#and he goes ‘what about people who can’t afford headphones’ | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

littleoddwriter · 3 years ago

Note

I love your writing! I was wondering if you could write Jesse, Asa, and poly Ghostface with and autistic gender neutral partner please.

Slashers x Autistic!GenderNeutral!Reader | Headcanons

Thank you so much for the request and compliment, I'm glad you enjoy my writing. :) I really hope you'll like these Headcanons! [Fortunately, I'm 98% sure I'm autistic, on top of having BPD, which has great overlaps with Autism anyway, so I've done lots of research over the past years and yeah- I'm just saying that I am definitely not unfamiliar with it and I hope I did an alright job! I focused on certain aspects that I know pretty much every autistic person experiences to some extent at least and that I'm personally familiar with as is. <3]

notes; GenderNeutral!Reader; Stimming; Meltdowns; Sensory Overload; Special Interests & Infodumping; Routines; Semi-Verbal; Asa is autistic, too; Stu has ADHD; Dealing with Difficulties in Social Situations; Implied/Referenced Self-Harm (unintentional); Implied/Referenced Ableism; Implied Murder; Poly-Amorous Relationship.

Characters: Asa Emory/The Collector; Billy Loomis; Stu Macher; Jesse Cromeans/Chromeskull.

Asa Emory/The Collector

With Asa you’re lucky, since he’s autistic, too – so whenever you talk about your special interests, he’s not only listening attentively and engaging in an actual conversation with you; he also goes on about his own afterwards!

In addition, it was such a relief to not be forced to mask around him at all, and it was only later that you realised just how much less exhausted you were at the end of every day then

He obviously understands all the struggles you face better than anyone, and while it’s not all exactly the same for him, he can sympathise with you and help you out, just like you do with him

If you suffer from sensory overload, he knows exactly what to do – he turns off all lights, gets out your noise cancelling headphones and stim toys you might rather have instead of hurting yourself with more extreme stims you have at times like this

He handles your meltdowns really well, too – he always lets you ride them out and makes sure you know that you’re not alone and that he’s here for you

Some days you might not talk at all, and he couldn’t care less – he knows what it’s like, he is semi-verbal as is – and so you two have come up with a system to let each other know what’s going on; and you have prepared cards for more mundane things, while you otherwise resort to texting each other about more important and unique things

On the other hand, you also can’t shut up sometimes and generally he is okay with it; he actually enjoys the things you tell him, but when he needs to focus on his work it can be a bit distracting of course – still, he never holds it against you – he just tells you to be quiet and talk to him later, and you understand it; so it’s fine

The two of you also have a whole box full of different stim toys you both use, and it makes you incredibly happy to have a shared collection of them with your love – it’s almost strangely romantic

Since you’re both autistic, it was super easy to come up with routines that work really well for either of you when you moved in together – that way you never get in each other’s ways or upset one another

Billy Loomis & Stu Macher

Stu has ADHD, so he understands you better than Billy does in this department, but they both put in a lot of effort in knowing what boundaries you have, what they’re supposed to do in which situations, what you struggle with most, etc. – They’re happy to make accommodations for you

Sometimes Stu’s current hyperfixation is something in the realm of one of your special interests and so you just talk back and forth about it for hours, which can drive Billy a little insane, but he secretly loves just how passionate you two get, while he’s just sitting between you two and watching you go on about topic XYZ

If anyone at school or college thinks they have the right to mock you and these two witness it, or you tell them about it, you can be certain to not see that person ever again

They never make you feel weird or embarrassed about your stims, interests, or specific ways to do things – it’s who you are and they love everything about you, especially the things that others usually didn’t

Just like Asa, they are ready to help you out and provide for you, when you’re suffering from intense sensory overload – you’ve walked them through what is best for you in such situations and they’re really good at following what you said

Meltdowns, too – you’re never made to feel ashamed; they never treat you any differently and just let you ride it all out, as they comfort you afterwards and tell you that it’s alright

Even though they’re both very social, they never force you into situations you’re uncomfortable with and make sure you’re okay whenever you do come along to house parties, or meeting with several people at once – if you need to leave, they’ll go with you and comfort you if needed

Jesse Cromeans/Chromeskull

You tell him that you’re autistic pretty early on, and while he didn’t know too much beforehand, he does his research and lets you tell him how it affects you, etc.

He is incredible, really – he lets you infodump about your interests and engages in it via signing or texting you what he thinks; he is genuinely interested in whatever you have to say and admires your passion and the way your entire face lights up when you get to talk about something so important to you

He might not understand your sensory issues entirely, but he doesn’t judge you for them either – he gladly accommodates you in whatever way you need

He buys you stim toys you’ve been eyeing, but couldn’t afford by yourself; and he generally doesn’t make you feel bad about your stims and behaviours

In case you tell him about the ableist things people have told you before, and how they might have mocked you for things you can’t help, he gets angry on your behalf (he may target some of these people next, too – just for good measure)

If you happen to have a meltdown in his presence, he makes sure to not agitate you more; instead he assures you of his presence and comforts you when you need it – if you’re okay with cuddles and kisses, he’ll primarily use those to calm you down when the worst is over

He never gets in the way of your routines and always makes certain you can pursue them properly – he doesn’t want to cause you any distress

Whenever you may lash out because of sensory overload, he doesn’t take it personally or get mad at you; instead he asks what is causing the overload and accommodates you – especially in public; he’ll remove you from wherever you may be at that moment and comforts you to help you come down from it

245 notes · View notes

tropes-and-tales · 3 years ago

Text

My Best Friend’s Girl, Part Four

Characters: Santiago “Pope” Garcia and F!Reader

WC: 4752

Other Pieces: This is part of a series, which can be found here.

CW: Language, pining, angst. Smut, so 18+ only.

________________

Pope can’t sleep that night, and he doesn’t even know why he tries. He sits up for a bit with Frankie, nursing a beer, and listens to his friend explain how everything has really gone since he mustered out.

“I just can’t seem to make her happy,” he says about Sara. “Ever since I got home.” He gestures around vaguely at the room. “This isn’t even our first house. We bought one that she wanted, but within a few months she hated it. Sold it at a loss, got this one.”

“Maybe she’s just settling into being married,” Pope offers, but it’s a stupid notion. He doesn’t know what being married is like, and he barely knows Sara at all.

“Maybe.” Frankie takes a long sip of beer. “Now she’s talking about moving to Miami, as if I could even afford that. She has all these single friends still, and they love to go to clubs there, but…I just want a quiet life, you know? I want someone to sit on the back porch with and have a drink and watch the fireflies with.”

“Someone like Bean,” Pope guesses.

“Maybe,” he says again. “I keep trying to do an autopsy on our friendship together, and I can see all the places I fucked up with her. The worst was that letter. I showed it to everyone. I showed it to you. It was a private thing and I just opened her up to a lot of ridicule and pain.”

“You said you patched things up.”

“It’s not the same.” He shakes his head. “Like that book of hers. I know she sold it to a publisher, and I know she’s given it around to some people to read when she was shopping it around, but she didn’t give me a copy.”

That stings Pope a little. You didn’t give him one either, but he doesn’t tell Frankie that.

“So you’re unhappy with Sara and you miss Bean,” he summarizes. “What are you going to do?” He swallows hard after he asks the question, wary of the answer.

Frankie shrugs in defeat. “I can’t do anything. I made a promise, Pope. I stood in front of god and our families and took a vow.”

Pope is less precious about marriage – when shit goes irrevocably sideways, he sees no issue with bailing. It’s what his parents did, and it was for the best. Even Pope, young as he was when they split, could see the wisdom in divorcing instead of holding daily screaming matches.

“I don’t want to get divorced,” Frankie continues. “But I can’t help but think that if I’d just taken my time and waited, maybe I would have noticed how Bean felt about me…” He trails off, takes another long sip of beer, and his eyes slide over to look at Pope. “I still have the letter, you know.”

“Yeah?”

“I just wonder what it would be like, to be with someone who loved me that much.”

-----

It’s a long night. Pope is irritable, restless. The bed is too warm, the pillow is too soft, and he plays Frankie’s words over and over in his head.

But what about you? How much of this do you know?

Without much of a plan, he goes to find out. Early the next morning, he pulls on his sneakers, a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, and he tells Frankie that he’s going for a run.

“I’m going soft in my old age,” he jokes, and when Frankie offers to join him, Pope pretends he doesn’t hear him through his headphones.

He jogs down Frankie’s street and then turns towards your house. He knows where you live now, studied the route closely last night as if you’re an enemy base he’s targeting. Maybe you are, a little.

Pope is angry at himself for his cowardice, angry at Frankie for his late-found revelation, and a little angry at you. He imagines that you know how Frankie feels for you, and he pictures you doing exactly what he told you to before the wedding.

You can sit around and wait for this marriage to fall apart, then welcome Frankie home. His own words bounce around his skull as he jogs closer and closer to your house. Is that what you’ve been doing this whole time? Buy a house in your hometown where Frankie still lives, stay on the periphery of his life until…

It’s so early that the sun is barely over the horizon, and Pope’s feet falter a little when he reaches your front door. In the soft morning light, he can actually see the place now, and you weren’t exaggerating: it is a shit-hole. It’s nothing but peeling paint and sagging window sashes.

He knocks, and he waits, and he wonders if you’re still asleep, but then he hears footsteps. When you open the door, you are already dressed for the day and bright-eyed. He remembers a beat too late – you’re an insomniac too. Maybe you didn’t sleep last night either.

“Hey!” The surprise in your voice sounds tinged with happiness. Happy to see him? Pope wishes.

You invite him in and make a million apologies for the state of the place, and Pope takes in the scene: walls torn down to the studs in most places, floor covered in drop clothes. Exposed wires, exposed ductwork. The kitchen is barely functional, and you pull a bottle of water out of the ancient refrigerator and hand it to him.

You see him looking around. You shrug and say, “it’s a work in progress.”

Pope doesn’t want to fight with you. He remembers acutely the time he held your wrist and doled out a massive, bitter helping of tough love, and he never wants to feel that way again. But his thoughts are like the night of the party when he was stoned – a million thoughts a second are racing through his head, and he can’t seem to focus on any single one. All he knows is that he hasn’t had a single moment alone with you, not really, and then Frankie dropped a bombshell –

“Are you still in love with Frankie?” he blurts out.

Your eyebrows knit together in confusion. “Why would you ask that?”

“That isn’t a no, querida.”

“It’s also not a yes, Pope.” You seem to sense the tenor of the moment, and you lean back against the kitchen counter and cross your arms as if you’re ready to fight.

But he doesn’t want to. The anger in him transforms, cools into a deep melancholy, and his shoulders slump as he turns to stand beside you, lean against your counter. At that, you uncross your arms and turn to study him.

“What is this all about, Santiago?” Your voice is quiet, and when he glances at you, he can see the concern in your eyes.

“Nothing.” He runs a hand through his hair. “I just…I’m just tired, I guess.” He manages a single step away before he feels your hand on him, tugging him back.

“Don’t do that. Pope, we’re friends. Talk to me.”

“Is that what I am?” he asks. “Your friend?”

“Of course you are!” Your hand on his arm releases him, gives him a playful slap. “I write to you all the time! I send you care packages – “

“You did all that for Frankie too.”

“And you’re a better friend than he ever was. Don’t think I don’t know that.” You tilt your head a little. “Is this some jealousy thing? Do you think I’m only your friend because Frankie and I had a falling out?”

Again, you’re too close to the mark, too near to figuring it out. Pope half-wishes you would so that it could finally be out in the open, but he doesn’t have the courage to say anything –

“Hold on a second,” you say, and you dart out of the kitchen. He can hear you take the stairs to the second floor, can hear you rustling around up there. Then your tread on the stairs again as you run back into the kitchen.

“Here,” you say, and you hold out a wrapped Christmas gift. Pope feels a spark of delight that he always gets when you get him a gift, but then comes the guilt – he has something for you, but it’s back at the guest room at Frankie’s –

“Open it,” you add, and he does. He tears away the paper carefully. It’s a book.

It’s your book.

“Holy shit, querida,” he says. He turns it over in his hands, rifles the pages near his face to take in that new book scent, chemical ink and fresh paper. The cover is a glossy photo of a starry sky at night, and there it is – your name right underneath.

“Turn to the last few pages and read the acknowledgements,” you say softly, and he does that too.

He scans the short paragraph where you thank your agent, your manager, a few friends you made at writing retreats who helped you work out tricky passages. You don’t thank your family, he notices, and you don’t thank Frankie.

You thank him, though. It’s right there in black ink: Finally, thanks to S.G., for pushing me gently onto the path that would lead to this book.

It’s stupid, the way his eyes fill up with tears, the way his throat suddenly feels too tight. But then you murmur something that he can’t make out over how hard he’d fighting the urge to cry, and Pope turns and kisses you instead.

*****

You have a working theory about Pope, and he proves it right when he kisses you.

You had an idea at the holiday party. As the two of you ate and talked, a sort of vibe started to build between you. You thought it was just the pot, the extra-strong edibles, but at one point, you thought Pope might kiss you –

And here he is, kissing you now.

Damnit, but he’s a good kisser. A great one. He wraps his free arm around your waist to pull you closer to him, and when you don’t break away, when you kiss him back, he sets your book down on the counter and cups the back of your head.

His lips are soft but his stubble is rough, and the difference in sensation makes you sigh against him. The hand on the back of your head steers you a little, shifts you so that he can deepen the kiss. He pulls your lower lip between his own, bites down gently without any real pain, and when you gasp at the sensation, he takes advantage and slides his tongue into your mouth.

He tastes like toothpaste, and he tastes like Santiago Garcia. You’ve wondered at that in your idler moment, what he may taste like, and now you know. Your hands finally start to move – they come up to rest on his chest, and you push him away just enough to break the kiss. His eyes are drowsy, those deep brown eyes of his, but then they look a little hurt when he dips his head to kiss you again and you turn away.

You are perfectly split down the middle. You could let this continue on as it will, and you could find yourself in bed with a man you certainly love as a friend. It would probably be a good time, an enjoyable moment. Part of you wants to – the unintentionally celibate part of you that positively aches to be touched, that nearly melts at just a short, fairly tame kiss…

But the more somber part of you doesn’t want this. You love Pope as a friend, but more and more, that love is more than just friendly, and that’s one of the problems.

You know Pope is a player – Frankie and Benny and Will always joke about it, Pope and his informants, Pope and his arsenal of casual hookups and lovers. You couldn’t bear to be another notch on his belt, getting the same polite brush-off after you both recover from your time in bed. If you only had friendly feelings for him, you’d take him to bed, then joke about it afterwards and go back to being friends.

But you’re growing to love him, and because of that, you can’t just sleep with him.

There’s a bigger problem too. You spent years trying to be perfect for Frankie, hiding the worst parts of you and your messy life. He still didn’t want you. Now, with Pope…well, Pope doesn’t know you that well, but you’ve just handed him your book, a literal roadmap to the darkest corners of your soul, the shadowy, ugly parts of your past.

Frankie didn’t want you when you were as perfect as you could possibly make yourself. Why would Pope – after he reads your book – want the messy reality?

You try to explain that now, but your words are garbled and come out all wrong. He isn’t hearing what you’re saying. You see the hurt in his eyes, and he goes to leave, but you hold him back. You have the sense that if he walks out that door, you’ll lose him forever.

“Pope, please…listen to me,” you plead.

“I did. I did listen. I get it.” His words are sharp and curt, each one hitting you like a bullet. “I always knew I’d come in second place to Fish.”

You shake your head at that and tighten your hold on his arm, the muscle of his bicep taut with tension under your hand. “Never. Pope, this is about me. You don’t know me, not really, and neither does Frankie. You got a glimpse at the holiday party, but you don’t know the story there. You don’t know the dark shit in my past that makes me unlovable – “

He jerks his arm out of your hold but he doesn’t leave. He turns and faces you squarely, and his eyes are so intense that you take a step back and bump into the kitchen counter. “And you don’t really know me, querida,” he snaps. “I have dark shit too. I sleep like shit. I feel like shit, all the time, because of the dark shit.”

He scoffs, puts his hands on his hips. Drops his head in frustration before he raises his eyes to stare at you hard. “The only time I don’t feel like shit is when I’m talking to you. Hanging out with you. When I get an email from you, or a package.”

“So we don’t know each other. Then why are we fighting, Pope?”

The look on his face is pure resignation, but he finally says what has clearly been on his mind for a while. For far longer than you realized, in fact.

“Because I love you, querida. Because from the moment I met you at the airport all those years ago, I’ve loved you. I just want you to be happy, but I want you to be happy with me. Not with…” He trails off, but he doesn’t need to say who he means. Frankie is how you met, after all, and he’s always existed as a ghostly presence between you.

It’s true that you don’t know much about Pope’s past, but you’re perceptive too. You can guess at what drives a man without a set address, without a place to call his own. You can guess at the stuff he’s seen in war and in his civilian work both. You can guess at the insecurity and hurt that fuels him to say he doesn’t want to be second place…

You don’t say anything at first, and that makes his face twist in an expression of dread. He seems to realize that he’s laid it all out, nearly all of his cards are on the table now. So he adds, a little defeatedly, “You aren’t unlovable, mi alma. Not by a long shot, so get that through your thick skull.”

It makes you smile. There’s the Pope you first felt a spark for, the tough-love guy who doesn’t mince words. Even if you were too wrapped up in your pain over Frankie, that’s when it started, a seed planted a long time ago that only just started to unfurl a green tendril.

“And you aren’t second place,” you reply. You feel brave all of a sudden, a similar feeling to when you were standing at Cap Gaspé at the end of your hike, the cold and the wind making you feel more alive than you had in a long while. When he snorts at that like he doesn’t believe you, you reach up and lay your hand alongside his face. You brush the pad of your thumb against his cheekbone, and you see how he leans into your touch.

“I only met you second,” you tell him. “But that doesn’t make you second place now. Get that through your thick skull, Santiago Garcia.”

The smile he gives you is so tremulous, so fragile, that it nearly breaks your heart. “You always say my name like I’m in trouble.”

Of course he’s trouble, but you’re powerless to stop now. You were already split right down the middle, but when he tells you that he’s loved you since the moment he met you – well, it makes your decision easy, and you never second guess it once it’s made.

You’re the one who kisses him now, straining on your tip-toes. His big hands settle on your waist, his fingers splayed, and as the kiss grows more heated, he slides his fingertips just under the hem of your shirt. It practically burns you, his touch, like he’s tracing a brand into you, marking you as his.

You break away before it gets out of hand, but you take his wrist in yours and take him upstairs. Your house is a shit-hole, almost unlivable as you work from room to room, renovating and updating as you go.

Thank god you renovated your bedroom first.

*****

Your house is a disaster zone, but Pope lets you lead him upstairs to your room, which is…actually really nice. If you were just a hookup, he’d stop to admire the woodwork, the crown molding, the light fixtures…but it’s you.

He can hardly believe it, and he almost wishes he hadn’t jogged over here. He should have showered first, worn nicer clothes, but he had been spoiling for a fight and never thought he’d end up in your bed.

It has to be real for you. It has to be. There’s no way this is a pity-fuck, or just a hookup for you. You thanked him in your book, for fuck’s sake – was it possible that you really did care for him too?

Normally Pope is the dominant partner, he usually takes the lead, but he’s off-kilter with what’s happening. He lets you lead, and you do: you’re far more passionate than his fantasies ever assumed, and the way you tug at his clothes, the artless way you shuck your own clothes…it’s as if you’ve been starving for him and are unwilling to wait now that you have him.

There’s so little foreplay. You’re both ravening for each other, and you push him back until he falls gracelessly on the bed. He gets a single long look at you as you remove your final few pieces of clothing, and the sight makes his mouth run dry with desire.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he mutters when you join him on the bed, the long line of your body pressed against his. It’s almost too much sensation at once, the feel of your skin against his, the feel of your hands as they touch every part of him, like you’re taking an inventory. Your mouth makes a circuit – from kissing him deeply to laying a trail down his neck and then back to his mouth. You’re stretched out alongside him, and it’s so much feeling, but it’s not enough. It can never be enough; Pope can never have enough of you –

He wraps an arm around your waist and tugs you until you’re on top of him, and it feels like heaven, your solid weight pressing him down into the mattress, the way your breasts press against him when you lean down to kiss him. And then you sit up and he feels how wet you are, your arousal slick against him.

“Do you have protection?” he asks, and his voice is thick with lust, rough with how closely you press against his painfully hard erection. “I think, in my wallet – “

You reach past him to your bedside table, and you pull out a box of condoms. Pope feels a spark of unplaced jealousy – who did you buy those for? – but the box is unopened, and it takes you a moment to get your fingernail under the edge and open it. You hand him one, and for that brief second, you seem shy or maybe hesitant.

“Querida, we can slow down. We can stop if you want to,” he says, but you shake your head at that and then smile at him. It almost feels like the way you used to look at Frankie, and it makes Pope’s heart feel like it’s being squeezed in a fist.

He tears open the foil wrapper and rolls the latex onto his straining length, and then he reaches for you. “C’mere,” he says.

It hardly seems real. It can’t be real. It’s just like his fantasies of you in his lonely little apartment in Medellín, but it’s even better. Fantasy-you is just a shade, but this is real: the slow slide as you mount him, the harsh punched out way you breathe when he’s fully seated in you. You grip him so well, and he can feel the molten heat of you even through the condom, and the first cognizant thought that drifts through Pope’s mind is that you feel just like home.

Your hands brace yourself against his chest, and his hands are on your hips, rubbing small circles into your warm skin as he waits for you to compose yourself. Your eyes are closed as you steady your breathing, but then they open to gaze down at him.

“Sorry,” you whisper. “It’s been a while.”

Pope reaches up to cup your chin, to tug you down to him so that he can kiss you. “Don’t apologize for a single thing,” he murmurs against your lips. “You’re absolutely perfect.” He doesn’t ask about the last guy you’ve been with, he has no understanding about your love life or lack thereof. You’re here with him now, and that’s all he can focus on.

Eventually, you start to move against him, just slow movements at first, and Pope grips your hips as you do. It’s so much, and it’s not enough, and he spurs you on as you both chase your pleasure until you are bouncing on him, arching against his upward thrusts.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he pants out. “I’m getting close. Are you – “

Your eyes are dark with lust, your pupils are blown wide. “Santi, I need more.”

It’s practically a whine, and it sounds so sweet tumbling from your lips. Pope sits up underneath you, and he gets his arms around you. In a move that is smoother in his head, a little clumsy in execution, he slips out of you and flips you onto your back. The move startles you, and you give a little oof, which makes him apologize, which makes you giggle.

Isn’t this better than he ever imagined, the sometimes-goofy, sometimes-awkward part of sex where you’re both laughing together? Pope claims your mouth with his own, swallows the last of your laughter. You taste better than he imagined, and he hopes like hell this isn’t a one-time thing because he wants to put his mouth all over you, he wants to taste every bit of you.

You break the kiss to plead with him, you beg him to move, and he finally does. “I’ve got you, querida,” he whispers in your ear.

“You do,” you agree, and the deeper meaning isn’t lost on Pope.

He reaches down to take your leg and hook it high on his hip, and it changes the angle as he thrusts into you. He takes it slow, experimental at first, and when you groan and then hiss, oh, right there, he keeps that rhythm. You lift your hips to meet his thrusts, grant him an extra faction into your clenching heat, and Pope is so close –

“Santi, right there, please,” you’re panting in his ear, and all his fantasies could never prepare him for the moment you come apart underneath him – the way you arch against him, the desperate way you thread your fingers through his curls to haul his mouth to yours. He can feel your orgasm as it rolls through you like a tidal wave, and he can feel the way you grip him so fiercely that he can barely keep thrusting.

But it’s the way you sigh his name – Santiago – such a pretty little whine that starts all the way in the back of your throat. That’s what makes his own control snap, that tension shattering as his orgasm hits him so hard that he can see stars.

-----

Doubt creeps in almost immediately, or at least in the amount of time it takes Pope to climb out of bed and go into your bathroom and dispose of the condom.

He takes a moment to compose himself. Your bathroom is a wreck too; it’s obviously functional, but just barely. For fuck’s sake, there’s an exposed wire over the shower, the bit of copper gleaming sinister in the light. He entertains a brief fantasy where he just forgets Colombia and moves in with you. He’s handy. He could help you fix up your house, maybe prove that he’s worth keeping around.

When he goes back into the bedroom, you’re still in bed. You’ve peeled back the sheets and slid under them, so he regrettably can’t study you closer in the light, but even so – you’re the most beautiful person he’s ever seen. Especially when you smile at him like you are right now. You pat the empty space beside you, and his heart soars to know that you aren’t just kicking him out.

“Your bathroom is a hazard,” he says as he climbs into bed beside you. “You’re living life too dangerously, querida.”

You aren’t shy to have him there beside you – instead, you gently push him around, push him down and move his arm so that you can tuck yourself alongside him. You put your head on his chest, and Pope reaches down to cradle your face gently, softly.

“That’s my morning wake-up shock,” you joke.

“This room is great, though.” He looks around and takes in all the Arts and Crafts details – the warm wood floors, the built-in bookshelves. You picked a soft blue color for the walls, and it’s warm and cozy. “You do all this on your own?”

“Most of it. I hired a guy to sand and stain the floor though.”

“I didn’t know you were so handy.”

You turn your head to gaze up at him, and he sees a sadness that is deeper than anything he’s seen before. “My dad taught me a lot,” is all you say.

He doesn’t know what to say to that. He only knows a few facts – that your father died when you were young, that it hit you really hard. Pope isn’t close to his father at all, so he can’t even pretend to know how you feel. Instead, he strokes your head, rubs your back.

There’s a long stretch of silence, but it’s comfortable. It feels good, lying in bed with you. It’s only morning, but Pope feels the burden of his chronic fatigue weighing on him. His eyelids are heavy, and unbelievably, he feels sleep licking at him like an incoming tide. It’s such a foreign feeling he hardly recognizes it.

You don’t say anything. Right before he is pulled under by sleep, he feels you shift a little, and you press a gentle kiss on his mouth.

“Sleep well, Santiago,” you whisper, and that’s the last thing he hears for a long while. Maybe it’s a cliché, maybe it’s really just the consequence of good sex, but Pope thinks he’s never slept so soundly, no nightmares, until he falls asleep in your arms.

~~~Tag List~~~ @bananas-pajamas @rachelxwayne @stardust-fray @massivecolorspygiant @imspillingcoffee @amneris21 @paintballkid711 @mad-girl-without-a-box @bestattempt @rosiefridayrogersunday @isvvc-pvscvl @marvelousmermaid @bookishofalder @hkmultifandom @cannedsoupsucks @brandyllyn @lawfulgranola @shakespeareanwannabe @greenvita @enbiadventress @rae-rae-patcha @happybeepsbuddyy @wasicskosgirl @comphersjost

#santiago garcia #santiago garcia x reader #santiago garcia imagine #pope garcia #pope garcia x reader #pope garcia imagine #triple frontier

290 notes · View notes

anieswrld · 2 years ago

Text

my hero -> s.h x e.m

wc: 1.5k

ship: Eddie Munson x Steve Harrington (i know i usually write Eddie x reader but i wanted to try something new!)

warnings: some season 4 vol 2 spoliers, fighting, i think that’s it

They somehow managed to defeat Vecna and drag Eddie out of the Upside Down to get medical attention. Somehow getting through to the doctors to help him. Steve decided that Eddie lying in a hospital room was enough to get him to confess his little crush, which Eddie reciprocated.

The next thing the group needed to do was to clear his name. It took almost four months so, in order to try to speed up the process, Steve found himself spending all of his breaks from stocking the shelves at Family Video talking to the Hawkins police.

He also spent a lot of time convincing Hopper to go down there, show he’s not dead and explain to them that this is bigger than some nerdy after school club. Hopper fully believes the kid’s a lovesick idiot, but he knows he’s the only one who can do it.

“Steve.” Hopper starts before he cuts him off, again.

Steve’s on another one of his rambles which causes Hopper to light a third cigarette. “He’s innocent and you know that, you’re the only one who can, please I can’t keep going on secret dates with my boyfriend Hop–”

He puts his hand up to get Steve to just shut up with his rambling, agreeing for the sole purpose of Steve not coming to his door everyday. “Fine! I’ll go. If this goes badly, don’t blame me alright?”

He puts out his cigarette before leaving the cabin and driving to the police station. Steve smiles to himself as he makes his way back to the video store, hoping Robin won’t bite his head off after being gone for an hour.

Hopper somehow fully convinced them, he thinks after they’ve realized he’s still alive they just ate up anything he said, which worked well in his favor. He convinces them that Eddie didn’t do this and made sure he’d be keeping busy with a job so he wasn’t taking his freedom for granted.

Hop told his uncle to talk to him about it to which Wayne agreed that his nephew needed something to do with all his free time since he finally finished highschool. This didn’t necessarily go over well with the long haired boy.

“Son, I know it’s not ideal but i think keeping a job will help your daydreamin’, you said yourself you wouldn’t mind workin’ at the video store with your boyfriend.” he put his hand on his nephews knee to get him to stop the mindless strumming of his guitar.

“Wayne, I just– people talk arlight? My names cleared and I’m alive and all, which is stellar” He starts, a sarcastic twang in his voice, “but, nobody cares they still think I did that shit.” He glances up at his uncle before messing around with his guitar some more.

“Let them talk.” Wayne smiles genuinely, “If there’s anybody that can handle it, it’s you Eddie. You’re stronger than you make yourself out to be, just go into work, listen to that loud stuff you call music, stock some shelves, see your friends. Plus, you’ll be makin’ some money to be able to afford some of your extracurricular activities.” Eddie laughs at the mention of his smoking habits and Wayne smiles that he finally got a genuine laugh out of the boy.

“Fine, I'll go. Maybe it won’t totally suck ass.”

His uncle rolls his eyes almost playfully. “That's the spirit Ed, I think?”

Eddie’s not mad about getting a damn job, he just wishes he didn’t have to work at fucking family video. Everybody in Hawkins stops in there, its just his luck that nearly everybody in Hawkins thinks he’s a satanic murderer.

When he’s getting ready for his first shift he sighs, At least Steve and Robin are there, he thinks to himself, pulling his hair into somewhat of a ponytail before driving off to his job. He walks in, walkman clipped to his jeans, headphones around his neck, not a single customer in the store, it is noon on a Monday after all. Which he is extremely grateful for.

He walks up to the counter, placing his hands on the fake wood. “So what do you need me to start with?” He sighs, watching his two idiots turn around with stupidly large grins.

Robin places her hands on Eddies, pointing over to a cart full of vhs tapes, not yet put on their respective shelves. “Eddie! I was sure you’d back out! Well you can restock the vhs’ on that cart, everythings labeled with what section they go in and they go in alphabetical order.”

“Oh Robin, I wouldn’t skip out on you, I might’ve skipped on Harrington though.” he smiles before putting his headphones in, getting to work.

Steve rolls his eyes, waiting until Eddie's lost in a sea of VHS tapes before he looks at Robin, his face tangled with worry. “Y’know even though we cleared his name, people still are gonna say shit to him, I don’t like that very much.”

Robin places her hands on Steve's shoulders, sighing a little too loudly in his ear. “I know you want to protect him but he can stick up for himself Steve, he’ll be alright. He seems peaceful almost, has to be whatever garbage he’s blasting right now” She laughs and Steve gives her a look that says ‘never say that to his face.’

That was at least four months ago, now everyday Eddie’s working someone says some stupid shit and Steve has lost about two fist fights because of it. Eddie swears his boyfriend is stupid. Eddie also swears these dumbass hicks memorized his damn schedule because the same people would come in and make the same lame ass jokes.

Of course today is the day when Steve's old friends Tommy and Carol come in, walking up to the counter where Steve’s checking in returned tapes. Eddie glances at them, remembering seeing them in the hallways and how badly they got on his nerves. He goes back to work when they approach Steve at the counter, minding his business.

“Steve? When did you start working at this dump?” Tommy laughs, not really caring, just wanting a reason to fuck with him.

“After the mall burnt down. Needed a new job, did you want to check something out?” He grumbles, not even looking at the pair.

“Just wanted to make sure it was true, you did hire the murderer. Why? D’ya like him or somethin’ Harrington.”

Okay, steve thinks, I either ignore them or punch the idiot in the fucking face. I’m gonna punch him.

He looks up, hopping over the counter in a ridiculous way, his face right up in Tommy’s and this gets the attention of Eddie, who was stocking with Robin. He sighs, knowing what’s going down. This has happened twice before, both times resulting in Eddie cleaning up Steve's face. He takes off his headphones walking over to the pair of boys, huffing like a couple of stray dogs.

He rolls his eyes, pausing the tape that was playing. “Steve, don't. It’s not worth it.” His hand is on his shoulder, trying to pull him away or get some sense into his idiot boyfriend, but Steve shakes his hand off. Eddie puts his hands up in defense as to say ‘good luck getting your ass beat’

“Better listen to your little boyfriend, Stevie wouldn’t want you to lose another fight.” Steve doesn’t even really hear what Tommy says, only registering that he called Eddie his ‘little boyfriend’ in the same goddamn tone he’d insult Nance with by calling her ‘his princess’. He punches him square in the jaw, knocking him into a shelf. Robin’s eyes almost glimmer with hope that maybe, just maybe Steve won’t lose another fight. Wishful thinking at its finest.

Tommy gets the upper hand laying down punch after punch on Steve, who’s spitting blood and hoping, praying even that Tommy will eventually stop. And, he does when Eddie lays the most lethal punch to his face, causing him to fall over. Carol drags him out of there as Eddie drags Steve to the breakroom. His own knuckles ache but he’s more worried about his bloodied idiot boyfriend.

“My hero Steve, my goddamn hero.” He mumbles sarcastically. “You’re a goddamn idiot. Y’know that? Not every comment needs to result in you losing a fight.” Steve flashes a small, bloody smile in response, wincing when Eddie cleans him up, getting rid of almost all the evidence that a fight ever happened, besides the growing bruises under his eye and on his cheek.

“If I cared enough, which I don’t because I’ve been getting taunted my entire life, I would beat them up myself. No offense, beautiful, but you can’t fight to save your life. I can handle myself.” Steve, looking like a kicked puppy, nods not really knowing what to say.

Eddie cups the other boy's cheek, his brown eyes going completely soft. “That’s gonna bruise badly babe. Get some ice on it after work.”

“Yeah, I will. Thanks for saving my ass Ed.” He looks up at his boyfriend, catching the smile plastered on his face.

“Yeah, yeah Steve, don’t let it happen again. You’re too pretty to be all bruised and bloodied.” Steve feels his heart flutter at the complement, getting up from the milk crate he was sitting on.

“I won’t, now let’s get back to work before Robin blows a damn fuse.” Eddie nods, chuckling before walking out of the break room, Steve's fingers interlocked with his, now bruised, ones.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things 4 #robin buckley #anie talks stranger things #eddie munson x steve harrington

7 notes · View notes

trekkie-in-space · 3 years ago

Text

Request : Berlin flirt with OC/Reader and Marsella/Marseille is jealous - La Casa de Papel / Money Heist

Title : To envy the sun

Author :JackB

Resume : Berlin flirt with OC/Reader and Marsella is displeased/hates it.

Requested by : @ahsxual

Warning : Some violence against women (mild), slur

Word : 4929

____

For how perceptive and clever Andrès is, he can be terribly oblivious to some things which can make it very frustrating. It’s not intentional on his part, Marsella knows, it’s just how Andrès is. He is one to take a lot of places in a room, to take the center like a sun, and he does that with such a natural that few people can compete with him. His confidence radiates around and sometimes it feels like you can exist only because he has more than proper manners or because he wants something from you. Most of the time at least. He never knew Andrès to be beyond or shy to go dirty if he feels it’s required in one way or another. But it’s not the case here.

“How are things going with Tatiana ?” He asks as Andrès serve him coffee.

The morning is warm with a gentle sunbeam that promise to become something to endure later that day. If their meeting around breakfast today is supposed to be to talk about some details for their current ‘business’ partnership, Marsella know Andrès likes to initiate the matter himself. So, in the meantime, it’s just friendly conversation or debate.

“Fabulous !” He answers with a warm smile. “She is amazing, things are going above and beyond. Why ?” His question is asked with this peculiar tone Marsella know to be careful around.

“Just thought, you’ve been flirting quite obviously with Athena last night, I believe Tatiana is not one to appreciate such gesture.” Andrès breaks into a laugh.

“I was hardly flirting.”

“Would you ask anybody at that party, they would say you were flirting.”

“Okay, maybe I was flirting.” He admits he bit too proud of himself. Marsella is thankful to takes a sip of his coffee at this moment, hiding any expression he could be making hearing that. “But it’s all in good friendliness. Tatiana knows I’m all for her, she has nothing to be afraid of. Plus, there is nothing more ugly and weak than a man who cheats. Unsatisfied bastard who don’t deserve what they are given. And women love when we give their friends’ attention. Athena was extraordinary last night, my compliments were genuine and I thought she could relax a bit too.”

Marsella nod.

“Why ? Does it bother you ?” Andrès has this peculiar smile on his face which let Marsella know just how much he is screwed.

_____

“May I present you Athena Clementelli, La Prima of the Ballet de La Scala, in Milan.” Tatiana says, the woman at her side smile shyly and bow to him. He return the gesture with a nod. She seems intimidated, and he guesses he is pretty tall and broad compared to her small size, without necessarily looking overly worrying, he knows he is not very inviting at first glance.

The presentations are cut short as Tatiana takes the arm of her friend and they walk away, immediately launching in what seems an interesting conversation. Andrès give him a tap on the shoulder and gently push to invite him to walk behind the two women with him. Even if the private jet will wait for them, passing too much time in a busy and loud airport is never pleasurable.

“She is amazing on a scene, a brilliant dancer and a very good friend of my love.”

“And since you said we were going to Milan, I suppose Tatiana gives a representation there.”

“Exactly, it’s a partnership. Tatiana will play, and Athena will dance. And us, we will steal. But first, Venice, we have ten days before the representation, we want to make the most of it.”

That’s one of the advantages to work with Andrès, beautiful city, fancy places and good times are always of the party at some point or another.

This private plane is quite nicely sized. There’s a lot of room and the two women quickly take up the front side, close to the cabin and continue their chatting.

“It’s been a long time, they have a lot to tell each other.” Andrès says as he sits closer to the back, leaving the girls some privacy.

He sat near him, the crew that will take care of them during the trip prevent them from talking about the heist they are planning, so after a bit of small talk Andrés decide to take a nap.

Marsella find himself dragged to the jovial conversation ahead the plane, the current article he found to occupy his time is too uninteresting to keep his attention. And at this point ear dropping anything and everything has become a habit, an instinct he doesn’t even intentionally think about.

The conversation contains nothing capital in itself. Athena just explain to an overly please Tatiana how she ousted her competitors for the place of Prima and secured her position. She might not look like it, but if what he hears is true, she is ferocious when she wants something or when someone pissed her off. Her tale is brutal and for a second he wonder how he expected less of a friend of Tatiana and Andrès.

Times passes and Tatiana joins them in the back. Or rather join Andrès. He knows it’s time to head out and leave the couple be extravagant together as only them know how and dare to be. So he joins Athena in the front, he smiles at her as he sits on the other side of the corridor to her, and she answer with a small smile, quickly returning to her occupation.

He notices her without observing, if he is to work with her, potentially, he is not sure of all the details yet, he needs to know more about her.

For what he can see, she keeps to herself, she is kind and polite with the staff and tends to be more reserved with the man than with the woman that she easily chats up with.

When he gets up to relax his legs and take a few steps he accidentally let the magazine he had hardly been reading fall, as he bends to pick it up he is outpaced by Athena, picking it up for him.

“Oh, let me.” She says in Italian. She hands him the magazine quickly.

“Thank you.” He answers back in her tongue.

She is pleasantly surprised.

“You speak Italian ?”

“I do.”

“Is it just a few words every tourist knows or.. ”

“Or am I able to hold a specific conversation ? Feel free to try me.” He continues while stretching a bit. “But apologize my regionalism, it is a bit poor.”

She smiles and invites him to sit in front of her.

“Where did you learn Italian ?”

“I’ve studied over in Naples, I was terrible, but I couldn’t afford to be in the army.”

“You’re a soldier ?”

“Was.”

“Did you ever kill someone ?” He gives a nervous laugh.

“Going straight for the delicate question I see.”

“Just curious I suppose.”

“Be careful, next she will ask you miliary secret.” Tatiana says as she passes beside them to go talk to the pilot.

Athena blush slightly, her eyes lower. Tatiana is not long to come back, and in the back Andrès call for her loudly with loving and erotic suggestions that she answer positively to, which only make Athena blush further.

“Don’t worry, there is noise canceling headphone if they can’t wait to arrive at the hotel.”

“We don’t have that luxury in our training studio, but maybe I should require it.”

“As a prima I’m sure you could.”

“Definitely.”

“How did you meet Tatiana ?”

“In a gala representation in Moscow, it was one of the most terrible and chaotic nights I ever had, ask Tatiana she tells the tale better than me. And let’s says it didn’t go well at all with her at first, but that night or rather morning, we found ourselves outside, drinking vodka to keep us warm and we made friends over the chaos of that night.”

“Found you had more in common ?”

“Absolutely. I wasn’t a Prima at that time, took me a lot of work to achieve it, that world is harsh and unforgiving. I found the same determination in Tatiana.”

They can hear the couple get more excited in the back.

“I think I’m going to take those noise canceling headphone and takes a nap.”

Marsella open the drawer on the side for her. She thanks him in a tone that seems too grateful for such a small and inconsequential gesture. He regains the other side of the plane, giving her space and privacy.

____

Upon arriving in the Marco Polo airport they are approached by a small group, Athena walk slightly faster to meet with the older woman that seems to be the one in charge. It just strikes him upon seeing them smiling, that they must be dancers too. Their stance and physics similar to how he saw Athena be.

Tatiana and Andrès present themselves easily and himself feel a bit clumsy around, though it goes unnoticed.

“Thank you so much Madame Bartolotti for letting me train.. ”

“Nonsense, you know you’re always welcome here. Though I do have a favor to ask of you.” She asks as she takes Athena arm in hers and start walking, leaning the way for their little group.

“Of course, anything.”

“The city receives conservators from all around the country for a conference on the Italian renaissance, I would like you to give a representation for them at the opening party.”

“It would be my pleasure.”

“Of course your friends are invited.”

“It’s more than appreciated Madame Bartolotti, if I may, my cherished wife is an extraordinary pianist.” Andrès says, holding his hand in the air for Tatiana to take, he brings her so naturally on the scene, letting her use her charm.

“It would be my pleasure to offer you my service for this party.” She says. “As a way to thank you for your hospitality.”

“Tatiana and I have been working several times together, she is talented.” Athena adds. “More so than Regazzi.”

“I see no reason not to accept, I will speak with the orchestra of your participation. I’m very curious to discover your performance, not many people can compete with Regazzi, but I know Athena never hand out such compliment on a whim.”

“Oh I know she is never one to brush an ego just to be kind.” Tatiana confirms.

“Exactly. It will take place in the Palazzo Ducale in four days, I hope it’s enough time for you to rest and prepare.”

“Of course. More than enough.” Athena affirms.

“Good, may I present you to Nicolo, Manfredi and Cirillo, you will work with them, they are at your disposition and you will be the one to choose who come with you for the duet at the party.”

She nods at the three men, slightly in retreat, careful as they all present themselves to her once more.

“It would be to pleasure to work with you. The trip has been long it will have to wait tomorrow morning for repetition, but I would like to see how you dance today. If you don’t mind.”

That being set, they all embark in a boat to join the main city. Athena and Tatiana head for the theater La Fenice with Bartolotti and the dancers, while him and Andrès head for their hotel. They have a lot of things to discuss for the Heist in Milan and details to sort out. He is not even surprised to see how luxurious the Monaco & Grand Canal hotel is, nor to be paid a room for the time of his stay. Andrès love luxe and always treat his trusted collaborators well.

____

Athena is quick to leave in the morning, the sun is only peaking in the horizon and the air is fresh from the breeze. She does not notice him as she passes beside the terrace, her brilliant brown hair flow with her movement and she tie them in a near perfect chignon without thinking. The way from the hotel to the theater is not long but her pace is dynamic. Though, she is stopped when a woman comes toward her with an even quicker pace and a palpable determination.

He focus back on his coffee and the news in the journal. But his ears are sharp as he listens to what he can.

“ … mistake, you can perform to that party only because I don’t have time for it. You are no more than a convenience for Madame Bartolotti.”

“Not my fault if you can’t assume multiple project at the same time Olivia.”

“Keep low, I lend you my theater by respect but don’t come strutting on my field.”

“Madame Bartolotti is the one to lend me La Fenice.. ”

Marsella can feel the tension between the two women, it wouldn’t take much for it to escalate.

“..But thank you for lending me your dancers, they are talented.” Athena softens, calming the electric heat between Olivia and her.

“That conference is important, the representation need to be perfect, I wouldn’t risk it with a low tier dancer, now it’s up to you not to screw it up.”

“I never do and you know that. Personally even. I will make sure to address how generous you were though.” Olivia nod.

“If we’re clear.”

“We are.”

The woman leaves promptly, not without a dry glare that Athena return with more restrain. Once out of sight she relaxes and breath out before storming back toward the hotel. It’s at this moment she notices him. He salutes her and invite her to his table.

She takes on the offers and sit carefully in front of him, nervous.

“You seems pissed off.” He comments.

“One coffee please, and add a bit of whiskey in it please.” She asks a passing waiter who nods to her request. “Yah.” She answers him, untying her hair who fall back on her shoulder.

“Whiskey right in the morning ?”

“Just to take the edge off. She’s.. ” She starts but stops herself to calm a bit. “She’s the Prima of La Fenice, and in my world a Prima hates other Prima. We are in constant concurrence. And it’s without counting ex-Prima who are bitter to be on the bench and those who wish to take our place.”

“Coexistence is hard I see.”

“It is. She is even more bitter because I was supposed to be the Prima of La Fenice, she was the backup option in case I didn’t take the position.”

The waiter arrives with her coffee and she takes a sip or two of it.

“I’m not here to take her place, she doesn’t need to freak out and put pressure on me.”

“If she does it’s because you still represent a threat to her. You’re the one putting pressure on her just by being here.”

“True.” She smiles and gets up. “I’m sorry, I have to leave if I don’t want to be late. Thank you for the talk, I needed to calm down.”

“My pleasure. Any good place I wouldn’t dare to miss while I’m here ?” He asks.

“Try the Castello District and try to find the garden. It’s beautiful.” She says after a bit of reflexion.

“I will. Thank you.”

She quickly leaves. He knows he has a few hours to kill before he meets Andrès again, plenty of time to visit some places, the last time he came in Venice was for a contract and he didn’t have the leisure to enjoy the city. So be the Castello District then.

____

That evening, as he is about to leave the hotel Marsella see Athena in the lounge, a nearly empty drink in hand and a bored expression on her face. He goes to salute her and she smile at him.

He quickly learn the reason for her poor mood. Tatiana and her were supposed to go out tonight, but she canceled their plan in favor of her husband, which in itself is understandable.

“I’m going out to eat, care to join me ?” He offers. He is used to being alone but wouldn’t say no to the bright company of Athena.

She hesitates an instant but accept.

“The garden was indeed beautiful.” He says.

“I’m glad you found it, it’s a sight to see. Especially since green space are rare and private most of the time in Venice.”

On their way for a restaurant they cross paths with a dog, Athena is quick to go to pet it, forgetting what is around her and Marsella himself. Only remembering his company when he lower down to pet the animal too.

“Dogs are the best.” He comments, memories coming back to him.

“Do you have one ?”

“Had.” She nods, he can see in her eyes that she is curious but restrain from asking. “Do you ?” He asks back.

“I wish I had, but I’m traveling too much, I would never see it and my heart would break.”

“You always have time later.”

“When someone takes my place, sure. I may have more time then, but I don’t want to think of it. The sooner you think it will end the sooner it end.” She refocus on the dog who is more than happy to be getting attention. “I don’t know much about you, so tell me a bit about your dog.” She finally asks. He laughs,

“Alright, she was called.. ”

The evening goes well, their dinner is passed to talk about their past animals for the most part and in those tales are woven some details about their life.

Back at the hotel, they are about to split back in their respecting room when she proposes :

“If you like, come to see me rehearse tomorrow. La Fenice is a sight to see from inside and I like to have a public.”

“I will come.”

“Good. Only if you want, of course, and you don’t have to stay for long if you do come.” She adds quickly.

“It’s fine.” He reassures. “I’m curious.”

“Good then. Just says your name when you arrive, I will warn them to let you enter.”

“Noted. Good night.”

“Good night.”

____

As he enters the theater, he is humbled by the beauty of the place. He is not really used to that kind of environment, it’s not his primary point of gravitation, though he learned how to blend in most places.

He is guided in a few corridors then shown directions to the backstage by an obviously bored receptionist. He apparently arrived at the moment where they took a break as nobody had been on the scene when he was guided there at first.

It’s not a problem for him, he makes his ways in a few steps and follow the sound of voices.

It’s unclear at first, but he quickly recognizes the tone of a conflict. If he speed up, he does so as quietly he can. Listening carefully.

He easily recognize Athena voice and what must be one of the dancers that were at the airport.

“.. Picked Manfredi, my decision is final, stop arguing.”

“I’m a better dancer.”

“You can keep repeating that it’s not going to make me change.”

“You’re just an entitled bitch, Manfredi will drop you tomorrow.. ”

“You’re the one who nearly dropped me yesterday.” She snaps back.

“I need that position, what don’t you get about that ?”

“I don’t car.. ”

“I need the money, I need the publicity for my career, some recognition, it’s simple. What you don’t get about that ?”

Something is thrown on the wall and break loudly on the floor. Marsella is getting closer, but still out of sight, and can pick up Athena fearful gasp.

“Leave. I didn’t pick you. Give it up.” She tries again with force yet her tone is full of anguish.

“I’m a good dancer, I was Olivia’s main.. ”

“Yeah ? Well, I get why she dropped you.”

“You.. ”

Athena back up to find herself cornered on a table as he raises his hand against her. He finds himself firmly stopped right in the air. She raise her eyes toward Marsella and let out a relieved breath. The man tries to free himself, but he is firmly held and any attempts drop flat.

“I believe she told you to leave !” He says firmly.

“Who the fuck are you ?” He tries to free himself again, in vain. Marsella place himself between him and Athena. Making him back up.

“You can think of me I some sort of guard dog if you want.” The other man snort.

“Who the fuck he is ?” He asks Athena directly.

Marsella snap his fingers near his ears, his grip tighten on his arm.

“It’s with me you’re dealing now boy. Better calm down, it would be unfortunate for you to get injured, don’t you think ?”

“What ? You’re a psycho.”

“You can’t dance with a damaged knee I believe, or I’m thinking, maybe an ankle.”

“What do you want ?”

“For you to leave just like Athena asked.”

“Fine.” He tries to free himself but Marsella still don’t let go. “I’m leaving.”

“And if something were to happen to Athena or hm.. Manfr.. ” He turns toward Athena.

“Manfredi.” She answers.

“Manfredi.” He repeats. “I will hold you personally responsible, and well, let’s says you don’t want that. Are we clear ?”

“Clear.” The man has a smaller voice now as he takes in the threat.

Marsella let go of him and the man leave promptly, cursing lowly.

“You’re alright ?” He asks Athena.

“Ye.. ”

“Where is this bastard ?” Andrès exclaimed as he enters the backstage, Tatiana following him closely. Marsella point out a direction he immediately follows.

“You’re okay ?” Tatiana asks her.

“Yes, it’s fine, it just got a bit heated.”

“More than heated, he was getting violent.” Marsella correct.

“Did he touch you ?” Tatiana asks.

“Was about. Thank you for your help. I’m glad you came.” She directs at Marsella.

“He’s always there when you need him, that is true.” Andrès says as he comes back.

They all, but Athena, exchange a knowing glare, that man will get some repercussion.

“Do you want to go out, relax ?”

“No, I’m waiting for Manfredi.”

“We can leave a note and he can join us when he arrives.” Athena thinks an instant.

“Okay, yeah, taking some air will do me good.”

On their way out Athena turn to Marsella. He is already way bigger and taller than her but at this moment, she seems so small as she looks up.

“You wouldn’t have hurt him do you ?”

“Only if necessary.” He answers and his tone comes out a bit too coldly.

In a second he had passed from a helpful friend to a scary stranger. Feeling her sudden unease Tatiana grabs her arm and they take the front.

“Don’t worry.. ” He hears her says.

“It’s good you were here to help her.” Andrès tell him.

“You want to do something about the boy ?”

“Nicolo Virona, and yes, I believe he deserves a bit more than a threat.”

They end up taking a small walk on the street, before having a coffee on a terrace. The mood lightens up and earlier worries are forgotten. Manfredi do join them and conversation come to turn around dance and the many interesting stories that come with working within a ballet of worldwide fame.

“We should go back and rehearse.” Manfredi says after a bit of time. “You can both come to watch us if you want.” He directs at him and Andrès.

“I would like that.” Athena says, any worries she had, had disappeared from her sharp brown eyes which reassure him in accepting the proposition.

____

The party is grandiose. The Doge’s Palace is extraordinary, beautiful painting recovers the walls and ceiling, ornated with golden moldings and wood, it’s a masterpiece like you rarely see one. A superb white piano awaits for Tatiana to start playing. Place has been made in the center of the room for the arrivals of the dancers and a grounding choir of whisper can be heard, all eager and curious to see what will follow. It calm down as light focus on the scene, plunging everyone in a gentle darkness.

“Look at her.” Andrès tell him, watching Tatiana as she starts playing. Full of admiration and love.

Everybody goes quiet as notes rise in the room.

Manfredi come, his steps are fluid and elegant and give an impression of languor and sadness. Slow and yearning. They’ve seen him do those steps in training but it hit different tonight. The note of the piano follow the mood, and when it accelerates they know Athena will make her entry soon.

She doesn’t come from where Manfredi emerged but from the crowd around where she squeezes her way with smooth movements.

She jumps and her partner catch her easily, like it’s nothing. He holds her high and turn and when she goes down he embraces her as if they were lovers finding each other again. Lowering her down nearly to the floor. In a quiet and peaceful move. There’s a reverence to it.

Then she finds herself on her feet and they separate for a few moves to find each other again. Every movement is fluid, elegant, and with a natural and a sensuality that is mesmerizing.

It’s beautiful.

The room goes dark when they finish and all light lighten up back for the final salute, applause raise high in the room and many are coming to congrats them on their performance and exchange a few words. He stays in retreat until he can himself go and present his admiration.

“Athena, you were.. ”

“MAGNIFICENT.” Andrès cuts him and pass in front of him catching all of Athena attention. She can barely glance at him before Andrès catch her attention by a flow of beautifully worded compliments. His would be pale in comparison. Not that his feeling and intention would be less, but the form would be poor compared to Andrès.

Sublime, grandiose, opulent, splendid, elegant, sumptuous, majestic.. Andrès spare no compliment. He makes her laugh and manages to eclipse everything around them.

“Do you want a drink ?”

“A flute of champagne would be perfect.” Andrès turn toward him and he knows the task to go pick one fall on him.

“You were resplendent, I’m humbled by such beauty.” He tells her as he hand her the flute when he comes back.

“Thank you.”

“I agree, nobody could look away from you.” Andrès takes her hand and kiss the top of it which make Athena giggle.

In a second, Marsella is forgotten again. He looks at Andrès in disbelief, annoyed by his lack of tact.

“I hope you will grant me the pleasure of a dance tonight.” Andrès asks.

“It would be my pleasure. But I need to change first.”

“Of course.”

Marsella doesn’t manage to offers more than a few words to Athena, her attention caught by the effervescence of the party. After a time he doesn’t really try anymore. It’s not his place, not his world. He doesn’t have Andrès talent and charm and he can’t help but feel a bit bitter about it. Andrès know how to stand out while he is an expert in blending in the crowd to never be seen. A bit too much to his tastes. It doesn’t really matter, Athena seems like she enjoys herself, his presence or not wouldn’t change anything.

____

“Why ? Does it bother you ?” Andrès has this peculiar smile on his face which let Marsella know just how much he is screwed.

“No.” Andrès laugh gently.

“Yes, it does.” He seems very pleased with himself. “It does. You like her.”

He doesn’t answer, this is escalating to a way he doesn’t like.

“Difficult not to, she is brilliant, intelligent, beautiful. Everybody had her eyes on her last night.” Marsella raise his cup to this. “But you could have stood out. Invite her, catch her attention for yourself.”

Difficult when you’re already on the scene. He thinks.

Andrès catch the hint in his eyes. “Oh, because of me ?” He laughs, and Marsella hates it, he feels like being mocked.

“I’m hardly going to compete with you, it’s your field.” He answers calmly.

“I’m taking your envy as a compliment, but you need to be more outstanding, a bit more.. ” He searches his words, a hand on his shoulder. “A bit more.. A bit less proper and a bit more confident.”

Andrès touch bother him and he moves slightly, thankfully his working partner take the hint and removes his hand.

“You’re giving me advice now ?” He can’t help but feel bitter and slightly humiliated.

“Look at me, I get everything I want, I take everything I want. I can help you.” Marsella snort. Andrès come to sit at his side. “No, it’s true. Athena appreciates you. You, the one who came to her rescue. Make a grand gesture, she will appreciate it.”

“She’s not like Tatiana.”

“Exactly, I’m a bit too much for her, she needs someone a bit more subtle. Here what I think.. ”

The preparation for the heist in Milan is forgotten as Andrès expose his idea.. Marsella previous bitterness fade in favor of amusement. Alright, maybe he can learn a thing or two.

End.

#LA CASA DE PAPEL #LCDP #MONEY HEIST #MARSELLA #MARSEILLE #BERLIN #ANDRES DE FONOLLOSA #OC #my writing #pre-canon

28 notes · View notes

winterscaptain · 4 years ago

Text

immovable object.

Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader a joyful future fic

a/n: happy birthday aaron hotchner!! here’s a little something i cooked up, just for y’all who wanted to see something from aaron’s point of view. i figured a birthday would be as good a time as any to share a little bit of aaron’s head, even if it’s not his (actual) age this year. as always, i love to hear what you think! takes place au!november 2018

words: 2.3k warnings: language, implication of sex, light drinking/alcohol use

summary: “the years between fifty and seventy are the hardest. you are always being asked to do things, and yet you are not decrepit enough to turn them down.” - t.s. elliot

masterlist | a joyful future masterlist | ajf faq | requests closed!

Fifty.

Aaron wasn’t sure where he’d be by fifty. He’d only had loose examples over the course of his life, as his father kicked it before he got to that point. But then again…

His father never appreciated what he had. Two sons, different to the point of extremity, a wife who loved him even through all his (many) shortcomings, and a big house in northern Virginia that he could afford with his very plush salary working on The Hill as a prosecutor. Nevertheless, he drank himself to death at forty-seven.

So…

Where am I at fifty?

He looks down into his lap, finding Caroline tucked into the crook of his elbow with a hand in her mouth while they sit in his armchair. She’s teething now, but she isn’t half as unbearable about it as Isaac.

Isaac.

Aaron scans the room, finding his son with Spencer and Hank at the formal dining room table. Spence has them both in his lap and reads aloud from whatever Russian novel he’s flying through. As Aaron listens closer, he realizes Spencer is translating as he goes, reading the book in English.

Tolstoy should be fine for toddlers...right?

Another scan sends him to you, sitting on the floor with a bottle and a spit-up rag, Sophia snarfing down her afternoon snack like it’s her job.

You find his eyes, double-taking a little. What?

Nothing. Aaron’s mouth presses into an amused little line.

With a fond roll of your eyes, you turn back into the conversation with Sean and Derek.

And that’s another thing.

Aaron never expected to really have his brother in his life as an adult. To his surprise, it's a rather pleasant change of circumstance. Once he moved out of New York and back to Virginia, Sean really got his act together. The arrival of his second nephew didn’t hurt. At your behest, Aaron called him in Isaac’s first weeks, inviting him over to meet the new addition. He feels silly now, for starting a spat with you about it in the moment. It’s not easy, but it’s good.

He’s the first one to admit that you did most of the heavy lifting, leveraging your similar age and propensity to draw flocks of the struggling and confused.

Your Honor, I’d like to present Exhibit A in regard to struggling and confused - Aaron Benjamin Hotchner - before the court.

He laughs down his nose at his own train of thought. Caroline fusses, but once she’s sitting up in his lap, one of his hands across the entirety of her chest and little belly, she’s happy.

Will she continue to insist on seeing everything? Will she always be so quiet?

There’s something about Caroline’s eyes, even as they continue to settle into their permanent color, that is inherently wise. He knows, logically, that Caroline and Sophia are near-identical, but neither of you have ever had any trouble telling them apart.

If someone asked, he wouldn’t be able to articulate the differences. He just knows.

Aaron almost startles when you appear at his side, Sophia freshly burped and smooshed against your shoulder.

“You look pensive.” It’s a gentle accusation.

Aaron snorts. “It’s my birthday. I’m allowed to be pensive.” He holds Caroline up for a minute and you accept the invitation, planting yourself in his lap. Sophia’s still in your arms, so it’s a bit crowded, but nevertheless, you swing your legs over the arm of the chair and melt against Aaron’s chest.

The girls, of course, are delighted to see each other and make a happy, babbling pair sitting on your abdomen and thighs, watching all the action in the living room.

Aaron presses a kiss to your head and just for another second wonders how he got so lucky.

“Hey. Quit.”

He looks down, meeting your eyes. “What?”

You look at him, soft and affectionate. “You’ll never stop, will you?”

“Probably not.” He adjusts again so he can cradle you in his arm while he keeps the girls stable with his free hand. “But that’s why I’ve got you.”

“Unstoppable force meets immovable object?”

Aaron squints, making play at thinking. “Wasn’t that on our wedding announcements?”

You huff a laugh and pat his chest twice. “Maybe it should have been.”

Realistically, he knows he should be out socializing with everyone there to celebrate him and the fifty years he’s lived (only a couple of them in dog years), but he can’t bring himself to care. His cheek rests against your head, his fingers tracing patterns on your arm. Caroline has the other one of his hands, playing with his fingers (and putting those in her mouth, too) while Sophia sits back against him, threatening sleep.

But really, nobody minds. They’re all having too much fun off the clock, with children of their own. Derek and Savannah lounge in the rec room, watching Tara, Sean, Will, Jack, and Henry play Mario Kart. Not far off is Kristy, wiping illicit frosting off her oldest son’s cheek before he rejoins the boys on the makeshift tournament arena.

Matt, Dave, and Emily are gathered around the kitchen island, their wine glasses never far from their hands. JJ flits between the groups, her puttering instincts inescapable even outside of her domain.

Luke and Penelope pretend they aren’t following each other from room to room, activity to activity. They are horrible actors, and Aaron wonders if the kid will ever pluck up the guts to do something about it.

You didn’t.

That doesn’t count.

Yes, it does.

JJ finally comes to rest beside Emily, propping herself up by her elbows as she sits backward on one of the barstools. “I’d never thought I’d see Hotch so happy.”

Emily looks over her shoulder. What does she see?

She sees a man she’s known her entire career at the bureau, a man who hand-picked her to replace him when it was time for him to leave his post as unit chief, a man who lost almost everything and somehow found it again.

She watches as Aaron says something to you, a wicked kind of humorous glint in his eye. She watches as you let out a loud laugh, accidentally startling your daughters in your lap. She watches as the girls process and pick up on their mother’s joy and start to shriek and clap.

She watches Aaron live.

“I dunno,” Emily says, finally. “I always thought those two might make it if they faced themselves.”

JJ humphs in the irony of it. “That’s a lot to ask.”

“And yet -”

“- Somehow, they’ve managed.” JJ looks to her own family just in time to see Will taking advantage of the high ceiling, throwing Michael into the air and catching him. “It’s kind of funny, how things work out.”

“I can’t believe he’s fifty.” Emily’s non-sequitur drops into JJ’s thoughts, which were rapidly devolving into the abstract. “It doesn’t seem right.”

Dave taps Emily on the shoulder, reminding her he’s been there the whole time. “You’re in your late forties, I might remind you.”

A kind of dissatisfied noise leaves her throat. “Thanks.” She turns, looking at him with a glare that could cut glass, but all in play. “Thanks for that.”

“Just doing my civic duty.”

Emily rolls her eyes and stands, wandering farther into the kitchen to pilfer a bag of animal crackers from the snack drawer.

“Alright!” Penelope calls from the kitchen archway. “It’s time for cake!”

That gets the attention of all the children in the vicinity who have experienced the unadulterated joy of Aunt Penelope’s buttercream frosting.

Aaron tolerates the attention as you and the girls get shuffled (or in your case, shuffle yourself) off his lap. Emily takes Caroline while Savannah has Sophia. A quick glance finds Isaac on Dave's hip. With a little bit of a start, he realizes just how big his family is. They’re all here.

For each other.

For him.

Soon enough, Penelope brings the cake - candles all lit (and no, there are not fifty of them - that was a hard no from the birthday boy) and places it in front of Aaron at the head of the dining room table.

You kiss him on the cheek, distracting him while you put a ridiculous party hat on his head. You can almost feel his eye roll and you hear a few phone cameras click. Of course, shortly after, everyone starts singing at him - horrifically out of pace and key, but it’s perfect.

He’s confronted with the back of a few more phones as parents and friends snap pictures out of habit. He reaches out to snag you around the waist and you end up half-sitting on the arm of his chair.

You loop your arms around his neck, leaning into his side. “Make a wish.”

After one slow blink and a deep breath, he blows out the candles to whoops and hollers and baby shrieks.

Your eyes snap up out of instinct, finding Isaac covering his ears and looking more and more alarmed by the minute. You toss another kiss onto Aaron’s forehead and quickly take Isaac from Dave, traveling down the hall with practiced haste.

If he’s honest, Aaron forgot. He should have grabbed Isaac’s headphones from your office, but he didn’t. He should have warned his son about the loud noises and all the people before they overwhelmed him, but he didn’t. He should have remembered that his son needed more thought and attention than the others, but he didn’t.

He hides his self-directed frustration well, but it doesn’t take long for him to make a quick and subtle escape. He knows the girls are just fine. Emily has Caro well in-hand and Savannah is always looking for an excuse to practice with the girls. She’s due in February, looking radiant and lovely.

In a near-whisper, he calls for you and Isaac as he tracks down the hall on light feet. He hears you murmur, then Isaac’s voice: “Here, Dad,” guides him into your office, where you’re stationed on the floor under your desk.

Isaac’s playing with the soft carpet chosen especially for him, his little fingers getting lost in the plush fabric. Aaron kneels down and rests his forearms on the ground, searching for Isaac’s eyes.

“Hey, little man.”

He hums.

That’s a good thing.

Aaron puts his hand on the carpet, about three inches away from Isaac’s. He can see it, but it’s not touching him, communicating his presence without sensation.

You meet Aaron’s eyes over Isaac’s head. Not your fault.

He shoots you a withering look.

I’m serious, Aaron. You raise your eyebrows and shake your head. Not your fault. We’re okay. Your eyes flicker to Isaac before returning to Aaron. He’s okay.

Aaron watches as you arc your body around him, getting close but not too close, running your fingers through the carpet on either side of him. Aaron wiggles his own fingers, sinking deeper into the blue shag. To his surprise, it calms him a little.

Little Man might be onto something here.

Eventually, Isaac leans back into you, and you slowly bring your hands to his hair, massaging his scalp with the tips of your fingers. You look at Aaron and nod once.

He takes his cue. As always, he’s in awe of your command over Isaac’s needs. With a breath, and very quietly, he asks. “Are you feeling better, little man?”

His eyes still on the carpet, he nods. “Just loud.”

“Yeah. It was pretty loud.” He looks up to the bookshelf, spotting his headphones on their charger. “Do you want to go back to the living room, maybe with your ears on? Or do you want to stay in here?”

The boy stills, thinking. In the two years he’s known his son, the turning of gears in Isaac’s little head enamors and amazes him. He can almost see their spokes behind his eyes. After a minute or so -

“Living room, but only for a little while.”

You kiss him lightly on the top of his head, where the band of the headphones rests. “Do you want your ears?”

He nods and Aaron rises, bringing the headphones back down. Isaac puts them on and wiggles a little where he sits. Aaron likes to imagine it’s his way of settling back into his body.

Much to the surprise of everyone present, Isaac reaches out to Aaron. With soft eyes, he takes his son in his arms, letting him wrap like a koala around his neck and chest.

The three of you return, finding everyone still milling about, eating cake, and sharing space together. Jack, catching sight of you, jogs over. “Is Isaac okay?”

You nod, brushing the hair off Jack’s forehead. “Yeah, bud. It just got a little overwhelming for a minute.”

It’s been eleven years of you and Jack, but it never gets old for Aaron. The way you are with each other - somehow balancing a parent-child relationship with a steadfast best-friendship - constantly surprises and warms him.

Jack nods, circling around so he can get into Isaac’s eye line. He waves a little, and Isaac waves back, lifting his hand briefly from Aaron’s collar. Jack offers a fist, and Isaac reaches out to tap it with three of his fingers.

Aaron closes his eyes, taking it in.

+++

“So,” you say, tucking into bed beside him. “Fifty.”

“So,” He doesn’t pull his eyes from his book. “Thirty-six.” He throws you a side-eye, immediately noticing the playful glint in your eye. “Don’t start.”

You raise your eyebrows, the picture of innocence. “Start what? I’m just appreciating my loving and handsome and thoughtful and distinguished husband on his birthday.” You scoot and shift, straddling him. “Are you gonna let me?”

That gets his attention. Keeping his eyes on you, he markes his place and sets the book on his bedside table. “I might.”

You lean down, pressing your lips to his, speaking quietly against his mouth, like a secret. “Happy Birthday, my love.”

If anyone asked, Aaron loved his present.

+++

tagging: @arganfics @quillvine @stxrryspencer @agenthotchner @wandaswitxh @hurricanejjareau @ughitsbaby @rousethemouse @criminalsmarts @shrimpyblog @genevievedarcygranger @ssaic-jareau @good-heavens-chris-evans @angelsbabey @writefasttalkevenfaster @venusbarnes @hotchsflower @ogmilkis @marvels-agents100 @hotchslatte @risenfox @mrs-dr-reid @captain-christopher-pike @dwellingsofrosie @pan-pride-12 @sunshine-em @jdougl-love @sageellsworth05 @dreila03 @forgottenword @aaronhotchnerr @ssa-morgan @buckybau @tegggeeee @abschaffer2 @ssacandice-ray @ellyhotchner @lotties-journey-abroad @mrs-joel-pimentel-23-25 @laneygthememequeen @violentvulgarvolatile @mooneylupinblack @ssareidbby @violet-amxthyst @zizzlekwum @lcvischmitt @qvid-pro-qvo @mandylove1000 @simsiddy @jeor @synonymforlame @roses-and-grasses @bwbatta @capricorngf @missdowntonabbey @averyhotchner @cevanswhre @joanofarkansass @infinity1321 @popped-weasels @evee87 @nuvoleincielo @spencerelds @ssahotchnerr @this-broken-band-girl @winqhster @reidtomestyles @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @the-falling-in-the-danger @nattylite49 @crazyshannonigans @softbibxtch @iconicc @mangoberry43 @andreasworlsboring101

#aaron hotchner x reader #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner #criminal minds #hotch #tali writes fanfiction #tali talks cm #a joyful future #a joyful future fanfic

345 notes · View notes

realcube · 4 years ago

Text

karasuno boys spending christmas with you 🎄

;tw// christmas (?), santa ig, extreme fluff, shoplifting, underage drinking, violence, ennoshita, kinoshita and narita exclusion 😞

(a/n): ik the gif isn’t hq but look how cute it is (○｀ 3′○). also i’m aware that i wrote a rather western-washed version of Christmas (despite the characters in question not being western) but as someone of an asian ethnicity, imo western traditions surrounding Christmas are a lot more..festive (?) which i hope that isn’t offensive considering that Christmas was popularised by the west. so, in short, sorry the traditions aren’t those that are celebrated in japan (or asia) but i just found it i had a lot more inspiration to write it this way. :) perhaps i’ll make a part 2 with aoba johsai or nekoma celebrating Christmas with japanese traditions

Shōyō Hinata

you spend christmas at his house bc he wants to be with his sister on the day

and any sibling that you live with, he insists that they stay over too

but if you don’t have any younger siblings then y’all just spend the whole day spoiling natsu

hinata absolutely adores how well you get on with his sister, it just makes him so happy seeing his two favourite people having fun together

although, it did make him a bitter when he asked natsu if she likes the doll he bought her and she said,

“Yeah, thank you. But look at the Furby (L/N) got me! It’s pink and so fluffy, feel it! And it talks, it’s eyes move and-” Then she continues to rave on about how amazing your gift was.

honestly, y’all spend the whole day pampering natsu; making sure she has the best christmas possible

y’all made gingerbread cookies with her, helped her built a snowman (or rather, a snowwoman because she insisted that it was a lady), snowangels, opening presents, christmas crackers, watching movies - the whole shabang.

probably the only time in the day were she was sad was at 10PM when hinata insisted that she goes to bed

natsu looked at you to back her up in her argument that she should be allowed to stay up late on christmas but you kinda just stood there like 🧍‍♀️/🧍‍♂️

not wanting to get involved in their family drama (unproblematic liege 😍😩)

eventually though, natsu did go to bed and as soon as she was sound asleep, you and hinata spent the night cuddling while watching more christmas movies as you were both too tired to do anything else

you ended up falling asleep in his arms and it was a christmas miracle that his arm didn’t get pins and needles like it usually did while cuddling for a long period of time

Tobio Kageyama

i’m a firm believer that he doesn’t celebrate christmas

not that he doesn’t like the concept, it’s just doesn’t understand the hype

plus - other than going to nationals - there isn’t much he wants and from what he knows, santa can’t make that happen

but as soon as you come over to his house on christmas day with a tub filled with cookies shaped and decorated like volleyballs, suddenly christmas is his favourite holiday

he invites you inside to eat the cookies with him and you notice that he’s watching a volleyball match on the TV

you giggle at how passionate he is about about the sport and offer to cast a Christmas movie from your phone onto the TV

he says yes since this is probably the 10th time he’s rewatched the same match

you scroll through the list of christmas movies available on Netflix, “Wanna watch Arthur Christmas?”

“No.”

“How about the Grinch?”

“Eh, no.”

“Ooh! What about the Nativity? I love that movie-”

“No thanks.”

So you ended up watching Frozen and Frozen 2 (on a different streaming site) because Kageyama didn’t like any of the Christmas movies available on Netflix

You figured that Frozen kinda counted as a Christmas movie because..there was snow :)

anyway, you already knew Kageyama tolerated Disney Movies so Frozen was your best bet

and as it turns out, he was oddly engaged by the movie which gave you an opening to slip into his arms, stifling an evil snicker the whole time

as we all know, when Kageyama is into something he is into it.

so whenever the climax of the movie comes up (or any part with high suspense) you feel him squeeze you slightly and tense up

AND IT IS THE MOST ADORABLE THING PERIODT 🥺😩

so yeah your christmas with him is not overly Praise The Lord but it very fun and cute since it mostly consists of Disney movies

(also Barbie: A Christmas Carol because it gave you both overwhelming nostalgia since he has a big sister who i now headcanon to be a barbie movie addict ✋)

Kei Tsukishima

the biggest grinch™

mostly bc every year he drops hints to both his mum and brother that he wants new headphones but every year he still gets a snowglobe from his mum and something dinosaur related from his brother

even though his brother is aware that he is ‘too old for that shit’ now

but Akiteru just loves seeing his brother’s pissed off face whenever he opens his gift (which is a similar size to a headphones box) to find something like a Jurassic Park Lego set

anyway, backstory over - in short, Tsukishima very much dislikes Christmas

So when you appear at his door with a gift, he slams the door closed

“Tsukishima!” You roar as that was quite rude - even for Tsukishima - since it was snowing and you were clearly freezing, “Let me in! I’m freezing my tits off out here!”

Eventually, he did let you in and gave you a hot chocolate as an apology but as soon as you tried to hand him the give, he refused to take it

“No.”

“Why not?” You whined, clearly upset that he wouldn’t take the gift you went through so much effort to get your hands on.

“Because I didn’t get you anything.”

You rolled your eyes, “You got me this hot chocolate - now, take it. It’s seriously not much.”

Upon eyeing the wrapped box in your hand, he realised it was about 9x9″ - the same size as the tub you usually deliver food in, meaning that the gift was probably some sweet treats

“Alright.” He sighed, accepting he gift as he figured that he could easily pay you back by making Christmas cookies with you or something

He hummed, delicately unwrapping the gift and his heart skipped a beat as he noticed the present inside was in a black box rather than a clear tub which you normally gave homemade treats in

nevertheless, he persevered in unwrapping the box

when he finally finished, his heart dropped yet he couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed with joy

“Wireless headphones.” He muttered to himself, doing everything in his power to resist the smile tugging on the corner of his lips but it was challenging, to say the least

“Yeah!” You chirped, “Don’t worry about the price though, I got them on a Black Friday sale.” You lied, aware that it was usually considered rude to talk about the price of a gift you’ve given but knowing if you didn’t say anything, Tsukishima would assume you paid full price (which you did smh) and immediately empty his bank account in order to pay you back

You could almost envision the situation already; “Would you like it in cash or cheque?”

“Neither, Kei!”

“You seriously got me branded headphones?” Non-imaginary Tsukishima asked, unable to pry his eyes off the long-awaited gift in his hands

“Y-Yeah.” You stuttered at his unusually sinister voice. “I wanted to buy you noise-cancelling headphones and Google said these were the best ones available that weren’t selling for millions of y--”

“I love you.”

You did a double-take, “Huh?”

“I love you.”

You did a..triple-take.. “I-I don’t think I heard you correctly.”

“I’m not saying it again, dumbass.”

now, tsukishima wasn’t a very affectionate person but considering you paid full price for headphones (yes, he knows. you’re not a very good liar 😐) for him, the least you deserved was forehead kisses

plus, he was determined to make you as happy as you made him that day

so can get all the kisses you want, all the hugs, all the cuddles, all the smiles, all the cookies- everything!

but that’s not to say that he’s not going to get you anything in return as subtly through the day he was gathering info on what to get you

by the end of it, he had a whole list but unfortunately - after looking at his bank account - he realised that the only thing he could afford was an easy-bake oven (┬┬﹏┬┬)

Tadashi Yamaguchi

y’all spent Christmas at your house because Yamaguchi was absolutely entranced by your massive Christmas tree

he also slept over because you both wanted experience the Christmas morning buzz together

also because your parents were working on Christmas day and Yamaguchi didn’t want you to be alone 🥺

(he didn’t tell you that though as he didn’t want you to think that he felt bad for you or anything)

after you both completed you morning routines, you raced downstairs (quite literally raced; you won.) to open the presents

the milk and cookies you both hand left out for ‘Santa’ was gone because your parents chugged the milk and scarfed the cookies before they left for work

“Open the presents I got you first!” You urged Yamaguchi, pointing to the two presents wrapped in Sanrio wrapping paper

Yamaguchi did so; sitting on the floor cross-legged to open the larger, box-shaped gift first

“Candy!” He chirped with a smile, gently shifting through the selection of sweets you got him, his grin stretching as he did so and once he was finished, it was beaming ear-to-ear. “You know me so well, thank you so much, (L/N).”

You giggled, a light blush crossing your features at the praise - then motioning to the second, smaller, thinner gift.

Yamaguchi accidently tore the wrapping paper off to reveal basic, charcoal face masks.

You quickly interjected to explain, “You said that you were embarrassed about how the animal-themed face masks your mum bought you were too childish and that they just made your skin more oily so bought you those; less embarrassing and supposedly good for oily skin.”

Yamaguchi’s heart fluttered upon hearing how much attention you paid during his random rants, “Thank you, babe!” He enthused, hugging the mask to his chest.

After that, you opened the gift he bought you and were over the moon when you realised that it was a box full of adorable stationary

“I noticed how you kept complaining about your pens running out of ink during class and..yeah..I hope you like it..”

You obviously loved it and expressed that by giving him a big bear hug and many kisses (づ￣ 3￣)づ (*≧︶≦))

By then, it was around Midday so you had time to play in the snow for a bit before Yamaguchi had to go home to spend the rest of Christmas with his family

but of course he came back on Boxing Day to binge watch movies and cuddle with you 🥰

Daichi Sawamura

okay; I am going to say this and you aren’t going to argue with me bc I know that I’m right:

if you have any younger siblings or cousins staying in your house for Christmas (and I mean younger like 5 or less) and the kid isn’t a little shit

daichi (with your assistance) will dress up as Santa and you will dress up as an elf to surprise the child with a visit

daichi would be like ‘ho ho ho!’ and you’d be like ‘shut up, santa, you fatass.’

and the kid would be like ✪ ω ✪

y’all would take pictures and shit before santa dips 🚶‍♂️🛷

after that, you both would head back to his place to celebrate a kid-free christmas

you don’t open gifts because you both mutually agreed not to get anything for each other this year since you had ‘grown out of presents’ (tsk).

but you did get a RingFit Adventure from one for your relatives for Christmas so you and Daichi spend an hour or two playing that

it’s surprisingly taxing though so you’re both puffed afterwards

so you decided to make spaghetti for yourself and Daichi and a Christmas miracle occurred..he got off of his ass to help you cook 🤩

usually he’d hide his fear off fucking up under toxic masculinity but today he actually let you teach him how to make food and he was a natural chef tbh

however, his habit of grabbing your ass or holding your lower back wasn’t especially helpful while he had tomato sauce all over his hands

you changed into a different pair of bottoms as the spaghetti cooled down

then, a second Christmas miracle occurred

Daichi gave you both permission to eat in the living room, on the couch, so y’all could watch a movie or something as you ate

every other day of the year, daichi would have to be killed before he let anybody eat in the living room - forget on his new couch

but today was a special so he let it slide

originally, the plan was to watch a Christmas movie but then you noticed that a new episode of y’alls favourite show was out - House Hunters - so you just watched that instead

hey, it made you both happy so why not?

especially with daichi’s running commentary which you outwardly expressed annoyance to but internally loved

“Andromeda will never be Suzanne, rest easy.”

“That house is so ugly, next.”

“Why’s their budget so low? May as well just buy a caravan.”

“They are so fucking picky.”

“Her face annoys me.”

IT LIKE HIS ALTER-EGO IT’S AMAZING

anyway, merry christmas to the daichi stans and that is from me, not daichi - he actually forgot it was Christmas at noon

Kōshi Sugawara

SUGA IS DOMESTIC LIKE DAICHI BUT MAKE IT ❄ FESTIVE❄

y’all bake christmas cookies together, exchanges small gifts, bake carrot cake, watch The Polar Express, bake pudding, kiss under the mistletoe, bake-- yeah, there was a lot of baking

get ready to work out twice as much and start dieting if you don’t want to develop an illness due to the amount of sugar you consumed

to be honest, Suga was kinda lost for things to do on the actual day of Christmas bc y’all were so hyped preparing for it so he had no idea how to top that

I mean, you both went on romantic, late night car drives to buy a tree

cute couple trips to the store to purchase decorations

planning out and putting the decorations around the house (and with both of your keen eyes for design, the house ends up looking gorgeous ofc)

you ornamented the tree in his living room but it was so tall that he couldn’t reach the very tip to put the final decoration on top

so you hopped onto his shoulders and stuck the star on top with a smile

but he wasn’t done with you yet, he rushed around the house with you on his shoulders while you clung onto his hair as if your life depended on it

he did most of the festivities with you before Christmas but he saved one special one for the day

“(Y/N), let’s bake something.”

You sighed, shooting him a weary smile, “Suga, we’ve been baking all day.”

“Just one last thing! It’s not even baking actually, more like assembling.”

You quirked an eyebrow at his statement, “Hm? What is it?”

“Let’s make our dream houses with gingerbread!”

Of course you agreed. Not just because he is the cutest thing you’ve ever laid your eyes on but also since it sounded rather fun

“What are those?” You pointed to the weird rectangular designs on the roof of his house

“Solar panels.” He hummed, elegantly icing the sides of his house, “I want my future house run on that energy.”

“Anyway, what’ve you got on your house?” Finishing off the final swirl on his door, he turned to look at your gingerbread home and deadpanned

A sheepish grin formed on your lips as you noticed his blank expression towards your ‘dream home’ which has walls garnished with golden, edible glitter and sugar paper sanrio characters on the roof along with many other extremely unconventional things

“Hey,” you shrugged, “Let me have my dreams.”

“Of course,” Suga agreed, his usual sweet smile returning, “Although, in an ideal world, I thought we’d end up living together and starting a family. However, I don’t think we can do that if you planning on putting a horse head on our front door.”

“IT WAS JUST LYING THERE, KŌSHI! IF ANYTHING IT’S YOUR FAULT FOR GIVING ME ACCESS TO A MARZIPAN HORSE!”

“I DIDN’T THINK THAT YOU’D DECAPITATE IT, (Y/N)! I THOUGHT YOU’D USE IT FOR A STABLE OR FARM OR SOMETHING!”

“YOU SHOULD KNOW ME BETTER THAN THAT!”

Asahi Azumane

you both spent christmas day in your respective households, promising each other that you’d spend boxing day together

until around 7PM when you had to come over to his house bc he called you, extremely puzzled at the fact that random mutuals from school (and the whole volleyball team) were on his instagram page, facebook, snapchat and any/every other social media platform wishing him a happy birthday

“I don’t get it.” He spoke through the phone, confusion and anxiety apparent in his voice, “My birthday isn’t for another six days. Why do they think it is today? Is this a joke?”

“Uh, can I come over? I’d love to see you.”

“Um, sure.” He replied, even more confused that you didn’t answer his question and instead asking one yourself

you spent the rest of the day with him, trying your very best to distract him from social media by doing various activities

you both baked, watched movies, played board games (he’s a beast at battleships) then you moved on to other games like charades - basically every bs excuse you could come up with to get him to stay away from his phone

but that’s not to say you didn’t enjoy every second of it bc you did

he is so cute like whenever you are doing an action which he can’t interpret, his automatic guess is ‘are my beautiful gf (Y/N) (L/N) who i love very much? (= ❛ ᴗ ❛=)’

PRECIOUS 💓

and then you are just like, ‘yes, i am, baby. but i am also optimum prime. your turn.’

anyway, by the end of the day there was no way you were able to prevent him from finding out about the joke now

so you just decided to tell him - figuring that it’d be better for him to hear it from you rather than someone else

“See.. y’know how jesus was allegedly born on christmas day? well, the joke is that..you kinda look like what people assume jesus would’ve looked like..”

Asahi had to do a double-take at what you just said, “Th-they..think I look like jesus?”

“yeah.”

Ryūnosuke Tanaka

you’re both broke af so you spend Christmas day pretending you are a rich couple

you slept over at his house too so you could start early in the morning and by that I mean 10:30AM

firstly, you and tanaka flick through an Argos catalogue (which you found on the ground, so there were a few mud stains on it 😶) to select the gift(s) you were going to buy for your ‘children’

but really it was just you and him going through it and circling all the toys y’all wanted as kids but couldn’t afford/didn’t get

“I super badly wanted one of those kiddie monster trucks that you could control with a remote as a child so my son is going to need one of those.” Tanaka said, circling the monster truck with a marker

“Yes, of course. And I asked for Monster High dolls every year as a kid but my parents said they were everything god hates so let’s buy that because we stan satan in this house, apparently .”

“Of course, of course.” He said in his best ‘rich person’ voice which was actually just an english accent

After resenting your parents for around an hour, you both moved onto the next activity of your rich person Christmas which included reading your horoscope in an english accent

that only lasted a few minutes though because both of you couldn’t be bothered to read

you also planned to look at the stock market (just like all rich people do on christmas day, obvs) but it was so boring

you took a glance then just went ‘okay, bye.’

next, you had caviar - just like rich people eat for every meal of the day, i think.

except it was actually black pop rocks

“ah, yes. scrumptious.” “the flavour is immaculate.”

then, as dawn drew close, you and tanaka preformed your final rich person activity

no, it wasn’t being rude to minimum wage workers

no, it wasn’t being ungrateful

no, it wasn’t exploiting the working class under capitalism

no, it wasn’t being generally stuck-up and cocky

instead, it was going to the grocery shop and buying everything rather than shoplifting :)

“what should we get, babe?” you asked tanaka, in awe at how many different brands of toilet paper were on the shelves. “Have you ever noticed how spoiled we are for choice when it comes to toilet paper?”

“uh, no.” he replied in reference to the toilet paper question, “Hm, how about some gingerbread men or something?”

his suggestion was just met by a blank stare and silence

“JUST KIDDING! WE’RE TOTALLY BUYING BOOZE!”

“Hell yeah!”

luckily, because tanaka looked a lot older than 17 and also since the cashier was too tired to check his ID, you both managed to buy the drinks without getting caught

“Merry Christmas, Ryū.” You hummed, fidgeting with his hand which was interlocked with yours as you walked through a rather prestigious neighbourhood and admired all the extravagant christmas lights

“Merry Christmas, (Y/N). Love you.”

Yū Nishinoya

you and noya spent the whole day in his backyard and since it was a white christmas, you were able to spend the 90% playing in the snow

at first, you both went outside with the intention of making snowangels and taking cute couple photos in the snow

but the weather was just so inviting that you had to stay for a little longer even when you did finish taking pictures; so you made the ‘ultimate’ snowman

by that, it was just the biggest snowman y’all could make without it falling apart with stones for eyes, spiking out twigs for hair and an empty Monster Energy can for a nose

once you had completed the snowman and basked in it’s glory for a moment, you went to head inside - but then you felt something hit your back

you turned around to see noya snickering, a mischievous grin on his face which you couldn’t stand

so what started out as him playfully throwing a snowball at your back, eventually turned into a full-on snowball battle to the death

there were snow forts, piles of snow ammunition, mini snow-warriors guarding the edges of your fort, a snow-princess which you were trying to steal from each other’s fort to win (basically like capture the flag but colder..) and a few brunch bars in the middle of the battle field for snack breaks

it was all going smoothly until Noya ran up to your base, obviously with the intention to steal your princess

“stay away from her, you fiend!” You yelled, jumping into an offensive stance - your neighbours must hate you bc of all the noise you and Noya made.

Noya screaming his battle cry as he rushed towards your fort, batista bombing you to the ground before you had a chance to attack him with a snowball

now that you were out of the equation, he scurried over to your princess which was perches on a little snow podium you made for her

he grabbed it, lifting it above his head like a trophy and letting out a loud victory cry “I win!”

he then turned to you and laughed upon noticing that you had your face buried into the snow in shame, “You have been defeated, (L/N)! And the great Rolling Thunder prospers!”

“That’s a stupid nickname.” You groaned, outstretching your arms to allow him to pick you up, “Now take me inside, I’m tired.”

“Alright, babe.” He spoke softly, seemingly coming down from his adrenaline high.

He strolled towards you, scooping you up into his arms - off the snow - and carrying you inside

unbeknownst to him, you had fallen asleep as he held you and once he put you down on the couch and noticed- i- my man almost died of happiness

“Oh my god, (Y/N)! You’re so fucking cute! (❤´艸｀❤)” he hollered, peppering your face in kisses

“Shhh..” you hushed Noya, sticking your bottom lip out to form a pout

Noya nodded understandingly before hopping onto the couch beside you and snuggling up

144 notes · View notes

computermaus · 4 years ago

Text

Some HC's :) Older teenage

Stan

Decided to leave the footballteam in 6th grade

Has become vegetarian in 8th grade

He has book of whales and dolphins

Enjoys watching sea documentaries

He is against Sea World or any whale shows who hold whales and dolphins in captivity. Has lead many protests against it.

He has a very good aim

He goes to a shooting range when stressed. Nobody knows this until 11th grade.

Favourite class his biology. It's the only class he is in AP at.

He bought a Star Wars Millennium Falcon on his 16th Birthday. And Kyle thought it was absolutely stupid paying 800 Dollars for that. (Stan is the type of person to do that. Can't convince me otherwise)

He likes to ride a bike occasionally for a few hours

He learned snowboarding by himself and enjoys it much more than skiing

He has learned to play the electric guitar in 6th grade.

He likes to sing when he is on his own or makes up songs on his own and sings them.

He has habit how losing things.

He is very scared to become like his father. He likes to keep himself busy so he won't fall into his addiction tendencies.

Is still fair skinned. Eventhough he had been living on a farm slnce he was 10. He doesn't get a tan.

He goes to the Spa on special occasions to relax

He was born with small breathing tubes. He has to carry an asthma inhaler in case he is short of breath

He gets nauseating from using the swings. But has no problems being on a boat

He can't dive for longer than 5 seconds without any equipment.

He passed his driving test after two lessons and at the first try without any mistake.

Kyle

He got in the basketballteam in junior year of Highschool

He got in a fight with with Cartman on the first day of Highschool.

He's the leader of the Math Quest

Has installed an app or software so teachers won't have to deal with computer viruses. ( Look I have no idea if this is accurate or not. Just roll with it)

He's in AP math, computer science, history, physics, geography, and english.

He's good at saving money

His anger has gotten worse at the beginning of his teenage years. Forcing him to take Anger Management classes.

When he's drunk he spends money on stupid things he later regrets when sober.

Kyle uses hand sanitizer before entering any building

He doesn't like it when someone or himself lies on his bed with their streetclothes and only lies on his bed in his pyjamas.

He sometimes helps out his father in his law firm. His father wants him to become a lawyer but Kyle is unsure

He can't deal with situations he didn't plan beforehand and doesn't like spontaneity.

He looked up spoilers when watching Game of Thrones with Stan but never told him.

He hates to cry in front of people that aren't his friends or family and rather gets angry.

In Music class they had to sing a song. Because Kyle didn't want to hear his own voice he had worn headphones. (They were allowed to do so). Some students started to laugh.

Kyle hates music class. He has complained many times how useless it is to force students to sing in front of their classmates only to embarrass them. When they have no interests or talent in singing (my personal opinion and I'm still traumatised. look i was a shy 14 year old girl. You can't expect me to sing in front of two classes.)

He likes when a student preferably in math class doesn't understand something, so he can explain it to them. ( THis is NOT what I did. 👀)

He started to smoke in junior year and quit after 5 months

He was in double as much detention as Stan and this because of the many fights Kyle got into. When Kenny showed him that fact Kyle didn't want to believe it was true.

Kenny

He collects snails in his backyard. He then organises a snail race and lets people pay entry. And also makes bets

Inspired by the movie the Kissing Booth he also wanted to make on in Highschool to raise money for some trip. This idea was declined

He likes Poetry

He goes to singing classes to master his oper singing skills since 8th grade

He has watched every episode of the Vampire Diaries and Gossip Girls

He is never much prepared when holding presentations and never has a poster or any visual presentation than himself. When the teacher pointed this out at one point, he said: Watching him should be enough.

He wouldn't go on a rollercoaster

He doesn't listen in class and asks Kyle what they have for homework.

He still does okay in tests

He made a pseudonym called: " MC the Lovedoctor. And gives advice for love sick students, he read from Cosmopolitan

Yes Kenny unironically reads the Cosmopolitan

He bites his nails

He has trouble opening up emotionally in relationships and that's because of the neglect he got from his parents

Kenny saves the money he earns for music college

He uses alot of self deprecating jokes.

He got his first phone in 7th grade

He is still a fan of NASCAR

He teaches Stan self defense. He teaches him stuff he learned by himself from living " In the Hood" he so nicely calls it. When Stans old house is like 20 steps away.

He found a possum in a trash and called it Louvre. And has adopted it. Kyle is absolutely disgusted by that thing. And one time when Stan, Kyle and Kenny were hanging in Kyle's room Kenny has brought that possum with him. It broke free from Kennys grasp and jumped on Kyles holy tempel. His bed.

The possum hates Kyle and attacked him several times

The possum loves Stan

He needs braces but can't afford them

He told Stan to invite him to a Spa trip with him.

He once jumped out of the window in the 8th floor when he didn't want to be in Detention anymore. The next day everyone forgot Kenny killed himself and that he was in detention. He regrets doing it and won't do it again. During is death Satan has scolded him out and how reckless he was acting.

Cartman

He loves the Possum for attacking Kyle

He likes to wear shirts that don't fit him

He got diabetes type 2 at 16.

He eats in class when he feels stressed. Its almost all the time

He likes to provocate Kyle so he will fight him and get detention for it.

He runs a club in Highschool called: "the Abstinences" They had sworn out any sexual activities and it doesn't belong to his Christian beliefs. He hides the fact he is scared of it and insecure. He shames people who are more promiscuous.

He believes because of this club he will go to Heaven

When partying he is unable to stop with the alcohol. Because of his fat it takes him longer to get drunk

He doesn't know how to shave and goes to school with razer cuts on his face.

He gets results from tests and sells them to other students

He still does terribly in school because he sucks at memorising.

He has a dream of owing his own slaughterhouse.

He gets defensive when someone asks him about his father

He has poor coordination skills.

He is to lazy to do the driving test and uses the excuse that his friends should drive him around

He won a eating contest. He ate 50 Burgers in 15 minutes.

He does good presentations in school and enjoys doing them

He has complained many times that students weren't allowed to use the elevator in school and had to use the stairs. The teacher told him to lose weight. In which Cartman told the principal the teacher was fat shaming him.

He cuddles with his cat before going to sleep

#south park #stan marsh #kyle broflovski #eric cartman #kenny mccormick #sp headcanons

70 notes · View notes

thr-333 · 4 years ago

Text

Mismatch- Part 2

Bio Dad Bruce Wayne Month 2020

Point? Plot? never heard of it! have some fluff instead!

First > Next

----

First class was called for boarding, leaving the twins behind to wait for economy boarding. They could afford first class, but didn’t want to make a scene with the rest of the class. They are distracted from the window when Lila joins the first class line. When she reaches the desk the twins can’t hear her talking but can see her crocodile tears as she likely spins a tale of woe. There is a sense of satisfaction between them as after some back and forth Lila is sent away in a huff. She goes back to the class and starts complaining, causing them to miss the call for domestic boarding.

“Let’s go,” Marion shrugs his backpack on and they went to board before the rest of the class. He wasn't about to let Lila somehow steal their seats.

As they board the plane they walk past their friends in first class, some seats around them still having people late to board. With a wave they continue on reaching their seats and storing their backpacks under the seats.

“Marion, make sure your devices are in flight mode,” Marinette commands, as she pulls out her tablet.

“Sure thing,” Marion pulls out his laptop, making sure both that and his phone were on flight mode. Marinette double checking.

“It’s just not fair,” They hear Lila whine as she walks past them to her seat.

“I know girl, I know,” Alya is following, patting her back.

Marinette ignores them and pulls out the safety manual, studying the two pages with the same intensity she does as Ladybug. Marion turned to the built in seat screen and browsed through the movies. Marinette was likely the only one on the plane who paid attention during the safety demonstration. When the plane started moving Marinette grabbed onto Marion's hand. It was fine until the plane started to speed up, the grip getting tighter. When the plane lifted off Marion's hand was almost crushed with no magic ladybugs to save it.

“You know for a bug-”

“Nope, na-ah, not now,” Marinette grits through her teeth. Marion sighs and resigns to his hand being crushed.

Fine they had been in a bubble hundreds of meters above Paris looking straight down, but apparently that was nothing compared to a plane. When the seatbelt sign turned on Marion could swear in less than a minute Chloe magically appeared.

“Come on, there's spare seats near us, the people were a no show,” Chloe said, hands on hips.

“I don’t know Chloe, is that even allowed?” Marion asks, trying to pry his hand free.

“I’ll be fine,” Chloe waves him off, not answering the question. She looks at Marinette. “I’ll start jumping,”

“Let’s go!” She releases Marion’s hand and grabs her backpack. Marion shakes out his hand to get the blood flow back, then inspects the marked skin. He follows after them moving his fingers cautiously.

“Marion, your bag,” Chloe sighed, sending him running back to get it.

When Marion caught up they were already seated. Marinette, Kagami and Chloe were in a row of three by the window, while Adrien sat at the row in front. Marion climbed awkwardly over the person sitting at the aisle to reach the spare seat.

Adrien says a quick hello, not looking away from the window.

“It’s normal to be nervous on your first flight,” Kagami assures Marinette, not knowing wasn't her first flight. “Just breath, where would you prefer to sit?”

“Maybe somewhere out of reach of my hand,” Chloe speaks up, cradling her hand.

“It’s ok Marinette, I don’t really like planes either,” Adrien confesses, giving a weak smile over the seat.

“Well there we go you two should sit together,” Chloe dictates, “Come on Marion, up you get, you too Marinette,”

Chloe herds them out of their seats. Marion sheepishly apologises to the aisle person as they climb over them again. Marion sits at the Aisle now with Chloe at the window and Kagami in the middle. Marion peaks over the seats to see the two blushing messes. Marinette holding Adrien's hand, surely for no other reason than fear. It was effective either way as both seemed completely distracted by each other.

“Nice move,” Marion whispers to Chloe as he sits back down.

“I know, and as such I get to choose the movie,” Looking at the disposable headphones with disdain.

“We have our own screens,” Kagami points out.

“Then we’ll just have to start at the same time,” Chloe huffs, plugging the headphones in.

After a painful twenty minutes Chloe eventually settles on some romantic comedy Kagami and Marion had never seen which was ‘ridiculous’ and ‘unacceptable’.

“On my count, go,” Chloe presses play followed by Marion.

“That's not a count,” Kagami argues, the movie not playing.

“Of course it is,”

“You didn’t count,”

“That’s true,” Marion's screen lagging slightly behind Chloe.

“Fine,” Chloe rewinds back to the start, “One, two-”

“Wait I’m not ready!” Marion exclaims, struggling to rewind his. “Ok, now,”

“One, two, three” Chloe presses play, Kagami having pressed it a second before.

“Why?” Chloe hisses, as the screens play out of sync.

“You didn’t specify on or after three,” Kagami explains.

“After three!”

“How was I supposed to know?”

“Ugh, fine let's do it again, One, two-”

“Maybe we should do, ready, set go,” Marion interrupts, a grin on his face.

“No!” Chloe screeches.

“I think I should count,” Kagami interjects, straight faced. Marion isn't sure if she's serious or helping him mess with Chloe or not.

“No! I’m doing it and I’ll be counting,” Chloe seethes.

“Ok, ok,” Marion rewinds his screen,

“One, two-”

“So on or after three?”

“Ahhhhhh!”

After getting bored(being scared for his life) Marion finally lets them start the movie. That doesn't mean he’s done messing with Chloe, as he decides the comedy isn't comedic enough and has to make jokes throughout. Has to it is not his choice, the black cat beckons.

“Why would she not tell him that in the first place,” Kagami inquires.

“I don’t know, she just didn’t,” Chloe grumbles, keeping her eyes glued to the screen.

“It would have avoided a lot of problems,” Kagami decides.

“Well if you wanted needlessly complicated romance we’ve got front seats to the best one this century,” Marion smiles, adding, “And I’m not talking about the movie,”

At that they all stand to peek over seats at the two love birds leaning against each other asleep. Chloe snaps a photo leaning right over them to get the best angle. They all photobomb the background.

“We need to make a collage of all the times this has happened over the years,” Chloe sighs, showing them the photo.

“The piece of resistance will be them in their wedding outfits, sleeping after the reception,” Marion looks down at his phone to see Chloe had somehow sent him the picture, despite him looking at her phone the whole time, “Witchcraft,”

“They would, wouldn't they?” Chloe shakes her head.

“If they ever start dating,” Kagami mutters, also looking down to see Chloe had sent her the picture as well.

“Kags, the only ones that don’t know their dating is them,” Marion assures.

“Shush, this is the good part,” Chloe waves her hand at them, staring at the screen.

“It has a good part?” Marion asks, having to dodge the purse thrown at him.

They were halfway through the movie when Madame Bustier approached them, followed by Lila.

“Marion, what are you and Marinette doing up here?” She demands.

“The seats were spare so I told them too,” Chloe stops Marion before he can apologise.

“That doesn't mean you’re allowed to take them, you should have offered them to another student like Lila,” Madame Bustier reprimands, gesturing to Lila.

“If they can’t be here then neither can she,” Kagami grabs Lila’s wrist before she can shake Marinette awake.

“B-but my tinnitus!” Liela cries, Marion has to grab Kagami's other hand before she can place it over Lila’s mouth.

“Won’t be affected by where on the plane you sit,” Chloe glares.

“What do you know?” Lila sniffs, trying to shake Kagami's grip.

“Surprisingly, I actually researched it, unlike you,” Chloe spits out.

“How dare-”

“Excuse me,” A flight attendant approaches them, “is everything ok here?”

“No,” Liela turns on her crocodile tears pointing at the twins with her free hand. “These two are meant to be in economy, and I was told there were no spare seats in first class, they must of stolen someones seat!”

“Ridiculous,” Chloe huffs.

“Sir could I please see your ticket?” The flight attendant asks Marion. Marion freezes and stutters to explain, Lila looking smug.

“Right here,” Chloe fishes two boarding passes out of her purse and hands them over. The flight attendant inspects them, Marion giving them his passport before they ask.

“My apologies,” They tell Marion, handing back the passport and boarding pass, turning to Lila. “Miss these are their seats, I have to ask you to return to yours,”

“What!” Lila screeches.

“Miss I have to ask you to please be quiet, there are passengers sleeping,” The flight attendant is sterner now. Madame Bustier guides a complaining Liela away.

“Sorry for the confusion,” The flight attendant tells them.

“It’s fine,” Chloe has a vindictive smile on her face as she watches Lila storm off. When she turns around she sees Marion is smirking. “What?”

“You just happened to have two extra boarding passes, huh?”

“Of course, I wanted to have a row to myself, but you two looked so pouty when I left that I decided to give them to you,”

“Right, and they just happen to have our names on them?” Marion prodded, holding them out as proof.

“Uh, yeah? I couldn’t check in three times, I had to use your name,” Chloe snatches the boarding passes away.

“How did you even get our information to do that?” Marion asks, now genuinely confused.

“Anything is possible with money,”

“Foreboding… but true,” Marion considers, “Hey Chlo?”

“What?”

“Thanks,” Marion gives her the biggest smile possible.

“Whatever, you can thank me by letting me choose the next movie as well,” Chloe turns back to the screen.

“I’m not that grateful,” He has to doge her purse again.

Food comes part way through their second movie, that they let Chloe choose anyway. They gently shake Marinette and Adrien awake. Adrien groans at the thought of more food, but is too polite to turn it away.

“What is this slop?” Chloe asks, poking her fork at it like it might attack her.

“It's worse in economy,” Marion points out, eating his with only a small grimace.

“How is that meant to make me feel better?” Chloe sneeres.

“Because Lila and Sabrina are eating it now,” Marion smirks evilly, Chloe mirroring him.

“I’m still not eating it,” Chloe turns her nose up.

“You can have this,” Kagami hands over a container of assorted sushi. “I brought it, but it’s nothing compared to the sushi in Japan,”

“Thanks,” Chloe actually smiles, but would never admit to the slight blush dusting her cheeks. “Here Mari you can have this,” Chloe passes him the tray.

“Thanks Chlo, but I don’t like it either,” Marion pushes it back. Frustrating Kagami with all the reaching over her.

“At least take the cheese, I know you like that,” Chloe drops it on his tray.

“Wha- oh yeah, thanks,” Marion remembers Plagg, so he can't hand it back(not at all because he’s afraid of what Kagami will do if someone reaches across her again).

“You can have mine as well,” Kagami places the matching cheese neatly on top of Chloe’s.

“Do you want mine too?” Adrien asks reaching over the seat to hand it to him. “I don’t really like cheese,”

“Oh… thank you,” Marion says awkwardly, taking it.

“Here you can have mine as well,” Marinette reaches out, grinning over the seat. Marion glares at her, taking the cheese. She sticks out her tongue and sits back down.

When no one is looking Marion sneaks the cheese into his bag. He tries not to yelp as a few seconds later Plagg bites him. Marion excuses himself to the bathroom, taking his satchel.

“Plagg, what gives?” Marion asks, opening up his bag.

“What gives? you expect me to eat that trash? While Kaalki and Tikki eat a mountain of chocolate, are you so crule?” Plagg sticks his ‘nose’ up.

“It’s cheese,” Marion argues, picking up a piece.

“That is an insult to all of cheese,” Plagg points at the offending block.

“Too bad, it’s because of you everyone thinks I’m obsessed with cheese, so take some responsibility,”

“Never!”

“If you don’t eat it, I’m going to throw it out, so what's worse? Bad cheese, or wasted cheese?” Marion asks.

“Hmmmm…. Uhhhhhhh……. Ahhhhhh,” The Kwami looks like he’s in actual pain having to decide this, “.......... Fine!”

He stuffs the block into his mouth.

“Plagg you have to unwrap it first,” Plagg spends the rest of dinner pouting, as Tikki happily chomps on her Toblerone blocks with Kaalki.

After eating Marinette and Adrien decide to also try watching a movie together. They somehow take even longer to get it set up. Considering they can hardly use a full sentence around each other. Kagami eventually gets frustrated enough that she leans over and presses play for them. Marion, Chloe and Kagami finish watching their movie and decide to sleep the rest of the flight away. Chloe brings out her neck pillow and sleeping mask, seat reclined as far as it can go. Marion takes off the horse miraculous placing it carefully in the glasses case and then in his satchel. When he sits back up Chloe and Kagami are leaning against each other, apparently soundly asleep. Marion pretends he doesn't see both peeking at each other.

“Ah, to be the fifth wheel is a mighty achievement,” Marion whispers to himself, trying to disappear into his neck pillow.

Marion blearily wakes up to Kagami, Chloe and Adrien whispering. Marinette had fallen asleep again and was leaning against a blushing Adrien’s shoulder. He pretends he doesn't see this, reaching into his bag to grab the horse miraculous. He checks the flight path to see they only have two hours to go. Stretching as much as possible he chats with the others until Marinette wakes up over an hour later. They start talking about what they’ll do in Gotham, their excitement rising.

“There's an Akuma attack,” Chloe says looking down at her phone.

“What? how do you know?” Marinette shares a glance with Marion.

“Just got an alert,” Chloe gestures to her phone.

“It’s not in flight mode!” Marinette hisses.

“Of course not I-”

“Chloe put it in flight mode right now,” Marinette reprimands, as she climbs out of her seat with her bag, “I’m going to the bathroom,”

“... I’d better go check on her,” Marion declares, as Chloe turns her phone to flight mode, muttering that nothing happened.

He knocks on the bathroom door Marinette is in and is pulled in by Ladybug.

“Lets go, come on,” She says, bouncing in place.

“Plagg, Kaalki, Combine!” With a flash of light Marion is transformed, and with another they are off to Paris.

They have to be back in their seats for the descent that should be starting any minute now so they transport to the Akuma. Hoping they just run into Monsieur Rat. Instead they find a new Akuma, frustrating now having to find the akumatized object. They seemed to be a plant based, judging by the forest growing out of the sidewalk. Marion drops his transformation with the horse Miraculous, leaving regular Chat Noir. He passes a sugar cube to Kaalki telling the Kwami to stay put.

Ladybug charges in without him, trying to wrap her yo-yo around the Akumas tree like body. The Akuma breaks off the branches to get free, growing them back immediately. It sends out vines like whips, that the two dodge getting forced back. As Marion is forced back he trips over some moving roots getting sent sprawling back.

"Chat Noir," He hears a scared whisper to the side. Looking he sees a hand sticking out from under the roots and an eye peeking out from underneath.

"Don't worry," He gently takes the civilians hand, small enough to be a Childs, "me and Ladybug will save you,"

"Don't you mean Ladybug and I?"

"Never mind you can stay here," Chat teases, sticking his tongue out making the kid giggle.

He feels something wind around his leg. Looking down to see roots start to encircle it.

"Uh, Ladybug!" He tries to pull his legs free. Ladybug drops down next to him, helping him get free. He gives the kids hand one last squeeze before jumping to a roof with Ladybug.

"The civilians are trapped under the roots," Chat Noir reports.

"Inside as well," Marion looks out to see buildings cocooned in roots. "I freed some civilians, the Akuma went after them, you need to find it,"

Chat Noir nodded extending his baton to survey the surrounding area. He spots the Akuma from above, using his enhanced vision to study it.

"Chat!"

He looks down to see roots winding up his baton. He jumps off the top and is caught by Ladybug, as she swings them away. Marion looks back at his Baton to see roots circled around it like a tall tree without branches.

"Won't be using that for awhile," He muses, "Piggy back ride?"

"Yeah right," Ladybug snorts, "Wheres the Akuma?"

"That way," He points, "I noticed a poster hanging from one of the trees branches, it must be the akumatised object,"

"Alright lets go!" Ladybug drops down on a roof where the Akuma can't see them.

“Just stay calm, rushing isn’t going to help us here,” Chat Noir grabs her wrist pulling her back.

“You’re right Chat,” Ladybug takes a breath, “But that doesn't mean we can’t get a helping hand, lucky charm!”

"A ribbon? I think weed killer would have been more useful,"

"Very funny, I need you to tie this around the branch with the poster," Ladybug hands it to him.

"Got it,"

Marion jumps off the roof onto the trees branches. It screeches trying to grab him. Chat Noir summons his cataclysm destroying the branches that reach for him. While the tree is distracted severing the decaying branches Chat drops down to the branch with the poster, tying it around. The tree severs the branch as well, dropping it right into Ladybugs waiting arms. The trees branches wrap around Chat, giving Ladybug time to destroy the poster and purify the Akuma. Chat Noir is freed by the ladybugs, placing him back on the ground and returning his staff.

"Pound it,"

Kaalki comes out of hiding, Marion transforms before the press can delay them. He opens a portal right back into the stall. Detransforming and rushing back to their seats.

“Are you ok?” Kagami asked, as they buckle their seat belts.

“I will be once I get off this plane,” Marinette answers, Adrien offers his hand.

When they land they get to be the first ones off. They wait for the class. Madame Bustier does a headcount before they go through border security as a class, before moving on to pick up their bags. Alix and Kim ram their trolleys together as they wait for their bags to arrive. Madame Busier looked tired she didn't even try to stop them.

Chloe had to have her own trolley for her five bags, the rest managing to carry a single bag. The class headed for security separately. Marinette and Marion were stopped for a bag search because of a ‘concerned anonymous tip’ that they were bringing food in. No one else saw them get taken aside. The twins were thankful they left their vigilante costumes at home to be picked up later.

“And what's this?” The security guard asks, holding the polka dotted Miracle box.

“A jewellery box,” Marinette opens it up showing the miraculous. “Its a birthday present for our aunt who lives here,”

The guard nodded, not finding anything wrong. They sent them on their way, the rest of the class had made it through already. The twins walked outside, trying to spot their classmates or the bus.

‘Where are you?’ He texted Chloe

‘On the bus, you said you had another ride?’

‘No?!’

286 notes · View notes

ninnodesu · 4 years ago

Text

“Can I See You?” ch 2 || Modern!Thomas

Well. People apprently wanted more of modern!Thomas, so naturally, my brain conjured up a continuation. GUESS WE HAVE TWO LONG STORIES NOW, FRIENDOS

I AM GOING TO TAG EVERY CHAPTER OF THIS FIC AS CICU IN CASE YOU WANT TO BLOCK OR FOLLOW!

TWs: - Mentions of rape - Broken bone - Mentions of cannibalism - Mentions of murder - Murder

He could see in your eyes, how the tears welled up and streamed down your face that you’d recognize him and he left. He couldn’t look at you at this point, couldn’t look at you cry because of him. He heard you cry behind him as he turned to go into his basement bedroom, his heart stung in his chest as he heard you beg and scream in fear. Closing the bedroom door, he proceeds to lean up against it, back pressed hard to it, eyes shut closed. Some kind of desperate way to make your panicked begging go away.

I can't, I can't, I can't, his inner voice chant like a mantra. His anxiety gets the better of him and he starts pacing, the wood under his feet already marked with a worn-out pattern left by his heavy boots after years and years of anxious pacing. A fierce battle erupts in his mind.

- I can't kill her - You have to, and you know it - No, I won't - Come up with one good reason to fistfight the old man about this - He would die and I wouldn't have to do this fucking thing anymore - And what? You'll live happily ever after with this woman? - I… - She would never accept the truth

Returning to his original place with his back to the door, he slowly sinks down to sit on the floor, one leg sprawled in front of him, the other resting under it. He's lost, he doesn’t know what to do. If he lets you go, you'll go straight to the police. If he kills you, he'll never hear from you again, he'll never see your face again, a sudden wave of intense nausea hits him at the thought of keeping the skin of your face to make a new mask. No, no he can't do that.

This is the first time since he had to butcher his first human that he feels genuinely lost.

He's mad at his uncle for wasting the low amount of money they do have on ugly hookers and booze, having Thomas resort to this way of living. He never truly did want this. The first time Charlie, or Hoyt as he wants to be called now - although Thomas never really did care about his apparent name change and still called him by Charlie to piss on his ego - talked to him about this, he threw up minutes after being left alone.

He still remembers the first time he got forced into butchering a person, just like it was yesterday, even though it’s nearly four years ago.

That day, he was on his way home from work, ending the day with bashing his old boss’s head in with a sledgehammer. The old man had disrespected his family, something Thomas wouldn’t stand for. Knowing that the security cameras were already turned off, he swung the hammer out of anger. He was mad that they were closing the slaughterhouse and he was hurt by the words that had been spoken. No one disrespects his family and gets away with it. Killing his boss didn’t wake any regrets. He believed the old man deserved it. The afternoon sun was still blazing down at his already sweaty form, propping his headphones on his head, he turned the music on full blast and lumbered home with no care in the world.

His right hand carried a memento of his old work, the slaughterhouse’s chainsaw.

As he had come out from a few trees up on the gravel road, a police car was parked by the side of it, the harsh blue and red light blinking to get his attention. Figuring he was caught, he took the headphones off, letting them rest around his neck and stopped in the middle of the road. His hair blew in front of his face as he took heaving breaths, waiting for the piercing pain of a bullet.

Bang! Thud.

What greeted him instead of searing pain, was Charlie standing behind him, brandishing a shotgun and looking down at a police officer with the head blown off. Everything after that is a blur. Vague memories of Charlie talking to him about the plan, the body was laid out on an old table in the basement. He’d never seen this side of his uncle before, so he tuned out. Words like “ do it”, “no money left”, “can’t afford”, “ butcher him ”, “don’t tell mama” and the worst sentence he’d heard in his life; “ you have to do this, Tommy. For the family. We need meat to survive, boy.” echoed in his mind.

A loud bang coming from outside woke him from his memories. When he just seconds later heard your voice in a shrill pitch, he almost jumped off the floor and hurried out only to see you laying on the floor with half the table over you, the other half leaning against the metallic sink.

Jesus christ…

Being left alone again, your thoughts start racing and your heart along with it.

Where did he go? Why is he here? Does he live here? Is he going to kill you? Rape you? Keep you as a hostage? Was that his family? What? Why? Where?

It’s quiet, but you hear a faint shuffling coming from somewhere close to you. All you can do is lay there and look up at the ceiling, and to your left or right.

On your left you see what looks like a workbench, an apron rests on a hook next to it. It looks well used, stained with a dark and muddy hue of red. There's a sink and dirty towels hanging off the edge of said sink. The sight to your right, however, makes your stomach flip and turn on itself. There’s cleavers, knives, hooks. Huge bins stained with the same red hue as the apron. Putting all the puzzle pieces together, your breathing increases, teetering on the edge of hyperventilating. Thomas, your Thomas. The Thomas you’ve gotten to know, the one you’ve missed for these two weeks, the one who made you all giggly when he sent you the first full-face selfie of himself… a murderer.

As the adrenaline starts shooting through your body, you try wiggling a bit to see how bolted down you are. Your fastenings are tight and they burn as you try pulling your hands out. The metal just digs into your skin resulting in nasty burns.

Fuck…

That’s when an idea - or rather a small glimpse of hope - blooms in your head. Hopefully, the table is not bolted down. It’s a stupid idea, and you know that if Thomas doesn’t kill you, the table most likely will. But rather the table, than the man you’ve slowly started to fall in love with during the months you’ve talked. Getting killed by Thomas’ hands would haunt you more in the afterlife than anything else.

Gathering all the remaining strength, you throw the entirety of your body not bolted down to the side, doing your best to ignore the burning in your wrists and ankles. The first attempt yielded nothing major, the table moved, yes, but not to the extent you wanted. So you do it again, this time, the table goes down, and you with it. You feel the bone in your leg crack before you feel the brutal pain that explodes through it.

Your scream is high to the point where you feel your vocal cords strain and your voice slowly becoming lower, raspier. The pain is enormous, the throbbing pain in your leg thrumming together with your rapid heart. But - thankfully - your scream summons movement, footsteps, and voices. The most prominent footsteps, heavy ones, belong to Thomas as he’s the first one to your side. Even if you can’t see him, you see his clunky boots and grayish jeans, at least you hope that’s Thomas and no one else. All you do is sob onto the floor, your tears pooling under your chin at the pain radiating from your leg… and the burns around your wrists. It takes a full minute before you see big fingers curling around the edge of the table, a grunt coming from above you before your vision starts flying. He was lifting the table up. A loud, hoarse cry escapes your dry throat as the table thuds back into place, jolting your broken leg.

You're about to scream again when your brain catches up to the cleavers and knives hanging to your right but quickly after the first raspy pitch leaves your throat, a hand clamps over your mouth. The rasping sound is muffled under the big hand and you can feel it moisten due to your breath, but all he does is put a finger to his lips in a shushing motion and plead with his eyes for you to stay quiet. Which you don’t, you rasp out a hoarse scream against his palm and keeps shooting daggers at him. My god, are you pissed right now.

Who the fuck are you, and what have done to the Thomas I know, you fucking animal!

You don’t quiet down until you hear that sliding door slide open again and an angry voice rings out. "Thomas! What the fuck is that racket?!"

Thomas jerks his head up as he hears Charlie's voice. He's not sure what to do, his uncle’s footsteps thud down the stairs and soon enough, Thomas sees him in full and exchanges eye contact. "This bitch is still alive? Why haven't you taken care of'er yet, ya idiot?".

Shit uh…

He glances down at your dagger filled eyes while trying to figure how to keep you quiet and talk to his uncle at the same time, needing both hands to do so. He can't sign to Charlie if his hand is clamped over your mouth. Letting out an annoyed grunt, he grabs the nearest towel and shoves it into your mouth as quickly and deep down he can without choking you, making sure you can’t spit it back out. Seeing you so shocked, and angry and… some other kind of emotion he couldn’t place, he got the urge to show you some kind of affection. Resulting in him patting your cheek, his huge hand basically engulfing half your face before walking over to the stairs.

"Well?", Charlie spits out his venomous words. Thomas' hands fidget a bit, nervousness taking a hold of him.

'I know her' The same signs that he kept on repeating earlier, annoyance building inside him knowing that his asshole of an uncle refuses to learn more. Making it almost impossible to have a normal conversation with him. "Listen, Tommy, I. Don’t. Care.", the looks between the men are like venom. "You were 'sposed to get to work on'er before mama gets home. You know damn well how much she hates when the cattle scream." Thomas really can’t help the smirk hiding beneath his mask when he hears that. He glances up the stairs before checking the time on his wristwatch before shrugging, pointing to it, and slowly signing two words he knows Charlie can decipher.

'Fifteen minutes'

That's when Charlie grabs the neck of Thomas' shirt and yanks him forward, the only reason he's able to is that he manages to catch him off guard. His breath reeks of alcohol. A clear cut sign that he’s drunk. "Listen here, you bastard. I've had enough of your defiance today. If you ", he stabs a finger in Thomas' chest at the last word, "don't take care of that girl, I will . And you know damn well I ain't going easy on'er." Charlie releases Thomas with a shove, making him stumble backward slightly. The final words from Charlie’s mouth before leaving the basement stings in Thomas’ heart. "I don't want to see your ugly ass upstairs until she's done for."

Thomas watches him leave and turn towards you, who’s still crying silently on the table.

His heart stings more and more the closer he shuffles to you. Sure, he had had nights where he dreamt that he would meet you. But not like this. Never like this, never here. He did not want to see you on his butcher's block. At the same time, he moves to remove the towel he makes the same shushing motion towards you, with the same pleading eyes as earlier. This time, she nods. And Thomas lets out a sigh of relief. As he removes it, you’re panting, breathing sounding almost more like wheezing squeaks. He goes to rinse the towel under some lukewarm water to pat clean the bloody gash over the eyebrow that got hit to knock you out before getting here. All the time, he feels a burning gaze on him, from eyes that are seemingly watching his every move.

You wince when the damped towel touches your eyebrow, a wound you didn't know you had greeted you with a sting, a small hiss leaving you. Your eyes are glued to the giant man, making sure you see his hands at all times. You want to speak, but your throat is dry and hoarse, figuring out that your earlier screaming has annoyed your vocal cords to a great extent. So all you do is watch him. He, on the other hand, is doing his best to avoid making eye contact with you. And it pisses you off, but at the same time, it relaxes you and makes your heart hurt.

Why the fuck are you avoiding me?!

The thought makes your eyebrows furrow. He’s seen you naked, yet can’t fucking look you in the eyes? You try thrashing a bit with your shoulders to try and get his eyes to yours, but to no avail. His tender way to clean your wound surprises you. This huge killer, this murderer, and straight-up deranged man are making sure not to hurt you, and you can't help but breathe out a laugh.

That's when he - apparently - seems happy with his cleaning and turns his back to you, he turns the water on and it sounds like he's rinsing something. Shutting the water off he moves out of your line of sight. A slight panic arises in your chest at the thought that he might have gone off to fetch whatever tool he seems fit to end your life. You hear a rummaging sound close by, and then he's back above you, looking down at you. This time, you feel a large hand on your head as he slowly and carefully tilts your head back, your eyes are met with harsh light and you shut them. That overwhelming want and need for him to look into your own eyes die down. Now, you don't want to look at him when he slits your throat.

But he doesn't.

You hear what sounds like a paper wrapping open. Two fingers press on either side of the gash over your eyebrow, a small whimper escapes you at the pinching pain, and then something sticky is attached to you. A band-aid. He had put a bandaid on the cut of your eyebrow. It isn't until you feel his hand leave your head that you open your eyes. And at that moment, your eyes are met with his blue ones. The way he's looking at you makes a tiny bit of your anger and hurt, and fear goes away. His blue eyes are filled to the brim with hurt, and sadness, and confusion. It almost looks like he’s about to burst into tears. He looks broken down.

Thomas fiddles a bit with the paper wrapper of the bandaid after making sure it's secured on your eyebrow and proceeds to look down into your beautiful eyes, your eye color popping in the harsh light. Something in them reflects his own emotions. He doesn’t want this, he punishes himself for not responding to your text messages the past weeks, or that he didn’t reach out to you. What he’s looking at is clear cut torture for him. He wants to cry.

I'm so sorry…

He hears the familiar clacking of his mother's shoes above the both of you, a sigh of relief escapes him. Patting the pockets of his jeans, he makes sure he has his phone and the keys to the basement before he heads over to the stairs. But he stops right before ascending them and looks over to you.

He pulls his phone up, unlocks it swiftly, and goes to his text-to-speech app, making sure the volume is put on high before typing out two words and hitting the speech button. A male voice rings out through the basement.

"I'm sorry"

#thomas hewitt #thomas leatherface hewitt #modern!thomas #modern au #thomas hewitt fanfiction #CICU #can i see you

72 notes · View notes

written-prose-things · 3 years ago

Text

5 Times Eun Sang saw Young Do after he'd gotten beaten up by his dad + 1 Time she beat his dad up

The Second Time: The Pair's History Project

One thing Young Do respects is being punctual. As the heir to a well-known hotel chain, he has to meet all sorts of businessmen and associates. Being punctual and respecting schedules allows Young Do to bring some semblance to his life even if it’s in the form of a weekly schedule.

The only meeting he procrastinates about ironically happens to be the one meeting that is a permanent fixture in his schedule.

He has to report to his father’s port facility every Thursday at 5 p.m.. But he has given up on dragging his feet and throwing tantrums, now that there isn’t anyone who can hold his father’s anger off. The smarting bruises are inevitable, he only has a superficial choice between getting beaten up on the mat or receiving unexpected blows throughout the week.

So when his father’s secretary pulls up outside the school, Young Do gets in and goes along willingly.

****

Eun Sang didn’t know herself to be an unrealistic optimist. She knew that her strategy to be a wallflower would not be successful in an elite school where she was going to be one of the few charity cases. However, she hadn’t expected the universe’s attempts to turn her into the roadside freakshow of the school. Everything that could have gone wrong did and then some more. She’d had to fend off advances from a well-meaning but condescending rich twerp only to fall into another’s company all thanks to her history teacher’s amazing idea of pairing her with Young Do for the semester’s projects.

The only silver lining was that her situation made Chan Young laugh more than he had since middle school.

Now, she was exactly where she had expected herself to be. As soon as the last bell had rung, Young Do had walked out of the classroom without handing her his half of the assignment. She’d scoured all the shady spots in the school that his clique haunted, but had turned up empty-handed. As she entered the basketball court, the last place on her list, she checked her watch.

She’d wasted 15 minutes on looking for Young Do and now she was late for her evening job. She rushed out of the school, hoping to make it to the bus stop as quickly as possible. Hopefully, tomorrow she’d be able to go through Young Do’s work and fix all his mistakes before the teacher asked for the submissions. She thanked the blatant favouritism of the city council, the footpaths in this district were smooth and freshly painted, unlike the foot-trodden paths near her old house.

She turned the corner to the bus stop 3 minutes quicker than expected. The stop was empty and the board showed that the next bus was only 5 minutes away.

Behind her, she heard the peculiar and easily recognisable voice of Myung Soo.

“Hey, new girl!!”

“What?”

Myung Soo was sitting inside a pretentious black car. His torso hung out of the partially open window. He beckoned her over with the hand that was holding a folder.

Eun Sang stepped out of the bus stop’s awning and walked towards him.

“Here you go.”

He foisted the folder off on her.

Eun Sang pushed it back, “What am I supposed to do with this?”

Myung Soo shrugged, “Young Do just told me to give this to you. He said you’d know what to do with it. Cool?”

Myung Soo replied to his own question, “Cool.” and started to roll up his window.

Eun Sang banged her hand on the window, “Ya! Not cool! What-?”

These people were going to make her kill herself. She took a deep breath and tried to calm down.

“Where is he?”

Myung Soo looked taken aback, “Who? Young Do?”

Eun Sang looked at him expectantly.

Myung Soo scrunched his nose, “He must be with his father right now. At the gym in Kim Tan’s district.”

Myung Soo’s expression of disgust made her uncomfortable. She’d give an arm to be able to spend quality time with her mother without having to worry about money.

Eun Sang nodded and opened the car’s door, “Okay. Drop me off there.”

Myung Soo moved back, allowing her to take a seat, “I’ll drop you somewhere else. You shouldn’t go and see him right now.”

Eun Sang glared at him, “I’ll do as I please.”

Myung Soo glared back, “No you won’t. Don’t pay him a visit at the gym.”

The thing about people who are perceived as flippant is that when they get upset, you can’t not take them seriously. Eun Sang surrenders.

“Okay. But I have to go that way anyway. I live in that district.”

Myung Soo nods, back to his usual self.

****

Eun Sang can feel Myung Soo’s eyes on her as she crosses the road. Unable to ignore him anymore, she turns around.

“Don’t worry, I won’t go looking for Young Do.”

Myung Soo smiles and rolls up his window. Eun Sang waits until his car has pulled out of the lane before crossing the road again.

The thing about being an invisible part of the huge courts rich people maintain is that Eun Sang can easily predict their habits and behaviours. So even though the district has thousands of gyms, Eun Sang can count on one hand the ones that Young Do is possibly a member of.

This is the third time Young Do has foisted off his work on her and she’s had it. She only takes an initiative to cross-check his work because it affects her grade. But being expected to do it compulsorily irritates her beyond measure.

Myung Soo can eat it. She’s going to find Young Do and throw his paper in his face.

She calls her boss and tells him a superficial sob story about not being able to come in today. He knows she’s lying, that much is clear. But he lets her off the hook for some reason. She cuts the call as quickly as possible. Looking a gift horse in the mouth isn’t something she can afford to do.

****

Eun Sang reconsiders her confidence. The sky is slowly turning black and she still hasn’t found Young Do in any of the elite gyms in the area.

It’s another moment when she feels like the universe has kicked her in the shins. She’d have been better off going to work and checking Young Do’s paper in her break.

She gives up on looking in the several other gyms in the area and begins to head home. The difference between the main roads of the district and the bylanes and back alleys is stark. She takes off her school coat and pulls on a sweatshirt. She replaces her phone and headphones for her keys, the former going back into her bag.

As she makes her way deeper into the maze of houses and shops, Eun Sang sees a figure walk out of the makeshift gym that the owner built in an old warehouse. She recognises his face easily even in the faint streetlight.

“Ya Young Do!”

He whips around quickly and makes a shushing motion. She walks up to him, ready to rip him a new one. But he beats her to it.

“What are you doing here? Have you been following me?”

“So what if I have? What are you doing here? Did you beat someone up again? Have you locked them inside?”

Eun Sang can’t help the way her voice rises as she asks questions. Getting in fights is one thing, but beating someone up and locking them up isn’t something that Young Do’s dad might be able to get him out of unless he really knows people in high places.

Young Do sighs and schools his expression before staring at her as if she’s the one at fault here, “That’s none of your business. Just- Why are you here?”

Eun Sang decides not to push it further and trusts his file back at him, “I’m not your homework machine. Do it on your own.”

Young Do nods, “Okay. You don’t have to do anything. I’ll take this from you tomorrow. Just go now.” He pushes her away from him.

The door of the warehouse opens once again, with its typical creaking noise. An older man steps out.

If she saw this man walking on the street, she’d never know that he was Young Do’s father; but as Young Do instinctively cowers before him, it becomes obvious. And suddenly many things fall into place.

The man looks her up and down with a sneer.

“And who are you?”

Young Do answers for her, for which she’s thankful. She’ll happily follow his lead when it comes to answering explosive questions asked by opinionated and powerful men, “She’s a classmate.”

Young Do’s father gives him a withering look, “Do you answer for her?”

Young Do breaks away from his father’s stare, “No sir.”

For the first time, Eun Sang wishes she was still wearing her school blazer, but nonetheless, she adopts her best impression of an average girl from her school.

“I wish he’d speak for me. But I had just come to hand over the paper he forgot at school today.” Young Do looks surprised as if he had expected her to throw him under the bus.

Young Do’s father rolls his eyes, “How does it matter if he gets the file today or tomorrow, it isn’t like he cares about his studies. But anyway” he mimics a frown, “it’s good to see that there are people who care for him.”

The implication makes Eun Sang bristle and she knows from the look that Young Do throws her that she hasn’t hidden her feeling properly.

If his father notices her expression, he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he turns towards his son, grabbing his neck in a way that resembles a wholesome action, but the emotion behind skews it, making her feel uncomfortable. In the quiet lane, she’s able to overhear Young Do’s father.

“I’ll leave you to it then. Lick your wounds and have fun with the girl. I’ll see you at the same time next week.”

With that, he stalks out of the lane. A moment later they hear the faint noise of a car pulling out. Eun Sang takes a deep breath.

Now she knows. Why Young Do hadn’t told her who he’d gotten in a fight with that day at the convenience store. Why Myung Soo didn’t want her to go looking for Young Do.

She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath trying to will away the guilt she’s feeling towards Young Do. It isn’t going to help either of them.

She opens her eyes and turns to look at Young Do. He beats her to it again.

“I don’t need your pity.”

Eun Sang rolls her eyes, “You’re not getting any either. I was just going to say that you can come to my place and we’ll patch you up.”

He raises his eyebrows, “How exactly is that not pity?”

Eun Sang shrugs, “I’m doing it for my own benefit. I need you to be in a good condition if we’re going to give our presentation tomorrow.”

With that, she turns around and starts walking back home, albeit at a slower pace so that he can keep up. It’s up to him to decide now.

He catches up quick enough, even though he’s breathing a little harder than she had expected. His dad really did do a number on him.

****

Eun Sang sits down in the middle of her room and opens the first aid box that her mother keeps in the corner of the kitchen.

Young Do’s still standing by the door.

“Come here and sit down. Unless you want to do it yourself.”

He doesn’t rally back with his usual smart remark, choosing instead to step into the room and sit down in front of her. Thankfully she doesn’t have to make another smart remark for him to take his shirt off.

The sight before her makes Eun Sang gasp out loud. Thankfully Young Do doesn’t take offence. She pulls out the cotton swabs and disinfectant, hoping to make quick work of what is obviously going to be a very painful experience.

She dabs the swab over a cut in Young Do’s back and he recoils violently.

“Sorry.”

He grunts in reply.

Eun Sang grabs his file and passes it to him, “Explain what you’ve written to me.”

“What?”

She wakes her hand at his back vaguely, “This is going to take some time, we should get some work done in the meantime.”

Hopefully, this distracts him from the pain a little bit.

He nods and flips the file open, “So the topic is had to cover was how languages have evolved in East Asia over the past few years and I was interested in exploring the differences in the effects of the various kinds of colonisation on the Korean language and how the different dialects emerged from this process...”

Eun Sang listens to him as she continues to work on his back.

Finally, she closes the first aid box and hands him his shirt back. She walks back into the room after putting the box back in its place.

“You sounded like you actually did some work on this project.”

Young Do huffs, “I always do.”

Eun Sang gives him a look, “Of course.” And she motions him to give her the file.

After perusing through his paper two times, she can’t help but hit him on the head with it lightly. Lightly.

“Ya!”

“No! You don’t get to yell at me. What the hell is this bullshit?”

Young Do actually looks offended, “seriously, you crazy woman, decide what you want to say. You just complimented me for it.”

“What you’ve written and what you’re saying sounds entirely different. Where’s the point about maritime trade and its effects in the paper?”

Young Do grabs the file and flips through it. He pushes it back at her just as quickly, pointing aggressively at a paragraph, “Right here.”

Eun Sang reads it thoroughly again, “No. This isn’t it. You used loads of examples when you were talking about it. Why are those written here?”

Young Do shrugs, “I was just using them to explain this to you. I don’t think the teacher needs me to explain that to him.”

Eun Sang barely manages to control herself and not hit him again.

“Just- Shut up. I’m going to help you write answers now. You really have no idea about how to write anything.”

With that, Eun Sang and Young Do begin their weekly tuitions. Young Do learns how to write better answers and Eun Sang gets a new friend.

#the heirs #choi young do #cha eun sang #young do x eun do #can you tell I've just binge-watched the show again?#the next part: i.e. the first time eun sang saw young do after he got beaten up will probably be posted next Saturday?#idk i have no sense of time or motivation #if i can't write it i'll just post the sparknotes version of it here.#thank you for taking out the time to read my unnecessary notes

15 notes · View notes

lillupon · 4 years ago

Text

Sugar Daddy!Wonwoo

I said SUGAR DADDY WONWOO as a joke, but now I can't stop thinking about it? Look at this smug yet indulgent smile...

Click for the gif set that inspired this!

Like, holy shit, here's a guy who knows he's intelligent, successful, and attractive.

Let's make Wonwoo a corporate lawyer, early to mid-thirties, and already damn good at what he does. He has a young brother, Seokmin, who is entering his first year of university, and who also happens to be friends with Mingyu.

Being the good older brother he is, Wonwoo offers to take his younger brother shopping for school supplies: textbooks, headphones, a printer, a new laptop, etc., etc.

Seokmin invites Mingyu along, because he knows how overwhelmed Mingyu is by the massive shift in environment--Mingyu grew up in the countryside and is the first in his family to graduate high school, let alone pursue college.

The first time Mingyu and Wonwoo meet, Wonwoo is in a collared shirt and pressed slacks, a belt and tie to complete the look. Even under the summer heat, he looks cold and beautiful and austere: not a single hair out of place, no sheen of sweat on his forehead. Meanwhile, Mingyu is sweating through his threadbare t-shirt and basketball shorts (he had to run for the bus to Seokmin's house). He wipes his palm on his shorts before shaking Wonwoo's hand. The contrast of their hands is striking: Wonwoo's pale and slender fingers against his own tanned and stocky ones. Mingyu maybe shakes Wonwoo's hand for longer than is appropriate, but he can't help himself. He's never met a man so smart and beautiful. Wonders how the hell someone like Seokmin--who doesn't even know that red and yellow mix to make orange--is related to a man like this.

Wonwoo drives them to the Pledis University in a car called a 'Tesla'. Where Mingyu grew up, he's never seen a Tesla before. In his hometown, most people drive scrappy and rusted old cars that have probably been passed down from grandfather to father, and then finally to son. Wonwoo goes to pay for the parking, and Mingyu almost faints when he sees the price per hour. If this is any indication of how expensive university is, Mingyu doesn't know how the hell he's going to afford anything.

Wonwoo leads them into the bookstore. It's crammed full of people getting ready for the new school year. Mingyu spots someone carrying a twin-sized mattress through the cramped aisles, smacking people along the way. Everyone here either looks bright and excited, or dead inside. There's no in-between.

They hunt down Seokmin's books first. Mingyu trails behind the two brothers, eyes sweeping over the bookstore. It's massive and cluttered. Mingyu feels lost and overwhelmed and hurries to catch up with Seokmin and Wonwoo.

While Seokmin is searching for his required reading, Mingyu takes in the outrageous price tags of the books. He does a double take, thinking perhaps he misread the price. There's an extra zero in there, he's sure. And then his stomach sinks. He can't afford this. All the money he saved up working over the summer barely covers the cost of textbooks for the first year. He's supposed to do this four more times for his four years of college? Does he really need all these textbooks to do well in his classes? Maybe he'll be fine without them? But he wants to do better than 'fine'. He wants to do well in school and make his parents proud, show them that they aren't wasting his money by investing in him.

"How about you, Mingyu?" Wonwoo asks. "What books do you need?"

Mingyu flushes. Doesn't know how to say he can't possibly afford these things. He wonders what Wonwoo thinks of him when he looks at Mingyu. "Uh," he starts, when he realises Wonwoo is still looking at him expectantly.

"Mingyu is in the same literature and math class as me," Seokmin says, plucking up a math textbook, and then weaving through the aisles to grab a text for their literature class.

Mingyu resigns himself to buying the textbooks. He'll just purchase books for the first semester, and then take a look at his budget for the second semester.

They line up for the cashiers. It's a long line. Mingyu clutches his textbooks to his chest, occasionally stealing peeks at Wonwoo, whose brows are drawn into a vee of concentration, and whose thumbs are flying across his phone. A tiny frown tugs at his lips. Then, Wonwoo sighs and tucks his phone away. Looks up and sees Mingyu looking at him. Wonwoo smiles, and it feels like the temperature has gone up ten degrees in the bookstore.

Mingyu sets his five textbooks on the counter and takes out his wallet. Like everything else Mingyu owns, his wallet is also worn. The stitches are frayed and poking out. The cheap, synthetic leather has cracked. It's also held together at the center by duct tape. $496.12, the cashier tells him. Mingyu has never spent that much money in his life all at once. College is full of new experiences, he supposes. He fumbles for his credit card. The plastic card is lodged stubbornly within its slot, as though it doesn't want to give up its money.

And that's when Wonwoo reaches past him, swipes his card, and punches his PIN into the machine. Mingyu's head whips to face Wonwoo. He stares, eyes rounded, mouth having comically fallen open in shock. The only syllable he can manage is, "Wha--"

The corners of Wonwoo's mouth lift in a close-lipped smile, then crack to reveal a sliver of straight, perfect teeth. "Consider it a graduation gift."

Dumbly, Mingyu says, "But I haven't graduated yet."

Wonwoo laughs. "A high school graduation gift, I mean."

So. That's how it starts between them.

#my writing #kim mingyu #jeon wonwoo #minwon #meanie

47 notes · View notes

lunetheaveragefan · 4 years ago

Text

one day...

Hi! This is the beginning of the first fanfiction that I’m posting here! I hope people like it!

A Sander Sides high school AU

Pairing: Prinxiety and some background Logicality

Summary: Virgil is used to being alone. He only has one friend, Logan. But when Logan makes a new friend, things begin to change as two more join their group. Roman, a boisterous theater kid, seems determined to destroy Virgil’s lonely, average life. How much will Virgil’s life change?

Warnings: Some cursing and quick mentions of anxiety/a panic attack. If you notice anything else, let me know!

Word Count: 1,691

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

CHAPTER ONE

Virgil Tempest is having a bad day.

First of all, he’d woken up late. 30 minutes late, to be exact. That left him only 10 to get ready for school, so he didn’t have time to put on his foundation. Now, the feature he hated most about himself — his freckles — would be visible for all to see.

Secondly, his favorite hoodie was in the wash, so he had to wear his old, plain black one that he hadn’t worn since at least seventh grade. It was buried in the way back of his closet, wedged between a leather jacket he’d completely forgotten he owned and the suit he had only worn once, at a funeral for some distantly related family member.

Thirdly, he forgot his headphones at home in his rush, and so now he had to suffer the whole day, unable to block out the noise of his idiotic school. He thought he had a spare pair in his backpack, but when he looked once he got to school, there weren’t any in sight.

Earlier, he thought it couldn’t get any worse, but he is sure now that it was just building up to this.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry!” Roman Princeford apologizes loudly from above him. To say Virgil dislikes Roman would be an understatement. Roman has a ridiculously pompous name and a personality to match. The star theater kid, popular king of the school, and friend to everyone. Well, everyone except for Virgil. Even Virgil’s only friend, Logan Wise, a class-A nerd, likes Roman.

Needless to say, Virgil doesn’t see Roman’s appeal. Maybe, if Roman could stand to be a whole lot less arrogant, say, every day, or if he stopped being so excessively extra, or if he just took the time to do something other than theater and bragging, he might be tolerable. The key word there being ‘might.’

“It’s fine,” Virgil mumbles from the floor, where he had landed after Roman knocked into him while Virgil was walking. Roman had been talking to his usual group of fans, taking up most of the hallway since pretty much everyone wanted to listen to him, and had thrown out an arm in one of his usual grand gestures and pushed Virgil right over. He’d landed on the floor, books strewn everywhere, being watched by the whole hallway. Of course, it’s more crowded than usual thanks to the tall tale Roman was describing that apparently no one could afford to miss out on. It didn’t help that Roman had decided to make a big deal out of it, either.

Wishing this terrible day could just end already, Virgil shifts to a crouch and begins to gather his books. To his utter dismay, Roman bends down to help him. Annoyed as he is, Virgil can’t get up the courage to tell the other boy to leave him alone. Even so, the work goes quicker with the other boy helping, and, as much as he would hate to ever admit it, Virgil appreciates it.

They both reach for the last book on the ground at the same time, and their hands knock into each other.

“S-Sorry,” Roman says, and Virgil thinks he hears a stutter in his voice. Roman Princeford, the theater prodigy who never messes up a line, stuttering? But when Virgil looks up at Roman, there’s a blush working its way across the other boy’s tan cheeks. Strange. This close, Virgil can see the bluish specks in the other boy’s green eyes.

Roman must feel Virgil’s eyes on him, because he looks back at him, handing him his last book. Dread settles in Virgil’s stomach as he realizes that Roman must be able to see his freckles. Just as he remembers, Roman’s eyes drop to the other’s nose, where the freckles are the most noticeable. Shit, Virgil curses.

Yanking the book away from Roman, Virgil turns away and stands up, and Roman soon follows suit. There’s a redness on both of their faces now, but on Virgil’s pale skin, it’s much more visible. How long was I staring at his eyes? He shakes his head, letting his dyed-purple bangs fall over his face.

Resituating his books in his arms and weaving his way through the people, he starts the walk to his next class, art.

“Have a nice day!” Roman calls from behind him. Virgil sighs and pulls up his hood, wishing now more than ever that he had his headphones.

“Whatever,” he mutters, but the whole next period, all he can think about is Roman Princeford’s bright green eyes, tan skin, and wavy blond hair.

I must be going crazy, he decides. I mean, I know I’m gay, but gay for Roman Princeford, of all people? I don’t know him at all, and from what I’ve heard — and experienced — he’s not someone I would ever get along with. There’s no way I could possibly have a crush on him.

Right?

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

At lunch, Virgil drops down in the seat next to Logan with a thud.

“Greetings,” Logan states professionally. “Am I misperceiving your body language and demeanor or was your day thus far below average in terms of relative happiness and unpleasantly abnormal?” Virgil looks at him around his bangs, puzzled.

“What?” Is he even speaking English? Virgil wonders.

“Pardon me, I forget that you are intellectually compromised when it comes to my copious vocabulary. Let me rephrase,” Logan proclaims. He clears his throat and lays his hands on the table, his fingers pressed together to form triangle-like shapes. “Did your day suck or are you just being your—” Logan waves a hand at Virgil’s body— “regular grumpy asshole self?”

Virgil is taken aback for a second before he rolls his eyes.

“Roman fucking Princeford bumped into me in the hallway, and then had the nerve to say, ‘Have a nice day!’ afterwards in that disgustingly cheery voice of his!” Virgil complains, poking at his food. He doesn’t really intend on eating any of it; the school’s food is terrible, and besides, he isn’t too hungry anyway. He has some crackers in his bag if he really needs something to eat later.

“I do not understand why you antagonize him so often, but I suppose if you refuse to change your opinions of him, there isn’t much I can do on the matter.” Logan pauses, and Virgil has a feeling he knows what’s coming next: one of Logan’s rare discussions of emotions. “But you shouldn’t just assume that everyone is out to hurt you, Virgil.”

Yup, there it is. Virgil likes Logan’s company because he isn’t too tied up in his emotions, unlike Virgil. He knows the facts, and that’s relieving when Virgil is in the midst of a period of overwhelming anxiety. But sometimes, Logan thinks he knows what’s best for Virgil, especially when it comes to matters concerning Roman Princeford.

Scoffing, Virgil crosses his arms and leans against the back of the chair. “Whatever,” he sighs.

Logan takes a deep breath, obviously trying to calm his temper, which has a habit of getting out of control, and responds, “Virgil, this is unhealthy. You have—” But before Virgil can find out what Logan thinks he has to do, another voice cuts Logan off.

“Heya, guys! How are you?” Virgil looks up to see a shorter student standing there. This new kid’s hair is a mess of amber curls, tumbling over his forehead and slipping behind his round, wire rimmed glasses. Tan skin covered in freckles and a round face gives him a youthful look, but Virgil knows that he’s a junior just like him.

His name is Patton Hart, and Virgil, surprisingly, doesn’t hate him.

Patton is known for being one of the kindest people in the school. No matter who it is, Patton will find a way to cheer someone up. Back in December of their freshman year, Patton helped Virgil calm down during a panic attack around finals. Virgil harbors no ill will towards the kid, but it’s still strange that he’d show up at their table randomly.

Then, Virgil remembers that Patton’s best friend is the one and only Roman Princeford.

Roman probably sent Patton to tell me something. Damn, I hate that stuck up asshole. Before Virgil can open his mouth to ask Patton what he wants with them, since Logan and him are the only ones anywhere near, Logan talks first.

“Hi, Patton!” His voice is so upbeat and joy-filled that Virgil has to look over at Logan to make sure he did, indeed, speak. In the seat next to him, Logan’s face is lit up with a smile, and he looks so…well, not-Logan. And, wait, is that a blush on Logan’s cheeks?

Virgil raises his eyebrows in shock and blinks a few times to make sure what he’s seeing is real. When nothing changes when he opens his eyes, Virgil ignores the strangeness of whatever’s happening next to him and looks back at Patton.

“Hey, Patton,” he greets. “What do you need?” He tries to keep his voice annoyance-free, so not to hurt the other kid’s feelings. Patton’s a little puffball of innocence and positive energy, and the whole school has made an unspoken agreement to keep it that way.

“Oh, I just came over to talk to Logan about our science project!”

“We were paired together as lab partners today,” Logan explains, still with that wide smile on his face.

Weirded out by the scene unfolding in front of him, Virgil pokes at his food one last time and decides he’s not so hungry to risk getting food poisoning.

“Alright, then,” he says, standing up, “I’ll leave you guys alone so you can talk about your nerdy physics stuff.”

“Actually, Virgil, it’s chemistry we’re taking,” Logan informs him, some semblance of his usual professional manner returning.

“Well, it’s still science, and it’s still nerdy, so my point stands.”

Patton giggles, and Logan seems to blush, but at this point, Virgil doesn’t trust his own eyes.

“Well, goodbye, kiddo!” Patton exclaims, waving. Virgil laughs at Patton’s use of ‘kiddo’ even though they're in the same grade and waves back. Telling Logan that he’ll see him later, he turns and dumps his try, finally exiting the noise of the cafeteria.

#virgil sanders #roman sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders #thomas sanders #prinxiety #logicality #sanders sides #high school au #fanfiction #fanfic #one day...

55 notes · View notes

adoredontour · 4 years ago

Photo

all the fics i read and loved this month, in order from longest to shortest!

For As Long As I Can Remember (It’s Been December) by green_feelings @greenfeelings 128k

After recovering from a severe accident that causes Harry to lose his memory of three years, he moves to London to start his life over as a star chef. Little does he know that when he falls in love with Louis at first sight, it’s not the first time they meet.

Featuring an unintentional game of hot and cold, Harry chasing memories that won’t come back, Louis burying himself in work to try and forget what he can’t forget, Liam being torn between two of his best friends, Zayn as a moral compass and Niall saving the day with good music and brutal honesty.

got the sunshine on my shoulders by hattalove 124k

five years ago, harry styles left his tiny home town to make it big as a recording artist. he didn't have much regard for what he left behind - a life, a family, and a husband, who woke up one morning to find him gone.

now, harry has everything he could possibly want: he's rich, famous, and adored by everyone he meets, including his boyfriend. but when said boyfriend proposes to him, he's forced to face the uncomfortable facts of his past - and louis, who's spent the last five years returning every set of divorce papers harry sent him.

(or, an au based on the movie sweet home alabama.)

Tired Tired Sea by MediaWhore 113k

As a B&B owner on the most remote of all the British Isles, Louis Tomlinson is used to spending the coldest half of the year in complete isolation, with his dog and the sea as sole companions. Until, one day, a mysterious stranger on a quest to rebuild himself rents a room for the winter.

nothing worsens, nothing grows by soldouthaz @soldouthaz 102k

and he sits there quietly with harry’s headphones in his ears while his eyes begin to close, totally unaware that he’s listening to the soundtrack of harry falling in love with him.

or, another roadtrip au featuring harry as the misunderstood hipster, louis as the bitter psych major, liam as the one with the secret boyfriend, and niall as the one who just wants everyone to be happy.

& more under the cut!

Follow Your Arrow by bitter_leaf @bitter-leaf 78k

Harry was the golden child, blessed in every way; Niall was the charming miscreant, a bad boy; Liam was the future-son-in-law parents of daughters dreamt of, and Zayn was the kid parents wished was their son. But Louis, Harry thought, Louis was the special one.

It's senior year and everything is about to change.

somethin’ bout you by missandrogyny @missandrogyny 59k

Of all the government agents in the world, Louis had to go and land the most charming one.

The Recklessness in Water by LarryOn @larryonsimon 50k

Louis Tomlinson is miserable. He's stuck on a family vacation at a lake cabin in New Hampshire when all he wants to do is bemoan his sorry existence and wallow in his sweatpants. As if the humidity and mosquitos weren't bad enough, he becomes the singular target of an obnoxious lifeguard named Harry.

Missed Connection by littlelouishiccups @littlelouishiccups 39k

Soulmate AU where your soulmate’s first words to you are tattooed on your skin.

With a boring and generic soul mark like Hi, Harry is pessimistic he’ll ever find his soulmate or that he’ll realize it when he meets them. But he could always have it worse, like his new friend Louis who had a drunken one night stand with his soulmate a few years ago and woke up the next morning alone.

before we knew by falsegoodnight @risthebrave 39k

“C’mon Lou,” says Zayn after a moment, He sounds even more exasperated than before. Louis sort of has a knack for exasperating people, especially people like Zayn who aren’t usually bothered by his brattiness. “Can’t you give this guy a chance? Harry Styles? Aren’t you curious about him at all?”

Despite his best efforts, Louis still flinches at the name. He really shouldn’t be so affected after all these years. He’s seen the name printed down the curve of his waist in obnoxiously and uncommonly large loopy letters every single day since his sixteenth birthday eight years ago. He’s very familiar with the name Harry Styles.

It sounds pretentious and Louis hates it.

He hates everything about his supposed soulmate.

He hates his large handwriting that stands out like a claim on his skin whenever he’s walking around shirtless. He hates his pretentious name. And now he hates his supposed curls and green eyes and dimples.

Or Louis has been skeptical of soulmates for years so it seems like fate when he finally bumps into the owner of the obnoxiously large signature printed into his skin since age sixteen: Harry Styles, a human rights attorney who is firmly against soulmates.

what’s mine is yours to make your own by soldouthaz @soldouthaz 39k

sometimes, the closest harry ever feels to home is louis. it's their shared hotel rooms on tour, their shoes toed off in the doorway next to each other, jackets hung on the same post.

it's everything he doesn't notice until it's been taken away from him.

And Touch Me Like You Never by runaway_train @runaway-train-works 35k

“Lets move back a bit yeah?” Harry clutches at his waist with a free hand and tugs him to move through the crowd until they are almost at the back of the group and settles them both beside the far wall. “There. That better?”

Louis looks up at him, as if he’s a tad dazed. “Uh, yeah, thanks. Can’t really see much from back here either though.”

Harry lifts a shoulder and grins at him, placing a hand on the wall behind Louis to pen him in. “We’ll just have to create our own fireworks then, won’t we?” He says it jokingly with a wink, and Louis laughs but he seems nervous. He must know that Harry is harmlessly flirting. Harry flirts with everyone after all, including Louis.

“Do you think this is a good idea Haz?” Louis asks quietly, almost too quietly in the clamour of the room, his head bowed as he scuffs his shoe on the carpet.

“Stop over thinking it Lou, it’s one kiss. What’s the worst that could happen?”

The one where Harry and Louis agree to be each other's New Year's kiss and it ends up being a lot more than they bargained for.

last blues for bloody knuckles by creamcoffeelou @2ofusmp4

Styles was a name everyone knew. It had evolved into something of a fairy tale, a far away problem that normal people didn’t have to deal with. Louis never thought he’d find himself falling in love with him. When he finds himself pregnant with Harry’s child, he knows he has to leave the life, and Harry, behind. For her sake.

He never expected Harry to show back up on his doorstep five years later.

A mob au.

like it’s a game by soldouthaz @soldouthaz 32k

there is little harry hates more than truth or dare.

and louis.

gathered on wings by Brooklyn_Babylon @twopoppies 32k

As Harry lay by Louis’ side, covered in sweat and come, he knew he should feel ugly, messy, ruined, like the life he’d left behind. But something about the way Louis looked at him, the way his eyes stared at him with want and awe, made Harry wonder if he’d ever feel this beautiful again.

Harry rolled his eyes at himself for his momentary romantic dreaminess. As good as this was, he knew it was nothing more than sex. He literally couldn’t afford to fall for just anyone, no matter how fit they were.

-----

What Harry Styles wanted was to be taken seriously as an artist. What he needed was a new sugar daddy to pave the way. Louis Tomlinson is an artist who isn’t what Harry is looking for. Somehow he still manages to turn Harry's world upside down.

let’s make a thing of cream and stars by missandrogyny @missandrogyny 24k

It doesn't explain why he's lying on the floor, with Harry Styles, of all people, planking on top of him.

As in, seventeenth most influential person in London, pop-star-turned-rock-star Harry Styles. The same Harry Styles who has had countless model girlfriends, left, right and centre. Also the same Harry Styles who has been the subject of Louis' wet dreams since he was about eighteen.

(Or: Louis is a Radio 1 DJ and Harry is a pop-star he interviews.)

Strong Enough by jacaranda_bloom @jacaranda-bloom 21k

The biggest obstacle is still in place, firmly ensconced as a roadblock, cemented in their path and preventing them from moving forward. The thing is, it’s not actually Harry that’s the problem. Harry, for all his faults, for whatever decisions he’s made to lead to him to where he is in his life right now, would move heaven and earth and all that’s in between to help Liam, to support him. No. It’s Louis. He’s the one that has to reach out. He’s the one that has to let go and get the fuck over himself. It’s been five years for Christ's sake. It’s time to move on and suck it up.

“So…” Liam starts, and Louis instantly knows where this is going. He’s actually glad that it’s Liam that drags the subject out from the shadows and into the world. Louis turns to face him, mirroring his position on the couch and nods, ready for him to continue. “Have you spoken to Harry recently?”

Five years after Vertigo goes on hiatus, the band comes back together for a benefit concert. Can Louis and Harry work through their complicated past, or are some wounds too deep to be healed?

you flower, you feast by stylinsoncity @aliensingucci 18k

He's King of the Underworld, but don't assume Louis has it all. He could stand for some excitement in his monotonous, eternal life and maybe, even.....a soulmate.

(Despite not having a soul.)

And along came "Harry".

The Orchards of Jessop by jaerie @jaerie 15k

At age 40, there isn’t much excitement in widower Louis Tomlinson’s life, but wasn’t that the reason he’d moved to Jessop Island in the first place? Back then he hadn’t thought retiring before he reached 30 and moving to the countryside would mean that he’d be doing it alone. Now, just to fill the space, he welcomes lodgers into his home that pass through working as temporary labourers at the orchards just up the road. They’ve all been young adults eager to start lives of their own after one last summer of freedom.

All of them have been much the same, coming and going from Louis’ house with just enough social interaction to keep the house from feeling so empty. But when a global pandemic shuts down the world, being quarantined with a quiet twenty year old who keeps to himself might turn out to be an awkward arrangement. By the time the restrictions have been lifted, their relationship has developed into something Louis isn’t quite ready to give up. With their twenty year age difference, Louis has to be prepared for the inevitable outcome when the reality shatters the private world they’ve been living in. He’s not sure he’ll be able to let it go.

if i had the chance, the things i would do to you by missandrogyny @missandrogyny 14k

Niall sighs. He leans forward, pushing his mug of tea carefully to the side, before bracing his elbows on the table, chin in his hands. It makes him look like some sort of bottle-blonde cherub. "You have quite the fanbase, Harry. I'm not denying that. And you've done a good job of popping out every once in a while in the past two years, just to make sure you're still talked about. But that's all you've done, and I'm not satisfied. I want more." He blinks at Harry. "Don't you want more?"

(Or: AU where Harry and Louis compete in the Lip Sync Battle)

One Way Road To Something Better by femstyles @femstyles 12k

Four years ago when Louis and Harry moved in together, Louis promised Anne that he’d take care of Harry no matter what. But things don’t always go as planned, and sometimes risky choices have to be made.

Inspired by Don't Let It Break Your Heart

baby look what you’ve done to me by ballsdeepinjesus 9k

The next day kind of turns everything upside down, though. Louis gets another lingerie catalogue addressed to Harry. He’s about to toss it when he sees a personalized note stuck to the front; it thanks Harry for his previous purchases and offers him a complimentary six-month subscription to their magazine free of charge. It’s a unisex lingerie catalogue. Lingerie specifically designed to allow for the existence of penises, apparently, judging from the bulging cocks covered in lace that he sees as he flips through the pages. His breath catches in his throat at the thought of a faceless Harry -- mysterious, odd Harry -- dressed up in his purchases, whatever they may be.

He thinks he needs a lie down, to be honest.

[louis moves into harry's old flat. harry gets a lot of mail.]

golden hearts (light their way back down) by fairytalelights @lookslikefairytale 4k

“..So, top or bottom?” Louis asks when Harry tunes back in. And... what? Harry knew he should have been paying more attention but he has no idea how in the hell Louis explaining camp rules to him could have led to discussing sexual preferences this quickly. He must have smiled and nodded at the wrong place one too many times.

or, the one where Harry’s first day as a summer camp counsellor doesn’t go quite as planned.

Still, Somehow, You’re Perfect Now by FallingLikeThis @fallinglikethis 3k

Harry Styles is Captain of the footie team and all-around popular dude-bro-pal to the entire senior class. He’s kind to everyone from what Louis Tomlinson can tell, and kinder still when he thinks no one is looking. Of course, Louis has been looking. Ever since he transferred schools at the beginning of the year and noticed Harry for the first time, it’s been hard to look away.

All My Friends Are Here by abrighteryellow

He is about to decline, though. If he has to sit through forced merriment, the least he can do is avoid participation at all costs. He is about to, but then the guy with the microphone is looking out into the crowd. He’s saying things, too — about rules and prizes and team names. At least, Louis assumes so. He can’t really hear him over the ringing in his ears.

“Alright, mate. I’ll play.”

A pub quiz has invaded Louis’s favorite dive. Fortunately, it comes with a charming host.

Front porch and one more kiss by Femstyles @femstyles <1k

A goodnight kiss on a front porch

BONUS: (rereads)

Unbelievers by isthatyoularry @isthatyoularry 136k

It’s Louis’ senior year, and he’s dead set on doing it right. However, along with his pair of cleats, a healthy dose of sarcasm and his ridiculous best friend, he’s also got a complicated family, a terrifyingly uncertain future, and a mortal enemy making his life just that much worse. Mortal enemies “with benefits” was not exactly the plan.

Or: The one where Louis and Harry definitely aren’t friends, and football is everything.

Close to Nowhere by angelichl @angelichl 34k

“I will kill you in your sleep,” Louis threatened as he quickly stepped out of his jeans.

“I don’t think that would work very well baby, seeing as you talk to dead people all the time.”

“I’ll kill you in your sleep and ignore your ghost. And don’t call me that.”

Louis and Harry are psychics who kind of hate each other. They go to Tennessee to investigate a haunting.

led by your beating heart by missandrogyny @missandrogyny 24k

Nick leans over. "Oh," he says, his voice smug. "Who is that?"

Harry just blinks at his phone. "Um," he manages to stammer out.

"Who's that, Harry?" Nick asks again, but this time he raises his eyebrows and smirks. Harry knows Nick is just teasing, and that he's not really looking for new Harry Styles gossip, but, um. He might have found something. Accidentally.

Harry opens his mouth to speak, but all that comes out is another 'um'. He really needs to work on translating his thoughts into words. But then it probably wouldn't be any helpful right now, would it? His mind is as blank as a newly erased etch-a-sketch.

"Oh," Nick says again, this time gleefully, seemingly having picked up on Harry's distress. "Looks like we've got a story here! Are you going to call or delete her number?"

Her number. So Nick thinks it's a girl. Well, Harry can't blame him: 'Lou' is kind of an androgynous nickname. His stylist's name is Lou.

But this Lou, well, Louis, he's kind of, really, really not a girl. He's really pretty though, which, is something.

(Or: AU where Harry's in One Direction, Louis isn't, and they reconnect over a game of 'Call or Delete'.)

#monthly fic rec #rec #28th appreciation #fic rec

130 notes · View notes

p-and-p-admin · 4 years ago

Photo

Interview given to The Severus Snape and Hermione Granger Shipping Fan Group. (sharing here Admin approved)

https://www.facebook.com/groups/199718373383293/

Hello Oracle Obscured and welcome to Behind the Quill, thank-you for letting us get to know you a little better.

Many readers will know you already and if they don’t I encourage them to look your works up including Teaching Miss Granger and How I learned to love teachers’ meetings

Okay, let’s jump right in.

What's the story behind your pen name?

Hmmm ... that’s kind of a weird answer for me. I wanted to choose a name that didn’t immediately indicate whether I was male or female. I’d noticed a certain freedom afforded to authors of indistinguishable gender. With no societal construct about the “nature” of the creator, the story stood on its own, without prejudice or conditioned expectations.

I brainstormed about six or seven names and then picked the one that appealed to me most. I’ve always felt drawn to the idea of oracles (those who see beyond). And I definitely felt obscured in that department. (Hell, at the time, my whole life felt obscured.)

Which Harry Potter character do you identify with the most?

I don’t know if I do. I guess if I had to pick, I’d say Hermione, as I have a tendency to be an obsessive perfectionist when it comes to work/studying. I like to be organized and plan things out. And I can be quite demanding and harsh with myself when I feel like I’m not measuring up to my own insane ideals.

But I took that openpsychometrics.org statistical quiz a while back, where you answer like a bazillion comparison questions (I did the longer version), and my highest HP match was Remus Lupin (83%). Yeah, I can see that.

Luna is my favorite character, but I don’t know if I identify with her more than anyone else.

Do you have a favourite genre to read? (not in fic, just in general)

It used to be horror/suspense, but ... I don’t know ... I’m just not as into it anymore. Maybe it’s because the real world is horrifying enough without adding fictional monsters to the mix.

Now I mostly read classics.

Do you have a favourite "classic" novel?

To Kill a Mockingbird.

At what age did you start writing?

Just writing stories in general? Maybe second grade. It wasn’t a passion or anything, just something I was pretty good at. I only really did it at school, though, not so much at home. I read A LOT growing up, so I naturally imagined that I might be an author one day. I tried to write a book when I was about 13 or 14, but less than one chapter in, I decided it was too hard. (I was NOT a Hermione growing up. Planning and perseverance were not my style.)

I took a massive break from thinking after high school (the smorgasbord of medications I was on didn’t like me using my brain too much, and my plans for college went out the window when my depression become unmanageable). I didn’t really start writing again until I was about twenty-seven. That was when I found fanfiction. I consider that when I really started writing.

How did you get into writing fanfiction?

I found fanfiction while looking for erotica. Needless to say I discovered the motherlode, and I was hooked. Over the years, I’d written bits and pieces of my own sexy scenarios (which is what you do when you grow up without the internet and you have to depend on your imagination for all your kink requirements), but I’d never really thought about taking someone else’s “story world” and using it as my setting. For a little over a year I read/devoured all the HP fanfiction I could, and then I realized I could take all the fantasies in my head and play them out with my favorite characters.

The first story I wrote was a funny/smutty Ginny/Draco thing, and it was HORRIBLE. The story and the sex were fine, but the writing was a nightmare. I submitted it to The Restricted Section, which was the only site I knew at the time, and they vetted their stories, so I had to get approved. They wrote me back saying it needed work and I should get a beta. So I went on the forum and found one (which was rather brave of me now that I think back). The person who helped me must’ve had the patience of a saint, because he/she(?) never said a damn thing about all the mistakes and shitty-ness. Suggestions and corrections were made, and I changed some of the pronouns to names so it wouldn’t sound so repetitive. The next time I submitted it, they accepted, and I got a decent response for a first-time writer (like three or four nice reviews). No one seemed to hate it, and the reviewers said the sex was hot, so I tried again, hoping to do better.

That’s when I wrote the first chapter of Teaching Miss Granger. It started out as just a oneshot. And it got a much better response. I wanted to write more, but I became extremely depressed and lethargic, and I didn’t really do anything for the next six or seven years. (I mean nothing. Unless you consider watching every episode of Law & Order CI and SVU ten times over to be an accomplishment.)

I came back to it years later, intending to add a few chapters to TMG where they have sex, but ... it just sort of evolved into the monster that it is. I worked on it pretty much every day for about a year. I’d never stuck with ANYTHING that long in my entire life.

What's the best theme you've ever come across in a fic? Is it a theme represented in your own works?

I would say love or “the power of love” is probably my favorite theme. But that includes synonyms for love as well. (Like wholeness, which is the theme of Quartet.)

What fandoms are you involved in other than Harry Potter?

None. I like other fandoms, but I don’t write for them, and I don’t usually read their fanfiction.

If you could make one change to canon, what would it be? Do you have a favourite piece of fanon?

I’ve never really thought about changing cannon. I mean, I change it to suit my fictional purposes (like Snape lives etc.), but I wouldn’t want to change canon for real. The deaths in HP serve a purpose, and while I find many of those deaths heartbreaking, that’s kind of the point. Hatred is bleak and destructive, and good people don’t survive wars simply because they’re good; bad things happen to good people all the time. As for changing something about the individual characters, I can’t get behind that either. The reasons people do things are multifaceted and complex and they’re colored by a lifetime of experiences I will never know or understand, so I don’t feel I can really judge. I can’t say I understand all the choices I’ve made in my own life, and there’ve been plenty of times where I had no choice at all. I can’t hold others to more rigorous standards than I myself can meet. We all have our shortcomings. (And that’s cool. Without them, there would be no growth or diversity.)

Do I have a favorite piece of fanon? Hmmm ... probably Head Boy and Head girl rooming together or having private rooms.

Oh! And uniforms.

Do you listen to music when you write or do you prefer quiet?

I used to listen to really quiet classical music while wearing headphones. Every little sound in the house distracts me, and I have to block it out. But lately I’ve just been running this old box fan that drowns out the noise.

What are your favourite fanfictions of all time?

Crap, I don’t know if I can choose. (Plus I feel like I’ve forgotten a lot of what I’ve read.)

My friend Desert Sea is my fav Hermione/Severus writer. Out of her stories, the ones I like best are In Their Hands and At the Headmaster’s Discretion.

After a brief search of my accounts, I’ll go with:

Do Not Go Gentle by senlinyu

Another Dream by dragoon811

The Last Twenty-Four Hours of Severus Snape by CryingCinderella

Pretty much everything by Aurette

Pet Project by Caeria

Post Tenebras, Lux by Loten

All the SS/HG stuff from snapeslittleblackbuttons

There’s a Teddy Radiator story that I like a lot, but I can’t remember the name of it. (Or what it’s about.) (Yes, very helpful, I know.)

And in a category all it’s own is Farmer Granger and the Most Glorious Cock by MyWitch. (Seriously, I read this like once a month and it makes me laugh every time.)

I read a lot of Drarry too. Drarry stories I love:

Everything by bixgrl1, but especially Balance Imperfect and In Evidence of Magical Theory

Everything by lq_traintracks (even the non-Drarry stuff). The writing is amazing.

I love all the advent stories by Saras_girl.

I like all the Drarry stories I’ve read by Faithwood.

I really like RZZMG’s writing. (No particular story or pairing.)

And I just rediscovered a story I found in 2007 (the first m/m fic I ever read). It’s a Snarry, which I know isn’t everyone’s cup of tea, but it was excellent. Snape: the Home Fries Nazi by pir8fancier

Are you a plotter or a pantser? How does that affect your writing process?

I enjoy a bit of both. My oneshots are all pantsed. TMG was totally pantsed. But Getting Personal and Quartet were both plotted and planned. For GP I did sort of a chapter by chapter synopsis before starting my rough draft, and for Q I went into even more detail—EVERYTHING was planned out ahead of time. The only thing that changed during the first draft was I ended up combining some of the chapters.

How does plotting affect my writing process compared to pantsing? It streamlines it. In a oneshot there’s not much to streamline; the basic story (or general idea) is all you really need. There’s not enough story to get muddled. But when I’m writing something longer, with multiple chapters, I find it’s better to know where the story is going. How deeply I go into that planning can vary. Sometimes there’s just a basic outline of the major plot points and then I fly by the seat of my pants from there. Sometimes I write out a very rough synopsis (sort of like a short and loose first draft) and then start writing as if it’s my second draft. Things inevitably get changed once I really start writing, so the planning isn’t set in stone by any means, but when I plan, the story goes in the general direction I intend without veering too far off course and there aren’t any plot holes. After I wrote TMG (with no planning) I saw that there was A LOT I could have cut or combined without affecting anything important. I learned a little more with each story I wrote, and when I got to Q, there was a lot of complicated ideas that I wanted to incorporate, and there were so many characters (and character arcs) going on that I had to plan extensively to make sure everything fit together. If I hadn’t worked it out ahead of time, it would’ve been like throwing a heap of puzzle pieces on the table but not being given a reference picture to know what it was I was working toward.

What is your writing genre of choice?

I have no idea. Plotty sex? Erotic dramady? Some of it is just straight up PWP, but I usually like to have something meaningful in there too.

Which of your stories are you most proud of? Why?

Usually the answer is whatever I’ve most recently written, as it’s the most likely to represent my current “best.” In terms of writing, I’ll go with A Brush with Magic, but Quartet is probably my best storytelling. A lot went into that (symbolism, planning, obsessive re-writes) and it holds a good deal of personal meaning to me. So, I guess I’ll go with Q due to the time and effort involved.

Did it unfold as you imagined it or did you find the unexpected cropped up as you wrote? What did you learn from writing it?

The unexpected always crops up (even with all my planning), and it’s the unexpected that makes the magic.

While I had many insights into my own nature while writing Quartet, in the end I think it taught me to trust/listen to myself more.

Later, however, it brought me a very different message. While writing it, I felt a lot of tension and anxiety; I wanted to “do it right” and present my story in the best light. But after some time away, I realized I’d been so worried because I felt as if that story represented me, as if it defined me. And the pressure of being judged worthy or unworthy had been eating me alive.

But I don’t feel that way anymore. Now it’s like I wrote all my stories in another lifetime. While they all might be a snapshot of a fraction of my mind, nothing I create ever says a damn thing about who or what I truly am. Since letting go of that, I’ve found a sense of freedom around writing. I still like to express things as clearly and beautifully as I can, but it’s more a celebration of words than a search for acceptance.

How personal is the story to you, and do you think that made it harder or easier to write?

Quartet was extremely personal to me when I wrote it, and in a lot of ways I think that made it easier to write. When I have to go strictly by imagination, I feel as if I’m missing some depth of understanding (like I’m getting the surface-level stuff, but missing the nuance). When I write from experience, it has an entirely different quality. Richer. More intimate. It’s work to write what I don’t know, but it’s easy to write the truth.

Posting, however, is an entirely different story. Other people don’t always want the truth, and if you feel like your story is an extension of you, it can hurt to have any part of it rejected.

What books or authors have influenced you? How do you think that shows in your writing?

I think everything I’ve ever read or seen has influenced me. In terms of writing, I guess I’d say I’m inspired by beauty in all its forms. When I first started reading fanfiction, I just searched for the kinks I liked; it was all about the sex (with bonus points for having a decent plot). Then one day I read an extremely well-written PWP (I don’t remember what), and the way the author described the sex was so unlike anything I had ever read, it totally blew my mind. It was art. Exquisite art. And before that, I didn’t know sex could be art. That author didn’t just recount the characters’ actions, they painted a word masterpiece—they turned porn into poetry. THAT was what I wanted in my life. And I didn’t know it until that moment.

Books/authors that stick with me:

The Harry Potter series (obviously).

Shel Silverstein (Love the poetry, but The Giving Tree is one of my favorite books of all time.)

Dr. Seuss (Always.)

Judy Blume (I still have my copy of Are You There God it’s Me Margaret from when I was, like, 10. Tiger Eyes is my favorite of hers.)

R.L. Stine (I got hooked prior to the creation of the Goosebumps series, but I had EVERY Fear Street Book he wrote when I was in middle school.)

Weekend by Christopher Pike (This was the first YA thriller I ever read. *Sigh* memories. I still have my original copy, and I still read it every once in a while. The characters and plot are great.)

Stephen King (Carrie is my fav.)

Anne Rice (I’ve read all the vampire and witch books, but The Witching Hour is the only one I’ve read multiple times. Blackwood Farm is my next favorite.)

To Kill a Mockingbird

Charles Dickens (David Copperfield is my fav.)

Jane Austen (I can’t pick between Pride & Prejudice and Sense & Sensibility.)

Thomas Harris (Brilliant writing, and Hannibal might be one of the most intriguing anti-heros ever.)

Stieg Larsson (Another brilliant writer with a brilliant character.)

The Giver by Lois Lowry (I haven’t read the rest of the trilogy. And I haven’t seen the movie. I refuse to besmirch my childhood love with Hollywood’s interpretation.)

Bridge to Terabithia (This book devastated me as a child.)

Gillian Flynn (Sharp Objects is my fav.)

Liane Moriarty (I like all of her books, especially Big Little Lies. The way she plays with the timeline is masterful.)

Frank Herbert’s Dune. (I grew up on this. It’s my dad’s all-time favorite book. And, yes, we’re looking forward to the new movie.)

Margaret Atwood (The Handmaid’s Tale is horrifyingly wonderful. And Atwood herself is fascinating. Watch her Masterclass if you get the chance.)

Steinbeck’s East of Eden (This might be my second favorite book.)

The Lucifer Effect by Phillip Zimbardo (This isn’t fiction, but it was the first book that really affected the way I see the world.)

Eisler’s The Chalice and the Blade (Also not fiction. If you’re interested in the divine feminine and a more egalitarian society, this is the book for you.)

Loving What Is by Byron Katie (The only self-help book that’s ever actually helped me.)

Daphne Du Maurier (I love Rebecca, but she also has a story called “The Blue Lenses” that isn’t really intended to be scary, but it freaked me the fuck out.)

The Secret History by Donna Tartt (Gorgeous writing, and the plot left me seriously disturbed.)

One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest by Ken Kesey (Gah! I love this. The writing and the story and the characters and EVERYTHING!)

Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury (I Bradbury’s writing style, but the plot of F451 is pure horror for any book hoarder lover.)

The Lord of the Flies by William Golding (This might be my third favorite book ever. No, wait, I might like it better than East of Eden. I can’t choose!)

The Diary of Anne Frank (How in the hell could anyone read this and not be affected by it?)

Do people in your everyday life know you write fanfiction?

No. This is my own private world, and I like it that way.

How true for you is the notion of "writing for yourself"?

Very. I write what I want to read. There are certain adjustments I make when I write for other people as opposed to what I do when writing strictly for myself, but nothing major. I refuse to write things I have no interest in, and I don’t write to make people happy. I write to please myself. (But it’s nice when what pleases me pleases others. It’s wonderful to share that connection.)

How important is it for you to interact with your audience? How do you engage with them? Just at the point of publishing? Through social media?

I like hearing from my readers. I don’t have a lot of time to interact, but I like talking to my audience and listening to their insights. I try to reply to all the comments I get on AO3 (it’s just too hard on FFN). And when I have free time (which isn’t often) I check my FB groups to see what’s going on. To me, the interaction kind of completes the creative cycle; it helps me set the story free and allow it to be. It really belongs to the reader once I’ve published, and it’s nice to see the ripples creativity creates.

What is the best advice you've received about writing?

Unless it’s absolutely necessary, stop using the word “was.” Completely changed my writing.

What do you do when you hit writer's block?

It doesn’t really happen that much, as I usually know where I’m going with my story, but there can be glitches between scenes or times when I can’t find the words for something (like ending a chapter). When that happens, I usually just leave it and come back later—I can’t force it if it won’t come.

If I really need to get it done for some reason, I read what I have over and over, adding a little bit more each time, trying out words that “sound right” and building what I need bit by bit. What I come up with isn’t always right or what I want, but at least I have something to work with. Sometimes seeing what’s wrong makes what you want more obvious.

Has anything in real life trickled down into your writing?

Yeah, just about everything Sex, depression, anxiety, personal growth, likes/dislikes, insights, interests, philosophy, all my little neuroses. Every once in a while I’ll even include some dialogue from real life.

Do you have any stories in the works? Can you give us a teaser?

I’m juggling about five long stories right now (plus a couple oneshots). And I haven’t worked on any of them in ages. I don’t know what’s going on with me; I’m just not in the mood. I don’t want to say what they are, as I might never finish them. (Two are Drarry and three are Sevmione. One is a compilation of oneshots. Four of them are completely planned out and just need to be written. The unplanned Drarry was always just meant to be for myself and I doubt I’ll ever release it.)

Any words of encouragement to other writers?

Yes. Enjoy the whole writing/creative process as much as possible. Try not to beat yourself up, and don’t try to force yourself to be better. You will naturally get better the more you write. Change is inevitable; allow it to happen. Read books about writing, and read good writers. Notice what brings you the most pleasure when you read and tap into that same pleasure when you write. Play with words and ideas just for fun. Watch and see what appears. There is no perfect.

If you’re writing about sex (because I get asked about that a lot), write what turns YOU on. Don’t try to be sexy. Don’t try to write what you think other people want to hear. Don’t worry about what other people think (at least in the first draft). If they don’t like it they can go read something else. But if YOU like it, it will shine through in your writing, and that will have a bigger impact on your reader than any activity you describe. Also, the physicality is only a fraction of the sexual experience. Don’t turn your sex scenes into a play-by-play. You’re not really writing about what the characters are doing so much as how what they’re doing affects them. It’s a personal experience, and the more personal you make it (the more honest and vulnerable you are as a writer) the more satisfying the story will be for your reader. Wise words! Thank-you so much for speaking with us today Oracle Obscured.

#snamione #writing #fanfiction #fanfic

8 notes · View notes