#I should fully write out all my feelings on amy at some later date when my brain is working because this was the first time I had ever seen | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bevioletskies · 4 years ago

Text

spare me a little (of your love)

summary: Klavier always liked to express his love with flowers, so sending a beautiful bouquet to his boyfriend every now and then seemed like the obvious thing to do. However, there’s just one little problem - Apollo is very, very allergic to pollen.

word count: 5.3k | read on ao3

a/n: For @klapollo-week, day two of seven (prompt: "flowers"). All seven of my fics take place in the same continuity! However, each can be read as a stand-alone, with the exception of day seven being a sequel to day five.

This fic takes place at some distant point in time after Spirit of Justice where Apollo and Trucy have learned that they’re siblings, but doesn’t reference any specific plotlines otherwise. My source for flower meanings can be found here. Fic title is from the song Spare Me a Little of Your Love by Fleetwood Mac.

“The language of...flowers?”

“Oui, oui, mon ami!” Athena chirped, nodding eagerly. “That’s just one of the many languages I speak, y’know.”

Apollo eyed her skeptically over the top of his laptop screen. “...right. Elaborate, please.”

“Well, you know how people usually give roses to express their love?” Athena said, leaning across the gap between their desks. She didn’t even blink when she accidentally knocked over Apollo’s calendar and pen holder in one fell swoop. Apollo, on the other hand, shot her an affronted glance that she deftly ignored. “Well, each flower actually has its own specific meaning. It even varies from color to color! Par exemple, white roses symbolize innocence, while yellow roses symbolize friendship.”

“That seems unnecessarily complicated,” Apollo remarked. “Don’t most flowers come with a card? Why can’t people just write their messages instead?”

They turned at the sound of a disappointed groan coming from the middle of the room. “You’re so unromantic, Polly,” Trucy complained, peeking at them from over the back of the couch. “I almost feel bad for Mr. Gavin!”

“Hey,” Apollo protested. “I can be - I-I’m romantic!”

“If you say so,” Athena giggled, poking him in the shoulder. Huffing, Apollo prodded her back. Athena reached for a rubber band, fully intending to escalate things. She lowered her projectile dejectedly when Apollo raised his hands in surrender; he had no interest in losing an eye today.

“Sunflowers and tulips are supposed to symbolize happiness, right?” Phoenix asked. “Those are pretty much the only flowers I really know, so.”

There was a long, uncomfortably drawn-out silence. “...Daddy, your ex-girlfriend’s name was Dahlia. Her real name was - is - Iris.”

“Oh...right,” Phoenix chuckled, only mildly embarrassed. “Speaking of, do you know what dahlias and irises mean, Athena?”

Athena’s eyes were practically sparkling now. “Oui! Dahlias symbolize elegance and dignity.” Phoenix made a face. “...but, they also symbolize dishonesty and betrayal.”

“That’s more like it,” Phoenix muttered under his breath. “And irises?”

“Faith, wisdom, that kinda thing,” Athena shrugged. She then paused. “Y’know, if you want some ideas on the kinds of flowers Mr. Edgeworth would like, I can make some - ”

“Nope, nope, I-I’m good,” Phoenix interrupted swiftly, his face reddening. He had a vase of daffodils sitting on his desk, which Edgeworth had sent to the office a few days ago. None of them believed Phoenix when he claimed they were purely intended for decoration. “So why the sudden interest in flowers, Apollo? Is this, er...is this about Gavin?”

“If you’re not talking about your prosecutor, sir, I’m not talking about mine,” Apollo said firmly, turning back to his laptop.

“Sure, except I think your prosecutor’s fair game when he picks you up from work most days,” Phoenix teased. His tone was eerily similar to Trucy’s. If Phoenix wasn’t both his boss and his sort-of stepfather, Apollo would’ve picked up a rubber band himself.

A few hours later, Apollo was locking up the office for the evening when he heard the roar of a familiar-sounding motorcycle coming up the street. He turned, biting back a smile as Klavier pulled up beside the sidewalk and turned off his engine. “Your bike really is as obnoxious as you are.”

Klavier removed his helmet, pouting. “Achtung, is that any way to greet your boyfriend?”

“It is for me,” Apollo replied, kissing him briefly. “Hi.”

“Hallo,” Klavier murmured against Apollo’s lips, grinning as he pulled away. “Dinner?”

“Yes, please,” Apollo said, reaching for Klavier’s spare helmet. “I’m feeling...pizza and all the cheesy garlic breadsticks. Or maybe we can just get cheesy garlic breadsticks.”

“As nice as that sounds, you need more vegetables than the little bits you get in your cup noodles, baby,” Klavier said, patting Apollo’s hip affectionately. “Pizza, breadsticks, and a side salad, ja?”

“Fine, fine,” Apollo grumbled, settling in behind Klavier. “Turn me into a rabbit, why don’t you? Buy me a bag of carrot sticks the next time we go to the grocery store. Stuff my mattress with straw and newspaper - ”

“And people think I’m the dramatic one,” Klavier lamented, shaking his head in amusement.

It wasn’t long before the two of them were sitting on the floor of Klavier’s living room, pleasantly stuffed with pizza and breadsticks and a mediocre amount of Greek salad (“I’m not a fan of olives, you know.” “Not surprising, since the color doesn’t work with your complexion.” “Klavier, I swear to - ”). A random made-for-TV movie was playing in the background on mute, though neither of them were particularly interested in watching it.

“How was work?” Apollo asked, taking a much-needed gulp of cold water. He wasn’t sure if he was ever going to get the taste of garlic out of his mouth.

“Boring, unfortunately,” Klavier said with a grimace. “Herr Edgeworth didn’t have anything but paperwork to offer me. No trials, no investigations, nichts. You?”

“Same,” Apollo replied. “Mr. Wright’s mostly working with Athena this month, so they’re taking the big clients while I get stuck with the smaller cases. Not that I’m complaining, I mean - it’s a nice change from Khura’in. I don’t want every trial to feel like I’m going under, you know?”

“Nein, that would be terrible,” Klavier agreed. “Exciting, sure, but the stress wouldn’t be worth it. I already found a gray hair the other day, ach.”

Apollo snorted. “Just one? You should see mine - I’m gonna be completely gray by thirty-five at this rate.” He shuffled closer so he could snuggle up against Klavier’s side, letting his head drop to Klavier’s shoulder. “So...turns out, Athena knows all about the flower language thing. Figured she might.”

“Flower...language...thing?” Klavier echoed, confused. He then brightened. “Ah! From our video call with my mama the other day, ja? I didn’t know you were actually interested.”

“I wasn’t, not at first,” Apollo admitted, squeezing Klavier’s arm. “But...I want your parents to like me, and since she said she was taking an interest, I thought, y’know, why not look into it? And it sounds kinda...contrived, not gonna lie. But I guess it’s kinda sweet, too. Like a secret language between just two people.”

Klavier’s face softened. “Ja, exactly. My parents used to write love letters to each other when they were in school, so I think this is Mama’s way of starting a new tradition - buying Papa flowers so he can plant them in his garden. You should see our family estate in the summer, it’s absolutely stunning.”

“Sounds like it,” Apollo said, smiling. “Your parents’ lives sound so...peaceful. Baking, gardening, travelling...I know it’s a little early to start thinking about retirement, but still, they’re living the dream.”

“They’re not retired yet,” Klavier chuckled. “And stop making me feel like I’m dating an old man, bitte. You complaining about your back makes me feel like I have to start complaining about my back.”

Apollo hummed, tracing random patterns along Klavier’s forearm with his finger. He was pleasantly sleepy from a number of things - his long, if uneventful day of work, the amount of cheese and carbs he’d just consumed, and the warmth of Klavier’s skin against his. “Sorry we can’t all afford chiropractors and massage therapists, sheesh,” he teased, unable to hold back a yawn.

“Maybe we can get a massage together someday,” Klavier suggested, stretching luxuriously. “Ah, before I forget - since we were talking about my parents just now, they asked me the other day if it would be alright to text you and send you things, little gifts and whatnot.”

“Huh? They would do that?” Apollo exclaimed. “I only just met them, like, a week ago!”

“They’re a bit...much,” Klavier said carefully. “Even when I was in high school, every friend I brought home was a potential lover to them, you know? They wanted to know everything about them, to shower them with gifts and affection. Even when I started working, I would ask Papa if I could have some flowers from his garden - you know, an arrangement to thank Herr Edgeworth for giving me a raise, a bouquet for my manager when we got our first record deal - and it was always the same story. Achtung, it’s embarrassing, but they mean well. You don’t have to say ja if you don’t want to, I just thought I’d ask.”

“No, I - it’s okay, I’d love to get to know your parents more, I’m just surprised,” Apollo admitted. The thought of them liking him this easily made him both relieved and unnerved at the same time. “Should I, uh, get them something in return?��

“Nein, nein, let them spoil you.” Klavier cupped Apollo’s face in his hands, kissing him softly. “Just like I do.”

“Sap,” Apollo murmured, kissing him back.

_____

It was a sort of gradual thing, for the most part. Barely a day had gone by when Apollo found himself in a group text with Klavier’s parents; he quickly discovered how witty and sweet and whip-smart they both were. Klavier’s father sent gorgeous photos of his garden - and calling it a garden seemed almost too modest when it seemed to be the size of a soccer field - while Klavier’s mother sent book recommendations, even the occasional movie recommendation.

“I never thought I’d be at that point in my life where my boyfriend’s mother sends me three long paragraphs about how she ‘discovered’ the Legally Blonde musical, but here we are,” Apollo had mused to the other agency members.

“Did you tell her that Klavier reminds everyone of that song, the one that goes - ”

“No, Athena, I did not. I want her to like me, remember?”

Soon after that, gifts started to arrive. Apollo had requested they send them to the agency, given how little he trusted his apartment building’s security after they nearly let his cat escape not too long ago. Unfortunately, it was too late before he realized that sometimes, he trusted his co-workers - or more specifically, his sister - even less.

“Trucy, do you know who ate the last piece of pie? Y’know, the one I was saving for today, to celebrate the end of my trial?”

“...huh. No idea, sorry, Polly!”

“Wait - th-there’s graham crumbs on Mr. Hat, what the hell - ”

His sister’s betrayal aside, Apollo felt good about things, almost unusually good. He soon started texting Klavier’s parents just as frequently as he did his own mother, thanking them for their generosity whenever they sent the occasional box of pastries or discounted event tickets. They also exchanged anecdotes about Klavier, along with stories about their own lives. He even received celebratory emojis whenever he told them about his victories in court - over their son, no less.

“I’m starting to think they like you more than they like me,” Klavier had lamented, though he seemed pleased all the same.

Then, a month into their budding familial relationship, a problem arrived on Apollo’s desk in the form of a bouquet the size of his head.

“Ah-choo!”

Trucy and Athena, who had been standing by the latter’s desk, both startled at the sound. “Ay Dios mío!” Athena exclaimed, clutching her heart in shock. “Are you okay, Apollo? That was some sneeze. I thought we were having another earthquake!”

“Har, har,” Apollo said dryly, reaching for a tissue. “It’s just the - achoo - flowers, that’s all.”

“They’re beautiful - very classic,” Athena added, dropping into Apollo’s desk chair so she could get a closer look. “Red roses and white lilies, claro. Ooh, I see some red carnations and white chrysanthemums, too!”

“Well, I see a card,” Trucy said, plucking a small white notecard from between the leaves. “Let’s see what it says!”

“That’s for - achoo - me, thank you very much.” Apollo snatched the card out of her hands, then squinted through his watery eyes to read it. “I...oh. Klavier says his mom helped him make the arrangement, with flowers from his dad’s garden.”

“How sweet!” Trucy gushed, taking a moment to sniff them, inhaling deeply as her eyes drifted closed. “Ooh, and they smell amazing. Mr. Gavin is such a good - ”

“Ah-choo!” Apollo sniffled, wiping his nose carefully. “...dammit.”

“I didn’t know you were allergic to pollen, Apollo,” Phoenix commented; he was on the other side of the room, pouring himself a cup of tea. “You never had any problems with the flowers Edgeworth sent to m - I mean, to the office.”

“Maybe it’s a freshly-cut thing?” Athena guessed, ignoring Phoenix’s awkward laugh. “Or, y’know, some flowers are worse for allergies than others. Dahlias, for example, are the worst.” Phoenix made another face before turning back to what he was doing.

“You should tell him you’re allergic,” Trucy said, patting Apollo’s free hand in sympathy. “I’m sure he’d understand.”

“But…” Apollo hesitated. The others braced themselves, anticipating another sneeze. “...this is from Klavier and his parents, you know? I can put up with a sneeze or two if it makes them happy. He loves sending flowers, and his dad’s really into gardening, so...if I tell them, they’ll stop doing it, and they’ll be too understanding, and I - I can’t deal with that. The, uh, the niceness, I mean.”

“Poor you, having the sweetest in-laws in the world,” Athena teased, pouting exaggeratedly. Oh, the humanity, Widget added. Apollo would have glared at them both, had he not started sneezing again. “Como tú quieras, I guess.”

Hours later, when Klavier met Apollo at the agency, the sight of his face brightening when he saw the bouquet confirmed Apollo’s fears. “Ah, how wunderschön,” Klavier declared, beaming. “I was worried they wouldn’t hold up during delivery. Do you like them, liebe?”

“They’re beautiful,” Apollo said, as honest as he could be. “Thanks, Klavier. I, uh, I hope it didn’t take you too long to put together.”

“You know how picky I can be,” Klavier hummed, carefully drawing a carnation out of the vase between two practiced fingers and bringing it up to his nose to smell. “I don’t settle for anything less than perfekt.” He turned, smirking. “That’s why I’m dating you, after all.”

“Gross,” Apollo said, wrinkling his nose; the effect was ruined by his affectionate laughter. “Hey, is it okay if I press them after they’ve wilted? I was thinking I could keep ‘em in my journal as a nice little reminder.”

Klavier chuckled, reaching over to squeeze Apollo’s hand. “Of course, Forehead. They’re all yours, you don’t have to ask for my permission. And I’m sure Mama and Papa would be delighted to hear you’re planning to give Papa’s flowers a second life. We’ll have to send you more in the future, ja?”

“...ja,” Apollo said weakly, his heart sinking.

_____

The next bouquet arrived two weeks later, bigger and bolder than before. According to Athena, it consisted of pink and orange roses, pink lilies, and yellow alstroemeria. However, it seemed to be the handful of sunflowers that topped everything off that left Apollo’s nose running all day.

“I think the only sunflower I can stand to be around is my attorney’s badge,” Apollo had bemoaned.

After that came an arrangement of white daisies, red gerbera, and white limonium (or, as Trucy liked to call it - she liked practicing tongue twisters when she was bored - “linoleum”). Then green hydrangeas and Queen Anne’s lace, which admittedly wasn't so bad, followed by purple daisies and pink gerbera, which was very, very bad. Apollo did not like the fact that he was getting used to the taste of Benadryl. He did manage to get some reprieve when Klavier sent him a simple vase of pink peonies.

“They’re hypoallergenic,” Athena had informed him. “But...mein Gott, Apollo, just tell him already!”

“But if I do, i-it’s…” Apollo had gestured wildly, unable to find the right words. Athena and Trucy had exchanged glances, then shook their heads in eerily synchronized disappointment.

Pink carnations and pink alstroemeria, purple irises and white aster, yellow daisies and orange roses; Apollo was starting to think the Gavin family garden was endless. And while his journal had never looked prettier, every page decorated with carefully pressed petals, every other page detailed with a date and a description courtesy of Athena’s expertise, his nose had never looked worse, his skin pink and dry and irritated. He was getting too used to the smell of CeraVe as well.

Finally, a bouquet of red roses - thankfully, also hypoallergenic - arrived with Klavier himself. He seemed delighted to be at the agency while everyone else was present for once, chatting happily with Athena and marvelling at Trucy’s card tricks. He and Phoenix seemed awkward around each other, though Apollo supposed that was to be expected. Even now, they hesitated whenever Apollo brought the other one up.

“So what’re you doing here, Mr. Gavin?” Trucy asked after she’d successfully duped him three times in a row. Apollo had to stop her before she started charging him for it. “Is it date night?”

“Not exactly,” Klavier said, turning to Apollo. “I came here to ask you something in person, liebe.”

Apollo raised an eyebrow. “Well, that’s not suspicious at all. What’s up?”

“I think it’s about time you meet my parents in person.” Klavier took both of Apollo’s hands in his, smiling hopefully. “So, if you’re ready...are you free this weekend? We could go to my family estate, spend the day - Mama would love to teach you how to make those puff pastries you like, and Papa wants to show you around the garden so you can see where all your wunderschön flowers came from.”

“I...oh.” Apollo’s face fell for a split second before he quickly regained his composure. “Sorry, Klav, that sounds incredible, but I-I was gonna stay with Mom this weekend. Maybe another time?”

“Natürlich,” Klavier replied, still smiling. While his smiles usually made Apollo feel warm and fuzzy, now all he was feeling was gnawing guilt. “Let me know when you have a free weekend, ja?”

“For sure,” Apollo promised, pecking him briefly on the cheek. “And thanks for the roses, even though I, uh, kinda ruined the occasion.”

“Ruined?” Klavier repeated, chuckling. “Ach, it’s no big deal, you’re busy. We have time, don’t we?”

“Of course!” Apollo exclaimed, far too loudly. Klavier didn’t seem to mind, though; he leaned down to kiss Apollo properly, humming all the while.

“Anyway, I should get going before Herr Edgeworth notices I’m not in my office,” Klavier said, reluctantly pulling away. The look on Phoenix's face suggested he knew that Edgeworth had figured it out long ago. “Auf Wiedersehen, süßer!”

The second Klavier left, Apollo let out the breath he’d been holding. He didn’t even need to look up to know the others were staring at him very judgmentally. “...I don’t wanna hear it.”

“You really shouldn’t lie to your boyfriend, Apollo,” Phoenix said gently; his voice had taken on the sort of “dad” tone that made Apollo feel even guiltier. “Er, that is, you shouldn’t lie to anyone, but you know what I mean. Are you really protecting his feelings by doing this?”

Sighing, Apollo collapsed into his desk chair, dropping his forehead to his desk with an audible thunk. “I know, I know. It was stupid from the start, but...I-I honestly wasn’t expecting him to send this many! I thought it’d be, y’know, for special occasions only, like every few months or whatever. Then I could deal with it, and he would never have to know. Not, like, just ‘cos he felt like it. Though I guess I really should’ve seen it coming, knowing him.”

“You really gotta tell him,” Trucy insisted. “Next time you see him, okay? Or else you’re never gonna say anything!”

“I will, I swear,” Apollo insisted, combing his fingers through his hair. He could feel more grays coming in by the second. “I have no interest in being the worst boyfriend ever, believe me.”

_____

It didn’t take long for Apollo to realize that while he was perfectly fine - or, at least, reasonably fine - with confrontation in the courtroom, he was very much not fine with confrontation in his personal life. The flower arrangements came less frequently now, and when they did, they seemed to be exclusively hypoallergenic. Klavier’s invitations, on the other hand, seemed more persistent.

“I don’t mean to push,” Klavier would say. “It’s just that exam week is coming up and, being professors and all, they’re going to be very busy soon. I was hoping we’d be able to spend some time with them before then.”

“Yeah, o-of course,” Apollo would reply, his stomach twisting every time, knowing full well he was about to turn him down again.

Another weekend went by, then another. There always seemed to be something, whether it was Apollo’s sudden frequent visits to Thalassa’s, Trucy’s sudden need for a magic show assistant, or that Apollo was just too tired to be good company. Eventually, Klavier seemed to simply stop asking. In fact, he seemed to stop asking him about anything at all.

“Do you wanna grab lunch?” Apollo had once asked Klavier while they were both packing up after the end of a lengthy trial.

“I don’t know.” Klavier had sounded tired, subdued; he refused to look Apollo in the eyes. “I think I’m just going to head back to the office and catch up on my emails. Take care, Herr Forehead.” He’d quickly swept out of the courtroom before Apollo could even say goodbye.

Apollo’s group text with his parents seemed to slow down, too, especially when it came to Klavier’s papa’s photos of his garden. Klavier’s mama, on the other hand, sent him short, stilted messages, now seemingly out of obligation instead of affection. Their near-radio silence, Apollo had to admit, was well-deserved. He knew he had to do something before it was too late, if it wasn’t already too late.

“I was surprised you wanted me to join you today,” Klavier said one morning as the two of them were taking a leisurely stroll around People Park, hand-in-hand. “Lately, I feel like I’ve been dating a ghost, achtung. We only ever see each other in court. Maybe at crime scenes, too, if we’re lucky.”

“And I’m surprised you agreed to come,” Apollo admitted. “I missed you, Klavier. Only...I, uh, I know that’s really my fault, not yours.”

“You do, do you?” Klavier sounded bitter. His grip on Apollo’s hand was looser than usual, like he was ready to pull away at any second, like he wanted to run. The thought made Apollo’s chest ache. “And here, I thought you were as oblivious as ever.”

“Hey,” Apollo protested, frowning. Then, he sighed. “No, you - you’re right. This is on me. Will you - I - listen, I have something for you, back at the office. Can we go get it before you head to work?”

Klavier nodded shortly. While his eyes had softened, his smile was still strained. “Ja, let’s go.”

Thankfully, the agency was empty when they got there, save for a certain something sitting patiently on Apollo’s desk. He set his bag down, then turned on all the lights, his heart pounding rapidly against his ribcage. “So these aren’t as nice as your dad’s, but, uh. This is for you...and your parents.”

“What do you - ah!” Klavier approached Apollo’s desk with wide, disbelieving eyes, his gaze fixated on the beautiful arrangement of white lilies, yellow tulips, and white orchids wrapped in white decorative tissue paper. “Apollo, these are...they’re lovely! Did you pick these out yourself?”

“Athena helped,” Apollo said, hovering nervously. “She said white lilies are for humility, yellow tulips can mean forgiveness, and white orchids symbolize strength. Fitting, since I wanted to...apologize. For being a horrible boyfriend.”

“I don’t know about ‘horrible’,” Klavier said, gently running a finger down the length of one of the orchids. “...but you have been distant. If you’re not actually interested in meeting my parents, or if you...if you want to end things, just say so, will you?” His voice cracked. “I might like a bit of drama every now and then, but not in my own life. Not in my own relationship.”

“What?! No, no, I-I don’t wanna end things at all!” Apollo exclaimed, his voice filling the room. He took a few deep, even breaths to calm himself. “Just...will you hear me out? Please?” Klavier nodded, though he refused to look at him. “I’m...I’m sorry for avoiding you and your parents. And before you ask...yes. I was doing it on purpose. It’s nothing that - none of you did anything wrong, okay? It’s me, i-it’s - it - I - ah - ”

Klavier turned on his heel, worried. “Apollo? Are you - ”

“Ah-choo!”

Klavier jumped. “Ach - Apollo?”

“I forgot there were asters in there,” Apollo grumbled, reaching for a tissue. He wasn’t sure which was redder now, his nose or his cheeks. “It’s - I - achoo - ”

“Apollo,” Klavier said slowly; if Apollo didn’t know any better, he would've thought he was trying not to laugh. “Are you, by chance...allergic to pollen?”

Apollo sniffed sharply. “...yes, dammit, yes! That’s literally what I’ve been trying to say - achoo - just now, until - achoo - my sinuses decided to - achoo - speak for me!” He was half-doubled over at this point, clenching a fistful of tissues in both hands.

“Baby, have you been rejecting my invitation to meet my parents because you’re allergic to all the flowers we’ve been sending you for the last several weeks?” Klavier sounded more incredulous than angry.

“...yes. Yes, I have, yes, I’m an idiot and an asshole and - achoo - I’m so sorry, Klavier, I - achoo - ”

“Bitte, say it, don’t spray it.” Klavier held up Apollo’s tissue box for him, keeping it - and Apollo himself - at a good distance. “Mein Gott, Apollo, I thought you wanted to break up with me! Why didn’t you say anything earlier?!”

It took another minute or so before Apollo finally stopped sneezing long enough to get a full sentence out. He sniffled again, wiping his nose completely clean. “...have you ever told, like, the tiniest lie to make someone happy, only for it to turn into a big...thing? And then you know you have to come clean, that it’s what you’re s’posed to do, but the thought of doing it makes you anxious, even if not doing it also makes you anxious, and then...it just...it, uh, it stays with you.” He swallowed thickly, shaking his head. “Not that that’s an excuse, it’s just - that’s just what happened. I’m sorry, Klavier, I really am. I really do want to meet your parents, they’re so sweet and friendly a-and funny, I’m just...I’m bad at this. Really, really bad at this.”

Klavier sighed. Apollo held his breath, anticipating the worst. Then, Klavier wrapped him in his arms, letting out another sigh of relief. “I understand, liebe, and...I forgive you. Danke for explaining yourself.” He kissed the top of Apollo’s head. “Maybe we should’ve stuck to sending you pies, ja?”

Apollo laughed wetly. “I don’t know how you’re joking right now. That’s usually my job.” He lifted his head from Klavier’s chest to look up at him with a grateful smile. “I really did love the flowers, you know. When they weren’t attacking my respiratory system, that is.”

“Still, let’s not push it any further,” Klavier said wryly. “Now - two things, if you don’t mind. First, let me give you some moisturizer for your poor, poor nose. I’m not kissing you until I’m sure your skin won’t flake off in the process.”

“Ew, thanks for the gross visual,” Apollo grimaced. “And the second thing?”

Klavier smiled. “If you're alright with it, I’d like you to tell my parents what happened...in person.”

_____

The garden was just as beautiful as Apollo imagined it to be, given the dozens and dozens of photos he’d gotten from Klavier’s papa. It was full and lush and vibrant, with towering trees that provided ample shade, a beautiful gazebo with a built-in fireplace, a gorgeous two-tiered fish pond, and of course, a plethora of flowers, as far as they could see. Everything was especially beautiful, in Apollo’s opinion, from the relative safety of the conservatory.

“We’re not throwing you to the wolves, darling,” Klavier’s mama insisted, as if she were talking about actual wild animals and not her husband’s hobby. “We’ll stay in here for high tea so you can admire the garden at a safe distance, yes?”

“Yes, th-thank you,” Apollo stammered, relieved. “High tea?”

“Today’s menu is German chocolate scones and mini-sandwiches. With the crusts cut off for my fussy baby boy, of course,” she added, pinching Klavier’s cheek with a devious grin.

“Mama,” Klavier protested, embarrassed. His papa chuckled, settling into the chair across from his son; he still had a smudge of dirt on his nose. “I’m a grown man, achtung. I have my own health insurance and everything!”

“I really am sorry, Mr. and Mrs. Gavin,” Apollo said sincerely. Despite their kindness and generosity, he was still somewhat intimidated by them, by how tall and beautiful and well-spoken they were. As much as he didn’t want to think about his former boss, Apollo could see where he and Klavier got their good looks and charm from. “I wanted to make a good impression, but I, uh, I didn’t go about it the right way. I’ve been wanting to meet you for a while now, but...I kept it from happening for a dumb reason, and it led to me hurting your feelings and Klavier’s feelings. I’m sorry.”

“All is forgiven,” Klavier’s papa insisted, waving a hand. “Just promise you’ll stop by every now and then, alright? Our doors are open to you, Apollo. Consider us your parents, too, if you’d like.”

Apollo smiled softly. “I would, sir.”

“It’ll be a good, allergy-free time, I promise,” he continued with a teasing wink. “We’ll bake some bread, watch some home movies...are you interested in seeing - ach, what do the kids call it - Klavier’s ‘goth phase’?”

Apollo’s mouth dropped open. “...his what.”

“Papa, nein,” Klavier whined; he really did sound like a child now. “Maybe it was a mistake to bring you here, liebling.”

“Oh, I disagree,” Apollo said, his grin widening. “I would love to see Klavier’s goth phase. Did he dye his hair?”

“Oh, did he,” Klavier’s mama said slyly with the exasperated sigh of a parent who had dealt with too much. “It’s a miracle he managed to get back to blond at all.” She then got to her feet, smoothing out the front of her apron. “Anyway, Papa and I should go check on the scones now. You two sit tight, okay?” Before Apollo could blink, she’d dropped kisses on both his and Klavier’s foreheads, then disappeared down the hallway and into the kitchen, her husband in tow. He turned to look at Klavier, who was watching him nervously.

“I love them,” Apollo admitted. “They’re so sweet, Klav, they - stop looking at me like that, will you?”

“You can’t blame me for worrying,” Klavier said, kissing him briefly. “But I’m glad to hear it. Ich liebe dich, schatz.”

“Love you too, dork,” Apollo murmured against Klavier’s lips. “...so. Did you have a lip ring, or snake bites, or - ”

“Get out of my house,” Klavier huffed, pinching Apollo’s arm with an exaggerated pout.

“Hey! This isn’t your house, it’s your parents’ house, and they said their doors were open,” Apollo teased, laughing. Rolling his eyes, Klavier pulled Apollo into his arms, the two of them snuggled up on the loveseat. In the distance, they could see birds and butterflies fluttering among the flowers, a stray squirrel or two sniffing curiously at the edge of the fish pond. It was peaceful, serene. If it wasn't for the pollen, Apollo could see himself staying outside for hours at a time. “...but seriously, I’m looking forward to the video evidence.”

“I’m sure you are,” Klavier sighed, giving Apollo one last kiss before his parents returned with a large tray of sandwiches, scones, tea, and a vase with a single red rose for decoration - hypoallergenic, of course.

_____

a/n: Welcome to my second entry for Klapollo Week 2021! Continuity-wise, this is the fourth of seven fics, but again, there is no need to read the others to follow each fic on its own. Today, I have projected my allergies and anxiety onto Apollo, because that's what fanfiction is for, right? I hope y'all like my version of the Gavins; I've written them as cold and distant a couple of times, but I usually prefer to write them as warm and witty so that Klavier has a good support system in his life.

Thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoyed! Likes and reblogs would be much appreciated. Hoping you're all safe and healthy and doing well ❤️

#KlapolloWeek2021 #klapollo #kyodoroki #klapollo fic #ace attorney #ace attorney fic #myfic #long post #sorry these previews are so massive!!#today's and day four's are probably the most lighthearted

28 notes · View notes

scabopolis · 4 years ago

Note

Omg congrats on 600 followers! Honestly any fake dating with Jonah x Amy would be amazing, although I love number 44 and/or 48 on your Google Docs <333

This is my first Jonah x Amy fic and I offer two caveats: 1) I’m still not sure if there is a particular vibe people who read for this pairing preferring, so...here we are, and 2) I have only made it through 4x12 of Superstore but am pretty familiar w/ what happens the rest of the series.

Prompt: “You know we’re not actually dating, so why did you propose to me in front of my family?” / “I’m sorry, I panicked.” --- Title: the scene of the complication Fandom: Superstore Pairing: Jonah/Amy Other Characters: My crippling insecurity writing for a new fandom, sleep soft mornings, dumbs being dumb (but, like in a cute way) Additional Tags: friends to lovers (or idiots to friends to lovers??), fake dating shenanigans, alternative universe where Amy’s HS pregnancy test was negative and she and Jonah met in college Word Count: ~2,100 ---

It started with a chance meeting ten years ago, and somehow it’s brought Amy Sosa here: awake in her childhood room with Jonah Simms beside her, sleeping off upwards of half a dozen tequila shots. Maybe she shouldn’t be surprised. She knew that day they met in the lecture hall that Jonah was a person who would make her life exceedingly more complicated.

And ten years later, here they are, practically leaving complicated behind in the rear view mirror.

(“What are two hopes and one fear you have for your first lecture on your first day of college?” the guy sitting to her right asks.

Amy doesn’t answer at first but this stranger just waits for her, all blinking, bright eyes and freshman eagerness. It’s barely morning. Is this her life now?

“Hope one,” she says, holding up a finger, “that I’d sit next to someone quiet. Hope two,” she holds up another, “that no one would talk to me before I managed to find coffee.” She holds up a third finger. “And this moment right here is what I feared.”

For some reason, her shortness delights him. His smile is open and affectionate, and he nods in appreciation.

“Noted.”

And Amy fully intends to never speak to this wide-eyed panda boy ever again, but then their General Psychology professor informs the class that the person they’re sitting next to will be their assignment partner for the semester.

The next lecture her partner – his name is Jonah, she learns – brings her a cup of coffee and doesn’t speak a word until she takes a long sip.

Complicated.)

Jonah snuffles in his sleep, his eyelids fluttering slightly. His hair is doing that thing it does when he’s hot or drunk or has run a hand through it too many times, where a single lock of hair hangs in the middle of his forehead. Amy resists the very real urge to brush it away. Because, yeah, she has those kinds of thoughts a lot and they also make things complicated. They’re friends. Maybe even best-friends, but definitely not ‘tenderly brush a lock of your hair away’ friends.

Do those kinds of friends even exist?

Jonah stirs again, and now that it’s clear he’s actually waking up, Amy reaches for her phone and opens Candy Crush. The last thing she needs is to get caught staring at him like some weird stalker.

“Oh, god,” he groans, his voice scratchy. He stretches out with another groan, his foot bumping against Amy’s as he does. Rather than move away, he kind of just rests it there on top of hers. And this is something she is all too familiar with. Drunk and/or hungover Jonah is yet another complication. More accurately, his propensity to cuddle indiscriminately is a very real complication.

“I need—” Amy reaches for the glass of water on her night stand and hands it to Jonah, stopping him mid-thought. “Do you have—?” She hands him two ibuprofen. “Thank you,” he says.

“You’re welcome.” She looks back at her phone.

Jonah swallows the two pills and drinks the entire glass of water, and then lays back down, curling slightly into Amy’s side.

“I made so many mistakes last night,” he says.

“I’m aware. As are your 80 Instagram followers.”

“I liveblogged it?”

“And tagged everything with the hashtag ‘best noche ever.’” He groans again and turns his face into Amy’s side. She sets her phone back on the nightstand. “What got into you?”

“Your dad is intimidating.”

“My dad?”

“Yes. Your dad. And then he and your brother kept pouring me shots—”

“I knew this had Eric’s fingerprints all over it.”

“Well, it was kind of my fault, too.”

She frowns. “What do you mean?” Jonah doesn’t answer and Amy kicks him under the covers. He looks up at her. His eyes are red-rimmed but also so sleepy and soft. Complicated. “Jonah.”

“They kept asking me questions. About you and me. And I was so worried I’d say something wrong, I kept taking shots to avoid answering.”

“You could have found me.”

“I know, but—” he trails off.

“But what?”

“I want them to like me.”

“Oh, Jonah.” She gives in and brushes the lock of hair off his forehead, and he looks up at her. “They’ve known you for 10 years. They’re never going to like you.”

“Thanks, I feel so much better.”

“I do have one more question.”

“Okay.”

“You know we’re not actually dating. Right?”

He closes his eyes and nods. “No. Yeah. I know.”

“So why did you propose to me in front of my family?”

“I panicked.”

“Panicked?”

“Your dad asked what my intentions were, and there were just so many shots.

“And that’s why you shouted ‘I intend to marry her!’?”

Jonah flips the comforter over his head. “I just got wrapped up in it all.” His words are muffled from under the comforter.

She’s glad for the moment of respite, with Jonah unable to see her. If Amy didn’t want things to careen so off track, she probably shouldn’t have agreed to let him come to her dad’s retirement party as her fake boyfriend.

(“I don’t see what the problem is,” Jonah says, spooning more cashew chicken onto his plate. “You don’t still have feelings for Adam, do you?”

“No. No. God no,” she says. “Absolutely not.”

“Alright. I’m clear on the no.”

“It’s just the last time I saw him— Well, you know.”

“I recall, yes.”

And he does. Jonah knows all about Amy’s high school boyfriend. The one she liked but never quite loved. The one she broke up with when the pregnancy test came back negative. The one she slept with again the summer after their senior year of college.

(An event that occurred in no small part because Jonah was dating Mindy and the two of them were talking about moving in together. Maybe moving to the west coast together and Amy realized there was a very real possibility she was going to be left behind.

Jonah doesn’t know that part of the story.)

Adam is also the guy who thought having sex in her childhood bedroom meant Amy wanted to get back together. He’s the guy bringing his very beautiful fiancée to her dad’s retirement party. Because he’s also somehow the guy who still helps her dad with home improvement projects. And Amy is just Amy – the one who doesn’t visit St. Louis enough, and is using her very expensive liberal arts degree to work as a survey researcher for Cloud9, meaning she’s basically paid to manipulate shoppers.

And, not that it should matter, but she’s also very single. Has been for a while now.

She mostly blames the man stealing chow mein from her plate for that. She blocks Jonah’s chopsticks with hers, and a piece of cabbage goes flying.

“Stop that,” she says.

“You’re not eating it.”

“I’m too annoyed to eat.”

“If you only ate when you weren’t annoyed you’d starve.”

“I hate you.”

She pushes the chow mein around her plate. God, when she thinks about it, this really is Jonah’s fault. If she could just find a way to get over this stupid, dumb, little crush that has creeped up – without her permission, mind you! – then maybe she could actually—

“I could do it,” Jonah says, interrupting her thought spiral.

“Do what?”

“Go with you to your dad’s retirement party. Be your fake boyfriend.”

“You think that’s a good idea?”

“I think it’s a great idea. Besides, I am very close to getting your dad to like me.”

“He’ll never like you.”

“It’s not that I didn’t like the painting—”

“—How would this even work?” she asks, cutting him off.

“I don’t know,” he says. “I think we act like we normally do, but maybe you can hold my hand and be nice to me.”

“Eww.”

Jonah smiles around a large bite of cashew chicken. She really needs to stop hanging out with him so much – he’s become immune to her insults. It’s rude.

And him as her fake boyfriend is a terrible idea. Truly awful. If Amy is looking to get over her crush and make things between her and Jonah less complicated, there are better ways to do it.

Except.

Except she kind of wants to.

“Okay. Let’s do it,” she says.

“Yeah?”

“Yes,” she says decisively. “But if you try and kiss me, I’ll cut your lips off.”

“That seems like a proportionate response.”)

“So, to be clear, I told you kissing wasn’t allowed, and you thought that left proposals on the table?”

He groans again from under the comforter. It’s a little sad and a lot pathetic. Poor guy.

She pats the comforter in the area of what she hopes is his shoulder. As annoyed as she is at having to untangle these threads, it’s not his fault. Not really. She knows her family is relentless. Amy slides down and flips the comforter over her head as well.

Jonah rolls over onto his side to face her. Amy does the same.

“It was better than Adam’s proposal.”

“Adam proposed?”

Amy nods. “Ish. If I remember correctly he said, ‘I’ll marry you if I have to.’”

“Yikes.”

“Right?” It’s cozy under this blanket. Intimate even. “You did say some nice things. Even if they came out kind of slurred.”

“Amy—”

“Sexy, huh?”

“I really didn’t mean to shout that to all of your dad’s—”

“Because it’s not true?”

“No!” Jonah winces and Amy isn’t sure if it’s ‘I have a hangover’ induced or ‘I am revealing too much’ induced. “It’s true. Of course it’s true. You are very, you know.”

“Sexy on a completely objective level? Or, are you saying that you, yourself, Jonah Simms, think I’m sexy?” Jonah goes completely still. Amy isn’t even sure he’s breathing. It’s entirely uncharacteristic and a little unnerving. She pokes his cheek. “Are you blushing?”

“Big time, yeah.”

That does enough to break the tension under their blanket enclave, both of them laughing, at first awkwardly and then more genuine. Once they stop to catch their breath, Amy notices they’ve shifted closer together.

This would be the perfect moment to flee from the scene of the complication. But the complications don’t seem so terrible at this specific moment. She blames that lock of hair of his.

“How long have you held this opinion?” Jonah frowns at Amy’s question. “Regarding my sexiness?” she clarifies.

“Amy—”

“What?”

“What are you doing?”

“I just want to—”

“Really? You really want to have this conversation?”

Jonah stresses the ‘you’ and Amy knows why he does. There isn’t a topic or feeling that is off-limits to Jonah – he’d happily discuss every feeling he’s ever had. It’s her. It’s always her.

Their faces are so close they’re practically sharing the same pillow. It takes no effort at all for Amy to close the distance between them, lightly brushing her lips against his. As quick as it began it’s over, and even in the dim light under the comforter, Amy can see Jonah’s eyes blown wide. She’s sure she looks just as shocked and she’s the one who did it.

“You said if I kissed you you’d cut off my lips.”

“Which is why I kissed you.”

“Oh,” he nods. “Makes sense.” Jonah taps out a slow but erratic rhythm against the side of his leg. She just knows he’s trying to stop himself from verbalizing every single thought in his head. “To be clear, was that a friendship kiss, or—”

So Amy kisses him again. This time Jonah recovers quickly from his shock, winding a hand into her hair, his palm cupping the back of her head. It’s just unbelievably good.

“Okay,” Jonah says, his voice unsteady as he pulls away. “That answers that.” He traces her jaw with his thumb. “Any chance we could do it some more?”

Amy rolls onto her back, putting some distance between them. “I don’t think so.”

“Wait. What?”

“Your breath is awful.”

Jonah breathes into his hand and sniffs it to confirm. “What if I brush my teeth?”

Amy sighs, long and exasperated. “I suppose that would be—”

Jonah is out of the bed in seconds, scrambling for his overnight bag, and Amy presses her lips together to hide her smile. From the way Jonah smiles, soft and delighted as he backs out of the room, she isn’t fooling anyone.

So far past the point of complicated, she thinks, her heart still racing. But then again, maybe complications that make her feel like this are okay.

#simmosa fanfic #superstore fanfic #jonah x amy #jonah simms #amy sosa #amy dubanowski #I hope you like it anon!#first fic for a new fandom is always the most nerve wracking!#why is that?#p: jonah x amy #c: jonah simms #c: amy sosa #tv: superstore #otp: fresh start #Anonymous #never stories

46 notes · View notes

shannonhutchins · 4 years ago

Text

Josh Lyman Headcannons

So as if we didn’t know I have clearly fallen down a West Wing rabbit hole and I have lots of feelings about this wildly geeky and monomaniacal man so clearly everyone else should be subjected to these thoughts.

✨ Josh is dyslexic; I think he was formally diagnosed in middle school after the fire. I think before middle school, Josh was a good student who coasted a bit because the material was easier to understand so he could kind of coast by a bit on his natural smarts. But after the fire it was a perfect storm of events--he gets a bit lost in grief, he missed some school because of its aftermath, and middle school was getting harder and the pace was faster. Anyways, he was actually really angry when he was first diagnosed. After the fire, he vowed to be a perfect son because he didn’t want to add extra stress to his parents who were already dealing with so much so he thought it was a personal failure to get diagnosed.

✨ Josh also thought it was a sign of weakness to be dyslexic and his mom spent the better part of a month after he was diagnosed saying it wasn't but Josh just figured that was his mom, well being his mom. He had a tutor, Alexis, when he was first diagnosed. His parents were surprised at how patient she was with Josh because most of the teachers after the fire remarked on how withdrawn he became, how he was prone to angry outbursts, and was just sort of unpredictable but Alexis took it all in stride. She let him throw his tantrums before calmly trying to get him back on track. By the end of their sessions Josh had picked up study habits, coping strageties on how to deal with school when it got stressful, and organizational habits. Josh used those same strategies all the way through adulthood--its why he is always quick to work through memos out loud and with other people so he can bounce ideas off of them so he can be sure he is getting everything and to anyone else his office looked like a cluttered mess. And to anyone but Josh it was but then systems worked for him--he always knew where to find files much to the surprise of everyone else.

✨ I also think he boasts so much about his verbal SAT score because that type of test isn’t geared towards people who learned the way he learned. he studied for months for that test because he knew if he wanted to go Ivy League he needed a competitive score.

✨ Josh has so much survivors guilt; like its a lot. Even thirty years alter he hated himself for running out of the house that night--he hated that he acted on autopilot without even thinking about Joanie. His parents, in the months following the fire, were a mess--his dad threw himself into work and his mom became obsessive with helping out at their local synagogue. Josh just sort of fell through the cracks because of it. It wasn’t until he had a panic attack at Shea Stadium because someone was selling burned popcorn that Noah and Ruth realized how much they’d neglected their sons trauma.

✨ A dark place within Josh always kind of thought his parents resented Josh for living and would have preferred that Joanie lived instead. He was sure she would have been less of a hassle and given them grandkids much earlier than he ever could have. He never voiced that particular thought out loud until he started seeing Dr. Weeks in there aftermath of his PTSD diagnosis. Dr. Weeks was also the first therapist that called Josh out on his bullshit and never let him skate by with anything less than honesty. Sure she’d table things Josh wasn't ready to talk about but she always circled back and as the sessions wore on she noticed that Josh would sometimes circle back to things before she even brought it up again. About a year into seeing Dr. Weeks Josh brings his mom to one of his sessions and they talk a lot about Joanie and the fire that day. That’s when Josh admits that he sometimes wishes Joanie had lived instead. Ruth just like breaks down because she never thought her son felt this way and all she says is that she’s thankful that he’s here now and that she felt the same when she saw him sitting in the back of a firetruck covered in ash and she can’t imagine a world where he wasn’t in it. Josh still doesn’t fully let go of that guilt but that session went a long way to bringing him closure.

✨Josh grew up wealthy and because of that he could attend schools like Harvard and Yale; he clearly grew up with a certain amount of privilege but he also put in a lot of work to get there and stay there. Like I said, he lived with massive amounts of survivor guilt and he always felt like he had to do great things as a way ti justify the fact that he lived. To do that he sacrificed having and developing a personal life to throw himself into doing well at Harvard and then building connections at Yale he could leverage into job opportunities on the hill after he graduated.

✨ Also, I know canonically Josh dated women but in my headcanon he’s gay. I think he dates Amy and Mandy because he so desperately wants to fit into the boxes men like him are supposed to fit into. Also, because he was so focused on developing his academic track record he never had much time to think growing up about his dating preferences. Sure he would stare a little too long at men and wonder what it would feel like to have one of them on top of him but he always thought once he found the right girl those thoughts would just....not be there anymore. He’s afraid to admit to himself that he's gay because then that would mean he’d have to admit it to his parents, his friends etc and that TERRIFIES him.

✨ The first person he tells is Matt Skinner and he’s unsurprisingly very helpful as Josh tries to navigate the whole acceptance and coming out thing. Matt also releases a very short, but terse press release the day Josh is outed and goes toe to toe with leadership when they want to use his sexuality as some sort of leveraging bargain chip in negotiations with him.

✨ Again, my headcannon is that Josh is outed (and really you can thank @callixton for making me want to write this story!). His mom us surprised at first when she reads the story in the Washington Post about how he’s gay, the PTSD etc--and then she’s so angry reading the comments below the articles online. She had to disconnect the phone because so many reporters wanted her comment and all she could think of was that she couldn’t be in Florida anymore. She packed a small bag and grabbed the first flight she could to DC and bypasses the White House in favor of going straight to Josh’s Georgetown townhouse. Ruth finds him sitting in the dark with his suit coat balled up in his hands. Josh doesn’t fight her when she pulls him to her chest; they just sit like that for an hour before he seems to register her being there. She’s surprised that he hasn’t cried and by the looks of how put together his apartment was that he hadn’t thrown anything in anger either. All Ruth says is, “you’ll always be my son and nothing will ever stop me from loving you,” and then Josh finally just loses it.

✨ Toby drops by later that afternoon and offers to sit with Josh while Ruth runs out for Chinese food which was always Josh’s favorite go to comfort food. Toby doesn’t say much but does offer to introduce him to some of his friends in the community and that no matter what Toby, Donna, and Sam weren’t going anywhere. Josh doesn’t miss the fact that he didn’t mention Leo but still he smiles weekly at Toby and says that he should stay for dinner.

#josh lyman #the west wing #josh lyman headcannons #of course this got long #callixton #shannon writes #anyways let me know what you guys think

28 notes · View notes

when-they-write-stuff · 5 years ago

Note

Hi! We’ve never talked but I adore your blog and writing 🤗 I would love to see 38 from the prompt post maybe?

38. “Nothing about us is conventional”

- -

Stiles kissed Derek first.

He’d always thought that one day, after the man got his head out of his ass and realized Stiles was downright irresistible, Derek would be the one to initiate things. But then at the beginning of senior year, after a summer of Stiles spending every waking moment at the loft, Derek still hadn’t done anything.

So Stiles kissed him first. He thought he was allowed to do that.

And the thing was, Derek responded.

Stiles liked to believe that one day, he’d break down all of the Sourwolf’s walls. He knew he’d gotten even further this summer than he ever had before, but Derek was a fortress. Just when Stiles thought he’d broken down the man’s last level of grumpy-growly defense, he was faced with a whole other line of barriers.

One day, Stiles thought. One day, he’d get the man to fully trust him. But for now, he thought things were good enough.

Except, he forgot Derek was a hard-headed asshole.

“This,” Derek said, coffee in hand and a brown-haired woman standing at his side, “is Amy.”

Stiles blinked intelligently at her for a moment. Her cheeks were pink and she looked nervous, the barista’s apron wrapped around her waist. Stiles supposed it wasn’t ‘Amy’ who surprised him, but the fact that Derek knew anybody outside of his little loft hidey-hole.

Also, that the man was introducing them. Maybe he was proud of making a new friend?

Derek waited with a raised eyebrow and Stiles blinked out of his thoughts, pushing a half-hearted grin onto his face as he nodded, not quite sure where this was going. Derek confused him sometimes. “Okay.”

Some of Amy’s smile faded. Derek shot him a warning look. “Stiles, this is that friend I was telling you about.”

‘Derek’ and ‘friend’ still took Stiles off guard. He supposed if he thought about it, Derek had mentioned meeting someone at the cafe a few weeks ago. He’d said something about how she was ‘nice’ and ‘funny’. Stiles was pretty sure he’d been complaining about his single woes from Sophomore year, then. He hadn’t really been listening to Derek or himself, to be honest.

Sometimes, Stiles just felt the need to talk.

“Oh,” Stiles said. Then a sudden panicked realization hit him like a truck. “Oh.”

Derek’s forced smile looked more murderous than usual. But before Stiles could make up an excuse to run, Amy was stepping forward, Derek was stepping back, and Stiles was left alone with no coffee and apparently a… a... wait, was Derek wingmanning him?

Stiles’s stomach did something entirely new and he was pretty sure he wasn’t okay with it.

Amy started to say something but Stiles’s mind had gone blank. Three days ago, he and Derek had been making out on the couch and now the man was trying to set him up? Or maybe… maybe… no, the kissing had not been a fever dream. Stiles had gone right home afterward and proceeded to have a panic attack followed by the literal eating of a giant tub of ice cream in celebration.

His dad had been giving him strange looks ever since.

“Stiles?”

Stiles snapped out of his thoughts, looking at Amy with round eyes. She held out a slip of paper with her number on it and he stared for a moment, before plastering another grin on his face and taking the paper from her hands.

“So you’ll pick me up at seven?”

“Seven?”

Amy’s smile flickered. “For dinner at that new Italian place I was just telling you about.”

“Oh,” Stiles said. “Um, oh, yeah. Italian! Love Italian. Yeah, I’ll be there. At seven. Because this is a date?”

Amy was looking a lot less impressed now than she was five minutes ago. Stiles thought that was usually how things went when he talked to girls, wingmanned or not. But she still nodded and then turned away, moving back behind the cafe counter.

Stiles just stood there for another few moments, staring at the slip of paper in his hands as his brain tried to catch up.

Derek had just wingmanned him. Derek Hale has just wingmanned him. Then left. And now Stiles was going on a date. Tonight.

“Oh my god,” Stiles said, shoving the number into his pocket.

That stubborn-headed Alpha bastard.

Stiles showed up at the loft a lot later that night with a suit jacket hanging off one shoulder, a tie half undone, and exhaustion under his eyes that he couldn’t even begin to explain.

Derek sat on the couch and tensed up the moment he spotted him in the doorway. Stiles held his gaze for a long moment before trudging over and dropping down at his side with a sigh. If possible, Derek tensed even more.

“Did you have a… good date?”

“Dude,” Stiles said, glancing over. “I think my wallet is crying.”

Derek’s brows furrowed. Stiles leaned heavily against his side, just wanting to burrow up and maybe sleep for the next day or two.

It wasn’t like anything had gone wrong, exactly. In fact, Stiles would say he’d been the proper gentleman. He’d shown up on time, he’d paid for dinner and dessert. They’d walked around town after and when Amy told him things ‘just weren’t like she’d expected’ Stiles nearly full on agreed. But he was a gentleman. So he’d just nodded, driven her home, and decided he was never letting Derek wingman him again.

Which really shouldn’t be a decision he had to make.

“I just want curly fries and sleep,” Stiles said. “But that restaurant was so expensive, I don’t think I can even afford curly fries right now.”

“So… it didn’t go well?”

Stiles glared at him. “I blame you for this.”

“What.”

“Dude!” Stiles said, drawing back a few inches. “What? What? When you said ‘let’s go get coffee’ this morning, I expected to be walking out with a nice hot mocha, not a date!”

Derek gave him a blank look. “I told you days ago this was happening.”

“Uh, when?”

“When I told you Amy was looking for someone and you said ‘oh yeah, I know that feeling’.”

“Because I do! I have! Not now, but—”

“Then I told you I could try and set something up and you gave me a funny look and said ‘yeah, Sourwolf, you do that’ and proceeded to walk out of the loft.”

Stiles blinked at him. For some reason, those words did sound familiar, but he wouldn’t go around saying something like that unless… “Dude, I was joking! Are you serious right now? I’m like, ninety percent sure we had just finished making out before that conversation!”

Derek stared. Then his face turned bright red, he frowned even harder, and proceeded not to say another word. Stiles shoved himself off the couch, throwing his hands up.

“Oh my god, Derek! Are you serious?”

“What.”

“Stop ‘what-ing’ me! Do you really think I go around kissing people and then letting them set me up with someone else? That’s a douchebag move. That’s a Jackson move!”

The man looked at him with a blank expression. Stiles scoffed and turned away, waving a hand over his shoulder.

“You know what, fine dude, whatever. I’m going to go beg spare change from my own father because I’m in desperate need of curly fries but I can’t even afford any right now. Please, feel free to make up a list of everyone else you think I should attempt dating. Clearly I need it.”

Derek didn’t answer. Stiles gave him one more look over his shoulder but the man just crossed his arms, arching one brow. Stomach twisting, Stiles stalked out of the loft and made sure to slam the door behind him.

He was tired earlier. Now he was downright pissed.

When he made it to his jeep, he didn’t drive for a long moment. Instead, he glared at nothing and tried to keep himself from stalking right back up to the loft. What the hell did Derek think they were? What the hell did he think Stiles had wanted in the first place?

He tried to replay the last few weeks over again in his head. The first time Stiles had kissed him; all nerves and a sudden rush of adrenaline. Then small kisses on the couch, or in the kitchen, or when Stiles came by the loft after school.

And Stiles… Stiles hadn’t known what exactly to call it.

They didn’t mention anything to the pack but Stiles thought that might just take time. And Derek didn’t really acknowledge anything was happening until Stiles was kissing him, but he thought maybe that was just another one of the man’s walls.

Sighing, Stiles dropped his forehead against the steering wheel. Was he the idiot here?

No, he couldn’t be. It was the hard-headed, grumpy growly, big bad Alpha werewolf who was most likely up angsting in the loft and—

A knock on his window startled Stiles out of his thoughts. He squawked, head snapping upward, and his elbow banged on the steering wheel, the alarm almost instantly going off. Derek jumped back and Stiles swore, quickly turning it off.

For a moment, they just stared at each other. Then, groaning, Stiles opened his door and pulled himself back into the night, crossing his arms against the faint chill.

“What, Derek?”

“You weren’t checking me off a list.”

Stiles stared at him for a long moment before finding words. Derek’s face turned bright red and the man dropped his gaze. “What?”

“You weren’t checking me off a list or experimenting with… another gender, or—”

“Dude, what the hell?”

Derek looked up, a ��caught in headlights’ look in his eyes. Stiles swallowed hard, searching his face.

“That’s what you thought I was doing?”

“You’re a teenager, Stiles, it’s the expected and conventional behavior of—”

“Conventional,” Stiles said, cutting him off.

Derek nodded.

“Oh my god,” Stiles said, rubbing a hand over his face. To be honest, he really should have seen this coming. One of Derek’s biggest walls was ‘I’m not deserving of actual love’ but Stiles had been hoping he’d broken that one down already. Apparently not. “Derek, nothing about us is conventional.”

Derek just looked confused. Stiles sighed and stepped forward, tilting his chin upward.

“You’re a big bad grumpy Alpha werewolf. I’m the token human with a baseball bat who Isaac compares much too often to Little Red Riding Hood. We fight monsters every other week and attempt to live normal lives in between. Also, I’m eighteen now. I’m like, a couple years away from getting grey hairs.”

Derek rolled his eyes at that. Stiles grinned, reaching up to brush the pad of his thumb across the man’s lower lip.

“Also you’re like, really hot. I’ve been wanting you to kiss me since Sophomore year and if we’re being honest, I kissed you first with the hopes that we could keep doing that. For a long time. Like, a really long time. Like, maybe until we actually do have grey hairs and—”

Derek moved forward and cut him off, slightly chapped lips pressing against his own. Stiles startled for only a second before melting into the man’s touch, his hand moving to cup the back of Derek’s neck.

“You,” Derek said around his lips, breaths warm against his skin. “Stiles, I want you too.”

“Good, you big idiot, because I’ve been pining for two years now—”

Derek seemed to notice how effectively he could shut Stiles up by just kissing him. Because the man only growled at the back of his throat and pushed Stiles against the jeep, one hand catching a handful of his hair and tilting his head back a few inches before kissing him harder.

Stiles wasn’t really complaining.

And yeah, he thought Derek was kind of a big idiot. But to be fair, he could be too. And maybe it took two years, one chaotically pining summer, and an accidental wingmanning situation, but Stiles was pretty sure he’d broken down another wall tonight,

There were probably more.

Like, a lot more. Like enough to give him grey hairs even as a teenager more. But Stiles might be a little okay with that. One day, he thought, he’d get the man to fully trust him. One day, he’d break down all of Derek’s walls. But for now, things were good enough.

Derek was always enough.

- -

I had so much fun with this one! Thank you so much for the prompt, you’re so fantastic. And I hope I did it justice!

(if you enjoy my writing, consider supporting your underpaid student writer? You can also request a prompt if you’d like!). https://ko-fi.com/rh27writer

#sterek #teen wolf #prompts #stiles stilinski #derek hale #ficlet #all the fluff humor and angst #1gurgi1

65 notes · View notes

elsaclack · 5 years ago

Note

10 and/or 11 for peraltiago please? if you're still taking prompts :O

henlo i AM still taking prompts!!! i’m just working through them much more slowly than originally anticipated lmao but thank u for checking!!!!

once again this is not my best but i’m proud of myself for making it through and also!!!! for not adding one single IOTA of angst to this yes i am capable of writing straight fluff i know it honestly was a shock to me too

10. “Stay?”

11. “Do you know how to knock?”

To say Jake is annoyed with Gina would be an understatement.

Granted, not a huge understatement, but certainly narrow in terms of the full scope of emotions he’s feeling. Gina just has this way - this I’m right and you’re wrong and those are the facts kind of confidence that, while sometimes endearing, more often than not lands both her and the people around her in hot water. Jake’s honestly lost count of all the times he’s swooped in and saved the day for her over the years, just to be thanked with a hair flip, a roll of her eyes, and an I had it handled, doof.

He’s working very hard not to swoop in and save the day right now - trying hard to focus on whatever stupid sports game Terry is half-watching in the living room and not on the ever-increasing volume of the girlish giggles coming from the kitchen behind them. He’s angled in such a way that he can glance back if he needs to, but he’s regulating himself to one glance per five minutes; at this angle, he can mostly see Gina’s face, framed between the doorframe and Amy’s body.

Jake can acknowledge that ninety percent of his agitation stems from the fact that Amy’s in there with Gina. It would be one thing if it was just Gina and Rosa drinking themselves silly in the kitchen - but Amy’s a lightweight, plain and simple, a fact that Gina knows well and regularly takes advantage of on the annual lake house weekend. It would be another thing if this was yet another year of fruitless pining and yearning for him - if Amy was nothing more than a partner and a dreamy what-if.

As it is, he’s watching his girlfriend drink herself into a stupor at Gina’s goading, and while he’s fully aware of the fact that she’s a grown woman fully capable of making her own decisions, he remembers in vivid technicolor just how embarrassed she was after Overly Confident Amy nearly got herself demoted last year.

A particularly loud, lower-pitched screeching noise - followed by an even louder laugh - echoes out of the kitchen, and Jake’s on his feet before he’s even fully processed what he’s heard. Terry’s looking around now, too, face contorted in an irritated scowl; briefly he meets Jake’s eyes, before pursing his lips and returning his gaze back to the television. “Not today,” he says simply. “Knicks are playing, so Terry is stayin’.”

Jake rolls his eyes as he shuffles out from behind the coffee table, resisting the urge to snark at his sergeant. Despite his massive size and general laziness while lounging on the couches here, Jake learned the hard way Terry’s reflexes never go on vacation.

The low-pitched screeching noise, as it turns out, originated from the legs of Amy’s stool scraping across the tiled kitchen floor; she’s still doubled over in laughter about it, leaning most of her body weight against the kitchen counter. Rosa’s smirking over the rim of a sloshing tequila shot and Gina’s muffling her laughter behind one hand, her phone clutched in her other, filming Amy. Empty plastic cups litter the counter between them, several fallen to the floor; there are dented beer cans and half-empty bottles of liquor strewn between them, too, the entire place a portrait of drunken debauchery he would normally find hilarious.

He’d find it hilarious under any circumstance, really, except the one where their extremely straight-laced captain is sleeping directly over their antics.

“Hey,” he says softly as he edges toward Amy. He frowns at Gina when she pans the phone up into his face, blocking the camera with one hand while gently running the other up Amy’s back. “You okay?”

Amy nods, her cheek now flattened against the counter, still laughing too hard to verbally respond. “She’s fine, protective Polly,” Gina drawls, words slurred just enough to give herself away. Jake shoots her a scowl, still rubbing his palm up and down Amy’s back. “Why don’t you take a shot or twelve and catch up with us.”

“You might wanna consider pacing yourselves -”

“Oh, my god, don’t be that guy, Peralta,” Rosa sneers before throwing her shot back. “We’re grown-ass adults -”

“Never said you weren’t,” Jake interrupts, “I was talking more about the fact that it’s our first night here and you guys have already burned through half of our booze supply for the whole weekend.”

“We’re having fun,” Amy slurs, reaching with numb fingers to pull fallen hair out of her mouth. “You should try it sometime.”

“Oh, I should try having fun? You’re talking to the father of the Jimmy Jabs, here, girl! The father and original champion of the Halloween Heist! Fun runs through my veins.”

“And orange soda.”

The three women before him burst into laughter, Gina dropping the phone with a loud clatter, and Jake finds himself scowling at all three of them. Amy makes a sound at the back of her throat when Jake pulls his hand away from her back; she reaches for him weakly as he steps back, side-stepping her fingers at his naval before grabbing and briefly squeezing her hand. “I’m going to bed,” he tells them, pulling his hand from Amy’s. “You guys should keep it down, though, you’re right under where Holt is sleeping. And you,” he waits until Gina is meeting his gaze, knowing his expression is comically distorted but also serious enough for her to grasp. “Don’t kill her.”

He points to Amy, eyes never leaving Gina’s face; Gina glances at Amy before meeting his gaze again, a defiant gleam in her eyes. Amy’s making a noise in the back of her throat - some weird, high-pitched sound not unlike a petulant whine - so Jake salutes her before backing out of the kitchen.

His phone begins buzzing as soon as he’s on the stairs, but he ignores it, knowing without looking that it’s Gina trying to antagonize him. It buzzes as he closes his bedroom door, and again on the bedside table as he changes into his pajamas, and again as he quickly brushes his teeth in his adjoining bathroom. 4 missed calls from Gina Linetti rolls across his notifications page when he plugs his phone into the charger; one swipe later, and they’re gone, leaving his phone peacefully undisturbed.

He stares up at the ceiling as he lays in bed, listening to the muffled sounds of the others trudging up the stairs, Rosa bidding someone goodnight as the floorboards just outside of his door creak beneath her feet. It seems the last stragglers are finally settling in for the night; one particularly loud thwack against his bedroom door confirms that Gina, at least, is retiring for the evening.

The door at the end of the hall squeaks shut, and the house is enveloped in silence.

Jake rolls to his side and punches his pillow into place, trying to ignore the empty feeling in his chest. Rationally speaking, falling asleep without Amy’s warmth against his back shouldn’t be impossible. He’s done it before, even since they started dating. Rationally speaking, he’s fully capable of falling asleep without Amy.

That doesn’t stop his heart from leaping up into his throat when he hears clumsy hands rattling his doorknob.

The way she edges inside might be an attempt at being smooth, if not for the whispered laughter escaping the hand flattened over her mouth. Jake props himself up on one elbow, watching through the near-darkness as she eases his door shut and briefly leans back against the wall to the left of the door. “Do you know how to knock?” he whispers.

She jumps, hand falling from her mouth to flatten over her heart. “You scared me!” she whisper-shouts.

“You broke into my room!” he whisper-shouts back. She rolls her eyes as she toddles forward, briefly grabbing onto the footboard of his bed before edging around the right side. He sits up as he watches her progress, snorting when she flattens both hands against the mattress and slides them toward him until her fingers are trapped beneath his butt. “Warm enough for you?”

“Not yet,” she sighs, clambering up the bed ungracefully, momentarily gripping his thigh to anchor herself. She flops down beside him unceremoniously, huffing out a breath that makes the hair fallen across her face flutter, before blinking up at him owlishly. “Come down here.”

“You smell like a bar,” he says, not moving.

She quietly whines, pushing the hair away from her face. “‘M too tired to wear clothes,” she mumbles, before her brow furrows.

“You mean you’re too tired to change?”

“Yeah. That.”

“Well, you’re gonna hate sleeping in jeans,” he tells her. She hums, eyes already closed, and for a moment he can barely take a breath around the endearing bubble of affection swelling in his chest. “C’mon, Ames, you can’t sleep in these clothes.”

“Pajamas are too far away,” she mumbles, eyes still closed. “Lemme sleep.”

“Not yet,” he says as he rolls out of bed. She whines again, reaching blindly across the mattress for him, but just like in the kitchen he side-steps her searching fingers with ease. “Where are your PJ’s?”

“My room.”

“Where in your room?”

“Not tellin’.”

“Your other option is to borrow clothes from me, and while you are more than welcome to do that, you should know that Gina will never let you live it down.”

“Gina can bite me.”

“Gina will bite you, I have scars to prove it.”

“Whatever,” she whines, brow furrowed. “You’re my murmzeep, we can do whatever we want.”

He snorts, already moving around the foot of the bed to reach her. “I am your murmzeep,” he says, scooping both of her hands up in his and gently pulling her into a sitting position at the edge of the bed. “And you’re my jinglebin. I’d love to let you borrow some clothes.”

She cracks one eye open, a sly smirk slowly spreading across her face. “Oh, you’d love that? How much?”

“Not enough to do that, you freak.”

Now both of her eyes are open, an undeniably hurt expression darkening her face. “Hey -”

“Not because I don’t want to, but because literally all of our colleagues are in the same house and I’m pretty sure they’d hear something,” he quickly amends.

The hurt fades, replaced instead by disgruntlement. “We should buy them earplugs tomorrow,” she mutters, lifting her arms so Jake can pull her sweater up over her head. “Or - or tie a sock on the doorknob.”

He snorts as he tosses one of his extra shirts at her, and a wide grin splits across her face. “I’m sure sober you will totally go for that idea,” he says, digging through his bag for the extra shorts he knows he packed. “I’ll definitely bring it up over breakfast.”

“Yeah you will.”

She flings her bra across the room before tugging his shirt over her head, leaving her hair even more mussed than before. Jake pulls her up to her feet as she runs her palms over her face, trying and failing to get her hair out of her eyes as he unbuttons her jeans and pushes them down over her hips. It’s odd, the feeling overtaking him as he kneels down to work them over her feet; he’s done this more times than he can count already, but it’s never felt quite this...domestic before.

Amy, oblivious to the unidentifiable feelings welling up in Jake’s chest, steps out of her jeans and stumbles slightly, doubled over to find purchase on the mattress once more to keep from face-planting into the bedside table. Jake quickly tosses her jeans in the same direction her bra went, gripping her hips until she stops swaying. “Hold onto my shoulders, babe,” he instructs softly.

She grumbles something unintelligible but does as he says, shifting her weight forward until her body bows over where he’s still kneeling on the floor before her. She makes quick work of stepping into his shorts, yawning loudly as he pulls them up her legs; she’s still yawning when he pushes her hips down, settling on the bed with a bounce. Her eyes are closed again as she shifts around to stretch out across the mattress, a contented hum emanating from her throat when he pulls the quilt up over her body and lightly brushes his knuckles over her cheekbone.

Both of his knees crack when he stands, sending an uncomfortable pang through both legs, but after a momentary pause he’s quickly stealing around the end of the bed again, back toward his side. Amy hums when he slides in beside her, already rolling to her side to face him, frigid fingers sliding around his torso. “Roll over,” she mumbles, her breath a puff of spearmint and tequila stinging in his nose. “I wanna - jet pack.”

“You sure you don’t wanna be little spoon tonight?” he asks softly, closing his hands over her forearm. “You’re gonna be super hungover in the morning and I don’t mind -”

“Don’t care,” she interrupts, so with a smile and a shake of his head, he complies. He can feel her shuffling closer, her grip around his torso tightening until her cheek makes contact with the space between his shoulder blades. He feels her lungs expand and contract in time with her billowing sigh; with one last nestle of her head, she goes still against him. “Stay?”

“You’re in my room -”

“Stay.”

“You got it, babe.” he murmurs, lifting her hand up to press a kiss against her knuckles before returning her arm back to his waist. She nuzzles a little closer, fingers gripping hard into the excess material of his shirt, before releasing another smaller sigh. “Ames?”

“Mm?”

“I’m glad you came in here.”

He feels the cheek against his back swell with her smile, and her grip on his shirt loosens. “Me, too,” she murmurs. “I’m - I like you. So much.”

Affection bursts through his chest, momentarily overwhelming his senses. He bites the inside of his cheek to keep from giggling - the giddiness in his chest makes him want to scream. “I like you so much, too, Amy,” he finally manages to whisper.

Her response is a quiet, almost imperceptible snore that vibrates against his back, and it takes everything in him to keep from laughing so hard she wakes up again.

#brooklyn 99 #brooklyn 99 fanfiction #jake x amy #peraltiago #peraltiago fanfiction #my b99 fics #prompt request #thank u for this i loved these lines!!!!!!#Anonymous

163 notes · View notes

peraltasames · 5 years ago

Text

that would be enough

It’s an amazing opportunity and, frankly, one that he would take with no hesitation if it weren’t for his incredible, beautiful wife and the baby she has been growing inside her for three months. That’s a pretty big ‘if’.

(in which jake gets offered another fbi job and he has a seemingly impossible decision to make - which maybe isn't really so difficult after all.)

read on ao3

After working a double, during which he arrested a major drug kingpin and helped Rosa and Charles find a suspect in their homicide case, Jake is: A) feeling pretty pleased with himself, and B) more than ready to get home to his wife and bring her some Polish comfort food (they’ve ordered from them so much lately that they’re on a first name basis with their delivery guy).

It’s super unlike him that he even stops to check his email on his way out of the precinct, but he’s so used to waiting for Amy to do it that it’s become a habit at this point. Aside from an exciting announcement about an upcoming sneaker sale at an outlet mall upstate, there’s only one unopened item in his inbox. It’s an encrypted message from Captain Kim, whom he hasn’t spoken to since she finally accepted his long series of apology emails (accompanied by a fruit basket, Amy’s suggestion) and the subject line simply reads Job Opportunity.

It’s brief, but the gist is simple: there’s an undercover operation in the works, they think he’s the right person for the job, it would be a great opportunity and an excellent way for him to get his foot in the door for a potential higher-up position in the FBI. The rest is a little more murky - it’s potentially very dangerous (she can’t go into detail in an email, obviously, but he’s willing to bet it’s got something to do with one of the crime families that have been gradually moving their operations from Manhattan into Brooklyn). It could also take months. She urges him to take time to seriously consider the position, and to contact her as soon as he comes to a decision.

He’s so lost in his own thoughts for the entirety of his commute home that he actually forgets to pick up dinner, which he realizes the moment he opens the door and sees Amy reclined on the couch reading her third pregnancy book of the week, all four of their designated “living room blankets” draped over her.

“Oh my god, I forgot the food,” he blurts out, startling Amy and making her drop the book on her lap. “I’ll just run back out and grab it, sorry, I-”

“Babe, wait-” She jumps up from her perch on the couch and carefully places the book on the coffee table. As she crosses the room to meet him in the doorway, his eyes flit to her barely noticeable but steadily growing baby bump. Their baby. Their baby that needs him. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he mutters, avoiding her gaze as he shifts back and forth. “I just forgot the food so I’m just gonna head out real quick-”

“We can just order, Jake, I can wait,” she assures him with a warm smile. Pregnant Amy is usually - to put it in the most favourable term possible - less than patient when it comes to food, so he can tell right away that she either really missed him or can tell something’s bothering him.

She wraps her arms around his neck and leans up onto her tiptoes to kiss him hello, and judging by the intensity of her kiss and how tightly she’s squeezing him he figures it was the first one and he’s in the clear of having to talk about all that for at least a few minutes.

“Did something happen at work, babe?”

Damn it, so close.

“Why do you ask?”

“You’re super tense,” she frowns, rubbing his shoulders as she shifts back down to her normal height. “And you won’t look me in the eye.”

She places her hand on his cheek and gently guides his gaze to hers, forcing him to make eye contact with her, and some combination of her touch and the impossibly tender, concerned look she’s giving him causes him to cave instantly.

“Um, can we talk?” He gestures to the couch, where her mountain of blankets have been abandoned, and she nods quickly.

They settle in on the comfortable sofa, the first purchase they made together when her apartment became theirs. They’ve had god-knows-how-many important conversations and lazy Sunday afternoon cuddles and heated post-date makeout sessions when they just couldn’t make it all the way to the bedroom on this couch. He’s willing to bet that they conceived their child on this couch three months ago, though an argument could be made for the shower that morning or their bed later that evening as well.

Amy tucks her legs behind her and turns to face him, reaching out to rest a hand on his thigh and waiting for him to speak.

“Remember how Captain Kim mentioned a potential FBI liaison position for me?”

Amy nods and sits up straighter, her eyes brightening. “Did the FBI offer you a job?”

“Not exactly.” He scratches his head, searching for the right words. “Captain Kim recommended me for an undercover mission with the FBI. She made it seem like - uh, if it went well I could be offered something more permanent with them.”

Amy pauses for a moment, clearly deep in thought. “That could be life-changing.”

“I know, but Ames, it, um-” He sighs. “The job sounds a lot like last time I went undercover.”

Her grip on his thigh seems to tighten, perhaps subconsciously, as she stares fixedly at the book left forgotten on the coffee table. He can imagine her train of thoughts; last time he went undercover it was six months with an incredibly dangerous crime family and he could’ve died a bunch of times. They may not have been together at the time, but their mutual yearning was only amplified by the painfully long separation. They’ve been no strangers to painfully long separations since - god, he would do anything to have every night he spent in the Florida heat or a chilly jail cell back and get to relive each one of them in her arms instead.

He reaches out to grab her hand with both of his. “Ames-”

Before he can get any further, she shrugs him off and walks purposefully towards their bedroom. He’s terrified he’s going to hear the sound of a slamming door that he associates so strongly with being a helpless kid watching his parents’ relationship fall apart and never connects to his own marriage, but it never comes.

She returns moments later with her trusty notebook and a pen in hand, sitting back down next to him and beginning to write.

“What are you doing?”

She doesn’t look up at him. “It’s an important decision. We need a pro/con list.”

Jake sighs. “Honey, can we just talk about it?”

“We are talking about it,” she deadpans. “We’ll start with the easy stuff. Pro: you could get your dream job.”

As soon as she’s done writing, Amy looks over to him, which he takes to mean that it’s now his turn.

“Okay. Con: I could be gone for three to six months, a.k.a. when you could literally be giving birth to our child.”

“But you could do it in three,” she counters. “Pro: you could make more money at a new job, which we obviously need more than ever.”

“Con: I could mess up the job somehow and not be recommended for the new position.”

Amy doesn’t write that one down, and he raises an eyebrow.

“It wouldn’t happen, you’re too good at your job.”

His heart swells at her quiet but reverent tone, and she doesn’t pull away when he reaches to grab her hand again.

“Okay, your turn, then,” he prompts.

She stares at the paper intently, and her hand holding the pen begins to tremble as her gaze shifts over to the con column. He almost knows what she’s going to say before she says it, because it’s only natural for the mind to go to the worst-case scenario in situations like these. Still, it’s hard for him to stomach the mere thought of leaving her all alone, especially now.

“You could get hurt,” she mumbles shakily under her breath. Her watering eyes begin to shed fully-formed tears, falling steadily on her grey t-shirt. “I-I could lose-I could lose you-”

She’s cut off by a small sob, her fists clenching around the material of the blanket as her entire body starts to shake. Amy crying isn’t rare, and pregnant Amy crying is an even more frequent occurrence, but seeing her cry over anything more than a spilled yogurt cup is too much for him to take. Jake’s heart feels like it’s cracking in two, but his instincts overpower his own sadness and he reaches for her immediately. She falls into his chest the moment his hands reach her and her sobs increase in volume as she clutches at his shirt.

“That’s never gonna happen, baby,” he whispers against her hair in-between quick, healing kisses everywhere his lips can reach. “Shh, you’re not gonna lose me.”

“You - you can’t promise that.”

“I am promising you that. I’m gonna call Captain Kim first thing Monday morning and respectfully decline the offer. I’m sure she’ll understand.”

She pulls away from him, shaking her head quickly.

“I can’t ask you to do that. It’s too good of an opportunity, being a detective won’t be enough for you forever and this job is your dream-”

“You didn’t ask me to, Ames, and it’s not. You and our little lemon-sized-as-of-this-morning baby are my dream, okay? You’re not just enough, you’re everything - more than everything I could have ever dreamed of. Okay?”

Amy wipes her tears away, but there are already new ones forming in her eyes. She looks at him with so much trust, and he knows now, even more than he did five seconds ago, that he could never put himself in harm’s way again unless absolutely necessary.

She finally cracks a small smile, nodding slowly.

“More than everything of which you could ever have dreamt.”

Jake frowns. “Huh?”

“You ended a sentence with a proposition. It should be ‘more than everything of which you could ever have dreamt.’”

He laughs softly, cupping her face and wiping the remaining tears away. “That’s my girl.”

She tucks herself back into his embrace and squeezes his arm tightly as the other one wraps around her waist.

“Are you sure about this?”

Jake nods against her head, his free hand stroking her hair.

“I think I kind of knew what my answer was as soon as I read the email. I used to get so excited about these crazy life-or-death missions, but now…”

“No more ’eyes closed, head first, can’t lose?’” she supplies, smiling up at him.

The memory of walking away from her in a parking lot, the weight of his confession hanging in the air as he left knowing he might never see her again, stings a bit. He wishes he could tell that version of himself that had never really experienced true love and happiness how much he would have to live for someday.

“Who woulda thought that guy would be a dad?” Jake laughs.

Amy snuggles further into him, kissing the spot on his hoodie that rests over his heart. “You’re gonna be the best dad. I love you so much.”

He’s filled with a surge of warmth, both from her embrace and words of love, and the knowledge that he will do everything in his power to be the best dad. He will stick around and he will do everything in his power to make their child as happy as they can be and he will give every ounce of unconditional love and support in his body. He will be better than his father, better than his past self, better every day than he was the day before.

“I love you,” he kisses her cheek, “and you”, his hand grazes her belly (he’s been eagerly anticipating a kick, though she reminds him it could be weeks or even months before they feel anything), “so much.”

She shifts to properly kiss him, and he gladly welcomes it with a hand on her back pulling her closer and the other still tangled in her hair. When she pulls away and smiles at him, he feels like all the weight of the world has been lifted off his shoulders.

“Can we order dinner now?” she pleads, breaking the tranquility of the moment, but with good reason. “I’m actually starving.”

“Good idea, Tomak is going to get super worried if he doesn’t hear from us soon.”

He pulls his phone from his pocket and goes straight to his recent calls, ordering enough pierogis to feed a small army (or one pregnant Amy) and a couple of hot chocolates, and they seamlessly fall into their routine of selecting whatever they’re currently binging on Netflix (right now it’s The Crown), getting cozy, and waiting for Tomak’s arrival.

This, forever, will always be more than enough for him.

#we BACK ladies #💕💕#i'm sry my first fic of the season is a lil angsty but it's really not that bad #jake x amy #b99 spoilers #maybe ??#anyways hope u like it <3

114 notes · View notes

37-children-of-the-dreams · 4 years ago

Text

Day #20: My Head And My Heart Are Caught In Between

Another planet to land and another chance for shenanigans. I just want all of you to know, I actually can’t write romance that well. I never went on a date and I’ve been scarred by YouTube on the idea of dating. Please, shoot me what I did wrong on ask.

-----------------

Crosshair and Fennec were waiting patiently to land in their current planetary destination. The main city was packed from what they were seeing waiting up in space. After the whole “Getting lost in the unknown regions” thing, Crosshair thought it would be a great idea for Fennec and him to go bounty hunting in a city. Korkie readily agreed much to Crosshair’s surprise, but Fennec knew what was up.

His and Fennec’s talk about his sexuality made him question things. Currently, Korkie was trying his hardest to hide from Crosshair despite wanting to be closer to him. It was not his fault since Fennec was the one who brought it up and from her perspective, Korkie might not have any ideas on dating men. Especially since he was force to accept the idea that he has to have a wife.

“I’m going to wake up Korkie,” Crosshair said.

“Why?” Fennec asked. “You always let him sleep until his visions were done.”

“Maybe, but it’s been almost an hour since we’ve waited. I’m getting tired of waiting for their karking asses to think and give us a hanger.”

“Okay, but I don’t think he’s in the bunk.”

“I know, he’s been avoiding me.”

Fennec gasped. She knows by now that Crosshair has great eyesight, but whenever Korkie was doing something, Crosshair merely shrugged it off. They had their boundaries and accepted it.

“Are you mad?” Fennec asked.

“No,” he answered. “I mean, I did to him once. You were there and you know it means somethings up.”

“Maybe he’s embarrassed that I told you you saved his life.”

“Maybe, but he’s saved my life and I never avoided him.”

“Well, maybe it’s just that Korkie was having a fight with his great-something grandfather and he didn’t fight for Clan Kryze. He fought for someone who’s not even fully Mandalorian. That sounds embarrassing? Right?”

Crosshair shrugged and left the cockpit for the bunks. Fennec bit her lower lip. She promised to keep both conversations secret and now look where it landed her. One was questioning everything he thought about his partnership, and the other was too dense to realize what might be wrong with the other person. Maybe Fennec should have not said anything to the both of them, but she just wanted to be there for both Crosshair and Korkie. Crosshair because he is her mentor and Korkie for being a family figure after years of being alone.

Fennec sighed and did nothing. Those two will figure it out on their own. They always did.

Crosshair was at Korkie’s main bunk and sighed. He knows there was another, more secretive room in the ship. When he questioned Korkie about why his bed wasn’t wet from the tears he produced because of the visions, Korkie said it was because he had used the Kryze secret bedroom. Which was all he said. Korkie didn’t tell him where it was, or if it had a password, he just said there was another room.

Which means Crosshair started knocking the wall at the end of the bunks. He thought it was weird that the top of the ship seemed long when the cockpit and the sleeping area were smaller in the inside. He heard a shallow knock and smirked. The secret room was behind the wall. Yet, he still had no idea how to get to Korkie so he did the next best thing. Bang on the wall until Korkie hears at least one knock.

The problem? Korkie heard all the knocks. He was in his visions watching some past Jedi and Mando fights when his visions felt a disturbance in the real world. He knew only one person was willing to wake him up and Korkie groaned in fear. He wished he never said anything about his sexuality to Fennec because now he’s having some issues being next to Crosshair.

He wanted to hold Crosshair’s hands. Cook a feast for him and act like a nurse when he needs to. Buy Crosshair the best clothes fit for the best sniper. Buy the best blasters and rifles for the best sniper. Kiss-----

Korkie jolted up from the visions and back to the real world.

“NO,” he thought. “I like Cross as a partner. I don’t like him as a future husband!”

Korkie groaned as he sunk into his king-sized bed. Why did husband get into his?

Oh right, Lagos. He did like Lagos in the past, but they both knew even if they were to be married, it wouldn’t be filled with much love. Their marriage would have been political in all and she wouldn't have a chance to be in love with her true fated spouse. She was the first person he told about liking men and she didn’t say anything after he told her. Maybe it was the fact that mere days later Mandalore got into a Civil War, but Lagos became distant to him and they never truly got to mend things.

Maybe it was his fault that he keeps telling girls about liking guys, but can whoever controls life give him a break for once in his love life? He hasn’t met many men to have a good crush and them and the one person he might have a crush on is also the the guy to almost sold him to the Saxons.

The knocking kept coming and Korkie just wanted to stay in bed. He didn’t want to look at Crosshair for obvious reasons. He knows Crosshair knows somethings. He knows he might have to reveal the passcode to the bedroom. He knows the instant Crosshair sees him acting up and going to the bedroom he’ll have no peace.

Korkie took the second option. There was laundry chute near the bed for the dirty laundry. He ran to the laundry chute and went into a pile of dirty laundry. Crosshair’s laundry. He shriek and fell down when he got up. Both him and the bin went to the floor.

“Need help?” Crosshair said as he held out a hand.

He heard the familiar cry of a Korkie and guessed where he could have landed. Korkie was blushing mad, but he took it. He knows he was blushing, and taking his partner’s hand wouldn’t hurt as much as landing in the laundry.

“You know,” Crosshair started again. “I was wondering why there was a chute. Now I understand. It’s for royals who love to keep codes of secret rooms.”

“I need my sleep,” Korkie stammered.

“You were okay sleeping close to me.”

“I wanted privacy.”

“Korkie,” Crosshair cooed as he placed a hand on the royal’s shoulder. “Are avoiding me and being a hypocrite?”

“Hypocrite?”

“You said we can talk it out and those bastards in that planet won’t let us land for now. Let’s talk.”

Korkie didn’t want to, but he didn’t want to be a hypocrite to Crosshair. They went to the kitchen and Crosshair asked him to make deserts. Crosshair was beginning to have a sweet tooth due to Korkie and they both knew it. Korkie went to create desert in silence until they were sitting at the table.

“What happened?” Crosshair asked.

“I’ve never had a close relationship with a men before,” Korkie blurted.

Korkie looked at Crosshair for any reaction, but he just shrugged.

“What about that Amis guy?” he pointed out. “You said you used to be his friend.”

“That was all it was. A friendship.”

“And what makes us different?”

“You’re willing to talk to me like this. He never did and I had was afraid to talk to Soniee and Lagos like this.”

“Why?”

“Soniee was more like Amis in a talking sense, and Lagos was... Lagos.”

“Bad breakup?”

“Almost engagement. Not that I had a choice in the matter.”

“Sad, but why do this? This is like what? The third time?”

“I guess I never knew I would act like this. I’m surprised by myself also and I’m truly feeling like I’m figuring myself outside of being ‘Korkie Kryze’ and just being Korkie.”

“Korkie, you really are just like a kid finally being thrown into the real world. Yet, I understand. I thought I was never going to leave Kamino because of being myself. Now, I’m here and with you.”

“And you’re stuck with me.”

“Yup.”

“I told Lagos I might like men once. She and I never patched things up and just became distant. Then again, Death Watch turned Mandalore to a battleground and she wasn't even there when I was exiled.”

“Thank the Maker you dodge a bullet. If she can’t accept you, you can’t be with her.”

“You’re not ashamed of me? Of my sexuality?”

“No. I like men too. Maybe it’s because life’s too short or the fact that I’ve always been next to men all my life, but I’m not ashamed to say if I had to kiss a man, then I’d do it. Besides, there might be men that can please me better than women.”

“Oh.”

“Not that I had slept with anyone. The entire world hates clones and I’m not always filled with credits.”

“I don’t hate clones.”

“Which is why I like our partnership.”

Fennec came onto the scene and whined. She loves Korkie’s desert, but she just missed something possibly more juicy than his fruit deserts. Yet, that is not the point.

“We’re clear for landing,” she announced. “I put us in autopilot and we’ll be landing shortly.”

“Good,” Korkie said. “I can’t wait for your next successful bounty.”

“Yes,” Crosshair agreed. “Also, Korkie you’re going to have to stay here. This planet has too many ship thieves and you’re good at blasting.”

“Fine, but bring me back a souvenir.”

Crosshair nodded as the ship landed. Fennec Shand was ready to shine once again.

-------------------

#korkie kryze #korkie kenobi #crosshair #clone trooper crosshair #the bad batch #fennec shand #star wars

3 notes · View notes

hoe-doroki · 4 years ago

Text

Alright, friends, your local demi is going to take one last bow before ace week is up.

I’m going to talk about myself, because I the lived experience of ace and acespec people isn’t talked about enough and, well, this is the week to talk about it!

Now that that’s out of the way, let’s bring in a good ol’ frame of reference:

78% pure. For those who don’t know this is the rice purity test, where high scores mean you haven’t participated in many “racy” activities and low scores mean you have.

First, let’s state that I don’t want to put too much stock on this test. Only 3/4 of the questions are about sex and dating while the remaining 1/4 is about alcohol, drugs, and illegal activity. (Part of the reason my score is so high is because I, unrelated to being acespec, don’t drink or smoke.) But, like I said, it’s a place to start.

Stats. I’m a 24-year-old woman. I am cisgender, straight, and demisexual/demiromantic (not asexual or aromantic). I have never had a boyfriend, I have never enjoyed kissing, I have never had sex.

Oof, and right away, I’m embarrassed saying that.

And that’s the whole problem.

(This post clocks in at ~1.6k, so the rest is under the cut. Trigger warning for suicidal ideation.)

Well, not my whole problem, haha, but it is why I’m bothering to talk about this instead of keeping it secret, like I prefer to. I want to dispel some myths that harm the way I view myself and keep me from being honest with others. Because I fear that when people look at me and hear “24-year-old virgin” they assume things about me that just aren’t true.

First thing’s first. The fact that I’m a virgin means nothing except that I have not had sexual intercourse with another person. There are no other assumptions to be made.

It hurts when people are surprised by this. I happen to fall mostly into the barbed categories of American conventional attractiveness, so when people hear that I have never had a boyfriend or that I’m a virgin, they assume there’s something wrong with me. Or that past men I’ve been around have missed an opportunity or something.

This is shitty on two levels. One, the assumption that my stats are the way they are because of some failure sucks. All it should be is a reflection of my agency and the fact that I am the queen of saying no. (In fact, it was my first word.) But then people are assuaged by the fact that I have, in fact, been approached for sex, as though that confirms for them the value that they assumed I had. As though that’s where any of my worth should be coming from.

Two, these assumptions, when flipped, imply that it would “make sense” for me to have my stats if I looked different or was less neurotypical.

Media--as it does--has played a role in these assumptions. I think about the characters who are “later-in-life virgins” and I think of Emma Pillsberry from Glee, who deals with extreme OCD and germophobia. Or Sheldon and Amy from The Big Bang Theory, the former of whom might very well be acespec and is likely on the autism spectrum as well, but who is shown to be very antisocial with many difficulties forming interpersonal relationships and the latter of whom comes from a very conservative family and a mother who ensured she couldn’t learn social skills until well into her thirties. Or the “what if” episode of Friends that basically asserts that Monica would have been too fat to get laid. Or The 40-Year-Old Virgin, which I don’t wish to talk about. (Oof, all such problematic examples)

And yes, these characters are all white (I am not) and that’s a discussion for another post better made by someone who is more of a media expert than me.

These characters are all portrayed to have something that “explains” why they haven’t yet had the privilege of having sex. And we see in movies like The 40-Year-Old Virgin, or a whole host of teen movies, that virginity is something to conquer--especially for male characters.

I don’t look how people expect virginity to look. I’ll be real--I have high self esteem. I think I’m awesome inside and out and I don’t see any reason why I should be shy about that. I know that if I wanted to have sex with a stranger, I could do it tonight (covid notwithstanding--be safe, friends).

And even if I were a different person who had less self confidence or looked different or came from a different background, that wouldn’t mean that I “deserve” to be a virgin or whatever it is media is telling us. Virginity still wouldn’t have a damn thing to do with the other things that make up a person.

So, louder for the people in the back: being a virgin doesn’t mean that there’s anything wrong with me.

Next point. Being a virgin doesn’t mean that I’m innocent, a prude, or that I’m “waiting for marriage.”

Gosh, I’ve been asked if I’m waiting for marriage too many times. Two things. 1. No. I’d rather know my sexual compatibility with a partner before marriage and 2. I’m an atheist. So no.

Also, I am not innocent or a prude.

My lack of experience makes me feel infantilized. It does. That’s a personal issue of mine and, ya’ll, I don’t have many answers for how to overcome it. But I have done what I can to change that.

Guys, some of the best choices I’ve made in my adulthood are the things I’ve done to reclaim my sexuality (meaning sexualness not orientation) for myself. Not gonna get super nsfw here, but I’ve invested in about a dozen sex toys and I intend to buy more. They always makes me feel so much more adult and sexy. And I’ve done things with them that I feel pretty confident that many of my sexually active, allosexual friends haven’t done. This kind of thing isn’t for everyone acespec, but it helps me reclaim my worth as a sexual being, without needing a partner to validate that.

I’m also fully valid to write erotica! I love erotica and it’s another way I take back my sexuality. It is just as valid for me to write as it is for anyone else. I am capable of research--both on my own body and from resources, experts, and classes. I don’t need to have had sex for my opinion to matter.

Oh, and being acespec has nothing to do with my sex drive. It seems that I have a libido that is either average or slightly above average--I’m also a person that the more I’m engaging with my libido, the higher it gets.

This often feels like a curse. I, unlike many, but not all, acespec people, strongly desire sex. Like, I’ve bundled up a 35-pound weighted blanket on top of myself whilst engaging in self-pleasure just to try and make the activity feel more partnered (pro tip: that didn’t work.) The truth is that I’m really sick of having to take care of my libido by myself and would much rather have a partner.

But it’s not easy.

I’ve tried online dating, guys. Many times. I can’t do it. That’s not true of all acespec individuals, but it is for me, at least right now. For me, my demisexuality means that the idea and experience of going out, even on a casual date, with someone I’m not already interested in is nearly intolerable. And my current lifestyle, for many reasons, doesn’t lend itself well to me naturally forming crushes.

I’ve only had one major crush in my life. And it was 10 years ago. So you understand the difficulty.

I hate being demisexual, guys. I do. I wish that I could write this post with the intent of spreading pride and positivity, but I can’t. That’s not where I’m truthfully at yet. I’m lonely to the point of suicidal ideation. I’m too young for it, but I’m already making contingency plans for freezing my eggs or trying to imagine a future where I could be a single mother and...I can’t yet reconcile it. I know that part of this is my dreams being created in society’s image, but all I’ve ever wanted is to be a wife and a mother. And it’s hard to see that future when I can only look at my past and see images of silicone and sexual repulsion.

Remember when I said I’ve never enjoyed kissing? I’ve had more stage kisses than “real” kisses and, I have to say, the staged ones were more enjoyable because at least I wasn’t forcing myself to do them. Forcing myself to try to kiss someone so that I could feel “normal.” Forcing myself to kiss someone just because I was curious about what it was other people were talking about. My first “real” kiss was at 20 years old and it was a night where I forced myself to do a lot of things for the sake of catching up with my peers and I’ve been deeply uncomfortable with that experience ever since, and I can only be grateful that I stopped it as early in the evening as I did.

Everyone’s experience is so different, ya’ll. I haven’t heard a story like mine before, so in no way can I claim it to be an experience that widely represents demisexuality. It certainly doesn’t represent asexuality, nor how queerness (or many other things) intersects with either of those things.

But, at the same time, I’ve never heard a story like mine before. Do you know how helpful it would have been to have been able to see a story like this a few years ago? Ten years ago? It would have been life changing. Because even though, in the middle of all that self-confidence I spouted off about paragraphs ago, there’s this kernel of self-hatred stuck in my teeth, I would have felt validated. I would have felt seen. I would have been able to DM someone who could have told me, hey, it hurts and I know no one seems to understand you, but I do.

That’s to say, if anyone is going through something similar and wants to talk about it, my DMs are always open. I’m no expert, and I bet some of the things I’ve said here aren’t going to hit some people right, but this is my experience. This is the most intimate part of my life. It is a privilege that I’m sharing this with you all, so please, hold it with care. I hope this means something to someone.

Happy ace week, ya’ll.

Oh, and the rice purity test doesn’t mean shit. It’s good fun if you want, but if it makes you feel any kind of way because your number is too low or too high, throw it away. That’s not where any part of your value comes from.

#i promise this has nothing to do with the fact that today is my brother's wedding day #not bitter at all #asexuality #ace week #demisexuality #demisexual #demiromantic #asexuality spectrum #acespec #nobody asked ana #personal #tw: suicidal ideation #tw suicidal ideation #cw: suicidal ideation #cw suicidal ideation

6 notes · View notes

sparrow-flies-south · 5 years ago

Text

Ten Things [Chapter 7]

Fandom: Sanders Sides Pairings: Anxceit, Royality Intrulogical Summary: Ten Things I Hate About You AU When Roman Prince learns that Patton Foster isn’t allowed to date until his older brother, Virgil, is, Roman is crushed. Roman’s twin brother Remus, however, comes up with a plan: find someone who is willing to date Virgil. And who better to ask than Janus Verona, who according to rumours is willing to do anything for the right price? Taglist (ask to be added): @glitchybina @someone-idk-is-here @ellietempest @imlikeaghostzombiejesus @anxiety-ismy-name Notes: Better late than never, right?

Hopefully I won’t have as many more delays in the future, but in other news, we’re halfway through! (According to my outline, at least) I’m really excited about getting into the second half, which has a lot of fun things in it!

AO3 Link - Chapter One - Chapter Two - Chapter Three - Chapter Four - Chapter Five - Chapter Six

Remus meandered along the school corridors in the hopes that someone would see him, take pity on him, and offer him a lift home. So far, his plan wasn’t bearing much fruit.

With Roman in detention for hacking the schools intercom system (not that it counted as hacking if it was left alone in an unlocked room) Remus was forced to either wait around for an hour or make his own way home. Waiting around meant boredom, but going home meant walking, which was only slightly better.

He turned a corner, and grinned when he spotted Logan talking to a guy Remus didn’t really know. At least Logan might offer some entertainment – he was fun to wind up, and, best of all, never seemed to take his antics too seriously. Well, other than when Remus deliberately got science wrong.

Remus waved, but Logan didn’t notice. The other guy was leaning close to him, saying something, and Logan had his head down, his shoulders hunched. Remus faltered. Clearly, only one person was happy to be having that conversation.

The guy laughed, and shoved Logan, hard enough to make him stagger back a step. Rage twisted up in Remus’ gut, and he strode forward, but the guy was already walking away.

“Hey!” Remus shouted. The guy didn’t look back, just disappeared through the doors that led out of the school.

Remus began to follow, but Logan’s hand caught his arm, freezing him in place.

“Leave it,” Logan said.

Remus frowned, turning to Logan. “Who the hell was that?”

“That was Jake,” Logan said, sounding resigned. He began walking out of the school, and Remus followed him.

“What did he want?” Remus asked.

“Nothing.”

“He was clearly messing with you.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Bullshit,” Remus snapped, grabbing Logan’s arm and holding him in place. “C’mon, Lo, tell me what’s going on.”

“Why?” Logan snapped. “So you can join him in making my life miserable?”

Remus dropped Logan’s arm and took a step back. “Logan, that’s not -”

“Of course not,” Logan said before Remus could figure out how he was going to end the sentence. He shook his head. “I have work to do.”

Remus watched Logan walk away, frozen in place. Something was definitely wrong, but Remus didn’t know what to do about it. How did you make someone feel better?

He could go beat up Jake. Remus spun on his heel, and marched to the car park.

You’ll get suspended, a voice that sounded suspiciously like Logan warned. Remus ignored it. Who cared if he got suspended? It would get the dude off of Logan’s back. It might even make everyone else think twice before messing with Logan.

Remus arrived at the car park just in time to see Jake get into a shiny new car and drive away. Remus scowled; so goes that idea.

He could still fight the guy tomorrow, but it wouldn’t feel the same. He wanted a way to cheer Logan up now. Make it so that Logan wasn’t bothered about Jake and his shitty, perfect car.

Huh. That gave Remus an idea. Sure, beating him up might be off the table for now, but there were other ways to get revenge. Ways that would probably make Logan feel better, too.

Smiling to himself, Remus began walking away from school. He’d need to go on a recon mission around the neighbourhood, and then visit Logan when it got dark, but first, he was going to the grocery store.

The date was perfect.

Roman had driven them to the park, where they had walked hand in hand. When they got to the lake, Patton noticed Swan boats and mentioned that he’s always wanted to go on one. So Roman had decided that the best time to try it was right there and then, even though the sun was setting.

They stayed on the lake until it got dark, when they went back to shore and Roman drove Patton home. Patton wished the day wouldn’t end – everything felt so magical, that he was scared it would disappear at any moment.

They pulled into Patton’s driveway far too soon.

Roman insisted on opening Patton’s door for him, and then walking him up to the house.

“I’ll see you at school then,” Roman said when they were standing on the porch.

Patton nodded. He opened his mouth to say something – to ask Roman to kiss him again – when the door slammed open, making both of them jump. Virgil stood in the doorway, looking furious.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Virgil snarled.

Roman stiffened. “I was just taking Patton home.”

“I told you to leave him alone!”

Patton moved between the two of them. “Virgil, stop. It was just a misunderstanding.”

“I don’t care! You said you weren’t going to waste your time on him!” Virgil said accusingly.

“No, I didn’t,” Patton protested. “You did.”

“And you agreed!”

Patton said nothing, and Virgil narrowed his eyes.

“You did agree,” Virgil said.

Patton hugged his arms close to his body. “Virgil, can we talk about this later?”

Virgil glanced between Patton and Roman, and then shook his head. “Fine,” he said dully. “Do what you want.”

“Virgil, that’s not-” Patton began, but Virgil was already going inside. The door shut between them.

“Well,” Roman said lightly. “He’s a real charmer.”

“He’s a good person,” Patton said. “He just… worries about me. You must feel the same way about Remus.”

“Sometimes,” Roman said. “But Remus can look after himself. And so can you.”

Patton tried to smile. He wished Roman hadn’t had to see that. He reached out and grabbed Roman’s hand.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“You don’t need to apologise for your brother,” Roman said. “Trust me, I get it.”

Patton smiled. He wasn’t sure what to say, so he just stared down at their entwined hands. He ran his thumb over Roman’s hand.

“Are you okay?” Roman asked.

“Of course,” Patton said, as cheerfully as he could manage. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“If you’re sure,” Roman said, but he sounded doubtful.

“I am sure,” Patton asserted. “I had a really good time today.”

“Me too.”

“I should get inside,” Patton said. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“And every day after that,” Roman said, making Patton giggle.

Despite what he’d said, Patton stayed on the porch until Roman had gotten into his car and driven away. Only when the car had fully disappeared did he go inside.

By the time he did, Virgil was hidden in his room.

Logan was unable to focus. The very idea should be absurd – Logan prided himself on his attentiveness to his studies. And yet, every time he tried to solve the maths problems in front of him, his mind kept wandering.

Jake had been a metaphorical thorn in Logan’s side for years, though he had not caused problems for a while. Apparently, Jake had been bored today, because he had decided he had nothing better to do than harass Logan. It had made Logan reluctant to go to the cafeteria when Remus had asked – an irrational fear, as Jake could very well find him anywhere in the school.

A knock sounded at the door, but Logan ignored it. Patton was with Roman, so there was no chance that whoever it was at the door was there to see him. Instead, he tried to focus on his work, only to realise that he’d forgotten what the problem was, and had to reread it again.

This wasn’t right! Logan had never had this problem before, and now that he did, it was because of Jake? Someone who would likely amount to nothing after graduation? Normally, Logan would be completely unaffected, even as Patton rushed to comfort him.

The thought of Patton made something twist in his gut. Another irrational thing; Logan was not entitled to Patton’s time, and so had no reason to be upset that Patton wasn’t there. Surely, Jake’s teasing on how Patton had found a new boyfriend (in this scenario, Logan was apparently Patton’s previous boyfriend, despite never having romantic feelings for him) couldn’t have gotten to him.

“Logan!” his mother, Martha, called.

“I’m busy,” he called back, because he didn’t need another distraction when his head was already providing one.

“You have a guest.”

Logan frowned, and made his way out of his room. If Patton was here, that would imply something had gone wrong between him and Roman, which meant that Logan would need to have a conversation with Roman about the consequences of him hurting Patton.

But then, if Patton was here, his mother would have just said that.

“Who is it?” his other mother, Amy, asked, poking her head out of the office.

“I don’t know yet,” Logan pointed out. “Shouldn’t you be working?”

Amy had decided that this year she was going to write the book she was working on for sure. This was a process that involved very little actual writing, and a great deal of seeking out distractions. It led to a mother who was suddenly fascinated by everything Logan did.

Amy pouted. “Isn’t say that meant to be my job?”

Logan just fixed her with a stare.

Amy rolled her eyes dramatically. “You’re not me real dad,” she declared, before slinking back into her office. She left the door open.

Logan continued down stairs, but he only made it halfway down the staircase before freezing, because Remus Prince was standing in the hallway, talking to his mother.

Remus spotted him and waved with one hand – the other hand, Logan noticed, was carrying a shopping bag. Martha turned and smiled.

“There you are,” she said. “Sorry about the wait, he’s an extremely rebellious child.”

“One day someone will believe you when you say that,” Logan said as he walked down the final steps.

“Not if they’ve spent five seconds around you, they won’t,” Martha shot back. She touched one hand to Logan’s hair in a display of affection, before gliding back to the living room.

“You have two mums?” Remus asked. Of course, he had seen Amy when she had picked him up from the party.

“Yes. Surely I’ve mentioned it before?”

Remus shrugged, fiddling with the handle of the bag. “Probably. I don’t always pay attention that well.”

“Pardon my abruptness,” Logan said, “But what are you doing here?”

“I’m here to torment you, obviously,” Remus said.

It was meant as a joke, like many of Remus’ statements were, but Logan could see the defensive curl to his shoulders. Logan grimaced when he thought back on what he had said earlier.

“I apologise for how I acted,” Logan said. “You are nothing like Jake.”

“Yeah, I hope not,” Remus said. “What’d he do?”

“The details are irrelevant. Suffice to say we have been rivals for a while now.”

“Seems kinda one sided for rivals. What happened, he get mad you did better at him on a test?”

“That would require him to be mad at the whole school,” Logan said drily, and Remus snorted. “No, he takes issue with me choice of friends. Or, more accurately, with Patton’s choice of friends.”

“He’s mad you stole his bestie?”

Logan nodded, and Remus groaned. “Ugh, that’s so boring.”

Logan fought down a smile. “What were you hoping for?”

“Drama! Betrayal! An illicit love affair!”

He was unable to stop the smile now, though he was able to smother it as much as possible. Why on earth did he find Remus’ antics amusing, when by all rights he should be infuriated by them.

Well, he normally was infuriated by them. He just also found them amusing.

“Still,” Remus said, “We have to do something.”

“About what?” Logan asked.

“Jake! He doesn’t get to just mess with you!”

Logan shook his head. “There’s nothing to be done. He doesn’t constitute a big enough problem for the school to step in.”

“That’s why we’re not asking the school.” Remus grabbed Logan’s arm. “C’mon.”

“I have homework,” Logan objected.

“Well, I’m kidnapping you, so there,” Remus said.

Logan sighed. “Mum,” he called. “I’m being kidnapped.”

“Let us know if you’ll be staying out late,” Martha called back.

Logan shook his head as he let Remus drag him out of the house. “What exactly is the purpose of this?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Remus asked. He held up the shopping bag. “Revenge, my dear Watson.”

Dinner was an awkward affair, with both brothers eating in silence, despite Remy’s attempts to initiate conversation. Virgil fled back upstairs as soon as he was able to, and Patton wanted nothing more to follow him.

“Okay,” Remy said. “What happened?”

Patton swallowed uncertainly. “What do you mean?”

Remy fixed Patton with a stare. “Don’t play dumb, Pat. Since when are you and Virgil fighting?”

Patton sighed. “Something happened, and, uh, Virgil and I disagree on it.”

“What happened?”

“Nothing bad,” Patton quickly assured him. “At least, I don’t think it’s bad.”

“That’s not as reassuring as you think it is,” Remy remarked. “You know you can tell me anything, right?”

“I know,” Patton said. “And I’m going to – I was always going to, it’s just…”

“Hey.” Remy placed a hand on Patton’s shoulder. “If you really don’t want to talk about it now, you don’t have to.”

It wasn’t something Remy had offered before. Normally, he would push harder, worried about what could possibly be so bad.

“No, I want to,” Patton said, and it was suddenly true. “Do you remember when I was talking about Roman?”

Remy looked confused, before his face morphed into resignation. “I think I can see where this is going.”

“Virgil is dating Janus now,” Patton said. “He told me. Which means that I’m allowed to date now, too.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Remy said, waving a hand. “When did both my sons turn into Casanova’s? Fine, I guess you can go on a date with him.”

“Oh,” Patton said. “Actually, uh-“

“You already went on one, didn’t you?” guessed Remy, who was well experienced with the tactic of doing something before your parents could ban you.

Patton, at least, looked sheepish when he nodded, something that Remy never had.

“Wait,” Remy said. “Let me get this straight – you and Virgil are fighting over a boy?”

Patton sighed, and nodded. Somehow, he ended up spilling the whole story – or at least, an abridged version of it, leaving out the amount of alcohol he’d drank on Friday.

“Virgil doesn’t trust him,” Patton said. “But Virgil doesn’t even know him.”

“Well, if it makes you feel better, I don’t trust Virgil’s boyfriend either.”

It didn’t make Patton feel better.

“That’s just it,” he complained. “I’m happy for Virgil, why can’t he be happy for me?”

“He is happy, probably,” Remy said. “He just worries about you. We both do.”

“But I don’t want to be worried about. I like Roman, isn’t that enough?”

“I wish it was,” Remy said ruefully. “Look, Virge will come round. You know how he gets about change.”

“I guess,” Patton said with a sigh.

Still, it felt wrong, not having his big brother to gush to.

“Okay, jeez, I won’t call you Watson again,” Remus said when Logan paused for breath. “I didn’t realise you took Sherlock Holmes so seriously.”

“I take insults to my character seriously,” Logan said. He frowned and looked around, noticing their surroundings for the first time. “Where are we?”

It was night now, with only the streetlights illuminating the quiet, residential street they were standing on. They were by a fence between two perfectly normal houses, out of sight from the windows.

“You don’t recognise it?” Remus asked. “Look at the car.”

Logan squinted at the two cars parked in the driveway. One of them looked familiar, but it took him a moment to realise that he’d seen it at school, and another one to realise who he’d seen driving it.

“Remus is – is this Jake’s house?”

“Yep,” Remus said, reaching into the bag.

“Why are we at Jake’s house? How do you even know where he lives?”

“To answer your second question, I know a guy who knows a guy. And for the first one,” – Remus pushed a carton of eggs into Logan’s hands – “We’re here for revenge.”

Logan stared at the carton, then back at the car, which Remus was moving closer to. He realised what Remus was suggested in a sudden rush.

“Absolutely not,” he hissed.

“C’mon, aren’t you mad about everything he’s done?”

“That doesn’t mean we should egg his car.”

“Do you have a better solution? One that will actually work?” Remus challenged.

“I fail to see how this solution will do help.”

“It helps because it’ll make you feel better.”

Logan stared at the eggs. It was normally Patton that made him feel better, but he’d almost never had that. Jake had tried to drive them apart, telling Logan that Patton didn’t really want him around, that he just felt bad for Logan. Barely aware of what he was doing, he took an egg out of the carton. When he looked back up, Remus was watching him, face earnest.

It would have been easy to dismiss Remus as just wanting to cause trouble, but if that was the case, he would have started throwing eggs by now. He really was there just for Logan’s sake.

Logan threw the egg.

Remus whooped as the egg went splat against the car’s windshield, and Logan felt a rush of exhilaration.

Remus quickly tossed his own egg, which hit the passenger door. Logan grabbed the next one without think about it. It was like a dam had broken, and now all of Logan’s frustrations came flooding out. He kept throwing eggs, and Remus cheered whenever one hit the car.

The car alarm went off, shocking Logan into stillness. What had he just done? The car was now a runny, goopy mess.

Remus didn’t stay still. He grabbed Logan’s arm and shouted, “Run!” just as a window opened.

The remaining eggs dropped from Logan’s hand as they raced down the street. He could hear the sound of someone shouting behind him, but Remus kept a grip on his arm, pulling him when Logan became out of breath.

Eventually, Remus decided that they were far enough away, and came to a stop. Logan crouched on the ground, gasping for breath.

“We lost them,” Remus said proudly.

“That,” Logan said between pants, “Was the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever done.”

“Worth it, though.”

Logan nodded, unable to speak. When he finally caught his breath and looked up again, Remus was staring at him.

“What?”

Remus blinked, seeming to come out of a daze. “Nothing, it’s just – you’re smiling.”

“Oh.” Logan was suddenly aware of the grin that threatened to split his face in two.

Remus smiled, and sat down next to Logan.

Remus had figured out that something was wrong with Logan, and then figured out what was wrong. He’d gone out of his way to help Logan, albeit using a rather chaotic method. And for what? The only thing that seemed to have come out of it was that Logan felt better.

“Remus?” Logan asked.

“Hm?” Remus didn’t turn his head. The half-light shone eerily on his features, like someone in an old horror movie.

“Are we friends?”

It was a foolish thing to ask. Surely, Logan should know who his friends were. If he had to ask, wouldn’t that imply that they weren’t friends?

Remus didn’t seem to take offense, though. He just smiled. “I don’t do this for every guy I tutor.”

“I’m the only person you tutor,” Logan said drily. “But thanks. I… consider you a friend, too.”

Strangely enough, Remus’ smile looked brittle after Logan said that. It must have been a trick of the light though, because when Remus spoke it was with his usual irreverent tone. “Well, you’re stuck with me now, Calculator Watch.”

Logan could imagine worse people to be stuck with.

#sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction #royality #intrulogical #anxceit #patton sanders #roman sanders #remus sanders #logan sanders #virgil sanders #my fic #ten things

16 notes · View notes

callioope · 5 years ago

Text

I’ve been vague about what has been going on in my life intentionally, both because I needed to tell some people offline first and because it’s a lot to process.

But here is what happened: I am in the process of miscarrying.

I thought it might help to share my story. Miscarriage is more common than people realize and rarely talked about. If someone can benefit from my story, all the better, but mostly this is to help my grieving and coping process.

This is pretty detailed, so trigger warnings and all that.

Exactly one month ago, I read the results I had longed for: pregnant.

Today, I’m sprawled out on the couch in the most excruciating pain I’ve ever experienced.

They don’t tell you that miscarriage is a process.

We’ve been trying to conceive since the end of last June. It was taking so long, I was convinced I’d be scheduling a fertility consultation this coming June. They tell you if you’re under 35, to give it a year. Before we started trying to conceive, I’d tell anyone about how time speeds up the older you get. It makes sense logically, of course, when a year is 1/5 of your life, it sure seems long, but went its 1/32, well...

But this has been the longest eleven months of my life. The first month we started trying, I had an unusually long cycle. 39 days. I was so sure I was pregnant. My breasts had been hurting for two weeks. Husband and I were vacationing in Minnesota to see Aston Villa play. I bought a pregnancy test, beaming, excited, and was puzzled by the negative result. A week later, when my period came, I cried to my mother, and she said something about the universe saying I wasn’t ready or something. Whatever it was sounded bleak and ominous to my ears. It sounded like it meant I’d never be ready.

The fall was busy and stressful, and despite all the tedious ovulation test strips, nothing happened except somehow, my period got lighter month by month. I was pretty sure something was wrong with me. I thought I had a UTI. (I was actually stressed and dehydrated, which I eventually remedied.) While I cried at a Sara Bareilles concert in November, my mother told me that her OBGYN said it can take as much at 9 months for the body to recalibrate after being on the pill.

Speaking of which. I’ve been taking the pill for over a decade. For the most part, I took it correctly. There is some leeway to taking it incorrectly, for the record. You can miss two pills in a row and it still has instructions for what to do (while cautioning to be safe and use extra protection). Maybe only once did I ever have to throw out a pack for missing too many in a row.

(This is maybe neither here nor there, but rebelcaptain accidental pregnancy fics have become a bit of a pet peeve for me. Jyn and Cassian are far too careful and intentional to let that happen, and it is so easy to be responsible since there are so many birth control alternatives these days that don’t even require reliance on routine or memory.)

So, of course, the concern lately is that clearly 10+ years on birth control has messed me up. I do not know this objectively (what I do know is that I have OCD and anxiety and obsess over Everything That Can Go Wrong), but the point is that birth control really can have consequences that I don’t think are necessarily fully understood or studied. DO NOT GET ME WRONG, USE BIRTH CONTROL. My only regret is what I didn’t know.

I learned too late, but a lot of conception advice articles tell you to quit the BC as soon as possible. Even if my mom’s OBGYN is wrong, the general advice does seem to be that it can take up to 3 months for your body to recalibrate. So, if by any chance someone reading this is thinking about conceiving soon, if you take nothing else away from this rant, take this. I wish I had stopped taking the pill a few months before we actually intended to start trying.

After ten months of all this worrying, I finally got what I’d longed for. The moment I saw that positive result, it felt so surreal. There had been little things leading up to that moment, strange hints and signs, like I knew subconsciously even before a test would have been positive. I wrote that Howl’s Moving Castle pregnancy fic before I knew. I started learning “Here Comes the Sun” on my ukulele before I knew (it’s... silly, but I decided I wanted to learn the ukulele because I wanted to be able to play that song for my kids some day). It involves finger picking, so I’d been putting off learning it, but one day I just decided it was time. And finally, I decided to watch the latest season of Brooklyn 99. I’d avoided it because I knew Amy & Jake were also trying to conceive, and it was too emotional for me to watch that when I was so frustrated for how long I was taking. (Of course I didn’t realize they also had trouble, and watching it actually felt cathartic for me.) I got that positive result literally the next morning.

I spent Monday, April 20, making checklists and spreadsheets. I set my first prenatal appointment for May 8. Those two and a half weeks were the slowest of my life. They stretched out like a rubber band. I couldn’t really focus on anything except this pregnancy I’d waited so long for. That’s probably why time moved so slowly. I wasn’t filling it with the hobbies I enjoyed, writing and playing my ukulele. All my overwhelmed brain could handle was the hilarious distraction of Community. Yeah, this is also around the time I disappeared from fandom. It was originally for a happy reason, I was just too excited to focus!

I know many women who have miscarried. The data seems to vary from source to source, but anywhere between 10% to 20% of pregnancies end in miscarriage. I couldn’t wait to get to the doctor to confirm everything was okay. I wondered if they would do an ultrasound; I dreamed of seeing a fetus on that screen.

We started talking about how we were going to tell our family. We wrote a pretend promotion letter for my sister, promoting her from “sister” to “aunt” (she’s a badass at her job and we had recently been talking about her promotions so it was thematically relevant). We planned to do a video call with my parents where we played Quiplash and created custom answers related to the pregnancy.

But we never got that chance. On May 8, I went in for my first appointment. I’d spent the last three days sewing a mask because the ones we ordered still haven’t arrived yet. So all the time I would have spent preparing myself for the worst (as is my way) was spent instead distracted by sewing and finishing up Community.

They took me to an office first and went over medical history questions. “Any morning sickness?” the nurse asked. “Not at all,” I said. “Should I be worried?” “No,” she answered. “Consider yourself lucky!”

(For the record, many women who carry to term do not ever get morning sickness.)

(It was just one of those unfortunate exchanges.)

Then the exam with the doctor. All in all, it’d probably been 30 or 40 minutes by this point, all of this excited talk. I was going to tell my parents on Mother’s Day. My due date was Christmas.

I video call my husband just in time for the ultrasound.

There was no embryo.

The doctor said a lot of women are ovulating later in their cycles due to the stress of the pandemic. At the time, I thought maybe. Hope is funny like that, in the face of logic. It started to grow like a weed in the cracks of my breaking heart.

But the thing is, even with that stubborn hopeweed, I knew. I’d been doing this for ten months. I knew when my last period was, I knew when I ovulated. I was 7 weeks and 1 day, and there was no embryo, and that was it.

The beginning of the process of miscarriage.

Technically, it’d started a few days before that appointment, but I was distracted at that time. I’d noticed one morning that there seemed to be more hair in the shower floor than there should be.

Dots started to connect. My breasts had stopped aching. Now, they started to shrink back to their original size.

This happened over several days. I felt certain I would miscarry on Mother’s Day; fortunately, that did not happen. No, enough days had to pass for that hopeweed to prosper. Only then, when it whispered maybe would I start spotting and cramping.

On Tuesday, the second ultrasound confirmed what I already knew. Not viable. Missed miscarriage. Technically, the prescription the doctor hands me reads “missed abortion.” “It’s just the technical term,” the doctor explains, acknowledging that many women might find this triggering.

I don’t cry as much as I did. I only cry when I tell people. It seems important for people to know, just in case. Just one person in the relevant circles of my life. I had to tell my boss to explain the sudden uptick in unexpected doctor appointments. (I’m Rh negative, so I needed to go to the hospital to get bloodwork and a Rhogam shot -- and being in a hospital these days in anxiety-inducing enough without this trauma.)

It still feels surreal. All of this happened in one month. Somehow my life has changed completely and then reverted back. This is just a blip in my life, relatively, and yet it seems the longest month of my life.

In movies, in stories, miscarriage seems to go the same way: a flash of bloody sheets, a shout of shock and pain, and then grief. I never knew how it really goes: that it would stretch out for weeks, from the moment I saw that first ultrasound to now, twelve days later, just starting to bleed. I’ll have to go back for another ultrasound to confirm it’s done, and if it’s not, then I’ll need surgery.

This speaks nothing of the grief.

And then it’s back to square one, a whole year later: ovulation tests and endless waiting.

It’s been a whole month; it’s been only a month, and miscarriage is a process.

#tw: pregnancy #tw: miscarriage #the latest with liz #this is detailed and specific #not for everyone #it's part of my grieving process #it's been a month and i thought it might help to say something

9 notes · View notes

thisguyatthemovies · 5 years ago

Text

Little Women, big statement

Title: “Little Women”

Release date: Dec. 25, 2019

Starring: Saoirse Ronan, Emma Watson, Florence Pugh, Eliza Scanlen, Laura Dern, Timothee Chalamet, Meryl Streep, Chris Cooper, Tracy Letts, Bob Odenkirk, James Norton, Louis Garrel, Jane Houdyshell

Directed by: Greta Gerwig

Run time: 2 hours, 15 minutes

Rated: PG

What it’s about: Based on the classic novel by Louisa May Alcott and the author’s personal writings, “Little Women” is the story of the March sisters – Jo, Amy, Meg and Beth – as they come of age in a lower middle-class home in Massachusetts during the Civil War era.

How I saw it: Making a movie version of the classic novel “Little Women” fresh and contemporary would seem a formidable task. Louisa May Alcott’s timeless story of the March sisters has been made into seven full-length feature films (dating back to 1917!) and countless TV adaptations (including a Japanese animated version), musicals and stage shows, and its Civil War era setting and way of life would seem to have little in common with today’s technology-saturated world. Alcott’s book is beloved, popular upon its publication in two volumes in 1868 and 1869 (and then combined) and still read, revered, dissected and discussed 150 years later. Any moviemaker wanting to rework it had better tread lightly.

But writer/director Greta Gerwig, not surprisingly (and thankfully), did not tread lightly. Nor did she stomp all over Alcott’s work. Her version of “Little Women” gives the story’s feminism 21st century bite while also paying respect to the source material. It’s still a period piece, still a captivating story of four sisters’ bond, still a warm family drama, still about romantic love, still about practical love, still about unrequited love, still about restraints society places on women, still about women’s struggle for identity. But Gerwig’s version feels like it is of the here and now. And it’s an outstanding film.

Alcott based her book loosely on her own life, and the main character (representing the author) is Jo, a determined, hot-tempered, tomboyish writer played in the film by Saoirse Ronan. She is the March sister who most questions what is expected of women in the mid-1800s. At times she is the family’s breadwinner. She is the one who puts her life in New York on hold when her sister Beth (Eliza Scanlen) falls ill. She has a rivalry with her mischievous, boy-crazy youngest sister Amy (Florence Pugh). She does not understand the choices made by her oldest sister Meg (Emma Watson), who is content with getting married (and marrying for love, not money) instead of pursuing a career in acting. Jo also is loved by a neighbor, Laurie (Timothee Chalamet), who is loved by Amy, though she plans to marry for money. Jo has decided to go it alone, to be her own woman, to be more than someone’s wife. “Women, they have minds, and that have souls, as well as just hearts,” Jo says in one of several bits of empowerment dialogue in Gerwig’s film. “And they’ve got ambition, and they’ve got talent, as well as just beauty. I’m so sick of people saying that love is just all a woman is fit for. I’m so sick of it!”

Jo, as in the book, eventually does marry (though Alcott did not), though the middle-aged Friedrich Bhaer of the book has been reimagined as a hunky young man (played by Louis Garrel) who shares a kiss with Jo under an umbrella at a train station. In this movie version, Jo is told that women in books either must get married or die (and, according to her publisher, it does not matter which). Gerwig’s version shows Jo driving a hard bargain with the publisher (Tracy Letts), and her insistence on doing her own thing and being heard as a woman in a man’s world seems as if Gerwig, who has been outspoken about a male-centric Hollywood, has interjected herself into the story. Gerwig has said that Jo March was her hero growing up but that she now most admires Alcott, so Jo becomes a natural extension of Alcott and the filmmaker simultaneously in Gerwig’s screen version.

Ronan is, as usual, outstanding, her Jo full of spunk and heart. Pugh’s Amy gets her own epic speech about love, marriage and what is expected of her; Pugh is strong as the young adult Amy but is too much an adult to pull off 12-year-old Amy. Laura Dern brings a touch (but not too much) of her edginess to the role of Marmee, the girls’ mother. Chris Cooper stands out as Mr. Laurence, the March’s wealthy neighbor who befriends Beth. Chalamet is perfect as the young Laurie, especially in the scene in which Jo breaks his heart by being honest with him.

Any criticism of Gerwig’s film (and there isn’t much criticism) has centered on her choice to make this version a non-linear story. This “Little Women” jumps around in time, and it can be hard to follow until you get used to it (hint: look for the change in color palettes during different periods of time). But the non-linear format works in the film’s favor. For one, we meet Jo when she already is a young adult, which helps reinforce the film’s emphasis on strong women over the younger March girls. It also allows Gerwig to juxtapose scenes for effect, like when the girls are shown having fun at the ocean and then the story shifts to Jo reading to a weakened Beth on the beach. The format also seems to keep the pace lively and perhaps adds spark to a story already familiar to much of the audience.

No matter how “Little Women” is sliced, though, it is a powerfully emotional story, one that is engrossing and certain to bring more than one tear (and cheer). Gerwig, by making a few key changes along with some minor tweaks, by coaxing strong performances out of her cast, and by offering a lovingly made film that is beautiful to look at (and hear), has made “Little Women” seem like her own, a time period movie fully in touch with the world in which Gerwig resides. It is clear much work and thought went into its making, and the results are wonderful.

My score: 93 out of 100

Should you see it? Yes. As with the book, it will have more appeal for women, but it is a film of importance that just so happens to be immensely entertaining and should be seen by all.

#movies #film #movie review #movie recommendation #little women #greta gerwig #oscars #best picture #feminism #louisa may alcott #saoirse ronan #florence pugh #emma watson #laura dern #eliza scanlen #timothee chamalet

7 notes · View notes

latin-dr-robotnik · 5 years ago

Note

Mi querido Dr. Huevo can I interest you in some uhhhhhhh older!Sonamy headcanons???

¡Ohhh claro que sí, Anon! Did you have something particular in mind? I don’t know if I posted here my thoughts on the matter (estoy seguro que lo hice en mi blog principal en español), but I don’t really go well with the whole idea of Sonic and Amy marrying, settling down, having children and whatnot (even tho I’m currently writing something that literally starts with them getting married). Like Sonic, I’m kind of a free spirit, and that family life is both scary and boring to me, heh. I can share with you some of my main older!Sonamy headcanons:

- First of all, I struggle to imagine them past a certain age, maybe late 20s is the oldest I can go but that’s because, to me, they will be forever this young couple, full of energy (lol)

- Second, and funnily enough, I think Sonic Boom is the perfect older!Sonamy experiment. My Boom!Sonamy main headcanon doesn’t buy the fact that they’re still 15 and 12 respectively, but instead a couple of years older (18 and 15 maybe), hence why they’re much closer and thinking about each other in not-so-platonic terms. I do have conflicting Boom headcanons regarding if that universe is separated or a continuation of Modern canon, tho. I could post them later if you want.

- For a full-blown headcanon: there’s a point later in Sonic’s life when he realizes that there’s nothing wrong with feeling the way he feels about Amy, so he starts opening to her, spending more time together and going out on dates, up to the point their friends do notice that something’s going on (thanks to some of cutegirlmayra’s Boom!Sonamy prompts for that last idea). I do ocasionally think the current canon is evolving towards this idea but, knowing SEGA, the end result will always be kept as our headcanon.

- After declaring their feelings for each other, Sonic and Amy decide to go on adventures all over the world rather than just doing the boring date thing again. They take lots of pictures of every exotic place they visit, and are always on the move. One night they could be having a romantic dinner under Spagonia’s moonlight, and the other day they could be racing each other at Wild Canyon just for fun and due to the romantic rivalry they develop. As you can see, this is not your run-of-the-mill, fully romantic relationship with gifts and letters and big displays of love, but instead one that resembles more of two best friends rocking the world.

- I do headcanon the idea that, in the future, Tails is mass-producing portable Miles Electric devices with fully-working network capabilities for the world to freely use (think of it as Tails’ version of a modern smartphone). This allows the existance of social media in Sonic’s world, where people can follow Sonic and Amy on their adventures, something that like 95% of the whole world is interested in (this is a topic I’m covering on “Celebrity Life”, that project I mentioned above).

- In this future, Dr. Eggman is the main figure behind SonAmy’s online cult following. The doctor prefers to moderate discussions (with his own Miles Electric, lol) and organize events rather than going on his own quest for world domination.

I guess I do have some more headcanons, but I’m going to need more time to sort them out first. Also, lots of my older!Sonamy headcanons are literally parts of my “Celebrity Life” reports, lol. I should get back to work on Part 4, I hope to read more from you soon!

#sonamy #headcanon #older!sonamy #ask #ask latin dr robotnik

16 notes · View notes

the-canary · 6 years ago

Text

Bel Ami - B.B (4)

Summary: You had bigger fish to fry in NYC between your new job, living in a new city and old friend – you were sure in over your head, but who’s that cute stranger that keeps helping you out?(Reader/Bucky Barnes)

Prompt: Person A: “Okay, I have something to confess… I like you. I have for the past two years now and it’s been killing me to hold it in this long but I think you deserve to know.” Person B: “You nerd, we’ve been dating for the past two years.

A/N: this is for @sgtjbuccky‘s writing challenge. please welcome to “you’re both idiots”.

Feedback is always welcomed.

1 week later.

“So, she stopped showing up to the cafe?”

“Yeah, but I don’t blame her...What with the whole owner of where you work thing.”

“Buck, you seem really hungover this though. Are you sure you aren’t feeling more?”

“...”

It takes you a month to fully comprehend what you saw that morning when Bucky, whose real name was James Buchanan Barnes, had walked into your office. From what you understood, his family --an old New York family that had been building their money for years-- owned the whole building and several other within a block radius. No, James wasn’t the head hancouch of where you worked --the owner subleased the floor-- but he was a man with money and a great deal of power. You had also heard that he had dated several other woman that had caught his attention within the building over the years -- it was pass time of his.

It was extremely hard to place the picture of Bucky, sweet and cautious, along with Daisy with the one that James Buchanan Barnes that everyone seemed to be rumoring about.

The man hadn’t been seen in years, only until a few months back when his father passed away did he really starts to show up once more. You wondered if at one point he had seen you and decided to reach out when you got sick, if you were meant to be a new game for him now that he had came back to reclaim the throne of the Barnes Conglomerate.

It’s too much to think about and deep down it hurts, so you decide to push it all away. You’re a little sad, but your world isn’t meant for millionaires and playboys, so you close the book on ever meeting or seeing Bucky again.

“Have you thought about it?” Winnie frowns as she notices that her son isn’t paying any attention to him, “You aren’t even listening, James.”

“No,” Bucky sighs out as he pets Daisy who simply looks at him with those big, blue eyes of hers, “You want a fundraising gala set up an attempt to find me a girlfriend. I know, I know.”

Blue meets blue as James gives his mother a defeated smile that can’t help her but make her pause. He had been like this for days, since they had gotten a tour of one of his father’s older buildings. Winnie knew that her son hadn’t been the same since coming back home from his tours of service all those years ago -- the charming, trade of all jacks, womanizer was gone and replaced with a more somber man. Due to this, George had decided to keep his son’s interactions with the family’s holdings to a limit and let him follow his own pursuits -- to wait until the time was right once more, though that had come sooner rather than later as George passed away early last summer.

James had been told to step up once more, but it caused more anxiety than anything else, especially with the last clause that his father had written out for him -- even in death George Barnes was still an eccentric.

“Is there something wrong with that?” Winnie can’t help but ask as she crosses the small Manhattan apartment that Bucky called his own, “I just worry about you, dear. It seems like you lost something.”

Bucky can’t help the laugh that escapes him at how intune his mother could still be with him: “Yeah, something like that.”

“Was it the dog foundation again?” Winnie asks, because the thing that seemed to take up most of her son’s time beforehand was the dog training service non-profit that he helped with.

Sometime after he came back, he thought about getting a service dog to help but instead found himself researching and getting the necessary license to help volunteer and train the animals -- like he was doing with Daisy at the current moment, who just stood still from at his side. Bucky shakes his head before passing a hand through his face in annoyance, trying to find the right words to everything.

“I think I fell for a gal I’ve been having those meetings with,” Bucky explains as Winnie gives him a confused look, “By accident, we run into each other from time to time.”

“I could see how that could be a problem,” Winnie nods in understanding. I mean, if they only saw each other from time to time -- there was no way that Bucky could really get her number or anything. His mother knew and understood that he wasn’t the charmer that made a lineup of girls sigh at his feet.

“That isn’t the main problem in all this, ma,” Bucky explain a bit more, as Winnie waits in silence, “I saw her the other day at the Tower, she works there.”

Winnie can’t help but let out a mix of a scoff and groan at her son’s revelation before placing a sympathetic hand on his shoulder: “ Goodness, James. You never learn.”

“I really don’t’, ma. I really don’t.”

And with that, Winnie can’t help but keep moving forward with the plan for the fundraising gala.

However, fate seems to know that you are calling out to each other -- at least, Bucky is in the way he thinks about constantly since you stopped going to your shared cafe after the first week. The worry of whether you would reject him if he ever sought you out gave him sleepless nights and fatigue that he wasn’t sure how handle -- just a few chance meetings and Bucky could tell he was lovesick, even if he wasn’t supposed to be.

You, on the other hand, were more tamed about your pinning and while you saw things that reminded you of Bucky and Daisy in the month that followed -- you could still move on without much else in mind. You ignored that your heart lurched for a quick second.

However, fate is cruel to lovers that try to ignore that nature order of things, as you end up getting caught in the rain on Saturday afternoon with no umbrella and trying to save yourself underneath a large tree.

You’re shivering and cold when you see it -- a man and a dog (wearing a bright green raincoat) making it down the road your way with an umbrella at hand. You’re ready to yell out and ask for some help until you see who it really is.

Blue eyes meet your own, as Bucky heads towards your direction and placing the umbrella directly underneath you, as the dog -- a black and brown Lab mix looks up.

“Hey, are you okay?” he rushes forward, clearly not noticing who you are until you are face-to-face and the thought that he is willing to help anyone makes you smile for a brief moment. His eyes widen, as you move back for a moment, causing him to frown.

“Let’s get out of the rain,” Bucky pleas softly, as you look at him and then at the dog. He looks at you and lets out a little huff of air, almost as if annoyed, “I think Luke agrees too.”

“Okay, I’ll listen to Luke,” you throw him a bone as Bucky grins before leading you through Central Park. The walk is cold, lonely, and quiet as it seems that the park has emptied just a little due to the weather, but there was always people here and there but due to your lack of talking, it seemed lonelier than it should be.

“Thank you,” you finally state timidly as you look up ahead halfway through your walk, as Bucky simply nods. It’s then you admit shyly: “I lost track of time at the library and I still can’t find my umbrella.”

“It’s a good thing that I found you then,” Bucky lets out awkwardly as you simply nod.

You nod in agreement, making out of Central Park along the way, before asking: “Is he another trainee?”

“Yup,” Bucky declares like a proud summer while look at the raincoat-clad dog, “Daisy is getting graduate, so they gave me a new pup to train.”

You can’t help but stare at him for just a moment, as a familiar thought raises from the back of your mind since you had heard all those rumors about him from the office ladies back at work.

Doesn’t it hurt to move from one person to the other so quickly?

However, instead saying anything you let Bucky go on about how a good boy Luke is in his training and how Daisy has been doing. It almost reminds you of the last time you had seen him at the cafe before the “big reveal” and just how warm and caring Bucky seemed to people towards animals. And you too, is something that your heart added as an afterthought, but you ignored it as Bucky stopped in front of a bistro place and looks at you.

“Are you hungry?” he questions, “We could sit here and wait until the rain stop. I know they allow dogs.”

There’s a pleading look in his eyes, as Luke’s tail seems to start wagging over the smell whatever is cooking inside and why you want to say no -- that you should be heading into a minimarket, buying yourself an umbrellas, and heading home. Instead, you brush your hair back and nod. Bucky nods as you both enter and head towards the back.

He grabs you a menu before you sit in a medium booth with Luke standing near the end of the table. It might be because you’re out of the rain or that you actually agreed to eat with him, but there is something brighter and more carefree shining in Bucky’s face as he watches you gloss over the menu. There are a million things he could be saying or asking in this moment, but he goes with the safest.

“I know there might a lot of things running through your head right now,” he starts off as you give him a brief glance, trying to stay as calm as possible, “And I am willing to answer all your questions, but you have to promise me one thing.”

“What?” you dare to question, as Bucky pulls his hand out in front of you. Luke watches the interaction quietly.

“Friends?” Bucky questions, and that’s when you really look at him. He gives you bright but strained smile, trying his hardest to keep you in his life in some way, while push back the thought of just how cute you look in that moment.

You bite your lip for a brief moment and Bucky swears that he’s done for. However, your voice breaks his thought.

“Okay, Bucky,” you relent and pull out your own hand to shake his, “Friends.”

You smile as Bucky lets out a loud, relieved laugh before telling you that you could order anything you want on the menu and that Luke was getting a big steak -- much to the dog’s excitement.

It was a step on a different direction, but for now at least you still had each other.

#salinaswritingchallenge #james buchanan barnes #james barnes #james bucky barnes x reader #james buchanan barnes x reader #Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes ceo #bucky barnes modern au #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fan fic #series: bel ami #fabiola trying to write

127 notes · View notes

ihatecoconut · 5 years ago

Text

Death Days

After a night of partying, a group of friends wander into a graveyard, their typical shortcut home, but along the way find graves, marked with their names.

I have always thought that while some days you worry, anxieties find you and they can drag you down, bad things that happen on those days are never really as bad as what you expect, you’re already looking at the worst case scenario so it never feels as terrible. Other days, you’re fine. You aren’t expecting anything to happen and sometimes can even be expecting the best case scenario; it’s worse on those days, so much worse, because there is a difference between dealing with the world crashing around you when everything seems wrong and dealing with it when everything is going perfectly.

It’s like a fire- if you are expecting a fire then you will know where the extinguisher is and have plans to move valuables out of the house. If you aren’t, the best you can do is get out of the house and watch it burn.

The Church graveyard was never locked and it had solar powered lights dotted along and around the path. It was also a direct path from Millie’s house to our street, most of the parties we went to were at Millie’s house because her dad was cool with things like alcohol and her living room was bigger than my entire house. So we got used to it, we stopped worrying about ghosts and other dead things and we got used to Amy ‘welcoming’ new gravestones.

James was ahead of us that night, I remember, before we found… before… bef… He was mimicking someone else who had been at the party and had gotten drunk on Millie’s dad’s cheap beer. The others were with me, slightly behind, laughing, carefree as normal teens on a spring break, walking slowly and nowhere near in a straight line since Jess was the only one who was completely sober.

Amy had a habit of saying hi to the new gravestones whenever we walked through, it sounds weird but that was just Amy, she said it was so the spirits didn’t get confused, but we just went along with it regardless. It was due to this habit that she noticed them first and dragged Micha over with her to investigate and read the names.

“Weird,” Jess had said, “they all look really old,”

And maybe we should have listened to her observation, because she was right and they shouldn’t be, maybe we should have backed off and left them there, maybe we should have carried on home and come back in the daylight. But we were young, stupid, and made the biggest mistake of our lives.

It’s an astonishingly clear memory in my mind; thinking back I remember Amy and Micha squabbling as they tried to get a phone light on the writing, I remember leaning on Jess and both of us laughing at them while James leant on the other side of the stone and interjected with unhelpful comments. (Somedays I swear I can still here the laughter in his voice.) I remember Amy’s triumphant huff as they finally sorted out the brightness and got the beam in the right position, the way she shoved Micha before she read it out.

“Alright, hellooo Jessica Balta Morgro… Morgrove?”

Jess kicked her, “very funny.”

I remember Amy’s expression when she turned around, the fear in her eyes and hesitation on her lips that convinced Jess to shove her out the way and read the tombstone herself.

“Oh my God.” She breathed, and Jess never took the Lord’s name in vain, “This is me. This is my birth date and everything. What… what the hell?”

“When does it say you’ll die?” The laughter had left James’ voice and he was leaning over, yet no longer touching the stone out of the same fear of it we all had.

“Uh, April 28th, 2018.”

“A week today.”

“Yeah…”

I was the one to ask what the others said, but I think we all knew at that point anyway; five stones plus five of us plus Jess’ name on the first one? It wasn’t a hard connection to make. And we made it.

Amy’s date of death said 30th June, James’ only said June, Micha’s said 2nd May and mine, mine was different. Mine gave me seven extra years while the others only got weeks or months.

“Weird,” Micha said, nervously laughing, “we gonna leave now?”

“Yeah.” Jess agreed and she sounded slightly strangled, we were all unnerved but she had the shortest amount of time.

I do not remember the rest of the walk home, just that it was tense ans we were all on edge enough to keep jumping at every little noise, I don’t think we spoke, but by mutual agreement we stayed very close together as we walked. Getting home I do remember, my hands were shaking as I unlocked the door, trying to just get in and up the stairs and under my duvet away from everything, but, in my unnerved state, I forgot the mirror my mother had bought that morning and had then left propped up in the hallway. I stumbled through the doorway, partially due to fear, mainly due to the fact that I caught my foot on the step in my haste. The mirror- fine and delicate as it was- cracked as I smashed into it. Seven years of bad luck for that, right?

If memory serves correctly, my mother was furious the next morning and made me agree to buy her a new one before I left the house, I know I wasn’t really paying attention, I was desperate to get out and see if the stones were still there.

Amy was there, when I arrived, James and Micha joined soon after. There were no stones and there was no evidence to suggest there had ever been any stones. None of us knew what to do about it, so we went to find Jess.

Jess was lounging in her back garden, shades on and a glass of ice water by her side- she seemed to be the epitome of peace. We all sat down next to her, cautiously, and she laughingly asked if we had hangovers- none of us did, which was weird but it hadn’t even registered on the weird scale with everything else that had been happening. Carefully we prodded her, asking gentle questions about the night before, she remembered the party in perfect detail but when it came to the gravestones she remembered nothing. She had no memory whatsoever about the graveyard, despite the fact that she had been the most freaked out the night before. With fewer answers and more questions we left her there and returned to the graveyard.

The stones still hadn’t returned, but the place was empty, making it easy for us to openly discuss everything.

“She doesn’t remember,” Amy said, “how can she not remember?”

“And the stones have gone,” Micha added, ignoring her question,

“Well maybe it was a prank?” James offered, trying to answer our many questions, we all looked at him but nobody bought it. “a really cruel and unusual prank, but…”

“Then why doesn’t she remember?”

He didn’t know, none of us did. But we were scared and had no idea what the stones had meant, so we agreed that, on the following Saturday, we were going to stay with Jess all day and not let anything happen to her. That way we could prevent anything happening that would cause her death and release the rest of us from the overhanging fear. Whatever the cause, that day we were going to be the Jess Protection Squad.

I’d love to go through everything we did that day, to prove that we actually did protect her from anything dangerous, but truthfully I can’t remember that day very well- most of it is just a blank. What I do remember is that Jess wanted to go shopping, she was probably taking advantage of our willingness to do what she wanted, so the five of us walked down to the shopping centre. There is a crossing just before its entrance, but it’s on traffic lights and therefore seemed safe; we pressed the button, we waited for the green man and we crossed, simple and easy. Or at least it should have been. We were mostly fully across the road when a large lorry seemed to appear out of nowhere and came hurtling down the road, it didn’t stop for the red light, just went straight through. Jess and Amy were the only ones still on the road. She shoved Amy back, all the way onto the pavement, and the lorry hit her full on at what had to have been at least 50mph. It kept going too, just went straight over her and left her crumpled body lying in the road.

We were all too shocked to even scream and it seemed like everything around us went silent for several long minutes- in shock, out of respect, I don’t know why- but all I could hear was the blood rushing past my ears and all I could see was the blood pooling under her head.

Someone called an ambulance- not one of us, just someone- it arrived, pronounced her dead at the scene and took us all to the hospital. At that point, it was the most horrible moment of my life and I didn’t think it could get any worse.

I was wrong, so very very wrong.

Amy never spoke again. I sometimes wonder if she blamed herself because she was the only one in the road with Jess. She never made any attempt to learn sign language- she didn’t want to communicate and we never forced her to.

The police looked for the driver and the lorry, but James and Micha both said that there hadn’t been anyone in the driver’s seat, despite it accelerating up a hill.

Micha worked in a restaurant, one with the highest safety regulations possible, as a pot washer, he was the furthest away from the kitchen of all the staff, but come the second of May, they had a kitchen fire. Everyone got out, except for him. The police recognised us from Jess and told us that the door to the room he was in had been locked from the outside, they were looking through all the evidence and promised to find the person that did it. I thought about the empty driver’s seat and wondered if there was actually anyone to find.

James drowned. He went missing early June and they found his body a week and a half later. I explained why his stone hadn’t had an exact date if nothing else.

Amy took matters into her own hands in the worst way possible and jumped off a bridge in the early hours of the day her stone had said. She left a note saying she believed it was easier to do this than wait for whatever fate had in store for her. That note was the first time I had any insight into her mind since Jess. I held onto it all day, remembered the bright, happy girl who would greet new spirits and I cried for the first time since the whole ordeal had started. She was buried with the other three, in a line and exactly where the stones had been that night, I went there for the funeral and I never went there again. It seemed stupid to tempt fate like that.

It has been seven years now. Seven long and lonely years filled with grief, hatred and mistrust. Tomorrow is the day that was written for me and I may not know what will happen, but I know that I cannot suffer anymore than I already have, so I am writing this story and leaving alongside my will so that people will know what really happened and after I am dead they will lose the belief that I was responsible for the deaths of my three closest friends. Because I’m not, no matter what you think.

Based on prompt in bold by @writing-prompt-s

Timeskip banner by @herobrinesremaking

4 notes · View notes