, but never violent.

But thing Marvin had stumbled upon while entering the cabin, that wasn’t Sean. It had taken everything Marvin had to convince everyone that Sean wouldn’t have purposefully tried to burn the cabin down, or attacked Marvin or the officers. Which got harder when his blood work came back clean as a whistle.

But everyone was letting Sean rest. Sean was still sleeping while Marvin had to think. Yeah, he’d talked Sean out of getting thrown in a cell for arson and attempted murder. But that wouldn’t stop it from happening again.

Desperate for anything to help, Marvin ran out to a store he typically got his candles and magic supplies.

“Hey, Marv,” the girl behind the counter smiled at him, using his stage name since he could count on one hand the people he told his actual name to.

“Hey, Clara, ye still got those weird doll parts?” Marvin was already running towards the back of the shop.

She just stared at him, “Yeah, why? You inta puppets now or somethin?”

Then she got a good look at the scratches on his face, “What the hell, man, what happened ta yer face?”

“If I told you you’d stop me,” he told her, and handed her the money to walk out with his kit.

“Be careful,” she warned him.

“Will do,” he promised, and then rushed back to the hospital, smuggling in his kit back into Sean’s room.

“Okay,” he took a steadying breath, over Sean’s still unconscious body. “This is such a bad idea, but yah can thank me after it works.”

Then Marvin began working, trying to make the doll look as close to what he saw in the cabin. The dark, glowing green eyes, the slit throat, the wraith-like form. Once he was done with the life-sized model, he waited for the nurses to make their rounds and check on Sean. Marvin smiling, having the doll hidden from them in the bathroom. Cause a life-sized model of a guy was a sure fire way to get him supervised in the room at least.

Then Marvin waited for them to leave before setting up the room for his Plan A: exorcise his friend and roommate. If he needed a Plan B, Marvin would burn that bridge when he crossed it.

“Hey, Jackaboy,” Marvin tried to smile. “You awake?”

No answer.

Marvin frowned, then he took out a spellbook, “Good.”

He uttered a quick summoning spell, standing outside the containment spell he’d drawn on the floor. Sean began to convulse and scream, his skin literally buzzing.

Sean’s screams were so loud, the door flew open as a passing nurse came in, “What the fook?”

Then a force of pure static electricity shot out of Sean, as a creature that looked almost exactly like the Irishman still passed out on the hospital bed, except for the gash on his throat. The being of malic and chaos just floated in the air above Sean’s bed.

“Well, well, looks like I found myself a street magician too big fer his own britches,” the creature cackled. The nurse was still at the door, staring at the creature in horror. It smiled back at her.

“Hey, you almost got my friend arrested,” Marvin tried not to show any fear.

“Still got time fer that,” it dismissed.

“Here’s the deal, ye go into this image I made, and I don’t destroy you,” Marvin threatened.

The doppelgänger just cackled, sounding like Sean just with a crackling, static-like tone to it. “An what? Let yah rip me apart, I don’t think so Two-Bit Copperfield.��

“Yer going to do it, or I’ll make yah,” Marvin threatened.

It just laughed again, the very air charging with static electricity, and the creature lightly touched down on the floor, looking at the symbols and lines that were keeping him in. “Yah pay for those magic tricks?”

“None of your business,” Marvin finally started actually getting brave.

It took one of its feet and stubbed out one of the lines, blowing back the power onto Marvin, who flew into the wall.

“Cause, ye got yerself ripped off,” it cackled and moved closer to stand over Marvin’s pain wracked body, the magician slumped against the wall as muscles in his body shook and trembled with electricity.

“When you want ta learn some real tricks, call me,” the thing took its claws and scored a name into Marvin’s arm: ANTI. Marvin screamed in pain and watched the cop that had been taking questions early bust in.

Anti looked back at him, standing up and walking back over to Sean’s bed. Marvin heard Sean make a confused groan. “Well, this place has gotten a bit stale. I’ll be seeing you around Copperfield.”

Marvin tried to pull himself back up, his arm burning. “Wait,” he growled.

“Hey, get away from them,” the officer barked, rushing for Anti.

“No, I don’t think so,” Anti grinned, his head almost glitching. “So, buddy, yah got a gun or a TASER? Cause I’m itching to have some fun.”

There was a loud grunt, and everyone, even Anti, looked over to see Jack struggling weekly against the cuffs tethering him to the hospital bed.

In the distraction, the officer grabbed onto Anti, trying to wrestle him onto the ground, and got jolted with visible electricity for his troubles. The officer dropped and convulsed on the ground, screaming in pain. The nurse closest to the door rushed to him.

“Aww, what’s wrong?” Anti smiled at Sean as he walked over to him.

“No,” Marvin panicked, trying to weakly scramble with his good arm for anything to make Anti go away.

“I’ll be with you in a second, Copperfield,” Anti summoned a dagger from almost a violent tear in reality itself and threw it. It perfectly nailed Marvin’s other shoulder. Effectively disabling him. Marvin screamed.

Another dagger got the mannequin Marvin had made, electricity catching it on fire. “And there we go,” Anti’s smile got wider, “get rid of that eyesore.”

With another step, Anti was leaning over Sean, barely out of reach as Sean. “Hello, well, it has been fun, but I’m tired of you. So, let’s have a little fun with you and your friends before I go.”

“Get away from them,” Sean threatened.

“Oh? Puny little human,” Anti cackled, grabbing the Irishman still cuffed to the hospital bed and started to jolt him. As the glitch demon shocked and coursed electricity through him, his whole body glitched the very air around him. “What ye gonna do about it?”

Sean screamed and sudden his whole body seemed to move, as if every part of his body was just vibrating and shaking, rattled by the electricity.

Three things happened almost at the same time, and to Marvin’s perspective they did. Time seemed to slow down as Anti reached for his throat. Sean gave a final tug and the cuffs came free. As quick as he could, Sean hit Anti in the face, what felt like electricity coming off his entire arm, but he didn’t see anything.

The glitch demon recoiled back, mostly in shock, holding the side of his face and just staring at the Irishman who was struggling to get out of the hospital bed and to get in front of Marvin. Adrenaline was coursing through his body, keeping him upright.

“Yer goin’ ta regret that,” Anti warned.

“Get away from him,” Sean told him. “Yer not gonna hurt him again.”

Anti cackled, his body glitching, “What are yeh goin’ ta do? Bleed on me?”

Sean took a nervous step back, almost stepping on Marvin’s leg, Marvin was able to pick himself up enough to lean against Sean’s legs, placing a hand on the back of his leg, and starting to draw something, his hand shaking as he screamed out in pain.

“When I kill you, I’ll enjoy it,” Anti promised.

“If I hit yah once, I can hit ye again,” Sean threatened, just hoping that his body wasn’t nearly as hurt as he thought it was. The police officer seemed to finally be getting up, coughing and holding his arm. Sean hoped it might help get Anti under control, even if he didn’t think whatever Anti was could even be arrested.

Anti just walked over, “I will enjoy tearing you apart.”

Sean winded back for another punch, but when he tried to hit Anti, the glitch just stepped to the side. Giving Sean an amused, chortle.

“Little fly,” Anti chuckled, the glitch demon’s eyes glowing, the iris of his mostly black eyes green. “Somethin’s never change.”

Then, Anti scratched Sean across the chest, making him stumble back as Anti floated above him and gave him a smug look. Sean already felt drained, a mix of the painkillers, his throat, and the fact that he’s been mentally out of it for hours. But his body also felt absolutely wired with adrenaline.

He lifted his arms but Anti froze, jolted by something. His eyes almost crackling with static. “You!” he snarled at Marvin. “What’d yah do ta me?”

Marvin let out a chuckle. “Plan B, thanks fer jumping outta my friend.”

With a harsh scream, Anti began to glitch and distort, screaming as he was trying to reach out for Jackie but burst into static and seeming disappeared.

“Is he dead?” Sean gasped.

“Prolly not,” Marvin coughed. “Should leave us alone fer a while, though,” Marvin slumped over onto the ground. Sean just sat down as two nurses raised over to them.

“Well kid, yah off the hook,” the officer said. “I don’t think the boys are gunna take ghosts as an excuse. Sorry I couldn’ta been ‘a useful back there.”

“No prob,” Sean told him. “I’m tired, can I got ta bed?”

“Try to stay with me a bit longer,” the nurse told him, checking his eyes and all the deep scratches on him. The nurse that had been treating the police officer was now treating Marvin, calling on the radio for back up. Sean’s tied mind losing the voice in all the medical jargon.

“What’dya do back there?” The officer asked. “I lost sight of yah and suddenly yah were in front’a yer friend.”

“I just hit him, think it surprised him,” Sean admitted. “Marv’s got a spellbook or whatever the hell he calls it.”

Looking over, Sean saw the cheap journal Marvin used to store and record his “notes” lying all the way across the room. “Give me a sec,” Sean said. “Maybe Marve took some notes on the bastard.”

“Wait, you shouldn’t,” the nurse began but Sean was already up.

He took a couple steps and faster than his brain could process it, Sean had slammed into the opposite wall, knocking him flat on his back. At the sudden loss of air in his lungs, Sean began coughing, trying to roll over but found that the adrenaline in his body was already starting to drain out. “Ugh,” Sean groaned in pain.

The room went dead silent.

Then, the nurse swore. “Did you just?”

“Ugh, everything hurts,” Sean complained, and then passed out.

Next thing Sean process was that he was in a new room, about three doctors in the room and sensors monitoring his pain. But at least, he had enough painkiller not to feel how absolutely destroyed his body probably was.

“Hey, jackaboy,” Marvin greeted, he was sitting next to him, his shoulder and arms bandaged up. “So, quick question, yah have any secret identities I should know about?”

“No, why?” Sean asked, already feeling pretty loopy.

“Good, cause I’m pretty sure some suits have been in here, and they walked away with a lot of yer blood,” Marvin told him. “Mine too.”

“Pretty sure, they can’t do that,” Sean reminded.

“Well they just did,” Marvin told him, “I tried to fight them, but they were about to arrest me if I didn’t comply.”

“Fer what? Doin’ magic without a license?” Sean tried to joke.

“No, cause you went 0 to 15 with just yer feet, before colliding with a wall and took a chunk outta the plaster,” Marvin told him.

“Huh, yah’d think I’d remember that,” Sean thought out loud. “But hey, if I did, I can maybe become a superhero or somthin’. Wouldn’t that be funny?”

“He awake?” a woman’s voice got Sean’s attention.

“An’ drugged ta hell,” Marvin warned.

“Then this won’t take long,” she said and walked over to where Sean could actually see her.

“Hey,” Sean smiled.

“You’re Sean McLoughlin, from Althone, Ireland?” she looked at him, studying him up and down.

“Yeah?” Sean answered. “Who’s askin’? Is this about the wall I broke?”

“We’re more concerned with how the wall broke, than who broke it,” she corrected.

“Shit,” Sean shrugged, immediately regretting it because of how sore he still was, even with the painkillers. “Ow. Why did I do that?”

“Are you still hurt?” she asked.

“Nah, it’s just sore,” Sean correct. “What were we talking about?”

The woman didn’t seem to even be frustrated. “Do you know what happened, Mr. McLoughlin?”

“Nah,” Sean dismissed. “I think there was some glitchy reject video game character, an’ now everythin’ should hurt, but doesn’t cause’a these awesome drugs.”

She looked at Marvin, but Marvin shrugged, “Hey, guy’s as high as a kite, what do ye want from me?”

“Mr. McLoughlin, my name is Agent Laine,” she told him.

“Kay,” Sean smiled.

“We’ll let you get back to sleep,” Sara told him. “I’ll be back.”

“Hopefully with an actually reason to take our blood,” Marvin reminded.

“Only if we find anything out of the ordinary,” she said and left.

“Finally,” Marvin growled.

“She doesn’t seem nice,” Sean commented.

“Alright, you might not remember this, but last night you moved fast, like superhuman fast, and I did actual magic. It was amazing.” Marvin smiled. “Unfortunately the suits figured out.”

Sean just laughed, “Yeah right, an’ I’m a superhero.”

Marvin shrugged, “Sleep it off, I’ll try and keep the suits from locking you in a padded cell.”

“Yer the best, Marv,” Sean told him, and they just kept talking, more joking than anything else until Sean got tired again.

In five days Sean would run through town in a colorful, oversized hoodie and an old Halloween mask he’d find in Marvin’s box of things. In five days, Sean would race around the city, testing out his newfound super speed.

But today there were just two friends in an isolated room, talking and laughing. Both of them enjoying the little bit of peace they had while it lasted.

#Superhero AU #Masks and Maladies #Egoton Origins #Jacksepticeye #Jackieboy Man #Chase Brody #Marvin the Magnificent #Antisepticeye #Possession #accidentally getting superpowers from a glitch demon #pre-divorce Chase

6 notes · View notes

hollandroos · 6 years ago

Text

Run To Me; Part Twenty | Final

Summary: Dad!Mob!Tom. Sequel to BAK but you don’t have to read that one first. If you wish too, the link is in my bio masterlist!! Where old feelings arise but other things get in the way. Whether it’s kids, fears or things from your past coming back to haunt you.

Run To Me: Series Masterlist!

Words: 3.9k

Warnings: It’s literally mostly good.

A/N: Right, here it is... the last chapter. Let me tell you I literally cried like three times writing this. These characters have been a part of my life for the last few months (whenever I started BAK) and if you’re a writer and spend as long as I do writing them then I’m sure you understand that letting them go can be hard– and this was definitely hard, ask @spiderrrling and @dej-okay I was literally sobbing over this.

I wanna thank you all that continuously supported me throughout these two books. I know they were a huge mess at times and just... a product of my very active imagination but thank you to everyone that left notes and comments and sent asks and just kept motivating me to finish this series. There is a two-part epilogue so keep an eye out!! You’ll want to read it.

Tom didn’t know what he was expecting to walk into when he rammed your front door open. But it wasn’t you holding a gun over Aiden who was on his knees, practically begging for his life. Though everyone in that room knew that you wouldn’t pull the trigger, especially Tom. However, Aiden was a fool. A whining, begging fool who had made a vast selection of mistakes.

Rosie sat on the barstool with her back facing the scene per your wishes and you were glad that she was abiding for once, colouring in a picture for Tom with the words ‘Dad’ scribbled on the bottom in bright pink pencil. They were the pencils that she had left here, most of them blunt and stubby. She didn’t look shocked but he saw the remains on tears on her cheeks, evidence of her previously being upset.

The dad and husband rushed over, heart practically beating out of his chest and your eyes didn’t move off of Aiden for a single second, keeping the weapon trained on the dangerous man and Tom would easily say that it was a site he never wanted to see, one of you looking so distraught and terrified and unknowing of what to do next.

“Darling, give me the gun.” He prompts. Aiden's eyes widen even more if that was possible, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water and if he didn’t realise that he’d fucked up before, then he definitely had now.

Two men walked in behind Tom, each his guys that he trusted– not as much as Z and Jacob or Sam, but trusted nonetheless. They stood tall, cracking their knuckles and snarled at the sight of the guy on his knees.

You didn’t reply to Tom but he didn’t miss the gentle sob that escaped your lips, and the way you passed the weapon with a shaky hand, or the way you stepped back hurriedly, nearly tripling up on the living room rug as you went over to Rosie, cradling her into your chest and she dropped the pencil with a gentle thud, arms going around your neck. Tom held the power now, and Aiden looked goddamn terrified. Rightfully so.

It reminded you of the first time you met. He had been stone cold, glaring at both your father and you and had tapped that pencil obnoxiously on the desk. You had been unaware of what you had gotten yourself into, and who exactly. But now, even in your state of shock, you saw a man that would go to the very ends of the Earth for his family.

“Should’ve let me kill her.” The man on his knees growls, spitting towards the carpet. You wanted to punch him, to use him as a personal boxing bag and put him through every ounce of pain that he’d put your family through. But violence wasn’t the answer and Rosie was snuggled under your arms, her curls pressed tightly against your clothing.

Tom laughs maniacally. “You would never have pulled the trigger, you’re weak.” He narrows his eyes, nodding his two men forward. He gets down on his two knees, one hand against the rug. “You’re fucking weak and that’s what got you here in the first place, you listened to a man that nearly got you killed then you were given another chance and you fucked up again. It’s over, Wilson, it’s done.”

Aiden doesn’t say anything else but he sends glares towards all three of you– Rosie included and you didn’t see the glimmer of mischief you used to see in his eyes, but pure anger and frustration. It was scary, like every ounce of the man you used to know was gone.

Toms men take him, grabbing onto one arm each and he hands one of them the gun, watching them walk towards the door because a part of him wanted to end the man himself this time, to make sure that the job got done but he doesn’t. Because he had a priority as well as a purpose, and that wasn’t it.

“What about your dad?” You sniffle, running one hand down Rosies back. She was tired, slowly drifting off then and there. Admittedly she hadn’t slept much last night. Rosie wouldn’t tell either of you this but she was still playing with her dolls at eleven.

“Sam and Harry have it, they have everything under control.” Tom leans against the counter, but he was clearly tense. “That was quite a big scare, there.”

“But you need to be there, you said so yourself and I should have sorted this, I know I could’ve done it by myself like you and him taught me.” You shrug off his last comment, speaking softly as Rosie nods off. You also thought that it’d help conceal the way your voice shook, but you were wrong.

“Darling, they’re seeing to it, and I’m sure they’re doing a better job then I would be.” He replies, laughing lightly to break the tension. But fails. He hated this– that his job put you in so much danger. That it pushed you to the point of struggling to breathe and think clearly. “You’re okay.”

“Don’t thank me, I should have done that a long time ago.” He says truthfully, regrets including not dealing with the parasite sooner. Though he couldn’t tell if he was about to make the same mistakes this time, or doing the right thing.

He holds a hand out for you to take, “Should we go home?”

“Can we stay a little longer? I want to grab a few things.” You deny his outstretched hand, hoisting the sleeping girl into your arms and look around the place, seeing colouring ins and little toys, clothes and small memories that you didn’t want to forget.

He was shocked that you wanted to stay but nods nonetheless, already stepping away from the counter. “Take all the time in the world.”

“Want me to take her?” He extends his arms towards Rosie and you nod hesitantly, handing her over. You were only hesitant considering you had just seen how easy it was for the two of you to be taken away from each other. The second he takes her, she stirs. “Hey, sweetheart.”

Rosie peeks an eye open, tear-stained cheeks puffy and warm against his chest.

“Daddy?” She mumbles, looking up. Tom would never cease to be amazed at the similarities between the two of them, and how her eyes were like pools of honey, captivating. He still found himself lost in her voice every time she said that five letter word, a part of him not believing it for a second because it was all so new and surreal to him.

“Yeah?” He murmurs, bounding her up and down softly. He pads around the living room slowly while you scurried off down the hall, taking a moment just to bask in her and all that she was– and the little girl she was slowly becoming.

“Are you a superhero?” Rosie questions, easily in and out of sleep as she spoke but to her the question was serious. Tom chuckled to himself, pressing his lips to her cheeks. He was gentle with her.

Tom had to think about it, not because superheroes weren't real because they surely were– superheroes were the people that helped other on a daily basis, like the person down the street that ran for charity or the man next door that helped you move into your apartment on the first day and the parents that comfort their distraught children. After all, the definition of a superhero in the Cambridge dictionary was ‘someone who has done something very brave to help someone else’

Tom had to think about it because he had done bad things, if anything he felt that he was a villain but maybe just for today, he could be a hero.

“I am.”

The girl in his arms was the girl that he’d grown close to in a matter of months, who had gravitated towards him with so much ease and he was proud. Tom had done a lot of things in his life, but the thing he was most proud of was easily becoming a father.

She easily began to drift off in his arms again, finding comfort in the man’s arms with her head resting on his shoulder. He was tough built, yes, but his coat made him just squashy enough for her to lay there contently and not for a single second did she want to wriggle away and find comfort on the couch, or her old bed. She would grow up to be like him in more ways then way, gaining all of his best traits and yeah, you were definitely right. She was a daddy's girl.

And somehow over the course of the last few months, the girl had learnt to accept embraces from both her mum and newfound dad. She craved it now whereas before she would have squirmed away, demanding she does her own thing. Now, she found nothing better than being hoisted up and wrapped up in a pair of secure arms.

“Hey, you ready?”

He sees you walk out with a bag under your arm, clearly not filled with lots but the important stuff he assumed. It was filled with Aiden's things for you to burn, to chuck into scolding, crimson flames and watch them disappear as a way to get closure. But he’d find that out later– and god knows Tom would be willing to participate.

You nod and bite your lip, looking around the room before back to him. “Can we talk before we go? There are just a few things I–” Your voice cracks. “I need to get off of my chest.”

Tom nods and the two of you head towards one of the couches, the smaller of the two and sit down. He was nervous because things had gone south once more and your relationship had never had a moment to settle, there was never a moment just for the two of you to look around and be content. Not even five years ago. Everything was always up and down, a roller coaster of emotions and goods and bads.

Maybe that was just the way it’d be, though.

Rosie was sent to spend time with Sam (He would deal with the aftermath of what the other boys had done at the warehouse later) who had arrived not long ago to mumble and talk things that made no sense to him but he’d still listen anyway, maybe prompting her to count blocks in the car or try and read a first grade book. She was smart like that. And you, you sat on one of the couches with Tom, in a state of utter shock that had only set in just after Tom arrived.

Because when you held the gun, and when Aiden’s hands were on you, you didn’t have time to think about what was exactly happening and the many possible outcomes. Truth be told you had been in a haze, fight or flight mode and now that it was settling in– the previous events, you were thinking over everything three times, four, then six. You found yourself comparing events and wishing you could do it all over again but handle it better.

Tom didn’t touch you, keeping his hands on his own lap and didn’t for a moment think about how the couch at his home was way comfier, or how there were scribbles on the walls and mouldy fruits on the bench. Though he realised that maybe he should have sent someone to clean the place after the three of you left in a hurry. But now the boy was too consumed by you, and your distressed state.

“I thought I was going to die this time.” Your sobs are silent as you speak, warm tears staining your puffy cheeks. “And I thought that I wasn’t going to get to live the life we were working towards. I got my hopes up for something more than this… then the mob and I thought it was about to be taken away from me and Rosie.”

Tom wanted to soothe you, to pull you into his arms and maybe run a hand through your hair, or down your arm or back but instead, he sat there and watched you pull the blanket tightly around your figure until you were drapped into the grey woollen cover. But he didn’t want to make your frightened state any worse so he sat with crossed legs– just like yours, and he waited for you to make the first move to enforce any kind of physical contact.

Though he couldn’t comfort you physically, he’d do his best to do it verbally. “You did amazing, you saved your life and Rosies.”

“Do you see that, Tom? That little bullet hole in the couch?” You ask, nodding towards the hole that pierces the fabric of the couch you’d spent plenty of nights on, sipping from scolding hot chocolates, teaching Rosie to read and watching reruns of tv shows. He nods. “She was so close to that– that could have been here because I didn’t look after her and she put herself in front of a gun, a loaded weapon.”

Rosie had jumped out of the way out of pure fright when she had heard the gunshot, nearly falling to the floor. She had smacked her arm against the chair, whimpering in pain as the plaster smacked against the wood.

His heart shattered seeing warm tears welling in your eyes, you were clearly shaking. “She survived, yeah? I swear that girl could survive anything. You and her are the strongest women I know and that hasn’t changed after tonight.”

“If she died I’d never forgive myself.” You shake your head, thinking about the other hundred outcomes that could have occurred today.

“She didn’t die, neither did you. The two of you are still alive and breathing and Aiden will never, ever hurt you again, you hear me?” Tom says, making you nod your head this time– sniffles competing with the rain that beats against the roof of the room. He brushes a few strands of hair back.

“I just can’t deal with any more loss, Tommy, I can’t do it.” You wiggle forward until your crossed knees were touching, it was the slightest bit of contact but just enough. “I lost my mum, and we lost Harrison and my dad… you guys are all I have and I can’t live like this, with guns and violence and constant danger.”

He swallowed harshly at the mention of Harrison and your father– then your mother. He still felt guilty about the death of all three.

“They’re proud of us, and what we’ve overcome to get here today.

“You know, my dad used to always tell me that I was still in love with you,” You suck in a deep breath. “He used to tell me that if I was so in love, I should just go back. He liked you, he did, no matter what you did– or what your family did in the past. Because for a while back then you made me so happy.” Your voice cracks, Words falling before you can even think about it.

Tom felt a little better knowing that your father liked him, considering he always felt that the man despised him. “You did what was best for you and now we’re here, we’re back together. I guess that’s meant to be, right?”

“We are, like soulmates or something.” You reach over, lacing your hands together. You sniffled every few moments, basking in each others touch for a few moments before you speak up again. “I don’t want us to live like this anymore. With danger everywhere.”

“We don’t have to.”

“You have so much to look after, Tom. I love you and I’ll stick with you no matter how long you stay in the mob, but it’s hard on us.” By us, you meant you and Rosie, and Tom knew that. Your words weren’t meant to cut deep, they were simply common sense for the two of you now and Tom got that. “I can’t lose anyone else, especially the two of you.”

Maybe it was too soon to tell you about his plans because a hundred things were already going on in your head and a few more would be nearly enough to make it explode. But hearing that… that was enough to bring a set of warm tears to his own eyes. Because you weren’t going to lose him. Not to a gunshot to the chest, or being beaten by rival gangs.

Tom was excited for a fresh start away from this and he couldn’t keep it secret any longer.

“You won’t lose me, got it? Or Rosie either–” He stops, pulling his phone out of his pocket and goes to his camera roll where there’s a selection of photos, at least seven. You stay silent, watching with hazy eyes and a tired soul. There are three bedrooms, two bathrooms, a living room just enough for two adults and a small child. A backyard for a swing set or a treehouse. He hands you the phone. “What do you think of this?”

You look at the photos, furrowing your eyebrows together as you swipe. The place was beautiful, homely, and nothing like you’d seen before. But you were confused by what he meant– why he was showing you photos of the house.

“I– what?” You respond, looking up from the phone to glance at Tom. He wet his lips.

“That’s ours.” He murmurs, watching you take another flick through the photos. Tom felt a pang of happiness– no, more than just a pang. He practically felt his heart explode as you gazed for the first time, at the sight of your future.

“No, it’s not.” You reply cautiously. Maybe it was because you didn’t want to get your hopes up or maybe it was because it seemed all too good to be true. That something good that finally come out of all the bad and you were just waiting for it to be torn away.

“I got that for us.” Hesitantly, confidently he continues. “We can never have the normal, suburban lifestyle. But we can have this. It’s a house two bedrooms and an acre of land. It’s pretty closed off but…. It’s the best I could do while making sure we were also safe. No mobs, no violence. There’s a school for Rosie and some shops just twenty minutes away.”

“Are you serious?” You ask, handing the phone back. He nods, tucking it back into his jeans. “That– that’s amazing, how did you do that behind my back?”

He laughs lightly, chest rumbling as he rests one hand on your still crossed knee, stroking the clothed skin softly. “Are you surprised?

“No.” You shake your head, being honest with him. “You’re not kidding, are you? You’re serious about giving up the mob? That’s what you worked for, Tom, you shouldn’t have to if you don’t want to–”

Your excitement overcomes your nerves, though Tom could still tell that you were wary of this. Not about moving, and starting a new, much safer life, but him leaving everything he’d ever known behind. It was definitely scary, but long, long overdue.

“I want this, god I want to leave that behind more then anything and just have a normal life, or as normal as we can have. I’ve told Harry and Sam… or at least I wrote it down for them, they’ve got this and we can finally have a life of our own.” He sucks in a breath. “It’s our turn now.”

You practically dive into his arms, the woollen blanket falling around your waist as arms snake around his shoulders. Tom jolted back slightly, shocked before he returns the hug. It’s a feeling that was growing on you, one you didn’t mind that much anymore. Comfort. He embraced every second of it as you rested your head on his chest, counting each steady heartbeat with an arched back.

“We’re going to be a family.” You tell him, in a haze that felt all too good to be true.

“We already are, we’re just going to be a safer family. The house will need lots of security and stuff but… we can make it work.” He brushes a strand of hair away from your eyes, gazing into your so familiar orbs. “You won’t have to worry about us getting hurt at any moment, or Rosie getting lost in the halls anymore or stumbling across something you’re not supposed to.”

Deep down you knew that you’d always worry about it because you would always be a target and Tom would always be a threat. But hearing him say that you’d be safe and that you could finally have all that you’d ever wanted– the stuff you only dreamed about as a kid made you nearly jump with joy. You practically did jump right into his arms without a second thought.

Because while he talked about that, your mind drifted from Aiden and Dominic and Harrison and Nick and your father, and you called that utter bliss for a moment. Not that you wanted to ever forget Harrison, but the survivor's guilt you happened to live with every day was dull for a moment, and the thought of never seeing your father again– never telling him you loved him was gone, sitting in the very back of your brain as you planned your future. If this was the feeling Tom gave you… the effect he had, then it had to be meant to be, right?

You and Tom being placed back together wasn’t the universe's way of trying to put you back through that hell you experienced years ago, nor its way of trying to put Tom back into his place when it comes to being a solid leader, but it was about overcoming and healing, closing old wounds. You were just too blind to see that at first but now the pieces had fallen together and you were given another chance– one that you were grasping onto.

It was about doing the things you were afraid to do such as loving again, learning to give yourself to someone else and for Tom it was about giving up the mob and he was doing that– and for the first time in twenty-something years, he was prepared to give up anything to laugh, love, and live the life he wanted. He was prepared to cling onto happiness and his happiness was you.

Yeah, things with Aiden and Dominic had ended quickly and maybe something worse could’ve happened. Lives could have been lost and heck, people could have ended up in hospital but it didn’t take that for you and Tom to realise that you needed to hold onto each other. You were looking forward when you’d always looked back, looking at how you could improve instead of how to fix past mistakes.

Gazing up, you press one hand against his cheek, brushing his bottom lip with your thumb and smile.

“I think this just proves that I’d choose you time and time again, Tom Holland.”

Leave comments or asks, reblog if you wish!! let’s talk about this chapter

Epilogue part 1

Everything tags: @cosmetologynerd @holland-ish @smexylemony @thewiseandfree @zendayacolemen @dej-okay @hollandsletters @ive-got-some-lies-to-tell @liz-gayllen @marvelismylifffe @lovelyh0lland @tomhollandandmarvelsworld @woah-jess @southsidefandoms @justannothermonday @its-claire-louise @sophiatomlinson23 @mockingjaygirl1221 @joyfullyjenny @damnhisfaceisliketheskyatnight @bride-of-loki-odinson @in-the-corner-coffee-please @futuremrsb-r-main @spideyyypeter @saturn-aka-six @c0prolalia @buckykinz @ashtonsbandannas @dennasaur @amyyleblanc1999 @fnosidam @randomfangirl1701@maybeandperhaps @acciorinn @marvel-language @micki-smiles @justmesadgirl @converseskyline @niall2017 @gavemylifetotomholland @tomuchmarvel @leslieandjensen @painted-soulss @practicallylivesonline @mischiefmanaged49 @its-the-unknownspidey @holyrose96 @for-my-mind @mlxbm @erindillon11 @captainbuckyy @shawnandhisroses @converseskyline @smitten0-0kitten @parkeroos @whileinparis @unicornio-vomita-mierdas @draqcnheartstrinq @rainyboo-posts @mikalaka @petxrpxrker @tony-starks-ego @thedaydreamingwriter @peter-quackson @kateelyse96 @lesbian-jesus-jr @wheresmyquill @elyshugh @hollanderheart @tomshufflepuff @marvelismylifffe @tomsh0lland @obsessed-fandoms @girl-in-the-chair @trashqueenbitch @dramatic-and-young @honey-honey-5644 @parkerluvs @chingonaconcha @captainbuckyy @jes-sica1 @tomsfireheart @Rainbow-marvel @spideysimpossiblegirl @spideys-gurl @thomasstanley-holland @mlxbm @ixchel-9275 @parkerssweb @peter-parkersbb @tom-hollands-eyelash @starlightfound @vldlvj @paradoxparker @lustfulcry @mlxbm @musiclover1263 @justatheatredork @peterparkerscamera @fandomnerdsarecool @thequeensardine @cutesy-angst @httplayer @mischiefmanaged49 @loca-lola @softboyparkerr @desir-ae @dangerousluv1 @t-hotland @laucontrerasv @peter-parkersbb @whatdafricklefrackle @thatblondebelgiangirl @fairydustparker @they-call-me-le @jamiemac26

BAK: @aussie-mantle @highladyjel @revivalbenito @spider-mendes @iris1697 @theamuz @zseonlydavinci @bridiereads @sophie2003003 @parkeret @baby-baker @marvelgladers @dreamsofbeingsomeoneelse @sighaislin @marvel-zip @oreosrockover18 @whystopkeepon@barnsism @trashqueenbitch @gab-spidey @lafayettes-baguettes-1 @peterparkerdeservesbetter @ambrosmar @calmdownyall @xxxxdelenaxxxx @deadlyaffairs @stop-wonder-think @butcanyoujustimagine @leni-lion-luke-larb-logic @highladyjel @study-at-the-disco @r-i-d-g-e-s @giuliavxox @dreams-in-different-colours @spideynblackcat @vividcelestia @okayypotato @unknxwn-intrxvert @highkeymood @tra2embrel shqueenbitch @imahuricane @thefanbasewhore @lyssilinn @thebittygirl @spn-worm @theamuz @hollandsmuse @theromanmockingbird @revivalbenito @asfaraslifegets @avahodge @eternallovers65 @rosecoloredshawn @spoofagoofonyou @soldmysoultofandomshelp @wintersoldierbaby @lizzie-143 @laucontrerasv @heavydartysoul @noakantor14 @themegatron1999 @galcxykisscd @majestichoechlin @yellow--inlove @fragcc @chasingsuperheroes @petersunderroos @letrashailen @eclecticbooktaster @hiccups-are-better @bubbles1642 @lydiasobrien @qtest-trash @carrotsunshine @ccold-as-ice @friedwhisperstheorist @moopai @naria-hime @dafnouche @ellebella1238 @ashram12 @jasxn-txdd-8-14 @laucontrerasv @lovee-roaslie @anytimebitches @teenage-book-lover @moopai @bored-green @curlshawnholland @tryn25 @xx-fandom-potato-xx @lowkeyspideyyy @fandomnerdsarecool @fvckjamesbarnes @taylorjrs13 @cthoodaf @modern-day-citrus-cowboy @hellodarknessmysweetfriend @hailhydrabarnes @overdramatic-teen @spideyboiiiiiiii @baileyxrudesalx @briefzipperapricotbagel @parker-underoos @officialchainreaction @aubreylovesthegames @shipitliketheussenterprise @your-1up-girl @peterparkerstolemyheart @dej-okay @0hanx @all-my-friends-are-german @captain-loki-xavier @teenwolfsdream @hazydespair @rosecoloredyelyah @shipitliketheussenterprise @death-gives-free-hugs @justanotherfangurlz @paigeypooo @rose4958 @tommyswolves @spideyboiiiiiiii @idkanymore-lol @space-starz @its-justmaya @fuckmerunningtomholland @shoytai @accio-chosen-one @beccababy2003 @thomaslefteyebrow @softhollandhoe @so-many-freaking-ships @triedstudent @roses-hxlland @fortheloveofdougnuts @penguinsparker @minishala @dej-okay @thestoriofmylife @maakeme-up @ofmusicandbooks @angiegami @aylone @fangirly27 @ginapeanutbutterbean @softpetcrparker @loveablesocio @kneelbitches-ftloki @cutehollands @whymarvelwhyy @spcesebstn @danieeeeeeereyy @livingincompletesilence @whovian1077 @austins-baby-girl1233 @wirth-jackshit @verypolicecollector-843ec253 @milkywayheartcupcake @simple-slytherin-artist @yikies15 @littleladdty @truthfulchange @laucontrerasv @stuck-in-wonderland @tswiftownsme @antaraxy @live-in-the-now10 @yikies15 @theholyholland @obsessed-fandoms @1life-4hope @delusionsofnostalgia @minipeach101 @shilohrudd98 @sterolinelover13 @hufflepuff-always-and-forever @lorewin @castellandiangelo @the-crime-fighting-spider @justagirlwho-believes13 @therealwatermelon @wrandi55 @hither-to-undreamt-of @emaywhyayy @magical-fandoms @stuckonswan @etudaire @magical-fandoms @emi-holland28 @unreasonablyexcited @thumper-darling @lill-ana @mmeyers915 @maddieisdreaming @avengersgirllorianna @natasha-hoemanoff @take-a-look-the-invisible-girl @teamfreewillatefobatthedisco @xgreenpandax @gladerofcabin4 @loveyourmockingbird @rinnysblog @thenameisdani @capamericaevans @xoxohollands @emily-antognoli @redickystuff @yagirlspiderman @canyounotkaia @xstarbae @fvck-this-shiit @drxgnel @iamanhotcheeto @jcy-jcyyy @calumhood0824 @izzy206-2001 @superimpossiblecollectordaze @x-parker-holland-x @sydsimss @sp00der-m00n @sci-fibitch @kneelbitches-ftloki @untainted-memories @obsessed-fandoms @burn-brighter-than-fire @louis-tomlinson-is-fucking-hot @brookesamford @errorloadinghappiness @titankilling-longtermbootycall @kayaaaa @always-late-worth-the-wait @starsandjimin @drxgnel @penisparkernmj @dunbarxmendes @themollyfritz @tomsfireheart @lavavampin @spoookygirl666 @lill-ana @webslingerholland @toeholland @queenophelia @so-many-freaking-ships @a-bit-of-contained-galaxies @spookyskeletonsposts @itsjusttrash23 @rougedemigods @spiderdudeparker @soda610 @missybroox @cam-piper1998 @theactualscarletwitch @aesthetic-fan-96 @sophie-rebecca17 @angelfiregaming @aintnoladyjustgrizzly @tom-parkers-girl @queen-rcm @xxqueenofdemonsxx @playbillsss @extra-terrestrial-et @ghosthiam @i-the-fangirl @peacefulpeonies @spacedoutsher @adi-elese @wastedheartnat @spideyboiiiiiiii @theofficialhufflepuff @peterismyspideybaby @exorcismes @southsiderepresent @talk-geek-to-me @catlover092402152 @phandicktrash-1 @fnosidam @starlightfound @loser-marsh @hollandxlans @live-4-happiness @annascorpia @xxqueenofdemonsxx @litospants @phandicktrash-1 @lolpeterparker @yourwonderbelle @socially-collapsed @deleteidentity @hollandahlia @elizabethrheeder @justalittletumbleweed @wastedheartnat @youhavemyfantasticbeasts @rumoured-whispers @dej-okay @loverholland

765 notes · View notes

fandomwritingsgalore · 7 years ago

Text

Heads Up for A Fairytale (Chris Evans x Reader)

Pairing: Chris Evans x Female!Reader

Warnings: Cavity inducing fluff, slight cursing

Part: 1/??, Read more here

Description: Reader and her friend take a trip to Walt Disney World and happen to run into one Chris Evans while waiting in line to board Space Mountain. To pass the time you decide to play the game “Head’s Up.” From pop culture references, flirty looks and Chris being his silly flirty self, you never thought waiting in a line could be so much fun. But the Disney magic has to end eventually...doesn’t it?

Author’s Note: This isn’t my best imo, but I’ve been out of writing for a while and wanted something cute and fluffy to ease my way back in. And I’ve had this idea for a while and wanted to finally get it out. This is pure Evans loving Disney self indulgent fluff. Y/N = Your Name, Y/F/N = Your Friend’s Name

Word Count: 4,410

“How crazy would it be if we ran into someone famous while we’re here?” Y/F/N asked dreamily.

“I thought you wanted to find Walt Disney’s frozen head?” you laughed as you strolled through the mass of people down Magic Kingdom’s Main Street. It was the first day of your week long Walt Disney World trip and you were already acting like kids. The Disney magic making you silly with excitement and anticipation for all the fun times ahead.

They grinned mischievously, “Who says we can’t do both?” You rolled your eyes affectionately and shook your head at the conspiracy theories. “Besides I heard celebrities have their own secret entrance to rides so they can avoid the public. Maybe we’ll see Robert Downey Jr.”

“If it’s a secret entrance then how would we possibly know they’re here? Besides, you still have a better shot at walking onto Flight of Passage with no line than running into Chris Hemsworth here.”

“Jason Momoa would be fine.” She eyed the surrounding crowd in front of the majestic Cinderella castle as though expecting to immediately spot the tall actor. Reaching up to adjust the Jack Skellington Mickey ears on their head, they whined, “These damn things are always so painfully tight. I don’t know why Disney can’t just make them looser instead of my head being squeezed to death.” She pulled them off and massaged the area where the ears were on.

You reached up to make sure your own Captain America shield ears were still in place.You were determined to get a photo with Baby Groot and Star-lord when you park hopped over to Hollywood Studios later in the day. Cap was your favorite, but they were the only Marvel characters currently in the parks, and you’d heard they were a really great meet.

“They probably do it so you can wear them on rides without worrying about them flying off,” you said dodging out of the way of another triple seat stroller barreling towards the entrance to Fantasyland and Seven Dwarves Mine Train, not caring which ankles they took out along the way.  

“You wanna hit up Space Mountain or Haunted Mansion before the crowds start picking up?” Despite wearing your sunglasses, you shielded your eyes from the blinding Florida sun to gaze to the right of the plaza as though you could see how long the wait time was from here.

“Space. I didn’t get to ride it on our last trip because it was shut down.” You turned in the direction of Tomorrowland and took off.

“The infamous purple wall,” you pointed out excitedly, passing the pastel purple instaphoto spot. “I’m going to be as Disney basic as possible later.”

You both gazed in awe of the future looking land as you made your way towards the ride. Even though you’d arrived at Magic Kingdom for rope drop the wait time was already at 30 minutes, but knew it would probably be the shortest wait for the day. You passed under the large arch into the silver and blue entrance.

“Don’t get me wrong, I love me some Space Mountain, but how incredible would it be if they would turn this into a Marvel Avengers ride through space or something,” You gushed sliding your shades off and placing them in the cross body purse you wore.

“And Cap would call you ma’am?” she snickered.

“I mean I’m not opposed to that plot point. But seriously though, you could get put in the Iron Man suit or pick your favorite Avenger and either gain their powers or work with them and fly around New York and have the Avengers talk you through a mission. It would be an immersive type ride experience.”

“You could even punch Loki at Stark tower.”

“Or give him a much needed hug!” You countered, feigning offense. “But, a Marvel land would be a kick ass expansion.”

“You just want to save the world with 4D Chris Evans,” she laughed, knowing you all to well.

You continued winding your way through the long line. Hopefully, 30 minutes actually meant a 10 minute walk to the loading stations, but either way you were willing to wait. Space Mountain was one of your favorites. “I’m excited for the new Tron roller coaster they’re building though,” you noted.

“Yes!” She all but moaned. “The concept art looks insane!”

“So does that new outer space restaurant over in Epcot,” a male voice behind you added.

It wasn’t unusual for people in long lines at Disney to form a sort of temporary solidarity with those around them while waiting, which is why you weren’t that put off by his eavesdropping on your conversation. It was something you enjoyed about the parks. Meeting people from so many different walks of life.

You deepened your voice and spoke like an announcer, “Space…the final frontier.”

“Traitor,” Y/F/N shouted thrusting a fist into the air, “Star Wars or bust!” You heard the guy laugh at your banter as you finally rounded the final corner and reached the end of the line.

You turned around, wanting to mention the new Star Wars hotel, but the words became lodged in your throat as you took in the chiseled jaw and piercing blue eyes, hidden under a Nasa baseball cap, of the man behind you. You heard Y/F/N gasp in recognition next to you.

Chris freaking Evans was your mystery eavesdropper.

“I like your ears,” he commented, with a knowing smirk. You immediately felt the heat rise up your neck in embarrassment not only because of the ears, but he’d clearly heard your previous fangirl conversation. Oh God, he also heard Y/F/N’s 4D comment. No! Of all the ways you’ve imagined running into a celebrity, particularly this celebrity, this was not one.

He’s just a person. A very famous and funny and breathtaking beautiful person, but still a person.

What a person…

Dear lord, get a grip! You chided yourself. “I thought you have a secret passage?” You blurted out suddenly. And here you thought you couldn’t be any more embarrassing. Apparently your mouth was on a mission separate from your brain.

“Sure do,” His eyes sparkled playfully as he held back a laugh, “it’s goes right past Walt’s frozen head.”

“I knew it,” Y/F/N whispered reverently.

He couldn’t keep his laughter in check anymore and as he braced himself on your shoulder, he doubled over doing that laugh that only he has. The one that is so distinctly Chris Evans that fans have made thousands of memes and gifs of. The one where he has to physically touch someone because he wants them to share in the humor as though it’s the funniest joke in the world.

Although you were intensely aware of his hand touching a part of your body, you couldn’t help but join in, because his laugh was infectious. You wanted to make him laugh again and again because it was one of the best sounds you’d ever heard. It made him and this situation seem more real somehow? Like you could actually exist at the same time and in the same place as this man.

“Y’all are so mean to get my hopes up like that,” Y/F/N pouted before chuckling, too.

“Seriously though, don’t you have unlimited ‘skip the line’ access for being, well…you?” You met his bashful smile as he shrugged, suddenly really shy.

“I mean, yes, but I, uh…I kind of like to play the games in this line,” he rubbed the back of his neck and chuckled embarrassed. “Not very cool, right?”

“Are you kidding? I am a hardcore, Space Mountain pre-ride gamer who takes no prisoners,” You said fiercely, lightly punching his shoulder. “Prepare to get your ass throughly kicked Evans.”

He grinned wolfishly, “Oh, you’re so on.”

The heads in front of you slowly moved as the line pushed forward a few inches every few seconds. The three of you moved forward as one. It seems Chris Evans had officially joined your group.

“So, obviously you two know who I am, but what are your names?” He pulled his hat down lower acutely aware that he could be recognized by more people.

“I’m Y/N, and this is Y/F/N,” you nodded your head in her direction and she threw up a peace sign, making him smile. “What are you doing here on your own? Isn’t that a bit dangerous?”

He rolled his eyes annoyed. “Technically I’m here with my family, but they’ve all ditched me to go ride It’s a Small World.” 

“It isn’t that bad,” Y/F/N shrugged, at the same time you shuddered.

“Small World before 9 am should be illegal.”

“Thank you!” his eyes widened in relief. He swept you into an over-exaggerated dramatic hug like an excited puppy, “Finally someone understands!” He pulled back grinning and leaned down so that you were eye level.

The part of your mind that had left your body the moment he hugged you noted that when it came to Chris, the old saying that boys were unfairly blessed with incredible lashes was true. The rest of you down on earth froze as you could suddenly count every single one of those eyelashes framing his wickedly gorgeous blue eyes. He was in your personal space and you didn’t know what to do with yourself. He was just so close.

“We have to stick together, or they’ll get us with their singing dolls before breakfast,” he whispered conspiratorially with those damn kissable lips inches from your own. Your eyes were drawn down to them briefly before flicking back up to meet that hypnotizing gaze again. Being pierced by them in person was a lot more shiver inducing than through a screen. Something shifted and you realized he’d caught you staring at his mouth. The urge to pull him closer and give him a reason to have that stupid smug look on his face was overwhelming.

The line began to move again, and the moment passed. He dropped his hands from your shoulders and straightened as you all shuffled forward a few more inches. It certainly felt like you’d been in this line longer than 30 minutes already, but it could’ve been you secretly hoped the wait time would increase.

You knew eventually you would reach the loading station and your time with Chris would be up and you weren’t quite ready for this crazy experience to end yet, or ever…definitely the denial taking over.

“Honestly, you two are the worst drama queens ever,” Y/F/N huffed, annoyed at the unspoken connection Chris and you seemed to form. You caught him grinning in your direction and quickly dropped your gaze to your feet trying to hide an embarrassed smile. He bumped your shoulder affectionately before chuckling and leaning back with both arms on the railing behind you.

“So, what do you two like to do while waiting in long lines?” He asked curiously.

Before you had time to second guess yourself, you leaned back against the railing so that your back was pressed against his arm and met his gaze challengingly. He quirked an eyebrow appreciatively at the bold move and slouched down a bit so that you were effectively tucked into his side. You couldn’t help the self satisfied smile that spread across your face.

“Well, it depends. Sometimes we’ll catch up with family and friends back home if it’s later into a trip…” 

“Do you have, uh, someone in particular to catch up with back home,” he asked guardedly. He pulled and adjusted his hat and you realized this was a nervous habit of his.

“No…”

“Good.” You heard him whisper huskily to himself.

You felt your heart rate pick up and your skin start to buzz at the way he said the single word.

He had to be seeing someone. Probably someone much more gorgeous and interesting than someone like me, you thought to yourself. I mean he was Chris Evans. Hollywood A-lister and you were letting your feelings for him as an actor get mixed up with the reality that someone like him would ever date someone like you. Right?

“You?” You asked quietly.

He slowly shook his head, ‘no.’

You swallowed and tried to keep your voice level as you replied, “Good.”

The flash of a smug smile graced his features as he looked down suddenly extremely interested in his shoes.

“We also like to play ‘Head’s Up’ to kill time,” Y/F/N volunteered. She was watching in amusement as the two of you fumbled over yourselves.

“I love that game!” Chris exclaimed excitedly. “My family likes to play it during the holidays. Do you have it on your phone?”

“Yes!” You could literally see her bouncing in place in excitement at the thought of playing your favorite theme park game with the Captain America.

She pulled out her iPhone and got the app ready. “We usually play the Disney edition or the Mar…” she paused and glanced up with a giggle.

His eyes scrunched up as he beamed, “Oh, fuck yes. Let’s go Marvel.” She laughed and started flipping through to find the right category.

“I want to guess first!” You rushed over excitedly as Y/F/N handed the phone over and you swapped places. You loved to see how many Marvel characters you could guess and this way you’d have an excuse to look at Chris without it being weird.

As the timer ticked down from where you held the phone on your forehead, he rubbed his hands together in anticipation and winked flirtatiously, “Ready for this babe?”

“Bring it capsicle,” you said with a fervent grin.

“Oh!” Chris shouted excitedly. “It’s uh, fuck!” He scrunched his eyes and made that fanning hand motion trying to think of words to describe the character as he looked to Y/F/N for help.

“Um he’s the one who does the-“ she did a swatting motion with her hand and made pew pew noises.

“Guys, really?” You laughed. “Is it Iron Man?”

“No!” Chris said snapping his fingers. “It’s the one that rides the motorcycle and flame!” He made a whoosh sound at the end of his sentence.

“Ghost Rider!” You shouted excitedly. They cheered and signaled to hurry as you quickly tilted the phone up to the next character.

“Um, ok this one’s in X-Men,” Y/F/N began before pausing, “Can we say what movie they’re in?”

 “I think so as long as it isn’t the name of the character, too. Like Thor,” you hurriedly answered. “Is it Wolverine?”

“No, the red head.”

“Jean Grey!”

 “No her alter ego,” Chris said stretching and reaching forward as though he could draw the answer from your thoughts.

“Phoenix!” You tilted the phone.

“Woo, we’re on a roll,” He gave a big grin as he read the next name, “Fuck, um, Seb!” He waved his hand trying to make his mouth catch up with his thoughts.

“Sebastian’s character! The sad one!”

“Bucky!”

“Yes!”

“The sad one?” You laughed.

“It’s the truth,” he grinned.

After Bucky the characters seemed to be mainly ones who appeared in the movies and Chris quickly figured out the best way to have you know the characters was to simply shout the actors names as you continuously moved another few feet forward in line. Y/F/N would sometimes shout the actor at the same time as Chris, which would cost all of you seconds from laughing.

“Mackie!” He yelled laughing at you as you almost dropped the phone in haste as you shouted back, “Falcon.”

“Downey!”

“Iron Man!” Phone tilt. 

“Crap he’s the big bad,” Chris was breathing hard with adrenaline as the timer started ticking down. He held his head in frustration as he tried to think of who the actor was.

“PURPLE THUMB!” Y/F/N screamed excitedly.

“Thanos!” And that was the final phone tilt as the game ended. The older couple in front of you had been watching in amusement since the game started and they now joined in on celebrating the fun before turning back around.

Chris wiped tears from his eyes. His whole body shook from laughter. “Purple thumb? Really? I can’t believe that’s what made you think Thanos. That’s the best fucking thing I’ve ever heard.”

“It’s true though,” you said, playfully nudging him in the side. “Ok, Y/F/N’s turn.” You handed her the phone and as she quickly walked over to take your position.

You wiped the tears from your own eyes and fanned yourself to cool off.

“Here,” Chris breathed, goofily speed fanning you with his hands before you did the same to him. You giggled as the timer started.

“Uh…Chadwick and Wakanda and…” you shouted trying to remember more Black Panther things. The thing about Head’s Up was that in the heat of the game it was like your mind would draw a blank even though you knew the topic, no matter which one it was.

“T’challa!” Y/F/N shouted excitedly tilting the phone.

“Elizabeth,” Chris said.

 “Uh…” Y/F/N looked lost. “Who?”

“Crap, the red lady wizard…the one with the magic and leather coat,” you rambled off.

“Scarlett Witch!” Phone tilt.

Chris clapped his hands. “Oh, uh, Margot Robbie played her in the Suicide Squad movie.”

“Harley Quinn?” Y/F/N questioned confused.

“Yes!” He said frantically.  “What is Harley doing in a Marvel game?” You chuckled.

“Focus babe,” Chris hip bumped you with a wink. You felt your skin light up at the contact and his nickname. You liked it more than you cared to admit.

With a glance at the screen as the next character flashed, the words, “My favorite character!” were out of your mouth before you realized it.

“Loki!”  

“I’m wounded,” Chris clasped his heart in mock hurt and wiped a pretend tear from his eye. “And here I thought you were a good girl with a thing for the golden boys.”

“I have an inner bad girl Evans,” you whispered brazenly. “You just haven’t seen it yet.”

You saw his sharp intake of breath and the way his pupils dilated at the words, and chuckled darkly at the effect you had on him. You heard him mutter “fuck me” under his breath as you returned to the game.

The timer showed 5 seconds left as you quickly shouted, “Fast metal!” at the same time Chris yelled “Aaron!”

Y/F/N was laughing so hard she didn’t guess before the game ended. “What the hell was that last one?”

“Quicksilver,” you giggled.

“How many?” you all turned to the cast member to see you had finally made your way to the front of the line. It was almost time to board.

“Oh,” Chris said sadly. Your heart clenched. No, you weren’t ready for this moment to end yet! You didn’t even get to really talk with him… it can’t be over yet.

For the first time in your travel history, you wanted to have to wait longer for something.

 “I kind of wish the ride would break down so that we could talk more,” he murmured longingly and echoing your thoughts as you followed behind Y/F/N to the final line.

You peered up into those striking blue eyes and saw your own feelings reflected in his. You smiled wistfully, “Me too.”

“Hey can I sign your ears before we get on the ride?” he asked quickly.

“Oh, uh, you don’t have to do that. It was just really nice to meet you and have this memory,” you said sincerely. You were slightly confused. You had honestly forgot to even ask for a signature or photo by this point and didn’t want him to think you only cared about “Chris Evans the Actor” and not “Chris” the sweet line guy

“Please? I’d really like to leave you a note so you can remember today,” he said with an earnest smile.

“Sure, I guess…” You mumbled humbly. “Although I doubt I’ll forget it.” You slid those Captain America ears, that had brought you so much luck, off your head and dug around in your bag for the permanent marker you had for meeting characters. You handed both over. “I need to save them up before the ride anyway.” He started scribbling on the back sides of the ears where it was mainly just red and blue fabric.

“Do you guys want to do silly faces for the picture?” Y/F/N asked softly, sensing your sadness. She met your eyes and squeezed your hand as a comforting gesture. You knew she was trying to cheer you up.

Everyone made their way towards the three seated car and you felt the zipper on your bag open. You looked over your shoulder to see Chris slide the ears inside.

“Sorry, just wanted to make sure those beauties were secure.” He gave that bashful smile that you were starting to expect from him and pressed his hand onto the small of your back as he led you forward and into the car.

“Yeah, funny faces would be cool,” Chris grinned as everyone clambered in. “But nobody tell the other what they’re doing and we’ll all be surprised.”

Y/F/N got the front seat, you got the middle and Chris got in the back. You heard a groan and stretched your head as much as you could to see his long legs scrunched up in the small confined area and giggled at his predicament at being so damn tall. He playfully stuck his tongue out as the ride moved forward and you sat back in your seat.

The car moved into the dark expanse of “space” and prepared for the start. As the ride took off, you got into your pose for the photo as the flash went off and then held on for your life. Space Mountain was equal parts terrifying and exhilarating since it was an indoor dark roller coaster that always made you feel like you were going to fly out of the seat. But, that was what made it fun. You screamed and laughed as you went around turn after turn and you could heard Chris’ whoops of glee behind you.

And just as quickly as it started, the ride was over.

You were all breathing hard and buzzing on adrenaline as Chris quickly got out and extended a hand first to you and then to Y/F/N to help get out of the low seats. You couldn’t wipe the smiles off of your faces as you made your way to the photo section to see how the picture turned out.

Upon viewing it, the only thing you could do was hide behind your hands in embarrassment. Chris laughed and pulled you into his side as everyone stared at the pic.

Y/F/N had done a duck face with crossed eyes, you had both hands up in the rock and roll sign with your tongue sticking out and Chris blew the camera an exaggerated, scrunched up nosed kissy face with his hand under his chin.

“I look absolutely crazy,” Y/F/N barked out holding her side in laughter.   

“You? I look like I’m possessed.” You pointed to your face again.

“That is my favorite Space Mountain photo of all time,” Chris said eagerly tapping his magic band to the Mickey eared device on the wall. Y/F/N and you did the same.

“I’m going check out the gift shop,” Y/F/N suddenly said with a mischievous wink in your direction.

“I really think I’m going to print this and hang it in my house,” Chris said glancing up at the photo again.

 “Don’t you dare!” You chided with a scared laugh. “I can’t have your people thinking I’m a psycho.”

“Oh yeah definitely a psycho,” he glanced out the corner of his eyes to see your narrowed glare, before pulling you closer and kissing the top of your head. “But a cute psycho.”

The two of you stepped away from the wall of TV’s as the next round of people started swarming around. He pulled his hat down lower and grabbed your hand and you followed him into a quiet corner of the store.  

“Thank you for that. It was honestly one of the best times I’ve ever had waiting for a ride,” he said tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ears. You felt your heart stutter at his close proximity and tried to control your breathing. He moved his hand to cup your cheek as he ran his thumb over your bottom lip. That dark look was back in his eyes. “I should meet back up with my family. They’re probably waiting for me.”

“It was really nice meeting you,” You whispered, not wanting him to leave. You knew that your Disney magic was about to run out.

He smiled shyly, and leaned down to press a chaste kiss on your lips and you felt your heart swell. And then, he was leaning back and you knew that time was up.

 He ran his index finger once more down your chin, “I’ll see you around Y/N.”

He dropped his hand and took a step towards the sliding doors of the store shoving his hands in his pockets as he glanced back over his shoulder. You dazedly waved a hand in farewell and he beamed. His eyes shot open in remembrance, “Oh! Don’t forget to put your ears back on!” And with a final wink and a wave he was swallowed by the crowd.

Y/F/N suddenly appeared by your side with a broad grin. “Chris freaking Evans just kissed you!”

“I don’t even know what just happened,” you let out a breathy laugh as you made your way out into the Florida sunshine.

“So, where to next? Although I don’t think anything will top that on this trip.”

You reached for your bag to see what Chris had written on the ears. And as you pulled it out and read the writing, you gasped. He’d created his own Head’s Up category.

On the left ear was a scribbled phone number and on the right ear was

Chris Evans. The one who likes you.

It seems the Disney magic was just beginning…

My Masterlist

617 notes · View notes

caemec · 7 years ago

Text

MCL - Who’s most likely to... | Part 4 | Halloween edition

Hi guys ! How are you ? Today is... Halloween day ! Time to celebrate it with our lovely boys from My Candy Love.

Tell me, where would you class yourself in each headcanon ? You’re more the type “totally afraid” or the “brave one” ?

I hope you will enjoy it, and if you plan a Halloween night or a party today, have fun (and be safe) !

Who’s most likely to do an horror movie marathon ?

Armin - It is his classic way to begin his Halloween period. He has his own collection of movies, can reproduce the screams by heart. He will literally drag his family in the living room, they can’t escape to his ritual, he established alone a family tradition. Scaring both Alexy and their mother is maybe what he appreciates the most.

Castiel - It is a good way to spend a night with friends. He can enjoy a movie that is not a Disney (for once) and can tease the most scared of the group (or remember them that ashamed moment during months). But you still can enjoy his few moments of fear. You know, when he suddenly stop to laugh, says nothing and fix the screen with big eyes, totally uptight. Remind him he has to breathe to survive.

Nathaniel - He will watch a certain kind of movie only. He probably doesn't like things with spirits or exorcism, too disruptive for him. He needs a film with a real story, a denouement, a lot of suspense, a surprising ending, that will totally catch him. He’s the best support if you are afraid, he will not play with your nerves (not like the two jerks cited above).

Kentin - He is the brave one, you know, the guy who is completely scared of everything, will jump at each gory scene, hide himself behind a pillow, while pretending everything is fine and that the movie is really crap (he can’t explain why his lower lip quivers).

Lysander - He’s probably not in the horror type, unless you propose him some classical and well-done films. He could even be quite sensitive to what he will see, it could trouble him, and he would seriously think to the sanity of the persons who imagined such a scenario.

Who’s most likely to still go door-to-door for a “Trick or treat” round ?

Kentin - He literally lives for asking candies to his neighbours. People are now used to see that big boy in the middle of a group of kids, as smiling, innocent and excited as them. Don’t even dare to rip him off, he will meticulously count how many candies everyone receives.

Armin - How could he not do it. Seriously. He is probably in duo with Kentin, by the way, they planned their trajectory days before. He will mostly go for the ambiance, the costume and the sophisticated treats he can say to that grumpy old man who always mumbles the rest of the year when he sees him in the street. Rocket has his own disguise, in match with his, handmade by a (forced) Alexy.

Lysander - Not for himself, he is probably not even a fan of very sweet and chemical products. But of all the boys, he is the most capable to take a few children from a reception centre as a volunteer, and allow them to enjoy the magic of Halloween too. Even during Halloween, he is a pure angel, what do you want.

Castiel - Ugh, it’s a thing that only kids do, please. He doesn't even open his door to give candies, unless it is to let Demon running like an excited puppy after some terrorized and screaming five years old. However, he’s more the type to come to your home during the Halloween night, with a demonic smirk and a very adult version of Trick or treat...

Nathaniel - Do people still do that today ? He probably never even saw a child at his door (thanks to his father, who wrote a threatening placard each year, that could discourage even the bravest). He could mostly be against the business side and the tendency to do everything like in the USA. Be ready for a long speech about culture and history, that everyone has sadly forgotten in his opinion.

Who’s most likely to participate to a zombie run ?

Kentin - Mode army activated. He is totally into it, don’t mess with him. He is the saviour of your group, obviously. Hidden places in the forest, camouflage with leaves, dispatching the team in strategic places, etc. I could even pity you, because he will drag you like a porcelain doll and overprotect you, so much that you could not even see one little zombie in the entire evening, while he has the whole fun.

Castiel - He has to recognize it, the idea is really tempting. It is scary enough to make him participate. He will tease the zombies and destroy their attempts to impress him, but we all know it is how he totally enjoys an event. Count on him to play the zombie himself and “eating you” when he finally gets bored.

Armin - Being chased by fake zombies is totally cool. But not scary enough to him. Actually, there is a great chance he will actually be one of the zombies. It is so much more fun to chase after people scared of him, and rightly, because he will not do things by halves. Escape from him at all costs, because he has some devilish plans specially made for his screaming girlfriend.

Nathaniel - Obviously, he would go with his friends, and he would find it quite amusing. But clearly, Nathaniel will not be in the victim mood, he stays rational and will be the one to reassure the most fearful of your group.

Lysander - Running in a forest with actors chasing after you ? Explain him the point of it, because he still searches for it. It would be a miracle for you to convince him to come, really. But don’t force him to do something he dislikes, poor boy.

Who’s most likely to accept your idea of a date in a creepy place to celebrate Halloween ?

Armin - Oh man, this is the scary experience he definitely wanted to live. You know how to make him happy. It is at this moment he discovered you are the woman of his life. If you both survive, of course. Because with him, you will obviously go in the most dangerous and haunted place of the country. No less. It is a contest to who will scream the hardest. You hold each other so strong that you will have marks for days, and between two nervous laughs, he will still find the time to make a really stupid prank (which almost kills you).

Nathaniel - A shot of adrenaline for Halloween looks pretty fun to him. You will choose together a place which made you both quite comfortable, the point is not to cross too much limits. The D-day, he is waiting for you with an enormous survival bag. He will read out loud about horror stories that happened there, laughing with you in advance at the idea of both of you, scared and shaken - because you obviously know it will end like that.

Lysander - Present him photos of an old castle somewhere in the country, and he is your man. You clearly don’t go for the same reasons, and while you make a panic attack at every corner, he watches peacefully those beautiful baroque gargoyles. You even want to die and curse yourself when, at the end of the day, he innocently proposes to do it again, the next year.

Castiel - Pfff, nothing could scare him, HE is the danger in the room, remember ? But a few hours later, how to say... If you lost him, check behind the curtains, where he is bravely hidden, silently making you shut up with panic. You could still attract the ghost of a slasher, he swears he saw on the first floor.

Kentin - Kentin, afraid of a dark and creepy place, with strange noises and a weird presence in that suspicious corner ? ... Yes, totally. He is almost crying and hyperventilates, while he is still safe in the car. Actually, he will not even be able to go inside, the frontage is already more than enough to him.

Masterlist | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

119 notes · View notes

armageddon-generation · 7 years ago

Text

Wildehopps AUs

HANNIBAL AU

- Judy is a young, fresh faced Will: she is talented but inexperienced, who has the ability to fully empathise with anyone (including serial killers) and uses this understanding to catch them

- Nick is Hannibal , but he only kills other killers (but isn’t excused)

- Bogo is Jack Crawford and throws Judy in the deep end

- Causes a lot of resentment from more experienced detectives

- Bellwether is Freddy Lounds

- Themes of deep isolation from Judy’s family and workmates

- Nick is brought on as a psychological consultant to monitor Judy’s mental health - She is initially extremely tight-lipped due to Gideon incident, and Nick complains to Bogo that he is aware that Nick is the worst mammal for the job (“Yeah, well I thought she was the worst mammal for her job, but she keeps proving me wrong.”)

- Nick trial runs therapy by helping Judy overcome her phobia of foxes (with a case going on in the background: Nick wants to help but Judy is initially too stubborn)

- Nick is fascinated by Judy as a psychological miracle/oddity (“You toe the line between saviour and psychopath every day, Miss Hopps. Any therapist worth his salt would pay his bottom dollar to get at the soup of psychoses and environmental influences swimming around in your head ”)

- They have some interesting conversations about the differences between pred psychology vs prey (spoiler alert: there really aren’t that many) and, more importantly, how Nick being a predator affects his pred patients differently to the prey (it’s actually not always positive because the preds expect him to be more of a friend than a therapist)

- Nick has lots of prey patients because he enjoys the primal power therapy gives him over them: physical hunting may have been lost to time, but he can still make prey submit. Preds make him antsy and ready for a fight, like he’s afraid they’ll steal his kill

- Judy challenges him though. Her outsider status and genuine uniqueness already makes Nick regard her as an equal, and the way she challenges him and genuinely wants to learn from him is refreshing

- Nick starts subtly training Judy (without her knowing) in the ways of the serial killer

- The idea of them becoming soulmates because they are the only ones who understand each other, but their relationship transcending sex and pure physicality: a romance of the mind

- Nick and Judy have a ‘no touching ’ rule. Judy thinks Nick just hates physical contact, but Nick doesn’t want to be tempted into 'playing’ with her

- Pred/prey prejudice is very strong so everyone has massive respect for Nick, who hides himself in a shroud of high culture

- Manchas’ savage attacks lead to Judy’s first kill (under Nick’s in-the-moment instruction, which saves her life

- Savage Manchas haunts Judy’s dreams from this point on like the Murder Stag does Will’s

- As a result (and for the first time going against his impulse to keep Judy close and under his thumb) Nick recommends she moves back to Bunnyburrow and commutes to work

- Doing so highlights how this life is isolating Judy from her family (she feels like a ghost in her own home, surrounded by people). The others are slightly scared of her, and quickly give up trying to talk to her about her problems because every time they do Judy ends up talking about the atrocities of serial killers in a horrifyingly casual, offhand way

- When the ZPD discovers that the Nighthowlers that infected Manchas can infect prey too, Judy starts having nightmares of becoming a predator

- Judy’s parents wake her after she has a violent nightmare, concerned. When Judy explains what the nightmare was about they are horrified, and Judy feels the need to defend predators (pulling from her conversations with Nick about how pred/prey psychology is the same

-Judy attempts to use this as an opportunity to patch up her strained relationship with her parents, but they only think she’s odd for defending predators, whom they assume are the majority of the killers she catches (does she want to be a predator? They ask themselves)

- After her parents leave Judy has a very sensual dream about turning into a fox

- Judy has never been one to beat around the bush and tells Nick during their next therapy session “I think I’m infatuated with you ”

- Nick has her recount the dream (idk but think really classy phone sex? It’s the first time he’s ever been made interested in something romantically/sexually before that wasn’t killing)

- They have a discussion afterwards (a “how does that make you feel session that goes both ways) and Judy swears she is this close to leaping from her chair and tearing Nick’s clothes off, but she is unsure/inexperienced and Nick is unable to reciprocate (no touching rule)

- Nick uses this as an opportunity to undo his 'mistake’ in recommending Judy stay at the farm, and manipulate her further away from her family so she can stay with him

- Hannibal is famous for it’s inventive bodies, so how about a killer that weaves a tapestry of his career using the fur of his victims? Or a body inspired by the ‘There Was An Old Woman Who Swallowed A Fly’ nursery rhyme; a body within a body, within a body, like a Russian nesting doll, with a mouse as the smallest inner layer and an elephant as the largest outer layer.

- Nick has to visit the Hopps family farm once to pick Judy up (reluctantly forced to by Bogo, who has no-one spare to send) and looks upon the family as a predator. Bonnie and Stu genuinely fear him behind his icy sharp politeness

- But as soon as Judy comes down the stairs he relaxes/switches on the charm, and she is incredibly relieved to see a friendly face (in her family home, that’s how bad things are) she tackle-hugs him and breaks the no-touching rule, and Nick is shocked when he doesn’t feel the need/desire to hurt her

- Judy’s parents try to pull her away and attempt to scent mark her as a way of protection, and now Nick sees red and impulsively marks Judy as his territory in front of her family

- Judy is surprisingly non-reactive and drags Nick out before her family can recover from the shock

- In the car ("I apologise”/“If you don’t mean it don’t bother. The 'safe space’ thing wasn’t working anyway. I won’t be going back there again.” / “They’re your family, Judith.”/“They used to be. In the end I was just weighing them down. So…”(she sniffs mark he’s smeared all down the left side of her face experimentally, “does this mean I have a new safe space?”/“No.”/“Seriously?”/“I’m dangerous Hopps.”/“Maybe I like danger.”/“Those are called suicidal thoughts. I can treat them if you like.”/“Maybe I don’t want to be cured.”/“Then you’re so crazy even I can’t help you.”/“But- Argh, fine, but if you’re going to do this you’re going to stick to it. Promise me. No more temptation, because I will not take it. I will not let you be that cruel for both our sakes.”/“… I promise.”)

- Judy sort of realises who Nick is, but really doesn’t want to admit it to herself because he’s the cornerstone of her life- this relationship touches on co-dependency

- Eventually she goes and confesses to him that she knows, and he makes her promise to let someone else catch him before running

- Jack Savage then plays a game of cat and mouse with Nick across the globe

HITCH AU

- A Hopps family friend is getting married and one of Judy’s sisters is desperate to get married to a buck who’s never noticed her

- On a trip to Zootopia for the hen party she meets and hires Nick, a professional matchmaker

- The sister brings Nick down to Bunnyburrow, where the whole Hopps family (including Judy, on a week off work)

- Nick and Judy pretty much hate each other- Judy thinks he preys on the same stereotypes that plague her at the ZPD and Nick declares Judy the most “Un-romantic person in the world”

- Judy and Nick give the sister conflicting advice on how to pursue the relationship: Judy recommends charging right in because she doesn’t have much regard for emotional nuance. Nick thinks romance is just a bunch of cliches to string together the right way It turns out a measure halfway between the two works best

- Judy has brought work home with her to the wedding rehearsal (a smuggling ring) and effectively bores/scares off every buck who tries to make a move on her

- Nick buts in and uses his people skills to make a break in the case. Then, as payback, Judy agrees to let him teach her how to flirt. He uses her to bait away a buck who is trying to interrupt Judy’s sister moving on the guy she likes, and is caught off guard by how good she is

- Judy begrudgingly admits that there is some depth/use to what Nick does, and corners him into teaching her how to read people and situations like he can so she can be a better cop.

- They test out a lot of these techniques on each other, which gradually start to have a greater and greater effect on them- they start falling for each other

- Nick spends so much time focusing on other people’s emotions he doesn’t pay any attention to his own: it’s only when Judy gets perceptive enough that she realises, and then he denies everything because the whole point of him learning how to manipulate emotions was to ‘never let them see that they get to you"

- Their argument jeopardises Judy’s sister’s emerging relationship, which makes Judy feel terrible and Nick considers cutting and running to save his professional reputation

- During the wedding the sister and her crush go completely off Nick’s recommended script and confess love for each other, which spurs Judy into confessing/announcing/demanding an answer from Nick

- Over the course of the story Nick teaches Judy that it’s OK to relax and be ‘normal’ sometimes, and Judy teaches Nick that honest emotion isn’t for suckers

MOB LAWYER/PRIVATE INVESTIGATOR AU

- Judy gets refused a place at the ZPD so becomes a PI

- Bellwether meets Judy as she’s being released from ZPD interrogation: Judy managed to illegally get through seven layers of security at a five star hotel to take photos of a businessman cheating (“And how did you do that dear?” / “Oh, you’d be amazed how many people will believe a bunny is a private prostitute. After that they tend to stop asking questions.”)

- Bellwether hires Judy under the pretext of finding Mr Otterton (“I think someone more our size would be better dear, but best to keep it hush-hush”) and attempts to slowly convert her to the anti-predator cause: She sees a potential ally in Judy.

- This is Judy’s first real case and she’s already on the verge of being evicted, so she jumps at it. Bellwether gives her some fake leads.

- When we meet him Nick is a widower with a mid-teenage daughter

- Nick is an independent attorney, fighting his way to and through law school from a disadvantaged, crime dominated background

- He was offered places at two big firms when he left law school, but refused because one wanted to use his species as a publicity stunt while not trusting him with serious work, while the other assumed as a fox he would be on board to do all their under-the-table dirty work

- For a time he really tried to fight the good fight, but he was taking on more pro bono than paying cases, then his wife got sick with cancer

- Finnick (an old friend from school) offers him a way out by working for Mr Big

- He manages to support her this way for a while, then she died and he was left devastated with a daughter to support- he continued working for Big

- Big is interested in the missing mammal case because of the Otterton /Manchas connection- tells Nick to cover it up

- He and Judy clash over their opposing goals …

- But when the ZPD gets involved they work together to outwit them (Nick saves Judy from the interrogation room, but the cop present comments on how she looks so annoyed she might prefer to stay there)

- Judy doesn’t tell Bellwether about Nick because she doesn’t want to look weak

- Judy is initially disgusted with Nick and his mob ties, but is slowly modified as he demonstrates his close and genuinely caring relationship with members of the community

- He is working from inside the mob to renegotiate Big’s protection rackets so their victims get a fairer deal (“Look , it ain’t pretty, but this way I get to keep food on the table and help the people who need it. Fighting crime is like fighting cancer; sometimes it’s all you can do to minimise the pain” / “I refuse to believe that” / “That’s on you, darling”)

- Nick admits he’s impressed by Judy’s ability to be immediately likeable to everyone she meets (which opens a lot of doors) and her determination to keep going when they stay closed, but pokes fun at her relative inexperience with law in practice (“You’re the hammer, I’m the scalpel.” / “Well, you’re definitely a tool”) - A dichotomy emerges between the polar influences of Bellwether and Nick: Initially Judy really admires Bellwether, but as the moral complexities of Nick’s position become clear to her (and Bellwether continues to refuse to empathise with predators as a whole) Judy’s alligences begin to shift.

- Case takes more time, but they stay in contact over the three months, and are gradually forced closer and closer together

- Judy begins to slip into Nick’s casual conversation with his daughter, who acts as Nick’s reality checker/moral compass and is pretty much the parent of the two

- One night during month 1, Judy has a breakthrough and comes to Nick’s apartment (“How the hell did you get here? Are you stalking me?” / “I’m a PI, Nick, I’m a professional stalker”) and is shocked to meet Nick’s daughter for the first time (“You have a daughter?” / “I’m trying not to be offended by your surprise, Carrots.” / “Sorry, I just figured you as more of the one and done type.” / “Tsk tsk, Carrots, buying in to offensive stereotypes. Foxes mate for life.”

- Daughter coerces Nick into offering/Judy into accepting staying for dinner

- Nick is completely oblivious, but Judy is extremely aware she’s only about nine years older than this girl and damn if she isn’t intimidating

- Daughter reveals she’s really grateful to Judy for bringing the noble side of her dad back

- The breakthrough Judy has is the first time they are drawn away from Bellwether’s fake line of enquiry and onto the real thing: Judy doesn’t have the opportunity to tell her because of the secretive nature of their relationship

- Over the next few weeks Judy and the daughter develop a close (texting) relationship: Daughter is grateful Judy is here now because it lets her stop being so responsible and get on with being a normal teenager

- They start to open up to each other about family, and Judy offers some insights into the mind of a teenage girl from her vast experience as an older sister (“You’d be a really good Mom” / “Yeah well, I kinda missed my chance” / “You’re kidding, you’re not even thirty yet!” / “Yeah well, in Bunnyburrow if you don’t pair up by the time you’re twenty, you’re pretty much guaranteed to be a spinster”)

- Now she understands his motivations, Judy is much more open to Nick, though he shoots her down whenever she suggests getting out of the mob (“Giving up working for the Bigs means giving up a lot of other things too. Namely breathing.”)

- During this time Bellwether becomes frustrated that Judy is not being converted/is drifting away, and Judy begins to see her true colours.

- Judy goes to Bellwether with all her evidence and it’s while she’s in her office with her that she puts everything together.

- When they find out it’s Bellwether Big orders Nick not to continue: Big doesn’t want to get mixed up in a political scandal

- During the moment of indecision this causes Judy goes it alone and gets caught trespassing in City Hall. Nick goes to bail her out (the same cop on duty as the first time, who almost doesn’t recognise them their relationship has evolved so much) when Big threatens his daughter - This is what causes Judy to leave for Bunnyburrow: The impossible choice between Nick’s daughter or Bellwether.

- Nick’s daughter demands a say in this when he reveals Judy is gone (“Mom would be ashamed of what you’ve become.” / “Mom would recognise that you’re more important than anyone else.” / “If I’m so important, why aren’t you listening to me?” / “Because you don’t know what you need.” / “Jee, patronising much? Look, I have friends at school who’ve been assaulted for their species. I’ve seen friends driven to the gangs because they’ve had no other choice, just like you. People I know have died -” / “Who!?” / “It doesn’t matter, and the point is it doesn’t matter because nobody else cares. Don’t you get it? This isn’t just them you’re working for, it’s you. If you break down this stigma, if you make yourself good, it could be your way out.” / “You sound like Hopps.” / “Damn straight I do.” / “Uh, language.” / “Sorry.” / “You could die.” / “The last thing Judy said to me was you won’t land if you don’t jump.” / “I told Hopps I was done. If told her to never come back.” / “And suddenly your word is law? If there’s one thing that rabbit’s good at it’s ignoring you.” / “Hopps-” / “Her name’s Judy, dad, God. Stop living in denial.” / “ Denial of what?” / “Seriously? What are you, six? Do I need to give you the Birds and the Bees Talk too? You’re in love with her.” / “I - foxes mate for life.” / “Yeah, they do. But Mom lived her life. And you can remember her and still move on. She would kick your ass for not letting yourself be happy.”

- He goes to Bunnyburrow and gets Judy. They go to Bogo, get Nick’s daughter protection and then tag along on the Police raid. Bellwether bolts and they go after her/catch her on their own.

- In the end Nick presents both Manchas and Otterton to Big and manages to negotiate a change of job from defence attorney to prosecution of criminal rivals (he reveals he has several copies of all the information he was ever exposed to in the Bigs’ employ- a lot- primed to be sent to the ZPD and ZBI if anything happens to him or his loved ones “including the rabbit”) which persuades Big

- He goes into business managing Judy’s PI business and Gideon Grey’s partnership with the Hopps farm

- Judy is offered a ZPD badge but refuses: She makes a living helping the little guy like Nick

#wildehopps #zootpia #au #fanfiction

17 notes · View notes

khemi · 8 years ago

Text

Fishbowl Punch

So this is a story I wrote for a Discord Secret Santa, and I’m going to finally post it here! It’s kind of... a mix, but I had a lot of fun writing it.

Slickpaint, and a Solfef/Eriara mash. Cw for alcohol.

You realise you’re boned the moment she slaps some shine on your shoes and hands you a brand new tie like it’s a pleasant surprise instead of a portent of coming doom, all bright pink and the sort of thing you’d laugh off the face of the earth before putting on if it was being presented in any hands other than those soft round ones of hers that could hand you your best friend’s head on a stick and still get an earnest, aw, thanks doll in reply.

Either she knows that and is playing you like a fiddle or she doesn’t and is sincere in everything she does, and one is hot and one is cute and both just make your traitorous heart beat a little faster as you take the tie and loop it under your shirt collar and lean forward just enough she can reach up to you and do it up in a neat knot you absolutely couldn’t have managed with two hands, let alone one. Lousy knots. The woman’s a wizard at them, weaving ties and bows in shapes you’re pretty sure are non-Euclidean in nature, but if an Elder God ever comes knocking looking for some help dolling up for their prom they can take a hike because those magical hands and the bustling body of joy they’re attached to are taken, and adored right the fuck where they already are.

Dolling up is something best left to her, anyway, and she paints her face pretty as she paints a canvas, all subtle colours in the right places that are barely noticeable but could make a sculptor weep jealousy over the perfect shapes they come together to form. You call up into the bathroom if she’s going to wear that one dress, she knows, the sparkly one with the green. She asks you if you’re going to wear your nice eyepatch if she does.

You do not want to wear an eyepatch that makes you look like you’re some anime-obsessed twelve year old’s character on some shitty online collection of art that you have too much pride in yourself to know the name of. There’s a silence while you consider how best to let her down.

She’ll wear the headscarf you like with all the pastels, she calls down into the pause.

Well then.

It’s time to find your nice eyepatch.

You know you’ll find it right where you left it, shoved underneath everything else you never wanted to see again, like the full ream of love notes Clover kept posting through your door before he caught sight of that new guy with all the shouting and the hair that defies at least three laws of physics. The collection of letters seeking your wife’s affection- and also, to your continued distaste, your own- are pushed to one side and reveal a poster with your own face on it, like a further descent through the circles of hell that will end with an eyepatch or with eternal damnation, both of which would suit you about the same. The reward above your leering mug is severely out of date. There’s been at least four major incidents since then, and at least two extra zeroes slapped on the end by the powers that be.

What will be the third level of hell? You lift the poster and- oh. Er. You lift a hand to shove the lens of some imaginary viewing device aside, leaving the purely hypothetical viewer staring at a picture of the finest breed of dog ever bred, sitting on a cushion with a little tartan hat at a jaunty angle upon its noble head. If said viewer were to have briefly caught glimpse of any pictures of you in any kind of canine-based outfit, say the kind used by platonic connoisseurs of all things furred, you would tell them that first of all, they’re seeing things and no such pictures have ever existed, kid, shut your dirty lying mouth.

Secondly you would tell them that mouth better stay shut, or else.

No one can know.

Especially Droog.

And- Look, it’s not your fault that that gal at the store with the fuzzy ears was so persuasive when she started talking about that convention thing and the need for extra guests and discount rates and getting to experience the carefree life of a perfect Scottie-

Oh thank fuck there’s your eyepatch you’ve never been so happy to see it in your life.

After a little business, you return to the stairs just in time to find the missus slipping down it with all the grace her stout body can pack, dress clasped gently in one hand to lift it high enough it doesn’t get in the way of each of her steady steps. She smiles at you, cheeks dark and eyes surrounded with a pastel rainbow that sets off the dark colour in them nicely, and you’re halfway to a goofy smile back before she stops and sniffs once, then again, her eyebrows dropping with her dress and her arms coming into a tight fold over her chest.

What’s that smell, she asks you.

What smell, you say.

The smell of burning, she replies without a minute of time for your shit. And why is there ash on your fingers?

Spring cleaning, you tell her with a very serious nod.

What did you do.

You didn’t do a damn thing.

She said, what did you do.

You squeak. Damn, she’s got that look in her eye that says if you want to make it to the diner in one piece you better buck that shit right the fuck now or she’ll be packing what’s left of you in her handbag. She’s a feisty little thing, really.

You adore her.

Alright, alright, maybe you burned something, obviously accidentally, like some kind of incriminating photo that definitely, one hundred percent does not exist any longer, if it ever did. A tragedy! A disaster. How will you live without that unproven photograph haunting your every-

Was it the dog photo, she asks.

What dog photo? There is no dog photo. Was there ever a dog photo? You doubt it.

She smiles and finishes her descent, bustling past you with a very gentle pat to your arm.

Don’t worry, she says, she has copies.

Your wife is the single worst thing to ever happen to you. You set your jaw and roll your eye into the patch as you turn and sulk your way out behind her, pouting as she settles in the driver’s seat and reminds you that if she’d been looking for a child to take care of, she’d have gone looking for an adoption, not a wedding.

The place is basically empty when you show up, except for two assholes in the corner who both look like the only reason they’re even here is to hide from the fashion police and the laws of decency that forbid the wearing of stupid shades everywhere but mostly indoors- oh, and a group of kids who apparently haven’t heard dress codes have updated a little since the middle ages, given there’s one more cape involved than is acceptable in a modern public place, meaning there’s exactly one cape.

Of fucking course the waiter takes you to the table right next to them, ignoring the many, many empty tables that are literally everywhere else.

“-I’m not saying you can’t wear a cape in your own space,” one of the guys behind you is saying, slow and steady but not escaping the flat hiss the attempt at each s makes when it hits his teeth, “but that’s in your own space, where no one else has to experience its- what did he say?”

“Majesty,” a girl replies, tone so dead you’d think she was if she wasn’t speaking.

“Right, right, its majesty, because that’s totally a thing it’s got in droves.”

“My cape is fine,” hisses back becaped asshole, showing a staggering lack of self-awareness you thought only Deuce was capable of. “In fact it’s more than fine. They asked us to dress smartly and you’re all fuckin’ underdressed and jealous, that’s what you are.”

“Oh yeah. That’s exactly what’s happening here. I’m not embarrassed, I’m devastated by my stupid clothing choices that led to me being caught in this part of town without a cape. I must look like a beggar, barely able to afford a napkin for a makeshift cloak-”

“Put that down,” Cape hisses, informing you along with the chorus of giggles that a napkin had in fact probably made its way across Lisp’s shoulders. “God you wanna talk about embarrassments? You’re an embarrassment.”

“How can I argue with that? You are a professional in the field of huge fuck-ups.”

“You little piece of-”

“Can I get you a drink?” The waiter interrupts, and you’re almost annoyed at him for distracting you from the possible soap-opera in the making over your shoulder until you see your doll giving you a look and hastily sweep up the menu so you can jab at something without looking at what it is. “Oh- An excellent choice, sir. And for the lady?”

“Scotch,” she hums, and you stare at her as she adds that she’d like it on the rocks, maintaining eye contact with you the whole time as your brain filters Scotch to Scot to Scottie and you get the joke being made at your expense. Absolutely hilarious, you mutter at her once the waiter is gone. Her wink tells you she agrees.

You give it a reasonable pause before you filter back into the conversation playing out behind you, irritated to have missed some of what might actually be passable entertainment.

“-not my fault Kanaya enables him,” the girl who didn’t speak before is protesting in the kind of voice that’s bright and loud even when it’s cramped into a whisper. “She says he’s very persuasive when he wants to be!”

“Yeesh, there’s a whole thing I don’t want to know about,” Lisp answers, and you know the affronted sniffle is Cape before he starts complaining.

“There is nothing between Kanaya and I and I don’t much appreciate you implyin’ anythin’ to the opposite effect! Ain’t my fault she’s got a sense of style you’re lacking, or that she’s the only one around who listens to my voice of reason- except you, Ara, obviously, you do plenty of listenin’ to me and I appreciate it constantly, sweetheart.”

“A noble sacrifice that won’t be forgotten by those of us getting our poor ears spared.” It sounds like Lisp just reached and pat her hand in sympathy, and as your glazed eyes roam the menu you gotta say you don’t think you blame him. “A terrible burden, the path you’re walking down…”

“Eridan is more interesting than you think,” Ara replies, revealing herself as the voice of death and still sounding just as excited as the crayfish you’re considering for a starter. “He has a lot of interesting stories about the socio-political imbalances that led to historical conflicts, and also wizards.”

“And also wizards. Fuck, I’m pissing over here.” Yeah, you too, Lisp. You too.

“Wizards are cool,” Cape protests, pout audible in his voice. “Better than fucking bees.”

“Hey the only thing fucking bees right now is other bees and also humanity’s disregard for the most important species on the planet.”

“There I was thinking humans were pretty fuckin’ important.”

“Get back to me when humans can function in perfect harmony with nature to keep the whole world alive and I’ll reconsider.”

This is sounding dangerously like a synopsis of that fucking film Deuce keeps sending you sped up versions of, and this time you’re grateful for the waiter interrupting it right up until you see the monstrosity of a drink sitting beside a small, sensible glass of ice and whiskey.

“One scotch on the rocks,” he explains, placing the glass down in front of your wife even as she continues to stare at the new focus of all your barely contained hatred, “and one fishbowl punch.”

Well you can’t pin them for false advertising because that is a fucking fishbowl in front of you, filled with punch, umbrellas and straws, turned luminescent pink by the flashing ice cubes inside that are pulsing to the beat of a rave being held all over the corpse of your dignity. You stare at it, the waiter stares at you, your missus stares at the waiter and he holds up his little pad like a shield and taps frantically at the scrawled note on it you couldn’t read if you were a code breaker.

“It’s what you ordered, sir!”

Of course it is.

Before you can get out a protest he’s absconded and you’re left gazing at the mesmerising jacuzzi of poor taste that only the sort of person who wears a cape unironically would find appealing, opening and closing your mouth a few times before your dear, darling wife takes pity on you and pushes her scotch into your hand.

You could both share it, she suggests as you down her drink in one, although that would involve consuming it, and you’re not sure what shit the colour of potpourri windex would do to your insides. Come on, she prompts. You can both have a straw each and drink together and it’ll be romantic.

And then you can both get food poisoning or- if it’s a drink it’s just straight-up poisoning, right? And you can have a romantic hospital stay together!

Exactly, your missus smiles, and waits patiently until you cave in and lean forward to take a tentative sip of what you can only assume is the milk of a mutant hybrid between a cow and a stick of fruity bubblegum. Ugh. You make a face that’s probably just a redraw of the same disgusted face everyone seems to make in this godforsaken town, but your doll looks happy and you guess in some deep-down secret part of the withered thing your doctor would hesitantly refer to as your heart, that’s what really matters.

“Oh man, that looks delicious, you think I can order that?” Cape is whispering on the table behind you, and look at that, who would’ve guessed it, who could possibly have foreseen he’d want to drink the atrocious insult to cocktail menus everywhere that is glittering obnoxiously between you and your lady.

A chair creaks, once as someone turns towards you and once again as they turn away.

“We could share,” Ara monotones, “but I want the umbrellas.”

“Of course, love, you can have every umbrella that you want.”

“Ugh,” Lisp starts, “you guys are-”

“I want one.” Bubbly interrupts him, and all of a sudden her sugary voice is like a candy-cane made of cyanide. “Please, Sollux? You said it was my treat today!”

“Fef, I said my willing participation in an event involving sitting next to Eridan for an hour was your treat.”

“No, you said dinner was my treat, and that I could’ve have whatever I wanted!” She’s whining like a kicked puppy and you can perfectly picture the sort of satisfied smirk that must be lighting up Cape’s- Eridan’s? Why do you even care what their names are- face right now. “I want one of those! It’s in a fishbowl, Sollux! It’s so cute!”

“It looks like poison.” A man after your own heart.

“It looks great! Stop being a wet fish and drink it with me! Please? Pretty please? Pretty please with a cherry on top? Pretty please with a cherry on top and-”

“Fine! Oh my God, fine. You can have that, I’m not going to stop you.”

“And you’ll drink it with me?” Her smile is so bright it’s making you cast a grouchy shadow.

“...I- guess. Sure.”

Fef squeals, and it’s the delighted nail in Sollux’s coffin. Maybe you’ll see him in the emergency room later, and you can both share a knowing nod about the dangers of flashing cocktails served in pet housing.

Another sip confirms it still tastes like bubblegum.

Sollux manages to bargain his way into ordering the food before the fancy drinks, which is a valiant attempt at escaping the pink-tinted death you’re currently bearing half the brunt of. Maybe he hoped they’d forget or fill up and no longer brave the sugary terror, but his zero hour arrives and you shake your head sadly as you listen to the now fully identified Aradia order two fishbowl punches, and on purpose, which is a whole new level of shame.

The waiter asks her to repeat the order, to make absolutely sure of what she wants. You can’t imagine why.

He passes you shortly after with a tray laden with not one, but two bowls of fuschia piss, and you hear an enthusiastic thank you from Eridan and Feferi and flat ones from Sollux and Aradia, although in the latter case God only knows, that’s probably cheerful for her. You watch the waiter’s reflection turn back towards you in your own fishbowl of death, and as he hurries past you pause and wonder… Maybe if you just.

Your wife quietly enquires after what you’re doing as you reach and start slowly adjusting the bowl sideways.

Upgrading your radio to a television, you explain patiently.

You aren’t spying on anyone, are you? She told you to stop doing that.

It’s not spying if it’s in a public place, you told her that before.

And she told you that as soon as it involves a reflective surface, it’s spying.

You wore the eyepatch, you plead in a muted hiss.

Her fingers tap against the side of the glass and she inclines her hand, her other hand lifting to gently adjust her scarf. Alright, she agrees, and you continue moving the bowl until she adds an ominous but-

But what?

But she gets to take one of the pictures of you in that adorable outfit, blow it up nice and big, and make a painting out of it for her gallery.

Your eyes narrow. She drives a hard bargain.

You know what, maybe you can live without-

“What do you mean it’s stuck?”

On second thought, that sounds lovely, you hope it brings in lots of discerning patrons.

The bowl slides the rest of the way and you finally get a view past yourself, back to the table you’ve been entertaining yourself with on-and-off all night. It isn’t perfect, and you can only see the thick tresses of the two girls, but you have a fair angle on the faces of their dates as Eridan attempts to reach past Sollux’s swatting hands and grab the umbrella that is somehow jammed between his two front teeth.

“‘O! ‘Eth ‘ethethi oo ih-!” Those are probably words but between the teeth and the blockage you’ve stopped being able to pick out much more than what you’re guessing is Feferi, though you’re more amused by how the umbrella is wiggling every time Sollux’s mouth opens and closes. Sollux continues to force Eridan back, turning and leaning across the table. “‘Ethehti!”

“Oh gosh oh goodness-” Feferi is on her feet and leaning over the table, as though walking around it isn’t the option. She leans forward, over the bowl that caused this misery, planting a hand on Sollux’s cheek and bracing the other against the table that they’d been sitting at, one of two pushed together to make a four. Her fingers are spread just in front of the drink, the whole thing tipping forward under her weight. “Okay, I’ve got this! You just hold still and I’ll get this right out-”

“Wait-” Eridan starts but Feferi has got her hand off the table and on the umbrella, and you see her realise her mistake just as the umbrella pops free and takes her balance with it, feet sliding on the ground looking for a purchase they don’t find. She yelps and drops, Aradia moving to catch her but not before Feferi’s legs have flung up and kicked the table hard enough the whole unbalanced thing is flying forward and the bowl of pink murder juice is gracefully arcing up through the air.

Sollux had fallen back into Eridan’s arms and jerked back up just as fast but you know he’s regretting it as his eyes widen behind his glasses the smallest fraction before the wall of pink that’s spraying from the soaring bowl has splashed into him, splattering him and the floor behind him with the punch it also packs. You cover your mouth as Sollux opens his and lets out a pained sound, and Eridan swoops to grab some serviettes for his face but his foot hits the punch dripping onto the floor from the still shaking table and there’s an instant between him being there and him being gone, sneakers up in the air.

One knocks that table, and the punch starts to slide but Aradia catches it and lifts it above her head, sighing and handing it to a frantic Feferi as Sollux gropes blindly forward to try to find the serviettes now accompanying Eridan all over the ground. What he manages to find instead is the punch bowl, which he shoves his hand into just as it’s finished rattling around and then flings his fingers back out of in disgust, the bowl ricocheting away towards Feferi and ending up barely caught in her hand as she balances the first against her shoulder before- in an astounding show of idiocy- lifting her knee to try to steady the table she isn’t even standing in front of.

For a moment, she looks like she’ll pull it off.

She does not.

Aradia has just grabbed Sollux’s glasses and started wiping them as Feferi’s balance gives way for the second time, and you see the glass go sailing up before it comes hurtling down. Feferi barely manages to tuck and roll out of the way in time to avoid the glass or the fresh torrent of punch but her skillful youth roll takes her straight into the path of the waiter rushing to help, knocking him off his feet and sending him crashing down on her as his glasses bounce off in what promises to be a further level of hilarity.

“Fuck!” There he goes, scrambling for them, as Feferi squawks under him and Sollux finally regains vision in time to let out his assumed girlfriend’s name in indignation. The waiter gets shoved off, the dame rescued, and the glasses sit in pooling punch and await their retrieval with growing, sticky impatience.

Eridan’s hand has regained ground on the table, and Aradia is attempting to help him up but from the choked wheezes about fucking cape fucking stuck fucking hell you’re guessing he’s a little wrapped up with a fashion disaster that you’re sure is soaking up its lovely new pink ombre wonderfully as he wiggles around on the ground trying to escape his own poor taste.

Your missus moves and you think she’s going to call you off until you glance her way and see her leaning to see over your shoulder, eyes wide and lips pursed. Hah! Even she can’t fault quality entertainment like this, and you know this is the best date both of you have had in years, not including that one time in France with the accidental diamond heist. You grin at her and she rolls her eyes, but her cheeks are tinted darker as she looks back to the action and so do you.

Eridan is up, but the cape has become the second tragic casualty of the punch war after the waiter’s nose, going by the way the kid’s clutching at it and cursing up a storm with words you don’t even recognise. The cape collar, however, has remained as a delightful reminder of what was, turning Eridan into a smart casual dracula who is clinging to Aradia like she’s the only stable thing nearby- which honestly, yeah, you can believe it. She pats his back gently, before picking him up bodily and tossing him into a chair outside of the punch disaster zone, ignoring his confused wheeze as she hops over the table with perfect balance and sweeps the second pair of glasses she cleaned recently up off the ground to wipe them on her dirtied skirt before dropping them onto the chest of the bemused but thankful waiter.

Feferi is still a little unsteady and Sollux appears to be figuring out how to help while also not touching her in anyway lest he dirty her pink-splattered body with the punch that covers his own, but Aradia sweeps her up instead, up onto her arm as she thrusts the serviettes she collected during her sumersault at Sollux and then hooks her second arm under Feferi’s legs.

With that she walks over to the waiter, who has barely sat up and clearly isn’t expecting the looming figure of Aradia with all her curls cascading down her back and a fish-out-of-water hugging her tightly with legs dangling over her arms and punch dripping down the both of them.

He stares up at them both, full of the stupid kind of awe that only shows its face during spectacular shit like this, and then carefully unbuttons his apron and draws out a little notepad, with a little printed label stuck to it, which he offers up with a few dazed blinks.

“Cash or check?”

You’re going to die laughing if you start so you shut yourself up by shoving a straw in your mouth and slurping down glorious, wonderful, life-saving fishbowl punch with the sort of gusto that might get an umbrella stuck between a distracted idiot’s teeth.

Your wife joins you, your eyes meet, and she finally lets her face crack into the sort of gorgeous smile that reminds you why you married her.

You’ll have to come here again, she tells you. She’s a big fan of the drinks.

Yeah, you agree. Yeah.

Turns out, so are you.

#slickpaint #eriara #solfef #erisolfefara #homestuck #i wrote a thing #i don't know the tags so can someone tell me if they know them #drink cw //

39 notes · View notes

ellcocoboo-blog · 8 years ago

Text

Serendipity Pt.2 || Dylan O’Brien Imagine

Serendipity Pt.1

“Hi,” I forced a smile and I was praying that he wouldn’t start the conversation because I would most probably lose my shit and start crying from embarrassment. He replied the same way as I did, only he added a very attractive smirk. I couldn’t help but smile, this time more genuinely. Just let me correct myself – he was not nice looking. Oh no, not at all. He was gorgeous. His dark hair covered with a hat, eyes that you could easily drown yourself in looking at me with a spark of curiosity and amusement, those small moles all over his face and neck and lean body. Did I mention his cheekbones? Well, I could keep going but you probably see my point already. Just as I was trying to calm my heart (which was experiencing some heavy shit this day and I was surprised to be still alive), he pulled up his hand, took his hat off with the other and ran through his messy hair before he put the hat back on. That was it. I was done. His hands were pure sex. You see, I am that person who is very attracted to big, muscular hands that could hold you and squeeze you hard and when I see those on a person I am immediately attracted to them and wonder what those hands could do to my body. I looked away to hide my blushing cheeks, but he didn’t notice my nervousness. Or at least I hoped so. As the plane set off I was still thinking about him. There was something about him that I couldn’t exactly put my finger on. I felt like I knew him from somewhere or that I’ve seen him before but I couldn’t figure out where or when.

Originally posted by looking-over-my-shoulder

Originally posted by thefirst-petrova

“I’m Dylan,” he smirked at me once again and offered me that damn hand of his.

“Emma,” I shook it and I could feel the shivers traveling across my whole body.

“So, Emma, still feel like you’re gonna puke?” he chuckled with amusement referring to my little break-down in the airport hall just a couple of minutes ago. Yep, he heard that. He heard all of that.

“Ha, really funny. If you must know I was spitting my lungs out. You see, a marathon is not an activity I enjoy at a daily basis,” I tried to sound offended but I didn’t do a good job. I just couldn’t hide the smile in my voice.

“Oh really? So what activity do you enjoy on a daily basis then?” his grin was just as unbelievable as the things that came out of his mouth. Which was also ridiculously attractive and made me wonder what that mouth do.

“Oh boy, you have no idea,” I replied with a seductive undertone in my voice and a witty smile. The way our conversation was heading made me shiver. It would have kept going that way if I wasn’t, well, me and noticed something that caught my attention. “Is that you own pillow that you have there?” I giggled with a raised eyebrow.

“Yeah I bring it everywhere with me. I can’t sleep without it,” he looked down at it (was he embarrassed a little bit or was I just imagining things?) let out a short laugh and then glanced back at me with a serious look, “Don’t you dare talk trash about my pillow. You don’t know the pillow, you don’t judge the pillow.” I raised my hands as a gesture of defeat and laughed.

“So what’s in LA?” he asked and looked at me with those honey-brown eyes of his. God damn. I had to clear my throat before I could reply.

“My boss’s mother’s house,” I smiled at how senseless that sounded and he raised his eyebrows in confusion. “You see I work for the nice lady that was kind enough to “take me somewhere” when I felt like puking,” I mimicked quotation marks with my fingers in the air and continued while he let of a short cute laugh, “I’m her au pair – I take care of her daughters and I will hopefully do so for the next 12 months. But me…ehm I mean her and her husband - who is a total creep if you ask me, had some…quarrel and basically she decided to move with the girls to her mother’s house and asked me to come along…and that’s what’s in LA.” I finished and had to catch my breath. He was staring at me the whole time while I was explaining with half entertained and half…stunned look?

“Wow, so what did that creepy husband of hers do?” he asked with his eyes still fixed on my face. Just as I was taking a deep breath to start fiercely describing the freakiness of Mr. Johnson’s behaviour Leslie cut me off. She was squatting next to my seat.

“Hey, listen I texted my mother and…” “You know that all electronic devices are supposed to be turned off during the flight right ma’am?” I mocked her but ignored me and continued, “…she said that she’ll set up a room just for you in her house so you don’t need to worry about anything and she is really grateful and she can’t wait to see you!” she announced in an excited whisper like a four-year old who just found out they were going to Disney Land.

“Well thank you for letting me know,” I said and she frowned.

“My mother would also like to know why you didn’t tell Leslie about Chris and that you had s– “Okay I think I hear Sophia coughing and you know her asthma is really serious so you should probably go check on her,” I glared at her.

“Oh, I see what you’re doing Emma and I don’t like it,” she squinted. There was something about disapproving Leslie who was mad at you that made her incredibly adorable. “Using a child to avoid a conversation like that is not very nice. Or mature for that matter.” She mumbled as she was getting up and walking back to her seat. “Bye!” I laughed as she waved behind her shoulder, not even looking at me.

I glanced back at Dylan and realized he was watching this whole scene with a smirk on his lips. “What?” I asked playing innocent. He just chuckled “Nothing. Where were we? Oh yeah, the creepy husband.” After I told him the whole and absolute truthful version of the story, he just stared at me – shocked. Especially at the part where Mr. Johnson most probably masturbated while watching me naked in the shower. “That is really messed up,” he said. “I know. I just can’t believe that I slept under the same roof as he did.” I looked ahead. I didn’t even realize the significance of that. I mean, this man watched me at my most vulnerable state and basically took advantage of me. I didn’t even lock my room in their house. Yes, he was a creep but I always thought he was harmless. Well until he tried to have sex with me on the pink couch in Mayas room with her Barbie dolls around anyway. That was the last drop and I had to tell Leslie. But what if he raped me? He could slip something in my tea anytime he wanted and just wait for me to pass out while everyone else was asleep. I shook my head to get that dreadful thought out of my head.

“Anyway, it’s your turn to spill. What’s in LA for you?” I forced a smile but the thought of Mr. Johnson was still haunting me at the back of my mind. I didn’t want to talk about it and I didn’t want him to feel sorry for me. But judging by his face expression, it was too late for that. Changing the subject helped.

“Work…and home. I live there.”

“And what is it that you do Dylan?” I teased. He chuckled and gave me one of those damn smirks.

“I’m an actor.” Click. Now I knew why he looked so familiar. I cannot believe that I didn’t figure it out sooner, because damn it, it was Dylan O’Brien. The guy who played that dorky boy from one of MTV’s shows. This was beyond awkward. He must have noticed the emotions changing on my face because he started laughing – the kind of a cute laugh with an open mouth, putting his head down to his lap and looking back up at me.

“I can’t even express how embarrassed I am right now,” I covered my face with my hands. I was seriously mortified. How could I not notice? He just kept laughing at me. “Stop laughing at me!” I punched him in the chest – gently of course and he pretended that he was hurt while still choking from the laughter. “Sorry, but you should have seen your face right then. That was seriously the funniest look I have seen on someone in a while.” I pretended to be upset and frowned at him in frustration but his laugh was contagious and I couldn’t help it and giggle along.

After that, I couldn’t stop myself from asking him all kinds of questions. You know, those simple and most predictable ones you’d ask any celebrity – like if he gets everything for free just because he’s a bad ass actor and so on. We talked for what felt like forever, he was the most down-to-earth person that I have ever met – well considering he’s a world-wide known and beloved actor (I still cannot believe how I on earth I didn’t notice – must have been the marijuana that may have or may have not been circulating in my bloodstream). His smirks and those eyes and yes, those bloody hands were freaking killing me and I didn’t want the flight to end. When the “buckle up” sign went on and the flight attendant announced we were approaching LAX I felt a lump in my throat. I was absolutely devastated. It surprised me, but I was also utterly disappointed. I was disappointed because he was an actor and he was famous and he could have any girl that he wanted so there’s no way in hell he would want someone so ordinary like me. And that was the moment I wished Dylan O’Brien was just Dylan. Just the gorgeous, witty, down-to-earth smart guy with a Met’s hat and whiskey eyes on a plane that is so easy to talk to.

Serendipity Pt.3

Let me know how you like the series so far or ask anything you would like to know here! 🌸🌷

- Ell

20 notes · View notes

hogwartselementumrp · 8 years ago

Photo

Mel who plays Rhea and not Rea who plays Mel, I have to say that this is an application I have waited for patiently for...years actually and was very excited about, which was why it’s so hard to accept actually. When Lily said that I know Jared best and so I should make the decision, I angsted for a long time (so long in fact that she had to take back the reigns and make the call) over whether my motivations could ever be pure and I could be analytical in reviewing your application, but both admins believe that you have a solid grip on Jared, the driving forces of his character and personality, you identify with him and you’ve already started investing in him, and you will build him into something great. We’d like to give you the opportunity to develop him and can’t wait to see Jared McCall on our dashes.

OOC Information

NAME/ALIAS: Mel

PREFERRED PRONOUN: she/her

AGE: 19

TIMEZONE: GMT -5 (?? I think…)

ACTIVITY LEVEL: Been kind of slow lately, but this week is reading week for me so I’ll have some extra time to come on! I’ll also be trying to make a schedule for myself for the following months so I’m not as hectic. I should still be able to come on pretty often, though.

Character Information

NAME OF THE CHARACTER: Jared McCall

DESCRIBE THE CHARACTER IN YOUR OWN WORDS: Jared is, much like myself, an absolute introvert. I can imagine him telling a friend that he would go to some party or gathering the other is having because it seems like a good idea in the moment, but then comes to realize how many people’ll be there, and would rather think himself out of it or go but only for a little while before he feels his energies drained. He’s the kind of guy to have a small handful of friends, but doesn’t wish more than what he’s got, not only because he can give them more attention that way, but because he feels less confined with them. However, he is a quite capable professor due to the fact that this is a subject he knows well and adores, which in turn makes him feel comfortable in his classes and during his office hours.

I also think that at first glance, one may not think him a Slytherin, but he is. He prefers tight groups of friends as he’s capable of giving them more attention and protecting them if need be, while also doing the same for his family, whom respects greatly and cares for deeply and would drop everything for. He’s resourceful and is able to retain a lot of information, and although he forgets it when he no longer needs it or doesn’t find it interesting enough to keep, it does serve him well in moments when he requires it.

ANY CHANGES YOU WISH TO MAKE?: I’d like to change his FC to Paul Wesley if possible? He has more resources and his gifs are (mostly) things that Jared would do.

DESIRED SHIPS, IF ANY: Jared/Chemistry

RELATIONSHIPS:

He’s become strangely friendly with another faculty member of the university, mainly because their classes are somewhat linked to one another and there could be a running joke that the students tend to interchange the two even though they both approach the subject in two very different ways.

One of his students spends a lot of time coming to his office hours to ask questions. They seem to be having a bit of difficulty in the class they’re taking with him, but he’s open to helping them surmount their hardship and gives them tips about the class, but mainly about study and note taking methods that’ll help them better.

Old friend from school who had the time and patience to get through to Jared and become one of his closest friends during their time at school. They wouldn’t have spoken since Jared left abroad for the Auror program, but could reunite now that he’s come back.

Acquaintances or contacts he’s made at the Auror office from the last time he consulted on a case.

FAMILY RELATIONSHIPS:

PARENTS: Jared is closer to his parents than his sister, but that’s not to say that he tells them everything about his life. He’s always had the desire to be the perfect son and to make his parents as proud as he can, so there are certain things that he thinks will disappoint them that he keeps to himself. However, he’s the sort of son that’ll be in the kitchen, helping his mother prepare dinner for Christmas, or that’ll make the trip to his parents’ house to help them set up a new television set, or that’ll give up his dreams so that his mother wouldn’t have to worry about her two ‘law enforcement’ children.

ASTRID: She is his twin and the person he’s closest, no matter how different they may be. He has literally dropped everything; his life, his job, his friends, in order to help her in her time of need, and would do it again even though she has hurt him by sending him away the way she did even if he understands that she did do it for him, in the end.

PARA SAMPLE

[using the same I used for Rhea since I have to head off to work]

Night was falling, and a cold and calming silence was falling upon the forest. At least, for the moment. The water felt nice smooth under Tessa’s fingers as she brushed them on the surface, creating ripples in the water around her body as she kept herself afloat. Her face reflected back to her in the water, but Tessa did not dare to look. She did not want to see the sad girl she’d become; The girl who could not find a place in this world, but still, her gaze was drawn to the water around her as if she had no will of her own.

She took in her sharp jaw, and full lips. And could not help but wander to thoughts of her sister. What did she look like now? She asked herself, one of many questions that had risen before this night. She remembered her sister’s face before she Tessa had to part ways with her, and could note the resemblances between whom she remembered and who she saw in the water, making looking at her reflection that much harder to bare. Her own face hurt her, and so she closed her eyes.

She started slowly, the sound of her voice barely a whisper over the cold air. Her voice raised slightly as she went, until it was an enticing lull of a haunting melody. Against her closed eyelids, she could see the people she mourned for; the people she sang for. Her sister, Gavin, her parents. Even Ruth. She could see memories of her and her sister, as if she were right back there. When both were youthful and happy. When it was difficult to see Tessa without a smile. Memories of her and Gavin danced in her mind. The stories she had told him still ringing in her ears, and soft on her lips as if she had spoken them only seconds ago. Ruth, with her strangeness, coming along to the Rite of Passage with her and Gavin. Memories of stories her parents used to tell. Stories she often forced them to speak. She missed it all. She needed it all. She wanted to change back time, and be the girl she used to be. But she knew how changing time wouldn’t have worked to her benefit, only reigniting the horror of that night as she would have redone the same thing as before, because the girl she used to be would still have gone after that doll for the little girl who’d lost it. And she knew that if she did it again, it would hurt tenfold.

Her voice traveled on the soft breeze billowing around. Her tragic song capturing the mourning for the things she’d lost, as well as the mourning for the things she could have been. The things she could have given to the ones she cared for. She’d caused them pain, that she was sure of. Her sister especially. And she felt guilty for such an act, of hurting her sister as she had.

#accepted

1 note · View note

anniversary-magazine · 7 years ago

Text

A Brainy Condition of Compulsive Accumulation ⏤ In Interview with Curator Joel Chen

Matthew Donaldson, who directed a short film on Joel Chen for Nowness, anointed him as ‘The go-to guy for celebrities, set designers, interior decorators and ladies who lunch for antiques.’ A doyen of objects d’art, Mr Chen is sought-out for his expertise and inimitable collections of old world antiques, modernist furniture and contemporary décor, as well as his shows featuring emerging artists. Whether it’s an ancient scholar’s stone from the East, a Charlotte Perriand bench or a stool by Max Lamb, their aesthetics’ harmoniously blend under his alchemical touch.

From a small lot where he first set up shop on Melrose Avenue more than thirty-five years ago, to the three, extensive warehouses JF Chen now operates from, Mr Chen has maintained a strong sense of adventure and an irreverence and enthusiasm in his voracious love of beauty. The adventure began in the Shanghai and Hong Kong of his youth and continued in Britain where he attended high school. But it was in Los Angeles when he was forbidden to enter an antiques shop that the owner declared as ‘trade only’, that he decided to set up his own in silent rebuke. As a novice, he learned his trade through his compulsive curiosity; imbibing wisdom from the established purveyors of his neighbourhood and through his mistakes ‘buying junk’.

As I speak to Mr. Chen, he is at Christie’s auction house in New York on Monday February 12th, the day before pieces of his famed collection are about to be sold to seekers of the treasures of his insatiable eye. The online auction has already begun, and Mr. Chen is here to attend a party at the Rockefeller Centre, in honour of the hammer falling for his pieces. Our conversation is interrupted with salutations from Christie’s staff members, and Mr Chen graciously fields us both.

Much of your childhood was spent in colonial Hong Kong, what are your strongest memories of this time?

My childhood began in Shanghai, where there were major revolutions going on at the time during the switch to Communism. I was born right in the midst of it. My Dad escaped from Shanghai on smuggled boats off to Macau. For close to two years, my sister, my mother and I had to pretend and forge documents that he was sick and dying, so that we could visit Hong Kong to meet him, but we had to promise to come back. This was in 1954. We had the longest train ride from Shanghai, travelling through many cities, and of course we never returned. These memories were haunting and the most memorable that I can think of in my early years.

You were educated in Great Britain and Los Angeles, what did you study and did it help you with your vocation in any way?

In England I finished high school, and then I came to Los Angeles as my father had a friend there. I went to college and my major was social anthropology which was concentrated on American Indians. I studied the Navajo and one of our guest lecturers was Margaret Mead who was a major anthropologist at that time and who I will never forget. Four years of college and I’m afraid I never put that to good use. Nothing to do with my business at all.

Do you think your time spent in these different countries informed your work?

Yes, the idea of travelling and getting used to it helped. How I learned was from reading books, travelling of course, and from my fellow dealers. Even though they were ahead of me, they were nice enough to teach me, and so I snooped a lot, going to other people’s antique stores trying to learn.

Nowadays, would people be as generous with the knowledge?

Now, you’re less reliant on other people’s knowledge because of the internet, but in those days, you learned the hard way, by word of mouth. But you learn from experience, a lot of mistakes were made of course, buying the wrong things, buying fakes, such as Louis XV chairs that were not of that period. There were a lot of lessons learned over the almost forty years, and I’m still not immune to mistakes. They still happen. It’s part of the process. Going to auctions certainly helped also.

Antiques are embedded with story from the person whose made it, from all the different hands the piece goes through. I was interested to know the story that lead you to starting your trade.

I started by opening a shop knowing nothing. I went to my father after I went to an antique store as I was enamoured with all the Chinese antiques I saw there. I borrowed $6000 from the bank, and I went to Hong Kong and I shipped over a carton of pure Chinese junk. Knowing nothing, I managed to sell them. I was marginally ashamed that I bought these things so I started going to auction houses to learn. It was a struggle in the beginning – I ran negative for the longest time – but I managed.

How has your buying changed over the years?

With the advent of the internet, there’s a lot less travelling. And because now I’m established, people come to me more, and I go to them to ask for purchases. People email me and text me for items to sell and I’m always trying not to buy them but I’m still buying, and the items are up to tens of thousands already. I have advanced in age, and I should stop but, no.

You say you acquire pieces with ‘randomness and enthusiasm’ but always with a few criteria in mind, one of those is that the ‘provenance of the piece is desirable’. Tell me about this.

They don’t necessarily come easy. But the provenance is probably the least pre-requisite that I encounter. I like to know where each piece comes from for prosperity. A lot of them come with the name, the maker’s name or the company’s name – that’s very helpful. These days you can google everything, so it’s much easier than before.

Tell me about your shift into buying contemporary artist’s work?

About fifteen years ago we started doing shows, and I love emerging young artists, principally local artists that have the same beautiful features in their art, but are not known. I find that most of them are just as beautiful as the established and the known. I love to do shows for them and every time I do a show, it’s not that there’s a profit factor, I never look at that, you just do it. And a lot of artist now have gone on, and they’re not emerging anymore and they’re not unknown anymore. A lot of known artists have come up, maybe partly thanks to me, but I’m happy to do all that.

What has been one of your most memorable shows?

We did a show with Nymphenburg, a ceramics company which has been for hundreds of years in Germany, in Munich. They operate from the Nymphenburg palace, which has beautiful grounds, and where we went for training. We did a big, 20.000 square foot show. I asked my guys to go out and find dead trees, dead twigs and leaves and put it together to reconstruct a black forest. We went to borrow hawks and birds and vultures and they flew around in my show. At that time, they were just starting the jewellery line, we were the first to show it. It’s a little dark with dogs, skulls and wings, and it was a little gothic. That was a big show for us.

Your collecting is sourced from all around the globe, but there’s a universality that you sometimes find. I’m thinking of the collection of baby Jesus dolls that you have in your home, which were found in Peru, Italy, Columbia. These were found in different countries, and yet all have an uncanny resemblance. Having looked at so many beautiful objects made by human hand from all over the world, what have you learned about our species?

That part of it is very religious. Of course, Catholicism conquered the world at one time. I learned that, religion rules. We have Buddhism that for a time was very strong in the South East even tried to melt cultures there together. No matter how constructive or destructive religion has become, all through the centuries, back to the Roman and Greek times, we have all been influenced by religion and even today we are still very much embroiled in it.

You call your ‘compulsive accumulation’ a ‘brainy condition’ in that you know the value of the object, which as you’ve said takes a lot of learning. What is your advice to young collectors these days?

Don’t be bashful, stick to your guns, and learn as you go. There are going to be mistakes after mistakes but don’t be discouraged by it. Attend auction houses, read books and google everything. Put it down in your brain and then start searching. We have really good tools now for searching, so make use of that. Establish a price and if you want to buy something, google it as I do. I’m going in too many ways, but I do it.

And I think what makes you so successful is that you don’t think too much about the economics, you think more about the aesthetics.

Well that’s what my wife says to me, exactly that. She’s involved in my company and looks at the money side and there’s a lot of things that doesn’t make sense. But I have a passion, and an enthusiasm and that’s what makes the company go. I go for it most of the time and luckily, we do survive. And I have no regrets.

#Curator #Joel Chen #Art #Design #Featured

0 notes

thesinglesjukebox · 7 years ago

Video

youtube

TAYLOR SWIFT - ...READY FOR IT? [5.79] After the last one, sure!

Katherine St Asaph: The old Taylor's not quite dead -- that pre-chorus is pure Nashville melody, from melody to bowdlerization ("you should see the things we do" is about as explicit as someone marveling over a particularly large pumpkin harvest.) Like her former/current/who knows anymore rival, "Ready For It" pumps up Swift's numbers by sounding like interstitial music for Big Sports -- premiered for the NFL, currently being stripped for instrumental parts by NBA promos -- but also like blood sports. The track's a bombed-out, post-apocalyptic version of 1989, the Yeezus to "LWYMTD"'s 808s. Or possibly approaching NIN: the pretty date machine of "Blank Space" gone rogue, locking onto someone arbitrary (the gossip algorithms still cross-referencing it against increasingly nonentity dudes) because "I see nothing better." It's romance only in the literal sense -- the jailer/thief scenario is even pulpier than "Bad Romance" managed -- and otherwise love reduced to plan and execution. The verses are alternatively tryhard, artificial and vaguely offensive, as if it isn't Taylor on the mic but Microsoft Tay. But the all-consuming, heat-seeking mania of a certain inadvisable sort of crush is palpable as adrenaline, and stokes the all-consuming, heat-seeking maximalism of Max Martin and team throwing every resource and songwriting trick into ensuring this is a hit. Petty points for Swift saying the word "island" this many times in a track with no trop-house whatsoever, and given that she's enough of an in-joker to come up with "Nils Sjoberg," I bet it's on purpose. [9]

Ramzi Awn: The most commendable thing about "...Ready For It?" is that it completely erases any memory of the single that preceded it. A confusing, feverish dash for relevance, the song makes Katy Perry's "Swish Swish" sound even more fun, an accomplishment not to be taken lightly. [3]

Alex Clifton: The rapping is an atrocity. The production is a slicker version of Sleigh Bells with half the heart. Taylor's enunciation is bizarre: "no one has to know" is such an awkward line delivery, second only to the nasally "he can be my jailor" and "let the games begin." Her vocals are a piss-poor imitation of Rihanna; at first listen, it's hard to find a shred of the Taylor I've known and loved. It's a travesty. And yet. It's 100% a Taylor production, overdramatic, narcissistic, full of easter egg references to old songs like "Haunted" and "Wildest Dreams". It's obsessive dark love writ large: "I keep him forever / like a vendetta" marries romance and vengeance perfectly. And the sheer force of that chorus makes me want to scream "IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIIIIIGHT" in public. I love the idea of sexy, dirty Taylor, less concerned with perfection and more with ghosts and robbers and gritty feeling, but the haphazard execution of the verses is so frustrating. Par for the course with all Max Martin creations, though, that chorus is a melodic masterpiece. I've got this on repeat and I'm upset about it. [6]

Eleanor Graham: Who would have guessed that the legacy of Taylor Swift's fifth album "reputation" would be to have production so DIABOLICAL that it makes "Welcome To New York" sound like "Heroes"? No one on pop's A, B or C list should come within 100 feet of something that sounds like this. I've seen comparisons to Yeezus, which is fair because they are comparable in terms of sheer nerve, but on tracks like "New Slaves" or "I'm In It", Kanye's sleaze is a feasible sparring partner for electro-roar. Taylor's Pennsylvania-goth-Bratz-doll-masochism-adjacent-revenge-core is not. You'd think that would be obvious! To, you know, anyone! I don't even know what's happening anymore. The 2 points are mainly for the way she says "go", which does something to me; no, I don't want to talk about it. [2]

Stephen Eisermann: Taylor's thrown caution to the wind and no longer gives any fucks. The provocative chorus and the weird, rapid-fire, off-putting rap/sing hybrid verses are the most prominent examples of her willingness to toss out all consistencies previously found in her music. None of this feels like Taylor and that's fun, but I'm not sure everything works. The verses especially, though lyrically fun, are delivered so oddly that the parts that should be "cool," instead make me cringe - the "Burton" line, specifically. I mean, I'm not sure what I was expecting based on the first single, but it certainly wasn't this, for better or worse. [6]

Ryo Miyauchi: Taylor writes her tried-and-true narrative of love as tragedy into self-parody. The bare-bones beat and the anti-chorus structure of "...Ready For It?" laughs at the many hits of 1989. Her self-satisfaction is maddening, truly: the snicker to "the Burton to my Taylor" is designed to drive everyone nuts. But I should remind: the real target is not exactly you but, as always, her exes, who she destroys without lifting her voice: "every love I've known in comparison is a failure" doesn't so much rip apart the journal pages where they're enshrined than it sets her entire bookshelf into flames like some great purge. [6]

Claire Biddles: Speculating who the 'real' Taylor Swift is is reductive and boring, but my favourite Taylor Swift is the wide-eyed, extra, romantic, saying-too-much-too-soon Taylor Swift that we get a glimpse of in the bridge, swallowed up before she even gets started by that sub-Kanye womp-womp in place of a chorus. There's a mutated version of her in the verses ("We'll move to an island/and he can be my jailer" -- I'm imagining she's just met the guy for full effect) but the self-conscious, sub-Lana Del Rey delivery dampens it. Perhaps I'm just being selfish, wanting for the Taylor who most relates to (and thus excuses) my embarrassing romantic tendencies, but Cool Girl Taylor's attempts at aloofness are unconvincing. [5]

Alfred Soto: A bad single, an uninteresting bad single. Mouthing "are you ready for it?" over synth bass farts comes off like preparing listeners for the punch line: Taylor Swift rapping with as little regard for cadence as Lou Reed in 1986. At least "The Original Wrapper" had the performer's rage as its subject, affected or not; Swift is writing bad bumper music. [3]

Will Adams: It's standard practice now for Taylor Swift to drop an incendiary lead single that gets the discourse a-churnin', only to reel in the masses for the more palatable, less batshit follow-up (and she's not the only one to do this). But for "I Knew You Were Trouble" and "Blank Space," there was still a distortion of who we thought Taylor Swift was (dubstep; dissection of public image). The distortion in "...Ready For It?" is... distortion. But it's hard to care about whether Swift is stoking more controversy when the song is so bracing. There's nowhere to run as blocks of drums stack atop the opening pounds and warped roars, all culminating in, finally, an actual chorus. Where "Look What You Made Me Do" was a firebomb kindled by thinkpieces, the fire in "...Ready For It?" comes from the song itself. [8]

Iain Mew: Like "Wildest Dreams" with the wild dreams added in. [8]

Joshua Copperman: A couple of years ago, I actually co-wrote a song where we used that phantom/ransom rhyme. Until that song actually comes out, here's Taylor being the ransom phantom instead of someone else haunting her. I wish that the opening line was "Loki was a killer/first time that I saw him," because that would be hilarious for her to bypass the "tilted stage" subtweets altogether and talk about how Hiddleston's now pining over her. These lyrics are also as good as anything she's even written, so a "Loki" joke would work better than whatever she was on about last time. What bugs me, though, is the empty space in the chorus. Taylor's best melodies are stream-of-consciousness, but "in the middle of the night/in my dreams.................... you should see the things we do" feels like something got cut out last-minute. I do love the idea though, the way it flips the narrative of Wildest Dreams in a really interesting way - now, she's seeing him in her wildest dreams. That's the kind of self-referencing and subversion I'd rather see Taylor do. [6]

Edward Okulicz: So many of the ingredients of Good Taylor Pop Songs are in this one -- dreamy and melodic chorus, don't care attitude, groan-inducing but quotable lyrics -- but the production feels really dated (to around the time of Red, in fact), stalling the track when it tries to accelerate. [6]

Sonia Yang: On one hand, this is generic pop I would have brushed off had it been any other artist. On the other, it's refreshing to see Swift step out of the zone of what I've come to expect from her in particular. I love the ominous synths and how the entire track has a spy thriller vibe. The best part is that breathy prechorus, you can really feel the "island breeze" as Swift delivers that line. The chorus, unfortunately, is a wisp of a thing that doesn't have any impact. The melody neither compels nor is purposefully anticlimactic. The lyrics, while not quite Love Story levels of awkward, are not great; the Taylor-Burton reference is campy at best and cringe at worst. [5]

Jonathan Bradley: Taylor Swift has rolled out singles from Reputation like trailers for the next release from a blockbuster film franchise: not only songs, "Look What You Made Me Do" and now "...Ready For It" (next: "Gorgeous"?) have acted as teasers for a new product launch. Unveiled during a college football broadcast, "...Ready For It" sounds like sports, like a pre-game huddle, like a highlights reel from last season building excitement to see how the new line-up will perform. "Welcome to New York" did the same for 1989 and was fine, but "...Ready For It" is better because it crams more into its pop overload: a rap that traces the "Empire State of Mind" flow, K-pop synth blasts, a gleefully audacious pun on Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton, and a chorus about "dreams" and doing things in the night that throws it all in for the romanticism Swift has always been so resolved to earnestly commit herself. If Reputation should turn out to be her New Jersey album, and if all the stage-setting should ultimately overshadow the show itself, I hope we'll one day rediscover how good the songs themselves were. [8]

#Taylor Swift #...Ready for It?

0 notes