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etherealeeknow · 4 years ago

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the fwb rules

• rated m for mature

• pairing: fwb!hyunjin x fem!reader

• wc: 4.559

• tw: explicit language, light characterization of an insecure reader, unprotected piv sex (stay safe, lovelies!), fingering & oral (f), nipple play, cream pie— i think that’s all, please do tell me if you find more c:

• note: last time i said long fic isn’t my forte and this time i’ll still say the same hahahahaha. but still, i hope i don’t disappoint 🥺 please kindly note that english isn’t my first language. therefore, i apologize for any mistakes. feedbacks are always appreciated because i’d love to grow! thank you for waiting and enjoy 💞 pretty banner made by my bestie!! ilysm 😽😽😽

• tag list: @charlieshelves @es-kay-zee @formidxble @oh-my-sparkle @bobateastay @http-hyxnjxn @lyralurexrattle @hyunsluvv @healinghyunjin @sailorhyunjinz

—

what happened to the rules?

it didn’t start off like this. you can’t remember when exactly you started wondering about the five word question. all you know is that you were one bite away from gobbling a spoonful of jisung’s ice cream when it struck you: since when did you and hyunjin stop going by the rules? he’s been occasionally texting you out of the blue lately just to know what you’re up to, and today he even asked you to stay the night at his, and as much as you want to believe they’re all normal, again, it didn’t start off like this. from the beginning, you and hyunjin have come up with three rules so your relationship can work: one, be very casual. two, no strings attached. three, no fucks given outside of the, well, literal fucking. but look at you now, lying naked and out of breath under his blanket while facing his ceiling, driving yourself insane over the haunted question. you have to get it off your chest somehow, but how?

“hey, why so serious?” asks the culprit behind your overthinking, causing you to jump slightly over his sudden appearance and your hands instinctively pull up the blanket to cover your naked chest, which as a result, makes him chuckle. cute. “here. it’s my cousin’s,” adds the topless man as he sits on the edge of the bed and hands you a white shirt that even under the dim light, you can already tell won’t fit you.

“your cousin? the model? hyunjin, she’s tiny,” you utter, hands still gripping onto the blanket. “i’m—“

“you,” he cuts you off, placing a hand on top of yours while carefully glancing at you to make sure you there aren’t any signs of discomfort. “are fine, y/n. now hurry up. i’m sleepy,” he adds before letting go, leaving behind a lingering warmth on your knuckles.

nodding, you turn your back on him to change, and the room falls silent, causing you to hear how fast your heart is thumping even more than it should have. is it because you had too much coffee this morning? or it can probably be because the shirt is too tight that it’s cutting off your air circulation, right? right, of course. you tell yourself because as much as you dislike both reasons, they are still far better than having hyunjin as the cause.

once you’re done, hyunjin already has his back lying against the bedhead, his head tilting slightly to the side, avoiding the light coming from the night lamp on the bedside table, while his eyes bore deeply into yours. unbothered that he’s been caught staring, he averts his gaze downwards till they reach your chest and spot how your nipples are sticking out through the thin fabric.

“see? it fits you just fine,” he says, turning his vision back to your face as he opens his arms and motions them at you, only to have you remain in the same position with your increasing heartbeat.

“aren’t you gonna, uh, wear something?”

instead of a proper answer, all you get is his laugh—hyunjin’s contagious laugh that usually always succeeds in making you laugh too. but today hits differently. has his laugh always sounded this lighthearted before? no matter what the answer is, one thing for sure is that despite how sweet hwang hyunjin and his laugh are, they have never made your cheeks burn like this before, and this is forbidden. it’s against the rules.

“an hour ago we were naked while sucking each other’s face, y/n,” he finally answers after a while. “besides, i always sleep like this. now, come on,” he adds, repeating the same gesture, except this time his hands are open wider, eager to have you near him again because the space around him is starting to make him feel lonely.

complying with him, you fall into his embrace and hyunjin immediately lets his hands travel to the exact places of where they want to be—one around your head and the other around your waist. despite the room turning less cold with his warmth directly passing onto you, your heart and cheeks conditions remain the same especially since you can hear how hyunjin’s heartbeats are beating just as fast as yours when he lets you lay your head on his chest.

“hyunjin,” you call out, hands fiddling with the collar of your shirt.

“y/n,” he replies, replacing the collar with his fingers instead, intertwining them with yours.

what happened to the rules?

“do... do fwb do these?” you ask, the bravery in you finally decide to show up, even just for a little.

“do this?” he asks back while squeezing your hand with all his might, as if he’s nervous.

no. not ‘this’, but ‘these’. not only the hand grabbing, but also the fact that he asked you to stay the night, that he’s cuddling you to sleep, and that you’ve been getting unusual symptoms over them until this very moment.

“yes, this,” you nod and hyunjin becomes muted, but his heartbeats are growing louder, and his grip on you has become tighter.

after what feels like forever, he whispers, voice slightly cracking, and hands getting a little colder, “yes. yes, they do.”

then the two of you become muted, but both heartbeats keep growing louder, and everything stays that way until sleep eventually takes over.

—

as a homebody, you’ve always against the idea of sleepovers. you believe home is the sweetest place and your own bed is the comfiest even when your mattress is older than a decade and your favorite plushie has had too many holes here and there. but waking up in hyunjin’s bed has broken your stigma—never in your whole life that you’d have thought someone else’s bed can provide you twice the comfort.

“looks like someone had a good sleep,” chirps jisung as he sits beside you, causing you to wipe off the smile on your face before going back to your laptop.

“wow suddenly my best friend’s a psychic?”

“hey, that’d actually make a great drama title!” he exclaims and you roll your eyes. “please do spill the tea though. what happened?” he adds.

“what happened?” you ask back, eyes still on the screen, but the corner of your lips are on the verge of breaking into the smile, knowing full well he’ll complain—which he does by lamely calling you a meanie.

laughing, you tell him nothing happened, but the way he rolls his eyes is a sign he’s not taking any of your bullshit. you are telling the truth though. besides spending the night with each other, nothing really happened, right? it was just another casual fucking session. yes, it was amazing, but that’s no news for jisung. the guy’s practically your wingman—setting you up with hyunjin was his idea because he believes you should, “live your life. have that dreamy college sex orelse you’ll regret it like my old man changbin!”

right on cue, a notification popped out on your big screen, and the sender’s name makes your heart pop too.

“aha, see!” jisung points at it. “y/n, where are you?” he reads out loud, earning yourselves all the eyes from every other student in class.

“oh my god, jisung. shut up!” right when you’re about to log out from the chat app, hyunjin sends another one.

“can i call you?” jisung reads once more and you’re only one second away from smacking his head, but your vibrating phone holds you back.

shooting jisung a glare, you make sure to close your laptop before leaving the class, answering hyunjin’s call even when you’re still half way through the door. right when you’re about to greet him hello, hyunjin beats you to it—his voice a bit raspy, but the softness in his tone still lies within, and it creates endless questions in your mind.

has he just woken up? so is this how he sounds in the morning? why is he calling?

and the list goes on because this isn’t like hyunjin at all. sure, he’s not validating the rules, but he’s breaking his character despite already alarming you to anticipate morning booty calls from him at times. he’s never actually done that though.

“hi,” you reply, startling yourself with how small your voice came out.

“you left,” says hyunjin and you can hear him sighing from the other line, which somehow causes a slight pang in your heart, wondering if perhaps he is disappointed. “can you come back? wait, actually, let me go to you instead.” he says and you can hear the rustling sounds coming from his side.

“hyunjin, i have class. that’s why i left. i—” should you apologize? but why should you? casual, no strings attached, and no fucks given, remember? “i’m sorry.”

“oh.” hyunjin stops on his track before plopping back down onto the bed, smiling. “i’ll pick you up after class then. when will you finish?”

unconsciously, a smile creeps up your face too, but the realization hits you right after, then followed by the five word question, and you know—you know this is your guts telling you that now’s the time to ask him about it, but your heart hates confrontation. plus, wouldn’t it be rude to reply to someone else’s question with a question? “hyunjin, are you, uh, horny?”

just like yesterday, hyunjin laughs, and with the raspiness in his voice still present, he doesn’t fail to make you laugh along, but at the same time waking the butterflies in your stomach and makes you rethink your decision. mayhaps, you should’ve left him a note or told him that you’ll leave early in the morning; or even, you should’ve ditched classes today and stayed so when he wakes up, you can get him a glass of water, not leaving the boy uncared for like this. but who are you to do so?

“isn’t it normal for a guy to have a morning wood?” he jokes before quickly adding that he’s not horny. “i just want to see you so let me go get you.”

pressing your lips together, you contemplate on whether you should let him. if you do, won’t you be turning whatever the two of you have right now into something far more complicated? but it’s only until hyunjin adds a desperate “please?” that all of your dilemma disappears, as if you’re being cast into his spell—“okay.”

—

while heading to the gate, you have the biggest urge to book a massage appointment. dodging jisung’s questions and running away from him after the first period was draining, but having to spend the day running back and forth between two buildings because thinking that volunteering as the lecturers’ teaching assistant was draining on a whole new level. other than feeling like your legs are gonna come off, your mind also feels like it’s gonna blow off—you can’t stop recalling all the things you need to start working on as soon as possible, but stepping into hyunjin’s car turns everything to 180 degrees.

you’d like to think that it’s because of the faint lavender aroma coming from his car freshener along with the heavenly cool air conditioner, but no. you know full well it’s because of the way hyunjin’s smile lit up, his eyes disappear into two small crescent moons, and his blonde hair which is becoming one with the warm orange sky that brings peace to your heart.

“hi,” he breathes out the moment you close the door, and you do the same except for looking at him, which causes hyunjin to furrow his eyebrows while speeding away.

the way home is silent, just the way you like it, but you know full well that it’s not hyunjin’s cup of tea. he doesn’t need to say it, his action is showing it all as he’s been fidgeting non stop, wiping his sweaty palm along his jeans while occasionally licking his plump lips. hyunjin’s a very vocal person. he’s talkative and loud—including in bed. you press your warm cheeks over the realization of your own thoughts, embarrassed. you can’t possibly suspect hyunjin for being horny in the morning when you yourself are being like this in the afternoon. it’s uncalled for.

noticing you from the corner of his eye, hyunjin calls out, asking you if there’s anything wrong, totally catching you off guard. what should you say? lying is not your forte, but being honest clearly isn’t the best option right now, at least, not before you shower and appear presentable in front of him—but wait, since when did that matter so much? a few months ago, you even fucked after you ran a marathon.

“y/n?” calls hyunjin for the second time.

“look, hyunjin, really, it’s okay if you’re horny. you can pull over and i can, uh, relieve you and i can just take the bus home after,” you spit out shamelessly while looking at him straight in the eyes, eager to get far away from hyunjin as fast as possible before you go out of your mind.

just like the night before, hyunjin laughs. and just like the night before, his laugh hits differently and it does nothing other than burning your already burnt cheeks for the worse.

“i swear to god, y/n, i’m not horny. i genuinely want to take you home. nothing more,” explains hyunjin, head straight at the road but eyes repeatedly stealing glances at you. “and nothing less,” he adds, voice barely audible but you caught it.

“o— oh.” is all you manage to respond before the ride quickly turns quiet and hyunjin’s hands begin fidgeting again, all the while you’re trying to decode what he has just said—what does he mean by genuinely wanting to take you home? do fwb do this too? what happened to no fucks given?—and it goes on until hyunjin hits the break in front of your old apartment building.

“we’re here,” says hyunjin, breaking the silence by unlocking the car door.

“we’re here,” you repeat after him, already opening the door and setting a foot out. “uh, thank you.”

“don’t mention it.” hyunjin shoots you his signature smile the moment you lower yourself to meet his eye level from outside the car; this time, you have no choice but to fall under his spell.

“hey, uh, you wanna come in?” you ask, biting your lower lip as a way to punish yourself for being so indecisive. one second you want to run away from him and the next second you want to be near him. come on, get a grip.

as if the punishment isn’t enough, hyunjin declines your offer, all while chuckling with his head thrown back. “for the third time, y/n. i’m not horny. go in and rest up.”

“if you say so.” you shrug, giving him a small smile before turning around, making sure not to look back, only to fail when you hear the engine driving away.

—

you can’t quite tell—no, you can’t tell. you don’t get it. there’s an unexplainable empty space in your heart that is caused by hyunjin’s rejection. is it because you’re just not used to see him without having to fuck him? or is it because you’re hurt over the fact that he’s not in the mood to touch you? is it because of last night? is he finally sick of your flaws? things would probably be different if you had retouched your makeup or at least combed your hair before seeing him, would they? either way, you’re fully aware you shouldn’t be torn over your friend with benefits, yet your aching heart says otherwise.

and so when the doorbell rings only a few seconds after you get in and the figure you see through the peephole is no other than the man in question, you spare no time to swing the door open. hyunjin, in return, spares no time to lock his lips with yours right after he utters a brief apology. just like the way hyunjin sneaks his playful hands down your ass, you sneak your tongue in his mouth, and your action makes him smile into the kiss as he leads you back into the room and kicks the door shut with his long legs.

the way to your bedroom is actually pretty short, but with your tongues moving in sync, bodies pressing—glued, even, and eyes continuously closing in pleasure, the short way to your bedroom consists of endless stumbling, tripping, and bumping the door. once inside, you break the kiss and are about to undress yourself when hyunjin beats you to it, settling you down on the bed as he begins taking off your attire one by one ever so effortlessly. and in just a matter of seconds, his lips are back on yours again, floral scented hair falling and brushing against your cheeks, leaving you no time to wonder over the fact that it’s the first time hyunjin has ever undressed you.

as the kiss continues, you can feel yourself gushing more and more that you start grinding on him mindlessly, needing to feel more than just his bulge poking you. your hands leave his blonde strands to tug on his hoodie, only to have him stop you—one hand around your grip and the other rests on your hip.

“what do you think you’re doing?”

“need you. need to feel you,” you mumble, desperation so visible through your cracked voice.

“what happened to the girl who was all flustered to sleep with me last night just because i was shirtless?”

autumn nights aren’t supposed to be hot, but hyunjin has proven he has the power to make the impossible happen just with his words and mocking smirk. but the rising heat on your cheeks is nothing compared to the emptiness you feel below, clenching around nothing surely isn’t the best feeling.

“please, jinnie,” you whine, tugging on his hoodie once more, hips moving against his hold.

“fuck.” is all he manages to say before getting off the bed to disrobe himself—hoodie and track pants thrown across the room, now showcasing his toned body and thighs altogether as he hovers over you.

“please take this off too. it looks suffocating,” you say, index finger running faintly through the bulge forming from his tight boxer, making it stand up even more and hyunjin has no choice but to obey you. “put your hair up too please,” you add just when he’s about to dive right back in, and again, your wish is his command.

biting to pull off his hair tie from his wrist, hyunjin smoothly ties his hair back and you’re only given a few seconds to admire his feature before his plump lips coming in contact with your hardened nipple while he toys with the other using his fingers—rubbing and pinching, making your breath hitch over the sensation, fingers digging into his bare shoulders because you don’t want to mess up his hair, and hyunjin’s low grunts pretty much indicate he’s loving it.

“more, please. give me m—”

hyunjin retreats his hand and tongue away from your breast, moving them to your naked pussy, drawing circles on your outer labia with his middle finger. he teases you just enough and quickly slides in his digit and at the same time sucks on your clit right before you’re about to complain, making you tingle from head to toe.

“you hear that?” he asks, voice muffled, the effect of being too tongue tied from licking every part of your heat, but finger working its magic perfectly, creating loud wet noises from your fluid. “drenched. my pretty y/n is drenched,” says hyunjin, and as much as you want to comment on him for the pet name, you’re too caught up on how his lips vibrate against you the moment he starts palming himself with his unoccupied hand. if he keeps it up, you know you would come undone there and then, and you don’t want that—not yet. so you ask him to stop and he instantly does as told.

“what’s wrong? did i hurt you?” there’s fear written across his expression and heard from his tone, but you’d like to believe your eyes and lips are just playing tricks on you.

“n— no. i just,” you pause to avoid his gazes, but something within you pulls your attention back on him. “i wanna cum with you inside me,” you confess, voice barely audible due to embarrassment; all this time, it’s always been hyunjin to say such things, but perhaps, all the strange tension lately has finally gotten the best of you. you hear him mutter a low “fuck” while his pupils shakes for a brief moment before they somehow appear a shade darker. licking his lower lip, hyunjin pulls you by your legs and rests them on his shoulders, and proceeds to align his tip with your entrance, once again teasing your throbbing core.

the moment you whine is the moment hyunjin pushes himself inside ever so gently, but the stretching still has you throwing your head back, while hyunjin letting our airy moans upon your walls clenching around him. none of you can tell how it’s possible for your vagina to remain so tight after all the countless fucking session for the past half year, but hyunjin doesn’t find that troubling. in fact, he lives for that and it shows from the way his eyes roll to the back of his head as he begins thrusting in and out of you—slowly but steady, veiny hands secured on your hips, vision goes back and forth from your half-lidded eyes to your parted lips.

hyunjin leans down to kiss you for a couple of seconds, and when he lets go, he quickens his pace—leaning down once more so his length can go deeper in you, hitting your g-spot. at that very moment, you mentally praise yourself for placing the bedroom mirror right across the bed. it presents you with the magnificent view of hyunjin’s rounded, firm ass bouncing rhythmically whenever he snaps his hips, and placing your hands around them, squeezing them, nearly makes you drool over the sight. with hyunjin constant thrusts, the familiar knot in your abdomen starts to bubble up.

“oh my god,” the two of you whimper in unison as hyunjin begins to lose his tempo, moves also grow sloppy, but never once misses your spot.

“y/n, i— ah— i’m so close. fuck,” he breathes out, sweat forming on his forehead, wetting his baby hair down to his neck and chest, and you can only drool helplessly at the sight.

“me too. please cum inside me, cum with me, hyunjin, please, please,” you beg, voice a pitch higher, almost sounds like you strain your throat, and it stays the same. when you feel hyunjin twitch inside you, your hands automatically reach for the bed sheet again, but it only lasts for a second before they’re being taken by hyunjin’s own hands—he has never done this. while intertwining your fingers, his cock twitches again and his eyes roll to the back of his head, jaw falls open as he calls out your name—you naturally do the same, fingers pressing flat against his white knuckles

“hyu—”

“cum, baby,” he cuts you off, averting his hazy eyes on you, and that’s all it takes for you to break—your orgasm washes over you like waves and you cum undone around hyunjin, shaking and mewling altogether while feel the wet coldness around your inner thigh. hyunjin follows right after, shooting his hot cement inside of you; the man can no longer keep his eyes open as he buries his face on the crook of your neck, his choked moans bring music right to your ear all a while his hot breaths bring goosebumps to your unrecovered body.

after riding out your highs, none of you move. hyunjin stays on top of you, his chest rises and falls according to your hard breathing. somehow, it’s calming you down, but it shouldn’t.

“hyunjin, you’re heavy.”

“oh, sorry,” he chuckles and even without looking, you can tell his eyes are smiling too. with his remaining strength, hyunjin pushes himself up and rests on your thighs to pull his dick out of you, momentarily admiring the mixture of his juice and yours dripping down your cunt before fixing his eyes on you to study your face—also something he has never done before.

“i’m sorry,” he mutters a few moments later, eyes now on you.

tilting your head, you sit up, resting your upper body with your hands on the bed. “all of a sudden? i came? you always make me feel good.”

“that’s what i’m sorry about. i— i didn’t mean to— i mean, i—”

you reach out to him, gently patting his thigh. “hyunjin, calm down. this isn’t like you,” you whisper the last sentence, knowing that perhaps, now’s the time to talk things out, to stop whatever is going on, and go back to how things are used to be, maybe? your heart’s just been restless for too long and apparently, hyunjin seems to be in a similar situation too.

“i’m sorry. i didn’t mean to keep using you like this. i genuinely meant what i said. i only wanted to take you home, but we ended up here and—”

“isn’t that what fwb do?” you pull your hand off his thigh, and a frown painted across his face as if he’s questioning your question. “that’s what we agreed on. we have our fwb rules, remember?”

“one, be very casual. two, no strings attached. three, no fucks given outside of the, well, literal fucking,” says hyunjin, proving he has memorized every words to the back of his mind.

nodding, you carefully bring back your hand to his thigh, repeating the same movement you did before. “exactly. so you don’t have to be sorry. don’t worry, i’m not feeling used at all.” you end it with a smile.

hyunjin mirrors you, he smiles too; his eyes fall to where your hand is. “but what if i’m breaking them? the rules,” asks the boy whose cold hand is now on top of your warm one. “what if i like you?” his eyes find their way back to you, and that’s when you know. the difference between your temperatures; the difference between your smile and his—the sadness that lies within.

that’s when you understand. everything finally makes sense; every one of hyunjin’s unusual acts. the constant texts and calls, the undressing, the pet names, the facial expression, the hand holding.

what happened to the rules? feelings. that’s what happened. to hyunjin, it’s his feelings over the rules.

but you, what about you? the butterflies, the irregular increasing heartbeats, the flushing cheeks, the overthinking, the disappointment at some point.

“y/n,” hyunjin calls out and you don’t get to get back to him because he’s already an inch away from you, momentarily eyeing your lips before he closes the distance. once again, his blonde hair falls down, brushing against his cheek before meeting yours and it tickles you, but not in the same way as how his kiss tickles your heart; giddy.

what happened to the rules? unwanted feelings. that’s what happened. to you, it’s the unwanted feelings against the rules. and for now, the unwanted feelings are too strong for you to push him away, so you pull him close instead. for now.

—

gen’s masterlist

repeating this!! special note: HUGE THANK YOU for my awesome bestie for the banner 🥺💞💞 ily, bish!! thank you for being my beta reader too 😽😽😽

#gen writes #hyunjin smut #stray kids smut #skz smut #hyunjin hard thoughts #hyunjin hard hours #stray kids hard hours #stray kids hard thoughts #hyunjin fic #hyunjin scenarios #hyunjin imagine #stray kids fic #stray kids scenarios #stray kids imagine #hyunjin imagines #kpop smut #kpop fic

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brattata · 2 years ago

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Uhm hello, I'd like to request a matchup! From Genshin or JJK and with the B, C and A prompts from the fluff alphabet

Additional info:

Age: 16

Gender: Genderfluid

Mbti personality: ENFP

Zodiac: Capricorn Sun, Aquarius moon and Pisces rising

Likes: Drawing, baking, cooking, humming, painting, listening to music and writing

Dislikes: Smell of boiled meat, certain fish, extremely large crowds or empty large places and harming others.

I don't know if this will help but I'm 5'1 and like to wear converse or sneakers which give me a height boost.

Welcome, and thanks for joining my event!

Hmmm, I thought about this one for a bit. I almost went with Yuji (and I do still think you would be cute together), but I feel you have more in common with...the best boi...

Xingqiu! Both of you are imaginative, creative types and not necessarily huge fans of hustle and bustle. ENFPs and INFJs are a classic pairing because you share a lot of core values - like curiosity and compassion for others - but also complement each other's weak points. You can help him come out of his shell a bit, and he can keep you a little more grounded (although tbh he's not always great at that, haha). He's a Libra and you're a Capricorn - not traditionally super compatible - but your Aquarius moon and Pisces rising add some lightheartedness and dreaminess that make it work.

A is for Activities:

You’re essentially a two-person book club. Xingqiu can hook you up with all the latest light novels, and he's very interested in your recommendations too. One of his favorite ways to spend the day is escaping Liyue Harbor and playing hooky with you in Qingce Village, reading together side by side. He'll even read aloud to you, if you want. 😉 He'll also ask you for advice with his own writing sometimes, and he'll happily give you feedback too. He's not going to hold back though, so don't ask unless you want his honest opinion. 😅

B is for Beauty:

Obviously he has a lot of admiration for your artistic ability. He loves it when you share your writing with him, but he’s so impressed that you not only write but also draw, paint, cook, and even sing. I know you said humming, but have you heard his birthday song? He carries me in Spiral Abyss, but the boy cannot carry a tune, lol. Xingqiu is also kind of awkward and reclusive outside his select group of close friends. I think he would appreciate your sparkling personality, and of course also your kindness.

C is for Comfort:

I headcanon Xingqiu’s love language as giving gifts, big time. He notices you’re looking especially tired or sad? Well, here’s that new set of paints you’ve been wanting, or that light novel you’ve been dying to read but thought was sold out. If someone did something to hurt you, you can bet the foremost Guhua disciple will want to bring them to justice. And if the gifts don’t help and there’s no bad guy in need of punishing, maybe you’d enjoy some verses expressing his love for you? He will be blushing when he reads them, so don’t tease him until after he’s done.

Xingqiu is seriously one of my favorite Genshin characters, so I hope you like him too! 😭

Thank you very much for your request, @pannasan

#alphabet matchup event #my writing tag #genshin impact matchup #Genshin impact x reader #xingqiu x reader

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songbirdsingingthings · 4 years ago

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MHA boys + how they would celebrate your birthday

Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters, they belong to Kohei Horikoshi

A/N: This was requested by @lovers-liability, I hope you like it!!!

Shouto Todoroki:

- He’s so sweet but so clueless about what to get you or how to celebrate with you

- Probably would ask your closest friends about your interests in order to get you the best gift he could get

- He doesn’t really have to worry about the cost of it (I mean, c’mon he’s got Endeavors card)

- He’ll take you out to dinner probs

- Tries to bake a cake - it doesn’t go well

- A good boyfriend, he tries his best

“Sho, tonight was amazing,” you hum, an arm laced with his. It was well into the night when the two of you made it back to the dorm building.

“I’m glad you liked it,” Shouto said, smiling at you. Dinner had been a real treat - the two of you dined at a fancy restaurant that you two had to get dressed up for. You wore a Y/F/C dress and Shouto was in a dashing gray suit with a tie matching your outfit.

“Liked it? I loved it! I don’t think I’ve ever had that good food in my life.” You sigh contently, a dreamy look on your face. As the two of you make your way through the common room, he stops you at the kitchen. You raise an eyebrow but follow him. To your surprise, he pulls out an... interesting looking cake.

“I, uh, I tried but I think I did something wrong.” He admits with a bashful expression. You stifle a laugh and take a fork out of the drawer next to you.

“Hey, if you made it, I’m sure it’ll be good.” You say confidently. You dig your fork into the near side of the cake and take off a chunk. It crumbled weirdly which wasn’t a good sign, but you stuck the slice in your mouth anyway. It was awful the moment it hit your taste buds but you managed to chew it anyways. You tried to give your boyfriend a smile, but an underlying sour expression forcibly showed up.

“I’m sorry, I know it’s probably foul-tasting.” Shouto says defeatedly. You quickly put your hands on his shoulders and shake your head.

“No, Sho, it’s so good.” You manage, the cake still in your mouth. The red-and-white hair boy just shot you an unamused look.

“Y/N, you have a horrified look on you face. It’s not good.”

“Yes it is I love it.” You counter.

“Then swallow it.” He says finally, a small smirk on his face. Your eyes go wide but you try and muster up the courage to swallow the piece of cake, if you could even call it that. Your mouth seemed to go dry - like all of the spit and saliva it produced had been sucked up by the cake, but it was still just as crumbly as before. “See, you can’t. Now here,” Shouto says, raising a trashcan to your mouth. You spit out the cake but show some decency by covering the action with a hand.

“I’m sorry Sho. It’s just... I never thought a cake could be made and come out like... that.” You mumble, wiping the corner of your mouth. He chuckles and hugs you.

“I’m the one that should be sorry, it’s your birthday. Now c’mon, I’ll call one in to be delivered. Chocolate or Vanilla?”

Katsuki Bakugou:

- He will by you gifts but play it off as not a big deal

- “Don’t be an idiot it’s just a stupid (insert gift here)

- HE MAKES THE BEST BIRTHDAY CAKE

- Like seriously whatever cake flavor or type of cake he will make it and it will be absolutely delicious

- Cheescake? In his sleep. Ice cream cake? Been there done that. Flan? Hell yeah, he’s got it.

- All in all, when you get to celebrate your birthday with him, it’s a very fun time with Bakugou

“Katsuki, it’s perfect!” You exclaim, setting your gift back down in its tissue paper padded box.

“Tch, it’s not something to be all over-dramatic about.” Your boyfriend says, rolling his eyes. Although he tried to put up an apathetic appearance, you could see the faint inkling of a blush start to blossom on his cheeks. You lace your arms around his neck, causing the blonde-haired boy to look at you.

“I love it, and you.” You say, your fingers starting to play with his hair. A soft look flashes in his eyes as he wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you closer to him. “I was being serious, it’s perfect.” You reach up to give him a peck on the lips. Bakugou hums as you rest your head on his chest.

“Happy Birthday,” he says simply, one of his hands reaching up to rest on your head. You sigh happily at the added comfort. “C’mon, let’s eat the cake I made.” You raise your head instantly, a grin spreading across your cake.

“You made me a cake?” You ask joyfully, following him to the refrigerator.

“Yeah, whatever.” He says. The blush on his cake was now fully apparent as he took a plate that was covered in tin foil out. When he unwraps it your jaw drops. It was perfectly made. You fumble around for a knife and cut a slice for both you and him to eat. As soon as you fork a piece into your mouth you wanted to collapse onto the floor. It was heavenly - perfectly moist, the frosting not too sugary, and the ratio was perfect.

“My god Katsuki, you really made this?” You say, quickly finishing the rest of your slice.

“Of course I made it dumbass, you think I would get you store-bought crap for your birthday?!” He grumbles, a glare on his face. You really couldn’t take him seriously, though, as he talked with a mouthful of cake.

“Thank you.” You say, pressing a kiss to his mouth. Both yours and his lips tasted like frosting, making both of you irresistible to the other. You left the cake sitting on the counter for a while, finding each other much more sweet than the dessert.

Izuku Midoriya:

- He is so much fun to celebrate with

- He’ll take you to an amusement park, treat you to a spa day, go to the hot springs

- Literally anything you want to do for your birthday he will make sure that it happens

- Will get a cake from the store because while he’d like to make you one, he just doesn’t want to risk messing it up

- He gets you such a cute gift that goes along with whatever your interests are

- 10/10 sweetest birthday ever

It was one of the most relaxing days you have had in a while. Izuku knew you were up to your nose in work, so what better to do than spend your birthday by unwinding? Currently the two of you were sat in a private hot springs just north of you and Izuku’s home, soaking up the hot water. With a glass of champagne in one hand and the other held by Izuku, you couldn’t think of anywhere else you’d rather be.

“You enjoying yourself, love?” You open the eye closest to your boyfriend to see an amused expression on his face. You smile and close your eyes again, drifting over to lay your back against his built chest.

“Very much Izu, thank you for taking me here.” You sigh as you feel his hand come up to massage the knots in your back. He hums and kisses your shoulder.

“Of course - you’ve been so busy lately that I thought you could use a special getaway. Plus, it’s your birthday.” He says, his arm now just hung around your shoulder. He reaches for his own glass with his other hand. You open your eyes and turn around to face him, a soft look on both of your faces.

“You know, a day at home would’ve been just as fine. You didn’t need to go all out like this.” You say, your mouth spreading into a shy smile. A small moment of panic goes through Izuku at your words.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, was this too much? I thought that it might’ve been too much when I made the reservations but I did it anyways -mmpf!” You cut off his ramblings with a passionate kiss. He eases instantly at your touch and sinks into the kiss.

“This is absolutely perfect.” You reassure him. He gives you a grin and holds your chin gently in his fingers.

“Happy birthday, darling.” He whispers, bringing you back to his lips.

Mirio Togata:

- Human form of sunshine

- He’ll take you to the beach or for a picnic in the park, just somewhere a little more intimate but still out in the world

- He will prepare lunch for the two of you and cut the fruit into cute shapes (he is so pure I cannot)

- He makes a pretty good birthday cake, I’m not gonna lie

- He gives you a gift and has the thing matching it for him (like bracelets, rings, necklaces; that kinda thing)

- A very fun and relaxed birthday with our blonde 3rd year <3

It was the perfect day. The sun was shining, birds were chirping, and the temperature was lovely - not hot enough to make you sweat but not cold enough that it would require a jacket. Spread before you was a cute little red picnic blanket covered in plates of finger foods, a pitcher of lemonade with two glasses, and who looked to be the happiest man alive.

“Oh, Mirio, it’s lovely,” you say, slightly taken aback. He gave you a wide smile and offered you a hand, helping you sit down next to him gently. He pecks your cheek and offers you a platter of your favorite h’orderves.

“I’m glad you like it! I’ve got all of your favorites, and I thought we could just enjoy a nice day at the park for your birthday. Sound like a plan?” He asks you happily, his arm finding its way wrapped around your waist. You lean into his touch and smile.

“It sounds perfect.” Your afternoon was full of fun and laughter - throwing foods up into the air for the other to catch, trying to fly a kite but it eventually ending up tangled in a tree, and stealing kisses from each other. Finally, the sun was starting to go down, prompting the two of you to start packing up everything.

“Y/N, before you go, I have something for you.” Mirio says, gaining you attention. In his hand was a wrapped box with a little bow on top.

“Mirio Togata, you did not get me a gift after doing all this for me.” You say, hands on your hips. You couldn’t believe how caring and giving your boyfriend was - always going one step above and beyond what you thought was reachable.

“Open it.” He says simply, placing the little gift in your hands. You give him a look before tugging the ribbon undone and slowly peeling back the paper. What rested underneath was a velvet box. You sucked in a breath and looked back up at your boyfriend who had a grin on his face.

“Mirio, I swear.” You warn, carefully lifting the lid. What lay inside were two of the prettiest bracelets you had ever seen. They were both made out of a small silver chain and had a small rectangle charm on each. You flipped both of the charms over to reveal his and your initials.

“I thought it would be cute.” He says, lifting the one with his initials. Wordlessly he clasped it around your wrist. “You could wear my initials and I could wear yours.” You quickly clasped the bracelet with your initials around his wrist and grabbed onto his shirt’s collar, pulling him in for a passionate kiss.

“You’re too good to me,” you say breathlessly. Mirio chuckles and brings a hand up to your face, tucking your stray hairs behind your ear.

“Happy birthday.”

208 notes · View notes

a-small-batch-of-dragons · 4 years ago

Text

Tactical Retreat

Prompts: averykedavra: could i request,,,logince? maybe an imagination fic? roman retreating to the imagination and logan finding and comforting him? no pressure, but thank u regardless, and your stories are incredible!

Anon: So I’m I adore your writing and like I’ve read your stuff on ao3 and I just wanted to ask if you ever thought of that conversation between Roman and Remus and stuff that they mentioned in that story about Logan relapsing...? I just, I love the way you write your characters and dive into their head and manners so well- it’s incredible. (I’m shy to say but I also write a bit and I saw you’d left a comment on my story and I kind of died cause you’re incredible and I’m majorly inspired by you-)

Thanks for the prompts, babes! they fit so well that I did them together, I hope that's okay ^_^also: GUYS PLEASE VIEW THIS AS A

C H E C K P O I N T

if you've been scrolling for a while (and you probably have) pause here! drink water! get food! walk around the room for a little bit! stretch! do something please! you are very important to me and I care about you very deeply!

Read on Ao3

Warnings: explicit discussion of self-harm. I’m not kidding. I fucked myself up writing this a little please take care of yourselves. sympathetic remus

Pairings: logince, creativitwins, implied LAMP, can be platonic or romantic you decide

Word Count: 5131

Retreat: an act or process of withdrawing especially from what is difficult, dangerous, or disagreeable.

Retreat: a place of privacy or safety: REFUGE.

* * *

“We are so not done with this conversation,” Remus had said.

That would certainly explain why Remus barges into Roman’s room at absolutely-unreasonable-do-you-have-any-idea-what-time-it-is o’clock.

Roman just looks at them all and raises an eyebrow.

“Oh, please. It’s not all long sleeves and pants all summer for no reason.”

“R-Roman, you—you—?”

“Yeah, Specs,” Roman murmurs when Logan can’t find his words, “me too.”

“Oh, we are not done with this conversation.”

…

“Will you let us help you clean them?”

Unbidden, Logan’s face flares bright red.

“You don’t have to be embarrassed, sweetie…”

Roman gently nudges Remus’s arm. “Let me. You two go check on Patton and Virgil.”

“What?”

“Roman—“

“Come on,” Roman coaxes, “it’s not like I don’t have the practice.”

“We are so not done with this conversation.”

That would certainly explain why Remus barges into Roman’s room at absolutely-unreasonable-do-you-have-any-idea-what-time-it-is o’clock.

“Remus,” Roman sighs, sitting up and covering his eyes, “I know it might not seem like it, but I do need my beauty sleep too.”

He frowns when Remus doesn’t say anything.

“I can look at whatever you’ve made tomorrow,” he promises, “I just—I don’t really want to—not that I don’t want to!—but can I…sleep, first, please?”

Remus still doesn’t say anything. Roman peeks out from behind his hand to see Remus…is still humanoid. The door isn’t…off its hinges, it’s just been slammed open. His morningstar isn’t in his hands. His brother is just staring at him.

Shit.

“Re?” Roman sits up slowly, his eyes adjusting to the light. “Re, are you—can you come here please?”

Remus walks into the room. Roman pulls back the covers, making room for his brother, already running through the checklist in his head. No blood, no guts, first aid kit is in the corner, he can get the shower running if need be…

It’s only when Remus actually stops next to his bed that he realizes what’s going on.

Remus is wearing his soft things. Remus has opened Roman’s door. And now he’s getting into the bed and just staring at him.

“…Re?”

“Ro,” Remus whispers, and oh no, “Ro, you…you didn’t have anybody?”

Roman’s heart clenches in his chest and an emptiness oozes into his throat. He should’ve known that Remus was serious when he said they weren’t done with that conversation.

“…Re, I—“

“Don’t bullshit me, Roman,” Remus hisses, the desperation bleeding into Roman’s lungs, “I know you, Ro-bro, and you—you—I’m gonna kick their asses.”

Roman sighs, his head falling back to the pillow. Now that the worry over his brother has dissipated, he really just wants to go back to sleep.

“You don’t have to do that, Re,” he mumbles.

“The hell I do!” Roman winces and he hushes. “You—Ro, you know what my job is. You know I—“

“Yeah, Re, I do know what your job is.” He stifles a yawn. “I…sorry, I just…I’m really tired right now.”

A sharp poke to his belly makes him squeak.

“Remus!”

“I told you, Ro, you can’t bullshit me.”

“What do you want me to say?”

“Something, anything, Ro, you—“ Remus chokes— “Ro, you’re my brother. You’re fucking important to me.”

“I know, Re, I…well, I would say I’m sorry, but you told me not to bullshit.”

“So you’re not sorry.”

“Sorry for worrying you, yeah. But not for…” Roman sighs. “I would just be apologizing for how it makes you guys react and not because I’m sorry for what I’ve actually been doing.”

Remus is quiet for a moment. The bed dips under his weight as he slides under the blankets. Then he shifts a little closer until his hair brushes Roman’s nose.

“…when you said you knew what my job is,” he mutters after a moment, “you didn’t just mean the intrusive thoughts, did you?”

Roman shakes his head. “Thomas…I’m the…safe Creativity. I’m the fluffy, dreamy, Disney side.”

Remus moves to look up at him, encouraging him to continue.

“So I…I tend to romanticize things. I get the pretty, artsy, palatable version of things.” The emptiness bubbles up lazily into his throat. “Of everything. You…you get the real version of them.”

Even in the dim light, he can see Remus visibly pale.

“You get all the messy consequences, the realities of…a lot of the things that I wouldn’t.” Roman swallows. “So…”

“Oh, Ro…”

“Do we have to have this conversation now?”

Remus props himself up on his elbow, the blanket sliding a little off his shoulders. “Do you wanna have it in broad daylight, then? Plan it all out, sit down with a drink and a notebook? Have one of your lists to work down?”

“…can you at least close the door, please?”

A weight leaves Roman’s chest as the door closes and the light vanishes, leaving them in near darkness. His eyes close.

Damn it.

The mattress sinks as Remus gets back into the bed. He’s too far away for Roman to feel him. But he can feel his gaze on him.

“What do you want from me?”

“The truth?”

Roman huffs. “Is that all?”

“I dunno, Ro-bro, you’ve gotten pretty good at misleading everyone else.”

“I’m an actor.”

“Yeah, which means you’re really not good at turning it off.”

A mirthless laugh bursts out of one of the bubbles in his throat.

“Haven’t exactly had much of an incentive to do that.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Come on, you think any of them have actually wanted the real me for…ever?”

Remus scrambles up. “Roman, that’s—fuck, you’re one of the core Sides. You’re—you’re so fucking important, Ro, they—they love you.”

Something darker than darkness shears through the emptiness.

“No,” Roman growls, turning his head into the pillow, “no, they don’t.”

Did they ever? Or was that just an easy way to string along their favorite little puppet?

Before the anger can fully take hold of his throat, the emptiness oozes back into place and his jaw slackens, prompting another sigh as Remus freezes above him.

“What’re you talking about, Ro,” comes his voice from somewhere, “they—you—aren’t you…?”

“They say it,” Roman manages, “but I don’t think they mean it. Or if they do, it’s not—it’s not like that.”

“Well, then what the fuck is it?”

“They don’t want to listen to me, not really, they just…well, they need someone else to be there.”

“It’s funny because I’m pretty sure we just had this conversation with Lolo.”

“That’s different.”

“Is it?” Remus pokes Roman’s shoulder until he rolls onto his back. He glares. “I don’t care what anyone else says, Ro, you’re fucking important. You’re not replaceable. And you’re sure as hell not unlovable.”

Roman flinches.

Remus tilts his head, eyes widening.

“You don’t believe me.”

Roman shakes his head.

Remus lets out a shaky breath and lies back down, still staring at Roman. “Ro-Bro, what did they do to you?”

“What, you want the list alphabetically or in chronological order?”

“Roman, please.”

Roman’s eyes snap open in shock. Remus stares back at him, pleading. His brother is begging, he realizes in a panic. He wasn’t sure Remus knew how to do that.

“I’m—“

“If you dare say you’re sorry, I’m gonna rip your testicles out through your mouth.”

Roman swallows. “They just…they won’t listen to me,” he repeats lamely, “they don’t want me.”

“What do you mean, they don’t want you?”

Conveniently, Roman’s brain is now entirely empty. He knows stuff has happened to him…doesn’t he? Things…stuff’s been bad now. For a while. He’s been…doing whatever this is for a while.

So why can’t he remember?

“Every time I come up with an idea, it’s—they always want to change it.” But that’s just part of the editing process. He needs the others to help him edit.

“They think I’m too loud.” He is, though.

“I’m—they think I’m—“

Arrogant? Overbearing? Stuck in a fantasy world?

All of the above?

“Nothing,” he whispers finally, “they didn’t do anything to me.”

He buries his face in his hands.

“They didn’t do anything to me. I’m just—I’m just being overdramatic. It’s fine.”

“It’s clearly not fine.”

“Isn’t it?” He flaps a hand at Remus. “You’re the one that gets the real version of all this. I get the romanticized version. No consequences. Just pretty words and sentiments that don’t make sense.”

“You think Thomas is okay with a self-harming Ego?”

“Well, maybe Thomas deserves a better Ego!”

The room freezes.

Roman squeezes his eyes shut. “Thomas deserves an Ego that knows what he’s doing. That believes in himself. That can do all the things it’s supposed to do.”

He lets his hands fall limply away from his face.

“But all he’s got is me.”

I’m not enough.

“I can’t—I can’t do my job without being able to…” He sighs. “I’m the opposite of Logan.”

“…how so?”

“Logan does it to make things go away so he can work. I do it make things come so I can work.”

He feels Remus tense on the bed.

“Romanticized, remember? That’s my job. Fantasy, dreams, romance, not real. I…” He shrugs. “It doesn’t matter.”

A wave of exhaustion threatens to snatch his words from his mouth. God, talking about this is so draining. Can he be done now?

“How,” Remus says after a moment, “can you possibly say it doesn’t matter?”

“Can’t I just go to sleep now, Remus?”

“No,” comes the snarl, “you can’t fucking go to sleep, because you’ve just told me it doesn’t fucking matter if you self-harm and that you think you aren’t good enough without it.”

Roman shrinks into himself. “Don’t yell at me.”

“Give me one good reason why not!”

“Because you’re making me want to do it again.”

Remus’s breath leaves him in a rush.

“Oh, Roman…”

Roman just curls up tighter.

“I’m doing this all wrong,” he hears Remus mutter faintly before something ruffles his hair and the bed dips further, “Ro-Bro, hey, look at me.”

“Are you going to yell at me again?”

“No, Roman, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make things worse. I’m just really upset for you right now. I promise I won’t yell.”

Roman looks up. Remus smiles back at him, still not touching him. If he wanted to, he could reach out and tug Remus closer, but…that’s hard.

“Hey,” Remus says quietly, “you here with me?”

Roman nods.

“I’m sorry, really,” he continues, “we can…if you really want to stop, we can stop.”

“…no.” Roman shakes himself a little. “You’re right. I’d rather…I think I’d rather do it now, like this. So I don’t have to do it later.”

“Okay.” Remus shifts a little. “Can I ask you some questions or do you just want to talk and I’ll listen?”

“I don’t know if I can just talk.”

“That’s okay, Ro. How about this: I’m gonna ask you stuff and when you wanna say something, you just say it.”

“Okay.”

“How long has this been happening?”

Roman shuffles. “Long enough. Um…at least a few years.”

“Do you have the medical supplies you need to take care of it afterward so they don’t get infected?”

“Yeah.”

“If you run out, can you easily get more?”

“Yeah.”

Remus lets out a long, slow, breath. “Okay. Okay, that’s…that’s good.”

“Is that it?”

“Do you want it to be?”

Roman falters, looking at Remus’s face. The room is still dark. It’s still the middle of the night. The world is paused, breathing softly. He…he has time.

“…no.”

“Okay.” Remus shifts to lay on his side. “Can I ask you more stuff?”

“Sure.”

“It’s not just cutting, is it?”

Roman’s face burns. “No.”

“Will you tell me what else it is?”

“I don’t let myself eat. I read things I know are gonna be bad for me. I put myself in situations that I know are gonna be bad for me.”

“Can you give me an example of one?”

“…I submit an idea I know they’ll hate.”

Remus lets out another breath. Something tingles on the tip of Roman’s tongue, pressing up against his lips.

“…why didn’t you come to any of us?”

He swallows it down. “I didn’t think you’d listen.”

“I will,” Remus promises, “I always will.”

“How can you promise that?”

“Because you’re my brother,” he answers like it’s the easiest thing in the world, “and you’re important to me.”

Oh.

“So if you wanna talk,” he continues like he hasn’t just shattered Roman’s worldview, “I’m here to listen.”

The tingle is back. He stares at Remus, stuck. He can talk. He should talk. They just had a conversation with Logan about that. He should know this. This shouldn’t be happening to him.

He squeezes his eyes shut.

“You have to promise me something.”

“What?”

“Don’t touch me until I’m done.”

He can tell he’s startled Remus by the way the covers jerk back.

“…I promise.”

Here goes nothing.

“It’s not that I want this,” he starts, the words aching on his tongue, “that I want to feel bad, or upset, or—or…hurt. I just…sometimes it’s easier to work that way.”

He scuffs a hand over his nose.

“If I’m upset, I can…I know what kind of thing would make me feel better. Or I know how I am feeling and I can make an idea feel it instead. I know—I need—we—I—“

He sighs.

“I hate this.”

“You’re doing great.”

Doubt that. “They don’t want me. They tell me I’m too loud, I don’t make enough sense, I’m too rash, I’m too selfish.” He swallows. “That I spend too much time dreaming.”

His face twitches.

“They think they know what I dream about.”

“…and what do you dream about?”

Roman sinks his head into the pillow, the soft material cool against his cheek. The bed is warm, the room slightly chilled, the air a comforting weight. The emptiness froths in his chest.

“It’s not important.”

“Bullshit,” and only Remus could make that sound affectionate, “they’re your dreams, Ro.”

“Not Thomas’s.”

“So?” Remus reaches out to poke him but freezes halfway. The sight of his hand retreating makes Roman ache. “We just figured out that we’re allowed to not just depend on that, right?”

“Not at the expense of Thomas.” Roman huddles tighter. “And they wouldn’t care about it anyway.”

“Why do you think they don’t care about you?”

“Isn’t that what I just said,” he growls, scrubbing his hands over his face, “that they don’t want to listen to me? That they only ask for my opinion when they think I’ll be easily manipulated enough to agree with them? That when I’m not they reject me and everything I try to do for them?”

He takes a deep breath and draws his hands away. The sight of Remus, just out of reach, just there, hurts. It hurts. The urge to bury his nose in the crook of his brother’s neck hurts.

“No,” comes Remus’s voice quietly.

Roman blinks. His hands freeze, halfway to Remus.

Right. He asked for this.

He wraps his arms tightly around himself and squeezes.

“I can’t play the role all the time,” he murmurs, “so I have to…remind myself.”

“And that’s why you…?”

“Yeah.”

Remus is quiet for a moment. The room hurts. Roman is cold.

“Ro,” his brother says after a minute, “is you asking me to reject you if you look for physical comfort self-harm too?”

“…perhaps.”

“‘Cause you know self-denial is self-harm too.”

“Perhaps.”

He looks up to see Remus’s eyes…glistening?

“I hope you know I’m gonna hug you really hard now.”

“…please?”

Remus all but throws himself at Roman, rucking up the covers something awful as he bowls them over onto the pillows, his arms around his brother. Remus is big and warm and solid and soft and perfect, squeezing Roman so tightly he worries for a minute that he won’t be able to breathe. He buries his nose in Remus’s neck and oh, it’s everything he ever wanted. This is—

This is dangerous.

This is warm and solid and fire burning in his stomach. This is being able to eat and eat and eat until his tongue turns black and falls out of his skull. This is standing in front of a hurricane and the winds whipping around his immovable body.

This is opening that pit in his chest and giving himself to the need to devour.

Remus must feel the way he tenses in his arms and nuzzles into his hair.

“Ro-Bro?”

“Re?”

“Hey, what’s going on? You went weird there for a second.”

“This…this is okay, right?”

Remus squeezes him again. “Yes, Roman, this is okay. You’re allowed to hug me, I’m allowed to hug you.”

“It’s okay that I…want this?”

Remus stills and Roman panics.

He’s messed it up. He’s told Remus that he wants something. He’s told Remus that he wants something. He’s told Remus that he wants something. Remus is going to think he never wants to hug him. Remus is going to tell the others he’s being selfish. He’s let them know he still wants. He’s ruined everything.

Then Remus tightens his grip so much Roman gasps.

“Yes, Roman. This is perfectly fucking okay. You’re allowed to want, Ro. You’re supposed to want.”

“But I—Re—“

“Sorry.”

Roman pants as Remus loosens his grip. Just a little.

“But I—that’s never a good thing. Anytime I want something, we—they—I—I’m supposed to give it up.”

“One of these days,” Remus grumbles, mostly to himself, “we’re gonna sit down with Patton and have a conversation.”

“…like, this kind of conversation?”

Remus grumbles something inaudible.

“But every time I want something it goes wrong.”

“That doesn’t mean you’re not allowed to want, Roman.” Remus tucks his face back into Roman’s neck. “You’re allowed to make yourself satisfied.”

Roman shakes his head. He’s learned this time. He got it right this time. There’s no sainthood in satisfaction. Selfless is safe. He’s figured out how to hide his appetite and put them into his work and not ask for more. He knows not to take up too much space. And when he doesn’t, well…

He knows how to remind himself.

When he says that to Remus, Remus pulls back to look at him.

“You don’t think you deserve to make yourself happy?”

He tries to busy himself with fiddling with Remus’s shirt. “I’m what Thomas wants. Or I’m supposed to be. Who cares about me?”

“I do.”

Roman huffs sadly. “I don’t—yes, thank you, Remus, I—I care a lot about you too.”

“You can say you love me.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too. Now, what were you going to say?”

Roman sighs, his eyes falling closed. “I want to be happy. I can’t be happy until Thomas is happy. And Thomas isn’t happy with what I want.”

“Oh, Ro…”

“I’m just—why can’t it be okay for me to just be happy?”

“It is, Ro, you can be happy.” Remus gives him another squeeze. “It’s…you can be you, Roman. That’s okay.”

“But it isn’t. It never is. And I can’t—I can’t be happy. Not yet. I have work to do.”

Remus shifts until his chin is tucked over Roman’s shoulder.

“…thought you were the hero, Ro-Bro?”

As the words plunge deep into Roman’s chest, he smiles.

“Name me one hero who was happy.”

When Roman really doesn’t want to be found, he goes deep into the Imagination.

Remus knows, now. Remus came and found him. Remus talked to him. Remus listens. Remus knows.

He was fine with telling Logan. Logan is different. They want Logan. Logan is wonderful and amazing and deserves the world. Or the stars. Or both!

…Janus also knows now.

He’s not sure how he feels about that.

But they’re going to want to talk to him. They’re going to want to know things. And Roman.

Roman can’t. Not today. It’s too much. It hurts too much.

“‘Cause you know self-denial is self-harm too.”

“Go away,” Roman mutters to the ghost of Remus’s voice as he pushes through the tangled brush.

This is different. This is avoiding an overload. This is when he’s already packaged up his appetites so they’re acceptable. This is when he’s already been stripped of what he wants and he has to leave before he gets stripped of who he is.

And it’s so, so stupid.

The others haven’t even done anything today.

Have they ever?

It’s just…sometimes it’s hard, okay? Roman knows he has to do it—no, he doesn’t—yes, he does—but sometimes he just wants everything to stop for two fucking seconds.

There’s a dark patch of woods on Roman’s side of the Imagination. When he brings the others in, they spot it and think that it’s the gateway to Remus’s side.

That’s actually at the bottom of the lake. The gravity flips as you enter this brine pool with a dense methane atmosphere over it. It’s pretty cool, actually.

But not this forest. This forest is Roman.

It’s the last part of Roman that lets himself want.

Deep between the trees, if you can find your way through, there’s a clearing. It’s very small, just large enough for a massive tree with white petals, almost brushing the ground. The petals sway gently in the little bit of breeze that manages to get through the thick walls of the other forest. Underneath is a little bench swing, just large enough for Roman to sit or lie down if he wants to. It smells gently of the blossoms. It’s quiet.

It’s his.

As he slogs through the last part of the foliage, he almost drops to his knees in relief. He made it. He can stop now.

The swing creaks welcomingly as he sits down, the tree reaching to ruffle his hair. He closes his eyes and lets his head tip back. It’s safe here. There’s nothing that can hurt him. It’s his place, his haven. He doesn’t have to pretend here. His eyes flutter open as he watches the petals fall from the branches. They twist and turn until they land on his red sash.

He picks it up. It’s so small. And soft. It’s pretty. It looks so white against the red of his sash. Why isn’t the rest of his shirt that white?

And the sash is so…so…red…

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the sunlight gleam off of the blade of his sword.

A wounded noise escapes Roman’s throat and echoes around and around the still glade. His hands clutch at his sash as he tumbles gracelessly from the swing.

How could he be so selfish?

Logan is hurting. Logan is struggling right now. The others should be focused on Logan. Not him.

Is this what he thinks he needs to stoop to now? To—to—to get attention now? He hasn’t learned his lesson about asking for attention? Hasn’t he learned that asking for anything hurts?

Is that why he wants to do it so badly?

Because it doesn’t matter that Roman self-harms. It doesn’t matter that telling Logan that he cared, that telling the others that he could help felt like selfishly turning Logan’s problem into something about him. It doesn’t matter that Roman’s wildest dream is to have someone care for him the way he desperately wants to be able to care for them.

Roman wants.

Roman’s not supposed to want something Thomas doesn’t want.

So Roman will be selfish here, in this glade, all by himself, where no one can see it, so that he doesn’t hurt anyone else.

Then he hears something.

“Roman? Roman, where are you?”

No.

“Roman! Roman, answer me!”

“No,” he whimpers, scrambling back against the tree.

Logan can’t be here right now. Logan—Logan has enough of his own to worry about, he can’t make Logan worry about him too.

“Roman?” Logan’s voice takes on a note of panic. “Roman!”

He should tell Logan it’s nothing to worry about. He should come out of the woods and smile, say he’s fine. He should ask Logan if he’s okay.

He doesn’t want Logan to see this place.

He doesn’t want Logan to see him like this.

He doesn’t want Logan to ask him if he’s okay.

Because he isn’t, and he’ll want to tell Logan that.

He staggers to his feet and starts to try and make it out of the glade before Logan gets too close. But the flowers are too soft, too warm, too safe. He can’t make himself get up, can’t make himself stop relentlessly taking comfort. He can’t stop wanting.

“Roman?” The leaves crinkle together. “Roman, are you back here?”

No, he should say, don’t come in here, it’s dangerous, I’ll come to you!

Yes, he wants to scream, yes, come find me, come help me, I want you.

The glade holds its breath as Logan bursts through the trees.

“Roman!”

Before he can blink, Logan’s crouching in front of him. He adjusts his glasses and reaches out for Roman’s shoulders, smoothing over the gold trim and examining his face anxiously.

“You’ve got scratches all across you,” he says worriedly, “did you have a hard time getting through? Are you alright? Were you with Remus?”

“No,” Roman mumbles, cheeks burning, “not…not Remus’s fault. Mine.”

“Roman,” he tuts, “you getting injured during a fight isn’t the fault you make it out to be.”

“…not a fight.”

Logan frowns. He glances over his shoulder. “The branches? I managed to get through with barely any scratches, perhaps if we go back through together, we can—“

“Wasn’t the branches, Logan,” Roman interrupts softly.

“Then…” He can almost feel the minute Logan’s eyes land on his hands lying limply at his sides. “…Roman, did you…?”

He nods, shame burning in his gut.

“…this may be a redundant question,” Logan says quietly after a moment, “but…are you alright?”

He can’t help the huff. “Would you like the honest answer or the acceptable one?”

Logan blinks. “Roman, you…you can always be honest with me. I apologize if I have ever given you the impression that you can’t.”

He must be able to see the disbelief on Roman’s face.

“…I do apologize for making you think your honesty was not wanted,” he says, shifting forward to kneel in front of Roman, “and…if it helps, I do believe I owe you.”

“No,” Roman says quickly, shaking his head, “no, Logan you don’t—you don’t owe me anything.”

“You cared for me.”

“That’s what anyone would do,” Roman argues, “what they should do. You shouldn’t owe me for basic decency. If anything, I owed you that.”

“Why would you owe me that?”

He laughs sadly. “Because I’m me? Because I’m loud and obnoxious and never want to listen to you?”

“And what about me? I’m cold and callous and dismissive of you.”

Roman shakes his head. “No, you’re not.”

Logan reaches up to push his hair out of his face. “And you’re not either.”

The wind ruffles through the petals. Logan looks up and smiles.

“It’s beautiful.”

Roman ducks his head. “…thanks.”

“So this is…yours?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s wonderful, Roman.”

“Thanks.”

“You don’t believe me,” Logan says softly, “do you?”

Roman just shrugs.

“Talk to me,” he coaxes, cupping Roman’s face in his hands, “come on, now.”

“It’s nothing.”

“Now, I don’t believe that for a second.”

It hurts. He wants and it hurts and it’s not supposed to hurt and of course it’s supposed to hurt. Everything hurts. Logan scoots a little closer and waits patiently.

“…it used to be easy,” Roman whispers finally, “I used to be able to…to make this work. And now…now I don’t know how to anymore.”

“How what works?”

“I’m not supposed to want,” Roman confesses, “I’m supposed to want for Thomas. And I…I don’t know what that is anymore. Maybe I never did. But I—it used to be easy for me to make myself stay where I was supposed to be. And how to remind myself to be safe in—in—“

“Pain,” Logan finishes.

Roman’s head throbs.

“Oh, my dear,” he murmurs, pulling Roman forward into a burning hug, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Roman slurs, drunk off of Logan’s arms around him, “don’t…don’t stress about it.”

“I’m worried about you, little star,” Logan says against his temple, “you’re hurting.”

“We all hurt.”

“Yes, and recently, someone very smart said that something like this isn’t necessary for us to love you.”

Roman looks up slowly, his eyes brimming with hope. Logan smiles down at him, head tilted in silent question.

“…you think I’m smart?”

“I think you’re quite intelligent, yes.” He catches a tear on the edge of his thumb. “And I think you’re hurting yourself, little star.”

“I…I am, Logan.”

“I know,” Logan whispers, “I know you are.”

“I’m sorry—“

“Shh, shh,” he soothes, “don’t apologize, little star, it’s okay. I’m not angry. I understand.”

Of course he does. He’s Logan.

“It’s not easy, is it? It never is, it’s just…we have to unlearn things, now.” Logan strokes a hand through his hair. “Sometimes it’s going to be a little harder.”

And Roman is here, in his glade, under his tree, protected by the eyes of the world by the thick forest wall, and he wants.

He wants to throw his arms around Logan and hang on for dear life. He wants this pit in his stomach to fill to bursting and disappear forever. He wants everything to stop, right here, so he can live here forever.

What comes out instead is: “…can you hold onto me?”

Logan nods instantly. “How much?”

“…like I might fall off the face of the earth if you let go?”

“Can that happen,” Logan asks even though he’s already moving.

“Not if you hold on.”

A chuckle rumbles through the warm chest as Roman’s cheek comes to rest against the soft fabric. “Then I’d better hold on tightly.”

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honeylikewords · 4 years ago

Note

C, k, w. For whoever you wanna write for.

Thank you! I decided to experiment and go out on a limb with this one and try someone new, someone I’ve never written publicly for before: my version of Harvey Dent!

I’ve mentioned a few times before that Oscar is my ideal casting for Harvey (and many people seem to agree; there’s even talk that he was cast for the role in the upcoming Batman movie, but that the role had been cut from the final version of the script), and I just think it’d be fun to play around with the idea.

This version of Harvey that I’m experimenting with is inspired by the Harvey from Batman: The Animated Series and Oscar’s role as Basil Stitt in Lightningface, and is largely based on the understanding that Harvey is a fundamentally good person, and completely capable of healing, change, and growth (i.e. the occasional run in comics or other adaptations wherein Harvey is saved from himself and given proper care and support, allowing him to progress towards health).

Of course, I do want to mention that characters like Harvey are not accurate (nor entirely helpful) depictions of conditions like dissociative identity disorder, and the condition itself is complex and covers a rather broad spectrum of individual disorders and behaviors and experiences, with much dispute in medical and psychiatric communities about classification, origin, treatment, et cetera, and therefore is not something I feel qualified to weigh in on.

That said, Harvey is a character I love and care about, and therefore do feel comfortable writing about him with the intent of portraying respectful admiration and sowing the seeds of wishful thinking for a healthy recovery for him, a happy life with loved ones, and a prosperous future for his character. In that way, my Harvey will be written as having a well-developed support structure and beginning to lead a more healthy lifestyle.

Now, with all that out of the way, here is my first foray into writing out some of my (admittedly lighthearted and possibly OOC) concepts for my interpretation of Harvey!

C = Cuddle (How do they cuddle?):

Harvey Dent is in a strange, self-made bind about physical touch. On one hand, Harvey is desperately touch-starved, viciously craving even the most minuscule of intimacies, aching for something, anything, be it as light as a brush to his wayward curls or a hand on the small of his back; the mere idea of something like being held in a loving pair of arms, safe and steady, makes him fucking dizzy.

But, on the other, deeply marred hand, Harvey is petrified of himself and doubts his capacity for tenderness. He fears that some dark, malicious part of himself lies in wait, hoping to strike when he is most lulled into comfort; worse yet, Harvey is afraid that those he loves and trusts the most will, by some horrible twist of fate, turn against him and hurt him when he least expects it.

He tries to fight against those thoughts, and tries to reassure himself that he would never lay a hand on his loved ones, and especially never raise a hand to someone as precious to him as his sweetheart, but the niggling worm of his anxious thoughts still chews away at him from time to time, and he finds himself avoidant of touch, even if it’s something he yearns for passionately.

Harvey is naturally drawn to physical expressions of love, so telling himself “no” or shying away from something like being cuddled by his beloved feels both unnatural and cruel, and it exhausts him and his patience to try and uphold his self-enforced isolation. It’s like pulling teeth for poor Harvey; all the boy wants is to lay in bed with his sweet girl and feel the warm, solid weight of her against his skin, knowing she is his and he is hers, feeling that comforting press and release of their breaths falling into unison as they unwind together, and he just won’t let himself have it!

That said, as his relationship with his beloved strengthens with time and endurance, Harvey’s trust in her builds, too, and he grows more confident knowing that all sides of him, regardless of mood or memory, care about her, love her, and would never do anything to intentionally harm or frighten her, so their intimacy is able to flow more naturally.

Once they are at a comfortable place in their relationship, Harvey’s beloved goes out on a limb and curls up on the couch, patting the cushion next to herself. Harvey takes a seat and feels her put her hands on his shoulders and gently coax him into a laying position, his head resting squarely in her lap.

She asks if he’s feeling alright-- his solid cheek has turned a deep and detectable shade of warm tan, and his eyes skitter around her face, shyly flitting from feature to feature-- and when he nods his consent, she reaches out a hand and passes her fingers along his hairline, tracing the coast of his curls as they transition from deep brown-black to stark white. Harvey holds his breath, afraid that if he moves even a single muscle, the spell will be broken and she will change her mind, repulsed by his scars, his odd hair, his mismatched eyes, his... everything.

But she does not pull back. She merely runs her fingers across his face, brushing at the crests of his strong cheeks, down his angled jaw, along the lines of his lips. She gazes at him with dreamy eyes, smiling to herself, and she hums, as if distantly amused.

“You’re so handsome, Harvey,” she purrs, using the back of her hand to card softly across the ridges of his scars.

She’s lying, the familiar voice snarls. Lovely little liar, but a liar nonetheless.

Harvey ignores it and turns, burying his face in her belly, unwilling to let her see his flushed face and watery eyes. He takes a deep breath and puts his hands on her back, tugging her into himself, and him into her; he’s going to let himself have what he wants, for once.

From then on, Harvey finds it much easier to take the initiative to cuddle his beloved. When his Id takes greater control, Harvey will sometimes lift his sweet one up into his arms and confidently stride to the nearest cuddling spot-- be it the couch, his armchair, or the bed-- with her pressed to his chest, a cocky smile and waggling eyebrows meeting his beloved’s surprised expression. When he’s more reserved but still craving her touch, he’ll try to indicate his needs by nudging his head against her, hoping she takes the cue and fiddles with his hair, which relaxes him so deeply.

Both are, in their own ways, uniquely endearing to his partner, but she loves when he regains even a sliver of his former savoir-faire and confidence and sweeps her off her feet; it feels like there before her is Apollo Dent once more, proud of himself and proud of his love, and she is always happy to see him grow more comfortable in his skin and around her!

As for how they cuddle physically, Harvey has a few positions he enjoys: he is quite fond of the aforementioned couch position, with his head in her lap and her fingers brushing his hair until he grows drowsy; he likes when she sits on his lap in his tall-backed armchair, reading a book together, her arms looped around his neck; he dearly delights in spooning his darling, stretching his broad arms around her and pressing her tightly to his chest, their bodies adjusting to one another’s curves and planes so naturally.

But of all these, Harvey’s favorite would have to be laying in bed, on his back, with her laying half-on, half-off him, her head on his chest, her hands rubbing up and down his stomach and chest. Something about that combination of pressure and weightlessness, warmth and coolness, space and proximity, just feels ever so right to him, and often sends him into a deep and restful slumber. If he ever needs to melt into comfort, that’s his go-to.

K = Kiss (How do they kiss? Who initiated the first kiss?):

Before his accident, Harvey was a big proponent of kissing. Big fan. Huge. He loves the contact, the intimacy, and the adrenaline rush; nothing made his heart race and his head spin quite as much as winning a massive case or getting a public event under his belt and tugging his girl to his side, planting a deep, excited kiss on her lips and dipping her into suspension in his strong arms. It made him feel powerful and proud, and the kiss sealed the deal every time.

However, in the aftermath of his burns, Harvey’s kisses have had to evolve.

The hunger for them is still there, as potent and all-consuming as ever, but for a long while, he felt that the texture and warping caused by his scars made him, frankly, unkissable, so he avoided the act entirely.

Still, much like cuddling, Harvey grew back into his intimacy and allowed his yearnings to come to fruition, and surprised all parties involved by being the first one to initiate a kiss in this new stage of their relationship.

It happened one day when Harvey was sitting at the kitchen table, poring over a copy of the Gotham Gazette (the Globe, Times, and Daily Planet sitting in a neat pile, waiting their turn to prophesy and portend), running his finger over the rim of his half-drunk coffee cup.

He looked up from an article about the upcoming local elections to see his girlfriend futzing with something on the kitchen counter, tugging out a frying pan and ducking into the fridge. Deciding to mind his own business, he turned his nose paperward once more and returned to scanning the article, though his vision slipped back to her every few sentences or so.

The sound of the stove starting alerted him to her cooking, and he soon heard the familiar shattering of a cracked eggshell, the sputtering of the white hitting the pan, and the scrape of a spatula. Somewhere else in the kitchen, the toaster popped, as did the lid of a jam jar.

By the time Harvey had finished the article and flipped over to the sports section (ever the avid follower of the hometown baseball team, Harvey wanted to check in on the Gotham Knights’ standings), he saw his beloved round the counter and join him at the kitchen table, sliding a plate behind his paper.

He folded the paper at the median and peered down: there, on the table, were the eggs (soft scrambled), the toast (mid-doneness, teetering on dark, spread with a dark red jam speckled with seeds, indicating to Harvey that it was, in fact, raspberry), a pair of small sausage links, and a glass of orange juice.

Blinking, Harvey looked up from the plate and over to his girlfriend, who was now back in the kitchen and preparing a second round of toast. He pointed down at the food, then cleared his throat.

“This yours?,” he rasped, voice still a little rusty from misuse.

“Nope. That’s yours,” she returned, working a butter knife into the furthest crevices of the jam jar. “I don’t like seeing you just having coffee for breakfast. Makes me worried about your blood sugar levels.”

Harvey paused.

Then he stood up from the table, likewise rounded the counter, put his hands on either side of his girlfriend’s hips, turned her away from the jam jar, and kissed her squarely on the mouth.

The kiss only lasted a few seconds, but it was long enough for her to slip a hand onto his cheek and cup him close, and for Harvey to move his hands to the small of her back, rocking her body closer to his. He breathed in deep through his nose and broke the kiss after a beat, lips separating with a light ‘pop’, and pressed his forehead to hers, smiling to himself.

He could hear her breath stutter and shake in the aftermath, and when she regained a stable pattern, she made a small, re-centering noise, halfway between an “ahem” and a “whooh”, then put her hands on his chest.

“What was that about, hon?”

“Nothin’,” he managed through his puppyish smile. “Thank you.”

“It’s just eggs and toast,” she giggled dizzily. “I suppose I’ll have to see what happens when I make you dinner!”

At that, Harvey chuckled, nipping her bottom lip with his teeth.

“I suppose you will,” he reiterated.

Again, much like cuddling, after that, Harvey began to allow himself more kisses more often.

He’s a fan of taking his beloved’s chin between his thumb and forefinger and tugging her up for a deep one, but equally pleased by pressing a light kiss to her temple before she heads out the door. He adores kissing her, slow and hungry, while they relax and enjoy each other’s company, or quick and fervently in brief spare moments of privacy. Every kind of kiss delights him.

Still, when he gets sensitive about things like his face or lips, and the texture thereof, he’ll ask her to only kiss the unscarred side of his face or the unburnt corner of his lips, which she’ll, of course, agree to do, but all the while remind him that his scars are no affront to her nor a deterrent to her kisses.

“They’re perfect lips,” she reminds him, even as she acquiesces to kissing just the unmarred portion of his mouth, “both sides.”

W = Wedding (When, how, where do they propose?)

Marriage was a concept Harvey found himself more intimidated by than comforted by throughout most of his life.

Harvey feared becoming someone like his father-- tyrannical, abusive, cruel and callous-- and trapping someone, inescapably, inside his own self-destructive world through the bonds of marriage, and often feared that if he grew too attached to his partner that she would, like so many before her, discover his flaws and abandon him, breaking his heart irreparably. He feared growing worse and worse with age, feared locking himself into something he couldn’t commit to, feared lashing out and hurting someone he had promised to protect and provide for; he feared what could happen to her if something went wrong in this terrible town, and if he did something that might set her up as a prime target through which to punish him.

Still, through all his fear, the idea of marriage floated in his mind, congealing and solidifying as a concept the longer he loved his sweet girl, the more he thought about her as a fixture of his life. It didn’t seem reasonable to ask her to stay, to bear all his burdens alongside him, to struggle with him in the dark places he fell into, but at the same time, some selfish, childish urge inside begged him to keep her and claim her, to make himself part of her life inextricably.

Harvey fretted back and forth over the matter, waffling between extremes; it didn’t help that his personality shift had allocated his loyalties so unusually. While his Id, manifesting as Harv, was designed to be self-preserving and independent, Harv also was possessive and uncompromisingly loyal to his beloved, unwilling to even contemplate the idea of not having her in his life: Harv, though categorically opposed to any social strictures, was as dedicated as a married partner already to his one and only, and utterly determined not to share her.

Harvey, the more balanced Ego, was a proponent of the idea of marriage but petrified of the consequences of his possible failure to perform in such a bond, and thus went back and forth on his potential spousal value, torn between the love he felt for his dear one and the anxiety he encountered at the idea of letting her down.

In summary: Harv believed marriage was a sham but he’d do anything to keep his girl his to love, and Harvey believed marriage was a sacred bond of love but feared he’d fail as a spouse as his father had failed his mother all those years ago, throwing the two halves into conflict and a restless oscillation of opinion on the topic.

Still, there was, thankfully, no rush for them to come to an immediate conclusion: Harvey’s girlfriend had no problem with their relationship as it stood, and was perfectly happy to just be by his side, loving him and caring for him as he loved and cared for her, while assisting in his recovery and reintegration into everyday society. There was no hurry for some big, life-altering change, nor any pressure to push towards “the next step”, as it were.

That, however, did not change Harvey’s internal struggle on the topic, which came to a head one day when the couple was on the couch, Harvey’s hair being finger-combed by his doting dear as she watched some home restoration show idly in the background.

Harvey gazed up at her face and listened to the couple on the screen talking about bay windows and a portico and something something crown molding and “our budget of blah blah thousand dollars”, and began to imagine the process of buying a house.

He imagined it was very, very stressful-- after all, even trying to nail down an apartment in Gotham, District Attorney’s position and salary to his credit, was difficult-- but likely very gratifying. Owning a home, a place to call one’s own, to share with someone you loved... it sounded nice, in a sort of saccharine way.

Somewhere inside, Harv made a retching sound, but internally agreed that it did sound rather nice. Owning things did always appeal to Harv.

Harvey’s mind wandered to the idea of moving in with her, somewhere quiet and old, a fixer-upper with rooms to paint and floors to re-carpet and sconce lights that made everything look eerie and Victorian but in that nice, warm way. He pictured her sitting in a room full of boxes and unspooling packing tape, wearing one of his old NYU hoodies and “practical shoes” for moving day, smiling at him over a package of plates. His heart soared.

“Hey,” he rumbled. She looked down, curious, fingers stilling in his hair. “Would you ever...”

He trailed off, wondering if there was a non-embarrassing way to ask what he was thinking.

“Would you ever... want to... if you... had the choice to, uh, would you want to... live with me for the rest of our lives?”

Harv and Harvey both cringed.

There was a pregnant pause as Harvey stared up at her, bated in his breath, as he waited for her to respond. He watched her face, still at first, slowly spread into a knowing smile, her eyes warm and glittering with promise, and observed her as she bent down and pressed a light kiss to his forehead. Sweeping her hand across his brow, pushing his hair back, she nodded and twirled a curl of his shock-white hair around her index finger, springing it loosely.

“Mhm,” she hummed. “I would be very happy living with you for the rest of our lives.”

Harvey nodded slowly, reaching a hand up to stroke the fullness of her cheek with his calloused, burned hand, admiring the softness of it that he could still feel, nerve damage be damned. He pinched it slightly, causing her to giggle and tug lightly on the curl still wrapped around her finger.

“It’d make me... very happy to see you every day,” Harvey stated. “Forever. You know.”

“I think I get the idea,” she laughed, bending down to rub her nose against his sweetly. “I would be very happy seeing you, too, Mister Dent.”

She hovered her lips above his, tantalizingly close, and Harvey slipped a hand up to the nape of her neck, brushing the sensitive hairs there.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

And with that, he tugged her down.

Though it was by no means a proposal, nor even the promise of one to come, it satiated both halves of Harvey for the time being and soothed something inside: he knew, inherently, that she meant it. She did want to be with him. And he hoped that his intention to live a life dedicated to her, ever-loving and ever-loyal, was somehow, even slightly, conveyed by what he’d said.

But, for now, in lieu of a proposal, this would do.

Thank you for asking!

#long post #messages #anonymous #oh my goddd i stayed up way too late on this BUT i told myself i needed to finish an actually long piece of some media somehow so. here we g #anyway now im tired and going to bed see y'all later #harvey dent #original #please dont show this to any actual diehard comics stans theyll eviscerate me

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huangsren · 5 years ago

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hs!chenle ; can i call you my everything?

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 ; zhong chenle just wanted to find the perfect nickname for you.

part of @hwangdol and i’s hs!dream au >:))

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞 ; highschool!chenle au / childhood-friend!chenle / ft. hs!yukhei / fluffy / lw angsty

warning ; small mention of depression / cutting , (some) swearing / explicit langauge

zhong chenle x (fem)reader

you and chenle have been friends ever since you were both 12 and miraculously transferred to the same school at the same time

at that time, small chenle and you understood it’d be easier to befriend each other rather than trying to squeeze into the already made class cliques

since then, you and chenle happened to experience everything together-

the first crushes, failures, broken bones, embarrassing class reports, school field trips (which surprised you b/c,, what kind of kids go on their first field trip in the eighth grade)

and as you got older, first mental breakdowns, bad relationships/friendships, and bad fights; whether they were with each other, or against other people

chenle never took you as the soft girl, you wouldn’t hesitate to kick the balls of those big-headed bullies, chenle was more scared for them than himself

you see and meet some upperclassmen that he somehow had the ability to befriend

some characters like the stoner-boy!haechan , playboy!jaemin (both by my bby @hwangdol ), and art-hoe!renjun

it’s inevitable that you two change somewhat over the years, but the one thing that never changed since the very first day you met was how chenle wanted to find you the perfect nickname

like this boy is just so set on finding something great to call you instead of your actual mf name????

the first week alone of knowing him gave you about 20 nicknames that we’re all passed up and forgotten b/c he says they just don’t capture what he’s trying to say about you

so every year, every month, every week, every day is spent with him casually tossing all kinds of names at you

from being names like “maybe i’ll call you chun-li, how about it chun-li?”

to the most random things like, “so how’s it going, flipstick?” , “my mom said you should come over for dinner tomorrow if you’re free, cheeseball” or “yes! i got a better score than you, small-hands”

and for some reason chenle had this kind of infatuation with your hands b/c god knows why? they weren’t even especially small or pretty either but he would always mention or inspect your hand at least once a day

when he first held and looked at your hands, your twelve year old little heart may have thumped and pulled away

but by the time you two are 14, it didn’t phase you in the slightest, it’s just hands

in the days past he would hold your hand out in front of him, and you’d continue to do whatever you were doing b/c it was no longer unusual

it wasn’t ever odd to feel chenle holding your palm, with his eyes just looking so lovingly at the way your fingers would fold whenever you lost that game you were playing on your phone

he would casually play with your fingers and maybe rub your hand with his thumb b/c he was a naturally touchy person

at times it served a good purpose as it helped you know which girls were genuinely talking to you for you and not for chenle, and it drove away strange men when you two would go out

and he happened to want to see your hand again

but sometimes it would take a turn for the worse and he’d find that you reached that low you hadn’t in two years, that low where you found it fitting to hurt yourself

on gOd, how much seeing chenle’s expression when he found out you hurt part of yourself gave you much more emotion and pain than that slit on your wrist

so you held it in most times, sometimes for chenle’s sake and sometimes b/c chenle gave you reasons not to

other times, you’re thankful he treats you like he would any other day b/c getting into it would definitely hurt more than the movie he planned to take you to

since he knows the two of you have been waiting for the release date for the longest time

however, that indifferent, friendly feeling you had with him began to wear down once the third year of high school came by

it wasn’t a special day, no

but chenle came in with new hair, a slightly messed up uniform, a basketball held between his side and his arm, and this more mature look to him that you never payed too much attention to

and you have to admit, the thoughts of chenle and you being more than you are now were growing each time you saw him again

obviously you keep that on the down-low though, there’s only so many friendships to result in a happy relationship versus the amount that are just kept one-sided and unnatural after confessing

and today, you are once again thinking about chenle as more than just your friend

thinking about how it would feel to be together

how being in his arms would feel, how holding his hand in that way would be

the warmth of him all around you, knowing you’re a big part of the reason he’s smiling, running your hands through his hair,

doing silly things like trying to bake a cake? or trying to toss those tiny marshmallows into his mouth?

having the ability to tell him that he’s your sunshine over and over again?

you, without a doubt, know that being with chenle in that way would be one of the best parts of your youth

but you can’t bring yourself to do anything because, what if that feeling goes only one way?

what if the only reason chenle keeps you by his side is because he knows you won’t be phased by his constant clinginess, because he knows you won’t fall for him and stay as his friend without wanting more?

there are countless girls who are obsessed with him and his other group of friends, that’s why that group of boys he’s a part of are known as the “dreamies”

and you aren’t the only girl chenle finds time with either,

sometimes you have to keep yourself from wanting to make plans b/c you hear he’s already made some to go do pranks with his other friend-that-is-a-girl (aka y/n in jisung’s au!)

but when you hear chenle constantly coming up with nicknames for you, you can’t stop yourself from feeling that something

the something in your heart that won’t stop and you admit to yourself that you like chenle

you like the zhong chenle that you knew when you were 12 and you like the zhong chenle that you know now

which hurts so much because after coming to this conclusion, you see how significant the power he has on you is

he has the power to make you sad one second after you were happy, make you happy when you were frustrated just a second before, to make the butterflies in your stomach wild, and even the power to make your breath hitch in his presence

it really doesn’t help your situation when his recent nicknames have become a little more cute and loving than before

just yesterday it had been, “what’s up, buttercup” and he continued with that one until after dinner when you face-timed him for homework help and he says, “you’ve come to the right person, honey bun”

all of it made you cringe just as much as it made you all giddy inside and you internally swear by how much it affects you

“something wrong, ms. casanova?” and his eyes show real concern for the friend that you are and when you look into them through the screen, you know you don’t want to fall any longer into the angelic boy

you are fully aware of how off and silent you’re being, but you can’t stop feeling like it’s wrong for you to like him this way

so you take it into your own hands to stop before you’re in too deep

starting with asking him to put the pet names to rest

“chenle, can you stop?” you pause, “please?”

and he goes silent

his heart aches but he doesn’t let you see, all he does is say, “stop what? we can study more at lunch if that’s what you want, care-bear” and he smiles, trying to comfort you because he senses the way your tone got lower and softer

“no chenle, that’s not what i’m talking about!” you sigh, knowing that he’s intentionally dodging what you mean, “i just- i don’t want the nicknames anymore lele, i’m sorry”

as you explain, you look at your hands and twirl your fingers, not being able to look him in the face- and you’re right to want to avoid his look

because once you peer back up to that face on the screen, he has tears in his eyes and he’s trying hard to find some sort of regret in yours

but he can’t see any because you know what you want for the two of you and you are certain that doing this sooner will stop you from wanting more

“chenle, listen-

and the video call is over and a heartbeat later you get a text from him

“sorry, y/n. good night.”

you burst into tears yourself- full on sobbing

you didn’t realize how dark you’d feel hearing chenle call you by your real name even through a text

you knew it would make chenle sad if you told him to stop but you never imagined to see that pain in his eyes

you cry for him for the longest time ; your chest taking in big gulps of air before letting it out in a shaky breath and it takes longer than you’d like to stop your upper body from trembling

and you fall asleep with a heavy heart, pillow soaked with the feelings you had pent up in you

but the next morning comes and you’re not ready to face chenle any time soon and thank the lord that instead of p.e. with chenle, you have study hall

so you keep yourself in the library, in the math/science section b/c, let’s be honest, it’s the least popular and the least crowded

while trying to distract yourself from all of chenle, you take out your phone and earbuds to watch your favorite anime

but that shady website just has to give you some kind of hentai pop-up before you even plug the headphones in

which leaves you wide-eyed and panicked, doing your best to muffle the sound and plug the wire in as fast as you can

then you hear a chuckle from behind you and you turn around to meet wong yukhei, or lucas, the kid who only shows up to his homeroom and p.e. class- skipping all the other periods

and you freak out because this kid’s known for never holding his words back and so you get up out of your seat and walk over to sit next to him

“i’m not doing what you think i am” you say, not looking his way

“i never said you were doing anything” he replies, focus still on his phone

“oh come on, you laughed right after that um, noise went off and i was having a heart attack”

and then you turn his direction and can’t believe that you actually have to shift your gaze upwards because of how tall this kid is

“oh? i was laughing at this meme”

and he motions for you to look at his phone, so you do. and you lean over the arms of the chair to see his phone and chuckle at the fact it’s literally just some shrek shitpost

he looks down at you at smiles, oh what- what was that

perhaps this is what you needed to get over your feelings for chenle

you needed another person that had no relation to him, needed to be around someone who didn’t know you

someone you could rebuild yourself as the real you with, not worrying about how you’d fit with chenle

“stop staring at my eyes you weirdo, it’s just a meme” he says and shoves you back onto your own chair

so you’ve decided.

“lucas, you wanna be friends?”

“please don’t tell me you’re trying to get dicked down or something” he rolls his eyes

“what? bOy- no i’m not trying that. i just think you’re the perfect person for me to be around until i get over myself” you say, making sure to emphasize that you’re even grossed out he thinks you want him

“okay, go ahead. i cant stop you”

“before you answer, i know how weird this is but- wait, for real? that easy?”

“dude, i couldn’t care less. you wanna skip last period? get some food?” he asks

now he’s standing up and dusting his pants off from snack crumbs and then holds his hand out in front of you

you nod and take his hand before he yanks his out of your hold

“um, i was asking for you to get my charger for me..”

“bitchass you should have said so, i thought you were being soft lucas”

even if you’re embarrassed, you reach and unplug his charger then hand it to him, rolling your eyes in the process (but really there’s a faint blush on your face)

“you’re kinda dumb for that, and my name’s yukhei”

“i thought you went by lucas?” you say, curious as to why he’d want for you to call him his given name

“nah. i’ll let you call me yukhei. consider it the highest blessing you’ve ever been given”

a month and some has passed since the night of your last call with chenle

but naturally, the pain of losing the friendship you had with chenle was still evident

just weeks before, it’d be heart-wrenching to just know you had to see him,

but now you can make eye contact and smile a little his way

it wasn’t your willpower alone though,

you admit that having yukhei by your side and him just giving you an outside perspective on the whole situation opened your eyes

of course he would call you dumb and stupid sometimes when you tell him about why you fell for chenle in the first place

but that one response he had in the macaron place stuck with you and he held a good point

“honestly, y/n, i may be dumb but you shouldn’t have beaten yourself up fro just having feelings. i mean, if you really, truly, like chenle, why did that happen so suddenly? what if you’re just in love with the things he did and not really him and you let yourself fall. i’m sorry if i go over the line, but you were going through, a time. maybe you just wanted to feel something”

that day it didn’t settle so right with you to agree with all that he said

you didn’t want to let the feelings you had for chenle seem so superficial and due to the fact you knew each other for the longest time, but he was right

you thought about how if it were yukhei in chenle’s place, you’d probably let yourself fall for him too.

it wasn’t chenle that your heart leaped for, it was just the things he did?

specifically just the two things he did : the nicknames and the hand-holding

and to prove your theory, you and yukhei made an agreement where he would also hold your hands and call you nicknames, which started two weeks ago

“yup, that’s it. we’ve got ‘em boys. i can’t believe how much i just like hand-holding and nicknames. wong yukhei, i like you” you tease him

truthfully this particular parlor was a spot you and chenle would frequent

but yukhei said he would create memories of it that didn’t have chenle, so here you two are

“oh please, y/n. you know how i actually feel about you. you can’t just say that, i know you like those two things, not me” he says and goes back to shoving ice cream down his throat

yes- lucas had confessed to you

three days after you started the whole ‘experiment’, in fact

something about how his conscience wouldn’t let him treat you that way without you knowing how he really felt

but he didn’t let you give him an answer, he just told you how he felt and went on with it

you kind of felt bad for him, he was into you and didn’t know where you stood in all of this

but he kept on helping you in hopes of your feelings to lean themselves in his favor

yet you couldn’t quite place where you felt for yukhei

for sure there were times where you might have wanted to even kiss him, but there were also times where you couldn’t imagine being his girlfriend because, man you two we’re just too close of friends for it to change

and maybe this is the way chenle would feel if you had told him the way you really felt

so after some deep contemplating, you decide that the next time you have the opportunity to talk to chenle alone presents itself, you’ll tell him why you allowed things to be the way they are now

you just didn’t know it’d happen so fast and that it would be in the ice cream parlor you and yukhei were in

“y/n? lucas?” chenle looks at you and yukhei who are alone and sitting across from one another

“oh, chenle. hey”

“sooo are you guys a thing now or..? because if you are i can’t believe you never told me” chenle asks you, pretending he doesn’t have a problem with it

‘i can’t believe you never told me’? he’s the one who never tried to spark a conversation after the whole incident anyways

“no chenle, we’re not dating” you say sharply, only those few words in response

“ahem. i think i remember y/n wanting to say something to you, chenle. maybe i’ll go and order some crepes for a really long time” yukhei says and slips out of the booth towards chenle, giving the boy’s shoulder a pat before proceeding to flirt with the cashier for snacks

“so, how are you darli-” he stops himself, “y/n”

and the same smile that you loved is on his face, but you can hear the sadness behind his voice and you crumble once again

“i’m... i’m doing the same as always.

and listen chenle,

i’m sorry for falling off with you after the whole nickname thing. the truth is that i, um, i had feelings for you. i wanted us to be more than what we were but i was afraid of rejection. well, look at us now, you didn’t have to reject me and i’ve already made us like this. i don’t know why i would give up all that we have, and yukhei, i mean lucas- he’s been nothing but kind when i tried to get over you and-”

“y/n. i miss you” chenle interrupts

“i- i miss you too lele”

then chenle takes your hand in his, a gesture you ever thought you’d miss

seeing him like this again, him saying he misses you; were you really only in love with the two things or did you love chenle?

“you have no idea how long i’ve waited for you to say you have feelings for me. you thought i’d reject you? baby come on, you’re the only girl i’ve had my eyes on for the longest time.

even the first day i held your hand when we were 12. i couldn’t believe you thought that was just a friendly gesture” he laughs, “i mean of course we were young, but really? i knew you were naive and i knew how you were hiding your feelings but i never gave up, peanut. especially when other boys would try to get at you, i didn’t suddenly want to see your hands, i was telling them that you’re mine. i even told my friends how much i missed you.

there was this one point where i thought, maybe we are better off as friends, it doesn’t hurt, yknow? but then my older friend mark? you remember mark, right? he set me straight and told me that i did, actually, have feelings for you after all these years. you know the nicknames? i think i have the perfect one. so y/n, can i,,, can i call you my everything now?”

“chenle,” you start, “i said i had feelings for you.”

and it’s true.

you see the smile he has turn both confused and gloomy

maybe the you a month ago would have swooned into his arms and fell even more in love with his confession,

but time played with the both of you and you realize that you don’t feel the same way despite him pouring his feelings in front of you

you’ve come to terms that, yes, you were in love with zhong chenle, not just what he did

but that’s all in the past ; you had loved chenle, you just don’t the same way now

“is it because of lucas? y/n you’re gonna break what we have for him?”

chenle raises his voice at you and his eyes become a mix of anger and dejection

taken aback by his tone and the fact he thinks you would ever break the relationship you two have built over a boy begins to make your blood boil

“lucas? no chenle, this isn’t about lucas! and for your information, he’s not even a bad kid? i don’t even talk about how your best friends with upperclassmen who are either : 1, high or 2, breaking hearts! chenle, the reason why i didn’t say anything is because i valued what we shared more than what i wanted alone! and if you already knew i was trying to avoid the way i felt then why did you wait so long to do something? i can’t believe the nerve you have to blame this on someone other than yourself? sure it may not be entirely on you, but you’re literally acting like you’ve done nothing wrong! chenle, you were basically toying with my emotions.

you knew how much i loved you and how much it was hurting me. you know so much about me, hell, you have a better perspective of myself than i do! you don’t know how much my heart ached when you would drop our plans for your other friends, have no idea how heartbroken i became when i finally admitted to myself that i liked you. all you did was watch me go through it, not saying a word, not even trying to talk to me about it in person either! let’s be honest, you never thought of me that way until you realized i was gone.”

you take a second to breathe.

“i can’t do this chenle, i can’t. if you have anything more to say then shoot me a text because otherwise? i’m not taking any of your ‘but i love you’ shit.” you vent

and then you take your stuff and move out of the booth towards yukhei

“can we please go, yukhei?”

he sees the tears forming in your eyes and he takes your hands

“you don’t even have to ask. i got you y/n”

then he pulls you through the now crowded ice cream parlor and your head is down, looking at the hold yukhei has on your hands

you and yukhei reach the park near his house after how long of walking hand in hand and sit in silence on the swings

and once you feel stable again you perk up and say

“i guess i really did make new memories in that parlor”

and yukhei looks at you, stopping his motions

“i’m sorry it still had chenle in it”

and his voice sounds defeated, like he failed you

“hey, yukhei, don’t be so sulky” you smile at him, “i don’t want to feel like i have nothing anymore just because i dont have chenle, ya know? at least i have some calming memories in this park now, even if it’s with you.”

“yeah, at least there’s that.”

#well now i dont know #if this is a lucas or chenle au #but yep #zhong chenle au #chenle au #angsty #slight angst #wong yukhei #huangsrenaus #high school!au #nct dream #nct #nct au #nct dream imagine

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aggresivelyfriendly · 5 years ago

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Hi babes! Are we still breathing? How much though have you given Harry’s pores, whiskers, dimples, nipples(all four)? Share with me about that and this chapter!! Hope you like my world building and Character introduction! Thanks do my advance guard @emulateharry, @dirtystyles, and @bleedinglove4h tripod forever!! Talk to me!

Chapter 2- Sweet Thing

Harry could pinpoint exactly the moment the rest of the world, well his world, realized just what they had been missing in Jillian. She'd been a late bloomer, and only a few gross examples of "guys" had noticed her.

Like Mark Martin.

If there was one positive side effect to Jillian's inadvertent social debut, it was that the likes of Mark finally realized she was way out of his league.

Harry had already known it. Honestly.

But it was so painfully obvious by the end of the homecoming dance, he could only drive home alone and curse himself for being a fool and a coward. For not asking her on a date, formally. Jillian would have left with him. It would have been different. He could imagine it. Then they'd've laughed and joked and she might fix his collar and her nails would nick his neck and he'd get goosebumps, and she'd smile at him in a brand new way. He knew all her smiles, but this one would be brand new, to both of them. Harry would be overcome, and he'd get over his fear and press his lips to hers.

He didn't ask though.

It may have been a date to him, but he didn't ask her, so how was she to know? Jillian wouldn't have abandoned him for any party if they were on a date. If she said yes. Which was why he hadn't asked.

Maybe his dad was right; he should have just grown a back bone and told her. Told Jillian he liked her, more than liked her, she drove him crazy and he was going to Stanford or Berkley, like he'd been planning, secretly. They were gonna move to California, not him to England, for school. That she should apply too. She never talked about going to school herself, just living with him and working. There was no reason she couldn't get a degree. She was much smarter than anybody gave her credit for, herself included. Her mind moved fast, she just needed some background knowledge. Harry could tutor her. He'd talk to her about that too, his plans, and revising her own too.

He was going to. Once they got through the dance. He'd worn a vest so she couldn't see where he was sure to sweat through his button up. It had already taken every bit of his gumption to execute. his plan. It would just take him a bit more time to work up the backbone. Harry knew he would have backed out, of all of it, if he hadn't had the idea so close to it happening. Had it not captivated him. He was sorry he didn't back out. Kind of.

It had started on Wednesday. On their drive home. They were driving from the high school to her shift at Dairy Barn and he had studying to do. He was going to drop her, go to the library, and come back to pick her up. All of that still happened, but there had been an unexpected pause in their progress. At the library, the idea kept repeating in his head. The dress was just at the thrift shop. They'd seen it when he was driving her to work after school.

"Look Harry!" She was breathless, but her voice was a red octagon. The momentum threw them forward when he hit the brakes. He figured there must be a bird in the road or something.

"What?" He threw his eyes across the road like he was watching a tennis match. There was no bird, or dog, or sheep, nothing. "Why'd you yell?" Jillian was not a yeller, if you knew her, she already had your attention when she spoke.

"Look! That dress." She pointed to the thrift shop right across the way. She looked so enchanted. He pulled in without second guessing. It was pretty, she looked better imagining it than the dress itself, but his imagination, of her in it, surpassed even the yearning look on her face.

"Do we have time for you to try it on?" He was a little dreamy thinking about her in it, his voice thin as a wispy cloud. It was a slip of a dress, with a sweetheart neck and slim straps, A blush pink. It matched her cheeks after too much sun or too many giggles.

She glanced at her watch, bit her lip. He saw her decision made but she didn't voice it for a few more moments. "No, and I can't afford it. I have nowhere to wear it anyhow." She smiled at Harry, mist in her eyes be damned. "I just," she gestured at the window. "It's so pretty."

It was so pretty. Harry thought about it for a while, wondered if someone had lovingly made it, or it was bought in New York City years before and just took up space. Told its story to himself about how it wound up front and center in the small shop on their Main Street. He spent an hour of his study time wondering and making up his mind. That's what he told himself. In truth, the decision was made when she'd shouted for a closer look, then grieved the loss of the dress, or when Harry imagined her in it.

The tears, they made Harry weak. They didn't fall down her cheeks, but he'd seen the gloss on her eyes. He wanted to be strong for Jillian, but she made him weak. Truth was, he'd do anything for her.

After he dropped her off at work, he found his stash of birthday cash. He'd been saving up for a certain chemistry set, but this need was more immediate. Jillian may not have known it, but she had somewhere to wear it, the tear inducing dress. Homecoming was in three days. She had written that off with her Dairy Barn shift, but work would be so slow, she'd get off early. He'd surprise her.

It was a foolproof plan.

Well, there were places several it could go wrong. She could have to close the Dairy Barn, the dress could not fit her, or she'd scoff at the idea of going on a date with him.

It wasn't a date! He'd stress that if she asked. They were best friends, and this was their last year. Neither of them had even been to a dance. They should go.

He'd just cherish it as a date, in his head.

The money felt crisp in his hands, unused dollars bills had that smell too. The one that filled his nostrils when he'd opened the birthday cards. Harry wished he was allowed to get a job. His dad always insisted that he focus on his studies instead. So, Jillian paid for their occasionally meals when she couldn't share her employee food and chipped in for gas. Harry carefully hoarded money he was gifted.

Would it be enough?

"That's all?" He heard himself ask when the dress rang up.

"Do you want to pay more?" Mel, the store owner asked him. She was staring at him with an unlit cigarette in her mouth. She smoked in the street, which was weird because everybody just smoked inside, but the clothes in her shop smelled better for it. At least the ones that weren't musty.

"Um, no?" He was just surprised. It was well under what he expected.

"It'll look pretty on her." She turned away and was fussing with a bag and a hanger. It gave Harry time to find his voice.

"Who?"

Mel smiled and handed Harry the makeshift garment bag around the side of the counter. "Be sure to lay it out to avoid wrinkling."

The smile perplexed him. Was he made of glass?

He did as Mel said, carefully hooking it over the bench seat of his car so it hung onto the floorboard with the protective wrap on it.

He bought the tickets at lunch while Jillian was getting her food. He'd gotten lucky that there was no line. He was ready. Except he hadn't asked, and though she liked the dress, and he couldn't imagine this happening, what if she didn't like the way it looked on her.

It had sat in his closet for three days killing him. He and Jillian didn't keep secrets. Maybe because she had to keep so many from everybody else, and he didn't have anybody but her to share things with.

On Friday morning, after she'd slept over again, Jillian sat with her tea at the table, "You look like you have not slept a wink?" She'd touched his hand and it launched him forward twenty years to sharing a table and tea with her in their own house. But she was asking if he slept.

He hadn't. He may never again now with that image to haunt him.

She'd never gone in his closet, when he was lucky enough for her to wear his clothes, he always got them for her. He'd be mortified if she found an old pair of his briefs or something. All night though, the possibility of her walking over to grab one of his long sleeved button ups, one of his usual fantasies, had flipped it into a nightmare. She'd see. The pink dress hanging in the back. He saw it every time.

He was jumpy that whole morning on the way to school. Jillian had come out of his bedroom.

"Harry, your book bag!" She'd called in her melodic twang.

His feet had actually left the ground.

"You are so jumpy. Want to talk about what has you on your guard?" Jillian was always a little jumpy. He liked to come up behind her and say "BOO!" She'd jump and turn around and smack him on his chest. Then they would laugh together. It never worked on him.

"Nah, I had a dream. And that um, that tree outside was scratching the window. It's just the change of seasons. I miss summer." He put on a shiver and was rewarded with a smile and head shake.

"There are places where there is no winter." She let it lie. Her constant convincing amused him. Her being there was amenity enough.

"Are those places where people are gentle and wear flowers in their hair?" He asked with a blank pair of eyes. Undressed eyes, he could barely see her. He slipped his glasses up his nose with his pointer finger in a practiced move. His muscles would remember the move long after he stopped using the glasses when he didn't need them.

"Yes! That's exactly where it's summer, always." She laughed. He often made jokes of the lyrics of her favorite songs. San Francisco was going to be a favorite no matter what, on its name alone. Harry liked to make her smile. It worked as a distraction from his nervous condition.

He had to make it through the day. It was a rough one.

Harry got a C on a pop quiz.

"Mr. Styles, can you stay after class?" Mr. Brisco said as he entered their peer graded quizzes into his book and Harry tried to get to his next class.

"I'll be late." Harry protested.

"I'll write you a pass." He looked at Harry, looked behind his glasses where Harry imagined bruise like circles. "Is everything alright? This is not your usual standard." He gestured to the large red C with a scrawled 'loser' by his not so secret grader. It was Lance Hinkle, quarterback, BMOC, asshole.

"I'm alright. I slept poorly." He shrugged. "It won't happen again."

"Why don't you write me a paper on Nicholai Tesla, for extra credit. Due Monday." He extended his hand and Harry shook it. It was good to be well liked by your teachers, sometimes.

He really wanted to say no. He wanted to spend the weekend with Jillian, especially after taking her to the dance in the dress.

He needn't have worried. She was busy. They weren't gonna wind up in his truck all Sunday afternoon near the lake.

He took the opportunity though, and had plenty of time to complete it. Because his plan backfired.

Well, really it went seamlessly. She did get off early, and when he arrived, he had the dress, and she loved it.

And she looked as amazing as he expected.

He just wasn't the only one who noticed.

"Harry! You didn't."

He hadn't answered. It was rhetorical, it was obvious he did. They drove the short distance to his house and she just went inside. The hum of the engine matched the warm buzz in his chest. He relived her seeing his surprise 15 minutes before while he waited.

She liked it.

The look on her face, when she'd walked out, pulling her ponytail down on her way. Jillian was exhausted and bemoaning having her shifts cut. Worried. Her brow was knit as tightly as the sweater vest he had on. Jillian would have usually noticed how he was dressed up, not just trousers, those weren't out of the ordinary, or a button up shirt. His was usually short sleeved and plain white. Today he had on dark grey trousers and a long-sleeved blue shirt with a small print, and his fair isle vest. He looked nice, his hair had extra pomade. His trusty glasses with their heavy black frame completed his look.

He'd tried.

But her tired eyes woke up as soon as they lit upon the dress he'd hid for three days. And lost sleep over. It was all worth it.

"Harry!" She'd reached for the hanger with speed but stopped just before she picked it up. The hinge of his truck door was still settling after she had wrenched it open.

She'd slowed so much, the dress slinked down to nearly the pavement like a pink waterfall when Jillian hoisted it higher to protect the hem. "Oh! It's so pretty. Prettier than I thought! Oh but Harry! It's too much!"

"No, it was not nearly so expensive as I thought." He protested. He'd have blown every cent for her face.

"The thought Harry!" She'd looked at him then. "You look so nice."

He shrugged that right off. "It's pretty standard nerd fare for me." He demurred.

"No! The little print, it's psychedelic!" This was high praise from Jillian. "Is this for the dance?" She hoisted the dress two inches higher.

"Yeah, yeah." He swallowed the bullfrog lodged in his throat. Not a date. "We don't usually go. I was just thinking...." he shrugged like this speech wasn't rehearsed. "Let's see what high school has to offer before we fly away to the sunshine."

"Oh Harry!" She flowed and jumped up like a spun top, but rather than drop into his seat with the same energy, she reverently sat down and slipped the dress over her neck by the hanger. He assumed following Mel's advice without needing to hear it. It looked amazing like that, draped over her sharp turns and long flats. He couldn't wait.

He reminded himself it wasn't a date.

The drive home was full of her happy chatter and his listening ear. He liked that she could keep up conversation with only a nod or jest as his contribution. It was why they were like complimentary angles.

He kept the engine running, reminisced, and he was reminded how little polish she needed to shine when she came out not 15 min later. She got in the truck carefully.

He was thankful that Mel had suggested heels too, and that he knew her size. She tried to smooth her ponytail bump the whole way to the gymnasium. It had created a nice swoop, but he knew better than to correct her. He could almost hear her say,"What do you know about ladies hair? And I don't like it, so that's more important, my hair my ideas!" She'd been into women's lib as well as black rights lately. Ready to freedom ride and do voter drives, they were just too rural, and too Yankee. He'd already convinced her not to drop out. Twice.

Jillian found Vaseline in her bag and put a little on her pink lips, cheekbones, and a tiny slick over her eyelids. Perfect.

The moonlight bathed the truck cab and he had a momentary idea to convince her to go to the lake instead. To dance on the bank to the radio.

Maybe he should have, everything might have been different.

They walked in, hand-in-hand, which wouldn't shock anybody, so much as their presence would. They already wondered what the pretty but classless girl was doing with the nerdiest boy in school. They didn't say anything to Jillian, yet, but Harry wasn't spared from their comments.

"Does she have a thing for four eyes or something?" Steve Adler, class president and would be valedictorian, but for Harry, sneered at him one day. They had an antagonistic thing going before Harry out A'ed him. Harry corrected him in chemistry once. Since then, Steve was not a fan.

Steve was one of the first people to see them, on stage getting his crown, of course, most people were facing away. His attention caught was noticed. There was sort of a swell, a murmur.

"I'd like to thank my parents for my face, and god for my brain and height, and Jane for the dance." He leered. Then stopped short when he saw Jillian under the door light. His eyes tracked her from where her dress covered the less than stellar shoes, up over her round hips, lithe waist and ample breasts. He looked shocked when he registered her face. The shock stayed a minute when he clocked Harry. It turned to a sneer quick.

His face journey caught the crowd's attention, and Harry lived a fantasy and nightmare all at once. Jillian was on his arm, but the entire school was looking at him, them.

"Um," he wanted to clean his glasses, but Jillian had clenched his hand tight. "Do you, do you want some punch?" He'd thrown his hand to the side and they'd moved from under the inadvertent spotlight.

Jillian followed him easily, and stood close, with a hand on his bicep like a safety blanket while he poured them juice. The music had never stopped, in actuality, but it had definitely turned back up post speech and record scratch. The stage was clearing.

Couples were pairing up.

Should he ask her to dance?

Before he could get it out, her teasing tone rolled over his ears. "I know you don't!" She rolled her eyes. "But will you dance with me, Harry?"

Before he could say the obvious yes, he'd be happy to stutter his way through the steps with her, Steven was there.

He still had the crown on his head.

"Hey, um," he looks embarrassed for just a moment. His eyes flashing around in their lids. "Jilly!" Nobody has called her that in years, Harry thinks maybe the last person was Mrs. June, their 5th grade teacher. "Do you want to dance?"

Jillian looked back at Harry and shrugged. He hadn't answered fast enough. Or asked himself.

He wasn't sure if she said yes, but she hadn't said no.

He watched as she was held in Steven's arms. He drank his punch and diverted his eyes to where Jane stewed.

He thought the first song was unbearable, but then there was another, with Dale Turner, captain of the basketball team, and track star Will Whaisse. He would have left. Except he wasn't sure how she would get home.

Harry hated feeling sorry for himself. Being here was encouraging it. He should leave. He could be home studying, and Steve could bring Jillian home. He had that new mustang.

He had to talk to her though, on his way out. He decided this as his foot crossed the line at the threshold. The force of his turn brought his glasses to the end of his nose. He was pushing it up and nearing the edge of the dance floor when he saw her. She was 20 yards away, her neck on a swivel and her feet moving in a way he expected would land her on her face. From experience. That was without ill fitting high heels, and she had still grown into her body better than him.

Her eyes found his, and he didn't need his glasses to see her expression. Relief, maybe a smidgeon of apology. They moved together like there was apiece of thread being spoiled from his heart to hers.

"Harry, will you dance with me now?" Jillian asked when he reached the free throw line. She was just under the basket. He kept walking.

"Yes, I'll dance with you now." Always.

Her arms circled his neck and his found her lower back, where her hips flared out. This was lower than he had ever purposely touched her. The times it had been accidental haunted him.

Jillian's arms widened at his shoulders and she laid her head on him. It reminds him of a prolonged hug. Like he remembers his mom giving him that last day. Jillian does that, exuberantly hugs him, but never for more than 30 seconds, tops. He has counted. She did hours ago, when she got out of the car to put on the pink dress that looked better on her than he could ever imagine. This long cinch of their bodies, snuggled up tight. It's his linchpin. When she turned her head in along his clavicle and he felt her breath at his jugular, he was bleeding love.

He might tell her. On the way home. That he had always wanted to be her forever. When they were young he thought that meant friends, but now he meant wife. They could get married, if she wanted.

Then it would be his job to protect her, officially. He already tried. To provide for her, he could work at the university. They could have a little apartment in San Francisco she could fill with flowers and fabrics, music and laughter. It would be a nice life. He could hold her like this in their kitchen. They'd dance before dinner.

The chance, at that life, the one in his vision, it's enough to make him brave.

"Jillian." He'd be sad her head came off his collarbone, but looking down into her eyes was good too.

The music had stopped and Harry hadn't registered it was the last dance. It's the perfect time. The only Time.

Before he could get anything out but an exhale, Steven Adler was standing right next to her. Talking about some party everybody was going too.

Except Harry. Who was not invited and had curfew.

He didn't sleep, not much. He'd been tossing and turning. After he'd written his paper too. He knew enough about Tesla for a basic five paragraphs. His bed felt like a tomb, so he heard the faint knock at his window somewhere between the darkest part of night and dawn.

She's there. Jillian. The sun was changing the sky behind her. Harry can't see any tears, but something, something's off.

He didn't ask, and she didn't tell. That night, she just got into his twin bed with him, still in the dress he bought her, and nodded off. He worried about his dad finding them in bed together, but they were fully clothed, and he was so tired.

And she came back to him.

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #summer’s child #chapter two #sweet thing

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philcmenabadadink · 5 years ago

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cisfemale — ever hear people say PHILOMENA CARMICHAEL looks a lot like NATALIA DYER? I think SHE is about 19, so it doesn’t really work. The FREELANCER is here because THEIR VAN BROKE DOWN and they are from WOODSIDE, CA. They can be WHIMSICAL, but they can also be APATHETIC. I think PHILLY might be N/A. ( snot goblin. 20. est. she/they. )

hi hello friends ,,, i bring to u my third character and the Newest Muse i have created ... which means i’m still working on her ! so pleathe bare w/ me as i have no idea how she’ll rly truly turn out. but !! as always, give this a LIKE and i’ll come bother u !!!

TW: CANCER, IMPLIED TRAUMA, DEPERSONALIZATION / DEREALIZATION DISORDER ( ALT. MENTAL HEALTH )

a e s t h e t i c s

wildflowers in your hair and bare feet against moss, binoculars and maps, madonna beating out of half-dead speakers in a half-dead van, whipping wind, jumping off cliffs and rolling down hills, a bandaid wrapped around each finger, cryptic bumper stickers and cryptids in the woods, facing the sun and letting the rays hit you, counting stars late into the night, mismatched socks and lucky ribbons, hoarding a box of special treasures, shoplifting and diner-dashing, bleach against roots, pink sweaters paired with ripped fishnets and slip dresses with knock off uggs, willingly wearing crocs, glitter stickers.

general info !!

full name: philomena brontë carmichael

nickname(s): philly, phil, mena, etc.

b.o.d. - april 20th lmao !!

label(s): the amaranth, the halycon, the neophyte, the wanderer, etc. etc.

height: 5′4″

hometown: woodside, ca

sexuality: ??? $500 ebay mystery box. pansexual if you had to label it.

stats

biography !!

a middle child belonging to christopher and imogen carmichael - two stanford professors. christopher specialized in british literature whilst imogen specialized in the classics. hence the name.

the order of siblings goes as such: lysander, elektra, juno, philomena, and twins orion & valora. the deal was that everybody had a greek (or in juno’s case, roman) first name and a middle name inspired by a piece of british literature circa 1800s and under. a family of nerds, if you will.

so, clearly - right off the bat, their parents are ... eccentric. they’re both in love with their respected topic, and with each other, and with their kids. the carmichael family is a happy family.

they each have their own quirks and whatnot - though philly’s always been particularly dreamy - even as a child, she’d spend hours watching clouds or caterpillars or the leaves blow in the wind rather than play with other kids. she wasn’t a shy kid - she just had her own interests.

hardship doesn’t hit the family until philomena is five and starts having splitting headaches. they’re slow at first - but as soon as she’s seeing spots and unable to walk in a straight line, doctor appointments are made.

it doesn’t take long for them to discover the tumor, though the official diagnosis of malignant ependymoma comes a month later.

it’s grade ii but slow-moving, small enough to not be as much of a threat as worried, but big enough where removal is necessary. philomena earns a scar and brings it in for show-and-tell. for two months afterwards, philly’s at radiotherapy monday through friday.

they’re lucky - philomena’s considered cancer-free by the next year. she’s babied at first - handled delicately, as if she could break if touched - but with five other children ... it doesn’t last for too long.

and life continues as normal.

her personality doesn’t shift much over the next few years - she’s awfully independent for a kid, and awfully quiet - when she speaks it’s about faeries and bigfoot, about how the sky is so blue and if you listen quietly, you can hear the leaves whisper their secrets to each other. this is not odd.

she’s close to all her siblings, but she idolizes her older sister - elektra. elektra’s six years older and dyes her hair whatever colors she wants. elektra bought a knife off a seedy guy downtown. elektra threw away all of her heels and renounced god. elektra is god. her music is loud but it’s not heavy - it’s florence and the machine.

they’re opposites - elektra’s boisterous and feels loudly, philomena’s softer and feels...less. when elektra sneaks out, philomena keeps watch. they are a duo.

philomena is smart - but she’s fifteen and hates school. hates sitting inside all day. hates the same routine - day after day - it’s all the same. her parents’ routine is the same, philly feels contained and she wants to live.

elektra’s twenty-one and just bought a brand new spanking (used but not falling apart) 19-something volkswagen ... van - using her entire savings account. she says she’s tired of routine, she’s leaving the next day.

naturally, philomena stows away in the back and isn’t discovered until they’re two states away and she’s got to pee. elektra nearly crashes the van in shock.

it’s an argument - philomena vs. elektra, then them vs. their parents, then their parents vs. the school, the state - it’s an ordeal. philomena switches to an online program in the end.

it hurts christopher and imogen - lysander’s not having any of their nonsense, juno’s betrayed and alone - the twins are twins. in the end, it’s alright. the carmichael family is a happy family.

philomena and elektra take their time - it’s not a road trip, it’s their new life, permanently on the road. they stop and explore often - they do odd jobs in whatever town they settle in. they dine-n-dash, they shoplift. they survive in their own way.

she drops out of high school officially when she’s seventeen - they have to drive all the way back to california to deal with the wrath of their parents and to deal with paperwork, but it’s done. philomena doesn’t know what path she wants in life - but it’s not that.

it’s during this time that the episodes occur - philomena’s outside her body, philomena’s wrapped in cotton, her memories are not her own. she’s looking in the mirror and she doesn’t recognize herself. they take shelter in a city for six months, long enough for her brand spankin’ new therapist to figure out what’s wrong with her. she’s diagnosed with depersonalization / derealization disorder - they think it’s stress. philomena doesn’t get stressed. they think it’s trauma. she laughs - she never laughs.

she gets medication, and life is normal.

it’s four years later and they’re in vermont when their good ol’ trusty van - affectionately named florence - breaks down in a town called livingstone. the cost is more than they have at the moment, and they’re stuck. philomena thinks she likes the town - but she doesn’t know about the watershed.

personality !!

she’s quiet but she’s confident - her voice sounds like rustling leaves, if leaves smoked a pack of cigarettes a day.

often underestimated - philly’s petite and looks like she’d fall over if a plastic bag blew too close to her. she’s independent - for the most part. elektra is the only person philly takes orders from.

has always been considered odd - weird, strange. still talks about the trees as if they’re listening, as if they’re old friends. she’s vague and doesn’t elaborate on the things she says.

believes in pretty much any superstition you throw her way. luck is very important to her. if you ask her if the earth is flat, she’ll say probably. believes strongly in bigfoot and the lochness monster. has personally seen aliens, and loves ghosts almost more than herself.

she can be amusing - whether you ‘get’ her or not, her outlook is often bright - she talks about the negatives the same way she talks about the positives. can be seen as naive or gullible, but she’s plenty smart. even if half of her education has come directly from google.

philly doesn’t laugh. a smile, yes - often, in fact - not always reaching her ears, or bearing teeth - but these are not indicators of her happiness. philly is consistently content. she thinks many things are funny - she still will not laugh.

her voice is often monotonous - she doesn’t sound dreary, she sounds far-away. her voice carries. her emotions are often unknown to others.

is apathetic in most situations. she’s hard to bother - she’s incredibly patient and enjoys the company of most - tolerates them at the very least. it’s hard for her to express her emotions, because she feels them so little that it’s very nearly not worth it. her affection is not verbal - it’s small touches and gestures of kindness, love in her own way.

is a fan of knock-knock jokes and bad puns. she won’t crack a smile while telling you them, nor does she expect you to laugh. she just enjoys them.

she owns a motorola razr covered in puffy stickers - hasn’t ever had a smartphone. she’s a fan of emoticons. her favorite is :o)

has a lot of bruises and scratches and scars - she’s often getting herself into pickles. there are always, at the very minimum, three bandaids on each hand.

she has insomnia, so she’s awake often. is often seen wandering town - even when she shouldn’t be, even when it might be dangerous. her intuition is delayed. when she does sleep - her dreams are vivid and fantastical.

keeps a box of memories - sentimental bits and pieces she’s picked up over the last few years. there are a lot of buttons and postcards, but any teeny tiny object will do.

her style changes every week - most, if not all, of her clothes are thrifted. one week she’s baby spice and the next she’s lydia deetz. she combines pieces from different styles often - she looks like a barbie clothed by a child. she feels most comfortable like this.

will either patch-up the clothes that get too worn or reuse them in some way. sometimes donates the clothes she gets tired off - isn’t minimalistic, but she’s learned to keep only a small amount of possessions.

the only consistency is her lucky ribbon - it’s pastel yellow and silky and as thin as a shoelace. she ties it onto her outfit of the day, everyday. if she loses it, she’s lost. elektra has a matching ribbon.

has no problem with minor theft - she only takes bare minimum, puts herself and elektra first and that’s how it’s always been. she tries to be good while in livingstone - would hate to make enemies whilst florence is getting repaired.

they’re staying in a motel, currently, in the cheapest room they could get. philly will still visit florence. will sometimes go home with strangers purely to take advantage of a comfortable bed and a shower with better pressure.

it’s a common occurrence - she doesn’t sleep with them - but somehow, she weasels her way into their homes anyway. has come out mostly unscathed, on most occasions. this has been a practice ever since they’ve been on the road.

really, truly - has not slept with anybody, had her first and only kiss at thirteen with a frog. this doesn’t bother her.

will consume a n y t h i n g you put in front of her - isn’t picky.

listens to whatever they’ve picked up along the way but she likes instrumentals the best. her second favorite genre is 1990′s and 2000′s top hits. they’re nostalgic for her.

loves storms - will go out in the rain and will risk her life for it.

owns a pair of roller-skates and is often skating rather than walking. unless she’s on grass - then she’s walking barefoot.

has many hobbies, and gets bored of them often. her favorite hobby is welding. she’s not certified.

also, juggles.

the kind of girl who’ll do any job you give her. odd jobs are her favorite jobs. babysitting is her least favorite - but she does it anyway. has lost children before. have they ever been found? not by philly.

dyes her hair blonde often and cuts her own hair - bangs included - finds it cathartic, likes the itchiness of bleach.

everything she does is often in pursuit of feeling free, alive, and meaningful.

wanted connections !!

random encounters - she’s new in town and doesn’t know many people - if anybody at all, so :-)

alternately, people she’s run into with elektra during their journey. whether they’ve stolen from them or stayed with them somewhere or just, ate dinner with them. anything.

someone whose couch she’s crashed on after a night of whatever - a party, adventure, etc.

people she does jobs for !! people who commission her to make stuff for them. people who need a babysitter.

people who think she’s weird - and those who like it. or those who hate it. people who don’t understand her - people who do, in their own way.

someone trying to get closer to her but she keeps slipping out from between their fingers.

a parental / older sibling figure !! they take one look at philomena and instantly want to swaddle and protect her.

people who take an immediate liking to her. people who introduce her to the music scene. people who show her around town.

someone who catches her stealing or about to dine-n-dash.

late-night walking pals.

a dealer b/c weed ? a thing.

someone who gets into a debate with her about conspiracies or superstitions or anything !! someone who gets frustrated at her apathy.

somebody who just immediately distrusts her for whatever reason.

??? you don’t have a smartphone ??? cue someone trying to teach her how they work - and philly hating it !!

thrifting pals.

m a y b e a hook-up, eventually, but it’s questionable.

something unrequited, likely on their end b/c philly is ... a hard egg to crack.

maybe something returned !! eventually. slowly. slow.

god ... someone she just tells her entire life story to. like this meme.

i’m rly down to brainstorm and think of anything !!! dnt forget 2 leave a like :)

#livingintro #gd this took too long but i enjoyed it #cancer tw #mental health tw #implied trauma #lmk if theres anything else i should tag !

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madamrogersstorytelling · 6 years ago

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Fan Fiction Ask Game

@suchatinyinfinity tagged me some time ago, and since I really couldn’t decide which ones to answer to, I took all of them! Yes, I really did. Worry about me... This is going to be a long post, so I’m putting everything under the cut and tagging some of my fellow writers at the bottom. I also am going to answer with all of my fics and not only one of them, that way you can get more perspective.

Thank you for reading!

A: How did you come up with the title to [insert fic]?

I’m not going to answer about how I named one fic, I’m telling how I usually name my fics. Most of them get their titles if I listen to a song and it has a nice name or a line, sometimes I read quotes or just think of a word and taste it for long enough to decide could it be the title. Sometimes I read the piece before naming it and decide a line it has as a title; this can be seen in most of my drabbles. The title can be found. With my current series Aura, Of New Beginnings, You, Dark Passion Play and I’ll Make a Man Out of You; they either got their titles from the names of the characters, aspects of the story or songs.

B: Any of your stories inspired by personal experience?

Actually, You. Not all of it, but most of the first chapter is. I took some artistic freedoms to describe some things but it indeed is inspired by my very shitty day during last December. Some of my friends know about this, it was horrible. But the young man at the stoplights (who looked really different from Ben but still) still inspires me very much.

C: What member do you identify with most?

Member... This question confuses me, all in all. I identify with a lot of things and can really tell you as soon as someone tells me what kind of a member this question is searching for haha.

D: Is there a song or a playlist to associate with [insert fic]?

I don’t really do playlist for my stories, I listen to whatever I feel like. Sometimes I want to listen to one specific song during one scene. It really depends.

E: If you wrote a sequel to [insert fic], what would it be about?

I’m bad at sequels. And most of my fics are not even ready, aka they’re series that will go on and on. But! One fic that possibly could have a sequel one day is Irresistible. It’s one of my favorite pieces of my own fics and it would be fun to see did the reader really catch him or not ;)

F: Share a snippet from one of your favorite dialogue scenes you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it.

“The knife?”

“That was Reep…”

“The apples?”

“No, I didn’t touch your apples…”

“Someone ate them while I was picking up those flowers I gave you.”

Caspian shook his head, still humming his laughs.

“Apples don’t walk away, Caspian!”

He showed you his hands as if he was surrendering. “Maybe not, but it wasn’t me.”

You pouted. “If you have to say it, you’re not telling the truth.”

“Maybe you didn’t have any apples with you on that day? I don’t remember seeing any.”

“Yeah, because you ate all of them. I was away for ten minutes!”

“Okay, I just might have eaten one…”

King of Thieves, Caspian/Reader

I think this is really sweet. I had so much fun writing this and it can really be seen, I think. I’ve always struggled with real-like dialogue, as I’ve told countless times before, but I think that with this drabble, it became quite real after all.

G: Do you write your story from start to finish, or do you write the scenes out of order?

It depends, really. I usually write from start to finish but if I suddenly get a scene in my head, I write it down. It’s easier for me to write from start to finish, that way I can stay on track and don’t lose the balance of what I’m doing.

H: How would you describe your style?

Someone once said I have noticeable style, something that is... part of me. I guess I like descriptions? I use a lot of adjectives and different kind of sentences; long and short, both to describe and rhythm the story a little. I also like beautiful words very much haha. My style may be a bit dreamy and I like to go slowly more than quickly. Sometimes I speed things up a little, only to tell the more meaningful parts but all in all, I think I describe more than use dialogue.

I: Do you have a guilty pleasure in fic (reading or writing)?

Haha! I truly do have! Especially in writing. I love to use quotes and song lyrics in my stories as dialogues, parts of them. It’s really funny for some reason. When I read, I don’t think do I actually have a guilty pleasure. Hmm... I don’t think I have?

J: Write or describe an alternative ending to [insert fic].

Goodness! Well, ok, let’s take Irresistible again...

Billy either left without leaving a single note or... Maybe he didn’t leave at all? I almost wrote that he stayed but... Then I thought of the note and I let that come to the story. Well, we can always play ;)

K: What’s the angstiest idea you’ve ever come up with?

Something that had to do with Billy having to kill the reader either because the death was inevitable or because he had been told to. I’ve tried to think of this but as I have felt a bit bad myself, writing angst hasn’t really been on the top of my mind right now. Maybe one day?

L: How many times do you usually revise your fic/chapter before posting?

Sometimes more and sometimes less. I often read it twice; once right after reading and then I let it be for a moment, I got to eat or take a shower or play with my cat for a while and then come back to read it. You kind of become blind to your own text; I still have typos, I’m not saying that but it’s easier to see everything that needs to be corrected or revised before posting. Once or twice, usually.

M: Got any premises on the back burner that you’d care to share?

Not more than I will never probably get it done because I keep getting stuck haha!

N: Is there a fic you wish someone else would write (or finish) for you?

Not at the moment. Even though, I always love to see people writing something I’ve talked about with them.

O: How do you begin a story–with the plot, or the characters?

The plot, usually. The characters come with it. While writing fanfiction, I kind of have some characters “ready to use”. The reader creates itself. I try to describe them as little as I can, so everyone can relate to them, which is why I go with the plot and not with the characters. But with something like Aura I try to get the plot with the character or the other way around.

P: Are you what George R. R. Martin would call an “architect” or a “gardener”? (How much do you plan in advance, versus letting the story unfold as you go?)

I’m more like “one rose is my whole garden” type of person. I make some plans and write down some important plot points but for me, planning the whole thing from chapter to chapter and all the way to the ending kind of means it’s written already. Then I don’t even write it. So, I try not to let my ideas die with something like this but every time I get some important plot points in mind, I write them down because I’d forget them otherwise.

Q: How do you feel about collaborations?

I have nothing against them. Collabs are just fine. Although, they can get a bit hard, can’t they? You need to have very profound talks about what you want to write and what should happen and all. It can get stressful. But it would also be very interesting thing to write! I’ve actually talked about one of these with one person once.

R: Are there any writers (fanfic or otherwise) you consider an influence?

Sure. And I think that to be a writer, you have to have influences. You know what I mean? To see different ways to do some things and how the person X does this thing - but the person Y does it differently, so I’ll do it like this. You know what I mean?

The people I’m going to tag (also the one that tagged me) all have some kind of influence on me, in good.

My favorite writers, I’ve tried to learn something from them. Stephen King, Marcus Zusak, Joël Dicker, Tolkien, Rowling, Lewis, Wynne-Jones, all of them.

S: Any fandom tropes you can’t resist?

I’m not good at this trope thing anyway, I think. I don’t even think about them too much. But, you know, I just opened a list and I definitely can say that there are some I reallyreallyreally like hahah!

Shapeshifting is always nice, all kinds of AUs are really close to my heart, crossovers are fun, timetravel, fix-it is my go to... I have quite a lot of these!

T: Any fandom tropes you can’t stand?

Hmmmpf... I don’t like to say I don’t stand something, these are just things I’m not exactly a fan of.

I’ve always been bad at anything that has to do with comedy (I’ve only recently learned to live and watch comedy films, I used to hate them a few years back), so maybe... crackfics? Ok, good crack makes me cry my eyes out because I’m laughing so much but it’s pretty hard trope for me.

I’m also either so decent (or at least try to think I am, which is a lie, I’m far from it haahah) or old-fashioned that I’m very bad at PWP as well.

U: Share three of your favorite fic writers and why you like them so much.

@padfootagain she writes so good fluff! You can always trust that whatever she writes will cheer you up - and I often read her fics if I feel a bit down. She’s also one of my closest friends.

@something-tofightfor I love her way to tell the stories, her characters. I enjoy her style a lot. And she is also very cute human being.

@banditthewriter quite a lot like with the previous. I like the way she develops her stories and characters and always gives us something to wait for. She also seems so nice and genuine as a person. We don’t interact much but I still appreciate her a lot.

V: If you could write the sequel (or prequel) to any fic out there not written by yourself, which would you choose?

Whoa, this is hard... This is really hard because most of the fics I read already tell the stuff I’d tell in prequels. Maybe sequel... To @padfootagain‘s A Recipe For Love, to see the life of Caspian and the reader. But I don’t even dare to touch that masterpiece!!

W: Do you like more general prompts, or more specific ones?

Both are fine. I like prompts a lot, they help me but sometimes they also set me a trap haha! I tend to use more general ones myself and I’m fine with that. But if I find a list of some more specific ones and find it inspiring, why not?

X: A character you enjoy making suffer.

WHAT?? I hate to make any character suffer!! Ok, I’m a mascohist so maybe a bit but... No, that tells that I like to make the reader suffer? Because I’m not a sadist (even though, some of my friends might say so, they always say I’m killing them, so...).

Y: A character you want to protect.

Caspian. Ryan Brenner. Steve Rogers. Billy Russo. Yes, you read right - Billy might not need my protection, but I’m doing it anyway. Paul “Jesus” Rovia is my dearest and I’ll fight for him. Tom Ward. Magneto. Athelstan. Sirius Black. Sam Winchester. All my actor babies. There are so many of them, they’re all my babies, I want to protect all of them!! (Logan, don’t look at me like that - yes, I’m protecting you too.)

Z: Major character death–do you ever write/read it? Is there a character whose death you can’t tolerate?

... I hate the fact that every time I watch a movie or a show or even read a book, it’s 100% sure that my favorite character dies. Or if not 100&, then at least 85-90%. But, the happy thing is that most of the characters are not killed in fanfiction! I can read deaths, yes, but... They’re not nice things to read. I can also write deaths, still not my fave things to do.

Want a list of these characters? Sirius Black, Billy Russo, Logan Delos, Kili, Fili and Thorin, Steve Rogers or any of the Avengers (don’t come at me, I know we all have been thinking about this)... This list could go on and on.

Tagging: @padfootagain @jennareedus @carol-damn-vers @something-tofightfor @dylanobrusso @suchatinyinfinity @whostheblondegirlwriting @loriwrites @breanime @princerussoand everyone else who wants to do this. Sorry for the double tags.

#i was tagged #tagged #on writing

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a-confused-turtle · 7 years ago

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Even Though You Drive Me Crazy

Fandom: Star Wars

Summary: Poe and Y/N have known each other for their entire lives. BB-8 gets Poe thinking, and in combination with a rough mission they finally admit what they’ve always known.

Pairing Characters: PoeDameronxSolo!Reader, BB-8, General Organa, mentions of Kylo/Ben

Words: 2100+

Warning: None? Usual space peril?

Author’s Note: I wrote this after re-watching The Force Awakens. Had to quote Leia’s line. I hope this will be received well... I’m still not sure how I feel about The Last Jedi, so many thoughts.

“Dameron!” You yelled with fury as you stormed into the base’s hangar. “You pig headed, scruffy-looking… nerf herder! Where the hell are you?!”

“Woah, sweetheart,” he replied carefully, testing the waters almost.

“Don’t.” You cut in. “And stop eating my lunch. I know it’s you.” Your voice came out so icily, all the other pilots and technicians tip toed around the two of you as if they might step wrong and become the next recipient of your wrath.

He opened his mouth to deny it, but your glare stopped him short. The man should’ve known not to mess with your food, after all he’d known you his entire life. “Whenever I find the time to go visit my favorite princess, she isn’t there. I wait at your station for half an hour with your lunch just staring at me…” The charm in his words would’ve been sickening if you hadn’t a soft spot for him. The Poe Dameron. Your best friend ever since you could remember, and somewhere along the way, the love of your life, though you’d never tell him such a thing…

“Calling me princess is only going to make this worse for you,” you glowered, turning to leave.

He caught your arm with a slight chuckle before you could get far. “Y/N/N, I’m sorry okay. We barely see each other any more and I knew you’d make time for me if you were mad.”

You sighed, conceding, as he wrapped his arm around your shoulders. “Or, you know, you could’ve just said, ‘Hey, Y/N, old buddy, old pal, I miss you. Let’s get lunch.’ and you know what I would’ve said?”

“‘Oh, Poe, I’d love to get lunch with you just so I can stare into your dreamy eyes-’”

A punch from you interrupted however he would’ve ended that ridiculous, yet slightly truthful, sentence.

“Okay, okay,” he chuckled, squeezing your shoulder a little tighter in his own affectionate way, “Y/N/N, beautiful, I miss you. I’ll buy you lunch.”

You snorted and rolled your eyes. “And dinner. You owe me at least two meals…” In truth the beautiful part made your heart skip a beat, not that he actually meant it in the way you wanted.

“Of course, princess,” he affirmed, grinning as he led you back out of the hangar.

Punch.

“Ow! Okay! You see I missed this!” He laughed, holding his gut with his free arm. “You’re so adorable when you’re angry!”

“They made up already?”

Leia observed Poe with his arm around you and you smiling while striding passed the bridge.

“I’d never forgive anyone for eating my food…”

“My daughter has a soft spot for that man, even though he drives her crazy,” she answered her assistant.

“Do you mean to say she has romantic feelings for him?” C-3PO inquired.

“They both have those feelings for each other,” she chuckled, completely unaware of the orange and white BB unit near her feet.

The little guy quickly scurried off, rolling under tables and around people to investigate this new idea, that had never occurred to him…

BB-8 practically ran over Poe’s feet once he finally said goodbye to you at your office door. Anyone would’ve called it excitement, especially since the droid had just witnessed his master peck you, Y/N Solo, on the cheek. Poe’d always done that when he hugged you, one of the many little things you loved about him…

“Woah, buddy, what’s got you so excited?” Poe laughed, grinning even more than he already was.

A flurry of beeps and clicks emitted from the droid as he rolled in a small circle around his master’s feet.

“Where did you hear that?” Poe hushed the droid, hurrying him away from your door. “BB, stop, General Organa would not say that. Stop.”

The little guy kept beeping excitedly, almost tripping his master with his animated movements.

“BB, shhhh. Of course I care about her! Yes, she’s important to me.” He only hoped no one walking by caught the conversation. “We’re not talking about this anymore.” The droid got him thinking though, what if you actually did…

The chilly night air bit at your cheeks and you crossed your arms over your chest in a preemptive strike against the cold. As you walked, your boots quietly clicked on the hangar’s duracrete floor.

You didn’t know if you’d find him in the spot, the one where you both went when you couldn’t sleep, but you hoped…

As you’d done a million times, you climbed the steps to the roof, flipping the small door open. The path led to a small, concealed lookout spot.

“You can’t sleep either?” You whispered and smiled softly, beyond thankful you had that little bit of time to spend with him.

He smiled back thoughtfully with a nod as his eyes caught yours. Those deep brown beauties had a peculiar glow in them, something you couldn’t quite decipher. “Poe?”

“Nothing. Yeah, I can’t either,” he sighed and motioned for you to sit with him.

You gladly accepted the invitation, plopping down next to him and pulling his arm around your shoulder as you leaned against him. That had to be your favorite place in the world. You felt so protected with him and beyond content, as you indulged in his presence, of course that was always until he got you all riled up. “Well you’re not alone.”

For a while the two of you watched the stars in comfortable silence, though you’d never lose yourself gazing at the sky, not like you did when you took in Poe’s enchanting eyes. “You know, we haven’t been to Naboo in such a long time. It’s been ages. We should really go sometime,” you suggested aloud, “Poe are you listening?”

His head snapped toward you at the sound of his name. “What?”

You chuckled. “Distracted are you? What’s on your mind? Besides the next mission of course.”

He shrugged, trying to worm his way out of your question.

“Come on. I know you better than that,” you insisted and sat up to look him square in the eyes, “Remember that time when I saved your ass on Yavin 4? I knew you weren’t watching-”

“And I saved your ass that same day, remember?” Poe countered.

You rolled your eyes. “That’s beside the point. I’m just saying I know you better than I know myself, and I can tell when something’s up.”

Poe found himself watching you again, not paying attention to a thing you were saying. “By that logic shouldn’t you be able to tell what’s up?” He attempted, still deferring the conversation to anything else. He knew he couldn’t lie to you…

“I can’t read minds, Dameron.”

“Can’t you, princess? It seems you can always tell when I’m hungry, you leave your office when I am…” He joked. A smirk crept across his full lips as you laughed in response, eyes lighting up. Just the sound of your laugh, the smile on your face, had Poe grinning wider.

“Coincidence. I have meetings during the day.”

He shook his head, still keeping his eyes on yours. “I don’t accept that. You know me better than I know myself. And everything you do has a purpose.”

“Doesn’t everything you do have a purpose too? Mr. Absolute Commitment to the Resistance?” You questioned and leaned back against him where you toyed with the sleeve of his jacket. Poe didn’t answer, but you hadn’t really meant him too. That was how your conversations went, talking about everything and nothing.

“Do you think we’ll be doing this thirty years from now?” The query just sort of slipped out, something that hadn’t occurred to Poe before. Yet, suddenly the pilot couldn’t get the future out of his head.

You scrunched your eyebrows together in thought, considering and mulling over the concept. “Hopefully not. If we have any luck, The First Order will be gone… But either way, I know you’ll still be stealing my lunch. You even used to do that when we were kids.”

He smiled at your words, unable to express his own thoughts on the matter.

“What would we even do? I mean… The Resistance is our lives.”

“It doesn’t define us though.”

“I suppose that’s true. I don’t know. It’s just such a foreign concept. Happiness, peace, aren’t things we have much of these days,” you countered thoughtfully.

Poe agreed wholeheartedly, but he liked to think eventually you’d all find peaceful existences, happy ones. He knew he’d be happy if you were with him… “We should go to Naboo sometime,” he finally replied, turning his head to lean against yours.

You couldn’t shake the nervousness as you walked to the hangar. Normally your mother didn’t allow you on away missions, but for this small intel one she’d finally conceded. It would be quick, in and out. Somehow it still had you nervous as could be.

“Y/N/N,” a familiar voice shouted. He strode up wearing his familiar stealth clothing, hair slightly amiss, but perfectly so, like always.

“Poe!” You grinned, rushing the rest of the way to him.

He gladly scooped you up into a tight hug. “Be safe, okay?” His voice turned serious, but he quickly pecked your cheek and released you once you confirmed.

“You too,” you demanded before the rest of your crew whisked you along to the ship. You looked back as you boarded, Poe still standing where you’d left him. He raised a hand to wave, but your eyes couldn’t make out the expression on his face. You waved back after a moment, worry suddenly overcoming you. Your hand fell over your heart thoughtfully, made he’d glean your meaning from the little gesture. He had to know you loved him, in one way or another.

The doors shut violently once everyone had strapped in. Something felt so final and ominous about it, slowly creeping up your spine and worming its way into your thoughts.

By the time you’d made it back to the ship, a little worse for wear, your team had arrived as well, or was heading back. Except for a blaster shot that’d grazed your arm, everything had gone beautifully. You’d gotten the information you’d come for.

Arriving back at the base, your mother corralled you into a tight hug as you disembarked. “Your arm,” she chastised sternly.

“It’s nothing. I’m fine,” you assured her. “How’d everything else go.”

At that question, she fell abruptly silent, still clutching your shoulders protectively.

That silence never meant anything good. “Mom,” you demanded and pulled back to meet her eyes.

“Poe’s been captured,” she whispered, “I think it’s Ben.”

Your jaw went slack and the world spun in a way you never thought it could. In one second, the universe had flipped, morphed into some villainous plot. “No, no…” you mumbled, barely registering anything happening around you. It just couldn’t be real. Accepting the state of your brother had already been difficult enough…

Another pilot escorted you to your room, per your mother’s instructions, not that you particularly noticed. Everything felt so blank, so numb. You had this overwhelming absence of anything really… Just a big, fat nothing, because what was your life without Poe anyway?

Your brother couldn’t kill Poe. You’d repeated that over and over again in your head, still not quite wrapping your head around the Ben and Kylo Ren disconnect, or Poe’s capture. But, somehow someone else repeated your thoughts aloud, more or less: “Poe’s alive!”

Once you’d heard the news you dashed to the infirmary faster than light speed. You had to see him and your heart lept out of your chest in gratitude that you could.

Inside the little, white room everything you’d wanted to say suddenly flew right out of your head. Poof. Time seemed to stop when he met your eyes, while you worked to catch your breath from all the running. Then, he rushed the rest of the way to you, taking your cheeks in his hands and enveloping your lips with his.

After a moment you kissed back, melting into him easily.

Your knees buckled and you both sunk to the floor, as close together as possible, his lips never leaving yours. They claimed you and conveyed everything you’d always hoped he’d wanted.

“God dammit, Poe,” you sighed when his lips retreated slowly, lingering before his warmth there dissipated, though his hands held firm on your cheek and at your waist.

He chuckled and brushed a stray lock of hair behind your ear. “I love you too, Y/N,” he joked, except a certain seriousness overtook his expression after he’d uttered those five words. He swallowed, deep, brown eyes trained on your Y/E/C ones. “All I could think about was you… I’d always known I loved you, that I love you, but I finally realized I had to tell you… You’re everything to me.”

Your mouth opened to say something and you closed it again, completely speechless. What response could you give to such a moment… “It’s always been you… Even though you drive me crazy, I’m yours, Poe. I love you.”

Tags: @enniaram

#Star Wars fanfic #Star Wars Fic #star wars fanfiction #star wars angst #star wars fluff #star wars imagine #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron imagine #the force awakens imagine #poe dameron fluff #resistance imagine #rebel scum

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felicitous-feline · 7 years ago

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Beautiful Creatures - 2013; 46%/54% on Rotten Tomatoes; Gross USA: $19,452,138; Budget: $60,000,000 (estimated)

Well it’s not a total piece of shit, so there’s that. I don’t know, it definitely drags on and I hate the whole they’re destined to love each other and that as teens they meet the love of their life and their fates are forever intertwined bullshit. The acting isn’t awful, but good god the southern accents...I mean damn. As far as movies with witchcraft go I will always recommend Practical Magic and The Craft, both were favorites of teenage Allison and hold a special place in my heart. So I guess if you want to watch a trashy teen supernatural romance movie this is less problematic than Twilight since the female character actually has some agency and isn’t begging a super old vampire to just destroy her body with aggressive sex and perform a C section with his teeth so her other love interest can imprint upon the baby and want to fuck it. I never read the books, but I did play a drinking game to the first Twilight movie where you had to drink anytime the relationship seemed creepy or Bella looked constipated, so I remember about the first 15 minutes of the movie.

Real Time Notes:

This one is on Netflix, so I don’t have to search for it elsewhere, which is a plus. My recommendations and viewing history have long been destroyed, so this won’t place me on any sadder lists than I am already categorized into (I’m looking at you, Bee Movie lady!).

Alright, this motherfucker is TWO FULL HOURS long, and likely not worth it, though it has a very high Rotten Tomatoes rating...for what it is.

There aren’t a lot of screen caps online, so it probably sucks, but I am hoping this character that has a penchant for hats is in a Duckie like role.

Oh wow, the southern accent was a STRONG choice.

He is a fuck old high schooler.

Snyder’s product placement?

Zoey Deutch!

Death eatin a cracker?

Oh wow, an eyepatch?!?!

SOOOOO MANY CHOICES!

Momma sure says a lot of things.

Do people actually say all of these weird idioms?

Is this an opposite Twilight where the roles are reversed?!?!

Oooooh, how dreamy, he’s such an intellectual! I mean, look at his glasses!!!

I figured it would be a banned book.

How did the two male characters not get cut from the glass exploding?

Did we just become best friends?!?!

He is standing really close to her. Like uncomfortably close for not knowing each other really at all.

Sunglasses inside? Does he have creepy eyes?!?!

Damn it, nope.

It sounds weird.

Ummmmm. What the fuck is going on?

Oh no, he’s turning into Venom! Time to dance on the street and sing at a piano jazz bar!

What the fuck is that fluffy thing on him?

Her power is poetry? LAME!!!

Why does she keep calling him mortal? Is she not mortal? It implies she is immortal, and I don’t think she is. She said caster, not immortal being.

Hey, her tattoo changed. Is it a countdown to her birthday?

This is moving Sleeping Beauty fast.

Ford has a product placement too? Who is this movie for?

Alright, so Viola Davis is doing some weird backwoods swamp shit. Please tell me she practices voodoo.

A slavery allegory?

“Some things cannot be stopped” cue speeding car. Woof.

First hangover at 16? Damn.

This seems sexist...

What happened to your eye? Beep Bloop Blorp, do you understand me?

Ewww, they’re siblings? Definitely thought they were ex lovers.

Why are they playing the stereotypical love sting?

At least Ridley has weird eyes that explain the sunglasses.

She sure says cuz a lot.

I was really hoping someone would puke from the spinning.

Ah ha ha, that guy’s bangs!!!

I don’t understand why they didn’t tell her the truth from the start.

Still also don’t understand the curse...

Okay, so not vampire rules, that was confusing.

What the fuck? They’ve known each other for a couple months and her family is like, well they’re destined to love each other, he basically is responsible for her and owns her now? Come on!

Hooray, Viola Davis is literally a magical black person that helps the white protagonist.

They sure say bitch a lot.

Yeah, there’s no way this relationship would last long term.

Whoa, are they gonna fuck?!?! She’s 16 and I didn’t see any rubbers...

One of them sacrifices themself for the other, right?

Can this end soon? PLEASE!!!

Alright, that sermon is a little on the nose there...

I mean...just let him die...

Now that’s a storm.

Man, Macon sure made a big assumption there that she loves him.

...so did she kill her Mom or banish her? Or what?

What the fuck are those finger-less gloves?

He has to remember their “romance” at some point, right? I assume this was based on a book series and that would require that he continue to be her love interest.

And there it is. I’m surprised they didn’t throw in some rain or something to make it all Streetcar. LLLLEEEEEEENNNNNNAAAAA!

Now I’m thinking about Tommy Wisseau writhing around yelling Stella.

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cloverly-ponies · 8 years ago

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Sorry for the OOC ask, but... I'm struggling with pony names!! How do you get a 'ponysona' to be so perfect and all encompassing... when I make one, I'm happy with it, then stress that it isn't FULLY me... I can't get one I'm happy with. ;o;

DON’T APOLOGIZE, peeps don’t worry I’m just here enjoying my ponies I’ll worry about polish later when I’m physically capable of it. Right now we’re just all having a good time, talking about ponies, building up lore and worlds around them. This is a perfect question to hoof around with.

Let me answer flat out. I have no idea, Starcrossed was drawn on a goofy whim then never... changed. She’s just been exactly perfect for my personal sona and I could not be happier. SINCE I DON’T HAVE A GOOD ANSWER, WE’LL JUST REVIEW MY PROCESS! That way maybe you can try my tricks and see if you can’t find good ways to name up your ponies.

I’ve been... typing a lot lately. So as a precaution I’m going to put the rest under a read more.

For as long as I can remember, my joke “pony self” has always ALWAYS been a light purple (lilac) pony with bright yellow blonde mane and tail. Never stuck too much with a cutie mark so instead I just put stars on her butt because I have a very personal memory tattooed on my hand.

Here is a doodle I found, not entirely sure how old it is? 2011? Maybe older? I know this more “defined” version of the ponysona came out around 2011 since that’s when the reboot started I think.

like dang, haha. ponies are hard to draw right? Apparently. Now my whole life I kinda color coded myself with lilac and yellows. I had a lot of bad shit always going on IRL so in my head I wanted to think about anything other than that. What better than ponies? Bright, colorful ponies. (Or whatever fursona I had at the time, always seemed to be purple. lol)

I see a lot of people refer to human skin tones or just flat browns when making sonas - at the time it was popular to draw yourself as a pony nearly everyone I saw did. It irked me a bit as I was stuck living in a horrible reality so I wanted to make sure mine was.. literally the happiest me. But still me. So she was purple. And her eyes were clear blue like I wish mine would be and her mane so bright. But I couldn’t bring myself to totally make her totally happy. I love pegasi the most personally, I think Starcrossed’s biggest dream is to have wings of her own. /clovercanons

But I also knew that because of the life I have lived... I knew I couldn’t have everything I wanted. That was a really huge impact I learned as a small child. So I didn’t give Starcrossed wings. Instead I gave her the loneliness of them. The cravings, the need, the want... To know she was born without, she will never have them. I wanted her to be sad like me, not completely like me my IRL story just sucks. But Starcrossed fantasy version of me could also experience sadness and longing for something. So I gave her longing for wings. Because I myself am limited in so many ways, I have chosen to limit starcrossed as well, and that’s why I picked her to be an earth pony instead of my dreamy pegasi. Despite her being a “happy fantasy” of myself. This anchors her to me on a very deep emotional level.

Next up? What is her true meaning. What does her cutie mark reflect? Now we brushed on that - AJ you literally just gave her your tattoo? Yep. But there is a story behind my tattoo.

As a kid, I frequently was locked out of the house, so instead I’d go and sleep at the park and stargaze in the field. I would stare at them until they were gone or I fell asleep. Something I typically don’t share is that I, like any other child, would make wishes on the stars. For a better life, for better things, for love and safety. I would whisper these wishes into my hand, kiss my knuckle, then “throw” motion at the sky as if I were actually sending my wishes up to be heard by someone, anyone. It’s a habit I did outgrow. But even though I never got help, I never really felt alone so long as I could see the sky. It made me feel small, but wonderful. Like a star in the sky. There are numerous stars yet none are less beautiful than the other. And so, on my 21st birthday, I had a bit of extra cash and I went and got a tattoo on my hand where I use to kiss it. I asked for 3 stars since I typically made wishes in threes. This way even though I couldn’t see the stars in the sky, I carried them with me always. This was my way of trying to convince myself to be strong for myself.

So this obviously got a bit emotional and messy. Who the heck saw this coming for a stupid purple pony amiright? Haha. Starcrossed’s natural “talent” in the mlpverse is Perseverance. Because it doesn’t matter how many times she fails, gets hurt, or falls down. She will always get up again. She will always keep looking up.

(Sorry we made this into Starcrossed’s life story, we’re getting to names now!!!)

Starcrossed got her name simply because... She had stars on her butt. I wasn’t fond of any specific objects or items to think of anything. And anything space/galaxy related didn’t fit either. So I literally sat down at my computer with a note book and wrote down every single-star related name I could think of. Because back then I assumed ponies HAD to be named after their cutie marks or themes? (obviously now I realize durr of course not??? Why am I putting all these crazy invisible rules on myself???)

But seriously. I just.. googled, and googled, and googled. I checked baby names, I listed any silly items I liked? Pennies, rocks, bottles, flowers. There were 2 categories, first one appealing to her star theme directly and the second category just.. random objects I like, like popcorn?? Just anything you can come up with. Then you google those, then you check the thesaurus and then you check those words and it just.. yanno, link after link. Finally you have this HUGE list of potential names. You just... kinda talk out loud to yourself, try saying the name. See how it feels, do you like how it sounds? Would the character like it? Would the character be excited to hear their name from somepony they knew? Just.. Shrug??? I dunno I get a little TOO into this sometimes I swear.

I was trying to google something for modifying some other name I can’t even remember now and I accidentally got Romeo and Juliet covers, and it just said “STARCROSSED LOVERS” and it hit me. Starcrossed. Fated for each other but never to be? That... felt perfect. For her, for me, for our life. It was perfect. And so it stuck. I never once regretted.

---

✦ SIDE STORY; you peeps gotta notice all my pony names aren’t gold. I mean come on AJ, Bud? Divide? Princess Charming???? Are... you trying? YES I AM I SWEAR - it just took me a while to figure out I don’t have to follow anyone’s rules. My ponies names do NOT have to be canon-like. Take Dusty Lace for example, she despises her name so she FORCES everyone to refer to her only as Miss Lacey. Some of my pony names are perfect; Starcrossed, Smitten Sweets, Mocha Delight, Harvest Tale, these are all names I’m extremely happy with.

But you all want to know who I think my best named pony is? Welp, he’s not my pony even. It’s @provinite‘s ponysona! Providence. I know, how silly. It doesn’t even sound like a real mlpfim name. But that’s okay, it sounds... so perfectly pony and cloverly to me.

His ponysona doesn’t have nearly as deep as a backstory as mine, I literally just asked him what colors he likes so I could draw him as a pony and draw us together, he played along and helped me design it for him! He wanted nice rich greens and golds, very irish feeling. And he wanted his pony to be large size like big mac. The #7 cutie mark just because it’s his favorite number!

Now for me his name was a play - it was suppose to sound and make you think of a province. Like a piece of land or territory. It’s only right now as I googled it did I realize I mistook province and providence as the same word. But... hilariously we’re getting to the point I was going to make. Providence often refers to: Divine providence, divinely ordained events and outcomes. Because my husband, @provinite, is literally one of the biggest influences and saving graces of my life, he is quite literally my divine providence. (You know that episode where big mac is an alicorn? That’s how starcrossed see’s prov all the time. Capable of anything.)

So the pony names I’m def most proud of stamping to my characters (err his character too) is Starcrossed and Providence.

Oh by the way if none of you guessed yet, Sleepy Star was always an alt sona of mine from Starcrossed only she’s a lot more canon/in-character where as Starcrossed is completely silly and OOC (like pinkie pie and the 4th wall whatever). I literally named her Sleepy star just because I’m always so fucking tired. That’s it. Trust me if you just commit you can pretty much make ANYTHING work for a name. Just put heart into it and enjoy the character building experience!

---

TLDR VERSION: Fuck rules, name ponies whatever the hell you want. Anyone gives you shit for it you send them to me and I’ll show’em. >:C

Make big fat fat fat lists pertaining to anything you know about your pony (OR ANYTHING YOU LIKE IN GENERAL?). Personality, region where they grew up, looks, colors, favorite tastes/smells/things, their job/occupation, things their parents expect of them/want for them, seriously I even just google like phrases and shit and try to compact them if I can. Just... literally go nuts. Use song lyrics, fairy tales, foods and drinks, all sorts of silly stuff you love and want to make a huge part of your ponies life! HAVE FUN!!!

PS this is stupid and long and I’m sorry.

#clovercanons #starcrossed #provinite #providence #Anonymous #AJask

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justforthisicon · 6 years ago

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AN: Secret Santa fic for Persephie! I’ve been wanting to write a story for this underrated pair for years, and I’m glad I finally can. All the characters are in their correct grades, except for Gil, who had to be aged down a year to join them, being a college student and all pfft. Happy Holidays!

What Are Friends For

Maggie notices Odin and Ava standing across the hall. She skips over to them, grabbing each of their arms, chirping, “Ready to go?”

Ava nods, smiling, “Hey, Maggie!” “You s-seem happy a-about something,” Odin says, beginning to walk.

“It’s a Friday night, you think I’m not excited?” Maggie tells him. “I’ve been so bored the whole week, we need to get out and do something. Actually get out there!”

“So, the mall?” Ava asks.

Maggie pulls Ava close, pressing her cheek to hers, “You know me so well.”

Ava’s face tints a slight pink, “Heh, sure.”

Odin unlocks his vehicle within a few feet, Ava taking the passenger seat and Maggie in the back. Yawning, Odin gives his head a quick shake before starting the car.

“You tired?” Ava asks.

“S-Stayed up late. My b-brother had people over and, apparently, n-no one understands the c-concept of sleep. Had to c-clean the fucking kitchen this m-morning.”

Maggie leans forward, “I keep telling you, I can go in, seduce him, and then wha-bam—” Maggie slams her fist into her palm. “He’ll fall so in love with me, he wouldn’t be able to do anything to bug you.”

“You know Olai doesn’t w-work like that. And dammit, put y-your seatbelt on Mags,” Odin chastises. Once she buckles up, he asks, “What about Gil anyway?”

Maggie’s expression shifts to dreamy, sighing, “Ah, Gil… I’ve been thinking about asking him out.”

“H-Have you?” he asks, aware of Ava’s sudden tension.

“Yep, I thought about asking him to go to the movies or something. Just a casual date.”

Odin wonders if it will ever click into her head that Gil is gay. It’s something he’s wanted to bring up, on numerous occasions, that Gil has, and never will, have an interest in girls. It’s so apparent to every single person on the blasted earth, except one Maggie Lacivi. She either has a strong sense of denial or she simply has never considered that possibility. He knows Ava has wanted to bring it up as well, but the two of them know that trying to convince Maggie of anything, especially before she’s ready to learn, will make her more resistant.

She has to learn the hard way.

Arriving at the mall, Odin finds a parking space not too far from the entrance. The trio head inside the cool building, that odd smell of perfume, purses, and clothes never worn, in the air. It permeates the entirety of the vicinity, extending from store to store to store. Odin’s never quite understood how malls can have such a distinct flavor, but it does. Maybe it has to do with marketing. Like with food. Where retailers have smells going around to bring customers in, and then wha-bam, you’re spending two hundred dollars on a random item you don’t want. He should look that up.

“Hey, Odin?”

He breaks from his trail of thought, turning to Ava, “W-What’s up, babe?”

Ava blanks for a moment. She feels her face grow warm, and she tries to not think of how easy he said that. Nonchalantly, she holds up a blouse, “Do you think this looks good?”

Odin’s brows furrow, “I g-guess.”

“What’s wrong with it?” she asks, suddenly self-conscious.

He puts up his hands, waving them, “N-Nothing, I t-think red is m-more your color.”

Ava sifts through the blouses, finding a similar cut at the top, though with a bit more frill around the sleeves and hem, colored in a deep red. She holds it up to her chest.

“M-Much better,” Odin says, approving.

“Yeah, you don’t think it’s too much?” Ava asks.

“N-No, you should get it.”

Maggie suddenly appears, grabbing Odin and Ava’s hands, “Hey hey hey, guys, can you tell me whether this outfit I found is cute enough?”

She pulls them forward, Ava clinging the blouse to her. Maggie releases them, and Odin catches Ava by the shoulder to keep her from tripping. Maggie whips out a flowing dress: the straps are razor thin, held up by a prayer, with a gradient of dark blue at the bust, to a light sky color at the hem. Maggie presses it to her frame, waiting for appraisal.

Ava says she likes it at the same time Odin says he doesn’t.

Maggie frowns. She holds it up, “If you two don’t agree, it must not be that good.”

Ava looks at Odin, “How come you’re not into this one?”

“Mags, c-come on, you can get a better d-dress than that.”

Maggie hangs it back, “Then what would you suggest?”

“N-Not that.”

Groaning, Maggie folds her arms.

“It’s a giant s-shopping center, you’ll f-find something more suit-t-ted for you.”

Resigned, Maggie heads off in a different direction. Not finding much else, they decide to leave, after Ava made her purchase of the red blouse.

They decide to go into another department, the clothes appearing a little more high-end. Maggie insisted, as there’s a sale. Ava and Maggie inspect the pants, trying to decide whether this cut was better than this. Odin hangs out in the front, judging their lack of decent jackets. Disappointed, they exit and walk on until they come to a lingerie store.

“Hey, Odin, your favorite place,” Maggie teases.

“Only i-if you and Ava model f-f-for me,” Odin answers.

Ava and Maggie laugh, all three grinning as they head inside.

Maggie immediately zeroes in on a bright blue bra, lace covering the front and leaving nothing to the imagination. She finds a matching set of underwear and goes to get fitted. Ava is asked by staff if she’d like to try on anything, to her much flustered apologies.

“Must be fun to go shopping with your girlfriend, huh?” asks an employee.

Before Odin can answer, Ava shakes her head, “Oh, he’s not my boyfriend!”

The employee blinks, trying not to be confused; smiling, they ask, what they hope is not a terrible question, “Oh… a relative, then...?”

“He’s just my friend.”

The employee watches Odin enter the seventh circle of hell. Yikes.

Maggie comes out, pleased, and makes her purchase of the bra, panties and a bottle of lotion with a sweet, floral scent.

Continuing on, Ava pauses. She asks, “Hey, Odin, don’t you need to buy anything?”

Odin mulls the questions. “I don’t know, s-socks?”

Maggie shoves him lightly, “Dude, that’s not a fun purchase.”

“I do n-need socks, though.”

Groaning, Maggie grabs his arm, “Odin, that’s not a cool, fun gift for a suave, debonair gentleman like yourself—”

“—I know y-you’re mocking me—”

“As your friends, we can’t stand by this. You are going to buy yourself something nice.”

Sighing, Odin allows Maggie to drag him off. Ava watches them go, moving at a slower pace. She had never expected Odin and Maggie to become so… close. Odin was the reason she and Maggie even started being friends again. After their falling out several years ago, it had been a difficult thing to imagine Maggie opening herself back up. She hadn’t blamed her for not wanting to be her friend anymore.

Then Odin came and somehow… fixed it. It was slow, incremental.

He knew Maggie from their shared group, and he knew Ava from a class involving all grades. One day, he had invited Ava to join them at the table and upon arriving, the atmosphere shifted. Neither girl had known Odin was friends with the other. Needless to say, that was the coldest, awkward lunch she’d had in a while.

After that, from her perspective, she’d explained to Odin that Maggie and she used to be close. He hadn’t prodded, and she’d been grateful for his respect for privacy. But he continued to express desire to hang out with both of them, even it wasn’t together.

Ava was aware that her being involved in Odin’s life nearly caused his relationship with Maggie to become unstable. Maggie went a whole month without talking to him, where before they would hang out whenever they could.

“I’m sorry about this,” she said.

“Sorry f-for what?”

“For making this about me, like usual…”

Odin looked at her through a screen of smoke, sighing, “If Maggie d-doesn’t like me hanging out with you, that’s h-her issue.”

“I’d ruined my friendship with her… I don’t know if I’m okay with me destroying this too.”

“Maggie is ve-very important to me, but you’re important to m-me too,” Odin explained. He got closer then, their arms brushing each other’s, and she felt her heart race.

She gave him a smile, shrugging, “That’s sweet of you… but you haven’t known me as long. It feels unfair to Maggie, and…” Ava clenched her hands into fists, the knuckles white, “I’m not sure how I feel about this.”

“Ava, I’m telling y-you here and now: Maggie c-can make her own decisions. If she d-doesn’t like the idea of you and I h-hanging out, that’s her problem.”

“You don’t mean that,” Ava insisted.

“I do m-mean that. Maggie’s my b-best friend. But if she’s g-going to be possessive of m-me, I’m n-not good at bei-i-ing friends with someone like that. Friendships r-run their courses too, like anything e-else, and if that’s how it g-goes, you can o-only accept someone’s c-choice.”

Ava’s brows furrowed, trying not to cry. She was ruining everything. Everything always gets ruined because of her. She never did the right thing. She always hurt people. She always caught people up her mess. She could never do the right, smart thing.

“Do y-you want me to s-stop being a-around you?”

Odin tilted his head, and their gazes locked. His expression had been so sincere. Whatever she said, he would do. He’s so much nobler than people expected him to be. Something about that look made her rethink what she said. That this was different. That this was a change for the better this time. And it was selfish, but…

“No, I don’t want to stop being friends.”

Ava’s always known she can be.

“Ava,” Maggie calls, waving her over into a store. “Come on, we gotta find a leather jacket for our boy!”

She closes the distance in small skips, content.

Odin shoves his hands into his newly purchased leather jacket. His sisters tried to hide it this morning, but he knew what to expect. He’d been called by Maggie to tell him she’s coming by to pick him up for school, so he got up and dressed. They alternate who drives when and Mondays are her turn.

“Lookin’ good,” Maggie says at the door, patting his back. She wipes away any imagined dust from his shoulders. “Aren’t you glad we made you get it?”

“N-No one makes me d-do anyt-t-thing.”

She raises a brow.

“But yes, I’m g-glad you encouraged m-me.”

“All the way to the register, I might add.”

Rolling his eyes, he wraps his arm around her, giving her a firm side-hug. Maggie leans into it, grinning at this display of affection from him. Walking to her vehicle, Odin slides into the passenger’s seat, pushing back the seat to make room for his legs. Maggie flips through the radio and lands on a pop music station.

He asks, “When are you go-going to ask Gil o-out?”

“I’ll be asking him out today, I have the whole thing planned out. I was going to ask him on Sunday, because I know which church he goes to, but I decided to opt out on that.”

Odin gives a simple nod.

Maggie glances at him, “I know you don’t like him.”

“W-What ever gave you t-that idea?”

“Glad you’re not trying to lie to me. But I don’t understand why you don’t like him.”

Odin sighs, rubbing his temples, “Mags, he’s just… he’s a p-prick.”

Affronted, Maggie frowns. She says, “Odin, I know he can be exasperating, and he’s a little crazy with all that religious stuff, but he’s not a prick.”

“He’s a c-complete fucking id-d-diot, and he acts l-like he’s so much better than the r-r-rest of us.”

“So do you.”

“Maggie, I’m n-not like him and you know that. D-Don’t insult me. He a-acts the way he d-does because he thinks it’ll get him b-b-bonus points with whoever i-is up there,” Odin exclaims, pointing at the roof of the car. “But he’s g-genuine asshole, I know you c-can do better than that.”

Maggie narrows her eyes, hands clenching the wheel, “You don’t know him. He’s always kind to me.”

“Because h-he thinks it’s how he should act. That d-doesn’t mean anything. You don’t act-t-t-tually know h-him either.”

Glaring at Odin, Maggie waves him off, “Look, I don’t want to get into an argument before school. Are you going to keep this up?”

Odin drops it, despite his reluctance.

They arrive at Ava’s place, and she comes out wearing her new blouse. Ava gets in the backseat, smiling, “Hi, guys!”

“Super cute, Ava!” Maggie says, looking at her in the rearview mirror.

“You l-look great,” Odin tells her, smiling.

Ava blushes from the compliments, hands on her cheeks.

The rest of the morning builds up in anticipation of Maggie’s plan. She normally doesn’t have problems asking boys out, but this upcoming one is making her palms sweaty, and her palpitations are a little quicker.

She walks around the courtyard and notices Gil in his preferred spot: a table nestled under a tree, his lunch to the side as he reads his book. Maggie takes a deep breath. Careful not to scare him, Maggie makes sure that she’s in a good line of his periphery to notice her. She stands there, waiting to be acknowledged.

Gil’s eyes remain fixated on the book. Maggie clears her throat.

He jerks his head up, surprised. He gives a smile, “Hello, Maggie.”

“Hey, Gil,” she says, waving her hand at him.

“Did you need to ask me a question about homework?”

“No, I wanted to ask you something else.”

Gil waits on her, book held open in front of him.

“Gil, I…” Maggie swallows, nervous. Butterflies in her stomach. She clasps her hands behind her back. “I think you’re a really great person… You’re always nice and considerate, and I feel you really listen to me. I know that you’ll be graduating soon, but I thought that, maybe, you and I can… go out? On a date?”

Gil’s brows furrow, confused.

“I know this may seem sudden, but I’ve liked you for a long time. And I wanted to ask you out before that. Will you… go out with me?”

“Thank you, Maggie, that’s sweet of you to say—”

She doesn’t like that tone.

“Gil, I know this might be weird for you. But I just want to know… if you’d like to.”

“Maggie… I appreciate your feelings but… I don’t feel the same way.”

She feels her thoughts slow.

Gil rises from his seat, “I’m sorry, Maggie, but I don’t have an interest in you like that.”

Maggie bolts after him, stopping in front of him, “No, wait! Gil, I swear if you just give me a chance, I think we can be really work.”

“Maggie—”

“No, please,” Maggie says, frantic. This wasn’t how she thought it would play out in her head. He’s supposed to sweep her into his arms, and tell her that he’d love to go out with her. And even without that romantic fantasy, she’d been hoping maybe, maybe, that they can try. He can accept her and she can try to get him to love her.

She reaches out for him, feeling the butterflies drift up into her throat, choking, “I know we don’t hang out all the time, but I think if we got to know each other better, you can… like me.”

Gil pulls back, “No. I’m sorry this isn’t the answer you want, but I don’t want to go out with you.”

“But… can I know why?” she asks, voice thin.

Gil looks at her. Looks at her without seeing her. Distant. Trying to ignore her.

“You’ll never be someone I want.”

Maggie’s chest rises and falls quickly, watching him leave.

Odin searches for Maggie, feeling a mild panic bloom in his chest.

Ava came to him asking if he’d seen her, since she went to where the car was this morning and didn’t find it. Odin called her numerous times after the final bell, only to get the same voicemail.

Ava jogs up to him, looking more worried by the minute, “Did you get through?”

“N-N-No, she’s s-s-still not ans-s-swering me,” he replies, trying to remain calm.

Rubbing her hands together, Ava glances around. Helpless. She gives a slight jump when Odin puts a hand on her shoulder.

“We’ll f-find her. I’m s-sure she’s okay,” he assures her.

“Something must’ve happened between her and Gil…” Ava says.

Frowning, Odin wonders. She’d been so excited to do it beforehand, he knows it has something to do with this. It’d be one thing if it went well. If it did, he can imagine her leaving in a tizzy because she got so engrossed with joy that she’d leave them. And that’d be fine. The problem is that if it was a good encounter, even with her leaving, she would’ve answered one of their messages and apologized but, “you know me, I gotta plan a week ahead for this!” and all that.

This isn’t like her. She should be bragging about this.

Odin feels a hand on his arm. He looks down at Ava, her expression concerned.

“Hey, I know you’re worried too.”

He lets out a rush of air.

“It’s okay to admit that.”

“I k-know it is… I just d-don’t like to.”

Ava pats his arm, giving him a smile.

He can’t help but return it with his own.

Then he remembers something.

“Hey, w-why did you tense in the car on Frid-d-day?”

Ava blinks, “What?”

“When Maggie m-mentioned Gil… why did you te-tense up about him?”

Her expression changes, reserved. Her hand tightens around his forearm.

Odin leans down a little, closer to eye level. His heart quickens as he asks, “Is it be-because you s-still have feelings f-for Maggie?”

Ava whirls to look at him, shocked. She shakes her head, “No, that’s not it.”

Odin’s brain falters for a moment.

“But I… I t-thought that…”

“I liked Maggie a long time ago, but I made peace with that. She’s never going to want me back, and I only want to be her friend,” Ava explains.

Odin, in the midst of whooping with glee, dropping dead from relief, and the growing anxiety of Maggie’s whereabouts, delivers a single, brilliant, “What.”

“I haven’t liked her that way for a long time. She’s always going to be important to me is all. I want to have her in my life, even if it’s not what I thought it’d be as kids.”

Odin squeezes her shoulder, understanding how it feels to not know where one stands.

“The reason I tensed is because… yeah, I don’t like Gil much either.”

“H-How’s that?”

Ava’s expression contorts, a grimace of contempt twisting her features. He never thought she could look so… fearsome.

“A couple weeks ago, I’d been in the hall. I was walking past Gil, and he’d been hanging around with those other people. I don’t remember two of their names, but I know Prudith. She normally picks on me,” Ava informs him. She feels Odin’s hand shift onto her back, comforting, “When they saw me, they all looked at me like I shouldn’t be around. Prudith whispered something to Gil that I couldn’t hear. Next thing I know… my books are smacked out of my hands and on the floor…”

Ava’s eyes well with tears, sniffling.

“Ava…”

“I never had problems with Gil before.”

No doubt hanging around with the wrong crowd, Odin surmises. It doesn’t excuse his behavior, but he’s normally so anti-confrontational that the fact he went out of his way to bully Ava is something else.

“...Then he told me that’s what I deserve.”

“He s-said what?” demands Odin, voice sharp.

“I don’t know why he said that, or what I’ve done but…” Ava says. She looks at Odin then, eyes watery, but burning. “Whatever he said to Maggie probably wasn’t good either.”

Odin draws Ava close to him. She gasps when he pulls her up to his form, one hand cradling the back of her head.

“I d-don’t know if this is something you w-want,” Odin whispers, face burning. “But I w-want you to know I’m h-here for you. Whenever y-you need it.”

Ava nods, comforted. She allows herself to be held for a moment, then she withdraws.

Odin wipes a tear from her face, “C-Come on, let’s go find Maggie.”

It feels awful.

This aching pain ripping into her chest.

She wants it to stop, but it gets worse the harder she cries.

Every part of her is shaking. The tears keep flowing—dark streaks on her cheeks, nose is becoming plugged, throat is tight.

She’s so stupid. She’s stupid. She’s stupid, she’s stupid, she’s stupid stupid stupid stupid—

Sobbing, Maggie blindly reaches for the glove compartment. Feeling for the tissues, she blows her nose. How could she have been such an idiot? Maybe she should’ve tried harder to get him to agree, but he seemed so adamant about saying no.

His stare had been so cold.

She didn’t think her Prince Charming could be this way.

Sniffling, she dabs at her eyes. Releasing a shaky sigh, Maggie tilts back her head.

She wasn’t sure why this one hurt so bad. She’d been told no before.

But Gil was supposed to be different. He felt so safe, and she gravitated to that. He was always sweet, it never dawned on her that he would…

Maggie’s eyes burn, the tears coming out again.

She’s been such a fool…

The phone vibrates beside her. Glancing at it, she bites her lower lip. She drove off to the park without telling them… she’s not sure if she wants to deal with Odin telling her that he knew all along.

The phone stops vibrating. It starts up again, this time Ava.

She lets it ring, looking at her shoes. Was this how Ava felt? When she’d turned her down all those years ago?

What a horrible feeling. To feel like you didn’t matter. And the chance to gain importance doesn’t exist.

Odin moves in the direction of the park. Carrying Ava on his back, he asks, “You c-comfortable?”

“Yeah,” Ava says. “I’m sorry you have to do this.”

“D-Don’t worry about it. Those s-shoes you have a-aren’t exactly built f-f-for walking.”

Sighing, Ava wraps her arms around him a bit tighter. Resting her head on his shoulder, she realizes how good he smells. His neck is so close, it takes a surprising amount of effort to not bend an inch and trail kisses up that exposed skin.

She hadn’t been sure how to react at the store—all she knew was she didn’t want to embarrass him. Someone thinking they’re together might not appeal to him. She knows he likes her, but if wasn’t in the way she wanted it to be. She’s not sure if she could take that. Not again.

What he said earlier about Maggie had got her thinking. She used to like Maggie, and a part of her will always treasure Maggie as her first crush. First love, even. Maggie is one of the most important people in her life. That won’t ever change.

In the absence of her, Odin made his way through. Found her groping in the dark, and they were both lost, but they had each other. He has become so important.

Possibly above everyone else.

Ava tilts her head onto his, closing her eyes. She hopes Maggie’s okay.

She wouldn’t do anything to hurt her, not like before. It’s why she can’t let Odin know how she feels. If he did… their relationships will change. Maggie might feel like she’s losing friends once more.

Odin stops, and she looks up. Sliding off his back, the two of them rush over to Maggie’s car.

Ava knocks on the window, startling Maggie. She drops her shoulders when she sees it’s them. She opens the door, feeling tired.

“Hey…” she murmurs.

“We’ve been worried!” Ava exclaims, hugging her.

“I’m fine, Ava,” Maggie tells her.

Odin stands in front of her, relief sinking into his gut. Shaking his head, he sticks his hands into his pockets, “Y-You’re such a pain in the a-ass.”

“Odin!” chastises Ava.

Maggie glares at him, “I didn’t feel like having you tell me that you told me so.”

“Mags, that’s n-not it,” Odin says. “You left us w-w-worried sick about where y-you’d gone, and w-what happened. The l-least you could’ve d-done was answer your phone.”

Maggie sighs. Tears flow again, “I’m sorry… I didn’t want you to see me like this…”

Odin squeezes beside her, all three of them standing against the car. Odin wraps an arm around her shoulder, “Maggie, y-you can talk to us. You d-don’t need to shut y-yourself out.”

Fast, she brushes her eyes. She groans when she keeps crying.

Odin pulls her into a hug. Maggie sobs into his chest. Ava hugs her from behind, and she feels their bodies shift so that they’re all hugging each other.

“I… I felt so fucking dumb,” Maggie blubbers. “I thought— I really thought th— That’d he’d give me a… shot…”

“I know… I k-know…”

Maggie feels Ava’s hand stroke her hair, whispering that it’s okay.

She lets herself cry in this little cacoon. Safe.

Finished, Maggie pulls back. Odin pats her shoulder as Ava rubs her arm.

“He… He didn’t want to go out with me. I thought he would… but I guess I fooled myself.”

Ava shakes her head, “It’s okay, this stuff kinda happens. You run away with an idea and then you don’t know where it went. But it’s really gonna be okay.”

Maggie turns to her, “I’m sorry, Ava.”

“What for?” asks Ava, surprised.

“It must’ve been hard for you to tell me you liked me… I really hurt you then too, and I never apologized for that.”

“Oh, Maggie… that’s okay!” Ava tells her, hugging her tight. Pulling back, she smiles, “We’re friends again, and that’s more than I could’ve wanted.”

Maggie smiles back, “Thanks, Ava.”

“He w-was a jerk anyway,” Odin says.

Laughing, Maggie grabs onto his arm, “I know he was rude to me, but it’s not that bad.”

“Well…” Odin starts, meeting gazes with Ava.

Maggie’s curious eyes turn dark. Grappling with the idea that not only Gil could be so cold towards her, but Ava as well. In another time, that might’ve made her a little happy. Might have.

“That’s horrible... I know I’m one to talk but... I can’t believe he’d do something like that. Although, I guess after today, I don’t know him at all.”

Odin steps forward, “You l-ladies wanna key his car?”

Ava giggles while Maggie throws her head back in a loud laugh.

“Odin, we can’t do that,” Ava says.

“As much as I’d feel better doing it, admittedly” Maggie states, crossing her arms. “I don’t think I have it in me to do that.”

“D-Doesn’t have to be us.”

“Man, they really took off,” Maggie comments.

“Yeah, wow. Look at them go,” Ava agrees.

“B-Best part is, they’ll be t-too tired to be up a-all night,” Odin says.

They watch as his three sisters throw toilet paper over Gil’s car, all of them writing obscenities and doodling on the windows.

“Will any of this damage the car?” questions Ava.

“I l-let the girls have free rein so… I told them the basics: d-don’t slash his tires or b-b-brakes. Don’t t-throw rocks into the windows. Don’t steal anyt-t-thing. Car s-should be fine after a wash. M-Maybe new paint.”

“Those are the basics?”

“For t-them, yes.”

Maggie smirks, “Gotta hand it to ya, you’re raising those girls to be something else.”

“T-Thanks, I think,” Odin says, pulling out his pipe to smoke.

Ava holds out her hand after he takes several puffs. He hands it to her, automatic.

Maggie stares at them out of her periphery. Hopefully, they’ll take the plunge to date one day. Otherwise, she might have to push that.

“Hey, I’m glad you two are here with me,” she gushes. “You two are the best.”

“A-Anytime,” Odin says, nudging her. “After all, n-nothing says camaraderie like m-messing with someone’s property.”

Maggie snickers, “I’m so lucky.”

“But seriously, Maggie. We’re always here for you too,” says Ava, beaming. “What are friends for.”

“Right,” she agrees.

They’re an odd little group, but they’re always looking out for each other, hearing one another out. It’s always difficult to work around other people. But if someone matters enough, you learn to adapt and mold around them. Their trio is so full of good things, she is grateful to have friends around who actually care about her.

Well, adding a boyfriend wouldn’t hurt. She looks up at the stars. He might be out there somewhere still.

For now, she has them. Until then, Maggie can’t think of anything better than to have people like this by her side.

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lorrainecparker · 8 years ago

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Lenses: My Likes, Dislikes, and the Return of the Cooke Speed Panchro

Every lens has a feel and a purpose. Some reproduce the world perfectly, some imperfectly. They all have their place, but I have come to appreciate “imperfect” over “perfect.”

There is a sense in cinematography circles that digital cameras are too “clean.” Common complaints center around the fact that film’s analog nature introduces certain characteristics to an image that sensors don’t. The most obvious is that randomized grain, visible in film, is replaced in the electronic world by noise, which is less random and has a different “feel” altogether. Less obvious is the quirky way the three color layers that make up film (from the top down: blue, green, and finally red) reproduce images. Blue, being the top layer, exposes much more easily than red, because light has to travel through several layers of filtration before it reaches that bottom red layer. The red image tends to be just a little bit softer than blue or green, perhaps because red light has to travel through more layers before exposing, or possibly because its wavelength is longer so it focuses differently. (This is well known: the scenes that camera assistants dreaded the most in film took place in red-lit darkrooms, as lens focus marks became useless.)

It is these intangibles that gave film an abstract beauty, and abstraction is what audiences crave. Audiences don’t want to see realistically captured images: they want to see interpretations of reality that are more interesting than the reality they see daily. The more unique and compelling an image is, the more attractive it is to an audience… within reason, of course.

There’s only so far a color grade can be pushed, and even then the look tends not to be very “analog,” or randomly distorted. That’s why old glass is seeing a resurgence. Such lenses work their magic before the light strikes the sensor, and—unlike a color grade which works at the color bit depth of the source or intermediate digital files—they work at the full bit depth of the sensor. And old lenses do some wonderfully unpredictable things.

Lenses have always been a bit of a kluge. Zooms, in particular, are compromises in every way, and often show all sorts of defects from the distortion of horizontal and vertical lines to color fringing around contrasty objects. Primes are generally less prone to annoying distortions, but certainly possess more positive distortions that give them “character.”

One overlooked quality of lenses is lens color. A while back, while shooting a travel job, I had to mix Cooke S4 primes with an Angenieux 24-290 zoom due to limited equipment availability. It wasn’t long before I noticed that the Cookes, which are nice and warm, contrasted sharply with the Angenieux zoom, which appeared cool and cyan. While this is relatively easily fixed in a color grade, it does add time and expense to that process, and a less experienced colorist might not fix that issue at all.

When I got home I set out to compare and contrast lens colors so I didn’t end up in this situation again. I knew that director wanted to work with either Leica or Cooke primes, and I needed a zoom that would match either choice. This article illustrates how I compared both Cooke and Leica primes to Angenieux and Canon zooms in order to determine which pairing was the best match for color. In the end I found that the warm Cooke and Canon lenses matched fairly well, whereas the Leica and Angenieux lenses were a better match because they were both cool and a bit green.

What’s interesting is that the lenses weren’t simply an overall hue, but showed variations in how they transitioned from warm to cool. For example, in a range from blue to red, the purple hues transitioned to red faster on the Canons than on the Cookes but their overall warmth was the same.

I’ve come to think of all the common lens choices in the following ways:

Cooke S4 primes. They don’t always play well with horizontal and vertical lines, but those distortions work magic on faces and figures. They render skin tone as wonderfully “creamy,” and the quality of the out-of-focus image (known as “bokeh“) is painterly and slightly dreamy. They tend to pop warm hues and downplay cold ones, which—once again—is wonderful on faces. Their low contrast doesn’t work well with white limbo backgrounds, but otherwise they are my go-to favorites.

Zeiss Ultra Primes. These are my workhorse lenses, as they tend to be a little cheaper than Cooke S4s and are more often available when rental houses are busy. They are very clean and the wider lenses show gentle barrel distortion, which I find pleasing in an old-fashioned way. They don’t flare easily, and in general are just good, decent, all-around lenses. Where Cooke S4 lenses don’t work so well on white limbo backgrounds, Ultra Primes are much more contrasty and work perfectly.

Zeiss Master Primes. I’m not a fan. They are very, very good lenses, but they are so free of distortion that I find them a little boring. Still, they are probably the sharpest low light lenses around, and some of the sharpest lenses available overall. They show a little barrel distortion, like Ultra Primes do, but unlike Ultra Primes I find the quality of that distortion a little disturbing. For some reason the distortion never feels symmetrical to me, as if the lens is slightly offset in its mount, even though it is really the world that is slightly offset in relation to the lens. I can spot this effect fairly easily.

If I’m shooting a project where I know the production company wants to resize the image significantly in post, these are my go-to lenses as I know there aren’t many lenses that are sharper. Like Ultra Primes, they show a lot of contrast and are very resistant to flares.

Leica Summicron-C primes. I’ve used these, and they are nice lenses, but like the Master Primes they are almost too perfect. They are also a little cool and green, which is easily corrected but not my favorite look on faces. Still, they are razor sharp and free of distortion, and sometimes that’s the look you want. In a recent video comparing these lenses to Ultra Primes, I noticed that the Leicas didn’t cause highlights to bloom as much as the Ultra Primes but the field of view was completely flat, where the Ultra Primes added a bit of roundness to the image. I found the Ultra Primes to be technically lower in quality but artistically more pleasing.

Zeiss Super Speeds. These old lenses have a lot of character. Their bokeh is distinctive: highlights are hot in the center and bleed off into a gentle glow. They show more flare than their modern counterparts (Ultra Primes are basically updated Super Speeds) and a bit more barrel distortion, and they aren’t as sharp as the other lenses on this list, but they still do a surprisingly good job. In the early Alexa days I was often able to get that camera on jobs by compromising on lens choice to keep costs down, and I came to enjoy matching such an awesome camera to a set of old and worn Super Speed lenses.

Speaking of old and worn lenses… this is the part where I talk about my new favorite lens. A company in the U.K. called TLS (for True Lens Services) has been rehousing old Cooke Speed Panchro lenses, from the 1920s through the 1960s, for modern motion picture use. They have all the functionality of modern Cooke primes, but the funkiness of old and worn lenses from an era when lens technology was a lot less forgiving. (Recently, while shooting handheld with these lenses and controlling my own focus, I found myself spinning the focus knob crazily and wondering why it wasn’t engaged… but then noticing that focus did actually change. That’s how insanely smooth the focus mechanism is on these rehoused lenses!)

A Cooke Speed Panchro lens in a new TLS housing. The focus ring is so smooth that it often feels as if the follow focus isn’t actually engaged!

These rehoused old lenses are so popular that Cooke Optics dug the designs out of a filing cabinet somewhere and is re-releasing them as a brand new product, the Cooke Panchro/i Classic, in all their funky glory.

This decades-old Cooke Speed Panchro lens has a beautiful and unique look that works well for our digital age, but the physical design isn’t conducive to working as quickly and precisely as we must on modern productions.

The updated Cooke Classic updates the classic Speed Panchro design while giving camera assistants the kind of focus mark precision they need when working quickly and precisely at low light levels. It also makes the lens compatible with standard accessories, as does the TLS housing.

Cooke Optics recently released this promotional video showing off the “new” Cooke Speed Panchro, now known as the Cooke Classic:

These are the most imperfect lenses I’ve ever used… and I absolutely LOVE THEM.

These lenses flare like mad. I remember a time when that was a bad thing, but modern aesthetics have changed. In this article I showed how lens flares introduce depth by creating a wash of light across the image at the point closest to the viewer, creating a barrier between them and the image. A setting sun gives one a sense of infinity within the frame, but a lens flare does the opposite by appearing closer to the viewer than everything else.

Flare can be used for dramatic purposes by forcing the viewer to look harder to see what’s going on. Suddenly eliminating that flare is even more dramatic as it suddenly drops the viewer right into the shot.

Flares adds a layer of depth between the viewer and the subject.

Eliminating that flare drops the viewer right into the shot.

I used TLS-rehoused Cooke Speed Panchros lenses on a recent commercial, where we played “peak-a-boo” with the sun by flaring the lens and then shading it, and this added a lot of drama to what would have otherwise been a fairly boring shot.

One of the things I love about these lenses is that the out-of-focus image is very smeary and painterly. It also seems to have layers. In this shot, which moves slightly from side to side, the out-of-focus branches in the foreground distort the out-of-focus branches in the background, like ripples in a pond. The layers of branches seem to interact with each other.

I exploited this characteristic in a recent commercial where we put wine glasses directly in front of a 100mm TLS Cooke Speed Panchro, with the aperture wide open, and the glass in the foreground of the shot created wonderful ripple effects in the background as they moved through the frame.

It feels as if the light from the soft branches in the distant background has to bend around the closer branches in order to reach the lens.

This shot shows another element of the Cooke Speed Panchro look: when used with the aperture wide open, the front of the lens cuts into the image somewhat, creating a soft vignette around the frame that also distorts the boken into ovals. The highlights at the top left of this frame should be circles, but they are cut in half by the lens housing itself. The result is swirling effect that pushes the eye into the center of the image. All lenses do this to some extent, but these lenses do it in the most interesting way I’ve ever seen.

This “swirling” effect can be eliminated by stopping modern lenses down one stop from wide open, although older lens designs (like the Cooke Speed Panchros and the new Classics) often require 2 ⅔ stops before this effect dissipates. This effect is easy to see: look through the back of any lens, with the aperture wide open, and hold it such that the front end of the lens becomes visible, cutting off part of the image circle. Then close the f/stop down a stop or two. Now that the hole is smaller, you can’t see the edge of the lens cutting into the image anymore.

Cooke lenses have a creaminess to them that make people look great. What’s also interesting about this image is that we can see that the highlights have a very slight edge to them, where the outside of the highlight is a little brighter than the rest of it. “Perfect” boken means this highlight should be exactly the same brightness all the way across, but that can often feel a bit too “clean.” Zeiss Super Speeds make the center hotter than outside edge, but Cookes make the outside edge hotter than the center.

Too much of this can be unpleasant. Many still lenses will turn out-of-focus background highlights into donuts, with a very dark center, and those don’t blend together very well. The effect is very distracting as the background highlights end up appearing almost as sharp as the foreground. These Cooke lenses add just the right amount of edge, giving the bokeh the feel of a lens that’s not quite perfect, but in a pleasing way. The highlights feel less like donuts and more like diamonds.

Throwing everything out of focus shows just how smeary and almost ghostly these lenses render out-of-focus backgrounds.

These lenses aren’t the answer to every production, but when they do work for the story or the product they really are amazing. At the moment it’s possible to find TLS-rehoused Cooke Speed Panchros at a lot of rental houses (I’ve found them in my native San Francisco Bay Area, and I also used a local set on a recent project in Phoenix). This summer you’ll see these lenses re-released as brand new Cooke Classics, and I suspect you’ll be able to find them everywhere.

At least I hope so… I’m going to be asking for them quite a lot.

(You can read my article on Cooke’s anamorphic lenses here.)

Art Adams Director of Photography

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