#I would like to clarify this is not my idea of a perfect finale. probably not even a good one. but all the people I dislike are dead! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

archaeren · 1 year ago

Text

How I learned to write smarter, not harder

(aka, how to write when you're hella ADHD lol)

A reader commented on my current long fic asking how I write so well. I replied with an essay of my honestly pretty non-standard writing advice (that they probably didn't actually want lol) Now I'm gonna share it with you guys and hopefully there's a few of you out there who will benefit from my past mistakes and find some useful advice in here. XD Since I started doing this stuff, which are all pretty easy changes to absorb into your process if you want to try them, I now almost never get writer's block.

The text of the original reply is indented, and I've added some additional commentary to expand upon and clarify some of the concepts.

As for writing well, I usually attribute it to the fact that I spent roughly four years in my late teens/early 20s writing text roleplay with a friend for hours every single day. Aside from the constant practice that provided, having a live audience immediately reacting to everything I wrote made me think a lot about how to make as many sentences as possible have maximum impact so that I could get that kind of fun reaction. (Which is another reason why comments like yours are so valuable to fanfic writers! <3) The other factors that have improved my writing are thus: 1. Writing nonlinearly. I used to write a whole story in order, from the first sentence onward. If there was a part I was excited to write, I slogged through everything to get there, thinking that it would be my reward once I finished everything that led up to that. It never worked. XD It was miserable. By the time I got to the part I wanted to write, I had beaten the scene to death in my head imagining all the ways I could write it, and it a) no longer interested me and b) could not live up to my expectations because I couldn't remember all my ideas I'd had for writing it. The scene came out mediocre and so did everything leading up to it. Since then, I learned through working on VN writing (I co-own a game studio and we have some visual novels that I write for) that I don't have to write linearly. If I'm inspired to write a scene, I just write it immediately. It usually comes out pretty good even in a first draft! But then I also have it for if I get more ideas for that scene later, and I can just edit them in. The scenes come out MUCH stronger because of this. And you know what else I discovered? Those scenes I slogged through before weren't scenes I had no inspiration for, I just didn't have any inspiration for them in that moment! I can't tell you how many times there was a scene I had no interest in writing, and then a week later I'd get struck by the perfect inspiration for it! Those are scenes I would have done a very mediocre job on, and now they can be some of the most powerful scenes because I gave them time to marinate. Inspiration isn't always linear, so writing doesn't have to be either!

Some people are the type that joyfully write linearly. I have a friend like this--she picks up the characters and just continues playing out the next scene. Her story progresses through the entire day-by-day lives of the characters; it never timeskips more than a few hours. She started writing and posting just eight months ago, she's about an eighth of the way through her planned fic timeline, and the content she has so far posted to AO3 for it is already 450,000 words long. But most of us are normal humans. We're not, for the most part, wired to create linearly. We consume linearly, we experience linearly, so we assume we must also create linearly. But actually, a lot of us really suffer from trying to force ourselves to create this way, and we might not even realize it. If you're the kind of person who thinks you need to carrot-on-a-stick yourself into writing by saving the fun part for when you finally write everything that happens before it: Stop. You're probably not a linear writer. You're making yourself suffer for no reason and your writing is probably suffering for it. At least give nonlinear writing a try before you assume you can't write if you're not baiting or forcing yourself into it!! Remember: Writing is fun. You do this because it's fun, because it's your hobby. If you're miserable 80% of the time you're doing it, you're probably doing it wrong!

2. Rereading my own work. I used to hate reading my own work. I wouldn't even edit it usually. I would write it and slap it online and try not to look at it again. XD Writing nonlinearly forced me to start rereading because I needed to make sure scenes connected together naturally and it also made it easier to get into the headspace of the story to keep writing and fill in the blanks and get new inspiration. Doing this built the editing process into my writing process--I would read a scene to get back in the headspace, dislike what I had written, and just clean it up on the fly. I still never ever sit down to 'edit' my work. I just reread it to prep for writing and it ends up editing itself. Many many scenes in this fic I have read probably a dozen times or more! (And now, I can actually reread my own work for enjoyment!) Another thing I found from doing this that it became easy to see patterns and themes in my work and strengthen them. Foreshadowing became easy. Setting up for jokes or plot points became easy. I didn't have to plan out my story in advance or write an outline, because the scenes themselves because a sort of living outline on their own. (Yes, despite all the foreshadowing and recurring thematic elements and secret hidden meanings sprinkled throughout this story, it actually never had an outline or a plan for any of that. It's all a natural byproduct of writing nonlinearly and rereading.)

Unpopular writing opinion time: You don't need to make a detailed outline.

Some people thrive on having an outline and planning out every detail before they sit down to write. But I know for a lot of us, we don't know how to write an outline or how to use it once we've written it. The idea of making one is daunting, and the advice that it's the only way to write or beat writer's block is demoralizing. So let me explain how I approach "outlining" which isn't really outlining at all.

I write in a Notion table, where every scene is a separate table entry and the scene is written in the page inside that entry. I do this because it makes writing nonlinearly VASTLY more intuitive and straightforward than writing in a single document. (If you're familiar with Notion, this probably makes perfect sense to you. If you're not, imagine something a little like a more contained Google Sheets, but every row has a title cell that opens into a unique Google Doc when you click on it. And it's not as slow and clunky as the Google suite lol) (Edit from the future: I answered an ask with more explanation on how I use Notion for non-linear writing here.) When I sit down to begin a new fic idea, I make a quick entry in the table for every scene I already know I'll want or need, with the entries titled with a couple words or a sentence that describes what will be in that scene so I'll remember it later. Basically, it's the most absolute bare-bones skeleton of what I vaguely know will probably happen in the story.

Then I start writing, wherever I want in the list. As I write, ideas for new scenes and new connections and themes will emerge over time, and I'll just slot them in between the original entries wherever they naturally fit, rearranging as necessary, so that I won't forget about them later when I'm ready to write them. As an example, my current long fic started with a list of roughly 35 scenes that I knew I wanted or needed, for a fic that will probably be around 100k words (which I didn't know at the time haha). As of this writing, it has expanded to 129 scenes. And since I write them directly in the page entries for the table, the fic is actually its own outline, without any additional effort on my part. As I said in the comment reply--a living outline!

This also made it easier to let go of the notion that I had to write something exactly right the first time. (People always say you should do this, but how many of us do? It's harder than it sounds! I didn't want to commit to editing later! I didn't want to reread my work! XD) I know I'm going to edit it naturally anyway, so I can feel okay giving myself permission to just write it approximately right and I can fix it later. And what I found from that was that sometimes what I believed was kind of meh when I wrote it was actually totally fine when I read it later! Sometimes the internal critic is actually wrong. 3. Marinating in the headspace of the story. For the first two months I worked on [fic], I did not consume any media other than [fandom the fic is in]. I didn't watch, read, or play anything else. Not even mobile games. (And there wasn't really much fan content for [fandom] to consume either. Still isn't, really. XD) This basically forced me to treat writing my story as my only source of entertainment, and kept me from getting distracted or inspired to write other ideas and abandon this one.

As an aside, I don't think this is a necessary step for writing, but if you really want to be productive in a short burst, I do highly recommend going on a media consumption hiatus. Not forever, obviously! Consuming media is a valuable tool for new inspiration, and reading other's work (both good and bad, as long as you think critically to identify the differences!) is an invaluable resource for improving your writing.

When I write, I usually lay down, close my eyes, and play the scene I'm interested in writing in my head. I even take a ten-minute nap now and then during this process. (I find being in a state of partial drowsiness, but not outright sleepiness, makes writing easier and better. Sleep helps the brain process and make connections!) Then I roll over to the laptop next to me and type up whatever I felt like worked for the scene. This may mean I write half a sentence at a time between intervals of closed-eye-time XD

People always say if you're stuck, you need to outline.

What they actually mean by that (whether they realize it or not) is that if you're stuck, you need to brainstorm. You need to marinate. You don't need to plan what you're doing, you just need to give yourself time to think about it!

What's another framing for brainstorming for your fic? Fantasizing about it! Planning is work, but fantasizing isn't.

You're already fantasizing about it, right? That's why you're writing it. Just direct that effort toward the scenes you're trying to write next! Close your eyes, lay back, and fantasize what the characters do and how they react.

And then quickly note down your inspirations so you don't forget, haha.

And if a scene is so boring to you that even fantasizing about it sucks--it's probably a bad scene.

If it's boring to write, it's going to be boring to read. Ask yourself why you wanted that scene. Is it even necessary? Can you cut it? Can you replace it with a different scene that serves the same purpose but approaches the problem from a different angle? If you can't remove the troublesome scene, what can you change about it that would make it interesting or exciting for you to write?

And I can't write sitting up to save my damn life. It's like my brain just stops working if I have to sit in a chair and stare at a computer screen. I need to be able to lie down, even if I don't use it! Talking walks and swinging in a hammock are also fantastic places to get scene ideas worked out, because the rhythmic motion also helps our brain process. It's just a little harder to work on a laptop in those scenarios. XD

In conclusion: Writing nonlinearly is an amazing tool for kicking writer's block to the curb. There's almost always some scene you'll want to write. If there isn't, you need to re-read or marinate.

Or you need to use the bathroom, eat something, or sleep. XD Seriously, if you're that stuck, assess your current physical condition. You might just be unable to focus because you're uncomfortable and you haven't realized it yet.

Anyway! I hope that was helpful, or at least interesting! XD Sorry again for the text wall. (I think this is the longest comment reply I've ever written!)

And same to you guys on tumblr--I hope this was helpful or at least interesting. XD Reblogs appreciated if so! (Maybe it'll help someone else!)

#creative writing #writers block #writblr #writers on tumblr #writing #writers and poets #writerscommunity #fanfic writing #writeblr #writing advice

31K notes · View notes

homunculus-argument · 28 days ago

Note

Hi! I'm trying to learn Finnish and I have a grammar question (probably several questions). Finding access to an in-depth language-learning program or class has been extremely difficult and I have weird gaps in my knowledge that I've tried to overcome with grammar workbooks and immersing in Finnish media. Given that Finnish media/native speakers often don't use kirjakieli, and the programs & grammar books I've used have taught exclusively kirjakieli... I keep finding that what I'm learning still isn't *super* helpful in understanding. Like. I'm over here having "Minä olen..." drilled into my brain, while I've never watched a video, listened to a song, etc where anything but "Mä oon..." has been used. I was BAFFLED when I finally learned they meant the same.

Anyway!

In your recent post about Riihimäki, you started it with, "Mulla ei oo"

I am *pretty* sure that in kirjakieli that would be "Minulla ei ole".

So. This is probably a silly question. But. Does "Minulla on" similarly become "Mulla oon" or "Mulla on"?

Also... Any tips for recognizing shortened/informal forms of formal phrases?

Anyway. I've taken enough of your time.

Kiitos!

One of my friends teaches finnish to immigrants for a living, and she can attest that her students are frequently frustrated by the way that spoken finnish and written finnish are completely different dialects, if not downright two different languages. Also fun fact, one of the most distinct ways that different finnish dialects can be identified is what word they have for "minä/sinä". The "mä" you have heard is mainly southern finnish dialects, in some regions people say "mää", "mie" etc, there's surely ones I haven't even heard of.

You're correct that in your assessment, "mulla ei oo" does indeed mean "minulla ei ole", and "minulla on" is indeed "mulla on". I have no idea how to help with recognising shortened informal forms, but one thing that I only consciously observed after someone asked me "soitatko jotain soitinta?" ("do you play an instrument?"), and it caught me off-guard because it never occurred to me that the grammatically correct written way to shorten "do I/do you/etc" questions is completely different from the spoken finnish.

For example, a question of "are you - ?" is written in kirkakieli as "oletko sinä - ?", but since the -ko suffix already clarifies who is being addressed, the word "sinä" is almost redundant. So to ask "oletko sinä tulossa?" (Are you coming?), a character in a book or a play would say "oletko tulossa?" but in spoken finnish, the "you" word used in that dialect is just glued to the end of the verb. So someone who says "sä" says it as "oletsä tulossa?" - which itself shortens to "ooksä" - and someone who uses "sie" asks "oletsie tulossa?" - shortening to "ootsie/ooksie tulossa?"

Speaking finnish is like learning to draw - trying to aim for perfect photorealism isn't necessary to be understood, you can pretty much draw stick figures and it's good enough if people will understand what you're trying to depict. If you've heard someone say that a non-native speaker can never really learn to speak truly flawless finnish, don't be discouraged by that. Finnish is more like japanese than french when it comes to foreign learners - people are impressed that you make an effort at all.

I've met people who have lived in Finland for decades, whose adult children are fluent bilinguals, and you can tell that someone's lived here for 30 years by the way they make more advanced and nuanced mild grammar mistakes.

In conclusion, good luck.

847 notes · View notes

kuroppiii · 1 year ago

Text

soft launch ᵕ̈ timeskip! sakusa kiyoomi x gn reader ˎˊ˗

⋮⋮ ˒ ₍ᐢ..ᐢ₎ 𖥻 ⿻ : it's just a silly ⋮⋮ little tiktok, nothing major ... ⋮⋮ right ?

📋 content ♡ # 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧 🐮 ♡ # 𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘵 🥛 ♡ # 2.6k 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴

🎶 on shuffle “ never lose me ” - flo milli ( specifically the trending clip of " yeah he my man , he was never your type . if you try me , ho it ' s on sight " , but whatever tiktok audio you ended up using is up to you lol <3 )

🧸 directory ‹ ✩ like what you read ? check out more of my blog ! •ᴗ•

💬 kuroppiii ─ “ first time i ' ve pulled myself together to write about sakusa bc when i think about him , i simply can ' t think straight . an exaggeration ? man i wish !! ”

you weren’t anyone special, really. you lived your life, pursuing your goals and hobbies, spending time with those you love. there were things you were good at, sure, but any sort of recognition or praise for those things only ever came from those closest to you. if you walked down the street, no one would bat an eye. "ordinary" couldn't have described you any better.

your boyfriend on the other hand, star wing spiker and outside hitter of the msby jackals, jersey number 15, sakusa kiyoomi certainly was a bit extra-ordinary in the public's eye.

if you took any of his official social media accounts, they easily skyrocketed ahead of any of your accounts in the sheer numbers of following or likes or views. but that's only natural, as the reasons you love your boyfriend–talented, cool, handsome–surely would be shared by the thousands he's subjected to by being in the limelight of the popular and successful pro-volleyball team.

but what else is natural, is that you've always wanted to be able to "soft launch" him, your boyfriend. you've scrolled through your tiktok "for you" page and your pinterest feeds and have undoubtedly saved every "soft launch inspo <3" post you've seen.

the idea was just perfect, you thought–sakusa often prefers not having his face in photos or videos anyway.

to sakusa, however, well... he didn’t really get it until you sat down and had to explain it. you always found it ironic he was never the most active online despite having the bigger following count between the two of you, after all.

“so you want to go public?” he asked, a bit of surprise in his voice.

"well, yes. but also no," you tried to clarify, leaving him with an even more perplexed face that tugged at your lips as you smiled and calmly continued with your elaboration.

you and him have discussed how to navigate your relationship with his volleyball stardom in the past before. it's not like your closest friends and family didn't know about your relationship, but granted, some of your more casual friends and acquaintances who followed your socials probably didn't entirely know either.

the general public definitely did not know, though, of course. but that's why you'd just post something on your accounts, significantly smaller than his.

“are you okay with that?" you made sure to confirm with him, after explaining your thought process on the whole idea.

he came over to you and placed his hands on your hips gently, a concentrated look in attempts to understand your idea adorning his features as he spoke, “i mean, i'd love to be able to finally let everyone know about us–but really it's up to you if you're okay with it. when it comes to things like this—always has, love.”

and what he said was true, from the moment you started dating he was always trying to protect your peace from the media and reporters and cameras. to him, you were like his private repose from all that. but admittedly, as time went on, you both came to realize keeping your relationship under wraps could get pretty hard at times, especially when you wished to go on normal dates out and about instead of resorting to small secluded get-togethers with the handful of people you who knew or nights spent inside your home.

you shook your head as you reached up to brush some of his curls out of his face, revealing his beauty marks above his eye—brows subtly knit together as he considered how your idea might play out in the longrun.

his arms lovingly pull you even closer as you reassure him, "it's just my friends and family who might see it, anyway. it's just a fun little thing to do, omi, that's all!"

، そ ✧ の後 🌱 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗻 ...

a few days later, you and sakusa had an event to attend with the rest of his team. it was a nice dinner so you were all dressed up–the perfect get-up to record a small tiktok or two to satisfy your boredom as you waited for your boyfriend to finish getting ready himself.

as you scrolled through your saved audios, you stood by the humble expanse of wall where sakusa had some of his volleyball medals and trinkets displayed in your shared apartment. then it hit you: this would be the perfect opportunity for that soft launch you were thinking about.

he didn't even have to be there, you could just have his framed "sakusa 15" jersey and recognitions with his name on it in the background as you sang along to a song. it was simple. a little ostentatious? maybe. but you thought it was subtle and fun enough to entertain the people who followed you and were going to see it.

so you picked an audio and started recording. your accessories for going out that night glimmered with the gold medals on the wall in the dim lights of the apartment as you lip-synced to the lyrics, showing off your outfit with a slightly sly attitude of making claim to your relationship with sakusa–claim to what rightfully was yours.

but just as the timer on your video was up, you hear sakusa’s voice approaching from down the hallway, his watch clattering as he's trying to put it on, "what are you doing?"

you break out into a sheepish smile as you rush over to end the video timer manually, "nothing! let's head out!"

in the car on the way to the event, you posted the video and thought nothing about it. no tags, no caption, no nothing–just something cheeky for your friends and family to see and hopefully get a small kick out of.

، そ ✧ の後 🌱 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗻 ...

late the next morning after you wake up, you stretch over to your bedside table to grab your phone to do a first-thing-in-the-morning doom scroll. sakusa's still peacefully snoozing away–head tucked under your jaw, soft breaths fanning your neck, arm secured around your waist, and legs tangled with yours under the sheets–when you open up one of your socials and realize you've gained thousands of followers overnight... literally.

you swipe past notifications of your friends texting you dozens of messages to see that hundreds of comments have flooded the most recent post you made–pictures of you and those same friends on a day out in the city–no sakusa in sight yet a lot of the new comments gave mention to him.

almost thinking you're still asleep and dreaming, you scroll through the words total strangers have left for you. it was such a mixed bag: some were mean, some were just confused, and some were even very nice, complementing you on your appearance.

there were a few, however, that mentioned a certain "repost".

"here from the repost"

"RAN to see this after seeing the repost"

"it's been less than a day and there's already so many comments about the repost lol"

and so you go to look up your name with the word "repost" attached to it, and are met with dozens of articles about your "viral tiktok reposted by msby's sakusa kiyoomi seemingly hints at volleyball star's secret relationship".

shocked, but still trying not wake up said volleyball star with your reaction as he clung to you on your shared bed, you quickly switch over to your tiktok to look back at the video you had posted just the night before.

surely enough as you let the video play out, the buttons on the right-hand side of your phone screen displayed astronomically larger numbers than that you've ever seen something you've posted in your life track before.

as the video plays the moment sakusa had called out to you–with you smiling to somewhere off camera before getting up close to the camera and cutting off the recording–you look down lower on the screen and see “msby sakusa reposted”. his official account. (you knew this bc he had you help him set up his personal one, the name of which you set up to come up as simply his nickname amongst friends "omi" with the cleaning sponge and bubbles emoji.)

hearing the audio of the video, you can feel sakusa stir at your side, his brows furrow against your skin as he peeks out from under his messy bedhead of curls to look at what you could be watching so soon after waking up.

after processing it was a video of you, one of his hands wordlessly part from where it was snaked around your waist and reaches up to tap on the little heart icon on the side of your screen.

then his hand returns to where it was, and he retreats back to the space between your collarbone and your jaw, hoping to quickly be lulled back to sleep just for a bit more before you two would have to get up and get on with your day.

but after a brief moment, you can suddenly feel the vibration of his voice against your skin, groggy and sloughed down by drowsiness to a deep treble as he lazily mumbled, “oh... that was your phone. was wondering why it wasn’t liked yet. i could've sworn i did already...”

his words set loose butterflies in your stomach, knowing despite his limited time spent online, he still does everything to let you know he loves you, even if it takes making a small heart icon light up on a video you post. but soon that warm feeling goes away, as your concern quickly overcomes it given the current situation at hand.

“omi," you coo, an attempt to not let on in your voice how you were slightly freaking out as to not disturb his peaceful state, "did you repost it? my video?”

“of course i did,” he replied in a heartbeat. you could feel his breathing start to slow down, him on the brink of slipping back into continuing his slumber.

you also felt he didn't quite realize the implications of what he did.

“you looked nice in it,” you hear him drawl out, after being met with your contemplative silence.

you hummed as you asked a follow up question, “did you do it with your personal account?”

“mhmm,” he sounds so content when he hums back in reply, bliss apparent as he spoke being tangled up with you as sunlight peeked in through the bedroom windows.

one of your hands paused the tiktok from playing and departed from where it clutched your phone to comb through sakusa's hair–partly to calm your nerves and partly in adoration at the realization he was so eager to show you his affection, that he didn’t check which account he was on before he reposted your video.

you tried your best to say your next words carefully and gently, “well i don’t think you did, babe."

"hm?"

trying to act nonchalant about it, you continue, "i gained, like, a thousand followers while we were sleeping.”

"hm?!!"

you no longer feel his curls under your fingertips as he retreats from his little hiding spot, now confronting your phone screen where surely enough, he caught a glimpse of the numbers your video was doing, as well as the little tag that, yes, it does look like he reposted your video using his official msby account.

he was wide awake now as one of his hands go to rake through his locks, and he starts rambling despite how his voice definitely wasn't caught up from his sleep yet, “y/n, angel, i'm so sorry. i didn't even check, i should've. i should've been more careful. now everyone know's about it, and it's all my fault. is anyone being mean to you about it? i can say something, or post something, right now, or—“

you cut his running mouth off with a kiss, dropping your phone in your lap to cup the sides of his face before you pull away.

"you're not... you're not mad at me?" he asks softly, eyes searching yours nervously.

a moment ago you were feeling a little more than uneasy at the thought that you weren't going to be just an ordinary person anymore. but now, seeing how much sakusa cared and doted over you, you realize you'll be fine. because you won't be dealing with it alone. you had someone extraordinary to be by your side each step of the way.

“no, omi. i'm not mad," you tell him through a warm smile, "at least we don't have to hide it anymore."

you feel him slightly nod in your hands, still on edge as he intently listens and hangs onto your every word. you could never get mad at that face. you can't resist the urge to brush your nose against his because of how cute you thought your boyfriend was.

"and besides, it still wasn’t a hard launch. we don't have to confirm anything just yet. so by social media rules... i can still post some more soft launches before we do that, no?" you say with a hint of mischief in your tone, making sakusa break out into a smile as he chuckles and places his hands over yours at the sides of his face.

"y'know what we always say," you continue with a more genuine voice, barely above a whisper, "we won’t let them get to us. we don't owe them anything–let them figure it out. what’s done is done, so let’s just have fun with it, okay?”

you're blessed with the sight of sakusa's dimpled smile growing even wider and before you know it he's all over you, on top of you smothering you with kisses, making you laugh as you try to pry him off of you.

he finally pauses to hover over you, his eyes with the slightest creases at their corners because of how he was smiling down at you, “thanks for bearing with me. not just my social media incompetence, but–for dealing with my… everything, i guess. i love you.”

the sheets ruffle around you as you gingergly wrap your arms up and around his neck, “i love you too omi. always will.”

you reach to grab your phone, buried somewhere in the blanket draped over the two of you, and sakusa rolls off of you as he finds it first and hands it to you. now it was your turn to ramble on, “how about we do the one where you stand behind me and hold the phone really high? or the one where you pick me up and spin me around in a random parking lot? or maybe i should make a video wearing your jersey–? oh my god that'd be diabolical, don't you think omi?"

he laughs into your shoulder at your eagerness as you spend the rest of the morning scrolling through soft launch videos online that you can save to copy later.

“i’ll do anything," he tells you, "i want to show you off–because now i can properly do it the way you've always deserved, love.”

⇩ ⇩ ⇩ 𝘽𝙊𝙉𝙐𝙎 ::

a few weeks (and a few more soft-launch tiktoks you both had fun with) later, although you and sakusa never publicly confirmed anything yet, his fans practically accepted that you and him were an item.

you even had the pleasure of seeing some fan-made edits of you come across your feed and appreciatively dropping a few likes on them yourself. but there was one in particular when you peeked into the comments of the video.

the original poster had commented on their own edit: "GUYS SAKUSA GAVE MY EDIT A LIKE WTF???"

you laughed out loud at the comment, considering as how your dear and darling boyfriend had never mentioned his apparent viewing and liking of these edits of you online as of late.

your boyfriend may have learned his lesson about public reposts, but it looks like his attempts at covering up what he hits "like" on needed a bit of work, too.

#🌼 𝗵𝗮𝗶𝗸𝘆𝘂𝘂 #🌼 𝘀𝗮𝗸𝘂𝘀𝗮 𝗸𝗶𝘆𝗼𝗼𝗺𝗶 #loml #when timeskip sakusa gets animated i'll have to be locked up or something #this was supposed to be a silly goofy thing but it turned out disgustingly soft help #haikyuu #sakusa kiyoomi #sakusa x reader #kiyoomi sakusa x reader #kiyoomi x reader #haikyuu kiyoomi #hq kiyoomi #hq sakusa #msby sakusa #haikyuu sakusa #sakusa fluff #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x you

342 notes · View notes

maroonshirt81 · 2 months ago

Note

Hey, wanted to see if you would write carcar shifter au? One of them is like a cat shifter (or dog) and the other one figures it out? Cute fluff maybe? And possessiveness is always welcome!

this request hit me square in the chest with ideas... Even though I'd never have written a shifter AU of my own volition! This is why I love writing request fills! :D

not sure if the level of fluff is what you meant, anon – I'm an enemies carcar truther at the core, but I still think it's extremely fluffy.

carcar, 5k, squabbling neighbors with shared garden wall AU, cat shifter AU, ao3

****

Carlos Sainz Jr. loves his life – he has a job he likes, a close-knit group of friends, and a cute little house with the most beautiful garden anyone’s ever laid eyes on. All in all, it’s almost perfect, with one notable exception: the neighbor’s cat is trying to ruin it.

“He did it again,” he tells Oscar, leaning across the small stone wall that separates their gardens.

Oscar is currently elbows-deep in a pot full of soil, digging for potatoes and barely glancing up as Carlos complains to him. Even after a full minute of waiting for a response, a bored “Hm?” is all the reaction Carlos can draw from him.

“Your cat!” Carlos clarifies, gesturing toward a knocked-over flowerpot on his side of the wall, where scraps of red blossoms sway pitifully in the weak breeze. “Destroyed my beautiful geraniums!”

“I don’t have a cat,” Oscar says automatically, even though Carlos has seen the orange menace stroll right through Oscar’s terrace door multiple times. Carlos has no idea why Oscar keeps denying it. Specifically to piss him off, is his best guess.

“Besides,” Oscar adds, for once giving him more than the bare minimum of attention, though he still doesn’t bother to look up, “good on the cat. Those geraniums stink.”

Oscar’s own garden looks like a survivalist’s wet dream – neat rows of salad greens, vegetables, berry bushes, and fruit trees. Squash and pumpkins in containers to keep them from spreading too much. Little pots of herbs lining the terrace. Capital B boring. He wouldn’t know how to appreciate Carlos’s flower paradise to save his life.

‘Geraniums stink.’ What an asshole.

“You know what stinks worse?” Carlos fires back. “Cat poop! So just make sure the damn thing stays on your side of the wall!”

Oscar finally looks up, holding a couple of baby potatoes like he just delivered them from the pot’s womb. He has tiny hands. He’s struggling to hold like two potatoes in one.

“Not sure you know how cats work, mate,” he says, that awful Australian twang coating every word. “Anyway, I don’t know why you’re so sure the cat’s mine. I told you, it’s not. One day you’ll just have to accept that.”

“I know it’s yours because I’ve seen it walk into your house! And because it only started showing up after you moved in! And because it looks exactly like you!”

He probably shouldn’t have said that last part out loud, because now Oscar has an excuse to look at him like he’s lost his marbles. And sure, Carlos knows it sounds crazy, but it’s a well-known fact that many pets resemble their owners in disturbing ways.

“Sure, mate,” Oscar says after a long pause, leaving the statement unacknowledged for maximum psychological impact. “I’ll tell my imaginary cat to stay out of your garden next time I see it. Can’t promise it’ll listen, though. It’s a cat.”

Then he walks off, carrying his four potatoes in his dirt-smeared arms, back into his stupid house.

****

The next day, Carlos finds cat poop sitting squarely on the grave of his shredded geranium pot. The bastard hadn’t even tried to bury it. Carlos picks up the dried poop with his garden gloves and, in a blaze of rage, hurls it over the wall into Oscar’s garden.

A moment later, a pointed cough grabs his attention. He turns to see an unimpressed Oscar peeking over the too-low wall.

“Really?” Oscar says. “I know you’re not my biggest fan, but throwing poop at me is a bit much, don’t you think?”

Carlos feels a flicker of shame for half a second before anger swells again. He storms up to the wall, barely restraining himself from jabbing Oscar in the chest.

“I told you to watch the cat!” he scolds, Spanish blood taking control of his hands, which slice through the air in sharp, furious angles. “And what happens? He poops on my flowers! Poops!”

Oscar watches the animated hand gestures, entirely unimpressed. When Carlos finally stops, he has the audacity to just shrug.

“Still not my cat,” he says. “So I don’t know what you expect me to do about it.”

Carlos lets out a frustrated sound that he hopes comes off as firm and not whiny. “Why do you insist on lying?”

“I don’t lie,” Oscar lies effortlessly. “That’s like a big thing about me. Remember, the whole reason you don’t like me is because when I first moved in and you asked how I liked your garden, I told you the truth and you couldn’t take it.”

“You said my garden is an eyesore!” Carlos squawks. “Which is clearly not the truth!”

“It is to me,” Oscar shrugs again. “We just have different tastes.”

“It’s not about taste! Some things are inherently true! You can’t say my flower paradise is an eyesore – just like you can’t say I’m an eyesore!”

“You’re an eyesore,” Oscar shoots back without hesitation.

Carlos is momentarily stunned. Then, a horrific possibility dawns on him. “Oh my God!” he breathes. “You’re… are you blind? Are you blind and just never told me?”

“Carlos…” Oscar sounds more exasperated than Carlos has ever heard him. “You’re wearing the biggest straw hat known to man and freaking overalls. You look like you just escaped from a game of Stardew Valley. If I only saw you out of the corner of my eye, I’d think you were impaled in the middle of a cornfield asking if anyone’s seen your brain.”

“You are blind,” Carlos mutters, more to himself than to Oscar, who clearly isn’t listening. “And a liar. Blind and a liar.”

“Sure, if it makes you feel better…”

“No!” Carlos says firmly. “This isn’t about me feeling good. This is about you being a compulsive liar, which is a problem because you’re my neighbor, and I am suffering directly because of your untreated condition!”

“Oh my God,” Oscar sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Look me in the eyes and tell me I’m ugly!” Carlos demands, yanking off his straw hat so Oscar can properly admire his gleaming hair.

“Mate!” Oscar groans. “I never even said you’re ugly. Just that you’re an eyesore in that demented outfit!”

“So you do think I’m hot, then?”

Oscar glances at his wrist and widens his eyes slightly. “You know what?” he says. “I actually don’t have time for this. So – see you around, Carlos. And please try not to throw any more poop in my garden, that’d be ace. Bye.”

And just like that, he turns around and walks off, leaving Carlos fuming at the wall.

It takes until the very last second before he disappears behind the terrace door for Carlos to notice that he doesn’t even wear a watch on his wrist.

****

So, Carlos can’t get Oscar to admit he owns the cat. Fine.

He will, however, get him to admit that Carlos is hot, because that one’s about personal pride – plus, it would annoy Oscar so much more.

So the next time he sees Oscar out in the garden, Carlos sprints to throw on his overalls and straw hat – and just his overalls and straw hat! No shirt underneath. Just miles of sun-kissed skin and bare, defined arms. Carlos knows how to use what he’s got. He’s not like Oscar – three hunchbacks and two widow’s peaks in a trench coat. Well, beige shorts and a white T-shirt.

Okay, that was mean. Actually, Oscar isn’t ugly, even though most of his individual features should come together to make a weird and awkward whole. Somehow, it works. Maybe it’s his dry, quietly confident personality. Carlos doesn’t know and doesn’t care to think about it right now. He has something to prove.

“Mate,” Oscar calls from the other side of the wall as soon as Carlos steps out into the garden. That’s a new record for getting noticed. Carlos can’t help but feel a little smug. Then Oscar ruins it by adding, “You’re gonna get the most ridiculous tan lines!”

“At least I actually tan!” Carlos shouts back, heading straight for the garden hose. He briefly considers putting on a little show – dousing himself with water for that irresistible wet look – when Oscar announces, “Well, have fun with that. I actually have somewhere to be, so unfortunately I can’t stick around to laugh at the aftermath.”

And then he just packs up and leaves!

Carlos stares after him, limp hose in hand, denim overalls chafing against his freshly shaved chest.

What a let-down. Maybe Oscar really does think he’s ugly. That stings a little. Actually, it stings a lot.

To make matters worse, five minutes later, the damn cat is back. It sits perched on the wall between their gardens, staring unblinking as Carlos tries to soothe the rash on his chest by letting water run directly into his overalls.

For a moment, Carlos considers spraying the cat with the hose, but then decides against it.

For once, the cat isn’t doing anything. Just sitting and staring.

At least now Carlos can pretend he’s putting on the show for an audience.

****

When Carlos goes into the garden the next day – fully clothed this time to hide the angry rash across his chest – he turns on the hose only to discover it’s turned into a sprinkler overnight. The damn cat’s been chewing on it.

That’s when he decides enough is enough.

If the cat really doesn’t belong to Oscar, then Oscar shouldn’t mind Carlos catching it and dropping it off at the nearest animal shelter.

So Carlos devises a plan.

You catch more flies with honey, and you catch more cats with milk, he thinks, as he places a little dish of cream out on the terrace. Rich, full-fat cream – probably the finest thing the cat’s ever tasted.

Trap set, he retreats into a shady corner behind his morning glories, net at the ready, and waits.

The cat… is nowhere to be seen. Not in the first hour. Not in the second. Not in the third. After three hours of crouching, Carlos’s back is sore on top of his chest, and he gives up. He sets the net down and slips through the open terrace door into the kitchen.

That’s when he sees the orange monster sitting on the counter, teeth sunk into his $200 leg of jamón ibérico.

“Ayayayayay!” he shouts, clapping his hands in frustration, but the cat just gives him the same unimpressed look its alleged owner would. Only when Carlos circles the kitchen island, getting close, does the damn thing leap out of reach.

Carlos decides not to play his little games right now, and instead goes to inspect the damage done to his jamón.

“You really are a pest,” he mutters, grabbing the sharp knife on the counter to cut away the gnawed-on parts. “Did you not see the cream I put out for you?”

He turns, finding the cat sitting on his kitchen island – out of reach, but otherwise unafraid, even though Carlos is holding a big knife in his hand. There’s a vase full of fresh flowers from Carlos’s garden right next to the orange monster, so he hopes the cat isn’t clumsy.

He sighs and tosses the contaminated pieces of jamón onto the island. He’s not going to eat that, but just throwing it away feels wrong too.

“I see you’ve got expensive taste,” Carlos says, watching the cat dive into the scraps. “At least you have taste, unlike your owner…”

The cat glances up, licking his lips, and Carlos can’t help but snort.

“Seriously. You look exactly like him.”

“Meow,” says the cat, and Carlos swears it has an Australian twang. Another snort escapes him.

“Don’t know why he denies any and all connection to you,” Carlos rambles, like an idiot chatting with his nemesis in feline form as he cuts another piece from his $200 pig leg. “You’re kinda cute. For a cat, I mean. When you’re not actively ruining my life.”

The cat responds with another twangy “Meow,” and Carlos tosses it the fresh slice.

“Look at you!” he says. “You’re almost more talkative than your owner!”

“Meow.”

“Or maybe not. Can you say more than one meow in a row?”

“Meow.”

“Hm.” Carlos slices another bit of jamón, holding it up. “How about now?”

The cat falls completely silent, fixing Carlos with a dangerous look.

“Come on! Meow-meow. Not that hard, see? Then you get this.” He waves the jamón and mouths, “Me-ow, me-ow!”

Very, very slowly, the cat lifts a paw and touches the vase of flowers.

“Don’t you dare!”

The vase scoots an inch closer to the edge.

“I’m serious!” Carlos warns, but apparently, so is the cat, because the vase keeps inching.

Before it can end in disaster, Carlos throws the piece of jamón onto the counter, sighing in relief as the cat leaves the vase alone and devours its prize with a smug look on his face.

“You drive a hard bargain,” Carlos mutters. “Honestly, I didn’t think cats were this intelligent.”

“Meow,” says the cat smugly.

“Too bad you use your intelligence for evil.” Carlos grabs the plastic wrap on the counter and seals up the exposed side of the jamón. “That’s enough for now. Your owner will be very cross with me if I upset your little tummy.”

The cat scoffs, but doesn’t beg for more. He simply turns, jumps off the island, and deliberately hits the vase with a back paw mid-jump, sending it crashing to the floor. The cat is out of the open terrace door before Carlos can decide to throw his big knife at him.

Mission Animal Shelter: failed. But at least Carlos is sure of one thing – he still really, really hates that cat. For a moment there, he had almost started to warm up to it.

****

Carlos makes the mistake of leaving the window open while making pancakes the next morning.

Just as he’s sliding the last one onto the plate, he looks up, and there’s the cat, perched on the windowsill like Carlos hadn’t spent the night dreaming about skinning it alive.

“Ay!” he barks, quickly scanning the room for anything breakable. Unfortunately, there are a lot of flower-filled vases. “Did you come to break more of my things?”

“Meow,” the cat replies. Not a clear confirmation or denial. Carlos hopes it is the latter and sits at the kitchen island.

The cat hops down from the windowsill, onto the counter, then to the floor, and finally onto the empty stool beside Carlos, staring up at him expectantly.

“I’m not feeding you any more of my jamón after you broke my vase yesterday,” Carlos informs him, still bitter.

The cat simply blinks at him – or, more accurately, at the rolled-up pancake in Carlos’s hand.

“This?” Carlos asks, unrolling the pancake for the cat to get a better look. “You want some pancake?” He tears off a small piece and offers it to the cat, who eats it from his hand without hesitation. The whiskers tickle his palm, and the nose is cold and wet.

Carlos stands up and grabs a plate for his guest. Because. Well. He’s already talking to the damn thing, isn’t he? Doesn’t get much more idiotic than that. Besides, it’s kind of nice to have company.

The cat looks down at the pancake on the plate Carlos sets in front of him, then back up at Carlos, as if waiting for something.

“What?” Carlos asks. “Surely you don’t eat with a fork and knife!”

“Meow,” the cat says sarcastically.

“What then – toppings? Are you seriously demanding toppings?”

“Meow,” the cat confirms, and for a moment Carlos wonders if he should talk to someone about his delusions.

“I usually just eat them plain,” Carlos says, turning to rummage through his cabinets, looking for something a person without taste might like on their pancakes. “So I’m not sure I have any – oh! How about this?”

He pulls an unopened jar of Nutella from the depths of the cabinet and presents it to the cat like a waiter offering a fine bottle of wine.

“Meow meow!” the cat says enthusiastically, which shocks Carlos so much he nearly drops the jar.

“Okay, but – wait a minute! Let me google something first,” Carlos says, fishing his phone from his pocket and quickly searching whether cats can have Nutella.

“Oh,” he mutters, disappointed, when the answer is a very clear no. “Sorry, buddy, but I can’t give you this. It’s actually toxic for you.”

The cat, who just moments ago had been acting like his best friend, now hisses at him.

“Look, I’m not going to poison you!” Carlos insists. “Not just because I wouldn’t put it past your owner to take revenge, but also because I don’t want to find your diarrhea all over my precious flowers!”

Clearly, that mature reasoning and responsible decision-making displeases the cat, because it hisses again, grabs the pancake in his mouth like a dead mouse, and knocks the plate off the counter for good measure. Then he bolts, disappearing out the open window while Carlos just sighs and grabs the broom to sweep the shattered pieces off the floor.

****

“Oscar.”

“Carlos,” Oscar replies from half inside a blueberry bush.

“Can I give your cat a little bit of chocolate?”

Oscar goes still for a moment, then pokes his head out of the bush, eyebrows raised high.

“Still not my cat, mate,” he says. Carlos waits, just stares back, until Oscar returns to his berry-picking, half-disappearing into the bush again. Carlos waits some more until finally, from deep within the leaves, comes, “I’m sure it’s fine.”

“Uh-huh,” Carlos says.

“I read somewhere cats are smart enough not to poison themselves with food they can’t tolerate,” Oscar elaborates, voice muffled by foliage. “So if it eats your chocolate, it’ll probably survive. Not that I care, because it’s not my cat.”

“Sure, Oscar. Thank you, Oscar,” Carlos says, feeling bold enough to decorate his words with a big smile, knowing Oscar’s too deep in the bush to see it. He turns to leave but stops. On a sudden whim, he picks one of the blue cornflowers growing in a small flowerbed bordering the wall and leaves it on top for Oscar to find.

****

The cat returns the next morning. Eats three pancakes with Nutella and doesn’t die.

When Carlos heads out to water his plants later, Oscar isn’t around – but a small basket full of blueberries waits for him on the little wall between their houses.

Carlos eats them wrapped in the rest of his pancakes and admits that some toppings actually taste good.

****

A week passes, and the cat becomes a regular guest in Carlos’s house.

It’s a problem. Kind of. Even though the more Carlos does what the cat wants, the less likely it is to break anything.

What’s a problem is the damn hair! Carlos finds it everywhere – he’s even spotted some stuck to his precious jamón iberico, and he doesn’t even want to know how much fur he’s accidentally eaten. Sometimes he starts imagining a hairball forming in his throat and gets all nauseous.

So when he spots Oscar’s ass sticking up over the little wall, bent over his lettuce patch, Carlos quickly jogs over to bombard him with more cat-related questions.

“What, Carlos?” Oscar asks before Carlos can even say a word. He seems busy putting up snail collars and doesn’t straighten up.

“There are cat hairs everywhere in my house!” Carlos complains to Oscar’s ass, which, now that he’s so directly faced with it, is a pretty nice ass, he must admit.

“And why is that?”

“Because your cat keeps visiting me and doesn’t understand the concept of cat-free zones!”

“Not my cat,” Oscar says, predictably.

“You should see my couch!” Carlos continues, hopping up onto the little wall and letting his legs dangle from Oscar’s side. “He napped on it the other day, and now my brown couch is orange!”

Oscar leaves the snail collars and finally straightens, crossing his arms as he faces Carlos. “Really?” he says. “You feed the cat, and now you let it sleep in your house? Are you sure it’s not your cat?”

Carlos hesitates.

“I don’t even know his name,” he mutters, brow furrowing.

“Uh-huh.” Oscar doesn’t look like he’s about to volunteer that information.

“Do I just give him one?”

“That’s usually how it works when you get a cat, mate.”

“Hm…” Carlos strains his brain trying to come up with a suitable name, but comes up empty. So he just sits and watches as Oscar goes back to work, legs still swinging off the wall.

“You’re still here,” Oscar points out once he’s done with the snail collars and sees Carlos still sitting there, staring at his… garden.

Carlos might have gotten a little distracted from brainstorming cat names.

“Yes,” he says, scratching his chin like he’s been in deep thought all along. “Hey, can I name the cat Oscar? He looks exactly like you. I don’t think any other name would suit him.”

“You can name it whatever you want, mate,” Oscar replies, completely unbothered. “It’s your cat.”

“Okay.” Carlos nods, satisfied. “And what do I do about the hair?”

Oscar gives a sigh so long, Carlos is surprised he hasn’t consulted his invisible watch and ran away yet.

“I don’t know, mate,” he says. “Brush it?”

“Brush it!” Carlos repeats, lighting up. Then he jumps off the low wall, jogging back toward his house with a quick, “Thank you, Oscar!” tossed over his shoulder. As he passes his bed of impressive gladiolus flowers, he pauses. Thinks. Swerves to detour into his garden shed and retrieve a pair of pruning shears, clips three of the most beautiful blooms, and puts them in a tall vase the cat hasn’t managed to knock over yet.

Oscar has moved on to his radishes by the time Carlos returns with the impromptu bouquet.

“Here,” Carlos says, placing the vase on the little stone wall between their gardens. “For sharing your cat with me.”

Oscar, for once, doesn’t manage to get out one of his signature sarcastic comments before Carlos turns and heads back inside.

****

He orders a special cat brush online. It looks strange – square, with little wiry hooks that don’t exactly look comfortable, but the website claims it has a massaging effect, so Carlos hopes the cat won’t hold it against him.

Carlos doesn’t end up naming the cat ‘Oscar’. Well, he does for one evening. But when he tells Lando on the phone that he can’t move because Oscar is asleep in his lap, the teasing is so relentless he decides the risk of confusion just isn’t worth it.

He lands on ‘Oscat’ instead. Still fitting, but clearer.

Oscat loves the brush.

Carlos hears him purr for the first time and is so startled, he nearly drops the damn thing. He knows cats purr, obviously, but he’s never had one do it in his lap – the vibrations are crazy, and it’s way louder than expected. Like the cat has his own little engine.

Carlos likes engines.

He sends a selfie of himself with Oscat in his lap to Lando, just to prove that the cat is real and that he is not cozying up with the terrible neighbor he used to complain about daily.

Though honestly, Oscar hasn’t been that terrible lately. He even smiles now when he sees Carlos step into the garden. Most days, there’s a little container of berries, herbs, or veggies left by Carlos’s door or on the wall between their gardens.

Sometimes, the cat sits next to the container, as if he brought it himself, and walks right into Carlos’s house as soon as the door opens, like he owns the place.

Carlos’s phone pings. Lando has responded to his selfie with a flood of “My dad with the cat he didn’t want” memes. Carlos rolls his eyes, puts the phone down, and refocuses on brushing the purring cat in his lap.

****

“So, Oscar…” Carlos begins, the moment Oscar steps through his terrace doors, carrying a large bag of fertilizer. Carlos is already waiting, seated on the stone wall.

“Carlos,” Oscar replies evenly, though he’s smiling again. Carlos still isn’t used to that. He momentarily forgets what he meant to say.

It’s not until Oscar is right in front of him that Carlos remembers his question.

“Are you really serious when you say Oscat doesn’t belong to you?”

Oscar rolls his eyes dramatically. “Wow. And here I thought it had finally sunk into that thick skull of yours.”

“It’s just…” Carlos cuts in before Oscar can continue mocking him. “I don’t really think he belongs to me either, you know? I have no idea where he sleeps at night. He doesn’t eat the cat food I buy or use the litter box. He just comes over whenever he pleases, makes me fawn over him for an hour or two, then disappears again. Is that normal for cats?”

“Pretty much.” Oscar shrugs. “They’re independent. Maybe it has like four other people wrapped around its paws and just wanders from one house to the next. Maybe the other houses have better litter.”

Carlos is deeply displeased by that thought. He can live with sharing the cat with Oscar – but random strangers with superior litter boxes? No way!

“Well, how do I know he’s treated alright? Is he healthy? Is he getting all his shots? Can I just take him to the vet for a check-up, or will they discover some microchip inside him saying he belongs to some family with kids and take him away from me?”

Oscar must notice how serious Carlos is, because instead of making another joke, he just watches him quietly for a moment.

Then he puts the bag down and hops onto the stone wall beside Carlos, so close their shoulders are almost touching.

“I don’t think you need to worry about that cat, mate,” he says, staring straight ahead into his blueberry bush. “That thing eats, like, a jar of Nutella a day. You’d probably need a lab-made virus to take it down.”

“You really think so?”

“Yeah,” Oscar says, still not looking at him. For someone so nonchalant, he’s terrible at pretending to be nonchalant. “It’s probably just some stray who adopted you. Would likely scratch your eyes out if you tried to take it to the vet.”

Carlos thinks it over. Long enough that Oscar eventually turns and meets his eyes.

“Look – you said the cat’s smart, right? I’m sure it’d let you know if it needed help.”

Carlos just nods. He doesn’t really have any words right now. He’s never seen Oscar’s eyes from up close like this. Though he’s very familiar with another set of eyes, which have different shaped pupils, but are otherwise an exact replica.

When he returns to his side of the garden, he stops by the rose bushes, clips a single white bloom with pink edges, and places it on the stone wall between them.

****

Carlos Sainz Jr. loves his life – he has a job he likes, a close-knit group of friends, a cute little house with the most beautiful garden anyone’s ever laid eyes on, and a very opinionated pet who likes to spend the evenings sprawled across his lap, purring like a helicopter about to lift off.

All in all, it’s almost perfect.

With one notable exception.

He’s pretty sure he’s developed feelings for his terrible, tasteless, snarky nightmare of a neighbor, and he has no idea what to do about it.

“Oscat…” Carlos murmurs, his voice barely audible over the purring. He’s lounging in a garden chair, one hand around a glass of wine, the other sunk into the cat’s fur. The cat still hears him, lifting his head and blinking his narrow, golden-brown eyes.

“Do you… do you think Oscar still hates me?”

The cat slow-blinks, then leans forward to gently bite Carlos’s finger.

“So… you think there’s a chance he might like me?”

“Meow meow meow!”

Carlos’s eyebrows shoot up. That is by far the most elaborate opinion Oscat has ever voiced about anything. He watches the cat try to act nonchalant by aggressively licking his paw.

“I’m pretty sure he thinks I’m ugly and annoying,” Carlos adds, almost to himself.

The cat scoffs. Scoffs!

And sure, Carlos is no expert on cats, but he’s been reading up a lot lately, and from all the knowledge he’s gathered, he’s pretty sure cats aren’t supposed to be this intelligent. Or able to hold up an entire conversation with a human being. Or eat jarsful of Nutella.

“So… if I walked over there right now, rang his doorbell, and asked him to join me for a glass of wine on my terrace… do you think he’d say yes?”

“Meow meow!” Oscat agrees enthusiastically.

Yeah. At the very least, cats shouldn’t be this sure about the answer some random human with their exact eyes, and exact looks, and exact accent would give about being asked out.

And maybe Carlos would not feel confident sharing his theory with another human soul, not even his closest friends, but… It just makes sense. It would explain why Oscar was always so adamant about how the cat doesn’t belong to him, and why he knew about the Nutella thing, and why he told Carlos not to take the cat to the vet. And why Carlos has never seen Oscar and Oscat at the same time. It would just… explain everything.

“Shit, I hope I’m not wrong about this,” Carlos mutters, setting down his wine.

Then, without warning, he grabs Oscat by the scruff and starts tickling the cat’s soft, white belly with his other hand.

Oscat wails. He curls into a croissant around Carlos’s hands – a sharp croissant with claws and fangs, but Carlos is determined, and Oscat’s hissing and wailing suddenly turns into squeaking and from there into high-pitched, breathless giggling.

It doesn’t happen gradually. There’s a big poof, and suddenly, Oscar the human is sitting in Carlos’s lap, face flushed right to the tips of his widow’s peaks, grabbing both of Carlos’s hands with his own, to stop the tickling.

For a long moment, they just stare at each other.

Then Oscar schools his expression into that trademark blank mask.

“Alright,” he says in the most flat, casual voice imaginable. “Congratulations. You got me.”

Carlos can feel a grin spreading so wide it makes his cheeks ache. “Hello, Oscar,” he says, as if Oscar has just walked out his terrace doors with a watering can instead of shape-shifted from a cat in his lap. “Would you like a glass of wine?”

“No,” Oscar says. “And for the record, I think you’re ugly and annoying.”

“And you,” Carlos laughs, “are a compulsive liar.”

Oscar shrugs. “Cats aren’t exactly known for their moral integrity.”

“So… is that a yes to the wine?”

Oscar glances down at where he’s straddling Carlos in the garden chair, still holding his wrists. “Are you going to offer me a chair first?”

“Hm…” Carlos says, still smiling. “No. I don’t think I will.”

“Want me to turn back into a cat?”

“Absolutely not!” Carlos laughs, freeing his wrists so he can wrap his arms around Oscar’s waist, making it abundantly clear how he’d prefer Oscar to stay.

Oscar’s face, which had begun to lose its flush, turns red all over again.

“Oh. Okay.”

“Okay?” Carlos asks, leaning in just enough to make his intentions clear.

Oscar doesn’t need more than that. He meets him halfway, all that fake nonchalance flying right out the window. He kisses like a guy who’d take any excuse to not have to explain why he was just being a cat purring in Carlos’s lap a minute ago, and he has obviously never heard of the concept of chapstick in his life. Despite all that, Carlos can’t get enough of him. The sharp edges have always been the most intriguing thing about Oscar anyway.

They don’t take a break until ten minutes later, when Carlos pulls back, breathless, to inform him, “If you ever shit on my flowers again, I’m taking you straight to the vet!”

Oscar just giggles, high and embarrassed, and kisses him again without even trying to come up with a snarky answer.

Except two seconds later Carlos hears the wine glass shattering on his terrace tiles.

Ah, well.

They’ll just have to drink from plastic cups from now on.

#f1 rpf #carcar #carloscar #oscarlos #oscar piastri #carlos sainz #carlos sainz jr #my fics

105 notes · View notes

sashimi020 · 2 months ago

Text

almost yours p4 *ੈ✩‧₊˚ [mitsuya x reader]

PART 4 (4/5)

p1 | p2 | p3 | p5

part four yippie! last part will be new years part, i'll probably upload it later today or tomorrow :3

credits to @i-mmaculatus for the dividers! tags: @dollrndo

mitsuya had a long day, taking care of his sisters, doing chores and errands for his mom, he finally got a chance to collapse in his bed at the tail end of the afternoon to get some rest, that was, until he heard his phone go off several times.

3 missed calls. mikey.

“what the hell is this guy doing?” mitsuya groaned, as much as he respected mikey and the gang, he was far too exhausted to appear for some gang meeting right now. it wasn’t very often that mikey spam called him out of all people, it was usually draken that was the victim of that, so he figured this must be important and picked up the phone. ______________________________________________________________

mikey created a groupchat

mikey added draken and mitsuya

mikey named the groupchat “project: new years gift”

mikey: MITSUYA

draken: STOP BLOWING UP MY PHONE AND STOP SPAMMING

draken: he’ll respond

mikey: yeah i know i just called him a bunch

mitsuya: what’s this??

draken: we just thought

draken: you know you and y/n have that thing going on

mitsuya: .. that’s..

mikey: SO we decided you’re going to get her a gift for new years!! when we all meet at the festival you’re going to give it to her.

mitsuya: i mean.. yeah i’d love to! but i don’t want to come off as too eager? what if she’s uncomfortable??

draken: why would she be?? come on dude. i’ve seen you guys interact. she’s head over heels for you. she’d be so elated to get a gift from you

______________________________________________________________

mitsuya’s face heats up as he feels himself not being able to stop smiling. he was usually so composed, what happened? he felt so all over the place but it felt good. maybe he could confess with this gift too.. oh yeah. that’d be perfect..

______________________________________________________________

mitsuya: alright, let’s go.

mikey: YESSSSS

______________________________________________________________

mitsuya almost instantly got ready, earlier exhaustion completely forgotten. after about half an hour he reached met up with draken and mikey and reached the mall. the three of them walked around for a bit, draken glanced at his phone staring at a text from kazutora who told him about a certain jacket from a shop they should check out, sent the day before. he kept his eyes peeled. “i found it!! it’s that one!” mikey yelled out when he spotted that very same jacket on display. mitsuya paused, did mikey want something? that jacket? is it why he pointed it out? “that’s the one y/n wanted right?” mikey blurts out.

draken shoots him a quick glare. they were definitely supposed to “stumble” across this shop in a more conspicuous manner. “umm. i’m pretty sure y/n mentioned wanting a jacket like this once” draken clarifies. they couldn’t let him find out about the gift exchange! you didn’t know he was getting you something and he didn’t know you were getting him something. it would be perfect.

“oh, alright” mitsuya smiles. draken lets out a sigh of relief and the three of them enter the store. mikey tilts his head at the jacket. “she has good taste, it must probably be super comfy.. how expensive is this?.. mm..” mikey leans forward and grabs the price tag. his smile falls and he promptly places it back on the rack. the look on his face speaks volumes. “i.. i’m sure if we all pool..” draken starts, “no! no. uh. you guys don’t have to do that. please” mitsuya cuts him off. “no jacket?” mikey pouts. “man .. it would’ve been so.. great..” mitsuya stares at the jacket for a few minutes before an idea strikes him. “maybe i could.. sew it? i have a fabric similar to this and 2 weeks till new years right? i’m sure i could find a jacket pattern - it mustn’t be too hard..” mitsuya chews the inside of his cheek as he figures out the specifics in his head. “yeah, two weeks is enough. i can do it” draken stares in awe. yeah. this guy is done for.

“we’ll help, anything you need?” draken asks as they walk out of the store. “oh.. you guys don’t have to-“ “no shut up. we’re helping” mikey cuts him off. mitsuya smiles warmly. yeah. his friends were really great. he couldn’t be more happy.

the three of them reach mitsuya’s house and he gets started almost immediately;

“could you pass the scissors?” “done!” “measuring tape?” “here.” “that fabric” “yup” mikey helped out, only with minor complaints, only whining when he started to get hungry. draken hung out in the kitchen for a bit after mikey’s nagging got too much and prepared instant noodles to satiate their hunger. “oi! get away from the sewing machine. it’s time for a break, loverboy” draken grinned. mitsuya flushed “don’t call me that” he muttered sheepishly and stepped away, stretching and collapsing onto the bed next to mikey. “thank you, i .. really appreciate it” he said softly and took the bowl in his hands. “it’s just instant noodles.. i didn’t really do much” draken replies. “so?” his eyes soften as he takes a spoonful “you guys are here. that means a lot more than you know” mitsuya responded. mikey paused his ostentatiously loud noodle slurping to look up at mitsuya “of course we're here dummy. that’s what friends are for” mikey said it as if it was the easiest most obvious thing in the world.

the boys ate happily, rested and worked on the jacket before passing out on mitsuya's floor on top of comforters and blankets, hearts filled with warmth.

#tokyo revengers #tokyo rev #tokyo revengers fluff #fanfic #fluff #x reader #mikey sano #tr mitsuya #mitsuya x reader #mitsuya takashi x reader #mitsuya takashi #draken #draken ryuguji

35 notes · View notes

jeremiahhawkinsfanfics · 3 months ago

Text

JAYCE & VIKTOR FIND THE CLOTHING OF JAYCE’S FATHER IN THE ATTIC 👔🥹🕸️

… and Viktor’s worst fear is revealed!!!

Read the whole fic on AO3 😉

“No, Jayce, you are not going to Zaun dressed like that.”

Their research was progressing well. Long nights at the lab had finally allowed them to stabilize the crystals safely, paving the way for their first Hexgate experiments. They were on the verge of designing their first prototype, but were running low on crystals. Even though he was a bit reluctant to bypass the rules now they had the official approval of the Academy and the support of the Council, Jayce had admitted that Viktor was right: it would be a waste to let weeks of progress stall over consuming administrative procedures when the materials they needed were within reach, in the Undercity.

“Time is critical”, Viktor had pointed out. “The faster we figure this out, the sooner we can improve people’s lives”.

This morning, as they decided it was the right time to go for an excursion in the Lanes, Jayce took his courage in both hands, and proudly arrive at the lab, ready to face Zaun’s dangers for the sake of science and progress. He couldn’t have been more surprised when he was greeted by a mocking look on his partner’s face.

“What’s wrong?” Jayce asked, genuinely puzzled.

“You could just as well go down with ‘Piltie’ written on your face” Viktor said, gesturing to Jayce’s Academy uniform and warm coat. “A perfect target for robbers… or burglars”.

“Burglars? Don’t you mean muggers?” Jayce asked, confused by the choice of word.

“Burglars can spot you, follow you to find your home, and plan something” Viktor clarified, his tone flat, as if underlying something perfectly obvious. “But yes, muggers are also a concern.”.

Jayce’s eyes widen in realization, his heart skipping a beat. “Could it be that I got spotted in the Undercity last time? And that’s why my place was broken into?”

The memory of the explosion – the force of it throwing him against the wall like a ragdoll, his ears ringing from the shock before he passed out – still burned in his mind. That was another reason Jayce wasn’t thrilled about breaking the rules again to retrieve more crystals. The thought lingered as he tried to push it aside. He knew Viktor was probably right about the dangers in Zaun, but it didn’t make him any more eager to go back.

“Are we sure this is a good idea?” he asked, his voice tinged with doubt.

Viktor raised an eyebrow, already preparing to leave, securing a bag under his worn coat.

“It will be once we stop at your mother’s place for you to change clothes,” Viktor answered flatly. "What worries you?”

“Last time… well, you know…” Jayce trailed off, not needing to finish the sentence. He knew they could both remember the missing wall of his latest appartment.

Viktor nodded in understanding and offered a reassuring smile.

“Last time, someone broke into your house. We won’t let that happen at the lab. Besides, you’re with me now. We won’t get followed, nor scammed.”

Jayce smiled back, grateful for his partner’s calm certainty. Viktor was right. It was just a matter of being careful this time. And with an authentic Zaunite by his side, navigating the dangers of the Undercity would be far easier. Anyway, he knew all too well that if he didn’t go with him, Viktor would go on his own – and Jayce was far too scared of what could happen to him. Not that he doubted him, but Viktor still was crippled – he couldn’t run if he was attacked and would be an easy target for any ill-intentioned aggressor down there. Jayce couldn’t let that happen. Never.

Looking at his partner, he couldn’t help but notice his clothing.

“And why exactly do I need to change, while you are still wearing your uniform and your coat?”

“Because I know the people we’re going to meet” Viktor replied. “And because I don’t have a rich Piltie face”.

Jayce frowned, still doubting the logic, but he knew better than to contradict Viktor when he was certain about something. When Viktor decided he was right, trying to argue was a nightmare — by now, Jayce knew to pick his battles. They stopped at the Talis House, and spent the next hour rifling through Jayce’s wardrobe. Viktor inspected each item with a critical eye.

“Don’t you have anything that doesn’t look brand new?” he asked with a weary voice.

“Nothing here is brand new, Vik.” Jayce replied with a laugh.

“Well, everything looks like it is” his partner sighed.

“I won’t apologize for taking care of my things”

They were about to give up when suddenly, an idea struck Jayce’s mind. There were old and worn clothes in this house, but they weren’t in his room. A shiver ran down his spine as he instinctively looked up. He never dared to even think about it before — would they even be his size?

“Wait… I think I have an idea… Wait for me here.”

Before anything, Jayce made sure his mother wasn’t home—she planned to meet a friend for the day, but he needed to be certain she had already gone. He knew she wouldn’t like what he was about to do. When he knew the path was clear, he climbed to the attic and opened the trapdoor, a heavy cloud of dust invading his nose and throat.

The smell reminded him of the last time he came here, how he had fought to get that damn mattress out of here and dragged it up to their lab. He chuckled at the memory— the fight had been worth the effort, for all the late nights of progress and the cozy mornings after. He also felt like sleeping next to each other had brought him and Viktor closer, and he was very happy about it. He had never clicked like that with anyone before. Sometime he even missed sleeping next to him, when they didn’t sleep in the lab for more than a week.

The attic was the resting ground of his family’s memories – a quiet place for his beloved childhood toys, family albums, his mother’s old books, travel souvenirs, and scratched furniture to rest in peace after a lifetime of good service. Everywhere Jayce looked, something dragged a fond smile to his face — his old telescope, from when he was fascinated by astronomy, his mother’s old sofa, where she used to knit when she was younger, and albums from when he was a baby — the ones he’d need to hide if he didn’t want his mother to embarrass him by showing them to Viktor. But he wasn’t looking for those right now.

He shuffled for a while between old boxes, forgotten objects and spider webs.

“Where on Runeterra did Mama put this…”.

Emerging from the organized chaos, the corner of something large caught his eye. There it was: an old, bulky luggage. Just seeing it shook his heart. With careful hands, he wiped away the dust that had been colonizing it for years. The luggage was so large and heavy that despite his strength, he struggled to carry it back to his bedroom.

“What’s this?” Viktor asked, sitting on the bed, raising an incredulous eyebrow as Jayce set the oversized luggage in the center of the room. Dust bunnies scattered in all directions, as though they had been awakened from a long slumber.

Jayce swallowed, his fingers brushing over the buckles, where the “T” of House Talis was engraved.

“That’s... my father’s old clothes.”

Viktor’s eyes widened, his body freezing.

“Oh…” he murmured, his voice small.

An uncomfortable silence settled between them, as though there was a third person in the room – someone present through their absence, embodied by the old luggage. Jayce took a deep breath, summoning the courage to open it. The rusted hinges creaked as the clasps clicked open, and a cloud of dust billowed into the air, making them both cough.

Awaken from years-long sleep, his father’s clothes lay neatly folded, a pile of fabric preserved by time. Jayce’s hand shook as he dared to run his fingers over them, reacquainting himself with the long-forgotten textures. There was the shirt his father used to wear in the forge, the vest he wore when they went on picnics in Piltover’s parks, and the velvet trousers he’d tugged on as a child, asking for stories. Each piece seemed imbued with memories—some vivid, others faded, and many he didn’t even recall.

“Jayce, are you sure about this?” Viktor asked, his voice laced with concern.

Jayce glanced back, meeting his partner’s eyes. He could see the worry there — the deep care for how this could affect him, as though it was more dangerous than venturing into Zaun to buy illicit materials. To be fair, Viktor wasn’t wrong. It did mean something to him, but it was the only old clothes he had to work with.

“Yes, I’m sure. Come on, help me find something.”

Reluctantly, Viktor joined in, carefully inspecting the clothing in the luggage. His long and pale fingers were brushing on the old fabric with a form of respect – reverence even – that they didn’t had for Jayce’s own clothing in the wardrobe. Jayce smiled as he noticed it.

Each piece they pulled from the luggage brought a new memory to the surface. It wasn’t as painful as he feared – in fact, it was endearing, almost fun, like flipping through a forgotten family album. Jayce was relieved to realize that, he almost felt proud of himself. For so long, the precious memories with his father were tainted by the pain of grief. It wasn’t completely gone – like a very old scar – but it felt healed. Knowing he could now safely rediscover his father’s old belongings and reconnect to him brought a quiet joy in his heart. This actually felt like the closest thing he had to spending a moment with his dad since he died.

They ended up spending more time than they expected, rifling through the old luggage. Jayce marveled at the memories each item evoked. Viktor didn’t rush, smiling at the stories he told him – and Jayce appreciated his patience. It was a very intimate moment for him to share, and he couldn’t imagine anyone better than Viktor for that.

“How about this?” his partner asked holding up a shirt that must have been white before time tainted it, stained with black marks.

“Oh, that’s one of his forge shirt!” Jayce exclaimed, eyes lighting up.

He could clearly picture his father wearing it in their family forge, working close to the fire, wielding a hammer marked with the Talis symbol—the very image of a hero in Jayce’s childhood eyes. A fond smile spread across his face, and he gently took the shirt into his hands.

Jayce removed his own shirt and carefully slipped into his father’s old one. He noticed Viktor, as usual, looking away when he undressed. It had become a habit over time. It made Jayce laugh, though. It seemed ridiculous considering how many times they’d shared the same bed, barely clothed. To Jayce’s eyes, friend’s nudity wasn’t something to shy away from. He’d gotten used to it in school and during sports. But maybe Viktor didn’t had the same experience, which he could understand.

“You don’t have to turn away every time I change, you know?” Jayce chuckled.

Viktor’s cheeks flushed red, and his gaze remained fixed on the far wall. A playful smirk tugged at his lips – the one he wore when he was fighting embarrassment with irony.

“Oh, was the strip meant for my eyes? Eh, a little desperate as a flirting technique, don’t you think?” he teased, still keeping his gaze away from Jayce’s naked skin.

Jayce laughed at the jab. He had grown fond of Viktor’s humor, especially the teasing ones.

“I just meant I’m used to changing in front of friends. You get used to it when you play team sports. So, yeah, don’t feel like you have to look away.”

Viktor scoffed, but didn’t answer – neither did he turn his eyes back to him.

To Jayce’s surprise, the forge shirt fit perfectly, maybe even a little snug around the shoulders. The realization hit him hard. He was as tall as his father now—maybe even slightly larger. It felt absurd. His father had always been that towering figure — the one who bent down to ruffle his hair, kneeled to explain important things, sat him on his laps to tell stories, and laughed while carrying him on his shoulders. And now, he was the same size. What would it have been like to look his father in the eye, not as a child but as a man? The thought made something tighten in his chest, his mind overwhelmed with emotion.

A gentle hand landed on his shoulder, grounding him back in the present. He turned, meeting Viktor’s soft, concerned gaze.

“Are you ok?” his partner asked, his voice low.

Jayce smiled and nodded, though inside, his chest swelled with warmth. Yes, he was okay — moved, certainly. But he was fine. In fact, he felt proud, standing here, as tall and strong as his father had been. He was sure his father would be proud of him too. That thought wrapped around his heart like a quiet embrace, filling him with a glowing sense of connection that defied time – as if he was hugged by his dad beyond the frontier between life and death. He basked in this feeling, a bright smile shining on his face.

“Yes,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m fine.”

They continued sorting through the clothes, finally settling on an old pair of shoes that had seen better days, a velvet pair of trousers stained at the knees, and a thin coat Jayce remembered his father wearing on cool spring mornings.

“So?” Jayce asked, showing off his new look. “Do I look Zaunite?”

Viktor shrugged, an amused smile spreading across his face as he sat on the bed.

“Nothing’s going to make you look Zaunite — not any more than I can really look Piltie. But it’ll blend in. At least you’ll look the part. We just need to do something with your hair. It’s way too neat.”

“Ah, sure!” Jayce agreed, crouching down slightly so Viktor could reach his hair easier.

With hesitant hands, Viktor reached up, running his fingers through Jayce’s hair. His touch was slow, methodical, but unexpectedly gentle, more careful than Jayce had anticipated… almost appreciative. Without thinking about it, Jayce found himself leaning into his touch. His partner initiating physical contact was rare, but he loved when it happened.

“I… I think you’re good to go” Viktor stammered, satisfied with the result.

When Jayce stood, he caught sight of Viktor’s face flushed with a slight blush, his eyes deliberately trained on anything but him. Jayce almost felt bad that he hadn’t realized how uncomfortable that might have made his partner. But before he could apologize, he was abruptly interrupted.

“KURVA!!!” Viktor screamed as he hastily pulled his legs onto the bed, nearly tripping over the cover.

Jayce followed his partner's terrified gaze. On the side of the luggage, a large black spider had emerged, its long, thick legs gripping the old leather.

“Ugh… This one is ugly” Jayce conceded, his face scrunching in disgust.

“KILL IT!” Viktor screeched, his voice higher-pitched than usual.

Jayce turned to his partner. His eyes were wide, locked on the uninvited eight-legged guest. He couldn’t help but stare back, incredulous. The situation wasn’t new to him – he’d been the hero of the day for his mother when a mouse had lost its way in the house. But Viktor? The measured, logical, composed scientist who was not afraid to break in Heimerdinger’s office, launch dangerous experiments on unstable crystals, or head down to the Undercity for materials without flinching… terrified on something so small?

“Vik… Don’t tell me you’re afraid of spiders?” Jayce asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Have you LOOKED at this MONSTER?! What are you waiting for?! KILL IT!"

"It won't hurt you, you know," Jayce laughed, slowly taking off his shoe.

“Do I look like I fucking care?!” Viktor’s voice was strained. "Stop laughing and KILL IT!"

"It’s okay, I’ve got it," Jayce said with a reassuring—maybe a little teasing—smile. "You can leave the room if you’re scared."

"I AM NOT MOVING UNTIL THIS HORROR IS DEAD!" Viktor shouted, eyes still locked on the terrifying eight-legged monster. "You’re not even looking at it! What if it escapes?!"

"Then you wouldn’t see it anymore, and problem solved," Jayce said, carefully raising his shoe above the creature.

"Solved? No, Jayce!" Viktor practically screamed. "The only thing worse than a spider is a DISAPPEARED spider!"

With a swift and efficient movement, Jayce adjusted his position and smashed the shoe down. The sound echoed in an expectant silence.

“… Did you get it?” Viktor whispered, his eyes fixed on the shoe.

Jayce slowly looked under his sole, where the remains of the terrible monster lay.

"Yes, it’s dead! You’re saved, Vik!" Jayce proudly announced, as if he’d just slayed a dragon.

Viktor mumbled an embarrassed thanks, his face flushed with a mix of relief and shame.

"We’ve wasted enough time. We should head to Zaun," he said, eager to shift the conversation.

Jayce closed the luggage and carefully carried it back to the attic, cleaning up the dust left in its wake. They left the Talis House for less welcoming venues—places where dangers were more real than spiders.

Read more on AO3

Extract from Loving is Caring - CHAPTER 4 - Ghosts of the Undercity 😊

Thank you for reading ❤️ Feel free to leave kuddos & comments ❤️

#jayce talis #jayvik #viktor arcane #arcane #fanfic #jayce x viktor #arcane jayce #act 1 jayce #act 1 viktor #ao3 #cute Jayvik #fluff #slowburn #fanfiction #They are SO CUUUTE #Viktor has arachnophobia

36 notes · View notes

pimosworld · 2 years ago

Text

Never have I ever

Kinktober Prompt-Voyeurism,Squirting,Polyamory

Pairing -Will Miller x f!reader x Tf boys x f!reader

Summary-You and the boys play a game and things take an interesting turn.

CW-18+,MDNI,NSFW, Voyuerism, Smut, Fluff, Rough sex, Dom Will, mentions of anal, mentions of MM dynamics, restraints, mentions of safe word but no use, established poly relationship, Unprotected PIV, cream pie, squirting, aftercare. Appropriate discussion of past relationships.

WC-4K

A/N- Set in the story of us verse but can be read as a stand alone. Reader is not race coded, no use of Y/N. This is my current WIP procrastination, when lightning strikes you must write. My first kinktober prompt. I just reached 400 followers and this is 4000 words so I’m gonna take this as my follower celebration as well.

[Series Masterlist][Main Masterlist]

“Ben, are we seriously playing this?” The five of you are situated comfortably in your usual spots in the living room and somehow the younger Miller has convinced you all to ‘make things more interesting’ in his words.

“I’m too old for this.” Frankie mumbles into his beer as he downs the rest.

“We know…that doesn’t mean you’re getting out of it.” You chuckle briefly as Santi’s hand skirts higher up your thigh under the blanket. He’s been slowly torturing you as you relaxed on the couch, all of you decompressing and going over your week. It was a new ritual to discuss the ins and outs of your time apart but it seemed Ben was growing tired of the normal mostly mundane conversation.

“Hands up let’s go.” The impatient Miller barks from his spot on the floor, too big to fit anywhere else and you're always unsure of why Will won’t just get a bigger couch. You suggested a few months ago that it would be nice for all of you to be able to relax together. He agreed but evidently it takes time to find the perfect one.

Everyone reluctantly puts their hands up, Santiago opting for one hand because he can’t pry his other from the warmth of you under the blanket. The other part of you knows he’ll probably lose this game and he doesn’t feel like putting too much effort into revealing how much of a slut he was before he pulled his head out of his ass and finally told you how he felt.

“Both hands, Pope.” Frankie chides from beside you and Santi squeezes your thigh before drawing his hand out and flipping him off.

This game was an odd choice, almost completely out of left field. The five of you knew almost everything there was to know about each other. Although you’re sure the boys know a lot more about their respective sexual escapades than they know about yours. Nothing among these men is ever done by accident, you’re just waiting to see the angle that’s being played so you don’t end up trapped. The confused and amused looks on the others' faces has you a little at ease since it seems this is a solo mission for Ben and those didn’t always go as planned.

“I’ll start since it was my idea.” Will sends you a look from across the room as to say of course and you’re acutely aware that he hasn’t let out one protest or sign of stopping this game. You’re almost positive it’ll come down to you both in the end and he knows it judging by the smug look on his face.

“Never have I ever faked an orgasm.” You roll your eyes as you put one finger down. Maybe you were going to lose after all. The chuckles from the others don’t help your embarrassment, even though you should hardly blame yourself. It doesn’t need to be clarified that since you’d been with all of them there was no need to fake it anymore, but it was definitely known by all that you had to in the past an ungodly amount of times.

You brave a look up from the carpet that you’d all but memorized as you see Ben's wide tooth grinning at Frankie beside you. You look over just in time to see Frankie put his finger down as the redness creeps up his neck. He’s staring daggers at the younger Miller and Santi’s chuckles send vibrations through your body as you lean into him.

“How did she not know?” You ask him in the sweetest tone, no judgment behind it, just genuine curiosity.

He scrubbed his hand over his jaw, his calloused fingers digging into the patchy part of his beard. No doubt thinking how long this night will be if we have to explain each finger down,but of course that’s always Ben’s plan. He wants to draw this out for as long as he can.

“I pulled out and spit on her back.” He says it so sheepishly you almost feel bad for him. An image flashes in your mind and you make the mistake of looking over at Will who is doing his best to not completely lose it. You cup your mouth trying to suppress the giggle but it’s far too late.

“Laugh it up honey.” The funniest part is how could anyone not be thoroughly enjoying themselves when Francisco Morales is behind the wheel, but you figure it’s their loss.

You wrack your brain for something you’ve never done that they may have.Blowjob,one night stand,sent a nude photo,had sex in public…those are all out.

Will interrupts your thoughts as he speaks from the loveseat. “Never have I ever had a threesome.” He just saved you in more ways than one as you see Benny and Frankie glance at each other as they put a finger down. Santi tsks beside you and you don’t even have to look over to see he did as well.

You miss the look Santi shoots Frankie above your head as he makes a mental note. Ben may have been a thorn in his side at times but right now he could kiss the ground he walked on. Unbeknownst to you this has turned into a silent competition of memorizing everything you’ve never done,each time you don’t put a finger down he clocks one of them. He doesn’t even care that he’s about to lose as the room thrums with sexual tension.

As you predicted you and Will have the most fingers left. You have three,Will has two and Benny has one that he’s been holding onto for dear life. Santi and Frankie had long been out, Santi rejoins the group after refreshing your drinks. He knew he hasn't missed anything since it was getting harder to think of things as the game went on.

You need to get Ben out and you were sure this next question would. If it also took one down for Will then you would just be getting lucky you guessed.

“Never have I ever done anal.” Santi stifles a moan next you as Frankie not so subtly adjusts the growing bulge in his jeans. You were so focused on winning that you have no idea how thin of a thread they were holding onto. Frankie’s been fighting the mental image of checking each thing off your list one by one. Santiago isn’t faring much better not having realized how much innocence was still lying dormant in you.

Ben concedes as he grabs the pillow he was using on the floor, your brace for the moment that he decides to toss it at you only for him to place it gingerly in his lap.

“Welcome to the club.” Frankie mutters under his breath as you stare down Will who now has one finger up…interesting.

“Never have I ever been tied up.” Fuck

You put a finger down and wait for the responses that eventually never come. Will was playing dirty, he knows for a fact you’ve been tied up. It had only been a week since he asked you if you wanted to try it.

This was it,you had to go for the kill…but how bad did you want to win? You know there’s only one way but it will certainly come at a cost. In the end the cost may be worth it.

You raise up on the couch sitting back on your heels,proudly displaying the two fingers you have left. You can’t chance a look at anyone besides Will or you might chicken out. Frankie’s fingers grip nervously at the blanket that’s fallen next to you. He wants to reach out and touch you, the only sound over your beating heart is the rustling of the couch cushions as Santi leans forward just into your peripheral vision. Breath in…Breathe out 3,2,1.

“Never have I ever made someone squirt.” You say it so fast they almost don’t catch it…almost.

“Ha…he’s never made anyone…” Ben is silenced mid sentence as Will closes his fist and leans back into the seat. He doesn’t really care that he’s lost, in reality he’s actually won this game. Judging by the shocked looks on their faces or Ben’s mouth hanging agape. You didn’t fully think this through, your brain was clouded with the thrill of winning.

He almost feels bad for you as he says the momentary look of triumph quickly turns into one of defeat. It’s written all over your face as the realization sets in that you’ve completely fucked yourself, you would be a horrible poker player because you just revealed all your cards. If this were a lion's den you were a fresh piece of meat.

A drop of sweat trickles down your back as you lower your hand slowly to place it on your thigh. The room is so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

“Prove it.” Santi’s voice is so close to your ear you nearly jump out of your skin.

Will tilts his head at you as if to challenge you. This game was far from over and you’d be damned if you were going to lose. You stand from the couch and walk over to him. Four sets of eyes watching your every move as you grab his hand and pull him to stand. You raise your eyebrows as an acceptance to his challenge and he starts to lead you away from them toward the hallway. You sense no movement behind you as you make your way to his bedroom.

“You boys coming or not?” A small stampede sounds behind you and you chuckle picturing them trying not to trample each other as their bodies catch up with their feet, no doubt all thought having left their brains.

****

Santi’s lost count, has it been five or six times Will has brought you to the edge only to pull away and deny you what you so desperately want and need. He’s no stranger to this game but he doesn’t think he’s ever been this turned on by it. Watching from a whole different viewpoint. Being a spectator is thrilling and watching you writhe and chase his touch after each denial makes his cock achingly hard in his jeans.

Frankie’s not doing much better as he tries to follow Will's rules he laid out before starting. If you want me to show you then you don’t touch her unless I tell you to. The captain in him didn’t come out often anymore but when it did he commanded respect.

Ben stares on with excitement and curiosity written all over his face. He watches as you grip the sheets, your chest heaving as sweat beads down your forehead. Will told you not to touch yourself and Ben didn’t know you could be so obedient.

Wills got you so on edge you can’t be shy anymore about the way you beg for him and plead for him to let you come. A far cry from when you first entered the bedroom.

He had slowly undressed you and instructed you to lay flat on the bed. He crawled over your body kissing and biting his way up your thighs and your stomach. His hand caressed your breast as his tongue laved over the other. It was too much and not enough as your eyes met the others standing in the room. They’d all seen you in this position before but something about them watching suddenly has you feeling vulnerable.

“Look at me.” He leaned in and kissed you, deep and passionate as his hand gripped your waist and his tongue prodded your mouth. An expert distraction to bring you back to the moment.

“It’s just me and you.” It was the last thing he said to you before he methodically took you apart right before their eyes. You knew he was taking his time, putting on a show. He wasn’t simply going to make you squirt and move on like some conquest. He wanted to draw this out, show them what he was capable of.

He started with his mouth as his breath ghosted over your slick folds. He looked up at you through hooded lids one more time to give you a chance to back out, when you gave no indication of wanting to stop he dragged his tongue expertly through your slit. Parting it with his thumb as he dove in circling your clit. You were a goner from the beginning as he brought you to the first cliff only to leave you hanging. You cried out his name in desperation as he dipped two fingers in, pumping in and out as he bit down on your thigh. The pleasure and pain mixed in with you on display had your nerves alight.

With each denied release you can feel the pressure building in your core, it’s so close you can taste it on the tip of your tongue. You can taste yourself as he leans over you again kissing you through your whimpers as your body shakes beneath him.

“Will please…” Your sweet voice begging is like music to their ears. Frankie would give you whatever you want if you asked him but Will doesn’t budge.

“Please what sweetheart…I can’t read your mind.”

Son of a bitch he’s trying to kill you.

For all his resolve Santiago can’t help but be impressed. Even if this sudden burst of confidence is all a show for them he has to admit he would’ve caved by now and just went straight for the finale.

You’re not even sure when Ben and Frankie sat on the bed leaning against the headboard beside you, or when Santi sat at the end to have a perfect view of your pussy clenching around nothing as your arousal drips onto the sheets below.

“Please Will, I need you inside me…I need to come please.” You’re practically crying as he shushes you, his cock leaking precum on your stomach as it twitches in anticipation. He’s not going to be able to last much longer at this rate either.

He leans back on his heels as he grips the base of his cock, slapping your clit and dragging it through your slick as he slowly prods your entrance. The noise you make almost has him buckling as you sigh into it finally having what you want.

He starts at a slow pace as he wraps your legs around his waist, he can see the way your face contorts with every slap of his hips against yours. You can feel every vein and ridge as the lude sounds of your sweat and slick echo in the room.

You can’t see it from where you are but Frankie’s itching to touch you, desperately wanting to break the rule as he watches you try not to touch yourself.

Ben is mesmerized as he watches your breasts bounce with every thrust of Will's hips, he wants to latch onto you and bite down until you're screaming his name, but he knows his brother would do more than scold him if he so much as tried to touch you right now.

Santi’s waiting…waiting for any sign or movement as to how he does it. He’s thoroughly enjoying himself but he’s seen nothing new, nothing he hasn’t done to you a dozen times over. Any indication as to what Will has managed to do before the rest of them. It’s driving him a little mad as he watches you beg for it like you’ve never had it before.

You can feel the tension building as Will picks up his pace, he shifts your legs to either side of his head as he punches the air out of your lungs with every thrust. He brings his thumb down rubbing fast circles on your clit as you try to grab his wrist. That all too familiar feeling has you keen and arch your back. “Grab her hands.” Frankie moves before you can think, your wrists gripped tightly in one of his palms above your head.

“Wait…please.” He chuckles under his breath as his chest heaves with the sharp movements. Not mere seconds ago you were begging to come and now you’re begging him to stop.

You crane your head back and lock eyes with Ben, his eyes are etched with worry as he lays there helpless to your pleas. “Will!”

“She’s fine…aren’t you sweetheart?” You can’t think, he’s fucked you so dumb you cant remember your own name let alone formulate a sentence. “Yes.” Is all you can manage.

“She knows what to say if she wants to stop.” He grits through his teeth as his orgasm steadily approaches, his thighs burn and he’s surely bruised your calves as he grips tightly to them.

You’ve never safe worded with him and you don’t plan on it now. It feels so good as the searing hot sensation creeps up your spine threatening to take purchase in your brain. “Please don’t stop.”

He gestures to Frankie to grab the pillow, who moves with lightning speed as he situates it under your back. Santi looks at your face then, and he finally sees it. The look of panic and bliss as you succumb to the inevitable. He’s seen this look before but he ran from it afraid that he might hurt you. Will punches something deep inside you as he lifts your hips, the sound you make bordering on pornography while your arousal coats his stomach almost forcing him out of you completely.

He thrusts once and twice before nearly collapsing his weight onto you as he comes through your high. He releases your legs as he leans in to give you a kiss. Will was nothing if thorough and he always made sure you were okay. It’s in this moment that you truly feel like it’s just the two of you and not aware of the blissed out expressions of the other men.

“You did so good for me.” He pants out against your mouth as he desperately tries to catch his breath.

You highly doubt this is what Ben had in mind when he suggested this game but it ended much better than any of you would have anticipated.

Moments pass and you’ve just barely recovered. You’re in need of a shower and some water as you try to move slightly, the grip on your wrists tighten as you look back at Frankie.

Do it again.

Comments and reblogs are much appreciated

Tagging a few who might be interested

@csarab615 @syrupsstuff @ghostslillady @uudelally @onefinnedwonder-fm @thedreadandthefugitivemind @romanarose @scarletthefierce

316 notes · View notes

honeygrahambitch · 7 months ago

Text

"So, will he? Has se mentioned anything yet?" Jimmy asked.

"No but I am sure he will." Jack replied. "I even told Bella not to make any plans."

"I need to remind you that Thanksgiving is in less than three days. Stop being delusional. Or at least, ask Will about it." Beverly suggested.

"It's really easy for you, isn't it?" Brian walked into the lab. "No annoying relatives to run away from? If anything, the Thanksgiving meal is a ticking bomb more than the Christmas one."

"All it takes is for someone to pronounce the word "elections" and it's over." Jimmy agreed. "Wouldn't be bad to have a nice fancy quiet dinner."

"Then, again. Ask Will. But Hannibal would have said something until now, I'm telling you." Beverly insisted.

The three men disagreed but indeed decided that checking their suspicions with Will was the best option. That is why, when he walked into the lab, all eyes were on him.

"Good morning?"

"What is Hannibal doing on Thursday?" Brian asked and got not-so-subtly elbowed by Jimmy.

"What day even is today?" Will asked as he took of his coat, a bit confused by the question.

"Monday. Last Monday in November." Jack said and the others nodded. Beverly rolled her eyes in the background but watched the interaction regardless.

"I don't know. Isn't he coming here later today? You can ask him in person?" Will replied, remaining oblivious to the point of their question.

"Let me clarify this for their sake." Beverly joined. "Is Hannibal hosting Thanksgiving? Jimmy and Brian are running away from their relatives and Jack is running away from his wife's food...and from his mother in law."

Many unfriendly glares fell on Beverly.

"I don't know." Will answered innocently.

Disagreement noises followed immediately, all of them trying to argue with Will as if it was his fault.

"How so? Dr. Lecter likes this kind of things. It even has a cultural background that he can build on. And he doesn't have to make sweet potatoes with marshmallows." Jack insisted.

"I think the sweet potatoes with marshmallows are what made him decide against. It's an abomination." Jimmy said.

"No idea." Will lied, making everyone in the room keep debating reasons why Hannibal would not host the Thanksgiving dinner.

Should he warn Hannibal about this ambush? Should he just watch it happen? It would be hilarious to just watch it all unfold.

When Hannibal walked into the forensics lab, the same thing from earlier happened. All eyes were on him, which Hannibal did not mind and did not find peculiar at all. When the eyes remained glued on him however, he had to make a remark.

"Good morning. It seems like it's an urgent matter, may I look at the case file?" Hannibal said as Will handed it to him. The next second, Jack pulled the file away from Hannibal's hands.

"How are you celebrating Thanksgiving?"

Hannibal sighed. All eyes were on him. The expression on his face was daunting. The only one in the room who was enjoying the show was Will who gestured to Beverly to come next to him.

"I was planning to invite all of you over. However...My father-in-law invited me and Will to Louisiana."

"You could have said "no", doctor. You don't want that. Look at me running away from my mother-in-law."

"I apologize to everyone in the room. I could not refuse the invitation."

"You could have." Will finally spoke. "But you can't stand the fact that he doesn't find you perfect."

"There you have it." Hannibal said.

"Woah." Jimmy said. "Listen, doctor. I've been married for 20 years now. Your in-laws will never like you. It's a rule. Just accept the way things are."

"Hannibal is just being dramatic. My father doesn't even dislike him that much. Which is a lot coming from him and probably the best he will obtain."

"We didn't even have enough time to get to know each other. Besides, I will get to see your childhood home."

"There is nothing in that sentence that makes me look forward to this but I accepted for both of your sakes."

"So no nice quiet fancy Thanksgiving dinner?" Brian asked, just to check.

"I'm afraid not." Hannibal replied, second thinking his options. "What is with that look on your face?"

"Me?" Will asked as his grin became even more prominent. "You will have to see."

#so there is a fic about Will's dad visit #but that is still my work in progress #it's gonna be worth it i promise but enjoy this one as a stand alone got thanksgiving #hannibal #hannigram #hannibal lecter #will graham #hannibal nbc #blue writes #hannibal fanfiction

53 notes · View notes

estapa-edwards · 1 year ago

Text

PROM - R. LEONARD

paring: Ryan Leonard x reader

word count: 4.2k

requested? no

warnings: use of y/n.

*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨*

The sound of my alarm blaring at 6:30 AM dragged me out of a restless sleep. Prom was just around the corner, and the pressure was mounting. All my friends had dates, and I was the odd one out. Desperation was starting to set in, and the idea of going alone was unbearable.

As I got ready for school, I couldn't help but think about Ryan Leonard. Ryan was a big deal at Boston College, playing hockey and living out his dream. We had grown up together, shared countless memories, and yet, I hadn’t seen much of him since he went off to college. Could I ask him to prom? Would he even agree? The thought made my heart race.

"Y/N, you're going to be late!" my mom's voice snapped me out of my thoughts.

"Coming!" I grabbed my bag and headed out, trying to shove my anxiety aside.

School was the usual mix of boring classes and the buzzing excitement of prom. My friends, if I could really call them that, were chattering about their dresses, dates, and after-parties. I felt like an outsider looking in.

"Hey, Y/N, who are you going with to prom?" Sarah, one of the self-proclaimed leaders of our group, asked with a smirk.

I hesitated. "I... I haven't decided yet."

She laughed. "Better hurry up. You don’t want to be the only one without a date."

The bell rang, and I practically ran to my first class, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in my stomach. As the day dragged on, I kept thinking about Ryan. Maybe this was crazy, but he was my last hope.

---- --- ---

Back home, I paced my room, working up the nerve to call Ryan. My mind was racing with a hundred different thoughts, each one more anxious than the last. Finally, I grabbed my phone and dialed his number, my heart pounding with each ring.

"Hello?"

"Ryan? Hey, it's Y/N," I said, my voice trembling slightly.

"Y/N! Wow, it's been a while. How's it going?"

"Good, good. Listen, I need a favor," I blurted out, already feeling the nerves creeping in.

"Sure, what’s up?" he asked, his tone warm and friendly.

I took a deep breath. "Would you... um, would you go to prom with me?" The words tumbled out faster than I intended. I immediately started overexplaining. "I know it's short notice, and you're probably really busy with hockey and school and everything. I just—well, you know how it is, all my friends have dates, and I didn't want to go alone, and I thought maybe since we grew up together and always had fun, it wouldn't be too weird, but if you can't, I totally understand..."

"Y/N," he interrupted gently, a smile evident in his voice. "Calm down. I'd love to go to prom with you."

Relief flooded through me, but I still felt the need to clarify. "Really? I mean, it's next Saturday, and you probably have a lot going on. I wouldn't want to impose or mess up your schedule."

"Next Saturday is perfect," he reassured me. "I'd be honored to go with you. It's no imposition at all."

I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. "Thank you, Ryan. Seriously, this means a lot to me."

"Anything for you, Y/N," he said softly. "I’m looking forward to it."

His calm, steady response eased my anxiety, and for the first time in days, I felt a genuine smile spread across my face. "Me too. Thanks again, Ryan."

"Anytime," he replied. "See you next Saturday."

After we hung up, I collapsed onto my bed, feeling a mix of excitement and gratitude. Ryan Leonard, my childhood friend, and now my prom date. Maybe this prom wouldn't be so bad after all.

--- --- ---

The news that I was going to prom with Ryan Leonard spread through the school like wildfire. No one believed me. My so-called friends laughed it off, convinced I was making it up to save face.

"Yeah right, like Ryan Leonard is going to show up here," Sarah scoffed, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Stop trying to get attention, Y/N."

I tried to brush it off, but the disbelief and mockery didn't stop there. In the cafeteria, I overheard them talking about me while I was in line for lunch.

"Did you hear Y/N’s story about bringing Ryan Leonard to prom?" Emily giggled. "What a joke."

"I know, right?" Jessica chimed in. "It's so obvious she’s lying. Probably doesn’t want to admit she couldn’t get a date."

During gym class, they continued their taunts. As we were warming up, Sarah walked past me and smirked. "So, Y/N, how's your 'boyfriend' Ryan doing? Is he flying in on his private jet to take you to prom?"

Her friends laughed, and I felt my face flush with embarrassment. I clenched my fists, forcing myself to stay calm.

The worst was in English class. Mrs. Thompson asked us to discuss our plans for the weekend, and when it was my turn, I hesitated. I didn’t want to give them more ammunition, but I couldn't lie.

"I'm going to prom," I said simply.

"With Ryan Leonard," Sarah interjected loudly, rolling her eyes. "Isn't that right, Y/N?"

The class erupted into laughter, and Mrs. Thompson had to call for order. I sank lower into my seat, wishing I could disappear.

Even in the hallways, the whispers followed me. "There goes Y/N, the girl who thinks she's going to prom with a college hockey star," I overheard one girl say to her friend.

"She must be delusional," her friend replied. "No way he’d come back for a high school prom."

I tried to ignore them, focusing instead on getting everything ready for the big night. I bought a dress, arranged for hair and makeup, and counted down the days until Saturday. Despite the constant doubt and ridicule, I held onto the hope that Ryan would come through for me.

As the day approached, the tension only grew. My so-called friends couldn't resist one last dig during lunch on Friday.

"So, Y/N," Sarah said loudly enough for the whole table to hear, "ready for your big date with Mr. Imaginary?"

"Yeah, Y/N," Emily added with a smirk. "I hope he doesn't stand you up. That would be so embarrassing."

I took a deep breath and looked them straight in the eyes. "You'll see," I said quietly but firmly. "He’s coming."

They all laughed again, but I could see a flicker of uncertainty in their eyes. Maybe, just maybe, they were starting to wonder if I was telling the truth.

I spent Friday night in a flurry of preparation, my excitement mingling with nerves. As I lay in bed, I couldn't help but replay the events of the past week in my mind. All the doubts, the mocking, the disbelief—I just hoped that when Ryan showed up, it would be enough to prove them all wrong.

--- --- ---

The night of prom arrived, and I stood in front of the mirror, staring at my reflection. My dress was perfect, a deep blue that complemented my eyes, and my hair was styled in loose curls. I looked... different. More confident, maybe. But inside, I was a bundle of nerves. My heart was pounding, and my stomach felt like it was filled with butterflies. I couldn't shake the anxiety that had been building all week.

"Y/N, are you ready?" my mom called from downstairs.

"Almost!" I called back, taking a deep breath and smoothing down my dress for what felt like the hundredth time. I glanced at my phone, checking the time and wondering if Ryan would actually show up. What if something had come up last minute? What if he forgot?

I shook my head, trying to banish the negative thoughts. Ryan wasn't like that. He said he'd be here, and I had to trust him. I grabbed my clutch and headed downstairs, my heart racing with each step.

As I reached the bottom of the stairs, I heard a car pull up outside. My heart skipped a beat, and I rushed to the window. Ryan was there, leaning against his car, looking as handsome as ever in a classic black tuxedo. Relief and excitement washed over me, and I took a deep breath to steady myself.

"Coming!" I called out to my mom, my voice shaky. I opened the door and stepped outside, my heart pounding in my chest.

Ryan's face lit up when he saw me, and he smiled that charming smile that had always made me feel special. "Wow, Y/N. You look amazing."

"Thanks, Ryan," I replied, feeling my cheeks flush. "You clean up pretty well yourself."

He opened the car door for me, and as I slid into the passenger seat, I couldn't help but start babbling. "I can't believe you're actually here. I mean, I knew you would be, but still, I was so nervous all week. Everyone at school kept saying you wouldn't show up, and I started to doubt myself. But you're here, and it means so much to me. I know you're really busy with hockey and college and everything, so I really appreciate you taking the time to do this. It's just... thank you, Ryan."

He chuckled softly as he got into the driver's seat. "Y/N, it's really no big deal. I’m happy to be here with you. And besides, prom is a once-in-a-lifetime experience. I wouldn’t miss it for the world."

His calm, reassuring tone helped soothe my nerves, and I smiled, feeling a little more at ease. As we drove to the venue, my mind was racing with a mix of excitement and anxiety. Would my friends believe me now?

--- --- ---

When we arrived at the venue, the parking lot was already filled with students dressed in their finest. The school had transformed the gymnasium into a glittering wonderland of lights and decorations. Ryan parked the car and came around to open my door, offering his hand to help me out.

As we walked toward the entrance, my heart was pounding again. I could already see some of my classmates milling around outside, and I knew they were watching us. The whispers started almost immediately.

"Is that really Ryan Leonard?"

"I can't believe he actually came."

I held my head high, gripping Ryan's arm for support. As we entered the gym, the room fell silent for a moment, heads turning to stare at us. The music continued to play, but all eyes were on us.

Sarah and her friends were clustered near the punch bowl, and I saw her eyes widen in disbelief when she spotted us. She quickly composed herself and walked over, her expression a mix of skepticism and forced friendliness.

"Well, well, Y/N. Looks like you weren't lying after all," she said, trying to sound casual but failing to hide the surprise in her voice.

"Why would I lie about something like this?" I shot back, my voice steadier than I felt.

She narrowed her eyes, clearly annoyed that her predictions had been wrong. "Whatever. Have fun, I guess."

Ryan squeezed my hand, and we moved to the dance floor. The music was loud, the lights were bright, and for a moment, everything felt perfect. I glanced around, seeing the looks of shock and envy on the faces of my classmates. It was a small victory, but it felt good.

--- --- ---

As we swayed to the slow, melodic rhythm of the music, the world seemed to fade away, leaving just Ryan and me on the dance floor. The soft glow of the fairy lights above us cast a warm, ethereal glow, and I found myself relaxing into the moment. Ryan's hand was steady on my waist, his other hand gently holding mine.

I looked up at him, feeling a mixture of gratitude and nostalgia. "Thank you for coming tonight, Ryan," I said softly. "You have no idea how much this means to me."

He smiled down at me, his eyes warm and sincere. "I'm happy to be here, Y/N. It's been a long time since we’ve had a chance to catch up."

I nodded, feeling a lump form in my throat. "I missed you. Things just aren’t the same without you around."

"I missed you too," he admitted, his gaze never leaving mine. "Life's been so busy with college and hockey, but I always think about the times we spent together growing up."

I bit my lip, trying to find the right words. "It feels like everything changed so quickly. One minute we were kids, and the next, you were off chasing your dreams. I guess I felt a little left behind."

Ryan's expression softened, and he pulled me a little closer. "I'm sorry if it ever felt that way. You were never left behind, Y/N. You've always been important to me."

His words sent a warm feeling through my chest, and I found myself smiling despite the tears that threatened to spill. "It’s just been tough, you know? With everyone at school and feeling like I don’t quite fit in. Having you here tonight... it makes everything better."

He squeezed my hand gently. "You deserve to feel special, Y/N. Don’t let anyone make you think otherwise. Tonight is about having fun and celebrating you. I'm just glad I get to be here with you."

We danced in silence for a few moments, the music surrounding us like a comforting embrace. I felt safe and cherished in Ryan’s arms, a stark contrast to the way I usually felt at school. It was as if all the doubts and insecurities melted away, replaced by a sense of belonging.

"Do you ever miss it?" I asked, breaking the silence. "Being home, I mean."

He nodded thoughtfully. "Yeah, I do. Boston College is amazing, and I love playing hockey, but there's something about being home that you can't replace. The familiarity, the memories... and people like you."

I blushed at his words, feeling a warmth spread through me. "I’m really proud of you, you know. Seeing you live your dream is inspiring."

"Thanks, Y/N," he said, his smile genuine. "And you? What about your dreams? What do you want to do after graduation?"

I hesitated, the question feeling both exciting and daunting. "I’m not entirely sure yet. I have some ideas, but it’s hard to know for certain. I just want to find something that makes me happy."

"You will," he said confidently. "Whatever you choose, you’ll be amazing at it. I know you will."

The song began to wind down, and I realized that for the first time in a long while, I felt hopeful about the future. As the last notes played, Ryan leaned down, his forehead resting gently against mine.

"Thank you for this dance," he whispered, his breath warm against my skin.

"Thank you for making it unforgettable," I whispered back, feeling a sense of connection that words couldn't fully capture.

--- --- ---

As the night went on, I started to relax, enjoying Ryan's company and the magic of the evening. We danced, laughed, and talked, just like old times. But, of course, it didn’t last. My so-called friends couldn’t resist making snide comments and trying to undermine me.

"Look at Y/N, acting like she's all that just because she has a famous date," one of them whispered loudly enough for me to hear.

"Yeah, it's probably just a pity date," another added.

Ryan stopped dancing and turned to them, his eyes blazing with anger. "You know what? Y/N is amazing, and she's way better than any of you who think it's okay to tear someone down just to feel good about yourselves."

The room went silent again, and I felt my cheeks burn with a mix of embarrassment and gratitude. No one had ever stood up for me like that.

"Let's get out of here," Ryan said softly, taking my hand.

We left the ballroom and walked outside into the cool night air. The stars were bright, and the tension of the evening seemed to melt away.

"Thank you, Ryan. For everything," I said, my voice filled with emotion.

He looked at me, his expression serious. "You deserve better than how they treated you, Y/N. Don't ever let anyone make you feel less than you are."

--- --- ---

The rest of the night was a blur of laughter and conversation. We drove around the city, talking about everything and nothing, just like old times. It felt like we were the only two people in the world.

After leaving the prom, we got into Ryan's car and drove away from the venue, the city lights twinkling like stars around us. The air was filled with a comfortable silence, punctuated only by our sporadic bursts of laughter and the hum of the car engine. Ryan turned on the radio, and we sang along to old songs that brought back a flood of childhood memories.

"Remember when we used to ride our bikes to the old park and play until it got dark?" Ryan asked, glancing over at me with a nostalgic smile.

I laughed, the memory warming my heart. "Yeah, and how we’d always get in trouble for coming home late. Your mom would call my mom, and they’d both be waiting for us at your house with that look."

He chuckled, nodding. "Good times. Simpler times."

We drove past our old elementary school, the playground now empty and quiet. "It's strange how everything looks the same, but feels so different," I mused. "We’ve grown up so much, but these places hold the same memories."

Ryan pulled over near the school, turning off the engine. "Let's take a walk," he suggested.

We got out of the car and strolled down the familiar paths, the cool night air refreshing against my skin. The playground was eerily quiet, a stark contrast to the bustling activity it used to have when we were kids. We walked over to the swings and sat down, gently swaying back and forth.

"Do you ever wish you could go back?" I asked, looking up at the stars.

"Sometimes," Ryan admitted. "But then I think about all the things we’ve experienced and learned. Growing up is hard, but it shapes us into who we are. And I wouldn’t trade that for anything."

I nodded, understanding what he meant. "I just miss the simplicity of it all. No drama, no expectations. Just us, having fun."

He reached over and took my hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "We can still have that, you know. It might be different, but the connection is still there. Tonight proves that."

We sat there for a while, lost in our own thoughts, the silence comfortable and familiar. Eventually, we got back into the car and continued our journey through the city. We drove past our favorite ice cream shop, and Ryan impulsively turned into the parking lot.

"Want to get some ice cream?" he asked with a grin.

"Absolutely," I replied, my excitement genuine.

The shop was nearly empty, and we ordered our old favorites—mint chocolate chip for him, strawberry for me. We sat in one of the booths, savoring the sweet, cold treat and reminiscing about the countless times we’d done the same thing as kids.

"Do you remember that summer we tried to make our own ice cream?" Ryan asked between bites. "We made such a mess in your kitchen."

I laughed, almost choking on my ice cream. "My mom was so mad! We got ice cream everywhere except in the bowls."

"It tasted awful, too," he added with a grin. "But it was fun. One of those memories you never forget."

We stayed there until the shop closed, then got back in the car and drove aimlessly, enjoying each other’s company. We talked about our hopes and dreams, our fears and uncertainties. It felt good to open up, to share parts of ourselves that had been hidden away for too long.

Eventually, we found ourselves at the edge of town, near the lake where we used to go fishing with our families. Ryan parked the car, and we got out, walking down to the water's edge. The moon reflected off the surface, creating a serene and almost magical atmosphere.

"I used to come here to think," I said quietly, staring out at the water. "Whenever things got tough, this was my escape."

Ryan nodded, his gaze fixed on the horizon. "I get that. Everyone needs a place like this. A place to find peace."

We sat down on the grass, side by side, the silence speaking volumes. After a while, Ryan turned to me, his expression serious. "Y/N, I’m really sorry about what happened at prom. I didn't mean to cause any trouble."

I shook my head, placing a hand on his arm. "Ryan, you didn’t ruin anything. You made it better. I’m glad you stood up for me. It showed me who my real friends are."

He smiled, relief evident in his eyes. "I’m glad to hear that. I was worried I might have made things worse."

"No," I said firmly. "You made it perfect. Tonight has been everything I could have hoped for and more. Thank you."

We stayed there for a while longer, the peacefulness of the lake surrounding us. Eventually, we knew it was time to head home. Ryan drove me back to my house, the conversation still flowing easily between us.

Ryan walked me to my door, and we stood there, neither of us wanting the night to end.

"I had a great time tonight, Y/N," he said softly.

"Me too. Thank you for coming with me. It really meant a lot."

He smiled, that same smile that had always made me feel special. "Anytime. Let’s not wait so long to see each other again, okay?"

"Okay," I agreed, my heart swelling with a mix of emotions.

He leaned in and kissed my cheek, sending a shiver down my spine. "Goodnight, Y/N."

"Goodnight, Ryan."

I turned to unlock the door, but before I could step inside, I felt his hand gently grab my arm. I turned back, surprised, and saw an intensity in his eyes that took my breath away. Without another word, he leaned in and kissed me, his lips soft and warm against mine. The world seemed to stop in that moment, and all I could feel was the electricity between us, the connection that had always been there but now felt stronger than ever.

When we finally pulled apart, both of us were breathless. I stared up at him, my heart racing. "Ryan," I whispered, my voice barely audible, "would you... would you stay the night? Not like that, I mean. Just stay. I don't want this night to end."

He looked at me, his eyes softening with understanding. "I'd like that," he replied, his voice tender. "I'd like that a lot."

I opened the door wider, letting him in. The house was quiet, my parents long since asleep. We tiptoed upstairs, careful not to make too much noise. Once in my room, I grabbed a spare blanket and pillow, offering them to Ryan for the bed.

"You can take the bed," I said, gesturing toward it. "I'll sleep on the floor."

But Ryan shook his head, a determined look in his eyes. "No, Y/N. You take the bed. I'll be fine on the floor."

I hesitated, feeling a mix of gratitude and guilt. "Are you sure?"

He smiled, his expression gentle. "Positive. I'll be more comfortable down here."

Reluctantly, I accepted his offer, settling onto the bed and pulling the covers up around me. Ryan arranged the blanket and pillow on the floor, making himself as comfortable as possible.

"Thank you, Ryan," I said softly, feeling a warmth spread through me at his selflessness.

He looked up at me, his eyes soft and sincere. "Anytime, Y/N. I'm just glad to be here with you."

I smiled, feeling a sense of contentment wash over me. It felt strange, having Ryan here in my room, but also strangely comforting. We had shared so many memories in this space, and having him here now felt like coming full circle.

"Hey, Ryan?" I said quietly, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Yeah?"

"Would you... would you like to share the bed? Like we used to when we were kids?"

He looked surprised, but a hint of a smile played at the corners of his lips. "Are you sure?"

I nodded, feeling a sudden rush of courage. "Yeah. I mean, if you're comfortable with it."

He hesitated for a moment, then nodded, his smile widening. "I'd like that, Y/N. I’d like that a lot."

We rearranged the blankets and pillows, making room for both of us on the bed. As we settled in, side by side, I felt a sense of closeness that I hadn't felt in a long time. It felt right, having Ryan here beside me, sharing this intimate space.

"Goodnight, Y/N," he said softly, his voice laced with warmth.

"Goodnight, Ryan," I replied, feeling a sense of peace settle over me as I drifted off to sleep, wrapped in his comforting presence. It was a night I would never forget, a night that marked the beginning of something new and beautiful between us.

sorry I haven't been posting. I took a break and it was well needed! but im back should be putting out requests this week.

#hockey #nhl x reader #ryan leonard #usa hockey #boston college #Boston hockey

98 notes · View notes

emeryhiro · 11 months ago

Text

My thoughts on TBOC 206 script & Caryl canon.

Before I get into my thought I want to clarify a few things, and this may come across as blunt, however, I feel that bluntness is nessary in this instance.

Firstly, I wasn't planning on adressing the leaked script pages, however, after reading some of the positive and negative posts about it, I feel like I should also share my thoughts and clarify some things that may be misunderstood about me as well.

Secondly, (and this may not sound relevant right now but bear with me for a second) I'm an engineer who works in the construction industry, I'm also a post grad architecture student, both of which are roles that require at the very least a competent level of critical thinking as a baseline skill. Why I'm sharing this information is becasue those skills are what I use to develop the thoughts and opinions that I share. I also want to say that I'm in no way familiar with the way things are run in the entertainment industry, whether that's production companies, directors, producers, or actors, I'm just a fan of the arts who loves delving deep into lore-rich stories and sharing my thoughts with others who also love the same things.

So now that you have my cridentials😅 you can come to your own decisions on how you approach and what you take away from the thoughts I share.

Where I stand on Carol and Daryl's relationship.

Over the past few months, I've had several messages saying that my opinion may be biased or that I'm just being overly optimistic because I'm a Caryl fan. So the first thing that i want to say is that this fandom is very dear to me. And even though I have only in the past year begun to be more vocal on these tags, I have been on this platform and a part of the fandom for a very long time.

As someone who had the opportunity to see episode one early, I feel that I have a responsibility to be honest with everyone who's relying on my opinion. I would never want to give false hope to those who (similar to me) love Caryl and are excited about canon, only for them to be even more disappointed in the end.

I respect and understand that everyone has their own reasons for watching/not watching and loving/hating a show. However, I myself will 100% still be watching season 2 and all the seasons to come, even if we never get canon. I love Carol and Daryl as individual characters, and I watched twd because I loved the show and it's premise. Daryl and Carol are a massive part of why I loved the show, they also happen to be my favourite characters in fiction, and Caryl canon is what I've always wanted for them, BUT I'm not, never have, and never will be watching for Caryl canon alone. Will I be disappointed if it never happens? Yes, definitely! But I'll still be watching because of everything else that I love about the show and the characters.

Even if the show was just about Daryl, or just about Carol I'd still be watching every single episode and loving it. So to summarise what I'm trying to say, the thoughts and opinions that I share publicly are not biased (at least not consciously) by my love for the idea of Caryl unless I specifically say that I'm "fangirling" which you may have notice me clarifiying in some of my posts.

SPOILER WARNING - Thoughts on the leaked ep 206 script below the line.

TBOC 206 Script

Implications on Caryl canon:

I don't see anything in these pages that implies whether or not canon has or hasn't happened, the whole scene that it describes can't be more than 5-10 minutes long, which is why there is no point assuming either way.

If canon has happened, I don't expect them to be mentioning it in a scene where they're seperated for the most of it, with one of them getting almost beat/shot to death, the other fighting several walkers and collapsing, and both of them most probably inhaling poisonous gas. Not exactly the type of scene where you can create the perfect romantic Caryl moments. And not so different from the TOWL finale scene between Rick and Michonne as they escape the walkers/gas.

~~~

The Parallel:

One thing I haven't seen anyone talk about is the parrallel of the scene between Daryl and his hallucination of Isabelle, and the scene between Carol and her hallucination of Alpha from S10 EP14.

Firstly, I don't think Isabelle is meant to represent an angel to Daryl in this moment, just like how Alpha didn't represent a demon to Carol. Neither actually represents the characters themselves, and both are just personification of the conflicts that's going on in each of their minds, and perhaps another similarity is that they're both personifications of people who they believe got them to the situation they're in.

Secondly, In both scenes Daryl and Carol seem completely overwhlmed by guilt and ready to let go and give up. The scene from S10EP14 didn't mean that Carol didn't love Daryl, on the contrary a reminder of him was what snapped her out of the physical and mental trap she was in and gave her the motivation and drive to fight again.

I think the same can be said about Daryl in the TBOC EP06 scene, he's "ready to let go" and this isn't becasue he doesn't love Carol but it's becasue he feels as though he's constantly failing everyone who relies on him, including Merle, Beth, Glenn, Isabelle and in his mind Carol could be next. But what gets him to fight again? Isabelle saying:

"Not like him."

refering to his grandfather. In season 1 we learnt exactly what Daryl didn't want to do and in what way's he didn't want to be like his grandfather. The main one being that his granfather left his family behind, which resulted in generational trauma that he couldn't protect his family from, only becasue he went to fight someone else's war.

What I've taken away from this is that in that moment he believes it's too late, he failed the ones he was supposed to protect from the Nest, and now by losing and dying the fight in that moment it would mean that he also failed his real family and won't be able to protect them. Like everything he did was in vain.

This is exactly what "Isabelle" reminds him of, that yes maybe he did fail to protect her and the people from his past, but unlike his grandfather who died "bloody and bullet riddled" Daryl is still breathing and as long as he's alive there's still the possibility and "hope" of protecting his family. He becomes determined and starts to fight back becasue he's reminded to "Bet on hope".

~~~

The fight scenes:

It appears that Carol and Daryl are in a tunnel with Cordon, and two new characters named Angus and Fiona. I want to point out that it looks like the fight between Codron and Daryl is once again becasue Codron blames Daryl for killing his brother, however, I find it hard to believe that we're in episode 206 and that issue hasn't been resolved yet, which leads me to believe that perhaps there's something paticular about the gas in the tunnel that's causing helusination and all at the same time making:

Codron see his dead brother and run after him like he's hipnotised

Carol seeing, speaking and interacting with Sofia

Daryl seeing and speaking with Isabelle

The pages also show that the fight between Angus, Fiona, and Daryl was about gas masks. It sounds to me like Angus and Fiona perhaps used Daryl to help them get the masks and when finding that there's only two masks, they try to knock him out and have to kill him so that they can take the masks for themselves, gas masks that Carol and him need to get through the tunnel to get home.

I can't wait to see how that fight scene plays on screen! I have a weakness for the way Daryl and Carol become so brutal when fighting to protect each other. Because Angus and Fiona don't sound like antagonists when they're speaking with Daryl, and saying:

"Sorry, friend, ain't enough masks for the lot of us." "Got people waiting back home."

They just sounds like two people who, like Carol and Daryl, are trying to get back to the people waiting for them.

This is more of a personal guess than a proper thought: after the fight as Daryl hands one of the masks to Carol he says "It was us or them." and what I think he really meant was "it was you or them" because he was ready to die moments earlier until he was reminded of her, emphasising my earlier points on how they fight for eachother and live for each other.

~~~

The Tunnel:

Lastly, and probably most importantly, these script pages don't tell us how Daryl and Carol ended up in that situation or which part of the episode this is in, without that context there's no way to know what anything really means.

Some of the questions that I think are important and thoughts that I have:

What events lead up to the fight?

We know that Carol is outside the "camp" as described in the script, and that Carol faught at least 3 walkers and collapsed on the ground, but did Daryl know where she was or if she was okay before he saw her after his fight?

Why would his first thought/guess be of Carol when he saw a "blurry figure approaching."

Would they really end the episode like this, leaving Codrons fate as a huge questions mark? (I don't think they would, seems harsh and like they're throwing away such an interesting character)

As seen in the trailer, the tunnel that they're in is the Channel Tunnel which connects France and England, BUT, we also know as it has been offically announced that season 3 is set in Spain not England, so logcially Carol and Daryl aren't gonna be going all the way through the tunnel only to turn all the way back, which leads me to believe that either they don't end up going through, the season ends as they're walking further into the tunnel, and season 3 will explain how/when they turned around, OR, this isn't actually the final scene 🤷‍♀️

LITTLE (hopefully interesting) HINT ABOUT THE OPENING CREDITS: There's a scene that's described in one of these script pages that's also included in the opening credits.

~~~

Some additional thoughts:

The fireflies that appear as Isabelle walks away. I have a few different ideas on what this could mean but it's impossible to tell without the visual context. Also Dary's "wtf?" reaction to the fireflies had me laughing out loud! That right there reads like some good comedic timing.

We're getting another "You okay?" moment!! Those moments are some of my favourite and most tender/affectionate moments between Carol and Daryl. I can't wait to see how they play this one 😭💖

Sorry but I can sense more tension between Codron and Daryl in their fight scene than all the Isabelle and Daryl scenes combined... 🤣

~~~

To Summarise:

These scripts don't cover enough for any level of resonable doubt or concern. How something reads on a script can turn out sooo different on screen, and what I know from all the other season of twd, is that Norman and Melissa can turn something that may come across as basic, misleading or confusing on script into something incredibly magical on screen which also often turns into some of our favourite scenes between the two of them.

I completely trust Norman and Melissa with the story, and if the story never goes to canon and we end up getting something different I know that it's still gonna be an incredible story.

Although, I do still stand by my thoughts that we're heading towards canon. If Carol and Daryl need season 2 to finally heal and then approach canon on more solid ground in season 3 than so be it, because that would make sense and it would be a fair way to begin a canon relationship between the two. However I can also see the beginnings of a conversation about canon, or even actual canon happening in season 2.

It all seems possible to me and it's now all up to how Norman and Melissa want to tell the story, which I'll be anxiously waiting for and respect no matter what.

~~~

Thank you @celtic-crossbow for giving me the push I needed to share my thoughts on these matters🩵🩵

And thank you to all of you who read through this extensive post. I appreciate all of you who read my thoughts, engage with it, share your thoughts in return, ask me questions. I'm sorry for my bluntness in some areas within this post, I think it was important for me to address and clarify some things in order to avoid further confusion.

I'm so excited that we are now only 8 weeks away from the offical premiere of season 2!!! After a long wait we're finally gonna have our favourite characters sharing a frame on our screen again, and if that in itself isn't a reason to celebrate than I don't know what is.

#daryl dixon #carol peletier #the book of carol #the walking dead #twd spoilers #caryl #spoliers #codron #isabelle carriere #carylarchives

52 notes · View notes

thequietkid-moonie · 2 years ago

Note

Ok but: Estúpido Cupido (written by Celly Campello, don't mistake it for her album although it has really great songs as well) with Loid

Fake dating a unpredictable and carefree reader

[ HEADCANONS ] [ Loid Forger ]

[ Spy x Family ]

› Song that inspired this [ Estúpido Cupido - Celly Campello ]

× In this fic you take Yor's place

I really liked the song, I really loved the rhythm, I almost start dancing 🤭 I read the lyrics before hearing the song and it fits really well the rhythm!!

Well my dear, I hope you like this as much as I did ❤️ (i hope I don't disappoint you with the idea I had)

One day you were just walking down the streets as usual when you end up bumping into a handsome gentleman, he was so kind and polite and you couldn't stop yourself and end up talking to him more than you thought, even getting the opportunity to meet his little daughter, who looks at you curiosily but doesn't leave her father's side

In one moment of the conversation the man asked you if you could be so kind to do him a favor and impersonate his spouse, embarrassed but determinanted explaining that the last wish of his deceased wife was to give the best education to her beloved daughter on Eden Academy but he won't be able to do it if he was all alone, maybe was because of how endearing was his determinantion or maybe it was just pity, but for whatever reason you accepted helping him with this (also, it could help you cover up your terrible love life)

That way you two started living together, playing the role of a beautiful and happy marriage couple, however non of you would guess what it will become your life together. As well, both of you had to get used to each other in little time, at least enough until the interview with the directors of the school came

For you it was funny all the preparation Loid wanted to have for the interview, making a lot of efforts for this to work and you couldn't help but laugh at his plan, he was thinking that you probably weren't taking this seriously and that he will have to carry it from the most part himself but you truly surprised him when in the interview you remember most of the things he had told you and even tried to help Anya when she forgot, he even can see how irritated you were by one of the men that were being specially pushy with you but you tried to keep the facade

After the interview, once in house the atmosphere was very tense but you break the silence finally expressing how disgusting and irritating that bitter man was and started saying that you were sure that Anya would be able to enter on that school even if you have to force it, it was obvious that you were just trying to cheer them up, what started to work, specially with Anya, and Loid can't help but smile at your attitude

From that day his life become a pretty messy caos full of surprises, Loid was used to adapt to all the situation and act conform to them but your carefree and sometimes cheerful attitude was something that always manage to surprised him, it was something that stressed him at first not knowing how to handle it but as the time pass he just started to learn to follow your lead and even trust you more (and yet you always manage to surprise him sometimes)

He get used to you doing what you want or saying what is on your mind without worring much but that doesn't stop him from worring and getting taken aback, like that time when you spent some time looking at him pretty wary, he was troubled thinking if he had done something suspicious or make you doubt him until you finally tell him what was in your mind, out of the blue without any kind of warning you just tell him that he was too perfect like if it was something bad, you were even wondering how the hell he was single before meeting him, he was dumbfounded but before he could say anything you clarified that you weren't complaining with a smile before going away without giving him the chance to say something

Loid is constantly wondering what you will do next, he doesn't really know what to expect when you had suprised him with all kind of things, with compliments out of the blue (ones that related to his person and not like the spy, ones that he isn't used to), with being more perceptive that he thought before or even just taking things like normal and don't make a big deal out of them (even when he had thought on a million of excuses to explain himself), there are some times when you ask him if you two shouldn't being doing things that couples normally do like dates and other times you just become affectionate out of the blue (like taking his hand so casually)

Coming home to see you and Anya becomes almost like a playful what to guess what he would find, some days he find you doing chores or even making dinner, other days he had came home to see you and Anya playing to be spies around the house, others days you are just passing a more calm time with Anya on the couch, and yet not matter what he find he is never disappointed

After a while Loid start to feel expectant of what little adventures he will have with you and Anya, he start to feel excited even over the days the three of you just have time to relax and yet Loid doesn't allow himself to admit it, he always repeat to himself that is for the mission and that he has to be ready to whatever you will do, he can't let himself get surprised by you, but as much as he tries to prepare himself and be ready so you don't surprise him you always manage to find ways to do it, you can easily flustered him or make him feel so comfortable and relaxed that he just forget for a moment about the mission

Loid tried to deny it and tell himself that this is all for the mission but deep down he is always happy to see you, his heart beat faster with amusment every time you surprised him, and he will never accept it out loud but almost every time he smiles at you and Anya his smiles is sincere and full of love

#music prompt game #spy x family x reader #sxf x reader #loid forger #loid forger x reader #loid x reader #x reader #x gn reader #anime x reader #manga x reader

123 notes · View notes

jinxthejubilee · 7 months ago

Note

Hey it's been a while! I wanted to ask a question in a universe where the DVRs got a happily ever after with their movie's heroes/princesses but since I don't really know how some would somehow leave their villain halfway through the film and be a part of the good side (like for example is Ms Hades becomes part of Hercules' family or something instead of tied to Hades) so I'll instead ask this: What do you think will take for the princesses to fall for the male recruiters? This mostly for Malfie and Aurora and Snow White and Apple Poison (I actually don't know where you stand in that ship tbh). Joe and Ariel can be added as romantic or platonic if you chose to since I understand you aren't the biggest fan from what I've seen!

Hey! Welcome back. Sorry it took a while to get back to you. Before I answer your question, allow me clarify my take on their relationships first:

Depending on how you view Malfie's age, I can see him and Aurora getting together. Once again, I personally see the recruiters as young adults, but given their personalities, I can see Jack, Dalma, Pretty Scar, and Malfie as older teens.

Snow White and Apple Poison is an interesting case. Despite the popular rumor, Snow is not 14 years old. She was never given a direct age. But given the canonical ages of the other princesses (ranging from 16-19), I can see her falling into that bracket. In my mind, Apple is at least late 20s, but that's likely due to the stage actor's appearance and characterization of him.

Jack and Alice having a romantic relationship is completely out of the question. She's 12. It's creepy. I don't need to explain further.

According to the stage actor whilst playing Joe, our tired octopus friend here views Ariel as a "little girl," meaning he sees her as a kid. So, at least to me, that ship has sunk.

And finally, unless you count Anita or Perdita, one being a human woman and technically the pup's grandmother/owner, and the other being the adopted mother-figure he was supposed to have, Dalma is out.

With that out of the way, let us begin!

Apple Poison and Snow White 🍎:

Following the idea that Apple was a humunculus created by the Evil Queen (Grimhilda), he was definitely the second person ordered to watch Snow like a hawk as she went along with her tasks. He can sit still for hours at a time, so naturally, he'd be perfect for the job.

He'd most likely grow curious of her caring, hopeful nature despite her circumstances. So much so that he might just confront her himself just to get some answers.

She confuses him, truly. What is there to hope for when your stepmother has ruined your life and reputation as a princess? How can one be so pitifully naive?

But she's not. She just simply refuses to give up.

Sure, she could escape and find shelter elsewhere, but how can she when her people are equally as miserable under her stepmother? Should her country need her one day, perhaps she could help a distant relative or her own child take the throne, as she herself might be unfit due to her lack of education as a maid.

That's why she stays. She has hope.

He'd probably be sent off to find her after she disappears. He may bond with her more, alongside the dwarves. Maybe he tries to kill her himself so she won't suffer under the queen, but decides against it. (You could bring in the original fairytale's three ways of killing her off: The comb, the corset, and then the poison apple).

In the end, Apple would become a dear friend or even an older brother towards Snow White. So much so that when she leaves to marry the prince and becomes the new queen, Apple stays behind to rule as the new king. An alliance built under the strongest foundation: family.

Malfie/Malfi and Aurora🪞:

I've definitely talked about this before on an ask talking about their biggest insecurities, and on Malfi's Personality Page, so I'll add a bit more here.

They'd most likely meet out in the forest one day. He wouldn't know she's the young princess his mistress has been looking for at first, but it becomes pretty apparent later on as they become closer.

At this point, he's desperately in love with her and is inspired to be a better person because of her. His manipulative and jealous tendencies are put in check, as he's willing to give up his happiness for Aurora. Even if it means she won't be with him in the end.

While I personally love the tragic angle with Malfi's story, if we were to give him the win here: He'd help Prince Philip defeat Maleficent, turn back into a bird due to his deal with his mistress being broken, but instead of leaving right after, he stays and follows the group back to the castle.

Prince Philip tries to wake her up, but it doesn't work. The fairies grant Malfie a temporary humanoid form, but he will change back, as their powers are not as powerful as Maleficent's. He agrees anyway and kisses her. Not only does it work, but the kiss gives Malfie a permanent form, although some of his powers have diminished (interpret that how you want)

While the families are ecstatic to have their children home safely, they understand that after years of living separate lives, Aurora has found a new love. Maybe someone might object to her and Malfie's union, but Philip would step in to say that Malfie's earned his respect and deserves Aurora.

Everyone gives their blessing, and Malfie finally gets what he's always wanted: True love.

Much of the others' cases have been discussed before, and I was interested in Apple and Malfie specifically, so I left the others out. Hope you enjoyed reading anyway! Thank you for the question :)

9 notes · View notes

msfcatlover · 2 years ago

Text

Tim walking into Corruption!Damian's room, and gently placing a weird package down on Damian's desk while Damian watches. Tim giving Damian what Tim probably thinks is a meaningful look, taking in Damian's blank expression, and snorting. Tim rolling his eyes and just saying "You're welcome," before walking out again.

Damian has absolutely no idea what to make of it, until the eggs hatch.

A month later, Tim walks in with a slightly different package and does the exact same thing. Desk, stare, "You're welcome." Damian opens his mouth to ask, but Tim's already gone.

Tim keeps doing it, sometimes when Damian's not even in the room; Damian will just open his bedroom door, and there's a new package on his desk. Which would all be weird enough, if it weren't for the fact that the packages are all different. Different labels, different brands, different logos, even different languages on the labels & instructions.

Damian doesn't know what to do with all these moths. He can't let them loose, this isn't their native environment. He can't send them back, they're too fragile; he's terrified something will happen in transit, killing them all. He'd love to adopt them into his swarm, but Damian is unsure of exactly how that would work—he's never added anything, the moths simply chose him— plus, he doesn't know where the limits of his patron's generosity lie. At this point , Damian has more caterpillars than biomass to potentially hold them, and Damian doesn't want to crowd out the few resilient moths he has left, while also making life worse for the new ones.

(Damian probably shouldn't worry about that, given Jane Prentiss had a literal flood of worms at her command, but then, Damian's relationship with his swarm at this point in time is a hell of a lot healthier than Prentiss's. And the Corruption doesn't really do "healthy" in any way shape or form. So maybe he's right to.)

Damian ends up with a new greenhouse. He fills it with plants from around Nanda Parbat, but especially caters to the ailanthus trees he has shipped in. A perfect little Eden for his moths to inhabit.

Tim seems annoyed by this outcome. Damian finally loses patience, demanding to know what Tim thought the outcome would be. (What Tim's intentions were.)

Tim frowns, bemused. "You need more genetic diversity." Damian has no idea what he's talking about. "For your swarm," Tim clarifies.

"My swarm is fine!"

"Dames, you told me you had like 10 moths when you made it to Gotham." Tim raises his eyebrows, like he's stating the obvious. "You have to know that's not a healthy number. Right?"

Damian presses a hand to his chest, a protective tic Dick encouraged despite Damian learning years ago not to give away his feelings (especially not when they might risk his swarm.) "They're strong," he says, voice soft but firm, "they survived Grandfather, the Pit, my—recovery." (Damian doesn't like to think about those months, when his swarm was trapped under his skin, re-burrowing their tunnels, unable to spread their wings. The pain of his flesh being re-molded to its chosen purpose was nothing compared to the weeks Damian had thought the creatures he'd poured his whole being into nurturing, the special moths who changed in order to bond just with him, were extinct.) He glares at Tim. "We don't need your help."

"That's not what you said when I got back," Tim says with a smirk, and Damian looks away. Tim sighs. "I was going to stop soon anyway. Just... consider it, okay? None of us wants to deal with it if it turns out they're weak to the flu."

"They're moths," Damian snaps, more on instinct than anything else, "they can't get the flu."

"Actually, modern studies on transmissible disease—"

Damian scoffs and storms off. (Tim pats himself on the back for definitely winning that argument.)

Damian does not add Tim's foreign moths to his swarm. But... he does spend a lot of time in the greenhouse, reading or drawing, and letting his swarm run free. (Damian's their Hive, not their keeper. It's none of his business what his moths get up to when he lets them out to play.)

62 notes · View notes

androgynousblackbox · 1 year ago

Text

How I Met Your Father. 11 [Appleradio, Radioapple]

AO3 link

How We Got Separated

"Where are you going?" Emily asked, floating behind him.

Alastor did not answer. He kept making his way to the main doors that thankfully were easy to find. The door that he came out from was one of many in an ample circle full of other ones, but he could not care less to find out what was behind them. There were no other angels or winged creatures present. Only Emily that seemed to be more curious to know what he was planning than to stop him.

When Alastor opened up the crystal doors, he had to squint his eyes again. Why did everything in this place had to be so bright? How did anyone could see anything like that? As soon his vision adjusted, his stomach dropped through the floor back to home.

The sky was a clear perfect blue, decorated with fluffy white clouds. All the street were spotless shinny gold reflecting that could reflect anything like a mirror. Not a single trace of vomit, trash or blood as far the eyes could see. Nobody was fighting or yelling. Every creature that was passing by had their own set of wings and halo.

The air he was breathing in was too pure. It smelled vaguely pleasant, like someone was baking cookies everywhere at the same time. So perfectly organized, so immaculate that surely not even a pin would be out of place without getting fixed.

Alastor felt his own soul snearing. How could anything be so vile? How did anyone could live like this and not want to blow their head off to scape it? Where was the chaos? Where was the violence and grossness of the human condition? Where was the power struggle and the heart wrenching failure? Where was the fear that pumped the heart? Why nobody was screaming!?

What kind of monster could set up such a setting for eternity?

Controlling his own nausea, Alastor forced himself to move. He had already seen where he wanted to go. Emily noticed the direction of his eyes and perked up.

"Oh, do you want to see Saint Peter?" asked.

"Yes" said without looking at her.

The creatures that were on his way all moved to let him pass. They weren't doing it out of fear for knowing his reputation. They were just being polite. Some even said "excuse me" as if somehow it was their mistake that Alastor wasn't paying any attention to them.

Hell.

This place had to be the real hell after all. It made sense. He had too much fun back at home and now finally was receiving the punishment he deserved. His own personal hell. And he was called cruel? Oh, whatever he ever did, alive or dead, was child's play compared with the sadistic mind that would make such a horror as this one.

Alastor speed up.

"I can take you with him directly if you want" offered Emily, keeping up easily with him.

"No, thank you" said Alastor, clenching his jaw. "I missed the part where you explain why you are following me."

"Well, you seem… a little upset. And it's my job to spread joy to everyone so, I should probably do something with that. If there is any way in which I help you out to adapt better to Heaven, please let me know."

"Joy?" Alastor laughed, like that was a foreign idea. In this place at least it was and certainly more with this creature that was annoyingly remind him to Charlie. Good grief, that would be just the best way to torture him. To twist the knife on his gut real good. "Are you part of my punishment too?"

"What?" When Alastor didn't clarified any further, she continued, concern layering her voice. "I am… Are you okay? Maybe the travel was too abrupt and left you confused? I assure you, nobody is here to punish you. The punishment is over actually! You don't have to worry about anything anymore."

Alastor stopped on his tracks and turned to her.

"I assure you, my dear. I am very well aware and conscious of my surroundings" said, his smile feeling tense as his eye twitched. "That is not the issue I am facing. If you care about my wellbeing, you can rest easy now and come back to your heavinly duties. I don't need a babysitter."

Emily pouted at that. Clearly, she wasn't used to people rejecting her help. He started walking again and she didn't stay behind.

"I am not trying to babysit you!" she protested, floating at his side. "You are obviously going through something right now and a friendly hand goes a long way! If you let me help you, I am sure you will feel better."

Alastor looked around them, almost expecting mocking faces or people to look weirded out at anyone trying to be caring out of in the open. But everyone just kept walking, trusting that whatever was happening this Emily would know how to handle it already. That also meant that nobody was going to do anything to take this angel off his back if she decided to stick around.

He mentally groaned. Maybe if he played along for a bit she would be convinced to leave him alone.

"I changed my mind. Take me to Saint Peter" said and after a beat, added. "Please."

Emily arched an eyebrow, but she still smiled with a nod.

"Of course. I understand that for new souls it's always difficult to adapt to their wings. Later I can teach you how to handle yours! Lift your arms."

"My what" Alastor lifted his arms, trying to look at his back when suddenly Emily took him by the hands, elevating him on the air.

The travel up to the gold gates he had seen at a distance lasted only a few minutes. Emily let him land softly on the ground and floated to knock on the gate.

"Peter, can you come in for a moment? A new soul that just arrived wants to speak to you."

"Sure!" A perky voice answered on the other side and the gates opened. Alastor saw another road of gold up ahead that got lost in more clouds, no clear beggining or end. If he managed to jump from it, would he be able to get home or would just be a splatter on Earth, only to be brought back again? "What I can help you with?"

Alastor looked up to the saint and something inside recoiled at his too big openly friendly smile, full of good disposition to spare laid out in the open. Was this man ever really a human? Where was his nose? What did Heaven had against noses?

"I wanted to ask if you can see my name" said Alastor, after swallowing. "I believe there must have been a mistake. I shouldn't be here."

"Well, my friend, if you are here it must be because you are supposed to be here! Although it is weird that you didn't appear here directly. I am supposed to be the one to greet the new ones, not you, Emily" commented Saint Peter with a slight frown.

"That is because he is a reformed soul!" intervened Emily enthusiastically. "He appeared right in front of me and Sera at the very center of everything! That must be why he had a different way of entrance."

"Oh, seriously? Reformed from where?" Saint Peter looked at him with a new look of curiosity and Alastor showed his teeth on a too wide smile too, more than willing to bite if he put his hand on him. Saint Peter made a oh sound when understading reached him. "From downstairs. Right. Yeah, I can see that now. He is still a bit… rough around the edges, huh?"

"I am sure a period of adjustment is to be expected" said Emily, conciliatory.

"I will say. But anyway!" Saint Peter shrugged, elevating himself on the air to reach his book. With a flick of his wrist the thick volume floated in front of him, the pages moving from front to back. "I can take a look if that makes you feel any better. Your name, please?"

"Alastor… " Alastor looked down at his hand to see that his wedding ring was gone.

He was expecting something like that, it was only logical, but actually seeing it was still a new kick to the face. To make it even worse, his hands were so different now. The skin of his hands was desaturated brown instead of pure black and the tips of his fingers had lost their intense red color, turning into a muted pink. If Charlie was there, people wouldn't connect them directly as father and daughter even if they did paid attention.

"Alastor… what?" asked Saint Peter.

Alastor frowned. Did that last name even applied to him anymore? They had taken his colors, his family, why not his last name too?

"Try Morningstar" suggested anyway, without noticing the way that Emily's eyes light up. "If that doesn't appear, Abaddon."

"Morningstar?!" repeated Emily, looking him down and up. She gasped, holding her own cheeks. "Are you the father of Charlie Morningstar by any chance? I did heard that one of her parents was a sinner! I knooow…" The eyes of Emily darted for a second to Saint Peter, concentrated on looking in his book. "I mean, I didn't know that you were him! What a coincidence that you would be the first success of her hotel!"

The way she laughed, keeping tabs on Saint Peter, concentrated on his book, made Alastor suddenly a bit more interested on her. He decided to save that as a mental note for later.

"I am" said, relaxing a bit more around her.

Charlie did mentioned a seraphim that was willing to listen and believed on her ideals just as much as she did. This one had to be it. Emily smiled again, taking his hand to pat it gently. Alastor allowed her to.

"She would be so proud of seeing you right now."

He just let the silence fill the space until Saint Peter spoke up again.

"You are here" said, floating close to Alastor. He turned the book around so Alastor could see his name, at the very bottom, written with the same golden ink as any other. "Right there, see? Alastor Morningstar."

A small comfort, but a comfort all the same. Alastor clinged to that feeling as strong as he could. That is right, that was him. He was part of the Morningstar family, ring or not.

"I suppose you don't actually know why, though" said, knowing already that it was useless and useless it was when Saint Peter shrugged.

"Sorry, not my job" said, returning the book to its place. "Is there anything else I can do?"

Alastor looked at the saint and then at the gates.

"Oh no! What is that horrible thing over there?" Alastor pointed at something on the side.

When both angel and saint turned their heads, he made his way to the open gates. The stupidest and oldest tricks on the book sometimes could still work. But even though he was sure that his feet landed on the other side, he felt a pressure around him as if moving through a wave and suddenly found himself in the exact same place where he started.

"What are you doing?" asked Saint Peter, honestly confused.

Alastor grunted and ran again. For a second he thought this was working, only to be pushed back.

"Is… is he trying to leave?" Saint Peter looked to Emily to confirm that his eyes weren't deceiving him. Nobody had ever tried to leave.

"Mmm" Emily frowned with concern when Alastor raced a long way back and then throw himself to the open gates, with the expected result of landing on the floor over his side. He couldn't get hurt, but still it wasn't something she liked to see. "Alastor, I don't think that is going to work."

Alastor glared at her. The sudden rage behind his eyes took her aback, but did not scared her and that was even worse for his mood. She had no reason to fear him. Here they were on her home. She had the power and ranking over him, which meant he was at her mercy.

Emily offered him her hand to help stand up and Alastor took it. But instead of lifting himself up, he pulled the angel closer and spoke to her on a low, controlled, voice, just for her ears.

"Get me out of here or I will tell everyone you helped out the king of hell to have an unofficial meeting with a winner. Let's see what the rest of heaven thinks of a seraphim that is supposed to spread joy breaking the rules."

"Everything okay?" asked Saint Peter.

"Yes!" said Emily, quickly, turning around to him. Alastor was relieved to see that he had hit the nail on the head. He wasn't entirely sure she was the same seraphim when he said that. "Everything is perfect! Alastor was just… playing a little prank, right? Right, Alastor? A little joke for Peter?"

That was more like it.

"Yes, a prank" said, returning to his normal charming smile. "A winner trying to escape heaven after finally managing to get out of hell! Tell me if that is not the hilarious thing you have ever heard."

"Ooh, I get it now!" Saint Peter laughed, so hard that his eyes started to tear up. "That is hilarious! You would have to be an idiot to do a thing like that!" He calmed down finally, smiling to Emily. "Heaven could always do with another kidder, right? Makes things more interesting."

"Absolutely, yes" Emily bite her lip. "But, uh, I have to give Alastor the tour now. You know the drill! I will let you get back to work."

"Don't worry, it was a slow day anyway so I needed the distraction" Saint Peter chuckled as he patted the back of Alastor, completely missing the look full of murderous intent that he got as a response as he flew to the other side of the entrance no issue. "Welcome to heaven, Alastor. Feel free to come by anytime!"

"Thanks for your help!" said Emily, waving at the man until the gates were closed. Once she was sure they weren't moving anymore and therefore Saint Peter couldn't hear them, she turned to Alastor with tense fists at her side. "You know, when someone does a favor for you, most people would be grateful instead of holding it over their heads by blackmailing them!"

"I was grateful" said Alastor calmly", right until I got stuck here against my will. I was perfectly content back in hell."

Emily's eyes widened at that.

"Wait, really? I thought the hotel was for redemption. Isn't end up here supposed to be the goal?"

"Mine wasn't. I was only there to support Charlie" Alastor sighed, rubbing his temple. This is what it got him try to be a good father. "I had a daughter, a husband and a life I had built for myself after years of hardwork. Why, and pardon my french, the hell would I want to give up any of that to be here?"

"Oh" Emily looked down, twisting her hands together. "I-I am sorry, I didn't know. I thought this was what you were looking for. If you didn't, then of course you would be upset to being send to an entirely different realm."

Alastor let his shoulder fall. Truly, she wasn't more to blame for his situation than anything else was. At least she was able to actually listen instead of insisting how lucky he should feel for being there.

"I have to get back. My family needs me" Emily nodded, but her eyes still had doubt on them. Alastor crossed his arms. "Surely there must be a precedent to a soul being send back to hell. If my husband managed to get kicked out from here, there is no reason why I shouldn't."

"Your… Oh, right, Lucifer. I don't know, Alastor. Angels and human souls are not really treated the same. I think maybe the rules are a bit more strict for us. Heaven is supposed to be for humans after all."

Alastor thought of Adam. That crude, violent man who took genuine joy of slaughtering people. Besides that last detail, with no redeeming qualities that he could imagine. A human soul given too much power that reveled on it. Maybe that was the real reason why he still was up in Heaven while others had been casted out for doing a lot less. He had been deemed "worthy" already, the decision was final.

"I have no use for a place like this" said, disgusted at the thought. "Find a way to get me back or I will do it after telling everyone what you did. If I have to burn every house I come across and slash every neck that I can get my hands on, then I will. I will show to you and the rest of heaven how right they were sending me to hell."

Alastor wanted to call his magic to give his words more emphasis. But his shadows didn't respond and no tentacles were coming out of him. Did he even had any power left on this new realm? It made him sick just to think of how weak he had to be now. He didn't let any of that show on his face, smiling as usual.

Emily stared at him, not sure of how to respond.

"Okay, so, just so we are clear, we don't want to come to that, right? We both can agree there" asked after a while.

"I don't know, I feel with a particularly arsonist mood every minute I am away home" He sighed. "I am missing the battle too by being here. That doesn't help."

"You mean the… Oh" Emily floated closer and Alastor remembered that the rest of Heaven wasn't supposed to know about the extermination. He could probably use that as more leverage. "Is that how you ended up here?"

"Are you asking me how I died for the second time?" Alastor arched an eyebrow, amused. "Isn't that a morbid topic for an angel to feel curious about? Do you want me to describe how I felt myself drowning on my own blood, my dear? Or how I touched the injury of my neck open? Oh, wait, I could give you a demostration myself! Since Heaven won't let me have pain, I could just…"

"Do you do that a lot?" asked Emily suddenly. "I already accepted to help you out, Alastor. You don't have to try to intimidate me."

Alastor cleared his throat. Old habits died hard. She was more perceptive he gave her credit for.

"You do realize that try to send a winner to hell falls under the breaking rules category, right?" changed the topic easily.

"But if I don't do it, you will tell I already broke the rules before so what is the difference?" Emily frowned. "And just so you know, I would have help you even if you weren't backmailing me. If you genuinely are miserable in Heaven and want to return to your family, that would be the least thing I could do. I don't want anyone to be sad for all eternity."

"My mood is irrelevant. Like I said, they need me down there" clarified Alastor, holding his hands behind his back. "That is a nice sentiment, but I need to be sure we are going to be on the same boat, dear" Alastor smiled wide, petting her head like a little kid that was finally learning to multiply. "That is how we do things back in hell. I can't count on your word alone. If I don't fall, you fall. Or whatever else they decide to do with you, I don't know or care. Understood?"

"You are really mean" Emily pouted slightly, looking to a side.

Alastor did too when he thought of Lucifer calling him out.

"I know" said, before taking a breath. "How are we going to go about this? I already know what method I prefer to go with. The infinitely funnier one. Let's hear yours."

"Maybe the library?" suggested Emily. "It has a record for the most notorious souls that reached Heaven. If there is a soul that was vanished to hell after coming here, their name should come up. Then we can find out how they did it."

With no other alternative, that is where they went. The whole library seemed to be a cathedral by itself, way too big for anyone without wings or that couldn't fly, which was not an issue for Emily. As she was elevating herself to reach at the highest registers of books, Alastor had no other choice but to wait for her on the ground. That obnoxiously clean reflective ground that was returning to him the image of his new body there.

It was awful. Besides the change on his own skin, his hair had become duller like his finger tips. His whole suit had been changed into a soft yellow with some details in pure white, like the cross on top of his chest, the sleeves and the lapel jacket. He hated it, almost as much as the white his antlers had turn into, but none of that was as offensive and disgusting to his mind as the pair of white wings at his back and the halo above his head. Those two things in particular made him want to slam his head against the reflection until somehow he could destroy it or cause enough brain damage that he would die again.

On the time that Emily took to come back, he had at least the chance to learn to conjure his staff. White and gold, again, with a red heart on the center rather than an eye. The same connection was there, but it felt different, warmer than before. He wasn't sure that he liked that.

The only thing he could very well tolerate was his new brown eyes. He knew those were the closest to his when he was alive and that made it all the more alien after years getting used to the red ones.

Alastor gripped his hands together behind his back, elevating his gaze so he could ignore that. He didn't want to get used to any of this.

He was hoping she could have a faster solution at hand. A potion, a crystal, a portal. Anything that he could just eat, grab or jump into directly into the fiery pits that he called home, only to forget he ever saw any of this.

Purely because of habit, his hand reached out for his pocket and, surprisingly, something was actually there. He pulled his pocket watch and stared at it. Why was that still with him, but not his magic or ring?

"What is that?" asked Emily, floating nearby with a book on her hand.

The book in question was thicker than her entire torso. Despite that, she seemed to have no issue at all handling it.

"A present from Lucifer" said Alastor, frowing. "I don't know why it followed me to here."

Emily flied over him, throwing a quick glance to the object. Just that seemed to tell her everything she needed to know.

"It's made of angelic steel, isn't it? Then technically it already belonged to Heaven, so I guess it just came to its origin. With all the more reason if you are the owner" she explained, taking the book to a nearby table to open it up. One of the heavy half of the book slammed against the table, but no dust came because of course it wouldn't. Emily wasted no time going over the written lines, her eyes quickly jumping from one point to another. "It's a beautiful work, by the way! I haven't seen steel used like that in a long while. I guess people consider it old fashion now."

Alastor smirked at that. It was old fashioned in hell too. That is why Lucifer knew it wouldn't be out of place for him to have it. He opened up the cover and the clock was still ticking like normal. If what Vaggie said was true, then his time was still the same as it was on hell. Meaning that there had been already four hours since the battle started and two since he died again.

"Right now the first man must be dead" assumed, shrugging as he put the watch back where it belonged.

Emily shook her head at the casual comment.

"What-what? Why do you say that?"

"He killed the spouse of the devil. In hell" Alastor explained it like it should be obvious enough, relying his weight on the marble table. "A dumb move if I ever saw one. Lucifer doesn't know that I am here either. I will be very surprised if he left any of your little exorcist alive after that. Ah, what I would give to have seen it with my own eyes. It must have been truly glorious. To not witness my husband going all out on some puny angels and stain the ground gold with their blood in a mockery of Heaven might be the biggest tragedy of it all."

Emily stared at his wistful expression. She did not understand hellish beings at all.

"I don't know if to be creeped out or endeared by that" said after a while. Her finger was still moving over the page, following each line. "Your face and the words you say are confusing me."

Alastor chuckled. He took notice that she wasn't saddened by the lost of Adam or the other exorcists, which did earn her a few more points.

"Feel whatever you want, dear, but do keep searching. The sooner I can come back, the sooner I can ask Lucifer all the details."

Emily sighed.

"I don't know how long this could take" recognized, throwing a glance at him. "You know, while I am doing this, you could…"

"No" Alastor alredy knew what she wanted to say.

"You didn't even let me finish."

"I won't go visit my mother."

"Ah." Emily played with the corner of a page for a second, almost shy. She knew she was threading on personal territory and didn't want to overstep his boundaries. Alastor could appreciate that. "Mmm, want to tell me why is that?"

"What is the point? Just so I have to say goodbye again? To tell her sorry, mom, I actually prefer to live in hell for the rest of eternity than live in heaven with you? By the way, we might never see each other again, so let these be my last words to you." He exhaled through his lips, practically a snort but not quite. Luckily for him the entire library was empty with the sole exception of a library angel that was floating on the furthest shelfs, no interested in telling them to shut up. "What mother wants to hear something like that from their only son? What person even?"

Emily pressed her lips together, thoughful.

"She does know Lucifer though. And Charlie" said, as gently as she could. "I am certain that she would understand that you want to be with them. And don't say again that your mood is irrelevant. You are allowed to miss your family."

Alastor's lip twitched as he straighten up again, leaving the table. Emily followed up his movements, not sure if she had screwed up or how badly.

"Keep looking, dear. I need some… disgustingly fresh air. I might see where I can get gasoline."

"You are not going to burn houses, right?" asked Emily. The snickering she could hear from Alastor did nothing to calm her down. "Hey, no cut anything either, okay? If there is anything here that can help I will find it! Just have some patience, alright?"

Alastor dedicated her a high thumbs up, not promising anything. When he heard a little groan from Emily, he draw a bigger smile. She was too easy to pick on.

He thought that a walk would help distract his mind and it did, replacing the thoughts of his mother with more disgust directed at this entire realm that he thought was capable of. Up head he saw someone dropping their purse while talking through the phone, only for a stranger to pick it up and give it back without even trying to see what was inside. The owner of the purse thank them, they shook hands and each of them were their separate ways.

Neither of them tried to knock the other. There was no demand for a reward. There was no second inspection of the purse to see that something gross hasn't been put inside. There was no bomb in the purse to surprise any of them. A perfectly civilized and calm interaction that nobody around them cared about.

How utterly disgusting. How could they live like this? Every day for eternity?

Alastor shook off the shiver that ran through him and continue walking. If Lucifer could find him no matter where he was with his own angelic powers, then no doubt Emily could do the same when she found his way back home.

He didn't had any concrete objective in mind, so his steps somehow end up in what looked to be a commercial area. Except that everything was for free all the time and yet, nobody was trying to take out the products off the shelfs or exhibitors. It was all registered calmly by a cashier and it was done, wishing everyone to have a good day with a genuine smile. Absolute madness.

He was looking for a butcher shop or appliance for the kitchen where he could see the knives, when a reflection in the vitrines made him stop. He turned around and wasn't wrong. An exorcist was just coming out from a ortophedic shop, testing out still the shiny metal arm coming up above where her elbow used to be.

Alastor felt his heart skip a beat. Did Lucifer do that? Did his love ripped an arm clean on his rampage? Oh, he could only imagine the scream of pain that exorcist would make. He hoped it had been a espectacularly high pitched one. The voice of a soprano perhaps whose painful notes could break glass. The only question was why was she alive. The thought of her somehow managing to escape was unlikely, but not entirely impossible, he imagined.

Before he could realize what he was doing, he was already following after her, instinctively knowing to keep a healthy distance to not alert her at first. Did any of them survive too? Was Adam somewhere? But no, that would be actually impossible. Once Lucifer had a reason to want someone dead, they had to be a goner. Of that he had no single doubt.

When the exorcist turned in a corner, Alastor went there too and immediately was knocked against the wall. Her metal arm was pressing against his chest.

"Why the fuck are you following me?" asked the exorcist. Alastor noticed that her eyes looked so very tired and slightly red, like she had been crying not that long ago. That brought him even more joy to think were tears of grief. "If you like me so much, you could be less of a creep about it. But beyond that, I am not interested so you can forget it."

"Goodness gracious, no!" Alastor laughed at the misunderstanding. If he did ever had such intentions, she would have never seen him coming. He had been so curious that he didn't bothered to be as stealth as he could be. "I am a married man, my dear. Trust me, I have zero interest on you in that way."

The exorcist arched an eyebrow, looking down for a second before looking up again.

"I don't see any ring."

Alastor's eyes crinkled.

"My point still stands."

"Why were you following me then?"

"Well, you see, dear" started Alastor, grabbing her arm and twisting it to press it against the exorcist's back, putting her now against the same wall. Even without his powers, he still remembered a thing or two of how to use his body. "I just have a couple of questions and I will let you go. Simple as that. First one, you just came back from the extermination, didn't you?"

The exorcist froze in place, stopping her attempts to get ride of him and looked at him over her shoulder. It took her a couple of seconds, but soon her eyes widened with recognition.

"The red demon on the roof."

Alastor gave her a toothy smile. He had no idea of who she was without her mask. To him she was just any other of the exorcist that used the same dark uniform. It still made him happy that apparently she had been paying attention during the fight with Adam.

"The radio demon to be more exact."

"W-why… what are you…"

"To tell you the truth, I am just as confused as you are, dear. I am trying to rectify this mistake right now. If we are both lucky, I won't be on the same realm as you for long. But that doesn't answer my question, doesn't it?" Alastor let her go when he realized she wasn't going to fight anymore. She turned around, her hand holding onto the start of her mechanical arm as if it was suddenly hurting. Alastor sighed, lifting a finger to press against the metal plaque. "Did my husband do that?"

The exorcist looked creeped out by the tone of his voice. Alastor did not bother to hide the yearning on his voice. Here he didn't had to keep the secret from anyone.

"N-no…" Her eyes darted around, no doubt evaluating the prospect of risking causing a scene. If she did, Alastor would loudly talk about the extermination for anyone to hear. They both knew it. "No, I did it."

"Well, that was stupid and dissapointing. What happened after I was out of commission?"

"Adam…" The exorcist closed her eyes, as if saying that name was already costing her too much. Alastor smiled bigger. Oh, a true loss. How fun. "Adam went for the princess and Lucifer appeared."

"Then what?"

She sighed, her brow wrinkling at the effort of controlling herself. Alastor waited. He could have patience for this.

"I don't really know how, but he took us all out. It all happened so fast. First Adam, then everyone else."

"You are the only survivor?" asked Alastor, imagining alredy the terrifying vision that it must have been to witness.

The sounds of the scream and slaughter as they all succumbed to the king without quartel, learning way too late that they couldn't do anything against his king. More than ever since waking up in Heaven, Alastor so wished to hold Lucifer.

"That is so awful" said Alastor with obvious mirth. "He left you to be his messanger. What message did you had to deliver that it was worth your life, dear?"

The exorcist nodded.

"He said…" She swallowed, looking to a side. "He said I should get to live, knowing I couldn't do anything to save him. He also said that… all of that was the price for his sinner."

Alastor put his forehead against the wall above the head of the exorcist, closing his eyes as he breathed in. His whole body shivered as he bite down on his own fingers. The exorcist's eyes darted around as she took a silent step to the left, away from him. She didn't want to ask or know what was that about.

Alastor wouldn't have tell her even if she did, even if they were close friends instead of strangers meeting in the weirdest cicumstances. He wouldn't be able to describe the pure violent longing that made its home on the pit of his stomach, making him wish he could burn all of Heaven already. Burn them for ever making Lucifer to hurt himself and burn them again for having the audacity of keeping them apart. He wanted to do it now, until there was nothing more than ashes and the gold finally lost its shine, the sky turned grey and their gates was pulverized. The image was so clear on his head that it was already a beautiful painting. It would be his offering, his gift to Lucifer, given in a golden platter before he let the familiar flames consume him.

After a definitely uncomfortably long amount of time, Alastor woke up from his trance. He cleared his throat, regaining his composure as if nothing had happened.

"I am okay" said Alastor, fixing his suit. "Thank you for being so cooperative, dear. I have no use for you anymore so you can continue your merry way. I will keep my mouth shut too" added when she glared at him.

She had no reason to trust him, but for now the need of putting distance between the two of them was bigger than her reason. Right before she ran, her eyes fixated above Alastor and straighten up with a salute.

"Maam!"

Alastor had heard the delicate flapping of the wings already. When he turned around, though, it wasn't Emily that was standing behind him. That other, what was her name? The older one smiled pleasantly.

"You can go, Lute. I was intending to talk to our new resident. You earned yourself a rest."

Lute nodded emphatically, throwing a glance to Alastor before she put her legs to good use. Alastor likewise, hiting the floor with his staff.

"I don't believe we have been properly introduced, my dear! I am…"

"Alastor Morningstar" said Sera, tilting her head lightly. "Of course, Saint Peter told me already."

Was Saint Peter the gossiper of this place? Had he made a mistake already? No, they were going to find out his name sooner or later.

"Well, that is no fun!" declared Alistor with a lightheated chuckle. "I wanted to keep some sense of mystery for a while longer, but alas! Let me return the favor then. You are Sera, isn't it? I think Emily might have mentioned it when we first met."

The seraphim nodded. She was beautiful, he had to give her that, but she lacked the open arms aura of his husband. This angel kept her arms in front, where she could maintain at a distance what she didn't need.

"I am sorry I wasn't able to welcome you before. I had to have a talk with the elders about your… situation. You probably understand already how peculiar it is."

"No doubt about it!" laughed Alastor, wondering where the hell was Emily. "Emily has been a delight showing me around already! I don't think I will need any further assistance navigating this place. I appreciate the concern anyway."

"Oh, no, I wasn't trying to offer you another tour" Sera put a graceful hand on his shoulder. "Would you mind coming with me so we can have a talk?"

This seraphim was older than Emily. Bigger and probably a lot stronger. Worse than that, he had nothing to hold against her. He had no choice but to follow, for now.

"Lead the way, dear."

#radioapple #appleradio #duckiedeer #lucifer x alastor #hazbin hotel au #arranged marriage au

17 notes · View notes

downspirals · 1 year ago

Text

okay, here it is. the big kimiko post. this isn't going to be 100% perfect or anything i'm sure, but this is going to at least cover the basic information to get familiar with kimiko and start interactions. this information is all based on her canon, so stuff can be changed and tweaked for aus. down at the bottom, i will include some notes about things i will not change, no matter the au.

and one more thing about kimiko before we get started. there are some triggering subject matters that come up with her character. she grew up a child soldier, has killed people before (and will kill more), lost her parents and her brother, and is just dealing with a lot of trauma. so general trigger warning for that stuff, along with probably mentions of abuse.

OKAY. if there's anything you want to ask about or have me clarify, pls reach out! i obviously love to talk abt her.

BASIC OVERVIEW

okay, going to start with a simple, basic overview of kimiko's story. this is just gonna be up to the point where she appears in the first season. i'll get into the actual stuff she goes through in the show later.

kimiko is originally from japan. she lived with her parents and her younger brother, kenji. we do not know a ton about her life prior to the murder of her parents, but it's implied to be very peaceful and normal. then, one night when she and kenji are young, her parents are murdered in front of them, and they are kidnapped by a group known as the shining light liberation army.

shining light is known for doing things like this, and both kenji and kimiko are enlisted as child soldiers and are used to kidnap other children against their will. they are forced to fight and kill not only those outside of the group, but inside the group as well, to prove their worth. despite this, kimiko does everything that she can to take care of her brother.

from the moment her parents die, kimiko loses the ability to speak. she doesn't realize it at first, but this is mutism due to trauma. it is not just that she doesn't want to speak, but that she literally cannot. this does not matter at all to anyone in the army, but it makes talking with her brother hard.

at this point, kimiko and kenji come up with their own version of sign language to communicate with each other. while kimiko can still understand everyone around her, the only one that she can actually talk to (without a resource like pen and paper) is her brother.

years pass, and eventually, kimiko is smuggled by the group to the united states.

gonna do my best to explain this, but basically, in this universe, superheroes are just cops with superpowers. there is a group of them that want to be allowed into the military, and they decide to get that to happen, they have to prove that there are issues that only superheroes can deal with. so they give compound v, a substance that will give those injected with it superpowers, to criminal groups. this is in hopes they will create "supervillains", only defeated by superheroes, and prove that they deserve power.

kimiko has no idea about this plot, but it doesn't matter. she is chosen as someone to be injected, and so she is. she gains superpowers, and is about to be let loose in the united states by shining light. except, she decides instead to kill the people holding her using her newfound abilities, and (hopefully) find her brother and finally get out.

HER POWERS

kimiko's powers, when you get down to it, are very, very simple. she is incredibly, incredibly strong, and incredibly, incredibly tough. she is way stronger than a normal human, and can take a lot bigger hit.

while things may not hurt her as badly as they would a typical person, things still do hurt. she has a high level of pain tolerance, but it's kind of unclear what amount of that is powers or just the amount of shit she has been through in the past.

we don't really know if kimiko can die. she has had her neck snapped, has been shot in the head, limbs ripped off, and every single time, she comes back from it. she is out for a few seconds, but her body will heal and regenerate. the only way (we know of) to kill her would be to somehow get rid of her powers.

COMMUNICATION SKILLS

for now, read this post.

she is fluent in english and in japanese, with japanese being her first language.

she cannot speak due to her mutism, and her preferred method of communication is the sign language she and her brother came up with. she is in the process of learning asl and can use some of that, but typically defaults to writing and texting.

she is much better at understanding english than she is at actually writing it. she has heard it spoken for years and obviously understood pieces even in s1 of the boys, but she has still only been writing it for a year or two by the timeline of the show.

WHAT HAPPENS TO HER IN THE SHOW?

okay guys i do not feel like giving a full rundown of the show rn so i'm just gonna do a quick paragraph for each season

"the boys" is a group trying to kill corrupt superheroes because the government won't do anything. while searching for dirt on superheroes, they find out about the creating supervillain things, and stumble upon kimiko. while they want to just kill her at first (she seems like she is simply a cold blooded killer) one of the boys, frenchie, sees something in her. he begins to communicate with her, and brings her into the fold. this group becomes her family, and kimiko begins to settle in and help them.

kimiko runs into her brother kenji for the first time since being sent to the usa. he has also been given powers and is being used like she was as a "supervillain" to make heroes look good. her brother ends up killed, and kimiko becomes determined to kill his killer (she does) and make sure heroes cannot hurt anyone else. this is when she begins learning to write in english, and primarily begins communicating through text/writing. also teaches frenchie her brother's sign language.

uhhh season three is kimiko dealing with the fact that everyone sees her as a monster, and she was never able to have a "normal" life. for a short period of time, kimiko loses her abilities and almost dies, but decides to take back her abilities by her own decision. this is her deciding to take charge of her own destiny, and deciding she wants to protect those she loves. also (in my head) this is when the rest of "the boys" decide to start learning asl along with kimiko to communicate with her better.

season four. im not ready to talk abt it yet get back to me. but for the most part she is working through her trauma and is in therapy. until the horrors.

basically, kimiko goes back and forth between being a fugitive and not being one. she personally does not care about what is legally correct, but rather, what she considers morally ethical. she has a big heart, and though she will kill without a second thought, she has a reason behind what she does. she is not simply "evil". she is considered to be one of the more caring members of the boys.

STUFF I WON'T CHANGE

kimiko is always gonna have her powers unless we plot something rlly specific. u can hate me for this but :)

she's pretty much always going to be mute. i say pretty much, because there is a chance the show will have her stop being mute or will work with her getting over her trauma. i'm not going to do much with it until i see how they handle it, and even if i do, i'm going to be rlly selective abt it. kimiko has been mute most of her life, and that isn't going to be magically fixed.

while her backstory will change, her family will likely be dead in most aus. kenji may live, but it depends. and she will likely be fairly traumatized and fucked up, no matter the au. she does some murder, it's ok.

#i stay silly ... out.#the kimiko post.#don't you wanna be nobody every once in a while ... kimiko miyashiro.

9 notes · View notes