#half joking. but i feel like a strange number of aces i know are really into tentacles | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

harfanfare · 4 years ago

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When your Prince Charming arrives || First Years x Reader

What if someone from RSA seemed to be your dreamed lover?

Ace Trappola

It isn’t easy to make Ace seriously worried, about something that wasn’t caused by his friends, wanting to get revenge on his poor—as they defined them—jokes.

From the first sight he knew, that a boy, who “accidentally” bumped into you, was a danger. Some kind of.

He seemed just… too perfect: tall, muscular, with beautiful hair and natural charm, charisma. His clothes complemented the colour of dark as cosmos eyes, and his manners were impeccable. Ace started doubting that even Vil Schoenheit himself could point out anything to him, but he wouldn’t bet on his arm.

With each trait, something was pushing Ace away from the boy more and more.

If he hasn't paid much attention to him, then you definitely did. By the time the day was over, you managed to tell him ten times how he helped you get up—"You fell because of him," Ace replied while rolling his eyes—and characterized the boy verbally, so that no teacher would complain about not enough words on your opinion essay.

“Agh, enough-!” Ace got upset when, even while playing cards, you didn't talk about anyone else but that handsome hero who helped you get up faster than Ace did. He got up from the floor. “Marvel at him in his face! He will certainly want to hear all these compliments in person.”

He stormed out of the room before you could stop him.

His arms were shaking once he got out of the dorm, to the Rose Maze. He emanated with anger and grief; he swore to himself, that he will kick this guy from RSA the time he sees him. Though he wasn't sure... would you be mad at him...?

“Wait, Ace!” you had to run as fast as you could to catch up with the boy and bump hard into him. You hugged his waist tight, worried that he would run away as soon as you loosened your grip. “Sorry. I really didn't mean to upset you.”

Ace turned around to see your eyes. The corners of his mouth quivered before twitched into a weak smile.

"It's alright," he said, but his voice slowly cracking. “The better one wins, right?”

"Of course," you tightened your embrace so that your cheek was pressed tightly against Ace's body. “I won't be with any guy who can't destroy a chandelier with friends.”

The boy took a deep breath before finally wrapping his arms around you.

The warmth he felt from you and the one inside him caused a strange feeling in his stomach and chest. He didn't know exactly what he felt, but he didn't mind at all.

“Out of my advantages, you chose this particular one?” He said, his face showing a mischievous, a bit mocking, but still friendly smile. "I guess it was at the top of such a long list as ‘Advantages of Ace’"

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‏‏‎ ‎

Deuce Spade

Deuce didn’t know what feeling was responsible for twisting his stomach, once he saw you and a boy from RSA, introducing him to some NRC classes.

Does his dark, rebellious side finally want to see the light of day?

Not as much as he wanted to hit that boy, he’d rather preferred to take you somewhere far away from him. From everybody.

“Someone's jealous!” Ace laughed when Deuce told him about his worries.

“Again, why did I come to you with this...?” The dark-haired man sighed, placing his hand on his hair and tightening it tightly. "You really think I'm, uh, jealous?"

“And not?” Ace tucked his hair back, laced the fingers of his hands together, and blinked several times. “Oh! My hero!” He said in a squeaky voice. “I will have to give up my lovely Deuce for you because you helped me up. A~aah!”

Deuce snorted and slapped Ace on the forehead. He fell onto the bed. The redhead burst out laughing as he looked at the nervous, sulking Deuce.

“Go Deuce,” he said, sitting down on the bed, still with an amused sparkles in his eyes. “Fight!”

Without waiting for any further words of encouragement, Deuce ran out of the room, towards the school. He went through all important, busier spots in the school before he found you in the cafeteria.

Of course, with that RSA guy.

He felt his body tighten like a tight string as you spotted him between the heads of the other students and waved at him.

"This is Deuce, my boyfriend," you introduced the boy to your dinner companion, and the dark-haired man looked away. So what if you guys were dating for months? The title "boyfriend" always made his heart run wild. “And this is [Boy's Name], a student from RSA.”

"Nice to meet you." Deuce reached out his hand and squeezed the boy's hand. He did it with such force that you could almost hear the crunch of bones and a soft gasp as the student jerked his hand away. “Now, I'm so sorry, but I have to take [Name] with me.”

He felt a twinge of guilt as you walked away, and the RSA boy was massaging his hand. However, now-not-yours prince charming will definitely go to the nurse, and on the way, he will surely run into one of the most beautiful students in NRC. It’s always like that in fairy tales.

You have to fight for your true love, right? They both have to find and keep the love of their lives.

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

Epel Felmier

Just give him a chance, and he'll definitely try to kick that fop in the knee so hard he won't get up again.

"Fight fire with fire," Vil advised him during their usual dinner at Pomefiore. Even though Epel had said nothing about his worries, Vil could still sense a depressive aura from him that was definitely ‘not beautiful’.

The Pomefiore leader was also not very happy with the arrival of some students from the RSA. But until they were more beautiful than he was—not that anyone like that existed—their presence did not irritate them that much.

Of course, you didn't forget about Epel—you felt so drawn to your new acquaintance's aura that you sometimes lost track of time, but you make sure not to skip your meetings.

He felt like a pawn in a game of chess, not a player. He was attractively dressed, and now standing next to that RSA boy who had attracted your attention all too often. He took you with him a lot, that one day he almost offered to take you with him to the RSA. It would only require some paperwork, wouldn't it?

“[Name]” Epel turned to you, his voice trembling with anxiety and anger. He took a deep breath but didn't feel any cooling down. “The final decision will always be yours. But I want to say something about it here.” He pointed at the visitor and glared at him.

He felt a sudden need to straighten his hair and his clothes as silence fell around him. All the witnesses waited for his next move, and even though no one was saying anything, he felt like he was the new hot topic of gossips.

He went over to you and locked you in a hug as if he didn't want to watch all those onlookers.

"I know you may not believe me, but I really am not sure if he can bring you the happiness you expect," he blushed here. “I-I mean… I don't know if I can offer you a life only filled with happiness you want, but… I will try… So, uh, please don't go with him…!”

“Huh? There's no way I'm going with him,” you said, tearing away from him. "I'm addicted to apples and a certain apple boy, and I won't survive without this combination."

Epel breathed a sigh of relief, feeling his cheeks flush with shame, and memories of words that even sounded too serious for him.

Even though he felt terrible in this elegant garment, he couldn't think of it as his feelings exploded in his body.

Ah, yes. He couldn't want to love anyone else that much.

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

Jack Howl

Jack never wanted to stop at anything other than "true love".

When you two started dating, he saw no other way than planning his future with you... But this RSA guy was never included in your plans.

"He's joining us," you told your new friend, pointing at Jack. He had his arms crossed and he was at least a head taller than the boy, so the boy had to raise his chin to see Jack's ears. “He offered to help us with cleaning.”

"Ah, yes," [Boy's Name] cleared his throat, trying to remain indifferent. He felt overwhelmed by Jack's presence and Jack made no effort to make it easier for him. Because what was he supposed to do? Squat down so that he doesn't feel trapped like surrounded by tall rocks? "We'll definitely need someone strong."

Everything went very agile and neat.

Even if you and the RSA student previously thought it would take a long, long time, in half an hour you managed to do more than you were allotted to. Maybe it's because your loved one didn't allow too long conversations between you and [Boy's Name]?

It would certainly have been hours if the two of you were left for each other. Ideally, a lot of time to make another appointment, exchange phone numbers, cancel your joint vacation plans with Jack and change your school, right?

“Thank you for your hard work” you put the broom in the storage box. Cleaning with magic was definitely simpler and easier, but as long as you can clean, magic can feel a little sloppy while comparing the cleanliness of rooms.

"Thank you for your hard work," [Boy's Name] replied, dusting his hands of the fluff. "Maybe... you'd like to go together, just the two of us," he stressed the last words, "to the cafe?”

"I'm sorry," you smiled apologetically. You looked at Jack who was just coming back and started walking towards him with a smile on your face. “You may not see it, but this one needs a daily dose of hugs because later he will be very sad.”

Jack silently denied as he turned his head to the side out of intimidation as you hugged him tightly.

… For moments like this, the existence of people like [Boy's Name] is needed.

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎

Sebek Zigvolt

“We need your assistance, [Name]” just after taking the left corridor, Sebek appeared in front of you and a student from RSA. The green-haired man had a stoic expression and his hands were behind his back, what made him seem much more composed than he thought himself. There was so much going on in his head that it would be easier to talk about what he wasn't thinking about. “It's urgent.”

Without further ado, he grabbed your wrist, knocking the RSA student's hand off your shoulder. He gave him a frightening look before he turned on his heels and you and you walked far, far away from this place.

"Hey, Sebek," you broke the silence that had been with you since you stepped out into the uncrowded corridor. “Something happened?”

“What do you mean?” He replied in a gruff voice and picked up the pace.

"For example," you panted, trying to keep up with him, "you're almost crushing my hand."

As if on cue, Sebek immediately let you go, doing it as quickly as if he had touched hot coal. With a surprised look, he glanced at your wrist, which turned slightly red from his tight grip.

"Ah, uh, forgive me," he muttered, rubbing his temple. "I still feel sick to see that human from the Royal Sword Academy."

“You mean [Boy’s Name]?” you asked, and Sebek made a face at his name. For him, this boy will always be "human" in the worst tone and sense of the word. "Some have described him as ‘so sweet that he is so bland’”

“It suits him.”

“You don't like him too? Too cute by Diasomnia standards?” you guessed jokingly. “Or were you jealous, hehe?”

“T-that's not the point!” He growled, feeling his face flush red. You looked at him in shock, now sure, you guessed it, and Sebek felt even more exposed by it. "It's just that this human looked at you so... so strange! I didn’t not like this.”

"There is a way," you said, smiling frivolously at him. “You can invite me to tea and vice versa, and then we will not see him anymore.”

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serenityseventeen · 3 years ago

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Love & Letter: To The Thirteen Boys I've Loved Before

The Second Letter

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To: Yoon Jeonghan

From: Y/N

Dear Jeonghan,

I hope everything's going well with you, wherever you are. I'm writing you a letter without knowing where you are so even if I did ever decide to send this letter, I wouldn't know where to mail it.

Are you doing well? Why don't you call me? Contact me somehow? Why don't you say something to me? Don't you have anything you want to say to me? Oh right, you don't have my number. I don't know any of your social media accounts and you don't know any of mine. I can search on Facebook for you, through a thousand different “Yoon Jeonghan” profiles, but what would be the point?

Actually, I'm angry with you. I'm really angry and I'm a bit heartbroken too because you just took my heart and left.

Why didn't you tell me beforehand?

I waited for you to return. I spent the rest of my freshman year waiting and I even waited through my summer break, hoping that maybe you'd come back or send a letter. School starts in a month and you still aren't here. I don't know what I feel toward you anymore because you're gone. Do I love you since I'm angry at you like this?

From the first day we met, I could tell we didn't match. I don't even know why you pursued me. You joined the basketball team and whenever you had games, you wanted me to come to watch. I didn't know why so I refused the first few games.

We had many classes together, you know that. Did you use the advantage of being in the same classes as me to try to get to know me? What were your intentions when you asked me if I had lunch? Why did you always ask my friends if I was eating well?

I have so many questions I'm dying to ask now that you're gone. One day you were laughing, joking with me while I watched you practice basketball and the next day you suddenly disappeared. One day of absence turned into months, then half a year. I didn't want to ask but I was dying to know.

Then, the answer finally came.

You moved?

Why didn't you tell me anything?

I thought we were developing something special, was that only me? I thought that you liked me, that's why you did so many things to me, making my heart race and pound. Am I wrong?

If I am wrong, why did you do it?

Maybe I'm completely getting the wrong idea and the sudden move wasn't your fault. I bet that it wasn't your fault. I'm just angry that you didn't inform me. Not everyone moves houses in one day, it takes a lot of planning, doesn't it?

Now I'm just left here, confused.

Now I'm just left here, reminiscing about my second love that disappeared. I'm still remembering the first day we met when you bumped into me at the stairs and held me to keep me from falling backward.

Jeonghan, just, where did you go?

I know this message will never reach you anyway, anyhow, so I'll tell you this much.

Because of you, I changed. Hanging out around a mischievous guy like you made me pick up your habits. Before I knew it, I was playing small pranks on my dad and enjoying it, just like when you and I teamed up to prank the gym teacher into thinking that he had sat on a freshly painted bench. I can still remember how long I laughed because of it.

I still have the pen that you forgot when you were here to study with me. My father constantly asks me where you are and I always reply that I don't know because I don't know.

You came by twice every week for three months because you wanted me to tutor you. I don't know if I became a sheep to you but even though I knew you were gifted intelligent, I tutored you anyway. Jeonghan, you were one of those people who didn't need to study to ace a test. Even your methods of trickery are intelligent.

So as I reminisce, I also wonder why you would do something like that if you didn't like me. You were the one who told me that all men act like this, wanting to be around someone, making up excuses to stay close, and doing things they won't normally do if they like someone. Was that all a trick, Jeonghan?

Not only did you study with me but you studied the times that my dad was gone and came by when he wasn't here. You were respectful toward my dad and kind too, so I wondered how you could have such a naughty nature but at the same time be so caring.

It was one of those days when my dad went to work that you came over. Look, I was so confused that's why I kept stuttering. I knew that you weren't supposed to be at my house at that time of night so we stayed on the porch, gazing at the fallen sky. What were you thinking about? You stared for a long time and didn't say a word. It was the middle of winter too and you came by with your hands tucked in your puffy black jacket with your nose cutely red. You remember this night, don't you? If you don't, I'd go even more nuts than I did.

Why did you kiss me that night?

I mean, we weren't even talking, just gazing at the sky where stars were barely visible. Then all of a sudden, you said, “Look at me.”

I turned to you and then all of a sudden, you kissed me. I honestly didn't expect to get a kiss this early in my life and for it to be from you, the second love who disappeared, I can't be any more disappointed.

Jeonghan, the thief.

Your lips were cold at first but then they grew warm. I'm also sorry if I didn't know how to kiss. I just went with the flow and followed the way your thin lips moved against mine. Your hand also touched my neck as you kissed me, I could still feel the warmth of it lingering on my skin.

After you left that night after kissing me quietly, making my heart burn in the cold night, you stroked my hair. I ran inside my room and rolled on my bed, wanting to scream on my bedsheets because my lips have finally been pressed against another man. A boy that I liked at that.

How about you?

Do you think about that night at all?

It was about two days before you moved away.

Strangely, the next days, you continued to talk to me as if you didn't kiss me the days before. I was confused but since I was naive, I just believed that's how it went for everybody.

Also, because of that kiss, I began to notice your gaze. Maybe I could have noticed something in those two days before your departure. I just remember seeing you gazing at me with different eyes. I want to believe that you had fallen for me, but because of you, I'm being delusional like this.

The only way to know is when you finally decide to speak it true somewhere and it reaches me.

In this letter to you, I just can't help expressing the emotions I'm feeling. I have nowhere else to rant and I need you to know about my feelings though you'll never receive this letter.

Gosh, writing this letter makes me remember the weekend that you took me biking on a couple bicycle. Why did you ask me to go with you when you were leaving the next day? It's not like you at all. Knowing you for those short six months, you would have just told me with a pitiful face, “I'm going to move.”

Instead, you kissed me and decided to take me biking. I can still remember that grin on your face when you came to my house and said, “Hop on, Y/N.”

The wind that hit my face that day was amazing and my heart was racing just to have my hands around your waist.

Because of you, I became rebellious for the first time. I never disobeyed my father. He told me to go buy groceries that day and I went on a bike ride with you, enjoying the chilly winter breeze and ditching groceries. When we arrived at the basketball court, I watched and played a bit of basketball with you. Do you know what that means, Jeonghan?

Were you aware this whole time of my feelings? I know you can read other people's expressions well.

I can't understand you, Jeonghan. I don't think I ever will unless you come back and tell me.

I won't believe what any of your friends say even if it's the only source I have. ‘You moved away because a different high school was giving you bigger opportunities’, how am I supposed to believe that? In the middle of the school year?

Now, all I can do is sigh.

I won't wait for you anymore. That's why I'm just going to leave it. I loved you. Now, you're just one of the boys I've loved. I'm not going to spend the rest of my summer waiting to find a needle in a haystack.

I'll remember how I loved you. I'll remember how you changed me. I'll remember how loving you changed me.

I'll wonder sometimes about what we could have been if you didn't leave. If you didn't leave, I think I would have still been in love with you. Now, I'm pretty sure I would still be in love with you, at least for a little longer.

Please, send me a letter.

I know the chances are low.

I'm still angry at you for not telling me. If you did like me and think you did it for our own good, you're wrong. At least I wouldn't have had to wait and worry for the weeks that you disappeared that your life's clock stopped ticking. If you did tell me beforehand, I would have known that you'd be fine and that you were just moving away.

Did you have no faith in us?

Or did you really find a better opportunity in a better high school somewhere far away?

I'm still angry.

Is this what you call ‘the one that got away’?

Anyway, I don't love you now, but if you come back, I might again. I can't make up my mind.

I miss you, Jeonghan.

Sincerely,

Y/N

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6/18/21 - 9:51 pm

a/n: SEVENTEEN back on Instagram?? Seungcheol, Minghao, Vernon, Joshua, and Seungkwan posted today/yesterday. I didn't even notice WOOZI changed his profile picture. Also, I find Seungkwan and Seungcheol so funny...

SC: you are my escape

SK: you are my s.coups

But yay? Seventeen is back on Instagram!

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totallysharkycomplete · 4 years ago

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Waiting For you Part One (Ford Pines x Reader) Weird Stuff

“Aren’t you the guy who likes weird stuff?” She blatantly asks.

Ford’s hands freeze on the paper below his digits. He looks up at her and she is smiling. They had run into each other into the hall, Ford had his nose buried in a book, she did as well.

“I’m quite interested in anomalies,” he says, fixing his glasses before picking up the rest of his papers.

Her hand accidentally brushes against his and she can’t help but notice the extra finger. “Amazing,” she whispers. She realizes she is staring and stands back up with her things.

Ford stood up right with his papers held awkwardly to his chest. She extends her hand and introduces herself. He turns the gesture. “Stanford Pines, but please, just Ford is fine.”

“Well, just Ford. Rumor around school is I’m not the only one here obsessed with the paranormal. I’d love to discuss them with you sometime, if you’re free.” She offers with a smile.

Ford can’t believe his ears, a cute girl wants to discuss things with him? “I’m free now.” He blurts.

She digs around in her purse and pulls out a pen and paper and scribbles something down. “I’m actually on my way to a class right now, but I stay on campus.” She passes him the piece of paper and he looks down at it to see she's written her name and phone number. “Is that alright?”

“Yes!” He clears his throat trying to not sound over excited. “I mean, yes. I’d be delighted to discuss anomalies with you.”

“Later days, Ford.” She touches his shoulder as she walks by.

“Fiddleford!” Ford runs up to his friend when he sees him in the quad. “You’ll never believe what just happened!”

“Did ya finally find a ufo?” He teases.

“Almost better! Look!” Ford shows the paper to his friends. He has to take the paper out of his face and hold it back to see what is written.

“Is this a girls number?” Fids looked at his disbelief.

Ford nods excitedly. “I just ran into her in the hall and she started talking about anomalies and gave me her number!”

Fiddleford looked at the paper again at the back of his friend. “Well congrats buddy, you deserve it.” --------- “So you actually believe this stuff exists right? Not just in theory that you think it would be cool, but actually believe it?” She sat across from Ford, hand wrapped around a coffee mug, eyebrow quirked up in question.

Ford could feel his face turn red. “I mean, yes? There are plenty of anomalies that are proven to exist, so I don’t see a reason why there couldn’t be more extreme ones.”

She let out a sigh. “Okay good! Because everyone I’ve talked to about them here only thinks they are cool in theory, but don’t think they could actually be real. What anomalies have you seen proven?”

The two of them sat across from each other in the campus coffee shop. Ford had waited a week before calling her, to not seem overeager.

“Well, mostly small things. Two headed snake, cows with legs growing out of their head, this,” Ford waves his hand and she smiles.

She places her hand out on the table palm up. “Could I?”

Ford hesitantly lays his hand down in hers. Her other hand comes up and runs a finger down each of his. A chill runs down his back at the intimate gesture, but she seems unphased.

“Extraordinary.” She smiles up at him.

“Looks like ufo girl finally got a boyfriend!” Someone sneered as they walked by. She quickly withdrew her hand and placed them in her lap.

“I thought she’d only date bigfoot, looks like she's found another freak to take the place though.” Another girl mocked.

Ford watched as his new friends face twist to where she looked like a kicked puppy. As he started to say something back she grabbed his hand.

“Don’t,” she whispered. “They’re not worth your time.”

“But they can’t talk to you like that!” He insisted.

“I’m used to it.” Her hand withdraws back under the table, she stares out the window. “I went to high school with a lot of the people who go here, they know my interests are uncommon. I never tried to hide what I’ve found interesting but,” she bit her lower lip in thought. “People like to turn a blind eye to what they can’t understand.”

“I’ve always found that to be the case as well.” He agrees with a beaming smiles.

A small smile comes back to her face. “So what do you think about mothman?”

The rest of the afternoon was spent chatting about anomalies, myths, legends, the supernatural, and the paranormal. Ford was surprised about how much interaction with strange things he had.

“I don’t expect you to believe me but when I was hiking with my parents as a kid I got seperated from them. I knew to stay where I was, but by the time I noticed I couldn’t see them I was off the trail. I sat under a tree and cried my eyes out. I stayed there until it got dark. Now, this was over fifteen years ago, I think I was around eight at the time. As soon as the moon shone through the leaves I saw something standing there. It was sort of like a woman, but she looked like she was covered in moss and tree bark. But I remember thinking how beautiful she was. I stopped crying and she held out her hand for me to take. I took her hand and she led me through the woods until I saw lights and heard people calling my name. I looked at her and she smiled, I thanked her and ran towards the light and was found by a search party.” She explained her story.

Ford looked at her in almost disbelief. “That’s…” He was at a loss of words.

“Unbelievable?” Her smile began to fade.

“No! Just… extraordinary!” She assured her.

She had many other run-ins with unexplainable beings and sights. Ford wished he could only be so lucky.

They talked until the sun was down, and a disgruntled employee of the shop had to tell them they were closed. Together they awkwardly stood outside the shop, neither wanting to part ways.

“Would you like to come back to my dorm with me?” Ford finally says before realising what he said might be taken the wrong way. “To continue talking, I mean! My roommate will be there too…”

She agreed and continued their conversation to his place.

Ford unlocked the door mid conversation.

“That’s my thought exactly!” Ford beamed.

“You have no idea how good it is to hear you say that,” she chuckled.

Ford closed the door behind her and noticed someone sitting at the table in the room.

“Fiddleford!” He greeted his friend before introducing you.

“Oh hey, I think you’re in my calculus class.” She offered her hand to shake Fiddleford’s. “Nice to formally meet you.”

“Fiddleford McGucket, ma’am. Feel free to call me Fids. Great to meet you too.” He shook her hand before sitting back at the table. “I was actually working on the homework for that class right now.”

“Really?” She sits beside him at the table looking at the papers. “Do you get it? Because I feel like I’m going to fail, honestly.”

Ford sits across from them and looks at the papers as well.

“Math has always been a breeze for me, so it hasn’t been a problem. I’d offer to give you some help but I’m not much of a teacher.” He smiles at her. “Ford on the other hand is a great teacher, I’m sure he'd be able to help you make sense of it.” Fids shoots his friend a quick glance.

She smiled up at Ford who was looking a little shocked at being offered to be a tutor. “What do you say, Ford? I could really use the extra help.”

Her smile makes Ford’s stomach do a flip. “I’d be happy to oblige.” ---------- “Wait, so, I carry the one and then what?” Her brow was furrowed and pencil poked at her lips.

“We just went over this.” Ford pinched the bridge of his nose. “Think about what we said, carry the one, then…” He tried to help her pull the thought from her mind.

They sat together at a table in the library. Ford couldn’t help as his eyes grazed down to her pouty lips.

“Sorry, Ford.” She glared at the paper. “I thought I warned you how bad at math I saw when you agreed to help me.”

“That’s alright,” he sighs, sliding the paper back towards himself. “Let’s try again. So for this type of problem,” he begins to explain before she interrupts.

“Wait!” She snatches the paper from him, causing a few people to turn their head at the sound. He watches as she scribbles something down, pauses to think, then scribbles more down. “Is that right?” She slides the paper back to him with an anxious expression on her face.

Ford examines the paper. “Well…” He frowns and she frowns back. “That’s exactly right!”

She jokingly smacks his shoulder. “Don’t scare me like that.” She lets out a huff.

“Assaulting you free tutor? Bold.” He smirks.

“You know I don’t have the money,” she jokes. “Plus if you didn't, who would you have to talk about weird stuff with anyways?” She had made a joke earlier about how she wouldn’t talk to him anymore if he didn’t tutor her.

“Alright,” he redirected the conversation. “Let’s do the next one.” ---------- “I passed!” She bursts through the door of the boy’s dorm without knocking. It has become a habit over the last few months.

Fids startles awake while Ford looks up from the book he’s reading.

“Congratulations!” Ford smiles ear to ear and stands to greet her.

She pulls him into a bear hug which he happily returns.

“It’s all thanks to you!” She pulls away from the hug and Ford begrudgingly lets go of her. “How’d you do, Fids?” She looks at her half asleep friend.

He grumbles something about passing with flying colors before rolling back over on the couch.

She laughs and flops down on Ford’s bed, which has become second nature. He folds his legs criss cross leaning against the headboard. She lays on the lower part of the bed.

“Today was been so great it’s almost unbelievable. Supernatural even.” She turns her head to smile at Ford.

He quirks and eyebrow, interested in what she means. “Care to explain?”

“This morning the person before me in line at the cafe paid for my coffee and a free bagel! Then I found my keychain that I lost the other day.” She explains.

“The ufo one?”

“The ufo one! Can you believe it? So then I head into class, ace this test and go to get lunch. What did they have today for lunch you might ask. Burgers. They had burgers, Ford!” She throws her hands up in disbelief.

“And burgers are your favorite.” He nods.

“My favorite, Ford!” She laughs.

“Sounds like a great day.” He smiles fondly at her.

“Wait, I didn’t even tell you the best part!” She stops him.

“Did you finally see bigfoot?” He teases.

She scowls. “That’s no laughing matter, Stanford.”

He holds up his hand in defense. “So tell me.”

“Okay, so,” she starts to say but covers her hand with her face and wiggles around excitedly. She says something muffled by her hands.

“What?”

She takes a deep breath and moves her hands. “Daniel McDanielson asked me to the formal!”

Ford had to stop himself from frowning. He knew you were infatuated with said boy, but he had gotten some rotten vibes from him. “Really? That’s great.” He smiles.

“I know! Me and Annie are going dress shopping tonight at five! I just had to come tell you about my day.” She informs him with a giggle.

Ford looked at the wall clock. “It’s five o’ eight now.”

She sits up with a start. “Shoot!” She scrambles towards the door. “Thank you again, Ford. I wouldn’t have passed without you!” The door slams shut behind her.

There's a moment of silence before Fiddleford rolls over to look at his friend.

“I know, you were right.” Ford sighs looking defeated.

“How long have I been telling you to ask her? With that cute of a face someone was bound to ask, even with her bein’… unique.” Fids frowns at his friend.

Ford stands up, then sits back down. Opens his mouth to say something then closes it, before falling back into his bed with an exasperated sigh. “I blew it.”

“You can always just tell her how you feel.” Fids offers.

“She clearly doesn’t feel the same way or she wouldn’t be going to the formal with McDanielson.” Ford grumbles. Fids gives his friend a look. “What’s that look supposed to mean?”

“Oh nothing, nothing.” Fids rolls over to return to his nap. ---------- Next week Ford decided to stay in his room and study while the formal was going on. He would normally go to the library but decided he didn’t want to see all the couples headed towards the student union. Unfortunately he could hear the distant base of dance music in his dorm. Fortunately it began to rain soon drowning out the sound majority of the sound. Fiddleford was gone for the weekend to see family across the state, so he had the whole dorm to himself.

Ford was deep in his study when there was a knock on the door. He blinked at the door in confusion, before getting up and answering it. He definitely did not expect to see what he saw.

She was on the other side of the door in a beautiful gown that flowed down her body, or rather stuck to her body. She was drenched from head to toe. Her done up hair was stuck flat to the side of her face.

“Greetings,” she offers him a small smile, even though she has tears in her eyes.

“W-what happened?” Ford stammers before ushering in the door. He went to scramble through his draws to find some extra clothes to offer her.

“I got stood up.” She says plainly. “Not that he,” she swallows hard trying to prevent tears from falling. “Not that he had ever planned to show up. His friends made sure to tell me that it was just a prank.”

Ford stops his search to look over at her. She wipes at her cheek as a tear falls. He walks over and places his hands on her shoulders. “You don’t deserve that, I’m so sorry.”

She leans her forehead against his chest and sniffles. “I should have known. I was a fool to think someone like that would be interested in someone like me.”

“Someone like him isn't good enough for you. You’re brilliant, talented, beautiful, so many wonderful things. Someone like you could do so much better.” Ford says honestly. He’s surprised when her shoulders start to shake. She looks up at him with fresh tears in her eyes. “Did I say something wrong?” Ford started to panic.

She pulls him into a hug. “You’re so sweet Stanford, you’re making me cry.”

He returns the hug, noticing how cold she is, he pulls back.

“I know,” she sniffs. “I’m sorry I’m all wet.”

“Here,” he moves back over to his dresser drawers to pull out a pair of sweatpants and a sweater for her to borrow. “They’ll probably be a little big, that's all I have.”

She takes them, lingering her touch on his hand. “I appreciate it.” She walks into their shared bathroom with the dorm next to theirs before awkwardly shuffling back out. “Ford?”

He looks at the girl in front of him. She looks meek compared to her regular confident self. “Yes?”

Her face turns red before she even says anything. “I need you to unzip me.”

Now it’s Ford’s turn for his face to turn red. “Oh,” he clears his throat. “Alright.”

She turns around as he walks up to her. He gently takes the fabric in one hand and the zipper in the other, before slowly pulling the zipper down. His large hand comes to rest at the bottom of her back. He can’t help but eye over the exposed skin. She can tell the zipper is undone but doesn't move away, enjoying the warmth of his hand on her. There’s a moment of silence before Ford moves his hand away.

She turns and thanks him. Holding the dress up in the front, then closes the door to change.

Ford takes a deep breath to calm himself. He curses himself for getting worked up just from seeing her exposed back. He busies himself microwaving some water for hot chocolate. He has two mugs ready when he hears the door open.

She steps out from the bathroom rolling up the sweater leaves so she can access her hands. The bottom of the sweat pants have been cuffed too, but still slightly drag behind her.

Ford smiles at her and offers her a mug. She takes it and sits next to Ford on his bed.

“You can sleep here tonight, if you’d like.” He offers after a beat. “Fids is visiting family this weekend and will be gone. I don’t think he’d mind if you used his bed, although, I can't tell you the last time I saw him wash his sheets.”

“Thank you, Ford. I don’t want to go back to my room. I think my roommate might have been in on the prank.” You confess, smile wavering.

“Although we will be breaking the rules.” He tries to lighten the mood.

“I’ve already slept over once.” You laugh, reminding him of the time you fell asleep on his couch and neither boy had the heart to wake you until you had to go to your 7 am class the next day.

He chuckles at the memory. There's another moment of silence as you both drink from your mugs.

“Thank you again.” You say.

“Don’t mention it.” He thinks for a second then speaks. “This hot chocolate is nice but would you like something stronger?”

“Hell yes.” ---------- “Truth or dare?” She asks Ford for the fifth time, it’s his turn.

They're both sitting cross legged on his bed facing each other. She has her back against the headboard. Both their mugs have been filled with a dark amber liquid.

“Truth,” he says for the fifth time. She scowls. “Alright dare!” He rolls his eyes.

“That’s the spirit Stanley Boy!” She pokes his shoulder and he chuckles. “I dare you… to moon the common area!”

His face flushes, but he gets up and looks out the window. He moves over a chair and looks at her, then the floor, with almost a disappointed look. He pulls down the back of his pants with it facing the window and she howls with laughter. Quickly he pulls up his pants and returns to the bed.

“Hope there’s no werewolves out there or they’ll be turning tonight!” You joke.

“Alright, truth or dare.” he asks, refusing to acknowledge what he just did.

She thinks for a moment. “Truth.”

He thinks on his words before speaking. “If I had asked you for the formal, would you have said yes?” Her eyes fall from him to her mug.

“Yes.” She almost whispers. “Truth or dare?”

“Truth.”

“Why didn’t you ask me for the formal?” She's looking up at him from under her lashes.

He almost chokes as he drinks from his cup. “I was going to but I took too long and some else asked you.” He frowns. “Truth or dare?”

“Truth,” she finishes the rest of her drink and sets the mug on his nightstand.

“Did you really have a crush on McDanielson?” Ford looks away.

“I just thought he was handsome.” She frowns, fiddling with her hands. “And maybe just a little hopeful someone like him would be interested in someone like me.”

“Anyone would be lucky to be with someone like you.” He says without thinking.

“You’re breaking the rules,” she reminds him. “No commenting on the truths.”

“Right, sorry. Dare.” He says without being asked.

She looks up at him and then looks away. Her tongue darts out over her lips quickly. “I dare you to…” she thinks, unsure if she should really say it. “Kiss me.”

He looks at her with disbelief, before she looks back at him, then away. He sets his mug down before rising to his knees to move closer. His hand moves to her cheek and she leans into the touch. He can feel her breath on his lips and shudders. He pressed a gentle kiss onto her lips, then another, and another. Her hands move to rest on his chest as she presses back into the kiss.

The kisses become sloppy and passionate. Slowly she starts to slide back onto the bed. He follows her down, hovering above her. Her hands grab at his collar pulling him as close as she can get him. He chuckles into the kiss and she smiles.

She takes his hand not on her face and moves it to her hip. “You can touch me, Ford.”

He freezes. He had never been this intimate with a girl before, he didn’t want to do the wrong thing. She could sense his hesitation.

“Only if you want to. We can stop here if it’s too much.” She gives him another gentle kiss.

“No, I mean, I want to, but I’ve never, I don’t want to…” He fumbles over his words. “I don’t want to do the wrong thing.”

She pulls her head back and smiles at him. “I haven’t either. I mean, with anyone. But I trust you.”

His heart skips a beat. How could she be so perfect? He gives her another kiss. “You can tell me to stop, and I will.” He returns to giving her passionate kisses, as he runs his hand up and down her side a few times before slipping his thumb under the sweater to brush across her skin.

She sighs at the contact, giving him confidence. He moves on knee in between her legs to get over her better. He moves both his hands to her side and slips them under his sweater she's wearing and caresses up her sides, moving it up toward her shoulders. He doesn't expect her to pull it off and over her head.

He can’t help himself as he starts covering her chest with soft kisses. Her hand moved to tangle in his hair, slightly pulling at his brown locks. He lets out a soft groan, moving to one of her nipples he takes it into his mouth and gives it a quick experimental suck.

She leans into the touch with a moan. ‘That’s a good sign.’ He notes to himself, moving to her other nipple to do the same thing. She moans out his name and he groans against her breasts. He wondered how she could turn him on with barely even touching him.

Her hand moved to tug at his shirt. He obliges, moving back to help her slip off his shirt. Instantly her hands are all over his chest, roaming from his shoulders to his soft stomach. All this attention to himself is making him embarrassed so he goes back to kissing her, except this time he kisses her jaw, down her neck. He remembers his brother telling him that drives girls crazy, and the reaction he gets does not disappoint.

She wraps her arms around his neck and whispers his name. He stops at the base of her neck of suck a soft bruise. He’s about satisfied with his mark when she moves her leg under him and it brushes against his erection tenting in his pants. He groans deep into her neck.

“Ford, I, I,” she stamers trying to find words. “I want you, Ford.”

He never thought he’d hear her say that. “Me too,” he kisses her. “I mean, but you, I want you.”

She giggles into the kiss.

The whole exchange is sloppy and new and experimental. Ford has to root around Fid’s nightstand to find protection. They laugh and moan. She has to show him the right way to touch her body, and when he gets it right she's a whimpering mess. He is soon after her.

They lay in bed together after. She’s pressed into his chest, her head on his shoulder. His arms wrapped around her body.

“I’ve never felt like that before.” She says against his chest. She feels him chuckle.

“Me either.” He confesses.

There is a beat of silence before she props herself to look at him. An almost worried look on her face. “Was this… This wasn’t a…” She sighs. “Were you just after my body?”

Ford’s taken aback. How could she even think that? He sits them both up so he can talk to her. “If I did anything to make you think that I apologize. I adore you, mind, body, and soul.” He kisses her forehead and when he leans back she’s smiling. “Were you just after my body?” He jokes.

“Oh absolutely.” She jokes. ----------- Summer was rapidly approaching. Ford was going back home to work to help his family. His girlfriend, he proudly got to say, was going to do field work in Roswell with a world remound ufo hunter. Currently the two of them were in his dorm packing for the return home.

“I just hope he’s not actually crazy.” She sighs.

“He can’t be much crazier than us.” Ford jokes.

“I suppose so.” She thinks, then frowns. “I’m gonna miss you.”

He wraps her in a hug from behind. “I’ll miss you too. I know my mother is going to kill me for not bringing you home for her to meet you.”

“Maybe I’ll have time to meet your family at the end of summer. I don’t know exactly how long I’ll be gone.” She reminds him.

“That’s one of the worst parts.” He kisses her collarbone and she giggles.

“I’ll be back before you know it.” She assured him.

“I love you.” He confesses.

“I love you, too.” She turns to kiss him. ----------- “Stanford!” His mother gasps. “You never told me how beautiful she was!”

There was one day left before she could move back into the dorms, she had arrived back in town that one day. Of course Ford was happy to host her at his childhood home, but warned her his parents were a bit… much.

His mother was pulling her into a hug and grabbed her chin tilting her head side to side. Saying how she could afford to eat a little more. She managed to shake his father’s hand. “I’m impressed,” was all he had to say. Also she met his little brother Shermie before Ford pulled her up the stairs to his room and closed the door.

“Sorry about that,” he rubbed the back of his neck.

“It’s alright, they seem nice.” She assures him.

She takes a second to look around the room, there's two twin beds one on each side of the room. She can tell which side is Ford’s, it’s covered in papers and books. The other side however has a bunch of things related to boxing and copies of ‘Hot Babe’ magazine.

“Your brother doesn’t look the type to be into boxing.” She says aloud.

“Those aren't Sermie’s.” He sits on his bed with a sigh.

“Oh, they’re yours?” She looks puzzled.

“They’re my brother’s,” he waves his hand, almost dismissing the idea of him. “My other brother. My twin.”

She beams at him. “You never told me you had a twin. That’s exciting!”

He frowns and furrows his brow. “We haven't talked in a few years. Parents kicked him out after he ruined my chances at a scholarship to a good college.”

“I’m sorry, Ford. That’s sad.” She walks over towards him.

“It’s nothing. Besides if I didn’t end up where I am now I wouldn’t have met you.” He reaches out a hand and she takes it and he pulls her closer.

She smiles ear to ear. “Still, I can’t believe you kept that secret from me for so long.” She decided to make a bold move and straddle his lap. He lets out a choked sound. “What other secrets are you not telling me?” She leans her forehead against his and they kiss. ----------- Their last year of college goes by in a flash. The year is full of fond memories of her and Ford spending late nights together studying, and also not studying. There’s also many late nights of her, Ford, and Fids staying up late to debate whether or not other realities and dimensions could exist.

“If other realities exist, there’s definitely one where everyone had an evil twin,” she jokes. She's sat on the couch while the boys are at the table.

“It’s a possibility!” Ford insists.

“In that reality I’d definitely be dating your evil twin instead of you,” she jeers.

“I already have one in this reality,” Ford jokes.

“But what if every choice you have made opens up a new reality? If you hadn’t gone to college, or you didn’t eat a bagel for breakfast? Anything else could have happened.” Fids argues.

“I don’t get why you’re so against the idea when you yourself have seen such unbelievable things.” Ford gives her a look.

“I don’t know,” she sighs. “I guess I’ve just thought things I’ve seen are ancient beings who have always been on Earth, or things from a different galaxy. However I do see where it would make sense if there was a rip or a tear in our reality that allowed things to come through. Things that we find odd but would be normal in another reality or dimension.”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I mean!” Ford beams.

And that’s exactly what he set out to do. He’s given a grant to study anomalies in a small town called Gravity Falls.

“Did you ask her yet?” Fids asks Ford as his friend walks into their shared dorm. Fids is packing boxes of belongings as the year comes to a close.

Ford sighs and slumps down at the table giving him an answer.

“You do remember what happened last time you waited to ask her something right?” Fid reminds him.

Ford smirks. “That ended up working out just fine if I remember correctly.”

Fids rolls his eyes.

“Plus I haven’t seen her today.” He informs, then there's a knock on the door.

“That'll be her now,” Fids slips on his coat as he walks to the door. “Told her you needed to talk to her about something today.”

“Fiddleford, really?” Ford sighs but rises to greet her.

She gives Fids a quick hug as he walks out the door before closing it behind him. She turns to look at Ford with a worried expression.

“Are you breaking up with me?” She blurts.

Ford is taken aback. “What, no! Are you?”

She laughs. “No, I hadn’t planned on it. Fids didn’t say what you wanted to talk about and I guess my anxiety got the better of me.”

“No, I…” Ford rubs the back of his neck. “You know about my grant to study anomalies. I was wondering if… you’d like to join me?”

The looks she gives him is almost of heartbreak. “Oh, Ford.” She cups his face and gives him a kiss. “I, geez, If you had asked me two days ago I would have dropped everything to go but…” She sighs leaning away from his face. He wraps his hands around her waist. “I signed a year long contract to do field work in Roswell. It’s a paid internship.”

He feels his heart slightly break, and leans his forehead against hers. “That’s what I get for not asking sooner.”

“But, when my year is over, yes. If you still want me to that is.” She gives him a weak smile.

He surprises her by picking her up and spinning her in a circle before giving her a passionate kiss. “Yes, definitely, absolutely.”

#ford pines x reader #ford pines x you #stanford pines x reader #stanford pines x you #reader insert #gravity falls reader insert #long haul #mild smut scene #first time #check ao3 for more tags

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dweetwise · 4 years ago

Text

you know the drill. have some fluffy riconti <3

ship: felix x ace warnings: mentioned (past) sexual content word count: 2430

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Where there’s smoke, there’s fire (part 3)

When Felix wakes up, he immediately notices something is off.

There's a brief moment of panic when he realizes he's not in his own bed, the layout of the strange room different than what he’s used to. To make matters worse, someone stirs next to him in the bed, and Felix—

Has his hand on the man's bicep and has apparently slept curled up next to him.

Ace is still asleep, sprawled out on his back on the hotel bed, snoring softly without a care in the world.

Felix recalls last night. There was the fire alarm, and they'd talked while sharing a blanket for warmth. Then, he'd invited Ace up, they'd kissed, Ace had agreed to stay the night…

… And things had escalated to the point where Felix had come in his pants like a teenager.

Felix buries his face in his pillow in embarrassment and silently wishes the earth would swallow him whole. Nothing about this situation is like him at all; usually, he’s careful to a fault, and having a one-night-stand with a man he just met has been something reserved only for fantasies.

But Ace hadn’t seemed to mind. On the contrary, he’d been understanding and even encouraging, not running for the hills despite Felix’s numerous fuck-ups.

Felix peeks up from the pillow and looks at Ace. Something flutters in his gut upon taking in his bedmate's relaxed features while he sleeps. And then something different stirs in his groin when he realizes Ace is shirtless, a lean arm stretched behind his pillow, the duvet only covering half of his hairy chest.

It's embarrassing how much the proximity of a very male body next to Felix is enough to wake his libido, years' worth of repressed sexuality now hitting him full force. He barely resists the urge to reach out and touch the grey curls, not wanting to wake Ace, since they don't have anywhere to be—

Shit!

Felix bolts up to sit on the bed and frantically glances around the room for a clock, acutely reminded that he's here for business and not a gay escapade.

“Oof!” Ace protests and flinches awake when Felix accidentally knees him in the ribs.

“Sorry,” Felix apologizes half-heartedly, finally spotting the alarm clock on the nightstand next to Ace.

Seeing the numbers 8:40, Felix immediately sighs in relief and slumps back down on the bed. He still has plenty of time before his business appointment.

“Sleep well?” Ace's asks, voice groggy with sleep while he blinks awake.

“Yes,” Felix says. “Uhm… and you?” he asks awkwardly, immediately feeling much more self-conscious now that Ace is awake.

“Like a baby,” Ace flashes Felix a grin but doesn't meet his eyes.

Ace proceeds to sit up, before yawning long and loud, stretching his arms above his head.

And Felix stares like an absolute creep at the way Ace's shoulder muscles move with the action. He wants to run his hands all over them, thanking his luck that they still have time for a lazy morning under the covers.

“Well, I should probably get out of your hair,” Ace says, shattering Felix's daydream. “Leave you to prepare for your important meeting.”

Ace pulls the covers away from himself and turns to get out of bed, and Felix wants to protest—

“No,” Felix finds himself saying out loud, Ace's head immediately whipping around to look at him in surprise.

“I, ehm,” Felix starts, clearing his throat self-consciously. “I have time. If you do too,” he manages lamely.

A smile slowly spreads over Ace's face, making his eyes crinkle at the corners and a familiar warmth sparkle within them.

“It's kinda chilly, huh?” Ace grins, leaving Felix confused.

“Not particularly—” he starts, feeling almost too warm under the thick duvet.

“We should cuddle for warmth,” Ace interrupts before eagerly slipping back between the covers, making realization dawn on Felix.

“You're right,” he says, playing along while trying not to smile like an idiot as Ace scoots closer. “I'm very cold.”

“Well, can't have that, now can we?” Ace smiles, lifting the covers and extending his arm, and Felix gratefully take the opportunity to cuddle up to him.

Sighing blissfully as Ace's arms wrap around him, Felix buries his face in the crook between Ace's neck and shoulder.

Making good of his earlier thought, Felix brings one of his hands up from Ace’s back to smooth over the man’s shoulders. Ace hums in approval and starts petting Felix's hair, and Felix never realized just how nice it is to be held. His few girlfriends were always much more petite than him, and even though Ace is shorter and smaller than him, he's broader and bigger than a woman and Felix feels safe in his arms.

Felix's other hand, on its own accord, comes up to rest on Ace's chest, and it's only when the man huffs in amusement that Felix realizes he's been playing with his chest hair again.

And it suddenly hits him just how weird it is that he's happily cuddling the man he only met technically today without technically even having sex with him.

“This probably isn't how a normal hook-up goes, huh?” Felix realizes, hesitantly stilling the movement of his hand.

“Not really,” Ace chuckles, the sound reverberating in his chest under Felix's hand. “But normal’s boring anyway, don’t you think?”

“I suppose,” Felix murmurs with a smile, doubts successfully reassured. On impulse, he places a soft peck on Ace's neck.

When the other shivers and gasps, Felix pulls back to look at him, startled by the reaction.

“Uh, neck's kinda sensitive,” Ace offers with a sheepish grin.

Well. It sure would be a shame if someone used that information for their advantage later tonight.

“I don't know whether to be turned on or scared,” Ace jokes, seeing the mischievous smile on Felix's face.

“Later,” Felix says, leaning in for a kiss that Ace dodges, Felix's lips landing on Ace's stubbled cheek.

“I promise you don't wanna taste my mouth right now” Ace explains. “It's a distinct combination of booze and death.”

Felix would like to pretend like he's not grossed out by morning breath, but then remembers he didn’t even offer to lend Ace a hotel toothbrush last night.

“Fair enough,” Felix says, settling for kissing Ace's bearded jaw instead.

The prickling under his lips is pleasant and, again, so distinctly masculine. Felix can't help nuzzling into Ace's jawline, his own morning stubble rasping against the trimmed beard.

“Having fun?” Ace teases, returning the gesture, scraping his beard over Felix's stubbled cheek.

“Sorry,” Felix chuckles. “It's just different. In a good way.”

“I'm not judging,” Ace grins. “If you wanna bump your head into me and knead my chest hair like a cat, go right ahead.”

“I'm… a little obsessed, sorry,” Felix says, a hand running through said chest hair once again.

“Baby, a guy with your face? You can do whatever you want with me," Ace purrs suggestively, and Felix feels heat rising up his neck.

“Do you really think I look good?” Felix asks, almost regretting it once he realizes just how insecure he sounds.

Sure, his ex-girlfriends complimented him every now and then, but that's what couples do, right? The kids back in his school years sure didn't make it a secret how "weird" and "boring" they thought Felix was.

“Don't tell me no one ever told you how pretty you are,” Ace grins. At Felix's confused frown, Ace's smile falters. “Fuck me, no one ever told you how pretty you are.”

“People don't generally tend to compliment strangers,” Felix points out.

“They should if the stranger looks like you!” Ace exclaims, now sounding almost offended on his behalf. “Okay, babe, listen. This is important,” Ace says, grabbing Felix by the shoulder and looking straight into his eyes.

“You're gorgeous,” Ace says. “And, yeah, I don’t really tend to be stingy with compliments, but you're easily in the top five of most attractive people I've ever seen in my life.”

“You said this was important,” Felix says with a small smile, trying not to flush from the praise.

“It is!” Ace insists. “You need to know that you're a ten and you can't spend your life picking up fives and sixes.”

Felix frowns, not really seeing where Ace is going with this.

“I mean obviously I'm not referring to myself—” Ace hurries to add. “But if you ever start getting more involved in the hookup scene, you need to set the bar high. Because trust me, you're not gonna run out of options.”

Felix barely resists the urge to tell Ace that he can't see himself sleeping with men that aren't him, but manages to just nod instead so he doesn’t sound too clingy.

He's still flustered that Ace finds him this attractive and isn't afraid of saying so. Maybe it's a cultural thing, the Argentine much more free with his compliments than is customary in Germany.

“So, now that we've established how hot you are…” Ace starts, sensing Felix's awkwardness about being in the spotlight like this. “You probably didn't have the time to check out the breakfast buffet, huh?”

“No, I only got here last night,” Felix says.

At the mention of food, Felix suddenly notices a pang in his belly, signaling an empty stomach. Having only had a couple of pathetic airplane meals for the past 24 hours, breakfast is sounding pretty tempting right about now.

“Well, need some help with that?” Ace suggests.

“Help?” Felix asks, confused.

“You know,” Ace gestures lazily with his hand. “Get all the insider information. Which cereal to pick. Whether apple or orange juice is better. Important stuff.”

Hearing the strange suggestion, something clicks in Felix's head.

“Are you asking if I want to have breakfast together?” Felix asks.

“Is it working?” Ace grins.

“Somehow, yes,” Felix says, and Ace’s smile widens even further.

“I hate to say it, but we should probably get out of bed in that case,” Ace says, sitting up on the bed and taking the cozy warmth of his body away. “I'll swing by my room to freshen up. See you downstairs in half an hour?” he offers over his shoulder, starting to dress himself.

“Sounds good,” Felix agrees, hurrying to get out of bed so he'll have time to make himself look presentable.

Making for the bathroom to brush his teeth, he walks past his phone on the desk, suddenly remembering something crucial.

“Oh,” Felix says, making a nearly-dressed Ace perk up and look at him. “Can I please have your number, just in case? I don't want to lose you again.”

“Aww, babe,” Ace smirks. “The three seconds we were separated by the elevator were hard on me too.”

“You know what I mean,” Felix mutters, shooting Ace a half-hearted glare.

“I do, I do,” Ace defuses with a smile, walking up to Felix with a partially buttoned shirt and extending his hand. “Here, I’ll type it for you.”

As Felix hands over his phone and watches Ace add his number, his gaze inadvertently drifts down to the man's exposed chest. The crumpled, pastel pink shirt combined with the generous neckline exposing a hairy chest should look nothing short of ridiculous and trashy.

Instead, Felix forces his eyes away before his sweatpants start tenting suspiciously. What the hell is wrong with him?

“There!” Ace finally finishes his task and hands Felix back his phone. “Call me?” Ace suggests and—thankfully—proceeds to button his shirt most of the way up.

Felix glances at the number, smiling as he sees "Ace ♠️" as the contact name.

“Cute,” Felix comments when he presses the call button.

“Not as cute as you,” Ace winks, grabbing his own phone that lights up on the nightstand. “Thanks babe, I got it.”

“Do I even want to know what you're saving me as?” Felix mutters, intrigued.

“Oops, would you look at that, gotta run!” Ace grins, avoiding the question and making for the door. “See you in thirty, handsome!”

“Be safe,” Felix reflexively calls after him, and Ace turns and raises an eyebrow, making Felix choke on his own embarrassment. “I mean… yes. See you soon.”

Like he should have said in the first place. You know, like a normal person.

Instead of making fun of him, Ace just smiles in a kind of derpy way.

“Can you stop being so adorable?” Ace teases, but then he's out of the door before Felix can even begin to think of a reply.

Left to his own devices, Felix realizes he only has thirty minutes to shower, shave and get ready for what is essentially his first date with a man.

He hurries to the bathroom and turns on the shower, a flash of shame shooting through him as he spots his previously soiled boxers still drying on the towel rack.

Still, he manages to shower, shave, blow dry his hair and brush his teeth with ten minutes to spare.

But then he runs into his next crisis; what the hell does he wear?

Felix ends up laying all of his outfits on the bed, and yes, five entire outfits might have been excessive for a three-day-trip, but it sure comes in handy now.

Does he wear his work clothes? It might be overdressing for the occasion. He can't wear the leather jacket, since they’re only going to be indoors. Can he go with the t-shirt and vest? Will Ace think he's a slob?

Suddenly recalling Ace has only seen him in his pajamas, Felix realizes anything he chooses to wear is probably a vast improvement.

And then he also realizes he only has three minutes left, having wasted most of his time overthinking his outfit choice.

No small amount of cursing later, Felix manages to dress himself in the casual outfit, only fretting momentarily over whether the jeans are too casual or not. Since he has no time left to gel his hair into place, he haphazardously brushes his bangs over to one side and hopes that it’s good enough.

Barely remembering his keycard, Felix is out of the door with only one minute to spare, power-walking to the elevator.

He pushes the call button, and then pushes it again… and again, when the elevator isn't fucking arriving. He glances at his watch, remembers he didn't remember to put on a watch, sighs and runs a hand through his hair in frustration. But at least the elevator is finally here—

“Fancy seeing you here,” Ace quips as soon as the doors slide open.

#riconti #ace visconti #felix richter #dweetwrites #dbd fanfic #dbd #dead by daylight #felix x ace

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specterchasing-a · 4 years ago

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Hold On (Part 2) || Eddie & Alfie

TIMING: One month ago, directly after part one.

LOCATION: En route to the woods.

PARTIES: @yikesimonfire & @specterchasing

SUMMARY: Alfie and Eddie have a heart-to-heart in the car.

CONTENT: Internalized homophobia tw

Eddie mindfully secured his filming equipment in the trunk of Alfie’s odiously yellow station wagon. As he took a step back to close the hatch, an idea occurred to him. He hastily ducked back into the trunk and unzipped his bag to pilfer for his camera. Now satisfied, Eddie slammed the door shut and walked briskly to the car’s passenger-side. The moment he settled into his seat, a pronounced frown settled into his features.

“When are you gonna get your AC fixed?” Eddie implored, his gaze settling on his chaperone. “Every time I get in this car, it feels like the air’s been replaced by uncomfortably warm dog breath.” He refrained from adding that it smelled like it as well. Alfie didn’t need to be subjected to verbal beration of that magnitude after agreeing to accompany him tonight.

While Eddie packed his gear into the back, Alfie hopped into the driver’s seat, helplessly turning the ignition repeatedly until the engine sputtered to life. Immediately, he was hit with a blast of cold air before the air conditioning unit forgot how to work. The ration of cool air was quickly replaced with a suffocatingly stale breeze. Alfie stretched over to unlock the passenger door and cranked the window open before rolling his own window down to allow a more comfortable airflow. Soon enough, Eddie was in the seat beside him.

A laugh reverberated in his chest at Eddie’s comment. “What do you mean?” Alfie asked, emphatically waving his hand at the dashboard. “It’s doing its best. Besides, parts are hard to come by.” That’s what he got for being cheap. What he needed was a new car altogether, but that wasn’t happening any time soon. The wagon got him from point A to B; that would have to be enough. It wasn’t like he needed a functioning air conditioner anyway, not that Eddie was privy as to why. “We can always take yours,” he offered with a small smirk.

“I hate to break it to you, but its best doesn’t cut it. It needs to do another car’s best,” Eddie riffed while opening the viewer on his camera. With the press of a button, it became a diligent archivist of its owner’s per view. Without warning, Eddie lifted the device to eye-level and pointed it in Alfie’s direction. He knew well and good his friend didn’t enjoy being in the crosshairs of his filming, but that never stopped him in the past. Why would it deter him now?

“Trust me, I would love to take the Mini, but it’s… well, mini, and you know that. As quirky as your car is, it has better storage options.” Eddie’s voice lacked interest—he found himself too caught-up in recording to have any to spare. “You have a nice profile, have I said that before?” he asked, slipping further into his seat as he rested his feet on the dashboard. Meanwhile, his eyes (and camera) remained fixated on Alfie.

“Yeah, I don’t think that’s gonna happen,” Alfie chuckled as he shifted the car into reverse and eased out of his parking space. With his eyes now fixed on the path ahead, Alfie didn’t notice the camera focused on him. “You really should have considered that when you bought it. What would you do if I ever wasn’t around to lend my cargo space?”

The compliment that soon fell from Eddie’s lips made Alfie’s brow raise. His eyes flickered to look at Eddie, only to find that he was being filmed. “Wha— Christ’s sake, Eddie, would you turn that thing off?” A fire rose in his cheeks, coloring them a vibrant red. He quickly turned his head away, but was unable to avoid the camera’s watching eye. Damn it. He hated being recorded; Eddie knew that. “Or, I’unno… turn it somewhere else, at least?”

As the car reached the edge of the parking lot, Alfie applied the brakes and looked back at Eddie, the blush still prominent on his face. “And buckle,” he scolded — albeit playfully — with raised eyebrows. “Seriously, are you trying to get yourself killed?”

“Die, probably,” Eddie deadpanned. If he were to make an effort, his car could likely hold whatever necessities he needed it to. Alfie probably knew that, too. However, if he went that route, he wouldn’t be able to spend his time being a nuisance in the passenger’s seat. He much preferred reclining and filming to focusing on the road. A miracle happened the day he got his license, that much was certain.

Alfie’s reaction to being caught on candid camera inspired an impish grin from Eddie. He noticed the change of color in his cheeks—so did his heart, actually. It drummed desperately within his chest, as if also begging Eddie to rethink staring at Alfie for so long. Unfortunately, he rarely listened to what either of them had to say. “I can’t believe you hate art so much that you’d deprive me of my muse,” he said.

Eddie rolled his eyes, also playfully, when Alfie scolded him. “Not today,” he answered before he quickly switched his camera off and buckled in like he was told.

Deprived of his main source of entertainment, Eddie resorted to turning on the radio. Like everything else in Alfie’s car, the display refused to work properly. What should have been words and numbers looked more like hieroglyphs. Eddie briefly toggled through stations before a familiar tune (‘Hold On’ by Wilson Phillips) caused him to turn the radio off with evident disdain.

A strange sensation tugged behind Alfie's navel at the suggestion that Eddie would die without him. It wasn't true, of course. With any luck, Eddie would go on fine without him; he had to. Still, the thought made him feel… guilty? Alfie's time in this life was growing increasingly limited. He couldn't afford to think about it now. It would only make the time he did have left with Eddie less worthwhile, for fear of causing him any grief.

"Your muse?" Alfie nearly cooed. "Please—" his voice cracked. "I have complete faith that you'll find something better." Once again unable to make eye-contact with Eddie today, Alfie shook his head with a breathy chuckle and rolled his eyes. His attention was back on the road and as the seat belt beside him clicked into place, assuring Eddie's safety, Alfie merged onto the street to begin their journey.

It didn't take long for Eddie to begin fidgeting. He knew well enough by now that finding a suitable radio station in the station wagon was unlikely. Alfie wouldn't complain about the music as long as it kept the camera off him. But when Eddie abruptly cut the radio off, he successfully piqued Alfie's curiosity.

"What was that about?" he asked, an impish grin tugging at the corners of his mouth, and his eyes darting between Eddie and the road. "You trying to tell me you hate Wilson Phillips or something? And you were just getting onto me about hating art," Alfie teased.

Alfie’s insistence that Eddie would eventually move on to something better almost made him laugh. For years, his thoughts revolved around his reclusive neighbor and not much else. Alfie and Youtube; that’s what filled his days since he moved downtown. “No, I won’t,” he gently corrected him. “Besides, I don’t want to.” It didn’t worry him to voice his genuine fondness for Alfie, not when they had years of friendship behind them. At this point, it would’ve been more alarming if he didn’t love the guy enough to negate his self-deprecation.

“Wilson Phillips is not art.” Eddie emphatically pointed a finger at Alfie. “Not that song, at least. ‘Hold On’ is trite and cheap. And, all it does is make me think about the time I spent in group therapy as a teenager when our counselor insisted on performing an acoustic version at the end of every single session. Every session, Alfie,” he looked at his chauffeur with bewildered eyes. “She even made eye contact with us while she sang—who does that? I never felt like I could look away, not when she was tearfully pleading with me to break free from the chains. It was torture. Wilson Phillips is torture, not art.”

Alfie didn't want to argue about how quickly Eddie would (or wouldn't) move on. No matter how much Eddie didn't want to, there would come a point that he would have no other option. Besides, Alfie playing the part of Eddie's muse was clearly a joke. Or, perhaps more accurately, a metaphor for their friendship. All that mattered was Eddie had not meant it in a literal sense. So why had he allowed himself to become so flustered over it?

"Bullshit!" squawked Alfie, who was now fully prepared to enlighten Eddie about his previous love affair with the early 90s pop scene. Before he had a chance to share however, Eddie shared his own history with the song. Alfie's jaw slackened and he shot Eddie an incredulous look. "Every session?" he parroted in disbelief. His face scrunched as he imagined what kind of hellscape that must have been. Being forced to listen to acoustic covers was bad enough, but on top of awkward eye-contact?

"Okay, yeah… no. I see your point," Alfie softly spoke after a moment. "Who in their right mind thought she was still fit to be a counselor after the first time that happened, anyway? Like — I'unno, you'd think someone would've had to question her capability or whatever at that point."

"Still," he continued after making a point to showcase his disapproval with a series of disdainful facial expressions. "I stand by what I said. I think there's something beautiful in wanting to turn around and say goodbye — much like how you must have felt after being subjected to that special brand of hell."

Eddie adopted a tight-lipped grin when Alfie conceded. “Every session,” he confirmed. Looking back, he couldn’t remember liking anything about group therapy. Owning up to his issues should’ve never been something that required an audience. As extroverted as Eddie could be, he kept his cards close to his chest when it came to his emotions. Alfie knew him better than anyone else and even he didn’t get the whole truth half the time.

Eddie let out a terse laugh at Alfie’s final comment. “Real cute,” he snarked playfully before his expression became more serious. “It didn’t help that I hated therapy in general. Not only did it well and truly suck to talk about my feelings, but the only reason my parents even made me go was the whole… ghost-vision deal.” Eddie emphasized his annoyance by accompanying the tail-end of his sentence with a flippant flap of his hand. “Funny, that they pegged the one thing that made me happy as the problem.” His brow raised as he pursed his lips.

“But, uh, wow—sorry about the impromptu sharetime,” Eddie said when shame began to collect in chest. “Don’t mind me complaining about therapy while simultaneously making you my therapist.” He hoped levity would be the cure for oversharing.

Alfie’s face lit up at Eddie’s initial response. “I’m the cutest, obviously,” he chided with a lopsided grin. He couldn’t recall any previous conversations about Eddie’s group therapy, but he was well aware of his friend’s relationship to his parents. Maybe he had mentioned it before; it was truly a testament to how solid Alfie’s active listening skills were. “Fuck your parents!” his voice trilled. “Seriously — when have they ever cared about your happiness?” His commiseration was probably unnecessary; Eddie didn’t need another reminder that his family were awful. “Sorry… too far,” he added with a small frown.

With a clear road ahead, Alfie lifted a hand from the steering wheel and maneuvered it around to rest on Eddie’s shoulder. “Hey, man, don’t sweat it — really. I will gladly take an impromptu sharetime over an awkwardly silent drive to our inevitable doom.” His gaze shifted to Eddie as he gave him an apologetic smile, allowing his hand to linger a bit longer than was probably acceptable. “Besides,” Alfie added, gently squeezing Eddie’s shoulder before returning his hand to the wheel, “that’s what friends are for, right?”

It wasn’t often that Alfie referred to them as “friends”. The word was scattered few and far between, but that didn’t make it any less true. “From now on, that song is banned. We don’t talk about it. We don’t listen to it. It’s purged from our lives. What song? Wilson Phillips, who? Never heard of ‘em!” Alfie tilted his head in Eddie’s direction and peered at him expectantly, waiting for some sort of positive reaction to ensure he’d sufficed at making his friend feel better.

Eddie glanced at Alfie in surprised amusement after his initial outburst. “You’re right and you should say it,” he encouraged in a light-hearted tone that didn’t fit the topic. If he didn’t try to lessen the weight of the conversation, he might have to admit to how much it hurt to discuss. He couldn’t risk letting Alfie know the extent of his damage.

When Alfie’s hand landed on his shoulder, Eddie felt a lump form in his throat. Usually, he initiated whatever physical contact they shared. He didn’t know how to react to being on the receiving end. Alfie’s mention of ‘inevitable doom’ managed to ease his uncertainty. Eddie replied with a soft huff of laughter, his eyes shining with fondness.

Soon enough, Alfie deprived Eddie of his hand, but didn’t give him much time to be upset about it. He called them friends. “Oh, is that what we are?” Eddie asked with a teasing grin. “Could’ve sworn our relationship was more like whatever Bugs and Elmer had going on.” His expression softened, though his grin remained throughout Alfie’s condemnation of Wilson Phillips.

“You’re…. You’re a really good guy, Alfie,” Eddie said. “Thanks for humoring me tonight.”

It didn’t seem appropriate to continue down the path of shit-talking Eddie’s parents, no matter how much they deserved it. Eddie didn’t enlist Alfie on this adventure just to talk about all of his woes. If he was going to do this, then goddamn it, he was going to make the best out of it. Eddie deserved that much. “‘Course we’re friends,” Alfie returned with a playful sneer. “Though, I think you’re way off base with that one. If anything, we’re more like Bugs and Daffy.” His eyes focused on the road, but his mind was lost in thought. “Actually—” Alfie corrected, “come to think of it, that’s really fuckin’ accurate. Just, y’know, don’t ask me who’s who.”

In an instant, Alfie’s eyes were back on Eddie. Immense guilt crept over him for trying to turn down the invitation in the first place. It was glaringly obvious that Eddie was trying to involve him in his life; something Alfie tried to avoid with just about everyone who did. His heart ached. He didn’t want to refuse Eddie, truly. There just happened to be parts of his life that were better off private. But it wouldn’t kill him to hang out with the guy more every now and then. Well, given Eddie’s track record, it very well could. But it would be worth it… RIght?

“Listen, Ed… I know I’m a pain in the ass. It’s not — I don’t do things like this, y’know? I stay at home like the grumpy hermit crab that I am and that’s how I like it.” Apologies were never Alfie’s strong suit. It was rare that the words “I’m sorry” ever made it out of his mouth. “But I’m already pretty glad I came with you.” Once again, he was dancing the conversation dangerously close to heavy. Alfie mentally berated himself; he needed to keep things light. “But if we make it out alive, you do still owe me those Baby Ruths,” he teased, lightly nudging Eddie’s arm with his own.

#c: alfie #wickedswriting #hold on #internalized homophobia tw #// there's like two more parts to this still #i hope you guys like weekly installments #poaisdjfosdf

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deathduty · 4 years ago

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Life, Death and Mario Kart || Ariana & Deirdre

PARTIES: @letsbenditlikebennett & @deathduty SUMMARY: Ariana finally fixes Deirdre’s leaky faucet. WARNINGS: none

Since the previous full moon, Ariana had spent most of her time in the woods with Luna or locked away in the workshop the landlord had let her set up in exchange for some handy work around the complex. As such, she finished the table she’d been working on for Deirdre, but she had been dreading bringing it over. Not after what Lydia did. Not knowing they were friends. Would she already know? Would she be angry? She deserved anger. It was what she felt toward herself for coming up with such a half thought out plan when it was Ace’s life on the line. Today, she’d have to stifle that down as Deirdre had asked her to actually repair the leaky faucet this go round which meant she should bring the table with her. She’d loaded up her truck and drove to Deirdre’s. Music wasn’t a distraction she bothered with. It wouldn’t keep her mind from drifting back to Ace and she needed to live with what she’d done. Still, she stood a little straighter as she got out of her truck and went to ring the bell to Deirdre’s. She took in a deep breath as she rang the bell and awaited the door opening.

Some things were strange; whatever way a microwave worked, however Anya decided she felt comfortable folded into herself like a loaf, and excuses, however transparent, to see Ariana. By logic, Deirdre knew she could see the younger girl whenever she wanted, that she could in fact invite her for dinner and ask after her well-being—if she needed money, if she was eating right, staying away from the wrong people. But in strangeness, she found it far easier to ask the girl to fix the leaky faucets she loosened herself, and was more than capable of tightening herself. It wasn’t so much about the faucets, it never really was. This time, she just didn’t know how to ask a friend over. And, strangely, she was excited. “Ariana,” Deirdre opened the door with a wide grin and gestured her in. “You look a little tense,” she noted, though more as a joke than any factual bit of observation. “There’s no Spinach-deer here this time if you’re worried about it. I double checked. There are, however—“ Moira padded to the door, screaming her greeting in a series of incessant meows. “Cats that missed you.” And a banshee that did too, in her way.

The reflex to frown at the mention of tension was hard to ignore, but Ariana smiled slightly anyway and simply said, “Oh.” There was no real explanation she could give Deirdre anyway, especially not one that she would like. The mention of the Spinach-deer did make her laugh a bit, it was easier to think of spinach deer than the fact that one of Deirdre’s friends had an actually torture bunker in her basement. At least that had been what Sammy’s ghost had told Blanche. “Good, good-- no spinach deer. I’d rather not accidentally have your house destroyed again. What if it hurt my mini fridges,” she joked. She smiled down at the cats before she gestured back toward her truck. “I actually have something in the truck for you. It’s not too heavy, but if you could hold the door open, I’ll bring it in.” She set her toolbox down by the door and quickly grabbed the end table out of her truck. It was dense, but she still felt some residual strength from the moon paired with energy she’d hardly been expending as she avoided everyone. Part of her wondered if she also saw Layla’s post online about her being missing. Surely, after Morgan’s message threatening to kill someone for her, she had to have known and it only further the uneasy feeling in her stomach. She made her way in the house and set the table down by the couch. “I can move it wherever you decide you’d like to put it. I did my best to make the table legs anatomically correct femurs and tibias while still being load bearing.” With the table set down, she kneeled down to reach her hand out to Moira and Anya. Moira was quick to come see her while Anya remained a bit more aloof. The now bigger kitten purred and rubbed her face into Ariana’s hand. “Yeah, I missed you, too.”

Whatever must have been wrong, Deirdre smiled softly and ignored it. Ariana was a smart kid, but more than that, her life hadn’t been kind to her. There must have been a number of things on her mind at any given moment, and who was Deirdre to force her into confessing them? Ariana must have had enough people asking for her feelings and whereabouts at any moment. Deirdre thought it better to carve out a space that was kind, give the kid something better to think about for some time. “Oh no, not the mini fridges. That’d be a terrible tragedy. I think there’s still some food in there.” She paused. “Probably should have taken that out.” But snacks didn’t get mouldy, right? Deirdre closed the door behind the young werewolf when she was done, eyeing the table. “It’s beautiful.” She moved to the table, running her hands over the fine woodwork. She was no leanan-sidhe, nothing like Lydia, no purveyor of craftsmanship...but it looked fine to her. More than fine, and all the more having been made by someone she cared about. “It might be the best piece of furniture in this house. No, don’t move it. Leave it there for when Morgan gets in, I’d like to ask her opinion of where she wants it. But I think she should get to see it like this first. As your art, something you made for us.” She withdrew her hands from the wood, worried she might taint it somehow...and then worried the cats might think of it as a scratching post. Not that they’d ever harmed any piece of their furniture before, having more than enough to keep them occupied around the house. “How much?” Deirdre asked after a moment, lifting her head. “How much do you want?” But her eyes offered a challenge; she’d told the girl to charge her fair share, and she had no interest in paying anything less. “And why are you standing around the foyer like a stranger? Come get comfortable.”

There was something about Deirdre’s humor that had always brought her a sense of ease, even now when Ariana was filled with doubt. It was evident that Lydia hadn’t mentioned anything to her which was somehow both a relief and a disappointment. Deirdre surely wouldn’t approve of a promise that put her in serious danger, right? Then again, she didn’t know just how close they were or if she knew about the actual torture bunker in her basement. Still, she laughed, “We couldn’t have that.” There was something that made her feel a bit lighter as she watched Deirdre appreciate her craftsmanship. She had a long way to go when it came to making truly professional pieces, but she had enjoyed the process behind this one. She’d never really worked with trying to recreate bones before and they weren’t perfect, but the table was sturdy and unique. Something both Deirdre and Morgan could enjoy. “Thank you,” she said proudly. Saying it was the best piece of furniture in the house may have been a bit of stretch. Deirdre did have some extremely gorgeous things in her house. “I don’t know how true that is, but I’ll take it. It was definitely made with the most love, that’s for sure.” She was happy Morgan would get to see it and help place it, too. “Perfect then, I hope she likes it, too. Yes, it is definitely something specific to you two.” She shook her head as Deirdre was trying to get a price on the table. Of course she wanted to pay her. Ariana wasn’t even sure what to charge her if she was going to at all. She placed a hand on her hip, “Any chance you’ll accept it as a gift?” She made her way to the couch with Moira following closely. She smiled down at the cat who hopped on her lap as she sat down. “You don’t have to tell me twice. I’ve missed my favorite kitty.” As she stroked Moira’s fur, she asked, “So how’s everything been with you? I know I haven’t stopped by in forever.”

Deirdre shook her head, she knew enough about young artists from leanan-sidhe to know how valuable support and praise were to them. But she wasn’t making some game of trying to get Ariana to like her, she cared for the child, and she could spare a few hundred dollars to the good cause of treating the girl like the professional she might be one day. “Not a chance at all,” her eyes turned back to the table, and all the attention poured into it. “You’re a woodworker, you’ll get paid like one. Your work and your time are valuable, Ariana. I’ll start accepting gifts of this nature from you in twenty years time, maybe.” She smiled, drawing her hand away and stuffing it in her pocket. She followed behind Ariana slowly, wondering what manner of strength it took to lose as much as Ariana had, as young as she had, and to still be someone with hope. Enough of it, at least, to be making tables. “But we can work out the dollar amount later, you’ve got a leaky faucet to fix as well. And I intend to pay you for that.” For once, finally, to end some strange saga she started with the faucet she unscrewed herself to laugh at humans trying to fix it. Until she’d nearly gotten a child killed by some manner of bad luck. Her faucet would get fixed, Ariana would get paid, and she felt everything would be well. She took a seat across from Ariana, smiling gently. “Oh, nothing’s changed much, apparently. Morgan’s being hunted by a ghost that wants to kill her, again. I still can’t find that one glove I lost months ago.” She crossed her legs one over the other. “I hear you’ve been busy though,” she smiled a little wider, drawing a finger to her lips, “I won’t ask. You’re a smart kid, Ariana. I trust you’ll do right by yourself, whatever it is you need to do. But if you ever need a place to go, I won’t touch your room here. It’s yours.” She cocked her head to the side, offering her next words with a soft drawl, as if they could be swept away and forgotten if Ariana wanted it. “Do you...want to talk about it?”

It was hardly a surprise to Ariana that Deirdre wanted to pay her for her work. She could remember their first ever conversation where she all but insisted she charge more for her time. The fact Deirdre wanted her to do well for herself was nice even if it still felt strange charging someone who opened their home to her so much for something she’d wanted to give as a gift. She supposed it was part of the way Deirdre showed she cared. While her words were often nonchalant and funny, her actions indicated she cared for her. It made her stomach turn to think that could change if Lydia told her what she’d done to Sammy. Was there any making this right? She hardly cared about doing so for Lydia. Hell, she wanted to lash out at Lydia more than anything else, but she knew it was dangerous and that it’d hurt Deirdre. As it stood, she was bound to hurt herself and others if she were to deliver on her promise. She pushed that away and smiled weakly, “Okay, we can discuss payment after I fix the leaky faucet. This time there won’t be a whole home repair to go with it.” At least she hoped as much. She walked over to the kitchen and looked over the faucet. It didn’t look like the main would need to be turned off just to tighten it again. She knelt down under the sink and grabbed the wrench from her toolkit. With a few twists, it was good to go. She leapt back up and turned it on and off for good measure. “I think we’re good in the sink department.”

She made herself comfortable now that the work part was done and called Moira over to her. She really did love this kitten who was slightly bigger than the last time she saw her. She frowned at the mention of the ghost, “Oh, Morgan told me about that. Warned me to be careful. Gave me a salt and iron mix that I haven’t really opened since I have a ghosty roommate right now. I think he’ll pass on soon though.” At least she hoped so. Sammy deserved to be at peace. At the mention of being busy, her mouth dropped and she felt her stomach flip. Did Lydia tell her? Was she upset? “You heard I’ve been busy… from who?” She asked the question though she was sure she knew the answer. Moira seemed to pick up on the tension rising in her and further butted her head into her hands. “I appreciate that I always have a room here. I really do. As much as I really want to talk about it and think you could probably help, I can’t.”

It was strange that, after so long, after all the ways she pestered people about it, her leaky faucet was finally fixed. Deirdre could have cried, in fact, she might’ve. She watched Ariana with a fond smile, hiding some sniffling as she went back to the couch—an action she figured might have been futile against a girl with enhanced senses. Either way, it was just silly to cry about a sink, even if it was the strange sense of pride for Ariana that flooded her that she was really teary-eyed about. “Morgan got to you first, huh,” she laughed, settling in again. “Ghostly...roommate…?” She cocked her head to the side, “bad or good roommate?” Ghosts could be such pests sometimes, as she saw it. But while she believed in quick exorcisms and a peaceful space, she understood where others might disagree, and so she didn’t press Ariana to just use her salt and be rid of the ghost. “Passing on soon is good, I suppose. Some ghosts can be pretty stubborn about it though.” Constance was a perfect case-study of that. She picked up a bottle of wine from one of several places she had them stashed around the great room (laziness was the greatest innovator), pulling out a glass for herself. She popped the bottle open, and started to pour. “From the internet, mostly. Apparently you went missing.” Was all she really meant by that statement, by Ariana’s reaction was peculiar—guilty, almost. Deirdre tilted her bottle back, satisfied with the full cup she poured. She turned the label to her and smiled softly before putting it down, a bottle that marked one of several gifts from Lydia. She crossed her legs, one over the other, and took slow sips. “Can’t...why?” She looked at the girl. “If it’s a promise you’re bound to, you should know fae make exceptions for each other, I could easily have it undone. Unless, of course, it isn’t that. Have you done something I wouldn’t approve of? Are you protecting someone else?” She wasn’t sure where her inquiry suddenly turned to interrogation, but it was something in the nature of her that stirred it forth. “It’s no matter, really,” she corrected herself with a short cough. “It’s none of my business. As long as you’re safe, and okay, and know what you’re doing...I don’t need to know the facts.”

Deirdre gazed into her wine glass, her reflection twisted in the crimson depths. “You are safe...aren’t you?” She set the glass down, crumbling into concern. “Promi—well, don’t promise me but...just answer me truthfully. You’re taking care of yourself? Not doing anything you shouldn’t be? You are...a valued friend, Ariana. I feel like…” She had almost said a mother, which was as laughable a concept as crying about a sink. “...your wine-aunt. I worry about you, is all I mean. You and all the other kids in this town. Are you hanging out with Blanche? I feel like that girl has got some broken or sprained or pulled or twisted or burnt part of her body every week or another. I know you lot feel like you have to do something, but maybe it’d just be better to...let someone else take care of it.” She sighed, laughing to herself. “No, you wouldn’t listen to me if I told you not to get involved with this town’s problems. Just….are you safe?”

It was a bit curious to Ariana that Deirdre was so happy about the sink. Despite her efforts to hide her sniffles, Ariana could still hear them and smiled to herself. Something about Deirdre’s guidance had become a welcome light in her life. While she was a peculiar woman in the best of ways, she found Deirdre easy to talk to. It was something she shared with Morgan. The way they made their home so welcoming to her without any sort of second thought. Something about it made her chest pang as she realized how fragile it all could be. The ghostly roommate was a reminder of that. “Not bad. He was a good friend. My medium friend is trying to help him move on, I think,” she explained even though the thought of Sammy being truly gone pained her. At the sound of the word missing, she rolled her eyes. She still couldn’t believe she was the talk of the town online when she’d just been holed up in her apartment. “Ugh, I wasn’t missing. I was literally in my apartment. I was just… well, laying on the floor and being sad admittedly, but people came and checked on me and knew I was there.” She shook her head. “Sorry, I’m a little annoyed that it became somewhat of an internet spectacle. Which is not on you at all and I’m sorry that it worried you.” The next question made her stomach turn. Even if she could tell Deirdre who she owed a promise too, she wasn’t even sure it’d be meant with kindness. In all of this, upsetting Deirdre had never been something she wanted to do, but it was obvious she cared for Lydia a good deal from the way she spoke to her at that funeral. Would it matter to her that it was her friend Lydia killed? Would it matter that it was her life she was putting in danger? Not all the werewolf hunters in town were Kaden and Rio. Transforming at the Common was sure to only end in disaster. She could feel her palms becoming clammy and the rapid thudding of her heart. Crying was tempting, but she had to put on a brave face. She’d only worry Deirdre for no reason. Well, there was reason to worry, but she wasn’t sure she could even drop the right hints for her to figure it out. If her figuring out would even be a good thing. “It’s-- Maybe,” she started realizing that the indefinite answer didn’t cause the same pain to shoot up her leg, “I appreciate that, but I’m not really able to say much. I think I may be taking care of it before anything too bad can happen. I mean, I did do something stupid that I don’t think you’d necessarily approve of, but I can’t really�� Even if it’d upset you, I’d tell you if I could. I respect you too much to ever lie to you.”

If her stomach could sink all the way into the ground, Ariana was sure it would. There was no way she could in good conscience tell Deirdre she was safe with what she had to do. Her mouth felt impossibly dry and she found herself focusing her gaze on Moira for a moment to calm herself. She thought over what to say. She didn’t want Deirdre to worry more, but she wanted to be honest with her. At least about this. “I think I will be,” she answered in a tone that sounded more hopeful than she felt. “I’ve got some stuff to figure out, but I believe it’ll go well.” Maybe she was riding on this spell of Nell’s a little too much, but she had to believe it would work. The alternative was too bleak. She couldn’t help but laugh at the part about Blanche. She did have a knack for finding trouble. “I do my best to stay safe, even when helping others. I don’t think I have quite the same knack Blanche does for finding trouble if that makes you feel any better.”

“Medium friend?” Deirdre raised a brow. “Do you know someone else besides Blanche?” Were there other mediums in town? Like some group of ghost-gawkers, huddling around tea to discuss the headless man by the convenience store? Truthfully, she still didn’t understand the purpose of mediums. Even as Blanche explained her goals of helping ghosts pass on. She’d been seeing and hearing the damn things since she was eight, and it’d always been a ‘toss salt and get it over with’ kind of deal. Or a, ‘don’t look your dead uncle in the eyes, dear’. “Well, I’m sorry your friend died.” She took another sip of her wine, refilling it as Ariana went on. “It’s not so bad that people were worried about you, Ariana,” Deirdre chuckled, “enough to be so nosy about it. So many people in this town go missing and…” She paused, the wine in her cup rose, threatening to spill free before she shook her head and set the bottle down. “...I’d hate it if you ended up like them.” And she’d hate it more, if her next scream happened to be Ariana’s. That was the risk she ran as a banshee, a risk that never was her concern before she started caring about people. In some way, she wondered if she should have been taking her own teachings better. But she couldn’t, with a clear mind, cast Ariana away. She didn’t want to. Deirdre frowned and looked up. “There are very few things that upset me.” She held her glass close to her. “The harm of a fae or someone I care about, is one. ‘Pull’ doors that should really be ‘push’ is another.” She smiled. She couldn’t imagine what it was she wouldn’t approve of, but at Ariana’s age, with her experience, most things must have seemed terribly dire. “No matter what it is you’ve done, Ariana, you have your place here.”

But there was still something that tugged uncomfortably at Deirdre. Ariana clearly wasn’t able to speak the entire truth, but something beyond that felt...worrying. A knot twisted in her stomach, lump in her throat. Ariana couldn’t even tell her that she’d be safe. She knew, better than anyone else, that doing the most wasn’t always enough. It hadn’t saved Morgan. And it probably wouldn’t save Blanche one day either, who found trouble like magnet. So, what would it mean for Ariana? “How would you like to die, Ariana? What would you like to be done, in your death?” Her gaze narrowed. “I know that sounds odd, I know other cultures don’t think of this so frequently but...as a banshee...it’s something I’d like to know. If you were going to die tomorrow, what would you like to do? What would you want to be done for you?”

“Oh no, just Blanche… I guess unless you count my friend Connor who’s an exorcist? That’s not really a secret since he has a whole YouTube channel dedicated to it,” Ariana answered uneasily. What if she asked Blanche questions? Would it make her situation better or worse? There was so much uncertainty with this whole situation that left her feeling constantly stressed. It was difficult to hide and pretend like it wasn’t there. There was no denying that the role she played in Sammy’s death left her feeling immobilized on even the best of days, but she was trying to push through it. “I won’t say it’s okay, nothing about how he died was okay, but I guess this stuff just sort of happens.” She looked down at her lap and couldn’t help but think she wished it would stop happening to her. How much more loss could one person take in such a short span of time? It’d been so long since she felt okay. Since she felt like she didn’t have to fill every minute of the day to keep herself from falling of the metaphorical ledge. Now she simply found she could hardly even go through the motions. They all felt so terribly exhausting and it showed. Deirdre was no fool and could likely see the bags under her eyes. Make out the way her smile never quite reached her eyes anymore. See the way her movements seemed slower now. As Deirdre spoke, she knew she made a point. The ones she cared for were the only thing pushing her through this. “I know, and I appreciate all of them. I just think drawing attention to me online wasn’t the smartest of plans. Thankfully, I don’t have much in the way of hunter problems anymore, but still, I always worry about how quickly that could change.” All it took was Adam finding out she turned someone or killed Celeste’s dad. This whole peace she had tried to build between two worlds was so fragile. She felt so fragile. “I do get it though. Things happen in this town and people want to know-- Morgan mentioned maybe setting up a little automatic response for when I don’t feel up to talking to people. I think it could be a good idea.”

Instead of trying to answer something she knew would only result in pain, Ariana simply leaned back into the couch and looked up at the ceiling momentarily. Did turning Sammy into a werewolf count as harming Lydia? She wasn’t actually hurt and the promise she was cashing in on was much more dangerous to Ariana than anything she’d done to Lydia. She wished she could just talk it over with Deirdre. Know where they really stood one way or the other. The next question hit her like a ton of bricks. Ariana had no idea how she wanted to die or what she wanted to happen in her death. For someone who was quick to rush into danger, she hadn’t given it much thought. Now, it just felt paralyzing. Would there be any hunters hanging around the Common? Surely, they’d be out in the Outskirts. “I haven’t really put too much thought into it,” she answered with her hands clasped firmly in her lap. “If I have to die, I’d like to die protecting the ones I love. What comes after, I haven’t thought of too much. Maybe put my ashes at the same tree we have marked for Celeste. Kaden knows where it is. I know you two know each other though I’ve gathered you’re not necessarily big fans of each other. Once Ulf is back, he could show you, too. If it was needed, that is. Hopefully it’s not. I appreciate you asking. What about you? Is there anything special that’s done for banshees or that’s important to you?”

Deirdre wouldn’t presume to know who Connor was, or whatever kind of YouTube videos he must have been making---it seemed to her that the platform was exclusively carved out for videos of cats. Did he make videos about cat ghosts? Were there even cat ghosts? Deirdre frowned and took a sip of her wine. “Not an okay death? Do you know who did it? Perhaps there might be justice to be delivered.” It wasn’t her business, certainly, but she extended the offer to murder out of curtesy. It was the polite thing to say. Though she was wholly willing to commit the crime herself, if it would bring Ariana and her friend some manner of peace. Ariana seemed wrecked by it, tired, anxious, unlike herself. Murder was the least Deirdre could offer. “Well, perhaps, but I’ll have you know that I haven’t attracted a single warden yet. And I do dangle myself online. It’s quite boring, in fact.” Deirdre smiled, trying to relieve some of Ariana’s worry---she was right to be cautious, given her history, but that didn’t mean Deirdre liked seeing it. “Oh,” Deirdre laughed, “yes, Morgan’s done that a few times. A simple copy and paste ‘hey, I don’t feel like talking; don’t ask me about it’ seems to be convenient.” She shook her head. “But you know people who care that much about you are going to bother you about it anyway.”

Finishing her second glass of wine, Deirdre set it aside in the interest of not downing too much at once. “For you?” She leaned back, “I’d brave talking to Kaden. But I’d expected more...I don’t know…’eating ice cream’ or ‘finally getting to set a house on fire’.” By comparison, Ariana’s death wishes were...shockingly plain, and horrifyingly practical given her age. “Me?” She glanced around the house, a dour expression pulled on her face. “I’ve already got that figured out. And my family knows how I’d like my body to be taken care of but…” She turned to Ariana, brows furrowed and hands squeezed into fists. “But I wouldn’t accept death, not where I am now.” The blasphemy of her sentence was probably lost on Ariana, and so she shook her head and pushed her question. “I’d just--as a banshee, we discuss this frequently. And I care about you, Ariana, and if I were to scream for you today...I’d like to know what you’d want me to do. This is...this is the best I can offer.” It was the highest mark of loyalty and love among them to usher a friend into death.

More than anything, Ariana just wanted to come clean to Deirdre. All this understanding and caring she was being shown felt wrong given it was Lydia who she was at odds with. There is no way Deirdre would be implying justice or revenge if she knew who it would be against. After all Deirdre had done for her, it didn’t feel right for her to be offering this advice and kindness given the circumstances. At most, all she could expect if Deirdre knew was to try and get her out of the promise. She’d have more sway with Lydia than she would. As it stood, she couldn’t say much. She simply nodded and answered, “I do, but I don’t think justice is the answer. I don’t think you’d believe it is either if you knew more about the situation.” That was as truthful as she was able to be. It wasn’t enough, but it was as much she could give Deirdre without putting herself through excruciating pain. Deirdre’s next statement did little to comfort her. She was sure Deirdre knew what she was doing, but she couldn’t help but picture something bad happening to her or Athena as a result of their meeting. It made her stomach turn and acid feel like it was rising up in her throat. She swallowed it back and said, “If you say so. I trust you know how to handle yourself. I’d just rather not deal with more hunters who want me dead, personally. Then again, that was kind of my whole life up until a few months ago.” At what cost did that game of cat and mouse finally end? It hardly seemed worth it, but there was no changing it. At the mention of Morgan, it was easier to laugh along with Deirdre. She could see Morgan doing that. “People who love you will always worry, but I think it’s a good idea to put that message out there so no one thinks you’re dead. I’ll have to adopt that the next time something terrible happens.” It seemed cynical, but it was an inevitability. She seemed to constantly be losing people. There was no avoiding the grief that followed.

Ariana let out a small laugh as she said, “Well, thank you. He’s really not that bad. I know you two don’t really like each other, which I kind of get. You’re very different, but you’re both important to me and have shown me a great deal of kindness.” A thought dawned on her and she blurted out, “You know, he makes really good pie.” Deirdre loved pie. It was part of how they became close was all the pies she made her. She quickly added, “I don’t know, setting a house on fire could be fun depending on whose house it is. I prefer venison to ice cream. So, I guess protecting people just seems natural. It’s something I already do and I wouldn’t be surprised if that’s how I end up going out one of these days.” Hopefully it was later rather than sooner, but she wouldn’t know until it happened. Deirdre would get a warning which had to be difficult, but she trusted she’d do what she could to give her the death she wanted. “I am glad your family knows your plan. Hopefully it’s a long time before it goes into place.” She shook her head, it felt odd discussing all of this, but she knew it had to be natural for Deirdre given she was a banshee. Death touched their lives in different ways though Ariana grew tired of the death that seemed to follow her. She nodded along. “That makes sense with being a banshee. I appreciate that you’d give me what I’d like after my death. Being with Celeste again when that time comes is important to me.”

It was strange to hear justice--murder--wasn’t the answer. Murder was usually the answer, and where it wasn’t, it was always great consolation. Deirdre frowned, but didn’t press the point. Ariana was young, and perhaps some bit foolish, and maybe she didn’t think of murder as liberally as Deirdre did. “Oh,” Deirdre’s frown deepened, “your life is always going to be running away from hunters. That’s--” She gulped, stopping herself. Ariana must have known this, but more than this, it wasn’t the comfort she wanted to be offering. If there existed a world of peace, she wanted to believe Ariana could find it. Life was cynical enough, Ariana didn’t need Deirdre’s pessimism too. And though she hated Kaden, she lunged at the opportunity to talk about his pie instead of the futility of peaceful life. “Is it?” She feigned surprise. The one pie she’d seen that day he tumbled down the stairs was pretty nice, maybe she’d bother him to send her one. “I--uh--” And then it occurred to her that talking about death plans also wasn’t comforting; not to most people, anyway. Ariana seemed almost fatigued by it, and the more Deirdre looked at her and listened, the worse she felt about the topic. “You know...there is something I’ve always wanted to do...I think, well, what can be good about figuring out what you want to do before you die is...that you can do it right now.” She grinned. “There’s no need to wait until a scream to knock old dreams off your bucket list.” She gestured to herself, and then to her TV, “you see, I’ve always wanted to say I was better than Ariana at The Mario’s Kart.” She paused. “I bought the Kart of Mario to play with you. Like the children do. So we could have fun?” if anyone needed fun, she figured it was the girl who’d gone through too much, lived too quickly. Ariana might not have seen herself as young, but Deirdre certainly did, and according to the store clerk, this is what kids did. “Come yeet the Mario’s Kart with me, fam?”

#wickedswriting #c: ariana #chatzy #life death and mario kart #// deirdre's leaky faucet might be fixed #but my leaky eyes were not

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redbeardace · 5 years ago

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Asexuality Activism Report Card

[This post is a submission for the October Carnival of Aces, hosted by @asexualawarenessweek, on the theme “Reaching In, Reaching Out”]

Every year around Ace Week, I tend to give encouragement and suggestions about the type of outreach or activism we can do. This year, I’m going to do things a little different and instead give a report card on where I think we are in terms of various kinds of activism/outreach/visibility.

These are solely my opinions and my categories and are based on my experiences and not any kind of exhaustive research or survey. Please feel free to provide your own grades and suggest other areas I might have missed. I also want to note that these grades are not an indictment or attack on any particular group, person, or project. If you’re working on any of these things, you’re part of the solution and your work will make these grades improve over time, so keep at it!

And if you’re doing any of these things, please plug your projects, so people will know about them!

Intra Community - A

We focus an awful lot of energy inward, and that’s a good thing. Extending a helping hand, providing resources, hosting chatrooms, making podcasts, organizing meetup groups, writing lengthy blog posts, hosting conferences and unconferences, selling t-shirts... We’re doing a pretty good job supporting each other from the inside.

Queer Community - B

There are quite a few mainstream LGBTQ groups who openly support us. We often hold our meetups at the queer community center in town. Many aces are involved with LGBTQ organizations. There’s an ace group who goes to Creating Change every year. We’re an obligatory part of many organizations’ Pride messaging. Lots of groups now deliberately use the “LGBTQIA” variant of The Acronym, and make it clear that “A” isn’t for “Allies”. The ace group in the NYC Pride Parade this year (likely the biggest pride parade ever) was deliberately selected to be the 10th contingent, which is a huge deal because the parade was literally 12 hours long.

There are obviously challenges. The uninformed who don’t understand why we’re at the table. The deliberate trolls who relentlessly hound us online. But those people will become irrelevant over time.

Unfortunately, this year marked the first time where I saw Rainbow Capitalism set its sights on us. (With a big name ace group complicit in the exploitation...) So that’s not good.

Everyone Else - D

We are not doing well in this area. There are a few people out there who have heard of asexuality, but not many. Most people use the word wrong or as the insulting punchline to a joke. There isn’t a single household name who has come out as asexual and put themselves out there as an advocate. It’s better than it was 8 years ago, but we’re still mostly invisible.

I don’t really have any suggestions here (except that if you’re famous and asexual, COME OUT), because most of the suggestions I’d have are covered in the other areas.

Direct Outreach - F

By “Direct Outreach”, I’m referring to deliberately trying to find people who are asexual but who are unfamiliar with the term or that do not recognize that they’re asexual for whatever reason. It’s sort of a subset of a lot of these other groups. (And it could probably use a better name...)

I’m calling this out explicitly, because I think this can have the most impact, if we can figure out effective ways of doing it, and I don’t think anyone’s really doing this. (I sort of tried, but it didn’t really work out...) Basically, it would be able getting information about asexuality in front of the people who need it. Taking over the search results for “Why don’t I want sex?”. Writing articles about how some guys just don’t care about that sort of thing for a men’s magazine. Maybe even a direct person to person conversation with that friend who never seems to date. I don’t know, exactly. If I knew, I’d be doing it. But I think it needs to be done.

Fiction Media - C+

There are books with ace characters now! Pretty much entirely YA, though. And either a love story focused on the asexual character being asexual, or where asexuality is a tangential inclusion token with no real value.

There are TV shows with positive ace characters now! Huge step forward from lows of Better Half! Three shows, in fact!. Two of which have been canceled, and the third of which is about to have its final season. And none of which are anywhere close to the popularity of House. And none of which are anywhere close to the popularity of another show which completely erased a main character’s canon asexuality.

There are movies with ace char- Oh no, no there aren’t. Never mind. Same with video games.

While some strides have been made, and having productions actively consulting with groups like Ace LA is a huge step forward, we’re still largely living an area of headcanons and unverified conjecture and Word Of God retcons. There’s so much more than can be done.

Most importantly, we shouldn’t fawn over and praise any little scrap of hope. Demand better.

If you’re in a position to make things, make them. If you’re in a position to influence things to be made, influence them. If you’re in a position to boost content that is made, boost it.

Non-Fiction Media - C-

There are starting to be articles about asexuality that go beyond the typical sensational “There are some people who claim to be asexual, can you believe that, isn’t that SO STRANGE” or the blandly informational 101 interview featuring a picture of sad grey people in bed. Not many, but they’re there. But, at the same time, there are blazingly dismissive assholes hiding behind Ph.Ds, writing things like “’demisexual,’ an unnecessary new substitute for the word ‘human’ ” in articles that are published in 20-fucking-19.

There are a number of podcasts and YouTube videos talking about asexuality, but I don’t know how much reach they have outside of the ace community.

There’s one documentary that hasn’t aged well and I think has been removed from most streaming services, and another that hasn’t been released yet and is phenomenal and you should all see it. So that... Two documentaries.

Taking a quick look on Amazon, there are about seven books of substance on asexuality. Three are academic queer theory textbooks with a very specific audience. Two are self-published. One is a weird collection of essays, half of which have little to do with asexuality at all, written by someone who isn’t ace and who didn’t seem to bother even talking to aces for much of the book. That leaves one book about asexuality for a general audience written by an asexual that had a real publishing run. Just one.

Same with the fiction media, don’t go around hyping any article that mentions asexuality. Some of them are REALLY REALLY BAD. There was one a few months ago that said in an infographic that “Girls working part time have a 33% chance of becoming asexual”, yet it was being uncritically passed around by some high profile aces.

So, y’know, Cs get Degrees or whatever, but we can do soooo much better in this area. Someone go write a book about asexual dating. Someone go write a book about asexual history. Go. Do. Now.

Education/Schools - D

Well, it seems like it’s getting at least mentioned occasionally, and groups like Asexual Outreach have put some work towards this. But we’re still left out of sex ed in most places, and when we are included, the information can be confused, inaccurate, or even ridiculed by the instructor. Tackling this area will, over time, help out every other area on this list, because the next generations will all know and understand what asexuality is, and we won’t have to start from zero in order to get anything done.

Political/Legal - F

Earlier this year, I did a cursory review of anti-discrimination laws as they pertain to asexuality. Where asexuality was protected, it was often by accident. Only one state explicitly mentioned asexual people. Many states which did have strong LGBT anti-discrimination protections have defined “sexual orientation” in such a way to exclude asexuality. Even the “Equality Act” that the Democrats have made a lot of noise about this year has that narrow definition.

We need to start making connections with politicians and political groups, and we need to start leveraging our connections with queer organizations to get them to push for better language in these laws. (Many of the non-discrimination laws were deficient or bizarre in multiple ways, so we’d all be better off with improvements.)

And I should note that it’s an F--- as far as protections for aromantics…

Health Care - D+

Well, we managed to get parts of the DSM-V rewritten. But even those parts are less than ideal. There are some therapists and doctors who are well versed in asexuality, and others who, as I mentioned above, hide behind their Ph.Ds writing horrible things and going unchecked. There’s a raft of sex pills with marketing that explicitly targets people who are probably asexual but don’t know it yet, trying to sell them worthless junk that will make them suddenly black out randomly or permanently change the color of their skin. We’re still not an option on the clipboard the doctor hands you to fill out. We’re still forced to take unnecessary and invasive tests for no practical reason.

I think we need to be showing up at health care conferences. We need to be reaching out to local providers. We need to be telling people how they should be treating us, instead of letting them fumble around and hopefully get it right on their own.

#asexual #asexuality #carnival of aces #asexual visibility #ace week #asexual awareness week #ace report card

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miceenscene · 5 years ago

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N7 Month - Day 14

Name

Everything hurt, that was the first thing Shepard registered. Everything really really really hurt. She could only recall being in this much pain once before, and it took eight billion credits, two years, and a deal with the devil to come back from that one. Her every nerve ending was burning, searing. Blood roared in her ears. Stop stop STOP, make it stop!

And then it did.

The abrupt return to something like normality was so jarring Shepard’s eyes shot open and she sucked in a breath, coughing and hacking at she sat up. For a few minutes she let the world spin around her, eyes shut again as she focused on her breathing. In and out, steady, centered. Then she opened her eyes to survey her surroundings.

She was in a building, or a space station perhaps, or maybe even a ship. The room was so nondescript it was difficult to tell. Just a large room with crates and boxes scattered around in a haphazard pattern. The much more concerning revelation was herself. She’d glanced down at her hands and did a double take, holding them up to stare at them in something like horror.

Before the waking up here and the hurt, half her armor had been melted away by a direct hit from Harbinger. She’d been bleeding out up on the Citadel turned Crucible, Anderson at her side with the best seats in the house. Now her suit was spotless, gleaming and ready for action. She pressed to where she’d had a wound on her stomach, but there was no pain now. She staggered up to her feet, the sheer lack of agony making her unsteady for a few moments.

Had she died? Was the afterlife just some room that looked like a thousand others she’d once ran missions through? Garrus was going to be disappointed about the lack of a bar, she thought automatically before grimacing. Forgive the insubordination… No, no she wasn’t dead. She had orders, she had a retirement to enjoy, some utterly impossible children to raise. She wouldn’t have let herself die and that’s all there was to it. Clinging to that thread of stubborn determination, she finished her self-census. She had all her usual weapons and her omnitool even seemed to work.

“Shepard to Normandy. Come in, Normandy,” she said, opening her comm channels. There wasn’t a response. “Joker, this is Shepard. Come in, Normandy. Alliance, Hackett, anybody.” More silence. “Dammit,” she muttered, shutting the omnitool.

Maybe if she got outside, or found a control room she could get better signal. She pulled out her trusted assault rifle and headed for the only door she saw. Listening for a moment, all she heard was the quiet air circulator cycle on. So she hacked the door open and stepped out into the hall, checking both ways for any sign of movement. Seeing none, she picked a direction and walked silently down the hall.

Stopping at the corner, she listened again, very aware that she was without back up in an unknown environment. If she hadn’t been standing completely still and focused she would have missed it. But she heard very quiet footsteps and the slight creak of body armor. Someone was near.

She waited, listening, as the footsteps drew nearer. Before they got too close, she leaned out just enough to glimpse around the corner. The hall was short and ended in another corner. She didn’t have to wait long as a rifle barrel started appearing from around the corner and then a moment later a person stepped around as well.

Relief flooded her system, making her almost drop her rifle. “Garrus,” she sighed, tears welling in her eyes as she stepped around the corner and ran towards him. “Garrus, honey. Oh thank god.”

Garrus froze as soon as she appeared and stared at her with wide eyes. She didn’t wait, just immediately wrapped her arms around his torso in a hug that wasn’t nearly close enough thanks to their armor.

“God, I was so worried,” she blubbered and sniffled a little. The tension release of him being here, him being safe had overwhelmed her control for the moment. She looked up at him and cupped his scarred mandible with her hand. “How’s your leg? Where are we? I can’t reach the Normandy. What happened with the Crucible?”

He didn’t reply, just stared down at her. Obviously in shock--not surprising given how distraught he’d been last he saw her.

“I followed orders,” she added with a slight smile in a whispery voice. “Somewhere warm and tropical, right?” God, she wanted to kiss him. Right here, any possible danger be damned. “Maybe even a few of those turian-human--”

“Vakarian,” a new voice called from further up the hall.

Shepard turned and a smile broke out on her face. “Vega,” she said, stepping back from Garrus for the moment. That was fine, there’d be plenty of time for a proper reunion back in her cabin. Vega sauntered down the hall, shotgun in hand. “Knew the reapers couldn’t keep you down.”

She reached out to shake his hand, but Vega just gave her a strange look for a moment before looking at Garrus.

“You want to introduce me to your friend?” he asked him.

“She’s not my friend,” Garrus replied in a frosty tone. Shepard’s head snapped over to look at him. What? Were they kidding right now?

“You two really think right now is the time for jokes?” she bit out, feeling deeply hurt that they would choose this moment to be idiots. Fine, if they wanted to be children then she would treat them like children. Garrus, she would have a talk with later. But Vega… “Lieutenant, status report,” she ordered, leaning into every bit of authority she possessed.

Instinctively, Vega snapped to attention for a breath. But then he seemed to realize what he’d done and brazenly relaxed. Oh, he was in for the dressing down of a lifetime.

Then all three of their comms crackled to life. “Lieutenant, status report,” a masculine voice ordered over her comm. Shepard frowned down at her omnitool--she didn’t recognize the voice at all.

Vega was still staring at her in bewilderment, but lifted his hand to activate his mic. “We found the source of that voice, Commander,” he replied. “Armed, but not… entirely hostile. Human. N7. Female.”

“On my way,” the voice replied.

Shepard looked between the two of them. “What the hell are you two playing at right now?” she demanded, patience worn completely through. Her hand curled instinctively around the handle of her rifle.

Garrus swiftly lifted his rifle and pointed it straight at her head. “Put the gun down, ma’am,” he warned in a low fierce tone. Her mouth dropped open in stinging betrayal for a heated second and then a thread of tension unspooled in her gut as something clicked together. She didn’t know where she was, she didn’t know how she’d gotten here, but she knew one thing for dead certain--that wasn’t her Garrus.

“Hands where I can see them,” that same masculine voice ordered from behind her. There was no doubt in Shepard’s mind that she now had several guns pointing at her. So she complied, still maintaining eye contact with the Garrus as she was very aware of what his rifle was capable of. “Turn around.”

Slowly, she turned away from the pair she knew and faced the source of the voice. Standing at the end of the hall was an N7 marine. She’d never seen this man before in her life, she was certain. He would be difficult to forget from the imposing figure to the glowing red scars that cut deep into his face. Even his eyes were illuminated a dull red, she realized as he moved closer.

“Lieutenant,” the N7 ordered. Vega pulled the rifle from Shepard’s hands and the shotgun from her back. He quickly patted her down, finding the flash grenades in her belt, and then stepped back.

“Clean.” Vega moved to stand behind the N7, arms full of her weapons.

The N7 approached with measured steps, an assault rifle that was the exact same model as her own raised to her head.

“Name and rank, soldier,” he said, not relaxing from an assault posture. She didn’t know who that Garrus was, or if that was actually Vega, but this N7 was obviously Alliance. As annoying as it could be at times, sometimes the gravitas her name demanded was useful.

“Commander Shepard,” she answered, not hiding her annoyance.

Vega’s eyes went wide. She heard the Garrus behind her adjust his grip on his rifle. The N7 just stepped closer, finger on the trigger now. One wrong move and she might actually be meeting Garrus at that bar.

“I’m only going to ask you this one more time,” he growled. “Name And Rank.”

“Commander Jane Carren Shepard, Alliance Navy, Fifth Fleet, service number 5923-AC-2826,” she answered without the annoyance this time. “N7 class of eighty-one, first human Spectre, commanding officer of the SSV Normandy SR-2.”

“What the hell is going on?” Vega asked, half under his breath, eyes jumping between her to the N7 repeatedly.

“Yeah, I’d like to know that myself,” Jane replied, despite the multiple weapons pointed at her. She locked eyes with the N7. “Who are you?”

He didn’t reply for a moment, just stood up straighter. “Commander Shepard,” he bit out and then looked past her. “Vakarian, restrain her. She’s coming back to the ship. We can sort this mess out there.”

The Commander turned without waiting and headed back the way he came as the Garrus pulled Jane's hands behind her back and fastened a set of cuffs around her wrist. How she got here was still a mystery, she thought as she was led away, but there was a far better question right now. Would she be able to get home?

Ao3 Version

[This is actually the first chapter of a new untitled project I'm working on. It's gonna be a bit before it sees the light of day, but this chapter fit the prompt well enough I thought I'd give a bit of a teaser.]

#n7month #mass effect #female shepard #garrus vakarian #james vega #male shepard #AU #fanfic #fic #shakarian

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bittysvalentines · 6 years ago

Text

fins to the left, fins to the right

rating: general categories: F/M words: 1.2k ship: charmer summary: “Caitlin is having a pretty horrific hockey game date. Things only seem to be worsening when they show up on the Sharks Kiss Cam.” tags: NHL Player Chris “Chowder” Chow, SJ Sharkie Chowder, Meet-Cute, Kiss Cam

read on ao3

to @loveyoutoobits

i hope you enjoy this as much as i enjoyed writing this! c: from @corgiberus (numberfifteenjersey on ao3)

Caitlin was on the worst date she had ever been on in her life. Her date, a lacrosse player she first met at college back in Massachusetts, invited her to a Sharks game, only to be engrossed in his phone nearly the entire time. Sure, she reasoned that things come up and you just can’t ignore it, but he had been chattering away into his phone literally the entire time. Would you not at least apologize to your date for something like that, and at the most just leave and let your date enjoy the game on their own for free and for their time?

He had tried, she supposed. He invited her to the game in the first place, although she wasn’t quite sure he remembered that she liked the Sharks; he was, after all, decked out in full Aces merch and memorabilia. Before the game, he bought them some nachos with salsa and queso to share and then both of them their own sodas; although, when she offhandedly wondered if they had ginger ale, he shrugged her off and bought her a Sprite instead. He had done it under the reasoning that it was the same as, or at least just as good as, ginger ale. Which, was absolutely wrong, but she was not about to get in a fight over carbonated drinks in the concession line when plenty of others were in line and wanted to get food as well.

Minus the Aces fan bit, and the thing about Sprite vs Ginger Ale, and the constant ignoring her for his phone, her date had been running pretty well. (Obviously, there wasn’t much else for her to go off of.) Things really soured when the Kiss Cam rolled around, though.

After two older couples, Caitlin and Chad happened to be the third couple to appear on the Sharks Kiss Cam. Catching a view of herself and her date on the big screen, Cait of course eagerly tried to get Chad’s attention.

“Chad! Chad, look!” Swatting his arm a few times playfully, Caitlin grinned in excitement as she hoped for her date notice their big screen debut. He easily brushed her off by giving her that ‘one-second’ hand signal, so she herself easily brushed that off. He’d set his phone down soon enough, they’d have their once-in-a-lifetime moment on the Kiss Cam, and everything about the date would be a-okay.

The Sharks crowd camera team passed through three more couples before Caitlin and Chad made a reappearance. Cait obviously tried again to get his attention, still wearing that eager and optimistic smile that she had had the first time around.

“Chad, it’ll take just one second! Just look up!”

“Hold on,” Chad scolded her lightly through gritted teeth, gesturing to her and then his phone with that ‘ one-second’ sign again before returning to his incessant chattering.

Fed up but not wanting to make a huge scene, she looked away and laughed it off. What was this date to him, a joke? An excuse to jabber incessantly beside her, as an amazing game between Las Vegas and San Jose went down below unbeknownst to him? What a prick, an absolute douche canoe, the biggest bag of dicks.

Five more couples got their chance. Then the embarrassing hockey date-gone-awry popped up once more. But this time around, Caitlin was not happy about her date’s oblivion to their appearance and was definitely unafraid to show the fact.

“Chad,” Caitlin repeated once more irritably, roughly jostling the jock to try and get his attention one last time for the Kiss Cam.

“What?!” He immediately and finally snapped, head moving away from his smartphone more than two inches for the first time in the entire game. “Good grief, Katy. It’s a damn important call, what could be so great or fantastic that you have to bother me three times!?”

Cait held her tongue on both explaining how strangely beautiful hockey could be and correcting him on her name. She could somehow sense the fact he even spelled it with a ‘K’ and a ‘y’ over a ‘C’ and an ‘ie’, which quite honestly ticked her off even more. This date had been absolutely horrendous, and she really wanted to cry, but she resisted. She was absolutely not, under zero circumstances, crying on the Kiss Cam. Instead, she just angrily huffed and fell back into her seat, trying hard not to crush the stupid Sprite that Chad thought would be the same as, or at least just as good as, ginger ale in her hand.

All of a sudden, though, SJ Sharkie stood beside their seats, and he quickly leaned over Cait in order to promptly smack Chad over the head. He then gently pulled Cait up from her seat, and sort of gestured toward her Sprite in order to take it from her to pour it over Chad’s head. She shook her head and pushed his gloved hand away, though, and then completely just upended the soda over his head before throwing the cup down to the ground.

Since his soda plan had fallen through, Sharkie instead took the remaining nachos with queso and salsa and threw them into Chad’s face with just as much as fire and force in it as Caitlin had had with her Sprite. Then, wanting to get the poor girl out of the situation as much as she did herself, Sharkie picked up a one singular Caitlin Farmer in a bridal-style carry and booked it up the stairs. Chad was thus left in the dust, still on screen for a moment, to assess damage to both his pride and his reputation.

Sharkie didn’t stop running with Cait in his arms until they were far enough from the scene of the crime to be safe, to which then he finally set the poor bewildered Sharks fan down.

“Are you okay?” The costumer finally spoke, huffing and puffing to himself slightly in overexertion.

“Yeah, I’m okay.” Caitlin smiled. “Thanks for getting me out of there, that dude’s honestly a huge prick. I have no clue why I let him take me on a date.”

“More like he took his phone on a date and you just third-wheeled. Plus, it’s fine! I’m glad to have been your savior from an Aces’ fan.” Sharkie faux shuddered beneath the costume, clearly still sticking with the Las Vegas hating that the players carried.

“Well then, can I see my savior’s face? Gotta be able to put a face to the shark for my friends.“ Caitlin smirked, half amused by just talking to the wide-mouthed shark head of SJ Sharkie.

“Nuh-uh,” Sharkie shook his head, the mouth slightly bopping up and down with the movement, “Not while the game’s still on and I’m on SAP Arena grounds.”

“Oh, gotcha.” Caitlin hummed in understanding, despite a vague feeling of disappointment eating at her. “His name’s Chad. He played lacrosse for my college,” She explains without Sharkie even asking her, somehow sensing his curiosity even beneath the Sharkie exterior, “I played volleyball. Sports hookup, y'know?”

Sharkie barked out in laughter, immediately reminded of some two very close friends of his. “Yeah, I definitely know.” He grinned beneath the mascot head even though Cait couldn’t see it. “Hey, I have to go, but… can I give you my number? Maybe I can rescue you from more bad dates some other day.”

“Uh, yeah, sure.” Now it was Cait’s turn to laugh. “Hey, since you’re giving me your number, can I get your name? Feels weird just calling you, y'know. Sharkie.”

“Uh… just put me in as Shark Chowder. I can explain it later.”

#chowderfarmer #fanfiction #bittysvalentines #bv2019 #omgcp #submission

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tk-writer · 6 years ago

Text

What was to come next. [Feenris one-shot]

Yoooooooooooo I know this ship is dead and no one else wanted this but me I was so gd thirsty for some Feenris content I just had to. Here you go a tickle fic that’s entirely self-indulgent!!

**Warning: contains major spoilers for Ace Attorney: Trials and Tribulations!

“Please give me the necklace back.”

Those six little words had, in a way, become part of their daily routine ever since they started dating a few short weeks ago. Phoenix would invite Iris (although she was known as Dahlia at this time) to his dorm, she’d show up after class and knock quietly on his door. He’d let her in, give her a kiss on the lips, and hug her while pulling her backwards until they both fell onto his cheap black futon. After their giggles had faded, she’d ask him the same question. And he’d always refuse.

He wouldn’t learn the painful truth about it until much, much later… but for now, life was good. And he was happier than he’d ever been before.

“Feenie… please? I really need it.”

Iris laid on top of him as they both sprawled across the futon, legs intertwined with one another as they embraced somewhat uncomfortably. As she looked down, she gave him the saddest puppy dog eyes she could muster. And yet, her boyfriend didn’t break. He simply grinned wider and shook his head in an over the top manner.

“Nope! Noooo way dollface! You’ll have to pry it out of my cold, dead hands!”

She flinched upon hearing his last words, seemingly in pain. Hmmm, maybe she wasn’t one for dark humor. Phoenix made a mental note to lay off death jokes in the future.

“Pleeeeease? Isn’t there anything I can do to convince you…?”

Her expression softened, changing from cute and innocent to sultry and seductive in the span of a few seconds. Phoenix knew that face. He’d seen it many times in the past when they… well, you know…

Little did he know what was to come next.

She slid her hands under his pink sweater, the one she’d knitted for him and the one he wore pretty much everywhere. He could feel her long nails seeking the hem of his undershirt, pushing it up to expose part of his belly. He felt goosebumps rise at the sudden sensation of cool air on his skin. Her hands skittered across, barely grazing his belly button.

And then… a small giggle escaped.

He froze, staring up at Iris from his position below.

“… Um…!!”

Her eyes grew wide with both curiosity and amusement.

“Feenie… what was that?”

“N-nothing!! Nothing at all!”

She giggled, her sweet laughter floating lightly in the air like butterflies.

“Is my sweet Feenie… ticklish?”

He started squirming before she could even finish her question, giving himself away before he even had the chance to deny it. He was already grinning like a gremlin and chuckling nervously, and she’d barely touched him.

This was her chance. She’d get that necklace back, and this was the perfect way to do it without hurting her sweetheart.

“No!! No, no way! Not me! I- ohohoho, nooooo! Dolleeheehee!!”

Phoenix burst into a cacophony of laughter when he felt two hands scrambling up and down his midsection. Iris was an expert, hitting him in all the right places and making him produce sounds she had never expected to hear. She clawed his sides, giggling when he tried twisting away in vain. She spidered over his belly, laughing when she heard him squeal in a high-pitched voice. She even managed to burrow under his arms, which made him cry out almost to the point of screaming. She figured it was one of his worst spots and lingered there for a while.

“AAAAHAHAHA! Eeeeeek, DAHAHHALLS! Not thEHEHEHERE!!”

“Ehehe… Feenie, you’re so cute like this…”

After a while, she felt herself getting lost in the act. The sight of his half-bare chest made her weak, slightly toned from all those hours spent at the gym, heaving up and down as he struggled to take in enough air to supplement his involuntary laughter. Seeing his handsome face light up with joy, even though it was forced, reminded her of why she fell so deeply in love with him in the first place.

But… it was a bit strange. He certainly was sensitive to the tickling, with the way he was flailing his arms all over the place and curling up every time she hit another spot. However, he hadn’t tried to push her off or grab her hands. Not even once. He hadn’t told her to stop, either.

Was he…?

She stopped when she came to this realization. By this point, Phoenix’s face was a bright shade of red and was wheezing as he attempted to steady his breathing once more.

“Feenie, are you okay?”

“Haaaa… ha ha… yeah…”

She gave him a moment to collect himself, noticing the tiny beads of sweat dripping down his reddened face. Poor thing, she’d really done a number on him!

“I’m so sorry! You’re so worn out now…”

“No! It’s okay, I’m fine! I actually… I kinda liked it!!”

Iris could only stare blankly upon hearing those last words.

“I mean! Only ‘cause it’s you…”

Nice save. He blushed in an entirely different way now, a sheepish smile spread across his face that was so adorable it made Iris laugh out loud. She wrapped her arms around him, planting a wet kiss on one of his cheeks.

“Oh, Feenie… you’re so silly!”

She kissed him again, and again, and again, and the subject of the necklace was soon forgotten.

#ace attorney #tickling #tickle fic #feenris #phoenix wright #ace attorney spoilers #trials and tribulations #lee!phoenix #ler!iris #titles are biphobic #this ship makes me feel feels

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marcoacesabo · 7 years ago

Text

Vendor’s love

For @shockandlock Happy birthday!! Wishing you a happy day and happy times! I hope you like the little something I made yah. sorry it’s so small

Ace bounced behind Jozu, looking at all the booths people were setting up as they went. It was interesting to see a show before the actual show started, and the raven-haired man was excited to be apart of it.

His friend was explaining to him the lights, the storage and general things he had to do. They stopped at a stand with a green plastic wrap hooked to the opening.

Jozu carefully peeled it off before turning to Ace “You put this up whenever you leave the booth. It means the booth is close and some of the workers will make sure it’s left alone. When you take it down you just roll it up and place it in the back”

Ace nodded showing he was listening, taking the place roll in his arms. He gave the booth a once over, curious to see where he will be working for the next few weekends.

The stand wasn’t that big but want’s that small either. It had three tables placed in a half circle way. The front where the customer saw, had some drapes to cover all the supplies that Ace could access from the inside. They were a nice color of royal blue, plain but elegant.

The other man smiled, walking into the space covered by a tent, waving a hand to the blankets that covered three tables.

“Here is the jewelry. The ones on the middle table are from twenty to a hundred, the ones on the right are from a hundred to two hundred and the rest vary.” Jozu explained pulling the blankets off and revealing cases full of shining accessories. He folded up the blanket and handed them to Ace who put them under the tables.

The large man tapped the cases with the expensive pieces. “People will ask for some deals on this table, if that happens you can say, you can go down to ten percent. They want a better one call me and I’ll see what they can offer.”

“Sounds good.” The other said saluting the towering man. He gave a cheeky grin as he did so.

Jozu smiles, amused by his actions before he continued explaining “The money bag is right over there. It has petty cash of two hundred already for you. There is a receipt book in there too and every time someone buys something you have to fill it out. If they buy anything above two hundred you give them the blue gift bags as a thank you. If they buy anything less you give them the black ones.”

He pointed at the back where A table and a chair were placed right in the middle of the half circle “This is for you to sit and wait for people to tickle in and have a look around. You’ll be here a lot.”

Ace smiles, patting his art bag “Good thing I brought something to do.”

Jozu laughs, loud and deep in his chest. He opens his mouth to say something when a new voice cuts in. “morning Jozu!”

The pair turns to see two blond men walking towards them. One is pulling a cart and the other is carrying a box, moving at a steady pace. Ace peaks at them over Jozu’s large body and almost drops his jaw.

Both are rather good looking. Even with the slightly sleepy face of one and the scars of the other. They look like people who Ace would die to draw or paint.

The two newcomers end up right before the Jozu’s gallery stand were a green plastic wrap blocks the view of what stand they own. Ah? So they will be working together? Nice.

“Morning Sabo, Marco. How are you guys today?” Jozu greets.

“Fine! Just wished I didn’t have to go shopping for berries so early in the morning.” The one with waving hair jokes, raising his box.

The other man rolls his eyes “You’re the one that put the timer on the phones Stop complaining, besides I’m the one that has to pull in all your new sculptures yoi”

The other man with a scar pouts. Ace’s hand twitch to capture that expression on a canvas

His droopy eyes shift from the pouting individual to Ace, sparkling in question “A new face joins us today?”

“yes. This is Ace. He’s going to be taking over for the next month while I’m on my honeymoon. Ace, this is Sabo and Marco. They have been part of this spring market for about two years now so if you have any questions just ask them.”

“It’s nice to meet you” Ace holds out his hand wondering if they can feel how sweaty it’s become.

Marco lets go of his chart to shake his hand while Sabo waves. “Likewise yoi”

Ace stares.

He can’t help it. They look delicious and the smell is not helping his grumbling stomach.

Why oh why, did Marco have to run a food stand? Was it to mock him? Did he place those tasty looking sweets on the table right in Ace’s sight to tease him, even knowing he had no money?

Goodness, it wasn’t just the baked goods that were getting to him, it was the coffee Marco was currently brewing, fresh pots smelling divine. Ace’s eyes shifted over the chocolate chip muffins to the coffee then to the varies pieces of bread and desserts, mentally calculating how tasty they would be.

Based on how they looked pretty darn good.

“Want one?” Sabo asks apparently catching his longing look fro where he is sitting by his glass art shelves. Unlike Jozu he doesn’t have much space to spread his work out only having one table and some shelves.

Sabo didn’t have a lot of merchandise but what he did have were beyond gorgeous. If they weren’t so pricey Ace would have taken one home.

If perfectly honestly the blond wouldn’t have to had paid for a double space in the market but he claimed he did it for Marco. The two had bought it together so Marco could fit his fridge and his cooking ovens, to create fresh food.

He was apparently a huge hit with the locals for that.

Ace jerks his eyes away from the food. he’s polite speech breaks through, just like it always does when speaking to someone new. “Oh no thank you I’m fine. Besides I don’t have any money on me”

“You don’t have to pay. It’s on the house.”

“I couldn’t possibly-”

“I insist. Come here and take something. We’ve been working for four hours now and you made three sales. That’s a new record on a Sunday you know.” Sabo’s eyes crinkle, appearing like a prince that Ace may or may not have sketched him in his book.

What? The man looked like he escaped a Disney movie. It is only fair Ace puts him in a prince charming outfit.

Ace blushes just a tad- missing Sabo’s please smile- before he leaves his table. Walking towards them and feeling like he was stepping into a trap “Okay. Maybe just a muffin?”

“And coffee yoi” cuts in pouring some into a foam cup. He must have heard their conversation even after serving some giggle highschool girls. The same ones that bought a necklace from Ace.

The freckled man frowns “Now that’s just too much. It’s a full meal!”

“That’s fine.” Sabo grins grabbing the chocolate muffin and cup form a smirking Marco. He had them out to Ace, who takes them and almost jumps at the lingering pale fingers on his hand “Next time you can buy us a meal.”

Was that a date offer? Did they just ask me out on a date? Ace blushes harder but accepts the food and nods. Nah it’s most likely he doesn’t mean it that way.

“Thank you.” Ace says smiling a little. Marco hums leaning on his counter while Sabo straightens ups. They are eyeing him like they have all day, a strange sort of intrigued and captivated that Ace doesn’t understand. “What do you guys like to eat? I’ll buy it for next Saturday.

“I want food today yoi” Marco says causing Ace to wonder if he could run to the atm and get some cash then. “just get our number and we ’ll go out to eat tonight. Pick us up at seven yoi.”

Ace stared at them with wide eyes, especially as Sabo nodded. “Like-like a date?”

“We love someplace nonformal for first dates” Sabo winks at the blushing male as if though going on dates with people you just met was nothing “I really like burgers too.”

#marcoacesabo #Vendor's love #happy birthday #Yes Marco and Sabo do date #Yes the four hours they spend talking about Ace #Ace is a studying artist #Marco the baker #Sabo the glass sculptuer

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lxveille · 7 years ago

Text

a lonely thing to do

jeonghan x reader

word count: ~ 6300 a/n: songwriter!reader; lyrics which are used in this story as being the reader-character’s are actually those of joni mitchell, whom i adore always; sex is talked about and led up to but not explicitly described.

Usually you don't realize you're in love until the heartbreak comes. With Jeonghan, it dawns on you sooner than that, while the two of you are still in the throes of a barely-secret fling. Still, neither of you are seeking a commitment, so what is there to do when you’re the only one in love?

You aren’t pretty when you cry, not like girls in movies and music videos. It’s all the worse because you know Jeonghan will still be gorgeous when he inevitably breaks your heart.

This is the concept you’re toying with inside your mind as you sit on your couch at half-past two in the morning with one lamp on and your notepad in your lap. Jeonghan is in the next room over, sleeping and entirely unaware that you’re already imagining how this will all come crumbling apart. In the margins of the page, you slowly write down the words premeditated disaster. With a sigh, you let your gaze settle back on to the verse you were still in the middle of writing.

❥ ❥ ❥

Seventeen has a reputation. There’s enough creative energy and musicality shared between the lot of them that their nickname of self-producing is merited. Nevertheless, you’re aware there are composers and writers brought in on their projects. It’s just that you just had never imagined being on the receiving end of a business inquiry from Pledis.

You’ve been successfully making a living as a songwriter for a few years. A handful of the singles you’ve put together for various artists have done well enough in the charts for you to gain confidence in presenting your work to companies and artists alike. You do your best to carry that confidence into the room when you go to meet with a handful of the members of Seventeen to work on a track with them.

Jihoon had been the one to request management reach out to you for collaboration. Evidently, he’d taken note of your name in the writing credits of several songs he’d been listening to a lot lately. So when he found himself hitting a wall with his own music for their next comeback, your name had come to mind easily.

Working with artists directly can be a mixed bag. With Jihoon, Seungcheol, Soonyoung, and Hansol, you consider yourself lucky as the awkwardness feel of a professionalism easily transitions into an artistic pursuit. You find yourself slipping into a strange role of mediator as their ideas beginning pouring out after you suggest a few changes in the rough draft of a chorus they presented.

The third day you go in for a writing session with them, you meet Jeonghan in passing while he’s on his way out of the Pledis building. He’s a little bit disheveled from practicing choreography for some track you’re entirely uninvolved with. Somehow he still looks breathtaking, and you scold yourself for even having the thought.

“You’re the new writer Woozi brought in, right?” he asks. You nod and exchange proper introductions. “I’ve only heard good things,” Jeonghan mentions before politely adding, “Please continue working hard with our members.”

The next time you meet with him it’s because he’s come in with lyrics himself for one of the tracks in progress. Everything is very cordial. The writing session feeling much the same despite the change in attendance. Frustration raises amongst the group over something in the hook, and Soonyoung is the first to suggest everyone take a break.

While the boys disperse, you stick around in the conference room, determined to get down a few of the lines still lingering in your mind even if they may end up getting scrapped. You don’t realize Jeonghan hasn’t actually left the room until you look up from the crowded page of your notebook.

“If you’re not interested in taking a break,” he asks, “can I get you something from a vending machine?”

“I just wanted to get a few things on paper,” you explain as you stand up. You stretch, limbs and spine stiff from having spent so long in one position.

“Fair enough.” Jeonghan smiles like he’s in on some joke you hadn’t heard.

He walks with you to the closest vending machine. It’s as you’re typing in the code to get a bottle of seltzer that he remarks, “I really like the way you put things. In your lyrics, I mean. You don’t always put things in the most obvious terms, but it’s like… they demand to be felt rather than just heard.”

The compliment takes you by surprise. When you turn to face him after picking up the cold bottle of water, you’re taken back again by the lack of space left between the two of you. You’re certain he hadn’t been standing so close when the two of you first came to a stop. You know he knows that he’s standing closer than a professional capacity would permit.

Twelve different options of how to answer flicker through the front of your mind. Some would diminish and deny his claims. Others would reflect praise back on him. A stray few would invite him closer than he already is. The only one that makes its way to your tongue is the simplest. And Jeonghan’s smile grows as you’re disarmed to only saying thank you in return.

You picture the moment over again in your head later that night, when you’re home and writing lines about a boy with silk words and a smile that sets off alarm bells between your ribs.

The danger of Jeonghan seems to pass over the time that follows. The rest of your sessions with the various members go without any further instances.

At least until you’re packing up your belongs after your last planned meeting with them for the tracks you’ve been collaborating on together. Numerous gratitudes and goodbyes have been given several times over. Chan drops by to wish you well following a text from Soonyoung despite the fact that he hadn’t been in the writing session that had just wrapped up.

Somehow in the chaos of closing this chapter, you find yourself alone in the room with Jeonghan again. He’s perched on the table you’re still sitting at, watching you organize everything in your bag with a curious gaze.

“How do you do it?” he asks. You suspect he isn’t referring to the way you manage to cramp all your things into a relatively small backpack.

“You’ve been in these meetings,” you say, looking up at him while you’re still bent forwards to slip pens and pencils back in place, “You’ve seen me writing.”

“I think what you say is different from how it goes inside your head,” he puts forth this theory with a faint chuckle. If you were any further away, you might have missed it.

“Do you say everything exactly as it comes to you?” you question him, tilting your head as though it was a challenge. As if you had him cornered on this.

“Ah,” he sighs with a shake of his head, though his expression suggests anything but frustration or disappointment. “But I guess I mean more of how these things come to you the way they do to begin with.” His sights settle back onto you as you lean back in your chair, your attention exclusively on him at this point. “The way you frame certain feelings, you’d think you’ve lived much longer than you have. But we’re not so far apart in age, are we?”

“You think I’m more inspired than you?”

His laughter is more obvious this time. It almost strikes you as self-deprecating, but there’s a constant gleam in his gaze that assures you otherwise. “Would that be the word to use?” he thinks aloud before shrugging. “Geez, maybe you’re right. Maybe you are.”

“To be fair, I think your company keeps you too busy most of the time for you to live the kinds of things that inspire me.”

These words make his smile skew to one side while his eyebrows quirk in curiosity. “I don’t want to presume anything about you, miss,” he speaks with a combination of formality and tone that comes together to form a playfulness that sends an easy smile to your lips.

“I’m a helpless and nervous romantic who’s never asked for fidelity,” you tell him, intentionally falling back on words that would be better suited for your notebook than a casual conversation.

He smiles and looks down at his lap, at where one of his hands is settled with something you can’t quite make out between his fingers. “It’s kind of you to keep your love life so complicated for the sake of making other artists sound profound.”

“That’s not my motivation,” you clarify as you stand up, deciding the conversation is drifting to a point where you’ll be best off leaving sooner rather than later. “It just might be an added benefit of liking company more than commitment.”

Jeonghan watches you rise from your seat, gaze steady and unhurried as it traces your form. If you’d heard alarm bells before, you should’ve sensed a siren when he locked eyes with you in that small room. He pushes his weight off the table and is back on his own two feet as he presses a slip of paper into the palm of your hand.

“Well, the next time you need inspiration...” He finishes the proposition with a kiss rather than with words. You can taste the flippancy on his lips.

You put the number from the paper he’d handed you into your phone all the same.

❥ ❥ ❥

You don’t call Jeonghan. You don’t send him a single message. The lack of contact doesn’t prevent your mind from drifting to him from time to time. On these occasions, you remind yourself that your work with Seventeen is done. Then you reach out to someone else in your contacts instead.

This logic satisfies until you receive a frustrated, desperately worded text from Jihoon late one Wednesday night. They have recording time for one of your songs tomorrow, and the final adjustments he’s trying to make before officially laying the track down are driving him to madness.

The words please and thanks occur no less than fourteen times in the text thread that unfolds between you two in the time it takes you to get from your apartment to their dorm. You work with Jihoon until the demo and lyrics and sheet music are all in accordance and all come as close to perfect as either of you can find a way to.

By the time all this is done, you’re exhausted and Jihoon feels indebted to you. Which is how you end up sleeping on their couch for a couple hours. When you come to around dawn, a nervous feeling creeps up your spine as if you’ve done something inappropriate. So it feels like a walk of shame even without having done more than your job as you slip out of the dorm without saying any goodbyes.

It’s not until much later that morning that you realize your lyric book is missing. A few quick texts confirm your suspicions that you must have left it behind by accident. Jihoon is already at the studio when you’re itching to get the notebook back in your own hands. You head over to the dorm anyway with his reassurance that someone will be there to let you in.

When someone turns out to be Jeonghan, you almost freeze on the doorstep.

“Hey, you… left your book right?” he greets, clearly having been looped in by Jihoon. You nod and accept when he invites you inside. You follow several steps behind him as he leads you back to the couch you’d slept on and picks up your notebook from the coffee table where you’d left it. “Don’t worry, no one looked or anything,” Jeonghan says as he hands it back to you.

“It’s not a diary,” you remind, even though the contents were certainly personal enough in places to be considered as much. “It’s my job to share them.”

“Then don’t worry, no one’s out here stealing your work,” he revises his assurance. A familiar expression is tugging at his features, reminding you exactly of why you hadn’t ever followed up with him after the last time you parted.

“Thanks.” It comes out stiffer than you intended. Stilted in the way that repressed anger adds blades to polite words.

“You can go if you want, but could I say something first?” That dangerous smile of his falls away as quickly as it’d come. He looks earnest, and he takes a step back to suggest that he’s not interested in encroaching on you as he’d done before.

You tell him he can say whatever he’d like without looking at him, busying yourself instead with unzipping your bag and slipping your notebook back to where it belongs.

“I’m sorry for the way I behaved the last time I saw you.” Jeonghan shifts his weight where he stands. From the corner of your eye, you swear you can see him churning further words over in his head. He hadn’t anticipated this chance; he hadn’t planned out how he would actually get from feeling regret to forgiveness.

“I had no right kiss you,” he acknowledges it quietly, like the fact he’d even done it embarrassed him now. You didn’t know if any other the other members were home, but you would guess he hadn’t told any other them about his small transgression. “Or to presume my number was something you’d ever want.”

It surprises you when Jeonghan averts his eyes from yours when you lift your head to look at him directly. “I think I got caught up in… I don’t know, something silly just because of the kinds of songs we were working on together.” You recall the first time he’d set you on edge, when he spoke of your lyrics provoking feeling. It makes you wonder if somehow he’s blaming you in part for his rash actions.

“You’re difficult not to admire,” he states after a pause that nearly tricked you into thinking he was done speaking. A faraway sort of smile appears and evaporates as soon as he’s finished with that confession. “But that doesn’t excuse my actions. I hope you won’t let my indiscretion tarnish your relationship with our group.”

In the end, it’s always business, you think to yourself.

“You’re better with words than you give yourself credit for, Yoon Jeonghan,” you tell him honestly.

❥ ❥ ❥

The invitation to the private release party for seventeen’s album goes unanswered for several days. You tell yourself you’re putting off deciding whether or not to go simply because you’ve been busy lately. A different label had reached out to you and hired you to help some new artist of theirs put together a cohesive debut album. The executives want the music to be radio-friendly with appeal to young adults rather than the teens they’ve garnered attention from with their other artists thus far. The singer, a soft and serious young man named Daecheol, feels things immensely but is absolutely terrible at putting them in words.

When you finally accept the invitation, you convince yourself it’s mostly because you miss the world of difference that exists between working with Jihoon and the others compared to your current project.

You show up late. It’s an unfortunate side effect of you debating between two outfit options for the occasion. In the end, you go with the dress that makes you stand up a fraction straighter. It has a track record of being zipped by you and unzipped by someone else.

Soonyoung and Chan greet you like you’ve just come back from a war. Jihoon isn’t quite as obvious in his bee-line to welcome you to the event. The album is playing over the speakers and you still get the same thrill as you had the first time when you hear the polished, professional sound of your own compositions buzzing through the air.

“I’m glad you came,” Jeonghan tells you when he approaches nearly an hour and a half after your arrival.

“Are you happy with the final album?”

“Of course,” he grins with genuine pride. “Are you?”

“It isn’t my album,” you remind.

He concedes with a tilted nod. “But I think it’d be a very different night if not for you,” he tells you after a moment. He looks you over and you find yourself filtering through different meanings that could be buried in this statement.

“I’m grateful I was able to contribute to it.” You sense this isn’t as direct of an answer as Jeonghan would have liked from the way he leans back from you just a bit, lips settled into a pondering line.

You look over the crowd, smiling at the antics happening in various corners of the room. “A while back, you apologized for something that was never held against you,” you admit recklessly.

“Oh.” Jeonghan stands beside you, eyes searching out his fellow members one by one to check on what was keeping them entertained. “I wish you’d told me as much then.”

“I wasn’t ready to want you yet.”

With that, Jeonghan’s the first to break the nonchalant charade. He turns his head to stare at you in profile. His tongue presses against his front teeth in anticipation. He wants to say something as effortless as you; he wants to make you snap your attention onto him alone for the rest of the night. All he can summon is a simple, “And now?”

Your eyes dart to his, and you smile unabashedly. “I am.”

He leads you to an upstairs you hadn’t known the venue had before he kisses you.

The adrenaline of something new and ill-advised makes you both close in upon each other too eagerly. Two hands alone are not enough for him to touch every inch of you that he desires. In a flurry of swollen lips and grasping hands, you realize that once won’t satisfy you when it comes to Jeonghan.

❥ ❥ ❥

Once doesn’t cut it for Jeonghan either.

In the beginning, it’s a simple arrangement of having sex and parting ways within a matter of minutes afterwards. Repeated days of this turn into weeks, and Jeonghan begins to linger. Sometimes for only an hour or two after. Other times he lets himself give in to tiredness and finds himself scrambling in the morning to make it back to the dorm before he’s missed too badly.

He comes up with excuses and repetitive cover stories for where he slips off to from time to time. You suspect at least a majority of the members know the truth. They let the two of you carry on as though your affair is a secret nonetheless. Maybe out of some kind of respect. Or, you theorize, they find Jeonghan’s scrambling for excuses to be amusing enough to let him think they’re actually convincing.

There’s no lack of passion. The carnal sort of passion that drives tragic lovers into each other's’ arms in theaters. Easily mistaken for a matter of the heart, but showing its true nature when you hardly think of each other when you’re apart. Still, Jeonghan fucks you like orgasming might be the key the solving all the world’s problems, persistent and heated and damn near inspiring. Or else he holds you almost too close and makes the whole universe slip into slow motion.

It’s after a long night of the latter when you find yourself curled up in a soft blanket watching Jeonghan get dressed. The sky outside is only now beginning to lighten. Outside your window, you can just make out hues of pomegranate and strawberry ice cream creeping over the horizon.

You want to invite him back under the covers. Convince him it’s too early to go, tempt him with the promise of more sleep and of sleep by your side. You press your lips into each other instead and watch as he runs a hand groggily through his hair.

“Jeonghan,” you call out for him, and he hums as he looks back at you from over one shoulder. You want to say any number of things to him, but none of them feel appropriate for the moment once they reach the tip of your tongue. So you leave the silence up to his interpretation.

He takes the three strides he needs to be back at your bedside. One knee comes to rest on the mattress as he leans in to kiss you, hand resting on one side of your neck as he does. “Can I come back tomorrow night?” he asks, mind already on when he can get back inside you before he’s even left.

“Okay,” you accept the idea readily. “Good luck with your schedules,” you think to say as he’s heading towards your bedroom door, knowing the performances and appearances are what makes him so certain he won’t be able to be here again tonight.

You trust him to lock your front door when he goes. He says he doesn’t mind showing himself out if it means you get to stay comfy.

That afternoon, as you’re walking home from a trip to your favorite coffee shop, Jeonghan pops into your mind. You want to know if he’d like the pastries at that cafe as much as you do; if he’d think that one painting hanging in the corner of a vase of flowers atop a messily packed suitcase is as strangely moving as you do.

The crosslight turns, but you stay frozen on the curb.

These are the wonderings that usually strike you too late. The ones you have sadly after men have told you that can’t keep on with ‘the way things are’. However things are -- it seems they always reach a breaking point before you even know it’ll hurt to say goodbye.

Will it hurt to say goodbye to Jeonghan?

You’re jostled by an impatient pedestrian pushing past you to cross the street.

The answer, you realize as the ‘don’t walk’ sign begins to flash, is yes. Of course it will.

❥ ❥ ❥

You’ve known for a week that you’re in love with Jeonghan when he shows up at your place near eleven at night with a bottle of wine. For a moment, you think of telling him he can’t come in. Selfishly, you head wants to get ahead of this whole thing, to uproot the whole thing before any more feeling can blossom.

But your heart wins, as it always has. You let him in and don’t speak a word of your true fondness for him. You sit with him in your living room with the windows open. The night air complements the oaky undertones of the wine. You chat, drink and laugh your way through a good few hours with him.

When it’s empty, he pulls you closer, intertwines your fingers with his carefully and murmurs how he had to come. How he couldn’t help himself but make time for you tonight. He’s spent all day longing to hear his name come tumbling off your tongue.

People say wine makes you sleepy. They say the same of sex. But after sharing a bottle and an orgasm with Jeonghan, you can do nothing but lie awake on your bed with melody lines churning over in your mind. You turn onto your side, pushing yourself up on one hand to get a good look over the man beside you. His eyes are closed, lips parted slightly and hands limp upon his bare chest.

You close the bedroom door behind you when you slip out into your living room. Instead of sitting on your sofa, you collapse onto your floor with your lyrics open on one page beside you and your composing book open to a blank score on the other side of you. You try to keep your humming out of the imagined vocal lines hushed for Jeonghan’s sake. Fast asleep as you imagine him to be, the walls of your apartment are only so thick. Even if he weren’t there at all, you’d be singing softly so as to avoid disturbing any neighbors.

You sprawl out on your back as you run over a few variations for the bridge in your head. Your fingertips run through the air, tracing the intervals of notes as you narrow yourself gradually down to two.

As you try the tunes out with the words you’d written, you let your eyes close. “Didn’t it feel good when we were sitting there talking?” you sing softly into the dark space of your living room, “And lying there not talking, didn’t it feel good?”

You pause and repeat the same words with slight differences in the flow and notes; this time your voice goes up a pitch on the negation in the second phrase. It feels right like that. Like it puts in a coy emphasis on exactly what you’re suggesting is being done outside of conversations. You wet your lips with your tongue before you try that second version out once again.

The last note hangs above your hand as you fall silent once again.

“Do you always write your melodies laying half-naked on your floor?” A soft, teasing question washes over you and summons you back to the moment. You sit up and look towards your bedroom doorway. He’s leaning against the frame so comfortably that you can’t be certain how long he’s been there.

Jeonghan has pulled on a plain gray t-shirt, but still has nothing but boxers on from the waist down.

“Sorry I woke you,” you presume, refusing to humor his jest with any kind of direct reply. He moves over to where you’re sitting while shaking his head.

“I’m glad I got to hear you,” he speaks quieter this time as he invites himself to sit down in your lap, his knees falling on either side of your hips. “You have a nice voice. Why don’t you ever record more than just demos?”

“I don’t want to be known as a singer,” you recite a reason you’ve given plenty of times before. As his fingers brush over your shoulders and pull carefully at the elastic barely keeping your hair back in the mess of what was once a bun, you feel yourself compelled to elaborate. “I used to play in cafes, sometimes, or in my village’s train station… I hated most the things people would tell me. I didn’t ever care when they said I looked cool, or sounded pretty, or could be the next whoever…” Jeonghan pauses his ministrations with your hair to meet your eyes. The attentiveness in his gaze makes you hesitate momentarily. When you continue on, you’re speaking in more of a whisper. “I just wanted people to say they liked the way the words fell together, or how a melody made them feel anything at all.”

“A real poet,” he muses with a gentle lilt. His hands are back in motion, gathering your hair into a neat ponytail, head tilted to one side so he can look at what he’s doing. “Wasn’t that one of the first things I praised you for?” His lips graze against your temple and at the soft skin behind your ear.

In a moment like this, you’re tempted to believe he could love you in full. That you could spend years with him fixing your hair and kissing your skin. That he’d be happy with that. That you could be satisfied without anyone else rocking their hips into yours but him. Your fingers bunch into the fabric of his shirt. Grasping at the cotton, remember the feel of wool and lycra that you’ve peeled off other men, even within the past few weeks while you’ve been busy falling for Jeonghan.

“Does it bother you that most people who know your songs won’t ever know your name?” he asks as his hands slip under your nightshirt.

“I just want them to listen.” Your answer comes out with a slight hitch as your heart rate accelerates with Jeonghan’s fingers running up the skin of your back.

“I’d make them,” he murmurs nonsensically. His chest presses lightly into yours, arms helping guide you back down so you’re lying with him above you. He catches your lips with his own. His hands migrate from your back to front, following your curves carefully as they come to settle on your hips, bare save for the clean underwear you’d slipped on after the last round with him. “I’d sing anything you told me to.”

It’s impossible for this promise to be sincere, but it feels nice being breathed against your skin as his kisses move down your neck.

❥ ❥ ❥

Jeonghan doesn’t expect to see you at the afterparty of an awards show. He doesn’t even spot you until halfway through the event.

You’re in the same dress you wore to Seventeen’s last release party and gratefully accepting a glass of sparkling wine when he catches your eye from across the room. He’s in the middle of a conversation with another woman, who looks like she’s been having a rather nice time. She has the kind of beautiful smile you never managed to find the perfect words to describe when you were writing lyrics about picturesque women.

He doesn’t abandon her side or excuse himself from the conversation. In a bustling room, there’s no rush for him to find a way to you. No number of mental reminders that the two of you have no obligations to each other fully placates you.

Just as you’re getting ready to leave, he appears in front of you with the same smile he’s been giving every pretty person all night. “You didn’t tell me you’d be here,” he starts with what you already know, and sounds glad to have you right in front of him

“Daecheol invited me sort of last minute,” you inform him. You are unsurprised when the name doesn’t summon any kind of recognition. “He wanted to thank me for helping with his album,” you continue, fidgeting with the strap of your purse on your shoulder. He hadn’t been nominated. The company had only sent him to the event and the after party for the publicity of being there.

“I’m leaving with him,” you add before Jeonghan can feign that he’d only forgotten for a moment about the project you’d told him about more than once.

“Oh.” His smile falters. You feel cruel for feeling anything resembling comfort in that. “Have a nice night, then.”

“You too, Jeonghan.”

The awkwardness of this farewell doesn’t stop him from reaching out to you two nights later. It changes nothing in the bigger pattern the two of you have established. It doesn’t stop you from letting him in your door and it doesn’t keep him from making soft, empty promises against your skin.

�� ❥ ❥

You stir from discomfort rather than from any alarm. You lift your head carefully from the cushion of your couch and splay fingers that have cramped from sleeping with a pen still firmly in grasp. You hadn’t meant to fall asleep in your living room. You hadn’t meant to be writing lyrics until exhaustion made a momentary pause turn into full slumber.

You’d meant to crawl back into bed with Jeonghan before any of this could happen.

Instead, your back in complaining from the half-upright position you’d slept in. And Jeonghan is still in your apartment, though far from asleep.

You stay silent as you blink sleep from your eyes and take in the sight of Jeonghan standing near your window with a familiar notebook in hand. It’s open to the same page you’d been working on only a few hours ago. You can make out the places in the margins where you’d made note of stray phrases you thought you may use at some point in the future.

As your mind stirs a bit more, you recall the last verse you’d completed before you must have passed out. The thought that Jeonghan was reading those words over at this very moment filled you with a kind of dread you hadn’t felt in years. You’d long gotten over the embarrassment of showing others things that you’d written from the heart. But in this case, it stung to think the words were being read by the very same person who had provoked them.

I think I'm falling in love with you Are you going to let me go there by myself? That’s such a lonely thing to do Both of us flirting around, hurting too

“Jeonghan,” you begin with his name, and hope that your voice carries no traces of anger or fear. He turns abruptly to face you again. “What are you doing?”

“I wanted to see what you were working on,” he says nonchalantly. He seems to float across the ground as he comes back in your direction to hand the notebook back to you. “It’s sad, but… kind of confusing,” he gives you feedback that resonates too well with the ache that spreads in your chest as you look into his eyes.

“It’s not finished.” Though that’s not the issue at hand. “I wish you hadn’t just looked without asking first,” you allow yourself to reveal. It’s too much to say. Already your voice has an added warble to it. You hope he hears it as frustration rather than distress.

“I thought you were fine with people looking at your work?” He looks genuinely perplexed by the way your attitude has changed.

That was before it was about you, you think to yourself as you shut the notebook and press it close to your chest. “I am,” you lie.

His eyes bore into yours, seeking out the evidence for he already suspects. “I wouldn’t have done it if I knew you were going to mind.” He can’t retract the action, but he still wants his intentions excused. “You know that, right?”

As far as you’re concerned, he’s calling upon a kind of trust reserved for those who care deeply for one another. Not a single syllable of it feels fair. “I think you should go, Jeonghan.”

This catches him off guard. He falls into the spot beside you on the couch like his legs have given out on him. “Because I looked in your notebook?” he tries to understand. He’s perplexed. He’s disappointed, maybe, but see no trace of regret or sorrow in his eyes.

“It’s different now, you know,” you want to defend your reason. The thought that he might leave feeling you’d changed outlooks without any logic or warning. “Different than when you were just an artist I was selling lyrics to.”

“I know I’m not the first artist you’ve slept with,” he states plainly, and the edge of his tone makes you assume he’s only just refraining from adding ‘or the only one you’re sleeping with now’. “You still share this stuff with them, don’t you?”

“Never anything I’ve actually written about them,” you retort before you’ve processed exactly how much those words reveal to him.

The heat of the moment had you anticipating venom back from Jeonghan. But he’s faster to notice the indirect confession than you. His features soften, lips only just parting as his mind begins to race.

“That’s about me?” he seeks verification. He looks down at the closed notebook in your arms as if he had x-ray vision. You have a sinking feeling he might as well, that everything in the quick shift of his demeanor tells you that he remembers what was written on that page perfectly.

Denial doesn’t occur to your heart as an option. And your mind doesn’t stand a chance of being heard over how loud the other is beating in your worried chest. All you can manage is nodding.

With that confirmation, the air shifts again and he leans in closer to you.

“You never asked if I love you,” Jeonghan speaks softly, fingers brushing your cheeks as he cradles your face. Your heart skips and beat, and you fumble inside your head for a panic cord that might eject you from this whole situation.

“It won’t change much if you do.” Your voice shakes. You want to look away from him but some unspeakable tension makes it impossible to do.

“Why not?” he implores you in a whisper. You try to imagine other men’s hands where his are. It isn’t hard to do, but it makes your heart ache in protest.

You picture yourself as any other woman in his hold. It’s easy to think he’d say these exact same things no matter who you were.

It takes a deep, steadying breath to brace yourself before you can bring yourself to say, “Because I don’t want it to.”

Confusion takes over Jeonghan’s face. He scans yours like the meaning behind your statement could be found somewhere in the details of your skin.

“I told you from the start, when you asked how I write.” It comes out in a whisper because a part of you already wishes you could take it back. Love alone does not make for a good commitment, you tell yourself over and over, hoping with each repetition that it might convince your heart.

“Maybe I should go,” Jeonghan concurs at last, hands falling away from you as an old conversation drifts to the front of his mind.

He hadn’t known when you said you never asked for fidelity that it meant you’d turn it down even if it was offered with open hands.

❥ ❥ ❥

Several months later, he hears a familiar verse in some female singer’s song. He hears a familiar story. There’s some melancholy in the tune, but it’s too upbeat to think anyone would cry over it. He doesn’t have to look up the credits to know who wrote this.

Jeonghan doesn’t cry. But he tenses, and his heart skips a beat for the first time as he pictures you bathed in sunlight and tangled in bedsheets.

As the final line of the song comes crashing into his ears, he thinks you might have gotten at least one thing wrong. But the recording is done. It’s too late to tell you how he much wishes you’d made a different choice when it came to the options you laid out in that last open wound of a lyric.

We love our loving, but not like we love our freedom.

#seventeen scenarios #jeonghan scenarios #seventeen imagines #yoon jeonghan scenarios

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haberdashing · 7 years ago

Text

Cinder Ella

One student learns more than expected after enrolling at Elsewhere University.

on AO3

Ella was a model high school student. She aced every test that was given to her; she was a first chair flute player in her school’s orchestra; her writing won awards both local and national. She could have had her pick of the Ivy Leagues, could have had any number of top-tier schools fighting to secure her attendance, could have gone to any school she chose.

Ella chose Elsewhere University.

When people asked why, she gave a number of answers. One day she’d say it was the scholarships, that cost alone had guided her to Elsewhere. Another day she would say that she wanted to do something different, wanted to defy the expectations that so many had for her. On yet another day it’d be that she wanted to continue to be the star student wherever she went, wanted to continue reaping the benefits of being a big fish in a small pond.

None of these answers were lies, exactly, but none of them told the whole truth either.

The truth of the matter was, Ella knew as soon as she set foot on Elsewhere’s campus that it was the school for her. It felt right in a way she couldn’t quite put into words. It felt like home, more so than any other school she’d visited had felt, more so even than her mother’s cramped apartment in the city. From the moment she first entered, she never wanted to leave.

Some of the college search books Ella had read through had mentioned such a feeling and said to trust one’s instincts when choosing a college. And so that was that.

Upon enrolling, Ella, ever fond of wordplay, chose the name Cinder for herself.

(She might have chosen differently had she known that Elsewhere’s campus was home to any number of “fairy tales” come to life in the worst way.)

While unpacking, Ella put on the washer on a string that had been given to all the incoming freshmen and tucked it under her shirt- one of the student websites she’d browsed said that only freshmen wore washers openly, and that one should avoid being marked as a freshman if at all possible. She forgot about it for an hour or two, too busy finding room for all the things she had carted with and getting to know her roommate (a sophomore who went by Motormouth and definitely lived up to the name), but the spot where the washer hung grew itchy over time, and a quick trip to the bathroom showed that the area had turned a bright red.

Ella removed the washer, and the itching abated, though her skin remained red until it started to peel several days later. A quick googling of “iron allergy” turned up no helpful information. Ella shrugged and assumed that the washer must have been coated in some strange chemical that made her break out, and dumped both the washer and the string on which it was held post-haste.

(If Motormouth noticed that her roommate never wore any iron, she never said a word- and Motormouth of all people would have spoken up.)

Motormouth insisted on leaving a line of white powder in the doorway. Ella insisted on kicking it with her shoe every time she left the room. Each time the powder was replaced, Ella would disturb it once more, ignoring Motormouth’s half-fledged arguments. She made sure none of the powder made it outside the confines of their shared dorm room, however; she could imagine all too clearly the consequences of having an RA stumble upon a mysterious white powder scattered outside their door. It was part of some weird campus superstition, to hear Motormouth tell it, for “protection” against forces which Motormouth struggled to name, but something about it- whether it was the powder itself, or the idea of following such silly superstitions- always made Ella a little queasy. On the few occasions where she let it stay in place as she passed through the doorway, the queasy feeling would linger for some minutes, and Ella would make sure to kick the powder with gusto the next time around.

The first day of classes, one of the professors (Ella wondered later, once she learned what hid behind so many innocuous-seeming campus “traditions”, if the professor in question knew too little or two much) started the class by having each student tell two truths and a lie about themselves, and having the class guess which statement was the lie.

Ella didn’t have much trouble coming up with her three statements.

(”I was born in a town so small it gets left off of maps more often than not”: True, though she remembered those days hazily, with only a few blurred memories of the countryside remaining. More than the countryside itself, she remembered the shock of moving to the city, going from being acquainted with everyone in town to not knowing a soul and bumping into a dozen strangers daily, from living a calm and slow-paced life to living where time was money and everyone was always in a rush.

“I own a pet chinchilla back at home”: False; her mother’s rental agreement didn’t allow them to keep any animals. The closest thing she had to pets were the pigeons that roamed her block- when she was young, she would try to identify them all and give each one a name, but when she struggled both to find names she hadn’t used yet and to be sure that this pigeon wasn’t one she’d seen before, she gave up the task and moved on to other pursuits.

“I never had any wisdom teeth”: True, to the shock and envy of many. Sometimes she would joke that she was wise enough that she didn’t need extra wisdom granted via tooth; sometimes her mother would joke back that her lack of wisdom teeth was the reason Ella sometimes failed to understand things her mother considered common sense.)

But when she tried to say the second, false statement, she got as far as “I own a-” before tripping over her words, struggling to eke out a single syllable, finally squeaking out “-pet chinchilla” and stopping there as her throat grew hoarse.

Her voice returned as she spoke the final, true statement, but the class didn’t have much trouble guessing what the lie was- it was the statement she’d barely been able to speak, the one during which her attempts at composure were more or less in vain.

Ella googled "sore throat” and “difficulty speaking” and “laryngitis” and a number of other terms and half-convinced herself that she had contracted some serious, possibly life-threatening illness before remembering that she’d only had trouble speaking once, the one time that she’d tried telling a lie on campus. (She had nothing against telling lies when they served her purpose; the occasion just hadn’t come up otherwise.)

Ella spent a few minutes after that in the hall bathroom starting statements with “My name is-” and trying to finish the sentence with whatever names came to mind, be they names of old classmates or of fictional characters, noticing how her throat ached and her voice grew weak as she tried to give any name that wasn’t her own, trying to study what exactly was going wrong as she attempted to speak.

(She got a few odd looks from people who were using the bathroom for more ordinary purposes, but she didn’t much care what they thought.)

As the semester went by, as Ella heard in bits and pieces from other students about the meaning behind what official school literature called “tradition”, all the disparate signs came together in her mind, and something deep inside her clicked.

Ella went to the Gentry on her own accord, offering a deal of her own devising.

She wasn’t asking what she was; she knew now, knew that the picture-perfect life she’d lived before was a lie, knew that she had been left behind in a spot where the boundary between worlds wore thin, knew that by luck or fate or mere coincidence she had found her way to another such spot.

Ella’s deal was this: she gives a Name, one that both is and is not her own, and in return she gets to meet the original owner of that name, and has the ability to come visit that other “Ella” at any time of her choosing.

It wasn’t an even deal, and Ella knew it, knew it even as the words to make it were leaving her mouth. But just how bad a deal it really was wasn’t impressed into her until it was too late.

Some students at Elsewhere referred to the non-human residents of the university simply as Them, but the fact of the matter was that there was no Them, just a great number of beings with their own allegiances and agendas.

Some humans called them the Fair Folk, but they are not fair when they can avoid it, not to humans, and not to anyone whom they think they can get the better of.

Ella bet everything she had on the assumption that giving her Name to the first being that would make a deal with her would be a show of trust more than anything else, proof that she was willing to work with another of her own kind, a power that would go unused as long as she was cautious and broke no rules.

But the Gentry don’t deal in trust. They deal in results.

And so, Ella’s bet quickly proved to be a grave miscalculation.

#elsewhere university #elsewhere u #personal #my writing

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