#hope it's okay that this is just me rambling about 3 different vaguely connected things and not a super coherent analysis | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lizzie-saltzman · 3 years ago

Text

I’LL CRAWL HOME TO YOU

A Hizzie fanfiction / update

Pairing: Hope Mikaelson/Lizzie Saltzman Fandom: Legacies Rating: M Chapters: 2/? Summary: In many ways, meeting Hope in a different reality had helped Lizzie put things in perspective, and perhaps even understand her in ways she hadn’t before. Understand them, their connection, the palpable animosity that had turned into a reluctant friendship and now something far more tangible. The rest, well, she doesn’t tell Josie. Not about waking up after three weeks away from her real home, tucked under the covers of Hope’s bed with their clothes discarded around the dormitory, with a light sheen of sweat on her forehead and her hair sticking to her cheekbones. There were some things better left unsaid. (Upon her return from an alternate timeline a Malivore monster teleported her to, Lizzie must deal with the aftermath of her time spent away, and her newly doormat feelings for Hope Mikaelson.)

chapter 1 here

READ CH. 2 HERE ON AO3 or under the read more

[ 3 WEEKS AGO ]

A muddy splash sends speckles of murky water coating a pair of white boots. Under the full moon, an owl hoots, as Lizzie Saltzman breaks through the branches that leave a bloody mark on her left cheek. She reaches for it, with a mumbled expletive as her breathing grows heavier and her knees start to give. Behind her, a black wolf with yellow tinted eyes that shine through the darkness of the woods gives chase, snarling as it draws closer to her.

She’s been sprinting for a while; Lizzie’s exhausted, pushing past the burn on her thighs as she rounds a corner and leaps over a log dangerously set on the ground, almost losing her balance as her boot skids through the mud. Its drizzling, her clothes are weighing her down, her hair is ruined – if she had the mind to complain about the other terrible but insignificant, personal circumstances, she’d be holding an ice pack to her cheek and ranting over a Strawberry Smoothie. Instead, she finds herself here, in the outskirts of the woods in Mystic Falls, barely managing to get on her feet before the wolf catches up to her.

“Lecutio!” She’s all out of magic after –– the ball of energy flies ahead of the wolf and crashes against the tree behind it, effectively snapping off the branches and watching as they fall near the wolf long enough to distract it. It wasn’t her intention, really – she was aiming for it’s head. Soon enough, the wolf turns it’s head (and it’s disorienting eyes) in her direction, growling.

“Crap…” And she takes off again, her boots splash, splash, splashing rapidly on the wet floor. This is not how she pictured spending a Sunday night.

Her lungs are giving out, her body begs her to stop running; she might pass out from exhaustion alone, and her vision – on top of that – blurs as the light drizzle of rain washes over her face. She wipes it away with the palm of her hand, but it obstructs her already impaired vision in the dark, and trips over a boulder on the ground. Lizzie groans, her body rolling through the mud, and the wolf slows it’s approach. She’s cornered. She’s screwed. She’s dead.

The wolf stalks forward. Lizzie raises her hands to her face, and it launches itself through the air.

Lizzie screams, anticipating the powerful impact, the bite, but instead another wolf collides in the air with her attacker. White, with speckles of grey. They roll around in the mud, snarling at each other, growling, taking bites anywhere their teeth can sink into until they’re both back on their feet. Lizzie watches, covering her mouth as she gasps, pushing herself back until her shoulders meet one of the trees behind her.

Then, the white wolf attacks the black one again. They begin their vicious snarling, and as Lizzie finds the force to pick herself off the ground, she hears one of them whimper. When she looks back, the black wolf is retreating, disappearing through the trees, and the white one turns, even slower in its approach. Lizzie’s eyes widen, out of magic, and out of breath, but she turns around in an attempt to try and run away again.

Except she spins out, when she feels her black hoodie being yanked away from her body, leaving her in a tank top under the rain that starts to pick up. She turns around angrily, but instead of finding a white wolf stalking back, she finds –

“Hope?”

Hope is sporting her too-big-for-her hoodie over her naked body and watching her with her arms crossed over her chest. It covers just enough. Not everything. Just enough.

“Oh, thank God!” Lizzie exclaims, throwing her arms around Hope in sweet, sweet relief as she tries to catch her breath. “I thought I was dead. Dead, dead.”

But she knows Hope Mikaelson. Always coming through with her last minute heroics.

Except this time, Hope pushes her away, hands on her shoulders, taking a step back to get a good look at her. They look at each other, almost comically; Hope with an eyebrow quirked and Lizzie, with her mouth agape. Then, Hope’s strange behavior is perfectly clear –

“Who the hell are you?”

------

[ PRESENT DAY ]

“Lizzie!”

Hope’s tired voice carries down the hallway. Behind her, Lizzie can hear her footsteps approaching – faster, faster – until they stop at her side, walking in tandem with her into the vast, otherwise dusty library at the end of the hall, where students gather quietly over a pile of books raging from anything about the occult to the mundane – European History and an old, thick Gaelic book about Magical Portals that thuds on the ground as it falls sloppily from the top of the bookshelf and almost takes Lizzie out. Talk about head trauma.

“Hey, watch it!” Lizzie looks up as dust gathers below her. Alyssa Chang stands on the top of the rolling ladder, shrugging nonchalantly. Whoops.

Lizzie picks up the book, coughs, swatting the dust away and piling it on top of Hope’s already busy hands. Hope says nothing, only blinks away the speckles of dust as she trails behind Lizzie with concern.

“I haven’t seen you all day. Is everything okay?”

She shouldn’t be taken aback, but she is, by the genuine worried inflection in Hope Mikaelson’s voice. Hope is tired, the evidence marked clearly on her face, vaguely darkened circles under her eyes that Hope barely had mind to conceal this morning with even the smallest layer of makeup. No one would be able to tell, not really, but Lizzie can. She knows that look Hope carries around like a weight on her back when something’s been keeping her up at night.

In front of the tinted window sill, Lizzie turns. The yellow light reflects off Hope’s exhausted, blue eyes, and Lizzie almost stutters, opting to instead, snatch the book back from the pile already gathered on Hope’s arms and toss it onto the nearest unoccupied table.

No, Hope. I’ve been avoiding you all morning until this very unfortunate meeting where we’ll be subjected to a torturous hour of incessant nerd rambling on how to kill the very same monster that sent me through a hell portal into another dimension where I hooked up with you and your unforgettable muscles and now I can’t even look at you in the eyes without thinking about it, so–

“I’m fine”. Lizzie says, saccharine sweet. Too sweet. Enough to make Hope suspicious, as she looks at the book Lizzie tossed on the table with an eyebrow raised. “I was having a perfectly fine morning until MG interrupted my strictly scheduled morning meditation and after reluctantly agreeing to meet here in exactly five minutes, the kitchen was out of Belgian Waffles, so I had to settle for a non-fat Greek yogurt. So yes, I’ve been severely inconvenienced, but it has nothing to do with you”.

“I never said it has –” Hope starts. “Shouldn’t we talk about it? About what happened…”

Lizzie stiffens.

“With the monster…”

She deflates.

“We still don’t know if there are any side effects to any of this. Doctor Saltzman said you refused to talk to Emma about what happened –”

“And now you’re giving me advice about what I should and shouldn’t talk to our school therapist about?” Lizzie scoffs, on the defensive, arms crossed tightly over her chest. “That’s rich, Hope”.

“That’s not what I meant –”

“Everyone at this school is so prolific at internalizing every shitty thing that happens to us on a weekly basis but since this one particular thing happened to me, then of course I’m the one who has to have the damage control, witchy therapy sessions with Emma despite the fact that I’ve already told everyone who’s asked that I’m fine!”

“Lizzie –”

“Is that why you were looking for me this morning? You wanted to check up on me?”

“Yes”. Hope says sincerely. Its her version of an olive branch – honesty. Lizze frowns, but Hope touches her wrist and she stays frozen in place, like she’s been jolted and immobilized by an invisible force. “The same night you found your way back to us you rushed into the woods on a near suicide mission to help me fight a monster we’re still not sure how to kill. Of course I wanted to check up on you. I was worried. You left my bedroom so suddenly last night that I didn’t even have time to ask how you were feeling. I wasn’t sure if you were ever going to come back. I wasn’t sure if we were ever going to see you again.”

Lizzie takes a breath, defeated. We, we, we – she has no right to be stung by the plurality of the word, but it gives her that feeling in the middle of her throat, like it runs dry, like one wrong word from Hope and she might break down in tears.

“I want to make sure you’re okay”. Hope continues. “You’re my best friend”.

And that’s the tragedy of it. She’s Hope’s best friend. Anything beyond that is nothing but something she could only clearly wish for in another timeline. One where Hope doesn’t know about her baggage, one where they got a clean slate to restart their history, no rumors, no backhanded comments…

“Me too”. Lizzie whispers. She brings her thumb up to brush over the side of Hope’s hand.

She thinks about holding it. She almost does, until –

“Yo, guys. We should get this show on the road”. Jed interjects, seemingly out of nowhere, picking up the book Lizzie had discarded on the table earlier and hopping over the banister towards the center table in the now empty library, where the rest of the squad has now gathered around one of Wade’s Dungeons and Dragons books.

By the time Lizzie pulls her hand back and they both gather around the table, Wade’s already settled in with the group.

“– That’s the thing though. Dimensional Warpers don’t usually engage in combat, but they do like learning about their enemies and their battle tactics. They’re not usually ones to initiate but they’ll fight if they sense that their life is in danger.”

“That explains why it disappeared last night and didn’t come back”. Hope pushes her way in between MG and Jed at the front and center of the table. “Do you think it’s after something?”

“Maybe. I can’t imagine another reason why Malivore would’ve spit that particular monster out. They’re elusive, hard to kill, and they only come out at night. Their night vision is impeccable”.

“How do we kill it?”

“Well, they are giant, bipedal, flying snakes, but they’re still snakes. I think we all know what the easiest way to kill one is –”

“Cut off it’s head”. Lizzie deadpans. Everyone turns, and Lizzie stands on the other side of the table, looking intently at the picture of the creature on Wade’s book.

And Hope, looking at the magical artifacts on the far side display, slumps her shoulders.

“We’re gonna need a very big sword”.

------

[ 3 WEEKS AGO ]

“Is your name Lizzie Saltzman?”

“Yes”. Between two slender and shaky hands, an orb flashes blue.

Across the antique, expensive looking desk in front of her, and a family portrait in the space where a tinted window used to sit, Klaus Mikaelson looks at Hope with concern and curiosity. Hope, looking taller and prouder as her hand rests upon Klaus’ leather chair, gives him a side eye.

She remembers Klaus from when she was younger, just as intimidating and commanding as he had been the day he’d sought out their help to save Hope from the Hollow all those years ago. She also remembers the Klaus she’s read about, in the books tucked away in the very same library a couple of doors down the hallway; the tales about The Great Evil. The boogeyman to end them all. The man who had terrorized Mystic Falls and claimed New Orleans like a dynasty, the man who had courted her mother until the day he died — but she also remembers the Klaus Mikaelson that Hope had told her about. The father. The man weighed down by the consequences of his choices and the drive to ensure his family’s survival, their safety, no matter the cost. In one universe, it had already cost him his life. In this one, the story seems to have been painted differently.

In this story, Hope is different. She’s prouder, she wears a scowl like armor but not with the purpose of pushing everyone away. This Hope reminds her of an heiress. Someone destined to inherit something bigger and greater than herself. Maybe it’s all this, Lizzie thinks. The Mikaelson School. Maybe it’s another kingdom entirely.

She looks… Good. Really good.

“Are you Alaric Saltzman’s daughter?” Hope continues.

“Yes”. Blue again.

“That doesn’t make any sense”. Klaus moves to take the orb from her hands, but Hope is faster — much faster — grabs his father’s arm before he can snatch it.

“Dad, you can’t fool the magical lie detector. They’re simple yeses or no's”.

Klaus respects her, she can tell, because he backs off and opens a drawer in his desk, takes out a heavy looking file — and pulls out a picture of her dad. He puts it in front of her.

“This man is your father?” He asks her again.

“Yes”.

And like clockwork, the orb shines blue again.

“That doesn’t make any sense —” Lizzie goes to interject but Klaus holds his finger up, standing from his chair with his hands behind his back, circling around the office like a man with a decision to make. Technically he is… a man with a decision to make. About her.

Which really, really gives her the chills. The bad kind.

“— You see, Alaric is a slobber of a drunk man who unfortunately lost his wife on his wedding day. He was supposed to father two children, twins actually, and his psychopathic to-be brother-in-law murdered his fiancé at the altar. His daughters perished with her. He lost his Tenure at Mystic Falls High, now teaches a second-rate-history class at a local college, and he let the rest of his dreams die in the bottom of a bottle of stale whiskey and fatty liver disease. That man never got to father any children. He’s barely a man at all. No purpose. No drive”.

“Apparently not in this life —” Lizzie mutters. The orb flashes blue and Hope’s eyes immediately snap to Lizzie’s.

“What is that supposed to mean?” She’s the one taking the orb from her hands in a blink of an eye. She’s fast. Really fast. It takes her a second to realize, as Hope holds it between her fingertips and looks at her with blind distrust, that the Hope in this universe might not be jaded by the loss of her family, but this one might be jaded by something else.

Like her own death.

Oh.

“You’re gonna want to sit down for this one”.

------

The Mikaelson School library is even bigger than The Salvatore School’s. The Stallions were branded as the rich, spoiled, and troubled children of Mystic Falls, but the Mikaelson school rivals the self-made stereotype by a tenfold. Lizzie’s staring at a row of books about magic she could have only ever dreamed of reading — it’s obvious to her that Klaus Mikaelson’s vision for a school for the Supernatural was slightly different than her father’s. Somewhere witches, vampires, werewolves and others could live their powers to their full potential.

She picks a book from the rack, takes another one down with it, but Hope catches it before it can fully fall off the shelf — Necromancy: The Art of the Undead — and pushes it back in its place.

“If what you told me is true then your father built a school with the same purpose my father did”. She offers. This Hope, now a little less guarded and lit by the light of the full moon by the library window, is much softer, willing to momentarily let her guard down around the pretty stranger with the wavy blonde hair. “He wanted a place where I felt like I belonged. Somewhere he could offer a safe haven not only for me, but for all the witches, all the vampires, and all the werewolves who are forced to do all of this all on their own. The world is cruel and unrepentant. My dad knows that. So he and my mom bought this mansion, expanded it, and made it into a school for the Supernatural. It’s taken off since; we have a branch in Belgium and another one in development in South America. Argentina. Something about the wine…”

For the first time since she’d been blindly dropped into this dimension, Lizzie smiles. But after a much noticeable glance at Lizzie’s lips, Hope continues. “We thought all the Gemini witches were dead. They’re rare. Powerful —” Hope says. It takes a second for Lizzie to notice she’s sizing her down.

She doesn’t want to talk about how that makes her feel.

“You have to take someone’s magic to use it, right?”

And Hope offers her hand. Lizzie’s brows furrow, but she takes it anyway. She’s siphoned magic from Hope before, but not a fully triggered Tribrid Hope. When she drains her power Lizzie feels an adrenaline rush like no other, like sticking her hand directly into a fuse box and taking all the energy in Mystic Falls with it. She watches Hope carefully for any sign of pain, but Hope doesn’t flinch. She doesn’t move, only watches their joined hands.

Then Lizzie raises her wrist, flicks it, and closes all the doors of The Mikaelson school in simultaneous fashion, making the building tremble.

“Something like that”. Lizzie grins and Hope lets her hand go. She’s grinning back and Lizzie doesn’t know why that makes her feel drunker than taking all that power from her. “The stronger the source the stronger and the magic we can do, but we can take from anything that’s come in contact with magic. This building, for example. A vampire, a werewolf — miscellaneous…”

“Well, here at the Mikaelson school we’re always looking for other powerful witches. I know you want to go back home eventually, once we figure out how to send you back, but if you want to stay, we can make room for you.”

They walk past the archway, to a display case with magical artifacts and weapons of all kinds. Some she recognizes, like the dagger that had started it all that brutally eventful day when Rafael joined the school, the urn, an enchanted compass, Papa Tunde’s blade…

“We’ve collected those over the years”. Hope motions to the display case. “Some of them were already in my dad’s possession before we put them here. The display case was enchanted by my aunt, so it’s practically impenetrable and impossible to open unless you’re a Mikaelson, but my mom thinks it’s important to teach these kids everything we can about magic and everything that could hurt them. Some of them —” She continues, sliding her finger over a display case of weapons. “— are just purely decorative though”.

Lizzie watches Hope’s finger land on the glass over a large broadsword.

“What exactly do you know about my family?” Hope asks. When she looks at the display again, Lizzie can see her own reflection next to Hope’s on the glass, and when she looks closer at the weapon, their faces on the side of the broadsword.

“Oh, you have no idea”.

------

[ PRESENT DAY]

Sparks cloud Lizzie’s vision. At the old mill, in the dead of night, Hope sharpens a sword Lizzie thinks is larger than her standing up. She’d poke fun at her, for wielding such a big weapon for such a small person, but if the past few weeks — days — weeks — whatever, had taught her anything, is how immeasurable the power Hope wields at her fingertips is. Maybe she could provide them both with a quip, if she wasn’t so busy staring at her, agape.

God, get it together, Lizzie.

She clears her throat and Hope stops.

“Hey! I thought we could get a head start with this old thing. Your dad kept it downstairs but I think it’ll give us the firepower we need. It’s a shame though, it’d make for a nice decoration”.

Lizzie wants to laugh. No, it would make for an awful piece of decoration. She’d seen it displayed neatly on a case, but ancient artifacts and old swords make her think of ancient cursed castles and the ghosts within them.

“So asks-too-many-questions Hope has now become knight-in-shining-armor Hope. I gotta say, I think I like this version a little bit better”.

“Because I’m not asking questions?” Hope challenges.

“That’s part of it”.

They both laugh, look at each other as Lizzie takes her place beside Hope, until Hope goes stoic again. She puts the blade down, wipes her hands on her dark jeans.

“Lizzie, I know this isn’t by far the most threatening monster we’ve ever faced but, I think you should stay inside the school. Kaleb and I designed a foolproof plan to kill the —”

“Why are you sidelining me?” Lizzie frowns. “I was of perfectly good help last time you almost got sucked into a portal too, remember?”

“That’s not what I meant —”

“Then what do you mean Hope? I know this isn’t about glory. So what is it? Martyrdom? Pushing people who care about you away?”

And Hope is surprisingly calm, despite the tension in Lizzie’s voice, despite the way she raises it, despite the way it cuts through the sound of the chirping crickets in the woods. “No. It’s the opposite, actually. It’s about trying to keep the people I care about safe. I don’t want you to end up somewhere you won’t be able to come back to us if we risk it”.

“What about Kaleb, then? Surely you care about him”.

A beat.

“Not the way I care about you”.

They stand there, in the cold of the Old Mill, looking at each other as Hope picks up the sword on the table, and Lizzie realizes for the first time, Hope is making an entirely selfish decision… And it’s all about her.

#hizzie #hizzie fanfiction #hizzie fic #hope x lizzie #legacies fanfiction

30 notes · View notes

lululawrence · 3 years ago

Text

Wordplay 5.0 Reflections

I dunno what else to call it lmao it doesn't sound right to call this a meme, but whatever it is, here we are! lol @so-why-let-your-voice-be-tamed came up with these questions after @wordplayfics wrapped up last year and I love them so i'm gonna use them for this year as well.

I'm going to start out with listing the prompts and linking the fics i wrote for each one for everyone's reference, though I'll be linking them again through the answers as well. I'm also putting all the questions and answers beneath a read more because, as usual, I rambled lmao Alright! Here we go!

Struggle: I Said It Wrong, But I Meant It Right Reduce: I Love This Feeling (But I Hate This Part) Divide: He Carries The Key Rise: Thou, Sun, Art Half As Happy Sketch: I Heard You Talking

How did you come up with your ideas for the fics? Can you take us through your process after first receiving the prompt?

I don't know that I have a set way I come up with my fic ideas for Wordplay. It all depends on the prompt and what fic ideas I've got on my "to write list" that might fit that prompt. If nothing on my to write list fits or can be tweaked for a prompt, then I just go through my prompts tag until something strikes me for it, or I just ruminate on the different ways the word can be used and see if something comes up.

So, when I did the random word generator for the first prompt and "struggle" was the word that came up, I immediately thought of "struggle bus". lolllll and when I went looking through my to write list, I saw the girl Payneshaw fic I wanted to write and I was like omgggggg Nick ABSOLUTELY is riding the struggle bus the ENTIRE FUCKING TIME and I knew that was my fic for the week. lmaoooo and there you have it.

What is your favorite fic you wrote for Wordplay this year?

oooohhhh this one is HARD AND MEAN lmaoooo i forgot this was a question asked. okay legitimately i cannot choose a favorite because i'm actually stupidly proud and happy with all of the fics i wrote this year.

If you’ve participated in previous years of Wordplay, what has been your favorite prompt from all years you participated in?

WELP. as the creator of this challenge, i've participated in all 5 years which means there've been 25 prompts i've written. lolllll and honestly i think my favorite prompt is STILL from the first year. it was "bloodsucker". like, how great of a prompt is that???

What was the shortest fic you wrote this year? The longest?

the shortest one this year was... I Said It Wrong, But I Meant It Right at 4381 words.

the longest one was... I Heard You Talking at 10580 words.

What fic of yours surprised you?

i think all of them surprised me in some way. that's part of the joy of writing fics, isn't it? lollll but i think the one that surprised me the most was Thou, Sun, Art Half As Happy. it was a last minute change (i'll elaborate in the answer to the next question haha) and it was a VERY different direction than i had planned. it was all based off of a photo i saw on tumblr, and there was no prompt with the photo. i got to just take in the basic idea of the sticker being placed on a bridge overlooking the city and what might make that spot a good kissing spot.

now, as an ace who doesn't actually ENJOY kissing, i... didn't think about the fact that i would be writing a lot of it. lollll i actually have a super hard time writing kisses and trying to make them varied while also relaying the emotional intimacy of the moment, and then add on top of that the fact that once i started writing the fic, both harry and louis let me know pretty much as soon as words started getting written that they were both genderqueer and that worked differently for each of them, so harry would use they/them pronouns and louis would use he/him still, it just made things more interesting. and the way the fic developed??? like, i had a very vague idea of what would happen in the fic. so the way it actually came about all surprised me.

long answer short, from the very start, this fic surprised me and i was just along for the ride. it was a BLAST and i sure do love it, even if it does have the second lowest hits of all the fics i wrote this year haha

Were there any prompts you struggled to find an idea for?

STRUGGLED HAHAHA sorry. just funny since struggle was a prompt this year. ANYWAY. the prompt i had the hardest time with was defo rise. i've had this fic idea ever since greg james tweeted with shawn mendes months ago about how shawn basically forgot his interview with greg on the breakfast show, so greg had to last minute wing a LOT OF AIR TIME AND SHOW CONTENT and he did a great job, but it brought about some funny content... anyway. that made me wanna write a triad a/b/o fic where greg is louis and harry's beta. rise was going to be used in a lot of different ways through the fic, as well. because breakfast show requires greg to rise from bed early, he gets a rise out of harry and louis with his behavior and overt flirtations with shawn, they have to rise above their jealousy, etc etc etc. i was VERY EXCITED.

except i only had three days i was able to write every week this summer, and those were really really difficult to get. if i wanted to write on tuesday or thursday, i was often curling up with my laptop in a dark room with some caffeine and candles burning to soothe me after the insanity that is my life atm, and write for as long as i could before my brain stopped functioning, which was often only around 30 min. but see, that particularly week was the worst part of my son's 18 month sleep regression, which meant instead of him sleeping and letting me write, i was driving him around or trying to rock him back to sleep or letting him play in an attempt to tire him out etc etc etc and by friday morning i had to admit to myself there was no way i could write that a/b/o fic in my one guaranteed evening to write every week (saturday, btw). so i was suddenly left with around 36 hours to find a new fic idea and develop it enough to be able to write it in one evening.

as i said in the answer to the first question, i usually go to my prompts tag to see what might inspire me with this prompt word in mind, but for this one that wasn't the first place i went. i tried looking at more definitions even though i'd done that earlier and nothing was inspiring me. so i then spoke to several friends and was still having a hard time finding any ideas that felt like something i would enjoy writing and could do so quickly.

by saturday morning, knowing i had less than 12 hours to figure out what i was writing so i could actually WRITE IT in only like 2-3 hours of writing time, i finally sat down and scrolled through my prompts tag. once i did, i saw the photo for the "good kissing spot", and i immediately thought of sunrise. so i ran with it. but i wanted to make it stylinshaw, so how would i work that in, etc etc etc. it was just very fast and very difficult trying to figure out how i would structure it so it could be a fun meet cute kind of fic, but also work into them actually building a meaningful connection etc and... well. it was a lot. haha so yeah, it was just a hard time overall that week, but i'm super proud of it in the end.

Were there any prompts you had an idea for but ended up writing something different? If so, what made you choose to change what you wrote? Do you think you’ll ever write your original idea at a later date?

HA okay well i already answered most of this above, but for the last part of this question, yes i will absolutely write my original idea at a later date. the whole reason i decided not to do it wasn't because i couldn't turn it into a fic that could be written in that one writing session, but because i had hopes for what that fic would be, and i didn't want to shorten and condense it enough to do that. i didn't want to have to lessen the dreams i have for that fic in my head, so i decided i would just put it back on my to write list and save it for later. who knows when, but that fic will absolutely get written.

What do you think was the most difficult as well as the easiest part about the Wordplay Challenge?

most difficult was 100% finding the time to write. that was insanely hard for me all summer, but by the time wordplay was going, things at home had ramped up to being very overwhelming regarding the demands on me and my time, and what i had been doing to carve out some time for myself and writing wasn't working anymore, so i had to adjust even more with the understanding that i was working on a really strict timeline too. so yeah. just finding the time was absolutely the hardest part for me.

easiest part was the actual writing. these fics really flowed from me, outside of the pack fic, that one was actually pretty difficult to make sure i was getting the dynamics exactly the way i wanted to have them turn out, but even with that aspect, it still was like it flowed from me most of the time. these fics really just took over and i was along for the ride. it was a blast.

If you participate again next year, is there anything you’ll do differently? If so, what?

lmao well assuming people still want wordplay to happen again, i'll run it again and very likely will take part. so... with the difficulty i had in finding any time to do anything this summer, i was actually ridiculously stressed when it came to the writing part, but also the modding aspect of it. so i am not sure that i'll run it during the summer again next year. i might have it go during the early fall once school is back in session so i at least have only one child at home instead of three to battle lol so that's one thing i'll hopefully be doing differently.

as for the writing aspect, i don't think so actually. i've done 5 years of this, and i'm having fun with it. haha if i ever find a fic idea i think could work for it, i would consider doing a series for it next year, but it all depends on if there's something i'd like to write that could work for that kind of set up with this challenge.

if you made it this far, thank you for reading!!! xxx

#wordplay 5.0 #writing stuff #my fics #mine

12 notes · View notes

mallowstep · 3 years ago

Note

When Mothwing chose Jaykit to be the next seer... Did she actually have a sign from Starclan about it? Or did she just choose him randomly out of the kits since she lacks that belief/connection?

as far as mothwing knows, she didn't get a sign, she just worked on intuition.

we're kind of playing with the timeline, but the basic idea is she sees Something in jaykit that makes her think, "yeah, he should be a seer."

she's really drawing on the Stories of being chosen, because she was chosen fairly late and in an atypical way. leafpool's first memory is being chosen, and obviously mothwing and leafpool are very close, so that's going to influence her the most.

but from mothwing's perspective, there's no real rhyme or reason to how to choose a seer. the three seers she trained with (yellowstorm, spottedleaf, and leafpool) are all very different, and she's different for them. so being mothwing, she's feels like it's about time to take an apprentice, and she's looking for qualities she thinks will be good in a seer.

since she's very close with the three, she knows them all well, even as lil bb kits. hollykit and jaykit are obviously and clearly the smartest (sorry lionkit), and so it's kind of just hoping she makes a good choice.

mothwing's experiences with being a seer are complicated, but she looks at the clanborne seers she knows, and they're mostly happy. she doesn't really see much of leafpool's internal struggle, because they're both kids and mothwing has her own problems to work through.

so she kind of wants an Archetypical Good Seer. she just doesn't know what that means, so she chooses jaykit.

some metaphysics and theological ramblings under the cut, if you want to preserve the ambiguity of starclan. mostly me doing some character analysis of mothwing, but also talk bout The Realness of StarClan.

i've been kind of vague with how starclan works.

mothwing's interesting because she spends a lot of time...almost having a connection to starclan, but at the same time, it's not the same way others do. she doesn't have clear dreams of ancestors from days past, she never knows what's up with the sightstone, and it's really easy to connect her experience of starclan as just a nightmare.

starclan has two moments of "okay, you can't really ignore that they Did a Thing": the first is in yellowstorm's piece with the sightstone (something i swear i haven't forgotten about), and the second is when leafpaw and mothpaw find the moonpool.

both of those exist as firm evidence because i needed certain things to happen in a certain way. and because well. it's supposed to be ambiguous and vague and Not Clear. that's just how i like to do things.

so. mothwing. she ties her spirituality in with her brother, yeah? she sort of...he's the one who fits into riverclan. she thinks of herself as being closer to her mother, in a lot of ways.

She pulled them each in. Mothpaw couldn't hear what she told Hawkpaw, but she wrapped her tail around Mothpaw and whispered, "I love you more than the moon and sun."

i liked this bit because...mothpaw doesn't assume sasha is telling them both the same thing. she kind of assumes her relationship with sasha is Unique and Different and Not Like Hawkpaw.

and so we get "i love you" as this connection to not being a clan cat that comes up again when she tells leafpool she loves her, after the kits are born. she repeats a clan approved blessing, but then she ties things back to her mother.

mothwing connects a lot of her spirituality to sasha and loner ideas. i didn't want to set up a lot of ideas that i couldn't follow through with in 3-4k words, so i focused on the idea of the fox and the cat. both clever creatures, caught in this endless chase. i think, where clan cats think of lions and tigers and leopards, of their ancestors as powerful creatures, loners don't.

they know they survive because they are small and fast and clever, not because they are strong and powerful.

so in the fox and the cat, which is mostly an allegory for death, you have this endless chase. the fox chases the cat, and that never changes, so it's not quite an afterlife story, but it has the same idea.

mothwing takes this particular story to heart, because she spends a lot of time building relationships and chasing after people she can't keep. she loses tadpole, sasha, hawkfrost, leafpool, and jaypaw. her brothers both die, but the others are still alive, she just can't be with them.

so for mothwing, death isn't really big barrier in her life. she doesn't want to talk to hawkfrost, and while tadpole definitely impacts her, it's much more about her relationship with hawkfrost than actual guilt over tadpole.

instead, it's clan rules and life that's keeping her from sasha, leafpool, jaypaw, and to a lesser extent, hollyleaf and lionblaze.

but my point here is supposed to be about starclan, not mothwing.

starclan is taught to her kind of as this series of deals. open your ears and they will tell you things: well, mothwing is listening, and they're not speaking.

she has some kind of connection with them as a kit, but does she? heck, kids dream of weird stuff all the time. it's not hard for a bit of imagination to start connecting false dots, and of course spottedleaf would leap on those.

i didn't want to tip my hand in spottedleaf's piece, but yeah! hawk is trying to manipulate the situation. he's just a kit, and the circumstances are different, but he definitely internally takes credit for it, and he tells her about it.

so this one thing, this one tether of belief: they chose me, they are not silent; that gets broken.

does starclan have an impact on her? when she gets a message via leafpaw, she traces it back to kithood stories, and this time, it's a riverclan story. it's nearly forgotten, even though the idea of the moon and the river is very fundamental to riverclan, and moth would have been inundated by stories as a kit.

so like. starclan could have given mothwing a sign. could have sent one that made her think she should pick jaykit.

but both yellowstorm and spottedleaf present choosing as intuition, not a tangible sign. it's one and the same in their minds, but from an external perspective, maybe they're just aware of the needs of the clan(s).

all of this is to say: it's up for interpretation whether starclan could have given mothwing a sign, and beyond that, it's up for interpretation whether or not they even would send her one.

i don't really want to come down conclusively on this, but there's not a wrong reading of it. i was deliberate about not including a specific answer.

maybe starclan is real, maybe not. i don't know what happens in oots but there's a reason all of the oots medicine cats are skipped. (apologies, flametail. you have an interesting story that won't get told.)

we also aren't getting to the broken code, we're stopping with alderheart in avos. because i don't want to answer the reality of starclan, i want reading stolag to feel like i felt reading tpb: you can see these tangible effects. bluestar comes back to life after being dead. fireheart has prophetic dreams.

but like, i had several dreams that came true as a kid. it doesn't mean there was someone nudging me to know what the future is.

and basically every omen is super, super hazy. i firmly believe we should have more omens instead of prophecies, because they're more interesting. and vague. what's the difference between an omen and an imagination? it's never explored, which is a shame.

would've been cool to show that in leafpool and/or jayfeather's training, considering they're both said to have a connection to starclan.

in summary (again): starclan is a grey area.

#ask #anon #essay #stolag #iaffl #mothwing #mine #txt

9 notes · View notes

solange-lol · 4 years ago

Text

because you gave me a shot (and its been a long time since someone gave me a shot)

words: 2,552

solangelo week day 3: fantasy

read on ao3

When Nico asks Will to go to homecoming with him, he wasn’t expecting a yes.

Sure, they had a thing. They were friends, no more than that, but they were definitely closer than your average two friends. Maybe they were just comfortable with each other, or maybe it was because of Nico’s massive crush on Will that he may or may not reciprocate.

To each their own, though.

Nico wasn’t going to ask him out, originally. Honestly, he wasn’t even sure that he wanted to go to homecoming himself, much less with the boy he had liked for years, (that is, if Will said yes.)

If Piper and Annabeth hadn’t brought it up during lunch, he probably wouldn’t have asked Will at all.

They’re talking casually as they do during their shared lunch period. It’s no different from your normal Friday, although Nico can definitely see Piper and Annabeth sharing some pointed looks with each other every time he and Will got into another deep conversation.

(By deep conversation, he means he would go off about something and Will would sit there and nod. He never seemed upset about it though, and he once told Nico that he liked to hear him talk about the things he was passionate about, so Nico never stopped.)

The moment the two bring up the homecoming dance that night, though, Nico knows he’s being set up.

He doesn’t partake in the conversation at first, hoping that if he keeps quiet and doesn’t give his opinion about Annabeth and Piper’s dresses that they’ll drop the subject, but he gets no such luck.

“So,” Annabeth says, crossing her legs. “Are you going tonight, Will?”

Will looks up from his sandwich in surprise.

“Um, I don’t know. I don’t really know who’s going, so I don’t know if I have any reason to,” he explains.

Nico knows what’s coming next without even hearing Piper start talking.

“Really? Because Nico-”

“Do you want to go to homecoming with me?” Nico asks before she can even finish. If he’s going to ask out Will, he’s not letting Piper do it for him.

“With us, I mean, ‘cuz we’re going as a group, but, like, with me with the group,” he continues rambling out an explanation, trying to ignore the way his heart had leaped into his throat. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Annabeth and Piper rolling their eyes at him.

“Oh,” Will blinks. “Yeah, okay. I’d like that.”

“Okay,” Nico says. “Okay, cool. Sounds good. I’ll, uh, text you tonight, then.” He can feel heat creeping into cheeks, and does his best to push it away. He was not expecting a yes after that mess of an invitation and holy shit Annabeth and Piper that high five was not subtle.

“Okay,” Will nods.

Before Nico can stutter out anything else embarrassing, the lunch bell rings, saving him. He says his goodbyes to Will and the girls quickly before making his way to his art class. Even with the loud, overlapping conversations and crowded space that the hallway brings, he’s still replaying the conversation in his head.

Nico enters the studio a little bit pinker, and a little bit more confident in himself.

⁠—

Nearly three hours into the dance, Will still hasn’t shown up. No, text, no apology. Not even an excuse as to why he stood Nico up.

Nothing.

It was too good to be true. He should have known.

Nico curses at himself internally. He should have known. Just when he felt like he finally did something right, the universe reminds him that everyone in the world is against him once again. As much as he wants to keep denying that Will didn’t stand him up, he did.

And it fucking hurts. A lot.

Maybe it wouldn’t have bothered him as much if Will didn’t act so genuinely excited to go to homecoming with Nico. If he didn’t want to go, or only said yes out of pity, he could have at least hinted to Nico that he wasn’t going to show up.

All day though, Will kept giving him that look; the look that he saved just for Nico. And as they were leaving their chemistry class that they had together last period, Will had told him “see you tonight!” before splitting off to their respective study halls.

For the first few hours, Nico tried to act like it was something besides him that caused it. Maybe a family emergency, or maybe he was too nervous to dance with another boy in front of the school (if he even was planning on dancing with Nico that was.) But wouldn’t he have sent Nico a text, or said no in the first place if that was the case? Even Will had sent him a shitty excuse, Nico still probably would have accepted it over whatever this feeling was.

Yeah, no. By the third hour and still no word from Will, he wasn’t going to keep lying to himself. This was him being stood up.

It just sucks, because Nico thought they had something. For once in his life, he really thought someone was giving him a shot, and yet. Which meant he was probably making up anything between him and Will because he just wanted it so badly, and Will was too nice to say no.

He’s right back at square one.

No, he’s been at square one the entire time.

That hurts too.

Nico is still moping by himself at the table like he has been for the entirety of the dance when, out of all people, Reyna out of all people comes out and grabs his arm. He didn’t even know she was here.

“Come on,” she says. “We’re dancing.”

Usually, Reyna can get Nico to do anything, but the last thing he wants to do right now is dance.

(That part sucks too. The situation has essentially ruined his first homecoming, which he should be upset about. He isn’t, though. Because it’s Will , and because Nico is tired, and he can never be mad at Will even when he isn’t tired.)

He groans, pulling his arm away from her. “No, we’re not.”

“Nico,” Reyna says, pulling at his arm again. “You don’t need a dance partner to dance. Now come on.”

Maybe he’s considering her point, or maybe Nico just realizes this isn’t a battle he’s going to win, so he stands up.

Nico follows Reyna out onto the dance floor. The majority of their student body is already swarmed together. It’s sweaty, and crowded, and makes Nico feel weirdly embarrassed like he doesn’t belong in this group.

He’s about to tell Reyna he’s going back to sit down, but before he can escape, she pulls him into a smaller group of their friends off to the side. It’s still connected to the bigger crowd, but they’re in a kind of circle and everyone’s dancing, and it feels okay.

“See? This isn’t so bad?” she elbows Nico, who rolls his eyes. She’s right though. It’s actually kind of fun. None of them are particularly good dancers, but nobody is really paying attention to each other either. Everyone is doing their own thing.

A new song starts, and it’s one Nico recognizes from his childhood. Everyone in the room does too, and immediately more people come out to the center of the gym. The dancing gets faster paced, and the energy builds until its exhilarating.

At some point, their circle gets bigger, and Nico finds himself pushed more into the center of it. His first reaction is to get the heck outta there, but after a few seconds, the energy is back, and he just lets go.

Lets go of Will. Lets go of the school. Lets go of everyone around him, saying his name (he did not know this many people knew who he was.)

Lets go of the night altogether and just lets himself exist .

And somehow, every bad feeling he previously had is gone. It’s all replaced with the absolute exhilaration and genuine happiness to be there.

The song ends, replaced by the start of a slow one. Thankfully, Nico doesn’t feel his heart sink like it had for the past 3 hours every time he watched couples group together. Instead, he just tales the minute to breathe.

To his surprise, Annabeth makes her way over. She’s wearing a blueish gray dress that stops right above her knees, the color matching with her boyfriend, Percy’s tie.

“I’m sorry for what happened at lunch,” she tells him. They’re not even that close, and she’s at least half a foot taller than him, but she still grabs his arm as if he’s her date instead. “I always think about how long I waited for Percy to ask me out, and I didn’t want you two to have to sit through that weird gray area, but it wasn’t what I thought it was.”

Nico shrugs. “Yeah, well,” he says vaguely, then “It’s okay.” Because it is. He honestly feels the best he’s felt all day in this moment.

She grins, raising her eyebrows slightly. “I saw you dancing. Will doesn’t know what he’s missing,” she says, and it causes heat to immediately rush to his face.

Before he can respond, though, his eyes catch something (more like someone.)

Will Solace is making his way across the gym floor to Nico.

Annabeth notices too, patting Nico’s arm before returning to Percy and the others. Meanwhile, his eyes are still trained on the approaching boy.

“Looks like I missed a lot,” Will says softly. He must have come in at the tail end of the song, which means he saw Nico, proving what Annabeth said.

Nico’s still so shocked by him, and his presence even after 3 hours, and the soft blue button up that matches his eyes that he’s paired with a navy blue flowered tie. His hair is slightly styled, but the curls still come through around his ears and in front of his eyes. It’s too much, and yet he can’t take his eyes off of Will.

He’s here. For Nico.

“The dance started three hours ago,” Nico finally says, because that’s the only thing he can say. He wants an explanation, wants a reason to forgive Will.

“I know, and I’m sorry. My family is crazy, and there’s only one car, and my mom was in between gigs and my siblings were being annoying, and none of that matters because I am so, so sorry.”

“You could have texted,” Nico responds in an attempt to ignore the feeling, and he notices how hurt he sounds. He is hurt, and he’s scared for whatever excuse is to come next.

“I cracked my phone earlier on my way out of school, and I don’t have your number memorized, so I couldn’t reach you,” he fishes said phone out of his pocket and shows it to Nico. It is indeed cracked, and bad enough that it won’t turn on. It almost makes Nico laugh, the way he brought it just to prove himself. As if he needed to prove himself to Nico.

“I’m really sorry about being so late,” he continues, and he sounds so desperate it tugs at Nico’s chest. He’s still looking at Nico right in the eye. They’re so dark in the dance lighting they almost look black, but he can see the tiny bit of blue reflecting in the light that is searching, begging for his forgiveness on this.

“You’re going to need to get your phone fixed at some point,” Nico smiles slightly. “I’m better at texting than talking to your face.”

“Oh yeah?” Will raises his eyebrow, and he’s still searching Nico’s face even though they both know exactly what's going on right now. “Why’s that?”

“Shut up,” Nico shoves him slightly, but Will holds onto his arm, and pulls him in close.

“So am I forgiven?” he asks as they begin to dance together slowly. He says it in a way that Nico can’t tell if he’s joking or being serious, but the answer is obvious.

“Yeah,” Nico nods against Will’s chest. (He’s taller than Nico, too. Basically everyone in the school is.) “Yeah, you’re forgiven.”

And maybe Reyna is right. Maybe he doesn’t need a dance partner to dance.

But it’s so much better with one.

⁠—

The two of them are sitting outside the school together after the dance winds down. They’re both waiting for their rides. It’s like a cruel race to see who gets here faster: Nico’s neglective dad (honestly, his stepmom is probably the one coming) or Will’s mom who works late night gigs.

At least it gives them more time together though before they’re separated for the weekend.

(Nico is really praying Will gets his phone fixed at some point over the weekend so they can text or meet up. He doesn’t know if he can wait until Monday morning to see Will again.)

They’re holding hands, too. Will had grabbed Nico’s hand after they sat back down after their dance together and hasn’t let go since.

“Thank you for waiting for me,” Will says, taking Nico by surprise. (There’s been a lot of surprises tonight.)

“I wasn’t expecting you to,” he continues, squeezing Nico’s hand softly. “When I realized I was going to be late, really late, I thought you were going to leave. And that I blew my one shot at this.”

He squeezes Nico’s hand again, not quite making eye contact with him, but he shifts a little closer so their thighs are touching. Nico feels his heart leap into his throat.

“I didn’t want to,” he admits. “I kind of spiraled a bit, but Reyna and the others were able to drag me out of it. It never crossed my mind to leave before then, though. I guess part of me just knew, or was just really, really hoping you would show up.”

“And then I did,” Will grins cheesily, finally making eye contact with him, and Nico almost forgets how to speak as Will’s face inches closer to his

“And then you did,” he agrees after a second.

“I’m glad you stuck around.”

Nico swallows. “Me too,” he says. It’s barely a whisper, and Will wouldn’t have been able to hear him if their lips weren’t an inch apart.

Will glances down, then back up to Nico. “Since you asked me to homecoming,” he starts, his eyes flickering back down for a moment. “Can I ask to kiss you?”

Nico’s chest swells. “You don’t have to ask,” he says before closing the distance between them.

Will shifts slightly, kissing him deeper. Nico’s hands come up to rest on his cheeks, then slide up, running through his hair. He has no idea what he’s doing, but it feels right.

And sure, they’re on a bench outside of their high school, where literally anyone or their parents could see them, but none of that matters when Will pulls back after a minute, his eyes wide and lips slightly pinker.

“I’m really glad you stuck around,” he says, and Nico laughs slightly before pulling him back in.

Yeah, despite the negative feelings that the night started out with, it was worth it to be able to do this.

⁠—

solangelo tag list (message to be added/removed)

@unicornsgomooo @anxiouswinter @soulangelou @number-of-fucks-i-give-0 @underworldystuff @theeloquentsnake @solangelover@thefandomsaretakingover @internallyexplodingrainbows @hairasuntouchedaspartoftheamazon @motivatedcryptidtamer @emilyfairchild @wherethewildthingsare-nt @hetapeep41 @blavk-dahlia

#solangelo #nico di angelo #will solace #pjo #heros of olympus #sw #solangelo week #solangeloweek2020 #liz writes.com

80 notes · View notes

jarienn972 · 4 years ago

Text

Weathering the Storm - Part Three

When I started writing this story months ago, I had the events all plotted out and honestly planned to finish writing it over the course of a few weeks. Unfortunately, the stresses of real life got in the way and I all but abandoned writing for a while. I'm finally getting back to a place where I can form complete, coherent sentences again so I'm getting a few new chapters out for my WIP stories. In this chapter, we're picking up from Emma's POV again as she tries to figure out why Killian has yet to return or contact her amidst the severe thunderstorms pounding Storybrooke.

Since it’s been quite a while since the last chapter was posted, you can catch up here on Tumblr - Part 1 Part 2 All 3 parts are also available on AO3 and FF.net

Was this storm ever going to end? Emma found herself wondering as she silently cursed the rain that continued to pelt Main Street. The typically bustling street itself was already looking more akin to a swollen creek than a roadway as the storm drains overflowed. Mini rivers of rainwater gushed along the curbs in search of an outlet while they flowed towards the harbor.

The power had flickered a few times but still wasn't coming back on. She figured there were likely some lines down around town due to the strong wind gusts or maybe even a blown transformer somewhere that overloaded the grid. Anything was possible with the severely outdated infrastructure around here. They really needed to conjure some upgraded utility systems in Storybrooke but no one ever seemed to get around to it.

A thought crossed her mind about the possibility of controlling the weather with her magic before she sighed somberly and closed the blinds covering the station's front window. No use sitting out here watching the rain falling, she thought as she made the short stroll back to her office determined to try reaching Killian, either by phone or over the radio. Maybe it wasn't raining as bad on the other side of town…?

Her backside had barely settled onto her chair when the vibration of her cell phone on the desktop startled her. She spun about and snatched it up in hopes that she'd see her husband's name on the screen. Her excitement immediately diminished when she noticed that it was her father calling instead.

"Hi, Dad," she answered, trying to disguise the disappointment in her voice. "What's up? Are you staying dry out there on the farm?"

"Very funny…," he groaned over the crackling connection. "We've got more than an inch of water in the barn and a lake where the garden should be, but that's not why I'm calling. Were either of you out patrolling on County Highway 2?"

"Killian was headed out to Zelena's place earlier. Somebody threw a brick through her living room window so he went out to get her statement and see if it might have been related to the recent string of vandalism around town. He left here about two hours or so ago, maybe a little longer… Why do you ask?"

"Because our favorite melodramatic dwarf just stopped by here to say that he drove by the cruiser out there while on his way into town. He said it was parked on the side of the highway and appeared to be running, but he didn't see anyone in it. Of course, we are talking about Leroy so he could have been exaggerating... But since this seemed to have bothered him enough to stop here and tell me about it - although not enough to get out and take an actual look at the cruiser - it got me a little concerned, so I figured I should check with you…" David knew he was rambling but he also noticed Emma's hesitation before replying.

"I've been trying to reach Killian but he hasn't answered. I was actually hoping it was him when you called…"

"You've tried the radio?"

"Of course, I have," she snapped back in frustration, but she tempered her ire before continuing. "I figured he got stuck out at Zelena's. With the power out all over town and the already crappy cell phone service out there, he might not have been able to call…" But then why would the cruiser be out on the side of the highway running? "Did Leroy happen to say how long ago he saw the car?"

"Just a few minutes ago. Maybe ten? Fifteen?" David replied. "Look, I can drive out there and see what's going on if you'd like…"

"No, Dad. I'll go check it out."

"Emma, my truck will handle these flooded roads better than that little Bug of yours."

"I wasn't planning on driving," she informed him as she hurried to collect her still-damp leather jacket. "I'll poof out there and take a look. Hopefully I'll be able to see what's going on but I could still use your help. Could you come here to the station? Henry's here with me waiting out the storm since the station generator at least gives us some lights. He might need a ride home…"

"Why don't I just stay there at the station? I could help field any calls that might come in…"

"Dad…"

"No arguments. I'm volunteering," he insisted.

"Okay, okay… I'll let Henry know you're coming. Thanks for the help."

"That's what family is for. Now get out there and see what's going on with the cruiser and that husband of yours."

David disconnected the call as Emma tugged on her jacket. She pocketed her phone, not particularly keen on going back out into this lousy storm but she had to find out why Leroy saw the cruiser parked on the side of the road but no Killian inside it. First though, she needed to tell Henry she was leaving and before she could even take a step towards the break room, she spied her son rounding the corner.

Sometimes this kid really did have a sixth sense she didn't fully understand.

"Who was that you were talking to? Was it Killian?" he asked as he approached.

"No, it was David. I have to head out to investigate something that just came up. He's coming here to help man the office until either Killian or I get back."

"Must be something pretty serious for you to go out again in this weather…"

"I honestly don't know yet," she answered, trying to be as vague as possible so the boy wouldn't worry. "That's why I'm going to go check it out. Just stay here and stay inside, even if the rain lets up."

"The only place I'd even think about going right now would be Granny's. I'm getting pretty hungry and at least she could throw together a sandwich…"

"You can raid my snack drawer," she chuckled. "I'm not going to worry about you spoiling your dinner tonight."

"Okay! Good luck with your investigation."

"Thanks, kid. I've got a feeling I'm going to need it…" she lamented as she gave a slight flick of her wrist and vanished in a puff of grey smoke.

**********

Brow knitted in a blend of confusion and apprehension, she approached the vehicle with caution. It might be the middle of nowhere, in the middle of a thunderstorm, but this was still Storybrooke. She'd learned the hard way that anything could happen here at any time so a Savior-Sheriff had to be prepared. While she didn't see anything out of the ordinary through the rear window, aside from the fact there were no visible heads above the seats, she wasn't going to rush.

"Killian?" she called out as she inched towards the car, sloshing through puddles that were soaking through her boots. If she'd come all the way out here to find him curled up sleeping in the back seat of the cruiser…

Only she found the back seat empty once she finally had a view through the side window and the front seat was unoccupied as well. A quick glance through the driver's side window revealed the keys in the ignition as expected but it also appeared that the dash camera had been turned on. So, this was a traffic stop? Then where in the hell was her husband?

Her first instinct was to yank open the driver's side door and climb inside but her instincts led her to take a moment and do a precursory inspection of the scene first. While the rain would have washed away any tire tracks or footprints, her gut told her that there might be other clues and it didn't take long for her to locate the first one when the toe of her boot kicked something out of a puddle next to the front tire.

Something that looked strangely like a cell phone.

She discarded the currently useless umbrella as she stooped to retrieve the phone and winced as she sliced open the pad of her thumb on a sliver of shattered glass. She wasn't surprised to find that the device was dead, which could have resulted from it hitting the ground, but the damage was definitely hastened by the rain. Killian must have dropped it. That's why he wasn't answering the calls. It just didn't explain his disappearance.

Placing the useless phone onto the hood of the cruiser, she continued her survey of the area and walked around to the front of the car. She noted that the passenger side tire was flat which provided another small clue. Trying to change a flat tire during a thunderstorm with one hand and a hook wouldn't have been a safe thing to do, but this small fact raised as many questions as it answered. She lifted her head and stared out at the expanse of dense forest that extended for miles on either side of the highway although she couldn't imagine that Killian would have been crazy enough to venture out there in this weather, even if it was in pursuit of a suspect.

No, there had to be some other explanation. Some important piece of this puzzle was missing, she thought as she tugged open the passenger side door of the car and flopped onto the seat, thankful to be out of the rain for even just a little while. Her eyes immediately went to the dashcam that, from outside of the car, had appeared to be recording. Up close, she could see that the Recording light was indeed illuminated although the LED display screen had turned off. She'd only had these things installed in the cruiser and in the Bug a few months ago so she wasn't entirely sure if the screen was in standby mode or if it was malfunctioning, but she was thankful that at least Killian had remembered to turn the thing on.

She fumbled with different buttons surrounding the screen for a few tense moments trying to figure out how to make it stop recording and switch to playback. She really should have read the whole manual when she put these in... There wasn't time to hunt through it right now but somehow, she managed to get it working. As the screen lit up, the grainy, black and white display showed that there was two hours and sixteen minutes of footage, a lot more elapsed time than a traffic stop should have taken. It was also right about the time that the storm front would have reached Storybrooke.

An eerie sense of dread washed over her as she pressed the Play button and the digital replay opened to a view of a parked, dark-colored sedan. She'd have to see the footage on a bigger screen to make out more of the detail but it appeared to be a Toyota. She was just happy that she could make out the digits in the license plate even if she'd have to take a guess on the state. It definitely wasn't a Maine or Massachusetts tag. She'd be able to recognize either of those but hazarding a guess, she thought it was probably New Hampshire.

There was no sound to accompany the video so there was no way for her to know exactly what was being said as she watched the image of Killian walking casually up to the driver's window of the stopped sedan. She could see that there was a short conversation before Killian took a step backward and then suddenly staggered out of the camera's view. Emma's breath hitched in her throat as a man appeared at the passenger side of the dark sedan, climbing into the vehicle just before its engine started up, the driver leaned out of the window, brandishing what looked like a gun for a few seconds, and then the car peeled away and disappeared down the lonely highway.

What the hell did I just watch? The feed was too blurry for her to get a good view of the driver and she had only a few fleeting glimpses of the other suspect's profile. Had they shot out the front tire? It seemed pretty likely but what had caused Killian to fall out of the frame? Why hadn't he called this in?

Had they shot him?

She fast-forwarded the footage a few minutes ahead to see an image of Killian stumbling awkwardly back toward the cruiser and then slumping against the front end. His dark clothing may have obscured any overt signs of injury but the distressed expression on his face revealed all she needed to know. He was hurt and she had no way of knowing how severely based on the video.

He slid out of the camera's range again and she continued to press the fast-forward button until she saw his hook catch onto the void between the hood and the frame and his face appeared in front of the camera. He looked unsteady on his feet, his features scrunched in agony. At one point, he looked directly into the camera, eyes pleading for help that wasn't coming. And then he pushed himself away from the car and staggered out of the camera's line of sight again. She forwarded all the way to the end of the feed and he didn't reappear.

"Oh, god, Killian… Where are you?" she asked aloud, not that she expected anyone to hear her.

He had to have been shot. It was the only thing that made any sense, but everything had happened so fast... Why hadn't he called for help? Had he broken his phone during the altercation or had he dropped it later because his hand was too shaky? Why didn't he get in the car and use the radio? Even if he hadn't reached her at the station, he could have contacted the State Police over the emergency channel. Had he not remembered how to do it or which channel he was supposed to use? She couldn't even imagine what must have been going through his mind but if it was anything like the panic she was experiencing just watching this on replay, she wasn't even sure if she could recall which channel was the emergency one.

She grabbed the radio's microphone from its cradle and depressed the button on the side, hoping that her dad had arrived at the Sheriff station by now. She was going to need his assistance.

"David, are you there? Over." She released the button and waited impatiently for his response.

"Emma - I'm here," he replied after a few short seconds. "Did you find anything out there? Over."

"The cruiser, yes. Killian - no." Her response was blunt and she allowed enough of a pause for David to know she was done with the formal radio etiquette.

"Damn…" was the first response she heard before David realized he'd pushed down on the button too soon. "Any indication of what happened?"

"Thankfully, Killian remembered to turn on the dashcam. He made a traffic stop and apparently, there was an altercation. I'm going to need you to call the State Police and see if they can run a plate for us while our systems are down."

"Sure. Just give me the tag number. And just what do you mean by altercation?"

She dodged his question and provided just the necessary facts. "Vehicle is a dark sedan, likely a recent-model Toyota. Plate is New Hampshire, I think. J73 422."

David knew instinctively that something must be wrong for her to avoid his question but he didn't press her for it. "Got it. Should we have them put out an All Points for the car? If so, what reason are we giving them?"

"Possible officer-involved shooting," she replied as matter-of-factly as her current state of mind would allow. She could picture the look on her father's face right now though as he processed her statement.

"Can you repeat that?" his voice begged over the tinny radio speaker.

"It looks like the driver may have shot Killian but I can't verify that until I find him, and that's what I need to do… Have them put out an APB for the vehicle which was occupied by two men. Unfortunately, I don't have a better description. The dashcam video screen is just too small and too fuzzy."

"Will do, Emma. Where do you think he went? There's a lot of forest out there…"

"But there's only one farmhouse. I think he would have headed towards Zelena's place."

"It's not very far but why would he leave the cruiser behind and go on foot if he'd been shot?"

"The suspects shot out the front tire. His phone's shattered and I have no idea why he didn't try to radio for help. I just know that he'd try his damnedest to reach the closest place he thought he could get help."

"I'll put the call in to the State Police. You go find your husband and Henry and I will man the fort here. Your mother sent a three course meal and a thermos of hot cocoa with cinnamon with me so we're well provisioned until we know what's going on."

"Thanks," she replied, managing a weak smile as she replaced the microphone into the cradle on the side of the radio and reached over to turn off the cruiser's engine. She slipped the keys into her pocket figuring she'd worry about retrieving the vehicle later. She didn't need a car to reach the former Wicked Witch's farmhouse.

#cs ff #cs fanfic #cs canon divergence #captain swan ff #weathering the storm #killian whump #although not much in this chapter #but yes - I finally got it updated!

14 notes · View notes

doitwritenow · 5 years ago

Note

Hey, you still up for the fandom meme thing xD? How about A, P, and Z? P.S. I love your stories and works 👏👏👏

Ssksjsks thank you! I am so glad you like

---

A: Oh-ho current OTPs... well there’s my Ironstrange boys, of course. I love the dynamic between them, the way their proclivities match each other’s vulnerabilities. I love the situations canon presents for them (the fourteen million futures; meetings around and through canon stories; the scientist drawn to magic and the scientist who makes his own--and the fact that that phrase can mean both of them interchangeably!) and I love to ignore those situations, on occasion. I enjoy the way insult and attitude expose the nuance of emotion between them, ranging from adoration to desolation. I just really love them okay.

I also Ship-with-a-capital-S Castiel and Dean (Spn). There’s a reason that pairing’s so popular! The intense power of Castiel’s inhumanness gives him strength, but also sort of innocence when it comes to the ways of Earth and emotion. I really like how that matches up with Dean’s raw humanity--even as the show (somewhat awkwardly, but we all know you can’t trust canon) explores questions of what it means to be human and what it takes to be good.

Last one I promise--I adore Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian from their representations in MDZS and the Untamed. This was the first international fandom I really got into, and the pairing comes from a canon love story in the book the story comes from. Of course, it’s undermined on screen because of China’s censorship laws, but that almost makes it more appealing--because there’s so much subtext! I love the pairing of the lonely, broken prince drawn to a true, deep love for the wild hero of war and morality, the hero who turns to darkness, away from his world and the prince. Until the two are drawn back together for a new quest--and a second chance they didn’t know they’d get. It’s great.

---

P: INVENT A RANDOM AU! ALRIGHTY THEN. How about an AU where the magic of a society is sort of worked into glass. And the people who use magic weave it into blown-glass figures called golems, which can then move around. To make any old figure into a golem you have to connect it to one of your five senses, and that connects you with it as well. Eg. a golem you're connected to via sight allows you to see through its eyes (if you create it with a pair).

But, if the golem is destroyed, you lose the corresponding sense. It stops working. So there's strategy involved; if you create a golem to simply be a soldier or defender, you may want to connect it to your sense of smell or taste instead of hearing or sight. But there's more! Because it's never enough with me apparently! The different properties of glass determine different characteristics of a golem.

> Reflective-ness gives the golem soul and self-awareness almost, making it more alive. However, the more reflective, the harder it is for you to get it to do what you want.

> Color gives the golem more energy and keeps it active longer, but much more easily controlled by other glassblowers/people who create golems. More on control later.

> Transparency gives a longer reach between glassblower and golem that the golem will still respond to changing orders. But transparency is incompatible with reflectivity, and the two cancel each other out if you try to build them into one figure.

So! When you create a golem you give it one of your senses and you give it a Purpose or an Order, which is then its sole point in life. When it completes that order, it dissolves with no affect to its creator. If you locate a golem using the sense it is connected to, you can control it and "use" its creator’s sense. So like, if you SAW a SIGHT golem, you would be able to SEE through its creator’s eyes.

SO YEAH, AU where the magic’s super weird and aesthetic because that’s how I roll.

---

Z: Uhm... idk what to do for this one so I’ll just drabble something Ironstrangey.

“How did you know?”

Stephen jerked his head up, spinning in his chair toward the source of the voice. One Tony Stark glared back at him, aura sparking with furious ruby colors, though Stephen didn’t think they were directed at him, this time.

Monday morning had come early, and Stephen had been drifting towards slumber all day: at breakfast, on the subway, against his internship’s doorway, and again now. But the anxious anger of Tony’s aura left no room for drowsiness.

The young man looked tired, too, at least physically, which was likely Stephen’s fault. His aura was duller, and he sported drifting shadows beneath his eyes and what looked like a bruise along his jawbone. Had he started Saturday night hacking into the hospital’s records, or had he waited until Sunday?

“Did you find them?” Stephen asked, pivoting to fully face Stark.

“Find what?” Tony demanded. “That there was another car? Which killed my parents and left the scene before it could be identified, leaving unknown or accidental motive? You mean that? That you somehow know?” His hands gesticulated wildly, his eyes wide with somewhat desperate confusion.

“I wasn’t driving the other car or anything, if that’s what you mean,” Stephen said, forcibly staring Tony down.

The other man didn’t budge. “Why should I believe you? How did you know? Why would you tell me?” he snarled, leaning closer, his hands braced against the blacktop table. The proximity of his aura prickled against Stephen’s skin, bringing involuntary unease up his throat, but Stephen refused to shrink away.

“Because I want to help you find who was in that car,” he snarled back.

Wait.

Tony pulled back.

What?

“What?” demanded Stark, his face a mix between suspicious and perplexed. It was all Stephen could do not to mimic the expression.

Tony’s face dropped to flatness after a flash, however, and so did his voice; “no you don’t.”

You’re right. No I don’t!

But going back on the story now would only make the man more suspicious. “I do. And I think you need help, too.”

Although going along with the story would tie him into something long and intricate and not at all what he could afford to be doing—

“How can you help me?” Tony demanded, his aura flashing with what could have been disbelief.

Well, at least he hadn’t dismissed Stephen outright.

No, wrong; damn, he hadn’t dismissed Stephen outright.

Desperately trying to decide if that was a good or bad thing, Stephen vaguely recalled that Tony had asked him a question. “You’d be surprised,” he said. He forced himself to focus on Tony’s face and not his shifting cobalt aura.

And to his utter shock, the face crumpled. Just slightly, but it was accentuated by the sudden pang of sepia—which Stephen took to mean brokenness in this instance—in the colors around the man. “I’ve had enough surprises,” Tony murmured, slumping into his seat and turning his gaze away. His spine curved enough that Stephen could see the sharp edges of his vertebrae.

Stephen swallowed and spun towards the desk himself. Unconsciously, he matched Tony’s posture, still watching him out of the corner of his eye. The man likely wouldn’t pursue conversation again.

Say something.

Good; maybe he’d forget Stephen’s instinctual offer. Maybe he wouldn’t realize that Stephen had never answered the ‘how do you know?’

Say something.

Maybe now Stephen could finally be left alone. Perhaps his little slip hadn’t been as catastrophic as he’d thought.

“Does Peter know?”

What the hell, Stephen Strange.

Tony glanced at him sharply. “You fucking told the kid—yeah, real great move there, just drop that on the nine-year-old and haul ass. Very brave.”

Stephen didn’t flinch. “I didn’t tell him what happened. I thought it was better that way.”

A sigh. “Whatever.”

---

There we go! Hope that was fun--it was fun for me. Thanks for asking!!!

19 notes · View notes

rosedavid · 5 years ago

Note

Hi idk if you are looking for fic requests but I always wanted to read a fic of when cyrus told buffy he liked tj and I felt like u would be a good writer for this I've read a bunch of your fics and love them!

hi!! thank you so much for your support!

…

For the past couple of weeks, Cyrus hasn’t been acting like himself. To most people, Cyrus probably appears like his boisterous, joking, self. After all, he still laughs at jokes, pays rapt attention in class, and talks a mile a minute. But Buffy’s known Cyrus for practically their entire lives. She can tell that there’s something a bit off with him.

His eyes don’t match the smiles on his face. Normally, his eyes will be glistening with mirth and happiness, but now Buffy doesn’t notice the smile quite reaching his eyes. He laughs, but the laughs are more robotic and forced than the usual outburst of giggles. He sometimes cuts his ramblings off short and just stares off into the distance for a second before continuing as if nothing happened.

It doesn’t take Buffy much brain power to put two and two together. Of course, she knows about the events of costume day. She knows that Kira’s somehow getting under TJ’s skin because there’s no way that TJ would have thought about ditching Cyrus before. She knew that Cyrus was really upset about the entire situation, but she didn’t realize exactly how deep it went until one day in the cafeteria.

“The chemistry test was brutal,” Cyrus sighs, burying his sorrows into his food. “I think I failed.”

“So, in ‘Cyrusese’, that means you got an -A?” Andi asks to confirm with a snicker. Beside her, Buffy joins in with a bark of laughter.

“Hey, this is a serious matter!” Cyrus complains. “I’m just saying that I think our chemistry teacher–”

Suddenly, he cuts off. His eyes widen and his expression drops into a cold, blank slate. His skin seems to pale in seconds, and he starts fidgeting with the long sleeves of his jacket. Buffy frowns, turning to see what caught his eye. Walking in through the entrance of the cafeteria is TJ Kippen, giggling with his new best friend Kira. Recently, none of them have seen him in the cafeteria. Today is the first time since the incident that they have. And Cyrus…Cyrus has this strange look on this face. It’s not anger or even jealousy really, more just disappointment. In that moment, Buffy truly starts to understand.

“Um…I forgot, I left something in my last class,” Cyrus mutters out of the blue, scrambling to pack up his bag.

“Cyrus–” Andi tries, but he just hurries faster, stuffing everything in his bag before getting up from the lunch table and scurrying out of the cafeteria.

As Cyrus hurries out, the two of them spot TJ watching him with a slight frown. Of course, this doesn’t last long; a few seconds later, Kira tugs at his sleeve with frustration, most likely to get his undying attention again. He simply smiles at her, following her to the lunch line.

“Should we…” Andi asks, motioning toward where Cyrus just left from.

Buffy nods, already preparing herself to follow him.

Knowing the special connection that Buffy and Cyrus have with this type of thing, Andi simply asks, “Make sure he’s okay?”

“I will.”

With that, Buffy gathers her things and gets up from the table herself. Although she isn’t quite sure where Cyrus went, she has an inkling. There’s this big oak tree in front of the school that Cyrus adores, and she has a feeling that he just wants to get away from everything right now.

Sure enough, she finds him there, back leaning up against the scratchy bark. His eyes are closed as if he’s relaxing, but his body remains tense. His backpack is haphazardly thrown off to the side somewhere, and he runs his hands over the top of the grass.

“You’re avoiding TJ,” Buffy says, plain and simple. Despite how easily Cyrus startles, he doesn’t seem surprised to hear Buffy’s voice. He must’ve figured at least one of them would chase after him, but she has a feeling he wishes it were someone else.

“I’m not,” Cyrus protests, but it’s weak.

Buffy sighs, going to sit beside him. She can’t understand how this is possibly comfortable. The bark digs into her back, and the grass tickles her skin. Still, she refuses to go anywhere until they talk this out because that’s what friends do.

“Have you two talked recently?”

Cyrus shrugs, “He’s been busy.”

“Yeah, busy with Kira,” Buffy mutters snidely under her breath.

Cyrus sits up slightly, eyes still downcast. He plucks a piece of grass out of the dirt and splits into miniscule pieces. “Maybe.”

“Why are you not more upset about this?”

“I was at first,” Cyrus admits. “I just…I realized that I don’t want to force TJ to do something he doesn’t want to. I don’t want to be a bad friend to him. If he likes Kira, then he likes her. I’m not going to get in the way of that.”

“Cyrus,” Buffy begins, grasping his shoulder tightly to get his attention. He looks up, dropping the grass pieces onto his pant leg. “It’s okay. You know that, right?”

“But it isn’t,” he disagrees, head hitting the trunk of the tree with a dull thud. Buffy winces at the sound. “I-I don’t know if I can do this again, Buffy. I just recently got over my crush on Jonah. I just feel like a broken record, sometimes.”

“Hey, we talked about this. You are not broken, you are no different. You’re amazing and caring toward everyone, even if they may not deserve it. You always see the good in people, Cyrus Goodman, and TJ would be blind not to see that.”

Cyrus chuckles softly, and his eyes begin to water. Buffy reaches over and wraps an arm around his shoulder. He gratefully sags into her side, head coming to rest in the crook of her neck. Everything out there is peaceful. The leaves rattle above them like echoes in the distance. Cars kick up pieces of gravel and rocks as they drive along the streets. The sun peaks through the branches, sending speckled patterns of light across them.

There’s so much more they both could say, and they know it. But this is enough.

“I love you, Buffy.”

“Love you too, Cy.”

#tyrus #andi mack #tyrus fanfic #tyrus fic #andi mack fanfic #andi mack fic #tj kippen #cyrus goodman #tj x cyrus #cyrus x tj #hurt/comfort #fanfiction #prompts #anwered

113 notes · View notes

ionlycareaboutyou · 4 years ago

Note

prompt: kind of a niche ship but could you write some richie n seth fluff pls? i love your fics!!✨

omg i love this ship. i’ve written them vaguely (richie/seth/stefon threesome fic) but never on their own? so this was a v fun challenge for me. i hope u like it, u’ve inspired me to write more for them!

cw for this being set in IT ch 2 canon, so eddie is like. dead and gone for good, unfortunately, and it is discussed. i picture this fic being set around 2017. i promise this fic isn’t just richie angst, there’s fluff! just gotta get through some sad parts first.

When he moved back to New York City, Richie felt like his 29-year-old self again. He still does sometimes. The NYC comedy scene and the LA one are distinctly different, despite all the NYC expats who move to LA to star in films or do voice acting or settle down and have a few kids. It didn’t feel right to go back, though. LA was all shine and sun, several layers of sky blue paint over decades worth of grime. At least NYC was honest in its grime for the most part. At least New Yorkers were able to joke about their greasy ass pizza and subway rats instead of all trying to be Instagram influencers.

The real truth was that Richie had friends in NYC. In LA, he had none. And what he needed was friends.

The funny thing about reconnecting with an old friend is that sometimes, even though it seems like a lot has changed, they’re still the same person, deep down.

Seth is still a workaholic--the same workaholic who Richie met back when he hosted SNL for the first time. He still stays up til 4 AM sometimes, drinking dark, bitter coffee for the caffeine rather than the taste, darting in and out of cubicles, asking if anything new has cropped up in the past few hours that’s monologue worthy. He still wears those ratty sweatshirts during the day and changes into suits for the evening. He does shave more consistently, Richie will give him that. He still laughs high pitched and loud when a joke really gets him, and he still laughs at his own jokes, even, stumbling through them sometimes with tears welling up in his eyes. He still loves to drink tequila and whiskey and anything really that brings heat to his cheeks and more of that laughter bubbling out of his chest, though he tells Richie he doesn’t drink as much as he used to--he’s far too old for it now, and the hangovers are intense.

(“I do wanna do a day drinking segment with Rihanna, though,” he confides in him once over lunch. They’re eating greasy pizza, and Richie feels like he’s in heaven, because the shit in LA doesn’t even begin to measure up.

“Rihanna? Do you have, like, connections to her or something?”

“No! I wish,” Seth frowns at his slice of pepperoni. “Do you?”

Richie hoots out a laugh. “Dude, you are severely overestimating me if you think I know Rihanna. Good luck on your quest, though.”

“Hey, maybe Rihanna’s got a thing for raunchy comedians who wear the same shirt three days in a row and own like, two pairs of sneakers and refuse to buy new ones. I don’t know her personally, either.”

Richie flicks a piece of mushroom right at Seth’s face. He laughs in that way he does, and Richie’s chest flutters.)

And maybe it’s the fact that Seth is still Seth--still blue-eyed, New Hampshire, toothy grin Seth--that makes Richie fall for him. And he’s not even surprised by it. He thinks he’s always sort of had a piece of his heart reserved for Seth, even when he moved to LA. He was the first one to send him a congratulatory text when the news broke that he got Late Night, and he was always happy to wander around his too-empty LA apartment and shoot the shit with him for hours long phone calls about everything and anything and nothing at all. Seth was the first to welcome Richie with open arms back to NYC. They were the sort of friends that never truly fell apart, even when they went a while without speaking to each other.

It all comes tumbling out eventually, why Richie is back in NYC. Seth never really poses the question, but when Richie calls him one Tuesday night at 3 AM, eyes unfocused and hot with tears and chest heaving with hyperventilating sobs, the answer becomes clear to him.

He’s still awake, of course, sitting in his office and staring at the writers’ Slack chat when the phone rings. “Are you awake, man? I’m sorry if I woke you,” Richie says into the phone, warbly.

Seth manages to talk him down from it when Richie admits he had a pretty vivid nightmare. He doesn’t judge him for a second or wonder why a 40-year-old man is so shook up by one. He simply talks slow and soft into the phone, telling him it’s okay and grounding him as best as he can. “You can tell me anything, Rich, you know that, right?” His voice is so goddamn sweet Richie wants to sob all over again.

So he tells him everything--well, rather, a condensed version of everything. He tells him he had friends as a kid back in Maine, really close friends, and they met up again after drifting apart, and he tells him that he saw his best friend in the world die right in front of his eyes. He’s careful with his words, but something tells him that even if he did explain all the clown shit, Seth would listen and comfort him all the same, even if he was confused by it. “I feel so bad for dumping this shit on you, dude,” Richie says, fighting back the tears that he’s finally managed to quell. “It’s just--”

“Shh, hey, it’s okay,” Seth assures him, “I can’t fucking imagine. I’m so sorry. I know that sounds really lame, to say I’m sorry. I know it doesn’t really fix anything.”

“It’s okay. I haven’t--no one really knows. I mean, my friends know, they were there, too, but...God, it’s so fucking complicated.” He lays his head back down on his pillow and exhales a shaky sigh, feeling mostly back down to earth. “I guess I just. I picked up my phone and dialed you because I needed to know everything was...you were okay and I wasn’t still in that fucking dream.”

“I get it. You don’t have to worry about that. You know I keep crazy hours anyway.” They manage to get a chuckle out of that. “I hope this doesn’t sound insensitive, but I’m glad you were with him in his final moments, I’m sure he was very glad to have you there.”

Richie swallows the baseball-sized lump in his throat. “God, I sure fucking hope so. He was…” he stops himself. He hadn’t told the other Losers what he wanted to say about Eddie and how he felt about him, but he was certain they knew. Seth is completely detached from this whole situation, but maybe putting out what he’s been harboring in his chest for so long will take some weight off it. “He was the first person I really fell in love with.”

“Oh, Rich.” Seth’s voice is soft and sad.

“I know that’s a lot to tell you, and like, I haven’t even really told you, or anyone that I’m gay, but I guess here it is, this is so damn...ungraceful,” he rambles with a shaky little laugh, “But I guess I’m not really graceful anyway.”

“It’s okay. You know it doesn’t bother me at all, right? God, I sound like--every straight dude in the world right now. I’m totally cool with gays!”

“Well, maybe a little,” Richie says, unable to not give him a little shit, and he’s happy to hear Seth laugh on the other end. “But thanks. I’m glad you were the first person I told.”

“Well, when I tell you about the dudes I hooked up with in college, I know you’ll be chill about it, too.” Seth says, then adds, “Oh, guess I just did.”

“You what? Seth middle-name Meyers.”

“It’s Adam.”

“Not the point. You what?”

“Dude, haven’t I told you like a million times about my crush on James Spader? Do you know how many times I’ve watched Pretty in Pink? Too many times. That’s not even the best Hughes film.”

“I thought that was like--a joke! You always said you wanted to grow your hair out like that!” He’s smiling against the phone, really truly grinning at this whole mutual coming out situation, and he’s so happy to be smiling again.

“Well, yeah, I do, but also, like, he was hot, okay? Him being bald now is the greatest tragedy of my life.” Seth says, laughing even more.

“You know, I haven’t gone bald yet. I’ve got plenty of hair. It’s unwashed right now, but feel free to run your hands through it. We can roleplay. I’ll be...fuck, what was his name? The Pretty in Pink guy?” Richie hasn’t seen that movie since it came out.

Seth answers very quickly. “Steff.”

“That’s it! I’ll be Steff, and you can be...Andie! That’s her name.”

“Steff wasn’t the love interest, though, remember? He was the love interest’s asshole friend.”

Richie hums. “I’m kind of an asshole. Not as pretty of an asshole as Spader, though.”

“I think you’re perfectly pretty.”

“Thanks,” he smiles again. His stomach knots itself up, then un-knots. Seth Meyers, the man who’s all blue eyes, New Hampshire, and salt-and-pepper hair is calling him pretty. What a world.

After he hangs up and manages to catch a few hours of sleep, he’s not surprised when he gets a call from Seth a few days later asking if he wants to grab a drink, and there’s a different tone to his voice. He can’t quite place it, but it almost sounds nervous, like he doesn’t want to screw this up. He doesn’t screw anything up, though, and when they make their way back to Seth’s apartment, pleasantly buzzed, and end up on his couch, lips on lips, Richie isn’t really surprised, either. He smiles into each one.

They seem to divide their time in between either apartment, not quite ready to have the “hey, let’s move in together” conversation. It’s only been a few months, and they’re taking their time. Richie’s never let himself take his time before.

Most nights, they’re tangled up in whatever bed they’ve fallen into--tonight, it’s Seth’s, and Richie has managed to get him home at a reasonable time, around midnight, even though the show filmed several hours before. (“The news and the president don’t stop,” Seth has explained to him before, “But God, I wish they would.”) He’s running his fingers through Seth’s hair, which is surprisingly soft once all the product is washed out. Richie never gets tired of touching it. “You’re halfway to Spader, I think.”

“Yeah? I’ll see if makeup and wardrobe approve of me growing it out any longer, or if they’ll force me to cut it.” Seth sounds sleepy, but even in the dark Richie can tell he’s smiling.

“I’d like it,” he says, and presses a kiss to the line of Seth’s jaw. “Isn’t that enough?”

“For me? More than enough.” Seth brings him in for a proper kiss, long and deep and warm, hands wandering and stroking skin, unhurried and sweet.

When they pull apart, it comes tumbling out, as things seem to do. “I love you.” It’s the first time Richie has said it. He’s known it, without a shadow of a doubt, for a while now. And he thinks Seth knew it, too, even if it went unsaid. He understood that Richie was working up to this sort of thing, to opening himself up and allowing himself to cry and feel and say things like that. Like I love you. And now it’s come out, like it was always bound to, and Richie feels Seth smile against his temple.

“I love you, too.”

“More than James Spader?”

Seth laughs. “Much more.” He pulls him in for another kiss, and they say “I love you” many more times that night, and almost every night afterward.

#my writing #thank you so much for this prompt! i went a little wild #i kind of woobified richie a bit but what i can i say i love to project #and the james spader thing is the result of seth always talking abt him in monologues and ACNs #he wants to 'grow his hair out that long'#but he needs that 'spader confidence'#lmao #Anonymous

2 notes · View notes

amaryllisblackthorn · 5 years ago

Text

@personinthepalace

i hope it’s okay i responded to your reply in its own post. i just thought it would be easier for me to write out my thoughts here instead of in the replies!

I love your thoughts! What’s bugging me is how old are the kids now? If Kate can drive, then she’s at least 16. So Reynie and Sticky are at least 15. And that would make Constance around 7, which I think doesn’t make sense since Tai is 5 And omigod I did not make the connection that Constance saying Kate parallels Kate saving Constance in the first book omigod I love it though I really wish all four of them (er five) were together for the final defeat

so the book is pretty vague about how much time has passed. they just kind of refer to it as ‘years’ and stuff. the clues we have are

kate can drive

kate can also ride a motorcycle

kate is also at an age where working as a secret agent is okay by milligan despite his fatherly concerns ? (which is a vague qualifier but im adding it)

reynie is at an age that’s young for college (”among the youngest to attend this university”)

constance is technically not a “tweenager” yet

reynie can pass as a high school student (his disguise was a simple uniform compared to kate’s disguise as a mechanist)

constance is older than tai who is five

tai’s parents died either before or around the emergency ended

the biggest clue, i think, that we have is in fact tai’s age. tai’s parents died either before or around ‘the emergency’ ended, which is the end of the first book. we don’t know exactly when, especially since the emergency has been going on for a while before the first book. i’ll say maybe at most a year before and at least around the end. we don’t know how old tai was when they died, i believe, just that he “never even knew them”. i’m going to say that probably means he was at most younger than 2, because kate had one vague memory of her dad; i’m sure there’s a range for recalling memories but i’m using kate as a precedent for the series. it’s most likely that he was a baby, though.

in other words, the time frame from the end of the first book is approximately ~4 to 5 years, i’d say, which just with that alone would put the kids at roughly

kate: ~16-17

reynie: ~15-16

sticky: ~15-16

constance: ~7-8 (constance is almost 3 at the end of the first book so im just rounding up)

with me kind of favoring the +5 years after first book option

now, the thing about driving is that the ages slightly differ depending on states, and also there’s permit vs license. idk if there’s anything that indicates either one in particular. generally it seems like ~16 is a good age for motorcycles, and 16± 1 for cars (depending on permit v license). so, yeah, being around at least 16 fits the estimate for kate, it seems.

also, we know that reynie can’t be 17 yet, because that’s the average age to enter college. so ~15-16 seems to fit, too.

i don’t see ~7 being too nonsensical for constance to be with tai’s 5 yrs. she’d still be older, and even when she was younger she had more of a mental maturity (in addition, of course, to her immaturity) which would still be reflected. we know that she has to be older than 5, and isn’t yet a “tweenager”. the definition of tweenager varies a little, but in my experience refers to ages 10-12, although the internet tells me sometimes it counts 9 years old too. at the very least, we know that she can’t be 10 or older. so roughly she has to be ~6-9 years, which ~7,8 does fit.

a lot of this is probably excess text and i prob could have written it much shorter, heh. but basically, judging from different hints in the book that all seem to support each other, this seems around right.

heh

i get the wanting them all together for the final defeat, although i really, really loved the saferoom stuff with kate+constance+the ten men. kate vs the ten men always got me so intense bc of how much danger kate was in bc it was like. personal. and also i loved the emotionalness with the girls. i think the reason i can let the separation slide is because this was a very unusual thing. because it was like in the end all a setup, so like there wasn’t a traditional ‘final defeat’ kind of thing. it was also kind of a parallel to the end of the first book in that separation kind of thing, because it had been sticky, reynie + constance, kate; (then sticky, reynie, constance + kate) -- they had regrouped and were together for the ‘final defeat’ of curtain, but this was kind of subverted in roa bc it turns out curtain wasn’t an antagonist and was in on the setup.

this book in particular felt like, pretty different to the main trilogy. like i mentioned in the original post, it seemed focused on the Society (+Tai) and thus neglecting much of the other characters, and made it seem pretty...i dont know if ‘contained’ is the right word?? but like...lacking something?? which doesnt necessarily make it bad but it was definitely like. different. i’m not sure if this comparison makes any sense at all but it’s kind of like if roa was a gaiden to a manga series? im not sure if thats an accurate comparison but..like roa didn’t seem like a legit regular installment but not in like a ‘it was bad’ kind of way? if that makes sense.

i hope my ramblings and stuff were okay ha. thanks for the reply!! i’m happy to talk about mbs + roa so feel free to say anything heh

#personinthepalace #mysterious benedict society #mbs spoilers #mysterious benedict society spoilers #the mysterious benedict society spoilers #riddle of ages spoilers #the mysterious benedict society #the riddle of ages spoilers #the mysterious benedict society and the riddle of ages #mysterious benedict society and the riddle of ages #ab: answers #ab spams mbs

19 notes · View notes

qualquercoisa945 · 6 years ago

Text

We See Things That Nobody Else Sees

AO3 Link

Title Inspiration: Dollhouse by Melanie Martinez

okay so this is all just a bunch of How Did The Kids Realize Their Dad Was An Asshole except eddie doesn't realize it quite yet

trigger warnings: cheating (shown on screen) and emotional abuse (mostly implied but still pretty clear it's what they're talking about)

Mary knew she shouldn’t be up and about by now. She knew she shouldn’t even be awake by now. But sometimes sleep didn’t come very easily for the young princess, and she found herself quietly wandering the halls of the castle to attempt to tire herself out enough so she could sleep.

This also meant she heard and saw courtiers out and about. Usually she could slip away before they saw her, and on the rare occasion they did notice her, she usually only ever got told to head back to her room, without any more consequences.

This also meant she knew a lot of the gossip that ran around court that they usually kept from its younger members, like Mary herself- the kind of gossip you murmur to your friend in the dark of night, with the door locked and having double checked to make sure no one would hear.

She also saw a lot of things meant only to those participating in it, but no one needed to know that.

Tonight seemed to be a relatively eventless night. She’d nearly been caught by one of the guards- Avery, she believed his name was- but ultimately was capable to slip away. She was on her way back to her room when she passed by the throne room. She frowned when she noticed the door was open, a faint light emanating for it indicating it hadn’t just been a case of her parents forgetting to close it.

“Relax, Mary. What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her, will it?” Mary frowned as she heard her father’s voice, walking closer as quietly as possible to hear better while her father spoke.

“I know, my lord, it is simply…” She recognized the second voice as well- Mary Boleyn, a relatively new courtier. She wondered what the two were doing together- she didn��t remember them having any sort of friendship, since Mary’s arrival at court hadn’t been that long ago. Why were they meeting alone then?

“Don’t you worry, my love. Catherine won’t hear a thing about this. No one will, if we’re quiet, and take the necessary precautions.” Her eyes widened at those words- they were far too similar to ones she’d heard being spoke while two courtiers shared more… intimate, moments, and very quickly she connected the dots.

She flinched as she heard her father’s heavy footsteps approach. As silently as possible, she pressed herself to the wall, using the angle the open door and the wall made to hide from him.

She stayed dead still and quiet, sucking in a breath and holding it when she noticed her father reach out towards the door handle, only releasing it once she was sure it was closed and he wasn’t standing next to it. She stayed there for a while, then proceeded on her way to her room, just as silent but twice as fast.

Still, it seemed the night wouldn’t end just yet for her. When she was about to start climbing the last flight of stairs up to her room, she was stopped by a hand resting on her shoulder. Turning around, she was met with her mum.

“Mi princesita, what are you doing up?” She didn’t sound mad, which was a relief- she’d seen her mum when she was angry, and it wasn’t nice. “It is much to late for you to be awake, let alone wandering around.” As she spoke, she gently pulled Mary up the stairs, leading her to her room.

“I couldn’t sleep, so I went for a walk.” She explained, taking her mum’s hand in her own and following her. “Helps make me more tired.”

“Well, next time I’d prefer you’d at least warn me, or one of my ladies in waiting, alright?” She nodded at her mum’s request, then stopped as she opened the door to her room. “What is it, Mary?”

“Is…” She hesitated, worried whether or not she should share this. “Is it normal for people to love more than one person?” She eventually mumbled, staring at the wooden floor.

She could almost feel her mum’s stare intensify, and for a moment she considered telling her to forget it, but before she could speak, her mum replied. “Why do you ask, mi princesita?”

“It’s just…” She sighed, finally looking up to meet her eyes. She didn’t seem mad, just… confused. “I heard dad and that new woman… Mary?” She waited for her mum to nod, showing she knew who she meant, then continued. “They were in the throne room. He called her “his love”. He only ever calls you that. Can people love more than one person? Is that normal?”

She watched her mum’s face, trying to figure out what she was feeling, but she stayed oddly calm. “That’s… complicated. There are different kinds of love. For example, I love you in one way, but I love your dad in another. Does that make sense?” Mary nodded, and her mum smiled, brushing a stray bit of hair behind her ear.

“Clever girl. Just go rest, alright? I’ll talk to your father about this, it’s nothing you need to worry about.” Mary nodded, feeling more relaxed after her mother’s promises, and then they each went their own separate ways, Mary to sleep and her mum back down the stairs.

Of course, once she grew older she would find that what her father had done wasn’t normal, or alright. It certainly contributed to her growing distaste for her father, which was only heightened when he divorced her mother. And then once she was declared illegitimate… it was a recipe for disaster, and no one could blame her for holding a grudge.

Still, she stayed silent about it. Especially while Henry was king- she didn’t want to fall any more out of favor with him.

Elizabeth hadn’t even been 3 years old when her mother was beheaded. As a result, she had close to no memories of them together, but the few she did have had an inherent feeling of warmth, comfort, safety, attached to them.

Her memories of her parents together were also really fuzzy, but she had a vague memory that kept eating at her. One of her parents shouting at each other, presumably arguing. She also vaguely remembered being held during it. Had it been her mum? She hoped so, but she knew she had to be very small by then, so she wasn’t sure. And asking her father was definitely not an option.

And really, that wasn’t the question she truly wanted to ask. She was much more interested in figuring out whether how her father treated his wives was normal. She knew beheading them wasn’t, but… what about the others? The shouting, the ordering around… That had to be normal, right?

For years she had no one to turn to with these questions. That was, up until a few months after her tenth birthday, when her father remarried once more- this time, a woman named Catherine Parr.

At first, she’d assumed Catherine would’ve been like the others. Maybe she’d try to befriend her like Kath had, but she assumed that’d be the extent of it. But no- Elizabeth found herself being surprised as Catherine fought tooth and nail to bring both her and Mary back into the succession line- and she’d succeeded in it.

Elizabeth took a liking to her afterwards, beginning to spend more time with her. Not that they didn’t spend time together before, since Catherine made sure she was personally involved in both her and Edward’s education, but willingly this time.

And then, the arrest incident. Elizabeth was terrified when she first heard about it, thinking she’d lose yet another person to that god damn tower, and would have to add yet another name to her ever growing list of people she cared about that got beheaded. And yet, miraculously, she didn’t. Instead, Catherine managed to talk her way out of it. That only made Elizabeth look up to her more.

And then one day, the two were sitting outside by the lake on the castle grounds, and Elizabeth was listening to her ramble about whatever book she’d recently started reading. Her mind was elsewhere, however, her gaze focused on the water.

“Elizabeth, are you alright?” She blinked as Catherine rested a hand on her shoulder, turning to face her. “You seem distracted, is something bothering you?” Elizabeth hesitated, looking away once more.

“You know how dad can be… really loud and angry sometimes? Is that just how people show love?” The words were quietly mumbled out, Elizabeth herself barely feeling like she could speak them.

Catherine herself took a while to respond, which only served to make Elizabeth more worried. “He… has a lot going on, and he can’t always stay calm.” She began softly, reaching out and lightly squeezing Elizabeth’s hand. “But he does love you kids, and me. He just doesn’t always show it that well.”

Elizabeth nodded, leaning against her and dropping the subject. She felt Catherine’s arm move to wrap around her shoulders. “Just relax, yes? You don’t need to worry about it, I promise.” Elizabeth nodded once more, and the two sat there in comfortable silence.

But really, Elizabeth didn’t believe those words. She doubted that throwing someone away, especially when that someone was your child, was how you treated someone who you loved.

And the older she got, the more her believes were proven to be true. As she was hit by hardship after hardship- Thomas Seymour, losing Catherine, being locked up in the Tower of London, losing her brother, and then losing her sister, only to be thrown into the roll of queen- she found that people who truly loved each other didn’t leave each other to suffer, and certainly did not cause suffering to their loved ones intentionally.

Still, it had been a bit of a shock to finally accept that her father didn’t love her, or her siblings, or her mum, or any of her step mothers. When it hit her, it… it made her have to take a step back, and review essentially her entire life.

Still, she didn’t bring it up. By the time she’d realized it, Edward had died and Mary had fallen ill and had named Elizabeth as her heir, and she wasn’t going to put any more burdens on anyone else. She was the Queen now- she had to act like it.

Walking around the castle freely had taken some adjusting to. Edward was used to having to deal with courtiers following him around constantly, telling him to be careful, to not get hurt… And yet now, he could tell them “no” as much as possible, and they couldn’t talk back.

Because now he was the king.

It felt weird, to gain so much power at only nine years old. Two years later, however, and he felt like he was finally beginning to actually do a decent job of it.

Of course, getting people to listen took some time. And he obviously wasn’t making all decisions himself. But he had power now. He had a voice, and he could speak to his country and people would listen. That was nice.

Especially considering how much Edward grew up in the shadows. Sure, he’d been his father’s long awaited male heir, and had definitely grown up in the spotlight. Prince Edward Tudor, future King of England and Ireland. It had made him feel important.

And yet, he had his father’s reputation to live up to. That was a little scary, he admitted to himself as he walked down the hallways of the castle. His father had left big shoes for him to fill, and he knew he couldn’t afford to fail at that.

He stopped at a window, staring outside and shaking his head. “Keep it together, Edward.” He muttered to himself, leaning over to look out the window. He knew he had to keep up appearances. Now, he was King Edward VI, King of England and Ireland.

He had to support his people. He couldn’t let them look inside and see how scared he was of failing. That would make them worry, or worse- think he was unfit to rule. He was the last male Tudor heir, he had to ensure the family’s power stayed with the family.

That’s what his father had told him, anyways. And father was always right, right?

#six the musical #catherine of aragon #catherine parr #mary of aragon #elizabeth boleyn #edward seymour

59 notes · View notes

halinski · 6 years ago

Text

Where’s Your Spidey Sense?

For my wonderful muse and friend @alphawitch21 <3 sorry it took so long and hope you enjoy!!

Things I strived for: alpha derek, bamf stiles, omega/pack mom stiles, magical/emissary/spark stiles, glasses derek, happy derek, confident derek, like smoldering derek, very much beardy derek

Thanks to @livinginfictions for the detailed beta, and everyone who supported me in the process!!

(I really was gonna try to write some sexy times for you, C, but... this is the best I could do xD)

read on ao3

Stiles sighed in aggravation and slumped back in his chair, sliding down a bit and kicking his legs out, successfully not hitting Derek in the shin. "Pass the coffee, will you?" He prompted, making grabby hands toward the metal travel mug without actually making an effort to reach it. Derek made a face beneath his black rimmed glasses, acting like his eyebrows were a sufficient reply.

"Oh, come on, my head is bursting over here. I need something to keep me going or I will fail my midterm and it’ll be all your fault for not doing something so simple as just passing the coffee over here. You don't want to be the cause of my failure, do you, Derek? Hm? Do you?"

Apparently Stiles was not beneath holding a conversation with Derek's eyebrows. Though, he had to point out that the werewolf probably had the most expressive eyebrows in the world.

Just like he had the firmest abs, and strongest shoulders; traits he never failed to show off, be it by taking his shirt off for pack training 'because otherwise he'd get all his shirts torn' (yeah, right, like he couldn't actually dodge most attacks by the betas) or by wearing sweaters that miraculously showed off his muscles as well. Stiles had been practicing his magic but he didn't know what kind of dark mojo Derek was using. Maybe he'd sold his soul to the devil so he could always look hot like burning. Stiles almost felt tempted to ask him about it. If only that wouldn't reveal his probably already obvious (to a werewolf at least) major crush on the current Hale alpha. A major crush that was not being helped by that beard he had going on. Not at all. It made him look like the hottest history-slash-english professor ever in the history of the earth. That’s all Stiles had to say about the matter, and say it he couldn’t.

"This is my coffee," Derek says, like he'd never heard of this concept called sharing. Stiles had thought growing up with siblings taught you that sharing was caring but apparently it had the opposite effect. Derek actually pulled the travel mug closer to himself.

"Caffeine doesn't even work on you! I don't know why you drink coffee in the first place," Stiles exclaimed.

"I like the taste. And the warmth is soothing."

"You like the taste? That's straight black coffee. It's so bitter. No one drinks that for the taste alone."

Derek jutted his chin out defiantly. "Well, I do. Besides, you’re not even studying."

“Hey, I am absolutely studying. I am studying all the different disastrously dangerous things that could swoop in at any moment and kill us. It’s quite literally studying like my life depends on it, so no judging. Just because you’re not top of your class with minimal work like me doesn’t mean you have to be as bitter as your coffee.”

Stiles realized that last comment might have been a little too unfair by the way Derek’s expression dropped. He bit his tongue, hands coming up as his brain raced for an apology but all he could do was watch as in retaliation, Derek raised the mug to his lips and chugged the rest of the liquid, up till the very last drop, while staring Stiles down. For some reason - Stiles simply didn’t understand how his body worked sometimes - he found that hot. Impressive. Like his coffee chugging skills could possibly be used in some sexual way. Stiles had to keep his mouth clamped shut before he blurted anything out that Derek would rip his throat out for.

Derek smirked victoriously at the look on Stiles’ face, who then huffed petulantly and turned back to his laptop.

“You know, you should just take me up on my offer to help you with your term papers. I mean, we both know you’re insanely smart. You just aren’t used to structuring and formulating things the way they want you to. Which is freaking normal with all you went through and the fact that you haven’t been to a class in like years. There’s no need to be ashamed,” Stiles grumbled under his breath, knowing Derek could hear him just right and trying at the very least to make it up to Derek a little bit. Somewhere along the line, he was pretty sure he saw Derek’s face soften a little bit, and Stiles prided himself in knowing Derek enough to be able to read him like that.

He was proud of him, too, really. They had succeeded in talking Derek into going to college with them after Stiles had found out that had been one of those things Derek would have wanted if his life was normal. They were all trying to pretend they were normal, even if Stiles currently had the beastiary pulled up on his laptop - their own one, not the ancient, illegible one - and even if they had to pull some strings to all get accepted to the same college so the pack could stay together. But it was quite the experience to all have this together, even with their older alpha. It obviously couldn’t be easy to be starting the year with a bunch of teenagers, while babysitting a rowdy bunch of werewolves. As the emissary, Stiles considered himself a co-babysitter. The pups did turn to him, after all, if they were ever a little intimidated to go to Derek. Like the time Jackson had come to Stiles to help him plan the perfect date for Lydia.

“You guys are the worst,” Isaac suddenly proclaimed, standing up with a loud screech of his chair that even he winced at. Stiles barely had time to recover before the boy had picked up his stuff and walked off.

“Not as bad as your scarf kink!” Stiles called after him. It only got him an unimpressed eyebrow from Derek and a middle finger in the distance from the retreating form.

“What? He started it,” Stiles muttered.

“And I’m ending it,” Derek declared. “Get your schoolwork done,” he added, giving a nod toward Stiles’ course book.

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll be-”

CRASH - and a scream followed soon after.

“What was that?!” Stiles asked, jumping out of his seat. Derek’s nostrils flared.

“Downstairs!” Derek called back in a clipped voice as he rushed past him, which really wasn’t much of an answer at all.

Stiles threw a glance back at their stuff - his precious laptop wasn’t allowed to get stolen, he needed it - but Derek’s reaction indicated that their first priority was saving lives. He couldn’t believe that whatever magical beacon-like force Beacon Hills had, followed them to the college one town over - which Derek still insisted driving to and from every day. But he was ready, sprinting after Derek, hands starting to spark in a faint orange glow.

“Der’k! Wait!” Stiles tried to call out as he struggled to catch up but of course the self-sacrificing werewolf didn’t listen, leaping down the flight of stairs. At least this time he propped one hand on the banister to support himself. Werewolf-super-healing powers be damned. Stiles couldn’t help worrying about Derek. He could still twist his ankle, jumping around like that just to be dramatic, and Stiles couldn’t stand his carelessness. Pain seemed to be Derek's best friend - Stiles had yet to top it but he was working on it.

Just as miraculously, Stiles made it down the flights in full health himself and burst through the next set of doors. At first all he saw were more bookshelves, and everything appeared just fine until one of the bookshelves came crashing down next to him. His reflexes were now fast enough to let him jump back in time to avoid getting his foot shattered by the heavy wood and hundreds of books.

But suddenly, he was staring down, right into the face of a vaguely humanoid creature with two too many eyes. All of the eyes had two pupils with irises that merged in the middle. Albeit spine-chilling and captivating, that was one of the less horrifying attributes of the monster of the week. Stiles had seen many things in battle at this point. Many things. But never this. The top half was covered in mottled skin that look like it could burst at any moment and was connected neatly with the hairy bottom half, which carried six huge spider-like legs. It was… a were-spider? Half human, half spider.

It screeched at Stiles, fangs bared wide, and Stiles swore he could see a liquid dripping off the tip of one of the teeth.

“Oh my god,” he pressed out, his body jerking into motion. With a flash from his hands, he created a small magical barrier around himself as the spider-man - which NOPE, that was so wrong, on so many levels, if any spider-man existed, it would not be something as horrendous as this - the spider-person took up chase. It jumped at Stiles but crashed against the barrier, sending him sprawling to his knees - that would be an ugly skid mark.

“Stiles!”

“All good, buddy,” he called back to Derek, who came rushing to his side and grasped his elbow to help him the rest of the way up to his feet. “I mean, not all good. Not all good at all. Because that thing. That is most definitely not okay, okay?! Fuck, I’m ready to bring this little bugger down,” he rambled.

Meanwhile the creature screeched again loudly, taking a few steps towards them and then stopping, staring at them with its bizarrely bright green eyes.

“What is that… thing doing?” Stiles raised his hands, ready to raise another barrier, arms shimmering vividly.

“Arachne,” Derek breathed next to him, eyebrows pulled together over his red burning eyes. He had his thinking face on, which was insanely adorable in peaceful moments. Stiles could watch that forever when Derek sat there, full focus on the matter at hand, while his literal hand would come up to scratch his beard- which Stiles really, really wanted to feel (all over). But that was a thought for another day, when they didn’t have a venom spitting thing loose in front of them.

“A-what?” Stiles asked.

“Arachne. That’s what it is,” Derek said, voice pressed. “We can’t let it bite anyone.”

“Trust me, I wasn’t planning on letting it anywhere near me.” Stiles shuddered upon the thought.

“No, that’s not what I- shit!”

The arachne took off running, but in the opposite direction, Derek on its tail - not literal tail. That would be too weird for even Stiles to comprehend at this point. Noting the pointed end at the hind of the creature though, he assumed there might be some web-slinging involved. It was something to look out for.

Stiles lost the other two again within seconds but could easily follow the sound of screams that came from the hallway out the side of the room. He ran out into hallway to see Derek facing two arachnes. Fuck, were they multiplying or what? If so, they had a big fucking problem. It was two against one now as Derek relentlessly attacked without Stiles. Derek would've been torn to shreds if he were all alone. But, as always, Stiles was here to save the day - or well, save Derek. That was what mattered most, after all. The rest they could deal with later.

Widening his stance on the ground, Stiles raised his arms, the sparks around his fingers crackling. His powers seemed to consist of some form of energy, between electricity and fire, something not really definable. Despite its unknown origin, it made Stiles far more effective in battle than a baseball bat had. He just had to be careful not to hit Derek at this distance.

He created a whip-like energetic beam and threw it out to wrap around one of the arachnes' legs. The creature cried out on contact, which Stiles considered a victory in itself. He couldn't exactly knock it off balance seeing as it had five more legs but pulling at the one leg with all his might sure did get its attention. It scurried over toward him and just the way it moved made the hairs on Stiles' nape stand up. For a split second he couldn't move. Then he pulled his hands back, letting the beam dissipate into thin air.

"Derek!" And the werewolf followed the unspoken command, allowing Stiles to thrust forward with a wave of power, throwing the arachne backwards, right into the second one. Both of them slid down the aisle back to the far wall. Derek ran off after them right away. This time Stiles was right beside him.

“We can’t kill them,” Derek said tight-lipped.

Stiles let out a dry laugh. “You can’t just say that and not give me a good fucking reason why.”

“Because at least one of them is still human inside.”

“Nothing about them is still human! Look at their eyes- their legs- their… everything! How can they ever turn back?”

“Stiles,” Derek pressed out heavily, prompting him to look over. He met Derek’s eyes, where he could see a sense of urgency. “I know we can turn them back. We have to turn them back."

They stopped in front of the two creatures, who were still wrangling themselves back onto their feet. Stiles sighed heavily, slumping, as he watched the hairy feet scuttle on the wooden floor.

“Fine,” he muttered, raising his arms again with a hum of magic, the orange substance arching up with his fingertips. "But don't blame me if someone dies." Stiles knew Derek wouldn't. Even if Stiles did something incredibly stupid and it was clear that he was the reason for someone's death, Derek would still find a way to reason that it was his own fault. It was simultaneously annoying, as well as something Stiles could absolutely relate to.

"Also, like, do you have any idea how we're supposed to capture and restrain these things so we can find out how to turn them back?" Stiles added.

The arachnes were hissing at them viciously and yep, there was definitely some kind of most probably poisonous liquid frothing right around their sharp pincers. And they were both looking straight at Stiles, eyeing the crackling static around his hands warily. It was simultaneously empowering - being perceived as the bigger threat - and also fucking terrifying.

Naturally, Derek stepped on up right around him to stand in front of Stiles to protect him. And he growled that low, warning growl that for completely insane reasons made something in the pit of Stiles’ stomach stir. Stiles hoped to all the gods that the all the other scents around them covered that hint of arousal. Though, Derek must have been used to it by now, too.

"Derek," Stiles warned - and he'd never get tired of saying that name. But it was always a gamble if Derek would go or not. Were Stiles still making dog jokes, that’s what he would compare it to: like calling a dog off, you had to catch him at just the right second, otherwise it was all over. And this time Derek didn’t listen. With a jump, he launched himself at the two creatures, meeting their hissing with an amplifying growl.

"Shit."

There wasn't much time left to contemplate the best course of action now that Derek was in the midst of the frenzy, two vicious arachnes trying to wound, bite and possibly kill him, while he was being extremely careful to not hurt them badly.

It wasn’t Stiles’ style to throw himself blindly into battle. Well, it was sometimes. But he liked to have a plan. There was no time now, and that was basically plan B. When it came to it, Stiles was down for some quick thinking and gut instincts. But the thing was, it all happened so damn fast. Next thing he knew, Stiles was on his knees, wiping the sweat from his eyes just to see Derek get thrown down with a flash of red and curling in on himself.

That was it.

Stiles grasped blindly at the mountain ash vial around his neck, sending the energy from his fingertips thrumming through the glass casing so that it exploded into pieces where he threw it at Derek’s feet. In the same movement, he lifted his hand again for momentum and punched it down hard, sending the crackling vibrations out toward the settling ash so that it formed a clean circle around Derek. And just in time. Derek could only just about look up as one of the arachnes crashed into the invisible wall with a screech. The other scrabbled to a stop in front of the ash warily, looking down at it and then promptly at Stiles.

He pulled himself to his knees, breathed out and wiped some of the blood off his lip and met their stares head on. They squared up in front of him, and Stiles knew: this was it. The ultimate showdown. Drawing his arms to his sides, palms up, sparks jumped from fingertip to fingertip, dancing across Stiles’ skin.

It wasn’t clear what he was dealing with here at all, but Stiles knew one thing. He could trust in his spark, that pleasant hum in his ears and warmth in his chest. And he knew he wouldn’t give them another chance to lay their creepy ass hands on Derek again. Derek’s ass was staying where it was, even though Stiles could vaguely hear him demanding to be released, saying he couldn’t do this. He was using his alpha voice, the one he never seriously used on Stiles, wrenching himself at the mountain ash as if he wasn’t bleeding heavily.

Stiles narrowed his focus down on the arachnes. This was between them now.

“Come and get it,” he yelled out, his throat reverberating with the power contained inside him, almost like a growl, like he was finally one with the pack. And the arachnes listened, hissing and racing forward. Stiles mirrored them.

The last thing he heard before he crashed into them with outstretched arms and a shout, was a desperate, “Stiles!” before everything around him burst into orange.

-------------- Derek was being stupid.

That is, Derek wasn’t talking to him and that was incredibly stupid because how were they supposed to figure out what to do with the arachnes that were currently being held captive upstairs in the loft - which again, a totally stupid thing Derek wasn’t listening to him about - as quickly as possible if they didn’t friggin communicate? They couldn’t. Stiles could research day and night and and he would still be missing the passed down knowledge Derek obviously had.

Together they were unstoppable… and Stiles knew Derek knew that. Now he just needed to stop being a dick.

“Derek,” Stiles said, for probably the 50th time in the past 2 hours. They were both stubborn. And while Stiles prided himself in being particularly strong-willed, he’d never met anyone else who was as determined as this tall, angry werewolf. It wasn’t really a surprise. It had been clear from the start that Derek had walls up all around him, hard as diamond and thick as the earth’s core. Stiles had thought he’d softened them a little, relieved some of the pressure. But apparently he’d made a mistake. He had a nagging feeling he knew what it was.

Okay, so maybe Stiles was the dick here but they couldn't move past it if they didn't talk about it.

“Come onnn, please. I’m dying here. Will you just say one word to me?”

Silence.

“I’ll even take a growl at this point.” Stiles stepped in front of him.

Derek just turned his back on him again, shoulders hunched, drawn in.

“Hey! Don’t be such a sourwolf, man-”

“Don’t!” Stiles jumped as Derek suddenly whirled around to jab a finger in his direction, eyes ablaze even while they remained their usual hazel gray. It was the kind of anger Stiles hadn’t seen directed at him for a long while now. “Don’t you fucking sourwolf me.”

His tone was hard and cold, making Stiles swallow tensely.

“I, uh… Okay,” he nodded, wringing his hands together. “This is a start. You acknowledged me, this is good. This is good.” Though the heavy coil in his stomach resulting from the way Derek had raised his voice felt like anything but good.

The thing was- Derek never swore. All the deaths and pain and bullshit he had been through, and Stiles had never heard him say a single curse word. Now here he was, dropping an f-bomb.

Derek’s stare on Stiles was unwavering. His lips pursed like he wanted to speak but was contemplating if Stiles was worth it. Stiles hoped to the moon and back that Derek concluded he was. He really didn’t want things to go all downhill from here. The tension between them manifested in his chest, pressuring Stiles as if he was back in the pool at Beacon Hills High, treading water and hoping not to drown. Except this time it was him who was paralyzed and Derek was the one in control. Derek decided if their… companionship sank or swam for a little while longer.

Then again it was probably Stiles who had them thrown overboard, trusting in Derek to trust him back. But Derek didn’t owe him anything, not when Stiles had gone against him. Derek had every right to leave Stiles stranded and hurry off to safety. Stiles wouldn’t blame him.He was panicking. He knew he was but he would have to control it. Falling apart in front of Derek right now would not help their delicate situation. He would just have to-

Stiles flinched at the pain that shot through his damaged lip when he subconsciously bit down on it. The gasp it drew from him not only reminded him to breathe but it broke Derek's concentrated stare. Unfortunately, it just made his facial expression shut down. The room went cold and Derek straightened like a board, like he was unbothered by anyone and everyone in the world.

"I'm sorry!" Stiles let out - unplanned and unrestricted, hearing his own desperation all too clearly, "I had to! You were..."

His hands found their way into his hair, pulling at the strands as he struggled to express his reasoning.

Derek sighed, looking away for a second before meeting his face again.

"Stiles, calm down."

"I'm calm, I'm calm. I'm-

"You're not,” Derek said dryly, like that unhappy edge to his voice would in any way help the situation.

"Well, neither are you! You put on this facade like you don't care about anything but you're simmering on the inside, just waiting to explode - waiting for a fight so you can let your anger consume you and risk your life by throwing yourself to the enemy on a silver platter! We’ve talked about this before like a million times! But you never change!

“You talked about it! I don’t see what the problem is. I survive, we win, I heal, all’s well that ends well.”

“I’m the only one talking because you refuse to engage! And you know what, Derek? One day, one day it will not end well and then what? What if you die? Then what, huh?”

“If I die, I die.” Derek had the callousness to shrug.

“Really?” Stiles spat, the bitterness sneaking into his tone. “If you die… What am I supposed to do then? Where does it leave the pack? Huh?”

Derek crossed his arms, trying to appear unbothered by Stiles’ hard stare but he couldn’t hold it, looking away. “You’ll be fine,” he grunted.

Stiles laughed, hard and without amusement.

“A pack of young wolves, bitten if I may add, without an alpha. Yeah, that would be great. So wonderful. You know what, maybe we’d be better off, and we’d celebrate without a hard ass alpha on our asses the whole time-” Stiles hoped the sarcasm wasn’t overshadowed by his growing anger.

“It still doesn’t give you the right-”

“Oh, we’ll be so much better off without you,” Stiles continued in a high-pitched fashion. He had worked himself into it, a wildfire set to his tongue. ”You know I don’t know if anyone would ever really mourn you. We would just set up a party here.” He threw his arms up, melodramatically. “Dance on your grave and sing a victory song!”

Derek threw his hands down on the table between them that he’d maneuvered himself behind, and growled harshly.

“You took away my agency!” He yelled. Stiles’ jaw shut abruptly, and silence descended like a sudden overcast. Derek took a heavy breath, finally holding Stiles’ gaze again, eyes a whirlwind of hazel. “You trapped me. You took away ability to do anything.”

Derek was finally, speaking and Stiles listened, taking the brunt of his words - like he deserved.

“You took me out of the fight. You can’t just… you can’t…” and Derek deflated with a small huff because obviously Stiles could, and he had.

Stiles had utterly betrayed him. Derek took a breath.

“I’m the alpha. You’re my emissary. You can’t go against me like that.” Stiles swallowed heavily, looking down.

“I know. I know, I-”

“Did I ever take you out of a fight?”

“No, but I-” Stiles didn’t even know what he was trying to say. All he knew was that his feelings still had him by his throat like he was drowning. There was actually a sting in the back of his throat, at the top of his nose, between his eyes, so that he was left to blink rapidly.

“I trust you, Stiles,” Derek said and the gravity of that statement hit Stiles like a brick. “But you cannot do anything like that again.”

Stiles fidgeted, unsure he deserved to hear this statement right now.

“You still trust me?” he asked quietly, barely daring to give him a chance to take back what he had said.

Derek looked at him, almost gravely, with the slightest hint of fear. “I do.”

How long had Stiles been waiting for this moment? So long, it seemed, it'd been an eternity since he'd first demanded said trust; so long, he'd forgotten to dare hope for it. But here he was now, the only sound in his ears the rushing of his blood with every heavy beat of his heart, his gaze zeroed in on Derek's parted lips. There was a crackle in the air, but this time it was not coming from Stiles' fingertips.

"But you can't do anything like-"

"I won't," Stiles quickly agreed breathily, trying to stay focused to prove his sincerity. But it was Derek's lips, bearing the sight of his adorable bunny teeth, that little sliver of openness, of opportunity, that kept snagging his attention. "I promise."

"Good," Derek let out, although the the tension in the room didn't drop the way Derek's gaze did; down somewhere -maybe to Stiles' lips. Stiles wondered if he could feel this, too. This… everything.

"Will you… will you think about- not using yourself as a human shield?" The words came to him and out of his mouth slowly, like tar. Derek watched him for a minute.

"If you give me a good reason to," he then said.

And Stiles' brain sparked and shone and every bolt led to one single conclusion. He stepped around the table, trapped in this daze, like he had no choice in his actions anymore, like he was being led by a string of fate. And he let their yearning lips finally meet.

Stiles might have expected kissing Derek to be a fight, to be met with a push and pull- that is if he were ever to have imagined what it would have been like to kiss Derek, which he absolutely had not done. Ever. Not like it was anyone's business, anyway.

Instead, Stiles' lips fell into place smoothly, like just the right puzzle piece slipping in to complete the picture. And it was unimaginably soft. There was warmth and compliance, like they were melting together. It had been a while since Stiles had wanted to press pause, freeze frame, to observe and enjoy, for a while, if not forever. So he could believe that for once life wasn't trying to pull a prank on him.

But as quickly as the moment came, so quickly it left. Although everything seemingly happened in slow motion in his head, it was over like the snap of fingers. And here they were, reality.

Stiles pulled back when he realized what was happening, his heart threatening to pound out of his rib cage. He cleared his throat, not knowing where to look, and quickly snatched his hands back from Derek's chest.

"I uh…" he said in a squeak, motioning over to his right, planning his great escape, "-gotta go pee!"

And Derek let him scurry off without a word of protest, without a single noise, not even a breath.

------------ Stiles made no attempt to make a big entrance. In fact, he tried hard to slink back into the room somehow without attracting Derek's attention. He had a chance, he figured, with the way Derek's face was buried in his textbooks. Unfortunately for Stiles, being a student didn't negate the fact that Derek was a werewolf and fully well knew that Stiles was stepping in.

Derek shut his book with a pointed thud the moment Stiles' body was entirely engulfed in the room. Stiles froze.

"We need to talk," Derek said and if Stiles didn't know him better - if he hadn't notice that little V between his eyebrows - he might've missed the slight frown and interpreted his expression as… well, expressionless.

Stiles may or may not have debated how quickly he could turn around and make it back out the door before Derek caught him. He cleared his throat.

"Um, I mean uh… I don't know what there is to talk about. I can't think of anything, you know. It's just…" He stopped wringing his hands and let them swing down to his side. "It's just that… we're already talking so everything I was starting to say really doesn't matter because we're talking and I suppose that's… the only real option because obviously I can't just disappear forever and like ehm never talk to you again. Because hah, yeah, that'd be… that'd be- I've gone through all those scenarios and I just… yeah."

Stiles pursed his lips, his brain catching up with his rambling and finally letting his mouth come to a rest. Except that pulled the focus to the exact area that had touched Derek… intimately earlier that day and so he pulled them inward and out of sight.

Derek on the other hand wasn't really doing anything at all except for… something else with his face that Stiles couldn't quite read because he couldn't quite see through his own thoughts right now. It must have been exasperation.

"Why do you let me just keep talking? Can't you just shut me up… somehow…" Stiles continued, his body deciding that he had been keeping still for long enough.

He realized it was a mistake when Derek dipped his head to hide a smile.

"Okay, don't-"

"Like with a kiss?" Derek asked.

Stiles groaned, throwing his hands up to his face. He shook his head. "I hate you. I truly, really, absolutely, most unquestionably-"

"Are a liar." Derek's voice was suddenly so close that Stiles couldn't help but jump a little and peek over his fingers. How the fuck did he move so quietly?

“Tell me this,” Derek then said, Stiles being successfully shut up by the hammering of his heart all the way way up in his throat. “Do you regret it?”

There was no use pretending Stiles didn’t know what Derek was talking about so he let all decorum fall, along with his hands back to his side, and shook his head.

“No, I-I… I mean, y-yes?” And it felt like a whole journey to get those few words out, his thoughts everywhere like the biggest ball of jumbled yarn, and his hands everywhere, falling and rising with his heaving chest, and his gaze scrambling all over the place, over Derek, a sturdy wall in front of him, who had that cocky half-smile on his face one second and then on and across the room and to the floor and back to Derek, who was suddenly frowning in confusion.

“How did you manage to make both of those sound true?” he asked and Stiles had to swallow hard because he hated himself for the way he always had to make everything so awkward? And also make such stupid mistakes in the first place?

“Because I…” he closed his eyes and wrung his hands. “Because I don’t- I shouldn’t have… shouldn’t have kissed you… without your consent.”

And Derek huffed like it was no big deal, like Stiles hadn’t gone against the very principle they had just been talking about about making sure Derek was comfortable and wasn’t being forced into anything he hadn’t agreed to. It was the last thing Stiles wanted to do - make Derek feel… used.

“Listen, I’m sorry! I just keep messing up, I keep-” and his hands were in his hair again, tugging, because of course he had been trying to grow his hair out to try and appeal to someone, which was totally just another mistake. But Derek took hold of his arms gently and lowered them, sliding his hands down until he held Stiles’ hands.

"Ask me now,” Derek prompted.

“That’s not how it works-”

“Ask me,” Derek repeated with all the patience of a saint, his steady palms warm against Stiles’ as he gazed into those misty green eyes and it was all he needed to focus on the eager beating of his heart, letting out the crackling tension with a breath.

He wondered for a moment if he even had enough courage but when hadn’t Derek been there to catch him when he fell and threatened to break? And sure, they provoked each other sometimes but Derek wouldn't set him up for humiliation so cruelly, right?

Where he usually has no problems talking whatsoever, now his throat felt as dry as burnt toast and Stiles had to swallow multiple times, looking down at their conjoined hands, fingers tightly holding each other to resolve any shaking. Then he looked back up, up to Derek's soft smile - a smile reserved for him alone, a masterpiece - and into eyes that simultaneously held the future and home and-

Everything fell into place.

Suddenly the question rolled off his tongue like silk.

"Can I kiss you?"

And Derek didn't waste a single beat answering, exhaling the "yes" so quickly Stiles almost missed it, like he'd been waiting forever for that one little sound. The giddiness burst in Stiles' chest like a sparkler and when Derek kissed him this time, Stiles could feel it all the way into his toes. The tingling of something new but all too familiar, something that felt just right.

Stiles' eyes opened again when Derek pulled away and he watched with wonder as Derek laughed, unguarded and with heart.

"Really, Stiles?" He asked, turning his head to follow the golden sparks that danced around them, lighting up the room like fireworks.

"I wasn't- It… shut up," Stiles huffed at him, cheeks hot - but then again, so was the rest of his body. Nothing spoke for any containment of the bursts of happiness that bloomed like daisies from his chest though, especially with the way the lighting made Derek's face glow, eyes bright and teasing, lips stretched wide with more laughter.

"Isn't that supposed to be my line?" Derek asked, turning back to Stiles. All that left Stiles' lips the moment he parted them though was, "Can I kiss you again?"

Derek dipped his head again, almost as if he was the sheepish one, lifting it with a gentle gaze, just to say, "Yes. A thousand times yes."

Moments later Stiles was stepping into his space, lured in by the warmth, his hands brushing over the beard he'd been ogling for months. It was incredibly soft. Derek's hair was even softer and Stiles didn't think he ever wanted to take his hands off Derek. Derek, who was peppering kisses to his lips and nipping them to coax quiet whimpers out of Stiles before he traced a path down to Stiles' neck. It was clear to Stiles just exactly what this was as he bared his throat for Derek and clung to his shoulders for dear life.

Stiles shuddered at the tender ministrations, lips smoothing over his skin, the beard tickling, feeling Derek breathe him in and out.

"Der…" He breathes, too weak to finish the name and too powerful all at once, placing a hand on the werewolf's chest so he could lean back a little.

"Yeah?"

"I just want," Stiles started, losing himself in the way he could feel Derek's quickened heartbeat against his palm, quick and so alive. He looked back into Derek's eyes to properly convey his sincerity, breathing out. "I want you to be comfortable. With everything. Like, I want you to tell me when you're not, so I can stop. I don't ever want you to feel like I'm pushing you into something you don't want or don't feel good about at the moment. I don't want you to just do whatever will make me happy. I want-"

"You remember I could literally throw you across the room if I wanted to, right? Physically, you couldn't possibly compete with me if I wanted to stop you," Derek threw in.

"Yes, of course. But I don't ever want it to have to get to that. I just… I want this to be as good for you as it is for me."

Derek knew what he meant and took a breath so he wouldn't argue and hide his insecurities. It wasn't necessary in front of Stiles.

"Okay." He nodded. "I will be open and honest. But you have to, too."

"Deal. Pinky promise?" Stiles raised a fist, pinky outstretched.

Derek hummed, tugging Stiles closer again. "How about we seal it with a kiss instead?"

"Look at you, coming up with the ultimate plan." Stiles grinned and fell back into Derek.

------------ "There is NOTHING!" Stiles groaned loudly and slammed the book shut, his hands flexing above it, trying to restrain himself from picking it up and throwing it across the room.

From across the table, Derek reached over to take his hand gently because that was a thing they did now. Immediately, Stiles deflated, all his energy converting to the heat in his cheeks. Derek rubbed his thumb over the back of Stiles’ hand and looked him over.

“We should call it a night,” he suggested.

Stiles shook his head. “No, we don’t have anything yet. We’ve made no progress. And we can’t keep them chained up forever. Like, we can’t.. we don’t know what to feed them. We don’t know what to do with them period. And they’re up there making those terrible nightmarish sounds and you’re supposed to sleep here - which we both know you won’t even though you’ll pretend and… no, stop looking at me like that.”

Stiles pouted. “Seriously, stop it. You are not making sense with that face.” Derek’s eyebrows only rose in that weird manner only they could.

“You know what, okay, no. No, hand holding for you with all the judgement.”

And when Stiles started tugging, for the first time ever Stiles saw Derek pout.

“Okay, fine. Fine. We will do the hand holding. But you need to stop… I just want to solve this problem,” Stiles sighed, giving his hand a squeeze. “We want to save their lives you know, so I think this is more important than sleep, more important than the 9 am class. We can make it up with extra work.”

Stiles shook his hand back and forth lightly. “Hm? Hmmmmm? Come on, Der.”

“Der?”

“I don’t see you fighting it. All I see is a smile,” Stiles said in a sing song voice. Derek sighed, all heavy and dramatic and defeated and Stiles jumped up with a happy grin.

“Great! And for that…” he said, skittering over to the other side of the table to smack a kiss to Derek’s cheek. “You get a kiss. That should wake you right up.”

“I was awake the whole time. I was saying it because of you.”

“Mhm,” Stiles said, grinning as he walked over back to his spot. “I see you blushing.”

“Shut up, Stiles, and get to work,” Derek muttered, pulling his book closer again and burying his head in it.

“You can keep trying to hide it but I’ve seen it and it’s engraved in my mind now.” Stiles folded his knees underneath himself on the chair, pulling the book back to himself and flipping it open.

“Go back to researching, Stiles,” Derek said.

“I’ve ne-”

“How to turn arachnes back human after they’ve been bitten,” Derek continued relentlessly, trying to drown Stiles out. “What reverses arachne poison? Transformation potions…”

Stiles rested his chin in his hand, looking over thoughtfully, silent for just a second. “And you’re sure that it’s possible? This might make me sound dumb but what if they’re like you?”

Derek paused in the middle of turning a page. “Because their bite is actually poisonous. And it has to be reversible… since it doesn’t kill them, just transforms them. They’re not like us. They will feed off… anything that moves, even humans. It’s the poison in their veins that does that to them. We have to be able to extract it somehow.”

“That makes sense, I guess. Like Jackson turned back human. Or well, werewolf. Normal,” Stiles hummed, looking back down at his book. “There’s seriously not enough about this anywhere though, like… all I could find was the Greek myth with Athena.” He sighed. “Although Lydia is kind of a goddess, unfortunately we don’t have an actual goddess to just turn them back human with her otherworldly, almighty power… You know, that would actually be the perfect addition to our pack. A goddess. That would be awesome.”

Stiles looked up to find Derek looking at him.

“You do know that the Greek gods had all kinds of stuff going on, right?”

“No, Derek. I’m the dumbass you take me for. I know nothing about any mythology anywhere.”

“Oh my god, Stiles.”

“Relax, I’m not mad,” Stiles threw at him. “But if you’re not sure you can always kiss it better… Oh my god, again with that judgy look. You’re in a mood tonight aren’t you? Too flustered by my presence?

“Shut up, Stiles.”

“Some things really never change.”

--------------- “I feel like a real witch here,” Stiles said, mixing the purplish milky liquid in the salad bowl with a wooden spoon from Derek’s kitchen.

“You can shoot energy bolts from your hands but this makes you feel like a witch?” Lydia questioned from beside him, leaning on the table with one hand, while holding a little glass vial with *something in her other hand. “You’re just stirring.”

“Okay, no. I did like at least half the work here, okay?” Stiles argued.

“Uh huh,” Derek threw in from the other end, where all the books and papers were, far enough from the bowl to avoid any unhappy messes. Hopefully. He was watching intently from afar, ready to jump in and save Stiles from his own clumsiness. Stiles could see the tenseness in his crossed arms. Upstairs, the arachnes were scratching at the floors again. Stiles hadn't been upstairs to check on them, letting the werewolves take over that task, but he kept imagining they were about to come dropping down on their heads any second.

“You all are just haters. Meanwhile I’m here brewing the meanest potion ever like I just graduated top of my class from Hogwarts,” Stiles said, proudly ignoring everything and everyone around him trying to bring him down.

“I can’t believe I forget you’re a nerd sometimes," Lydia sighed.

"You say that like it's an insult but right now it makes me the most powerful person in the room." Reaching over, he took the vial from Lydia's hand to add a drop to the weird mixture. She gave him a look but let the vial slip through her fingers easily.

"That's a bold statement," Lydia said, off-handedly. It prompted Stiles to look between the two other people by him, the badass banshee and the goddamn alpha - who his gaze naturally hung on. He smiled.

"Except for Derek," he threw in then, averting his gaze from Derek's eyes after a moment, when Lydia let out a contemplative noise. Stiles glanced over to see her look over from Derek to him, a curious look I'm her eyes.

"Because he's the alpha. Obviously," he added. "Also, are you sure we're doing this, right? I mean, I'm loving this alchemy shit but this is just… goop. It's not a drinkable potion like at all."

"The thinner it is, the more we actually have to get in them and I don't know about you but I don't want to have to be around those fangs longer than necessary." Lydia shook her head.

Stiles froze and turned to Derek. "And just like that she makes me feel like the stupidest person in the room."

Derek smirked in his oh-so-smug way, like he was saying 'well, duh, Stiles, way to finally catch the fuck on to the damn truth' only in so much less words. Not less sass or cockiness or pushing at Stiles' buttons though and Stiles hates how it makes something in his torso tingle. It was unfair how much more of an effect it now had knowing that there was more meaning behind it. A very kissable meaning.

He almost missed the "All hail, Lydia!" that came from across the room and Stiles quickly ducked his head.

"Shut up. All of you."

"I didn't even say anything," Derek replied and Stiles didn't even have to look to recognize the fond, almost smiling tone.

"You said something with your face," he countered, waving a hand in his general direction, knowing that if he dared look that way his mushy, yearning feelings would all be out there for everyone to see.

"You're still staying something with your face," Lydia then interjected quietly and Stiles glanced to her sharply, seeing the narrowed eyes directed at Derek. Oh, she was definitely catching on - which, totally nerve wracking and scary because whatever this thing between them was, it was very fresh and possibly quite fragile.

Derek, however, met Lydia's scrutinizing gaze with one of ease and confidence, closing the case with a simple, unspoken 'what about it?'. The quick hint of a smile the alpha then threw Stiles' way did nothing to calm his racing heartbeat but everything to make him feel settled and… just right. "This isn't too easy, right?" Stiles asked half an hour later when they had the whole pack upstairs, his own hands wrapped around a small bottle, filled only halfway up, while the others had their arms wrapped around the arachnes, like they were wrestling, trying to hold them down without getting bitten or wrapped up in a sticky, somehow foul-smelling web. It was like something had died in there, if you asked Stiles. He didn't dare ask what if was like for the wolves.

In afterthought - when he received nothing but glares and frustrated looks, even from Lydia, who was simply here to observe for scientific purposes - it had not been /that/ easy... Especially when it was time for Stiles to get all up close and personal with the appendages these creatures called mouths, pincers moving incessantly. He grimaced, now wishing they had thought of finding a way to sedate them. Then again, who knew if it might have counteracted with the spell.

"Come on, Stiles. How long do you expect me to keep my body all up against this," Erica complained. It was quite intriguing how she didn't even need to try so hard anymore to sound like Derek and instead of getting stressed by the pressure all he felt was pride at the proof of Derek's progress as an alpha. They were looking up to him, taking on his mannerisms. Stiles felt like a proud parent himself - NOT that he was implying his relationship with Derek was in any way that serious or anything, it was just-

"Stiles!"

"Right, right, I'm on it!" He said with a quick shake of his head and a sigh and then he was off, stepping forward to face the threat.

Somehow, it was entirely more challenging to get this task done than it has been to subdue the arachnes in the first place and Stiles wished he didn't have to intensely stare at the stomach-turning chops. Unlike the werewolf canines, there was absolutely nothing sexy about this and he never wanted to find out what it would be like to be bitten by them. He would prefer it if no one ever tried to take a bite of him, thank you very much. Except, well, if Derek wanted to use his teeth for some hot and steamy times, Stiles would probably be very into that.

Alas, those were thoughts for another day, or at the very least other time of day, because Stiles did not want the pack to smell any kind of arousal in a situation like this. That would just make for a supremely awkward situation. So, no. Stiles got in and out as fast he could, pouring what would hopefully be enough potion into each of the two mouths. It was only a matter of seconds then, after he stepped back and they made sure the solution wasn't about to be spat up, that the entire pack was on the other end of the room, just... waiting?

The seconds ticked by in silence - of course, aside from the hissing and clicking and struggling and scratching of the arachnes. Really, Stiles didn't get where they got all that energy from.

"So, uh… are we sure this spell is actually gonna work or…?" Stiles after a good minute or two, the nagging, impatient fear of failure gnawing at his stomach.

“Unless we actually have one of the queens,” Lydia muttered, her arms crossed as she gazed at the unchanging scene before them.

Derek shook his head. “No. They would be bigger, more powerful. More… non-human.”

“Wait, this is the kid-friendly version?” Stiles shuddered.

“Shouldn’t we go out and find the queen then and kill it?” Isaac threw in with a confused expression.

Again, Derek shook his head. “If it was close we would know it. We’d have a lot more than just two of them on our hands. This one must have just gotten close enough to feel the Nemeton’s pull and wandered over. The queen should be nested somewhere discreet and safe, laying her eggs. We’re not going to go chasing after a problem we don’t need.”

Looking round at the pale and stricken faces, Stiles could tell that everyone instantly agreed with their alpha. They had enough things to worry about here with the Nemeton after all. And college. Which… they would have some catching up to do this weekend.

“Look! Something is happening!” Erica exclaimed, throwing out an arm to point at the the arachne that had stilled and was now started to shake.

While they had all gotten used to werewolf transformations at this point, this one was all too different to not be intriguing - even if Stiles could once again feel his stomach turn over.

Relief swept through the room when it was finally done and dazed very human eyes blinked up at them. Stiles grabbed one of the prepared blankets and approached the poor young brunet male he had seen in psychology class before. Meanwhile Boyd was already loosening the binds they had restricted him with.

“You’re good,” Stiles reassured him, laying the blanket around his shoulders with a soft smile. He turned to give Derek a look, who appeared just as pleased their plan had worked. “Everything is going to be just fine.”

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

They’d agreed to part ways and take care of themselves for the rest of the evening, after giving the two poor bite victims some story they would be able to recover with and sent them back on their way home. Derek and Stiles had specifically agreed to get some sleep.

But Stiles knew the sourwolf all too well.

As he pulled open the loft door open, he found Derek standing right behind it, arms crossed and a stern look on his face.

“What are you doing here? It’s past 1 am." Derek asked, as if Stiles was just one of the pups he could boss around. Like they hadn’t just kissed a few hours back. He wasn’t moving out of the way even when Stiles tried to urge him back by walking forward. Stiles just ended up close enough to feel the warmth radiating off of Derek and suddenly all he wanted to do was get even closer, to feel Derek against him.

As unwavering as Derek’s body was, his eyes softened with interest. Stiles’ lips quirked up, immediately advancing on the ground he’d won. He inched closer, so there was just barely a sliver of space between them.

“Is it past my bed time, alpha?” Stiles asked, voice lowered and breathy, nothing but suggestive, while he gave those ocean eyes a faux innocent look. “Are you going to send me to bed?”

Stiles tugged at the neckline of his shirt, as if he was fixing it, watching Derek’s gaze flicker down as his jaw clenched. “Undress me…” he continued, biting down on his lip and dragging it out from between his teeth with an audible breath. “Tuck me in reaal tight-”

Suddenly Stiles found himself being shoved back with a hand in his face.

“Ooomph!” Stiles staggered back for a second but Derek’s palm was gone as quickly as it had arrived.

“You are the worst,” Derek told him as he turned to walk away and Stiles could have taken it to heart if it wasn’t for the fact that there was definitely a tinge of pink at the tip of Derek’s ears and he was inviting him in instead of shutting the door in his face.

“That was my face, asshole! It’s my best feature. Luckily, you can’t ruin perfection.” Stiles stepped in with a successful grin, drinking in the sight of Derek’s soft look, consisting of sweatpants and a worn T-shirt. He closed the door behind him and followed Derek into the room, over to the windows under the crescent moon. Stiles knew what the not-so-sneaky alpha was doing.

Derek raised an eyebrow. “That’s your best feature? That’s unfortunate,” he muttered.

“Jokes on you. You’re the one attracted to this.” Stiles shrugged, countering with an easy smile to Derek’s relenting sigh.

“Touche,” and Stiles couldn’t help the way his stomach tingled at the way Derek was so openly admitting it. “Why are you here, though? You’re supposed to be sleeping.”

“Mmm, right,” Stiles nodded, turning away so he could head over to the dining table, which clearly had Derek’s open text- and notebooks, as well as his laptop. He set down his bag next to them, pointedly. “Because you’re obviously holding yourself to our agreement yourself.”

Derek withered guiltily beneath the look Stiles threw him. He shrugged, walking closer and tapping a finger on the tabletop.

“Getting back into all of this… isn’t as easy as I thought. I have to work harder to keep up,” he admitted. “I can’t just treat it lightly.”

Derek was clamming up a little. Stiles could tell by the way he lowered his gaze and the corner’s of his mouth pulled downward. The air around him just screamed awkwardness and discomfort. Derek had come a long, long way from when Stiles had met the werewolf, all hard lines and glares and- not that he didn’t still have hard angles like those of his jaw and cheekbones and muscles and- but the point was, he’d grown more into a cocky, self-assured jock, Peter had told many a story about Derek in his teen years. It was great to see him become more in tune with his emotions, accepting them the same way he accepted his wolf - wholeheartedly.

He was stable now, a great alpha, who knew to pause and reflect and do the best for his pack, rather than run on anger and sacrifice himself any chance he got.

Stiles wasn’t going to make a big deal about this insecurity. It was a big deal after all, starting up school again, after everything he’d been through. It just showed how far he’d come. Derek was allowed to feel scared. Stiles hopped up on the table casually.

“I think you’re treating this too heavily,” he said, wise-old-man-style. To which, of course, Derek rolled his eyes.

“That’s not a thing.”

“Of course it’s a thing!”

“It’s not a thing you say.”

“But it’s a thing you do,” Stiles pointed out and it was not something Derek could dispute. Even though he didn’t make it as obvious as Stiles with his non-stop rambling and infinite possibilities and plans, Derek would overthink just as badly, if not worse, allowing it to overwhelm him and render him silent and immobile.

“So, what, you came here to send me to bed?” Derek asked, parroting Stiles' words but not bothering to try and seduce Stiles in retaliation - which was kind of a bummer, if you asked Stiles.

Stiles straightened. “Is that a possibility? Because if so, then yes. Absolutely.”

“So you can join me there?” Derek taunted, crossing his arms, as if he was so sure Stiles only wanted to be with him to get into his pants.

“Ideally, yes. One day. Absolutely. Or now for uh, strictly sleeping purposes. Of the unconscious kind. No physical contact necessary. No dicks involved." Stiles bit down on his bottom lip, this time just to shut himself up, feeling the embarrassment and excitement - should one call it embitement? - that specific, giddy feeling he got when he looked into Derek's eyes to find them already taking him in, pulling him in like a whirlpool. And Stiles didn't really have anything to hold him back, ready to jump, ready to drown.

Derek must have felt the same thing because he stepped closer, solidifying the electricity between them. Stiles' fingers were tingling again and he resisted the urge to hide them under his thighs. Here Derek was, staring at him with such emotion, such trust - and if that wasn't the thing that made Stiles' heart leap most of all, that Derek was willing to give himself to him, to offer himself up, weaknesses and strengths alike, just for Stiles. Well, then Stiles could let his magic light Sparks around them and give their romantic scenes some Hollywood flair. There was no reason to hide their special powers. Not from each other.

"Does that mean you're not a cuddler?" Derek asked, amusement framing his words so snugly as if he'd never spoke a serious syllable in his life.

Stiles snorted. "Oh, I am an octopus in bed. Once I've got my arms around you, you're not going anywhere."

"Octopus in bed, huh?" Derek asked, and Stiles could already hear the giggle that was about to come out of his mouth.

"Don't you dare start with-"

"You must have been holding out on me. I didn't know you could shape shift... Or that you were into that kind of thing," Derek continued relentlessly, close enough now to lay a hand on Stiles' knee. The jolt that ran through him was deliciously warm and that hot as hell smirk on such a gorgeous face and all that cocky confidence was so not fair, but two could play that game. Stiles was nothing if not competitive (when he wanted to be that was).

"-that. Okay, you know what, you're the one who seems surprisingly into it, seeing as you're the one digging deeper into it. Is it telling about our relationship that you're trying to seduce me while talking about tentacle porn before out first date," Stiles asked, cocking his head.

"You said it, not me." Derek quickly shook his head, the slightest bit horrified, but in the next moment they were both laughing lightly.

"I guess nothing about our relationship could be considered normal, though, seeing as we're not," Stiles then said thoughtfully.

Derek shuffled closer, having Stiles part his knees so he could stand between them, his second hand also finding a thigh to rest on.

"Does that bother you?" He asked, shifting to sincerity in the blink of an eye, making Stiles smile softly.

Stiles lifted his arms to wrap them around Derek's neck, pulling him closer.

"Nope," he replied easily. "I mean, come on. There's literally magic in the air around us, how cool is that?" Stiles motioned around before smiling mischievously. "And also I can't wait to make you lose control, maybe give me some of those steamy Alpha eyes with my great powers of seduction."

Stiles arched closer, bringing them nose to nose. Derek hummed, flashing said eyes at Stiles for just a second.

"You think you could make me lose control?"

"Oh, absolutely. I'm your kryptonite, Hale."

But Derek shook his head. "You're my anchor. You make me stronger, not weaker."

"Just you wait, oh great alpha," Stiles mused, wrapping his legs around Derek's for more contact, reveling in the soft exhale he felt Derek make. "I'm totally going to make you weak in the knees."

With that he surged forward for a kiss, a slow one but not without intention, showing Derek just how much he meant it with a little nip. He let Derek pull away a minute later, breathing open-mouthed, watching those fractal eyes flicker down and up with the small shake of his head.

"I would never hurt you," Derek breathed, hands coming to grasp Stiles' waist, holding him fast with a caring grip, proving how safe and secure he could keep him.

"I know." Stiles' smile widened in full reassurance as he trailed his own fingers against Derek's nape and felt a shiver run through the man, the red glinting through in his eyes. He grinned successfully. "I win."

Derek let out a light growl, which only really supported Stiles' point, and Stiles knew he would definitely make sure to win more often if this was the prize he got, Derek pulling him flush against himself and kissing him like he had something to prove, like there was a hunger in him only Stiles could sate. It was like being set on fire - but in a good way - his body burning up with endorphins, adrenaline, blood rushing, pleasure sparking and best of all, knowing Derek felt the same with the urgency of his lips and tongue, the little sounds he made and the roll of his hips.

It wasn't long before he was swept up, body curling around Derek's, strong arms securely around him and he was being carried off to the bedroom. Not quite a happily ever after on a horseback into the sunset, but a happily ever after nevertheless, one Stiles wouldn't trade for anything in the world.

#eternalsterek #sterek #fanfic #alpha!derek #spark!stiles #future fic #i guess #college #monster fighting #first kiss #getting together #making out #i wrote this

54 notes · View notes

biscuitwalk · 5 years ago

Note

hello, love! i'm a great admirer of your work. i love how you play with different styles, colors, composition--everything! it's really refreshing! if it's okay, could you talk about your creative processes? i always love to hear how gfx creators do their things. your work is so unique and lovely to see! :)

Thank you so much for such a nice message! 🐡💕 Gonna put this under a cut because I rambled a little.

for my creative process i feel like quite of a mess talking about it (i’ve been staring at this message for. more than 5 hrs), not because it’s extensive or anything but because there’s not a whole lot of meat to it unfortunately 😢

if i had to summarize in one word: unstructured. or maybe completely lacking in structure, even 😂 compared to my two previous blogs for gfx here, i’ve posted less on this account over two years not really because of lack of inspiration (red velvet has been serving some interesting concepts!) and time but because of - for lack of a better term - poor emotional connection to media.

it sounds apathetic, but it really is just like that. things feel like they pass by and i feel very shallowly about them. still, despite the lack of actual motivation to make derived creative work, i think i very loosely follow this overview of steps:

1. save resources. screencaps for mvs and shows, for example, or any promotional images. for manga i tend to download every page as i read through them just so i don’t have to browse the net if i ever need to use any panels. i periodically check through my usual resource websites too so i make sure i don’t miss anything. sometimes downloading a specific font / pack makes you wanna try it out in a graphic asap 🤗

2. plan… or just make the graphic. this one is a little more difficult for me to explain frankly because i have planned for nothing, ever, in my life. maybe i drafted for my college papers. but graphics-wise i just immediately go open a new document and try out different things. i’ll try my best to break this down into subsections.

2a. overall tone. most of the time the first graphic i make often dictates the tone of the whole set. for example: the middle graphic in this post was the first one i made and i ended up liking it too much to scrap it, so the other two had to be vaguely minimalist in feel too.

2b. number of graphics. i usually try to make three graphics for a post. two means i got lazy halfway through (as you can see especially so in my kny graphic). this is actually just a least priority part of the process. i end up doing whatever my attention span permits me to.

2c. subject. there are media with narratives so streamlined it’s difficult to make a graphic that doesn’t just slap a character on it and some that offer you really good world-building outside of the narrative (dorohedoro, jujutsu kaisen… kpop mvs where a gazillion things are going on).

i personally prefer the latter because it gives you a broader range to explore in graphics. my jjk graphic was actually supposed to be part of an eight-photo set of graphics… but i didn’t really favor the characters for the remaining half so i just cut them out. what i liked about the characters i featured were their main narratives / quirks, so i made something interpretative of such (maki’s highly fixating on her family name, toge’s featuring his famous ingredients-exclusive vocabulary).

for the subject per graphic… i just choose what i like 🤪 i think it’s most fun when you fully derive something from or make your own interpretation of a work. this rv graphic, is sort of removed from the mv; i really just wanted a gone girl-esque or the loved ones kind of vibe from the mv so i made it so 😊

3. find inspiration. this seems like an odd last step but i just didn’t have anywhere to put it since it’s really a continuous process! i think constantly finding good graphic design is important to any creative process… i constantly browse on this site and behance, even instagram, for inspiration. it also helps to find good design outside of sites - e.g. museums and their informational pamphlets. inspiration streamlines the process more by giving me a general look to achieve in mind (it is, however, not a reference…).

tl;dr the most important component of the creative process is having fun! i make graphics that make me feel like i’ve conveyed how i see or feel about or interpret the media i’ve seen. personally, looking at other people’s work is also really helpful in adapting to new styles and creating new ideas for future graphics. i hope this was at least coherent and once again thank you for the nice message 🐡💕

#messages #i've been staring at this message for near 8 hrs i think... thank you for your patience anon #Anonymous

2 notes · View notes

courtingstars · 6 years ago

Text

Notes for Storming the Castle, Chapter 9

Hello again, dear AkaFuri readers! It feels SO nice that it hasn’t been too long since I last updated. I replied to all the Ch. 8 comments on Ao3 (YAY), but I did want to mention that I’m still planning to reply to several people who left me really nice notes here on Tumblr as well. Hopefully that’ll happen later today or this weekend, so thanks for your patience! (Also I apologize for the awkwardness of replying two weeks later... Family holiday stuff last week turned out to be, uh, a lot? //laughs) On to the notes!

Most of my notes this time are brief, since I didn’t have too much in the way of cultural info or setting inspiration that I haven’t mentioned already. But in the interest of sharing, here are some things I remembered…

(Cut for my usual rambling about Akashi’s house and previous fics and mental health and also THE SPOOKY STUFF/why KnB is a supernatural story anyway...)

The “Italian velvet” reference in the pillow fight

This is a really silly note that I’m including just to demonstrate how out-of-control my Google research gets… Here are some throw pillows made from Italian silk velvet, which was the fanciest imported fabric I could come up with for the pillow fight scene. (Because of course I managed to squeeze a pillow fight scene into my super-dramatic sleepover fic, haha. XD) And in case for some reason you want to know a little bit about the super-posh history of this fabric, I’ve got you covered.

(… Seriously, why do I look up things like that?)

The Akashi Family Portrait

The huge portrait of Akashi and his parents is something that I’ve been preparing to include in the story for a while… It was inspired by those gigantic paintings you often see in super-fancy European estates, that idealize powerful members of the aristocracy. (Or royalty, in some cases!) Since the Akashi house is a Western-style mansion, the idea seemed pretty fitting, as over-the-top and surreal as it is? //laughs Over on my Pinterest inspiration board for this fic, I included a bunch of different ideas for the gown that Shiori is wearing in the portrait. I especially like the color of this one and the overall silhouette of this one but this is spectacular as well. (Her gown probably wouldn’t be as low cut as those examples, for multiple cultural reasons, but you still get the general idea?) There’s actually a lot of Shiori-related inspiration in that part of the board, including a couple KnB images!

The Traditional Tatami Room

So this one is interesting… Back in Chapter Five, you might remember that Furihata’s house—like many Japanese homes—has a traditional Japanese-style room with tatami mats on the floor. Since Akashi’s house in the anime is based on an actual Western-style mansion near Tokyo, my initial assumption was that his house wouldn’t have any traditional rooms. BUT, it turns out the actual house does have at least one room with tatami mats, as you can see in the third photo from the bottom here. (You can also see a photo of it in the first link!) So I decided to include it in Furihata’s midnight exploration of the rooms, where he discovers the Akashi family butsudan.

I’ve mentioned butsudan in the notes in Part One, but as a quick reminder, a butsudan is a family shrine that is partly used to honor relatives who are deceased.

References to Fast Train

Since it’s been a looooong time since I posted the first story of this series, I did want to mention that a few of the things that Furihata thinks about during Part Two are referring to events that happened in The Fast Train to Kyoto. Furihata’s first dream about meeting Shiori is one example. Another one, in this chapter, is when Furihata sees Akashi’s father in person for the first time, and remembers that Akashi once told him that he “was instructed to keep people at a distance.” That’s from their phone mail conversation in Chapter Seven of Fast Train.

I try to make sure that any fic in a series can be read by itself, so I usually stop to explain these references in some way, for those who didn’t read the earlier story. But that one was vague enough that I figured it deserved a nod!

Photo References for the Bedroom

I linked some of these before, but since the final scene featured Akashi’s bedroom so much, I thought I would link a few of my photo inspirations for his bed here, here and here. Also, I forgot that he wasn’t wearing the robe in the previous chapter, so here’s a few photos I picked for possible inspiration there. (Those are both a little fancier compared to what I saw in my head, but I’m okay with that? //laughs)

Furihata’s Anxiety

I won’t go into panic attacks and anxiety here, since that information is pretty readily available online… But I did think it was worth mentioning that while Furihata has panicked in front of Akashi in my fics (and in canon!), he says that until now he’s tried to avoid having an attack that severe in front of a friend. Since this series is meant to be about two people who struggle with different mental health disorders, I think it’s noteworthy that Furihata trusts Akashi enough at this point to let his new friend be around him when he’s at his most vulnerable, and to see the full extent of what he struggles with.

(And I’ll also say that this is a theme in the series that’s going to come around again. I won’t say exactly how, because of the spoiler factor, but… I bet a lot of you can figure it out! Seriously, your insight about where the story is going constantly amazes me. <3)

All The Supernatural Stuff

To be honest, I have no idea if I should be apologizing or not, for how supernatural this chapter gets? //laughs Several people have told me that they’re still reading this series because they enjoy the idea of Furihata having supernatural powers, like the ability to see auras. So, uh… I hope you enjoyed this chapter? XD

I have to admit that from the beginning of A Spark of Light, I was planning to include various elements of the supernatural. (I was foreshadowing this in Fast Train too, so, see previous note? //laughs) That’s one of my favorite things about KnB, if I’m 100% honest… I’m obsessed with all kinds of fantasy and speculative fiction, so I love all the little hints in the KnB canon that something kind of supernatural might be going on with the Generation of Miracles. Like how Kuroko has absolutely no “presence” but the GoM have really strong ones, and how they all have that weird clairaudient vision of a door opening in that one episode, and… yeah. XD Even the more subtle stuff, like all the different patterns of matching names (no kidding, almost EVERYONE has names that match in different ways, even Seirin and the Uncrowned Kings!). Plus the way the GoM are the only ones with super colorful hair, and also Akashi’s slitted pupils? (SERIOUSLY WHAT IS WITH THE CAT PUPILS, WHY DOES NOBODY IN CANON EVER ASK ABOUT THAT.)

Come to think of it, I can go ahead and mention this now… The series title, A Spark of Light, is meant at least partly as a reference Furihata’s first name! “Kouki” includes the kanji for “light,” and one translation for its full meaning is “establishes brilliance.” (Light symbolism is super important in KnB in general, for obvious reasons. XD) So the title partly refers to how during the series, Furihata’s intuitive and supernatural powers are “sparking” to life, and this affects pretty much everything that happens. (And it’s one of the reasons why he is able to get so close to Akashi in the first place.)

Side note: This is loosely related to the reoccurring thing with Furihata (or a character that represents him!) holding a small light, like a lantern/candle. I also use a lot of fire symbolism for Akashi, because fire is pretty strongly associated with the color red in Japan. So one is the “spark” while the other is the “flame,” basically? METAPHORS. //I’msocornyohgodhelp

In any case, the supernatural parts are definitely becoming more and more important to the plot! Furihata doesn’t fully accept some of what he sees in this chapter, but I can say that he’s going to have to face some of what it means for him (and for his connection to Akashi) very soon.

(And hopefully I didn’t creep anyone out too badly with the ghost stuff… I know some of you definitely saw it coming! But with any luck, the way in which it was finally introduced had an interesting twist to it… I hope?)

As always, thanks for checking out my ramble-y notes, and thanks so much for reading the fic. <3 See you again soon for the final chapter!

#storming the castle #kat writes fanfic #kat writes about basketball dorks #long post #text post #thank you so much again to everyone who's let me know they're enjoying the story #you're all so awesome #and hopefully I didn't creep anyone out too badly???#except Furi #SORRY FURI DEAR IT HAD TO HAPPEN #also I continue to apologize for the sheer level of DENIAL of these two boys #all I will say for now is that the clock is ticking on that one #like seriously ticking #TICK TOCK

14 notes · View notes

folie-aplusieurs · 6 years ago

Text

Birthday!

A bit of a belated birthday present for the most amazing @das-verlorene-kind , who'd requested a scene of Patrick returning Pete's necklace. I do hope this is what you were looking for and I hope you had the most fantastic birthday <3

*an AU of an AU, I have other plans for that necklace lol Just go along with any changes made for this cuteness!*

*Writing is under the READ MORE cut!*

Despite his fascination and interest, Patrick’s never quite understood the humans as well as he supposes he should. Even with the years he’s spent watching them, eyes on the beach and heart doing its best to follow theirs, he’s never grasped the finer details. Why they live scattered and far from each other, preferring solitude to the community. Why they create dastardly things of pain and horror, too like the monsters of the deep for him to feel safe.

Why they fall in love so easy; and why they fall out of it twice as fast.

Patrick shakes these thoughts from his mind as he sinks deeper into the water, eyes adjusting to the darkness in their old familiar ways. It’s been a while since he’s had reason to travel down so deep but his body hasn’t forgotten how to go along with the change. Scales harden against the cold pressure and his body temperature drops to match the chill. A small shudder that has nothing to do with the icy touch of water travels down his spine— a reminder from the stars not to go too far down.

And he won’t. Or, he doesn’t plan on it, anyway. It’s nearly night and the mermonsters should be retreating back to whatever cave they’ve been keeping in since arriving at his beach. It’s a dangerous mindset and a foolish hope but it’s one he holds onto anyway. Certainly, the stars can protect him if he makes any mistakes? Surely, they’ll defend him as he swims after one of their own?

At last, he reaches the bottom of the beach— far from the deepest part of the sea but still low enough that no human would dare come out on their own. Water passes over Patrick’s gills, calming him, and he begins to search. Something bright, shimmering, lucky.

Something in the shape of a sun.

The sand down here is finer and more like a sort of mud or clay as he digs through them, his memory calling upon the image of the star that once hung around Pete’s neck. A sun, he remembers the humans calling it. He’d only ever learned it as another star but, it seems, this is just another human thing he’s not yet meant to understand.

A sun, he thinks, he needs to find a sun in the ocean. A sun, a star, a good luck charm but, in the never still waves and the darkness, there’s no sun to be seen. Patrick flicks his tail harshly, frowning as he circles around.

He was certain he saw it fall down here, certain the stars had been doing more than showing off when their beams landed in this patch of ocean. He’d prayed to them, begged for them to lead him to a sun charm without knowing why its importance weighed so heavily on his mind.

The one thing he understands even less than he understands the humans is himself; he realized this long ago.

But the night goes on and he turns over too many shells and rocks and lost treasures with too little success. His hopes ebb in time with the tide, pulled by the cruelty of the moon and all the darkness she shrouds herself in.

“Useless,” he says to himself in the old siren tongue, the word a guttural utterance of water and breath. He flaps his tail once more, this time brushing up dirt as he does so. He frowns at the specks of brown and grey now littering the water, frustration building up like a storm in his mind. He’d asked the stars for one thing, the first time in years he’s dared question them, and this is what he receives? Dirt and mud and irritation? He swings his arms into the cloud of dust before him, snarling as he does so. “Useless, useless, useless!”

On the third cry, he feels a familiar heat behind his eyes and, for a moment, the water around him glows a brilliant golden shade. Bright enough he’s certain he’s revealed the lost sun; bright enough he startles back, hitting a group of rocks behind him.

As quickly as it had appeared, the light fades and he’s left with his empire of dirt once more.

Dirt and, he sees as he drifts forward cautiously, a small glimmer of silver. Half-hidden beneath plants and rocks, he spots the shimmering light of a metal sun. It’s almost funny how easily the sight makes him smile, how the thought of it hanging around Pete’s neck warms his cheeks. He doesn’t think as he reaches for it, doesn’t ponder on the strange light he’d seen or why he felt as if it had come from him. No siren powers speak of finding lost objects— or none he’d been taught off, anyway— so he brushes it all to the side, tucking the confusion away for another night.

Another night or, hopefully, never. He’d rather keep away from those siren traits, the abilities painting a target on his back in all the colorful shades of stars and suns. If he can just keep the gold and blue that Pete talks so often about, the nighttime moments without the night, he’d be just as happy.

As Patrick cradles the necklace in his palm, he imagines he can feel a bit of starlight within it. What stories would Pete tell of an object retrieved from dark waters and hidden sands? Would he find the magic he always speaks of when referring to Patrick, the pretense that mystery is synonymous with power?

Or would he merely accept it as it is? A necklace of luck and nothing more?

Patrick closes his fist. He shakes his head and begins to swim upwards. It’s fully night by now and he should know better than to linger in places his kind are not welcome in.

Still, with every glance at the treasure he’s found, he can’t help but laugh at his own curiosities.

He can’t help but hope that the descent into darkness had been worth it.

He doesn’t learn about worth until after Pete’s returned, smiling about nothing more than the fact that he doesn’t have to miss Patrick for a second longer.

It’s a smile Patrick doesn’t have to return— not when he’s already wearing his own version of the joy.

They meet on the rocks and they speak of life without each other— as if this is something that can be called life. Pete’s more lively than he’d been before, rambling on about freedom and time and control. No more books to write, he says. Nothing keeping him away from this beach.

“It’s really lucky I was able to get out, you know,” he says, leaning over the edge and drawing circles in the water with a finger. “It’s basically impossible to ever escape the city and celeb stuff. God, I almost got sick of my name while I was there. And no one should ever get sick of their name.”

Patrick laughs louder than he needs to, the exuberance at seeing Pete again bringing every emotion to the extreme. “Well, I always did say you are a lucky person— for others and for yourself.”

Pete blinks in mild shock but smiles all the same. “Perhaps that’s why I’m so charming.”

It’s a human phrase, one Patrick has vague memories of from children telling stories of princes and princesses while their parents weren’t looking, sneaking out to the ocean to share… what were they? Ah, yes, fairy tales with the creature outside.

Charming. Yes. He supposes Pete is a bit like the princes from those stories but the word has other meanings for Patrick. It reminds him of stars casting spells and trinkets passed from kings to sons.

And sons and charms and…

And it reminds Patrick of something else.

He ducks beneath the water without warning Pete, hands scraping along the rocks as the sound of Pete calling his name sinks into the waves beside him. He almost feels bad for ignoring him but it’s easy to push away when his fingers catch on a familiar shape. Cool and rounded, connected to a type of chord or string.

When Patrick comes back out of the water, Pete’s breathing hard and his eyes are wide. “What the hell was that?”

“Sorry,” Patrick says, only half meaning it. “I just remembered… Well, I suppose, would it… It has been a while but I thought… Would you mind if I gave you something? It was yours to begin with, after all.”

Pete’s eyebrows furrow together but he nods all the same, though hesitation lingers in the action.

“Yeah, sure,” he says.”What is it?”

Patrick holds his breath— a human habit he’s picked up from the time he’s spent with Pete— and reveals the object in his hand. The charm. The sun.

The necklace Pete lost far too long ago.

“It is yours,” Patrick says softly when Pete’s gaping silence goes on for too long. “I… I may not understand your ideas on luck and charms but… while you were gone, I had thought that you may want it back. You seemed quite fond of it and I know you missed it and… I wanted you to have it back. I… I hoped it would make you… happy.”

His speech is nothing special, tripping over words he hopes mean something. It’s just his luck, his brand of coincidence, that he’d fall for a writer— a master of words and emotions, tying the two together as easily as a fisherman preparing the bait on a hook. Patrick’s always been shy around the humans but it was always for a logical reason: his tail, his fangs, his secrets. Is there any logic in fearing the judgment of his speech?

Pete says nothing but he does reach out. His fingers press into Patrick’s palm but he doesn’t take the necklace back just yet, as fearful as he had been the first night they’d met.

“You… I thought it was lost,” he says, at last, his words nothing more than escaped breaths. Patrick smiles, laughing only because he has no other reaction to give.

“It was. For a while.” When he swims closer to Pete, his body carries all the same nerves they’d had the night he first saw how beautiful a human can be. Dark and wide-eyed, afraid but still leaning into the waters the way no other has ever done before. It’s the same twist in his gut but it’s still so different, traveling like starlight in his veins and collapsing around his heart, keeping every inch of him warm. “I asked the stars to help me find it. Is that okay?”

When Pete smiles— bright and burning, another inexplicable burst of gold and light— Patrick feels the comfortable warmth in beneath his skin explode into a burning heat.

“It’s… It’s amazing, Patrick. You’re amazing.” He pulls his fingers away, leaving the necklace in Patrick’s palm. “I didn’t know it was so obvious that it meant so much.”

“I do not think it was because it was obvious,” Patrick says, head spinning with the need to get these words right, to make sure Pete understands every sound. “I just think that, from the beginning, I knew I you in ways I have never known a human. Understood you even when I thought I did not. And that means I understood that this necklace was important.” He speaks slowly and then pauses, looking at Pete with flaming cheeks, praying for the stars to keep him from hearing the storm of reckless emotions raging through his mind. “Does this make sense?”

“It does.” Pete doesn’t hesitate in his response, nodding still with that smile on his face.

And Patrick wonders if it does, if he’s said the right things. Because, if he could speak in his tongue, he’d use words the humans haven’t had the mind to invent yet. He’d tell Pete how every celestial body aligned itself perfectly for their meeting, how the stars and planets shine only so they can be together. He’d tell Pete how, for the first time, he hadn’t wished to be a human or anything other than what he is— he’d only wished for the chance to know Pete and to have Pete know him in every way no one else could.

When Pete first arrived, he’d wanted a story. Now, more than ever, Patrick wishes he could give him one.

“Patrick,” Pete says and it’s only then that Patrick realizes he’d been pouting. “Patrick, I understand. I promise.”

Patrick’s not sure, not yet, but he accepts it all the same. Another worry to lock away; another rumination to forget.

“Here,” he says, changing the subject. “Let me put it on you.”

Pete laughs and ducks his head, bent over awkwardly so Patrick can toss the chain around his neck. He toys with the latch, pretending to understand it.

He wonders how long he’ll have to accept every understanding as a pretense.

“There,” he says. “I think—”

And Pete looks up.

His eyes are the sand found on the bottom of the sea, clay and starlight melded together to create something wonderful. Patrick finds every grain, every glint, lovely.

“I know,” Pete says, voice low. “I know exactly what you mean to say. Always. Please don’t ever doubt that.”

Patrick pauses, captured by Pete’s words and gaze. They stain him every color of the night sky, golds and sunset reds burning across his skin like the kisses he wishes he could trail on Pete’s.

“I know,” Patrick says, surprised to find he means it. “I know you do.”

When Pete pulls Patrick in for a kiss, lips pressed together with saltwater and stars, there is no need for words or breath. Their thoughts are one— they’re perfect and together and lovely. Understood and understanding; knowing and wanting and speaking without a voice.

They are never-ending.

Pete breaks apart only to slide into the water with Patrick, only to pull him until Patrick’s tail is pressed to his hips and their chests are touching. They’re steady in the rocking waves, embracing and kissing.

And, as Pete holds him close enough for that sun to press itself into Patrick’s skin, Patrick realizes, for the first time, that Pete has always understood. He’s never looked away or turned his back.

Despite everything, Pete’s never been the one to get lost or sick at sea.

And this, Patrick knows, is something he will always be lucky to understand.

#k speaks #i am a bit later than i had hoped but i still want you to have this #fanfic #mertrick #peterick #patrick stump #pete wentz #fall out boy #i read it over a few times but it's late so please forgive any mistakes!#please lol #read more

13 notes · View notes

katrinawritesthings · 7 years ago

Text

Jonghyun/Taemin; A Year of Sunsets (Part 4/5); PG

He wishes his first encounter with a shapeshifter wasn’t while he was half awake and half fucking terrified of being eaten in the dead of night. He’s certain that he wouldn’t be nearly this freaked out if he didn’t take a nap by accident. The disorientation is fucking with him. Maybe he can kinda… just….

“Hey,” he calls out softly towards the bushes.

ao3

1-2-3-4-5

Taemin is just getting ready to head out to the upper east side of the lake to paint a sunset from a different angle when he hears the wolves start howling. It makes him pause as he’s tugging his backpack over his shoulders. He glances up at the sky, at where the sun is still at least an hour from setting and the faded shadow of moon that he can see isn’t even close to full. He kind of wants to take a snap of this to send to Kibum to prove that all of his old wolf clichés are untrue, but he doesn’t want to get it out of his backpack. He shrugs after a moment, fitting his easel and canvas more securely under his arm and locking his door behind him.

When he reaches the shore of the lake, he pauses again. He was going to head north and east, but he remembers Jonghyun saying that the wolves all lived more northwest instead. He glances quickly each way before heading left. If he’s going to be out here while they’re singing, he wants to be closer to them.

Thankfully, when he reaches the corner of the lake he finds that someone’s set up some comfy looking camp chairs up on the shore. Probably that other neighbor Jonghyun told him about one time that’s always fishing over here and likes to keep to themself even more than Taemin does. They’re not here right now to yell at Taemin, so he sits himself down all snug and comfortable and sets up his easel in the sand.

It’s at least half an hour before the sun will be low enough for him to guesstimate the general tone of his painting; half an hour in which he sits back, relaxes, watches the soft waves shift over the shore, and attempts to send a snap video of the forest and the wolves singing to Kibum before he gives up and resolves to send it when he gets back home where he actually has service.

He has no idea how it happens, but somehow he fades from closing his eyes and enjoying the wind ruffling through his hair to snapping his eyes open half a second before he falls out of his chair into the sand.

He groans, curling into a little ball before struggling to push himself up to his knees. What the fuck. He wasn’t even tired. He doesn’t deserve this. He squeezes his eyes shut to rub accidental sleep out of them, then opens them to darkness. He frowns, confused, closes them again and reopens them, panics because he can’t see anything, and then understands.

It’s a little bit too late for him to paint his sunset tonight, he thinks. He turns to squint at the sky. At least the moon and the stars give him a tiny bit of light, once his eyes adjust. He feels up his pockets for his phone, and when he taps the flashlight app, he winces at how fucking bright it is. He knew he should've spent the extra few minutes looking for that one fancy flashlight app he used to have with all of the different settings when he switched phones last year. He shines it over the grainy pebbles of the shore until he finds his bag. Then he fumbles for the zipper and shoves his arm in there until he finds the big flashlight Jonghyun gave him.

That light is even brighter, and he groans again when he flicks both on. His phone tells him that it’s almost midnight before he puts it back into his pocket and he sighs. He really fucked up. He’s gonna have to paint two things tomorrow and his sleep schedule is going to be so off and--and he jumps when his light shines through the trees for a second and illuminates two bright circles low to the ground.

“Frick,” he whispers as the shadow connected to those eyes darts away with a rustle into the bushes. It’s a soft, quiet noise, but it’s still heavy, the only sound other than the slow wind through the trees and soft splishes of the lake. The wolves have stopped their howling and it’s almost eerie how loud the silence is now without them. Taemin reaches for his bag without taking his eyes off of the place where the eyes disappeared, jumpy and paranoid to be out here in the middle of the night. He tries to think of what it could have been; bunnies or deer or whatever other skittish creatures would be no problem, but if it was a predator….

He tries to think back to what Jonghyun told him about the forest a few weeks ago. He’s sure he mentioned something on whether or not the wolves were the only predators around here, but he can’t for the life of him remember. Still, though. He feels like a big cat of some sort wouldn’t attack him if he was aware and he feels like a bear would be considerably larger than the eyes he saw. He’s probably fine. He tells himself this, over and over, as he quickly gathers up his easel and canvas and shines his light up the shore to find the path. He still shivers under his sweater from the uneasy chill that raises goosebumps over his skin.

As he’s trudging back up to the little dirt road, another rustle comes from the bushes and he flinches. This time he catches a bushy tail flicking out of the beam of his light. He breathes a tiny fraction easier. That was definitely a wolf tail. Fuck. He wishes his first encounter with a shapeshifter wasn’t while he was half awake and half fucking terrified of being eaten in the dead of night. He’s certain that he wouldn’t be nearly this freaked out if he didn’t take a fucking nap by accident. The disorientation is fucking with him. Maybe he can kinda… just….

“Hey,” he calls out softly towards the bushes. “Um. If you’re, like, friendly, or like--not going to eat me, can you just. Bark. Twice. Or something. In the gentlest way possible. Please. I mean, I know you’re not, but I’m just--I’m really anxious right now and--”

A soft, soft, soft, gentle whuff cuts him off. Two whuffs. Taemin has never been more happy to hear a dog noise in his life. He’s still jumpy, but the reassurance lets him relax enough to take a deep breath and start walking again. This isn’t the end of the world. He knew, before he moved here, that something like this was going to happen eventually. Getting lost in the woods at night was practically inevitable. He’s not even lost; he’s just out way too late. It’s about a half hour walk back home. He’s not looking forward to it at all, but it’s not like he can just fall asleep in the dirt all night.

“Okay, Tae, you can do this,” he tells himself. “You’re not gonna be brutally murdered in the woods in the middle of the night.” He holds his easel to his chest and squints across the lake to see if he can see the glow of the porch light that he left on. He can’t. “You’re a feelgood comedy, not a murder thriller,” he sighs. “You’re gonna keep walking and get home and fall asleep in your nice warm bed and keep loving your wonderful life and--”

Another rustle from the bushes cuts his reassurances off. He glances at the trees to his right with a wince. Fuck. The wolf is still following him.

“Stop talking to yourself,” he snaps at himself. “They’re gonna think you’re fucking weird--fuck.” He closes his eyes for a moment to grimace at the sky. How can he make such a bad first impression all by himself like this? “Please don’t think I’m weird,” he whines at the forest. This probably isn’t helping him. “I’m Taemin,” he says in the general direction of where he thinks the wolf is. “I moved into the forest like half a year ago? And I paint sunsets to sell on the internet.”

He doesn’t really know why he’s introducing himself to a random wolf that was apparently spying on him while he slept. Probably because it makes it easier to keep walking. He hopes they’re still following him and listening to him speak. Pretending that they’re escorting him back to his house with their fangy protection makes it easier to keep walking too.

“I’m friends with Jonghyun,” he offers to the trees. “I don’t know if you know him--he lives by me and goes out camping a lot and he says he’s seen you guys chilling around out there.” He’s sure that if Jonghyun has seen the wolves then he wolves have seen him. That just makes sense. “He’s pretty cool,” he mumbles. He stumbles on a rock in the path and scrunches his face as he bravely takes bigger steps to act like he didn’t. Then he scrunches his face for a different reason. “I mean, when I say he’s my friend, I mean. I hope he’s my friend,” he says. He doesn’t know how Jonghyun feels. Maybe he’s just a nice neighbor to Jonghyun and they’re not friends yet in his book.

“I fucking… jerked him off a few months ago, I better be his friend,” he mutters. He has to be, honestly. You don’t jerk someone off in the middle of a blizzard and not be friends after that. “Anyway,” he says quickly, shaking his head and glancing to his side. He can still vaguely see the wolfy shape silently following him through the trees. That’s nice. He hasn’t driven them off and he hasn’t been left alone. “Jonghyun told me you were all rad and nice,” he tells the wolf. “And I hear y’all howling a lot. It’s really pretty.” He hopes he’s making a good impression with all of this rambling flattery. He wants this one wolf to like him and to bring back a good story of him to all of their wolf friends.

He’s getting closer to his house, he thinks; if he shines his light right, he can see the fork in the road between the curve of the lake and the path back to his place. He should start driving out to his paint locations, honestly, if they’re gonna take him this long to get back. If he’s feeling tired before he leaves he definitely will so something like this doesn’t happen again.

He makes himself walk the rest of the way in silence, holding his flashlight tightly and glancing into the trees every so often to make sure the wolf hasn’t left him alone. He’s not exactly at ease with them there following him from the shadows, but he knows he would be even more anxious if they weren’t. He likes the feeling of safety the company gives him. At least now if he does get brutally murdered by a serial killer or something then someone will know what happened to him. He hopes whichever wolf this is wouldn’t mind taking a day or two as a human to fill out some paperwork for his death.

“Okay, Tae, stop fucking thinking about death,” he mutters to himself. That shit isn’t going to help at all. He needs to just. Think about getting home and getting a snack and going to sleep in his very warm, very comfy, very safe bed. Yes.

Eventually, the dim glow of his porch light becomes visible down the path. He breathes a soft sigh of relief at the visual confirmation, hikes his bag more over his shoulders, and walks a little faster. Behind his house, he can see a faint plume of chimney smoke curling up from Jonghyun’s and tsks. Shit. He probably could have just texted him and asked for a ride, since he’s apparently still up so late. Bluh. Whatever. At least now he’ll know that for next time.

As he approaches his house and the wide clearing in front of it, he notices the silence of the forest soften just slightly. He stops in the middle of the road in front of his front porch to glance back at the trees. Oh. Right. The wolf probably isn’t going to just prance into plain sight after spending so long hiding. He steps tiredly the rest of the way up to his front door and wiggles his hand into his pocket for his keys.

Pushing the front door in and dropping his bag just inside, he takes a moment before going in himself to lean up on the wall and squint out at the trees. He doesn’t see--no, he does. The faintest movement in the low bushes and two big eyes peeping at him from the leaves. He smiles to see them still there.

“Thank you,” he calls softly. He hesitates, frowns at his low volume, but shakes himself of the doubt. Wolves have good hearing. He doesn’t need to repeat himself. “It was nice to meet you,” he adds, and then, for lack of any better ideas, “Good night.”

One quiet, soft, friendly whuff answers him before the eyes disappear and he hears the wolf rustling away through the leaves.

Taemin puffs his lips up as he stands behind his back door, rocking on his toes as he debates on whether or not to go outside yet. Guh. This is so stressful. He never should have asked Jonghyun to come over last night. He doesn’t need help figuring out his garden structure. He’s pretty sure that he could have muddled through it on his own. He doesn’t need Jonghyun to come figure it out with him and he doesn’t need to be having a mini panic attack before noon.

He just. Doesn’t know if sitting outside and watching Jonghyun walk all the way up through the woods and too him would be more awkward than waiting for him to knock and opening the door. He doesn’t know which one would be worse and he hates it. He opens and closes his hands into little fists at his sides as he argues with himself for the fifth minute straight.

Bluh. Bluh bluh bluh. He’s just. He’s just gonna go out there. He’s just going to go out there and set up all of his little work tools on his back porch table and make his brunch muffins look cute and presentable and then wander around in the half frozen dirt behind his house so it looks like he’s already doing something when Jonghyun gets here. Yeah. That’s what he’s going to do.

And so he does that. He marches his way outside, grabs all of his tools and things out from the old shed that he still hasn’t really cleaned since he moved here, scoots back inside to get his muffins, sets everything up on the porch, and shuffles out into the mud. It’s only a little mushy; it’s only just starting to thaw out. He still has a few more weeks before it’ll actually be workable. He hopes it’s ready by the first day of spring. He wants to be really dramatic and sentimental and plant his very first seed then.

He’s shuffling a shallow line around what he’s guessing will be the perimeter of his garden in the dirt when he hears footsteps coming through the trees to him. Oh. Aha. There he is. He keeps up his shuffling, staring at the ground, until he reaches the end of his porch and looks up. Jonghyun is very much closer now, smile easy and hands in his jacket pockets as he steps up to the end of the porch a few seconds after Taemin.

“Hi friend,” he says.

“Hey,” Taemin says back, and frick. This is still. Kind of awkward. He rubs his neck sheepishly, then points up to his little porch table. “I made muffins,” he says. “If you. Wanted one. They’re blueberry.”

“Ooh,” Jonghyun says, and slips around Taemin and up the small steps. “Thanks,” he says as he grabs one. Taemin nods back, scuffing the mud awkwardly under his shoe. Jonghyun takes a bite of his muffin, swallows, licks his lips, and leans on the railing of his porch, surveying his empty back yard. He takes another bite and turns his gaze to Taemin with an amused brow raised, like he knows that Taemin doesn’t know what to say and he thinks it’s cute. Hecking heck.

“So tell me what you have figured out already,” Jonghyun says after another moment, nodding at the dirt and hiding his next grin in his muffin when Taemin blushes. God. At least he’s moving the conversation along instead of just letting Taemin flounder.

“Um,” Taemin says. He gestures blandly at his empty space. “I was thinking, just, a generic square, see,” he says, pointing out his faint outline. “And I know what I wanna plant, and when in the year, but I have to figure out, like, how to fit everything in…. I figured out the soil quality and bought fertilizer and I’ve been composting since I moved here…. I’m not entirely sure? What I’m going to do about, like, bunnies and squirrels and shit,” he mumbles. He hasn’t really thought that part through yet. “But, I mean, I’ll figure that out.” He shrugs weakly and looks back up at Jonghyun. He’s staring seriously back out at the empty space now, thoughtfully tapping the remaining half of his muffin against his bottom lip.

“You can build a little wall,” he says. “Around the perimeter.” He points around the outline as well. “It won’t keep the critters out, but it’ll look cute.” He gives Taemin a little smile that Taemin snorts at. He’s not wrong.

“That’s, like, digging a trench and dealing with brick glue and levelling and doing math and shit, though,” he says, scrunching his face. “Maybe later. Not now.” He’ll build himself a little wall when he feels like suffering. “Or maybe I could make a wall out of flower boxes,” he thinks out loud. That would be cue, a little wooden, flower-topped wall. “That’s money, though.” He sighs a little pout and Jonghyun chuckles softly.

“I’ll help, if you ever do it,” he says. He finishes off his muffin and dusts crumbs off onto his pants. “So you just need me to help you figure out dimensions and shit?” he asks, looking at Taemin curiously.

“Mmhmm,” Taemin says. “There’s a tape measure on that table somewhere, and a notebook of graph paper.” He hates math but he’s planning on making everything as even and easily divisible as possible. He’s good at drawing symmetrical things. Jonghyun turns to find the stuff on the table, but before he picks it up, he turns back.

“Can I throw my jacket inside really quick?” he asks. He plucks at his dark grey jacket. “I don’t wanna get all sweaty.” His nose scrunches as he says the word and Taemin snorts.

“Yeah, it’s unlocked,” he says, waving a hand at the back door. Jonghyun shoots him a finger pistol and scoots inside. Taemin smiles fondly to himself. Jonghyun is good and cute. He’s gone inside only for a few moments, and then he comes back outside, grabs the things from the table, and then hops down the steps to join Taemin in the mud.

“So what do you want to grow?” he asks casually after a few minutes of them figuring out and marking the exact dimensions of the perimeter on the ground.

“Uh,” Taemin says. He uses the noise both to think and to stall for time as he finishes writing down the little numbers on his graph paper. “A tangerine tree, over there,” he says, pointing to the far left corner. He loves him some tiny oranges. “A plum tree in the other corner, both of them mini.” He doesn’t have the time or expendable effort to be caring for big trees. “Onions, garlic, carrots, I’m going to try potatoes once even though I’ve never succeeded at them before, watermelons, some cute flowers... a bunch of little herbs, but those will be window plants, so.” He trails off at that and rubs his nose, embarrassed to have gone off topic. Jonghyun nods encouragingly, though, as he slowly lets the tape measure coil back into itself.

“Sounds neat,” he says. “Would you mind if I came and picked some of your oranges whenever they grow?” he asks.

“Nah,” Taemin grins. If his last little tangerine tree is any indicator, he’ll have more than enough for himself once she really gets going. “Yes for the plums, though,” he says. “I am. Very greedy. For plums.” He loves his plums. Jonghyun laughs softly, shaking his head with something akin to fondness that makes Taemin feel nice. He likes when people like him. “Speaking of the trees…,” he mumbles, checking his notes on another page for how wide both of them are supposed to get. “Come measure...eight feet? Over here,” he says, wandering over to one of the corners.

“Yep,” Jonghyun says, following him and handing Taemin the little nub at the end of the measure. Taemin stands at the edge of the perimeter and waits for Jonghyun to back up to eight feet. He looks at the space between them, imagines a tree there, tries to imagine it as a wide circle with a walkable amount of space around it. He thinks that’ll be good, in theory, if he trims and grooms it right. This is just a rough outline anyway. He nods to himself and lets Jonghyun cake care of the tape measure while he sketches in the tree on the graph.

“Plum tree, too?” Jonghyun asks, taking half a step towards the other corner. Taemin glances up, nods, and shuffles over there slowly while he finishes his writing.

“Same size,” he says, taking his spot with the end of the measure in hand. They repeat that little process and Taemin sketches in the plum tree, then bites his lip and looks at the space that’s left on his graph. Hmm. He thinks maybe they should redo these measurements with his little circle measurer too. He wants to have everything really figured out before spring.

“Hey,” he says, looking up with a sudden thought. Jonghyun glances at him with a curious hum as he watches the measure. “Springs are, like, nice here, right?” Taemin asks. He’s been meaning to ask this for a while but he just kept forgetting. “Like, I’m not going to be struggling too hard, right?” He just wants a nice, easy, casual start to his garden. A few small crops and flowers to get it all rolling and get his confidence up.

“Uh,” Jonghyun says. He puffs his lips, thinks for a moment, shrugs. “I mean, I think so,” he says. “I like them, at least,” he shrugs. “I don’t really garden, but the weather is a pretty consistent warm and the rains are never too cold or too humid.” He shrugs again and Taemin hums. Alright then. That’s good.

“If it’s warm and not humid, does that mean you’re going to go camping soon then?” he asks, raising a brow when Jonghyun’s mouth curves into a sheepish grin.

“Pretty much, yeah,” he says. “I stay out the longest in spring. The pups are born around then and they sound really cute all yippy in the distance.” He bounces excitedly on his toes and Taemin snorts. Of course. Taemin likes how Jonghyun can be so predictable. He’s a simple egg on the outside, just living his life half in the forest and half super in the forest. Taemin appreciates it. He likes when the people in his life aren’t too complicated. It almost makes them easier to talk to.

“I think I want my watermelons between these two trees,” he says, backing up a few steps and gesturing between the corners. It’ll be cute. A little wiggly green patch. “So that’s… eight… from this edge.. a foot and a half between… start here?” He says it like a question, tapping a little spot on the ground. He thinks that’s right. Jonghyun obeys without question, handing him the nub of the tape measure.

“Hey, uh,” he says as he glances behind himself to back up. “Remember when we made out? Last month?” he asks. He’s avoiding eye contact, actually avoiding looking at Taemin for once, eyes over his shoulder and lip between his teeth. Taemin feels his own lips curving up into a smirk at the sight. Aw. He’s all shy about it.

“And jerked each other off on your couch during a blizzard, yeah,” he says. Yeah, he remembers it. Jonghyun backs up all the way to the far border, then steps in nine and a half feet. “What about it?” Taemin asks.

“This is fifteen feet ish,” Jonghyun mumbles, squinting at the tape. Taemin watches him for another second, highly amused, before ticking a little box and note on his graph.

“What about us making out?” he asks as Jonghyun starts stepping closer with the measure again. Jonghyun doesn’t say anything until he’s reached Taemin again, tape all safely rolled back up and gripped tightly in his hand. Then he looks up, looks down, looks back up again.

“I mean, I don’t know,” he says quietly. “I kinda liked it.” He meets Taemin’s eyes for a few seconds this time. “And I was thinking, maybe, you know, we could do it more often. Platonically. If you wanted.” He’s smiling again, a tiny little thing, and it’s nervous and hopeful. Taemin exhales a soft laugh and tucks his graph under his arm.

“I mean,” he says, and shrugs. “Wanna make out now?” he asks. Just to see if it’ll still be good. He wouldn’t mind. He liked kissing Jonghyun. “It’s been, like, ten whole minutes,” he says. “We can take a break.”

“Yeah?” Jonghyun asks. His smile is more natural now, more comfortable because of Taemin’s half-assed joke. Taemin feels mildly successful. Jonghyun takes another step closer, one hand lifting to play with the collar of Taemin’s shirt. “If you want,” he says, face so close to Taemin’s already. Taemin slides one arm around his shoulders, leans down, closes his eyes, and waits for Jonghyun to press their mouths together.

He does, softly and then firmly, his lips warm and plush just like last time in the stuffy heat of his home. Taemin pulls him closer and angles his head better into it, easily falling back into the same relaxed pace they spent so long on last month. Jonghyun sighs a soft breath against his mouth as he slips his arms around Taemin’s waist to cling loosely behind his back.

Taemin likes it; it’s simple, comfortable, but as they keep going, something just… doesn’t feel right. He doesn’t know what to with his other hand, for one. He can’t exactly hold Jonghyun with a pen and notepad in the way. He winds up tucking them to his chest between them, which probably wasn’t the best idea. Standing to kiss is awkward, and out in the middle of the forest like this, Jonghyun seems unsure as to whether or not to deepen it. He keeps pushing more into lazy, languid territory and then pulling back into soft, slow pecks. Taemin hums quietly as he curls his fingers into Jonghyun’s shirt sleeve.

“Something,” he mumbles when they break apart between two kisses. “Something feels, like.”

“Off?” Jonghyun asks, his voice an amused grin against Taemin’s lips. Taemin smiles back and nods, pulling away to lean their foreheads together.

“Maybe it’s different when we’re snuggled together on your couch in front of your fireplace under a blanket in the middle of a blizzard,” he says. Jonghyun’s quiet laugh is a puff of warm breath against Taemin’s cold skin.

“Maybe, yeah,” he says, stepping away from Taemin and taking his arms back for himself. “Oh, well,” he sighs. “Next winter, I guess.”

“Yeah, definitely,” Taemin agrees. He really did like kissing Jonghyun, when the mood and everything was right. “Maybe on my couch in my blankets in front of my fireplace next time,” he offers. He does like his own couch more than someone else’s. Jonghyun snorts, but nods, then stretches his arms out above his head. Taemin watches the flash of his cute little golden tum fondly.

“Anyway,” Jonghyun says. “What’s next, onions or whatever?” He gestures blandly at the rest of the garden space that they haven’t figured out yet. Taemin blinks, then remembers, bringing up his graph paper to check their progress.

“Uh, yeah,” he says, looking up to find Jonghyun already ready with the tape measure pulled out of his back pocket.

They finish up quickly enough, Jonghyun measuring all of Taemin’s space and Taemin marking it all down in his notepad. He’s going to map that out on his laptop later, maybe another day when he feels like it. He invites Jonghyun in for a quick glass of water before Jonghyun leaves to go back home, waving over his shoulder and taking another muffin with him. Taemin smiles as he watches him go. He’s good. Good and nice and sweet. Taemin doesn’t think he could have picked a better neighbor.

It’s not until the next morning that he notices the dark grey jacket thrown half neatly over one of his front table chairs. He pats it absentmindedly over breakfast, wondering if Jonghyun knows that he forgot it here. Hmm. If he does, he’ll come get it soon enough, and if he doesn’t Taemin is pretty sure that he’ll remember to give it to him at some point before he leaves.

Three weeks and a few days pass and neither of those happen; Taemin sits out on his back porch one night near the end of march and paints the beginnings of his little garden in the sunset with the jacket zipped up snugly around him. This time, it’s not until he notices a lack of chimney smoke from Jonghyun’s direction that he remembers that the jacket is Jonghyun’s and that it’s too late to give it back now.

After a moment of thought, he shrugs and continues his painting. It’s a very nice jacket. He’s sure that Jonghyun won’t mind him keeping it warm until he comes back.

#jongtae #jonghyun #taemin #pg #sunset a #fluff #brotp #They Do The Kissie #im lov... jongtae just.... platonically making out.... good shit meme....#jong coming over in winter: what up im here to take like half of ur tangerines #taem: mood??? go ahead #taem doesnt grow potatoes and he is v v grumpy about it but he also can just buy potatoes whenever so he doesnt mind #he tells jong about meeting the wolf nd jongs like ! rad nd u didnt get eaten or anything and taems like uwu ye it was cool #he texts kibum too and kibums like did u get the wolfs autograph and taems like ?????? and kibums like u can have mine if u want #taems still ?????#kibum: snakes are cooler than wolves anyway #taem: u cant even shift u did it Once by accident and freaked out bc u couldnt change back for a week #kibum: do u want my autograph or not #taem: Why????????#kibum: idk im gonna send u my autograph anyway #taem: u Continue to be more of a lil shit than me i want u to know that #kibum: thanks #AnyWay the next time theres a blizzard jongtae make out on taems couch and its Good and warm and not awkward and theyre v : )

5 notes · View notes