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alinaastarkov · 2 years ago

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2022 End of Year Gifmaker/Creator Tag Game

Cut this into what works for you. Want to do only one instead of five? Do it. Tag 2 people? Do it. But there are a couple of rules:

RULE 1: Review your creations over 2022. Tag some gifmakers/creators, friends and strangers to get them to do the same.

RULE 2: Link to the content, commentary optional.

5 (or more!) creations from others that made you smash the reblog button hard, closely followed by your ‘insp’ tag or ‘fave tag’. Link to sets that started conversations, outstanding composition, coloring, etc.

4 creations of which you’re proud. These are goals you scored. Nothing to do with notes.

3 creations others loved. Include the one that got most notes, great comments, or the classic ‘how dare you!’

2 creations that stretched you as a creator: style, coloring, blending, text, etc. include the one that should have got more notes.

1 creation of yours that you find most aesthetically pleasing to the eye and self AND 1 creation that broke and (maybe remade you) as a creator – we all have that one.

0 the creation that never was because nothing was working that day.

i was tagged by @yenvengerberg thank you lovely!! it’s so fun to reflect on the year like this :)

tagging anyone i tagged throughout this and anyone who would like to do it!

(placing under the cut because i tend to go on a bit)

5 (or more) creations that made you smash the reblog button:

there are so many incredible creations (and creators!) who have blown me away this year. unfortunately my brain is a sieve so this will probably be only five but if i’ve left any nice tags on a set just know i thought it was absolutely beautiful!!

i have to start with becca @yenvengerberg who (and i don’t know how she does it) has managed to take my breath away and up her game every single time. i truly have no words for the creativity and skill she possesses and i would link every set of hers here if i could. for now though i will mention this jaskier: a bard’s tale set because it has been months and i have no stopped thinking about it. the stunning purple, the number of ways she can make a torn paper effect unique, and just the incredible creativity and composition in making it a cd set?? ingenious.

avia @lamberts never fails to stun me with her witcher gifsets, the mastery of colours and blending to emotionally destroy us every time blows me away. i fall in love with geraskier as a ship more every time she posts and i think this geraskier + the amazing devil set truly stood out. the blending of purple and orange is striking yet soft, i could honestly stare at it for hours. making something so gorgeous look effortless is such a talent.

jagoda, my talented hoe @ughmerlin, has been so on top of her game this whole year it is auch a struggle to pick only one. there are so many amazing sets showcasing her creativity and talent that it’s almost impossible to pick one favourite. but this merthur + bigger than the whole sky is honestly so incredible it blew me away seeing it. the orange is so soft, combined with the b&w and the myriad of text effects and overlays you used, honestly made me tear up seeing it. the cassette tapes were genius and i can’t wait to see them become the new thing™️

maria, my merthur genius @arthurpendragonns, has again blown me away with the talent and creativity this year, i have not been able to rest!! but this 10th merlin anniversary set was such a massive expression of your creativity and genius. the red to orange gradient combo is YOURS and you made it your bitch once again. everything about this stunned me, how you achieved the effects with the wings and the skull and the transitions between each gif??? you’re a master!!

elsbeth, my talented wife @laylakeating you never cease to stun me every time i see a set of yours and this weyler + haunted set is so exception. you know how much i love purple and you always deliver, i know how much effort you put into the frame by frame colouring and it shows!! how you made every lyric match every scene and blend them all so flawlessly! you’re an inspiration to us all

4 creations of which you’re proud:

i just did my list of my favourite creations for every month so i will link some sets that didn’t make that list (again mostly sourceblog ones)

these two becoming elizabeth sets (one & two) were fun for me to do after a bit of a break to get back into colouring and blending. there was no pressure cause it’s a smaller fandom, and finally having a show for my historical otp was super nice and making angsty sets is my love language <3

this arya stark + identities one was a real stretch of how much i could colour consistently over multiple shows because i think (and i did count lmao) i used around 13 fancasts/movies/shows to make it and was one of the sets that took me the longest just with the composition

this arya stark and jon snow set, though i know it could be better, was my first real try at the glitch effect. i still need to improve on it but i’m still pretty proud of it for my first attempt, plus their relationship in the books is my favourite so any excuse to gif it is gonna be a fave for me. arya month as a whole was great for stretching me and getting me to think outside the box

3 creations others loved:

i think i mentioned most of them in my creations per month post, but i have noticed that after the show my rhaenyra in every episode sets seem to keep picking up more notes which is lovely to see!! this is a series i need to finish next year :)

2 creations that stretched you as a creator:

i do this to myself all the time lmao, and is probably the reason i post so inconsistently. i’m copping out a bit i know but everything i made for jon snow appreciation month and arya appreciation month this year pushed me as a creator and made me think, especially as i was using multiple shows/films to fancast with and keep consistent. overall appreciation months are so fun and allow some flexibility with posting that weeks don’t which makes them excellent for creators imo

1 creation that broke you:

sadly the creations that broke me are the ones that i have yet to perfect and post :/ one day tho hopefully... soon :)

0 creation that never was:

i have... SO many of these lmao. probably dozens of sets in the drafts and half finished (a yennefer set that has been sat there for maybe a year and a half?? comes to mind) and it is my goal this next year to clear them all out (we’ll see how that goes lol). if i had to pick tho i have this shadow and bone + greek gods set (very much inspired by @ughmerlin’s stunning zodiacs set) that has/is taking me forever to perfect and hopefully (maybe) with s2 it can see the light of day

#this is all over the place i know let's not talk about it #i just love you all okay!!! picking five is so hard and if i had a better memory that list would be endless!!!!#honestly seeing improvement over just one year is fun for me #like i need to make more next year it's just uni is hard yk #but also some things from early on make me cringe #which is a good thing!!!!#can't wait to actually be consistent next year for once (maybe!!!!!)#tag games

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polarfarina · 1 year ago

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I don't have a problem with steven universe as a show. I probably would never have stopped watching if I could have watched it in a vacuum, separate from the internet community, but I didn't know it would be so bad going in.

I rewatch it sometimes. I never get very far though... because while watching I think, "this is fun! The episode where Greg breaks his leg is awkward but I can't remember what got me so uncomfortable about this show" and then I get to the episode where I caught up with everyone else. Wayyyy back in the day I had started it on a delay and so it just took me some time to catch up to where the air schedule was.

It was the keystone motel episode. The reality of the fandom at the time hits me every time I rewatch and it affects my perspective for the rest of the show... I can't help it. It just brings back bad memories.

If you don't know/remember or haven't seen, the keystone motel episode is one where a few of the characters had just had a falling out in the episode prior. They weren't speaking, and a couple of them went on a road trip to decompress, but they just bottled everything up until it exploded in a rush of anger and sadness. It was one of the most serious points of the show so far, because characters felt used, and they tried to unpack that in the episode.

But they didn't do it "perfectly", so everyone had an opinion about how it was a bad episode. Comparisons were made claiming characters had abused others when the show never said that happened. Somebody found a real life listing for a hotel by the same name as the one in the episode and people started tanking its ratings with fake one star reviews that pretended the plot of the episode really happened at this real, actual place of business. Everyone was calling this character or that character toxic, and you had to pick sides, you had to have an opinion on the fight in the show. Don't you know that making a mistake is unforgivable and abusive? Don't you know that character didn't apologize even though only one episode has aired since then and they weren't even in it? You had to be morally right about it or else people would flood your inbox with insults. It was pretty terrible.

Hate for one specific character stemmed from this one plot point and even though the mistake was apologized for, and the characters made up and became friends again (gradually I guess), people still hated her for the mistake. For like. Entire seasons afterwards. People acted like this character was an outright bigot that would never change. The stakes of the show would shift and the characters evolved mentally and physically, they grew together and became more tightly knit than before. Apologies were accepted. But that didn't matter cause that one episode happened three years ago!

And that mentality kind of just... followed the show forever. That one post that says the schedule fucked the show's style over is completely right, the months long breaks between episodes brewed discourse every time something aired. That discourse ruined the magic for me. I never finished the show because of it- Steven universe started covering more complex topics, but every time, it was wrong somehow. People were never satisfied. I kept seeing so many horrible things on my dashboard. So I stopped. I blocked the tag for a long time, unfollowed a lot of people. It stressed me out just seeing fanart on my dash... ugh. I feel bad but I still don't even follow blogs that even sometimes post about the show.

Maybe one day I'll be able to separate all that stupid junk from the actual material in the show. Hasn't happened yet, though. It's hard to separate shit in my brain. I need a brain sieve or something. Maybe I should find some good people to rewatch with so I can make new memories to override the old ones...

#ghostly posts #Steven universe #rant #long post #-> sorry I just wanted to talk about my very specific experience and felt #too bad to dump it on that one post that's going around rn #I wish I hadn't caught up ever at all and that I waited to watch it without that stupid outside influence

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blinder-secrets · 4 years ago

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Your John, Your Home

In which you’re the girl they picked to marry John, and he’s the one you found your home in.

4,373 words. fluff, some angst, sickly-sweet love, very mild nsfw

ao3 link

It’s Tommy’s wedding day, something you thought would never come, and John is yet to finish dressing. Running late as he always does, despite him hounding after you to be ready on time.

You’re sat by the vanity, watching him loop his tie over and over, fingers clumsy and directionless. He’s still not learnt how to do them properly, but you’re too caught up in staring at him to offer any help. There’s something about formal suits that make him mesmerising. You’re used to his every-day attire, the waistcoats, the tweed jackets, but the crisp pinstripes running down his trouser legs make you feel like a woman in a movie. Like you’re the sweetheart and he’s the hero, like you’ve been through everything that you have, just for him, and now you’ve won. You’ve got your prize.

Sighing, he swears under his breath and lets the tie fall open around his neck. ‘Will you do this bloody thing?’ he asks, darting a look in your direction. He reaches for the suit-jacket and begins pulling it onto his shoulders. When you don’t answer him, he glances again and says, ‘What is it?’ like he might be in trouble.

‘Do you think you would’ve liked me if we met normally?’ you ask, slouching in the chair as you pool your thoughts into the room. ‘Like, if you weren’t forced to marry me?’

His hands still, brows scrunching over the bridge of his nose. ‘Are you kidding?’

You shake your head, almost embarrassed to say that part out loud; yes, I’m really asking that, John. Yes, I worry. There wasn’t a day that had passed without you considering it. Was he just making do with what he had? Would he have chosen you, if he’d had the chance to choose at all? You know what your answer would be.

He crosses the room in three steps and takes your face between his palms. He looks serious, and he never looks serious about anything really. ‘I won the fucking lottery with you,’ he says, accent thick and strong like it is when he speaks from the heart. ‘If I could go back in time, I’d pick you again, and again, and a-fucking-gain, alright?’

‘Even if I was just some girl in the Garrison?’

‘Even if you were a fucking witch in the forrest,’ he answers quickly, certainly. His thumbs rub up and across your cheekbones. ‘You’re mine, yeah, you’re perfect.’ Bending, he pushes a kiss into your forehead and mutters, ‘Was fucking fate when they put us together.’ And for him, that’s poetry. That’s the softness he only gives when you’re alone, when you need it. It’s touchable love, crafted and trickled into your ears, poured over you like he’s full of it.

‘Thank-you,’ you tell him, smiling easily. ‘I’ll only ask again in a month, but that’ll do me for now.’

He snorts through his nose and straightens, running a palm over your hair. ‘You just like seeing me soft, don’t you?’

‘Maybe.’

‘Well, only for you, yeah?’ He tilts down again for a kiss and you stretch to meet him in the middle. ‘No-one else has me speaking like a fucking Eton boy,’ he says, quietly, into the soft of your cheek.

You laugh, kissing him again before you reply. ‘You couldn’t if you tried, J.’ He’s too rough for it, too shaped by the smog and the fighting. ‘I wouldn’t like you so much if you were an Eton boy.’

When you were first married, you had barely known what to do with yourself. After the drama of Ada’s birth, and John’s frantic attempt to catch you up with everything that had passed, you hadn’t had time to discuss the ceremony. Or the arrangement. Or even consummate the damn thing. He’d told you everything, all the family intricacies he could, by the lamplight in his little room, and then he’d passed out on your lap like a dog before the fire. Too tired and full of beer to give you anything more than secrets.

You hadn’t minded though, not really, it had given you time to think. To breathe. You’d sat and taken in every detail of his face, every freckle along his nose, every nick of scar tissue on his skin, his cheeks, his shoulders. You’d looked and looked and looked, until you felt so comfortable with him, and so entranced by the sight of him, quiet and peaceful, that you had almost convinced yourself you’d known him for years. He felt familiar without even doing anything. You’d ran your finger across his brows and down the line of his nose, and when he’d whined and pulled into you, putting his arms around your waist, you’d felt like you were coming home. Or that he was coming home, finding it in you. It was the gin, you thought, it was the length of the day and the ache from dancing that had made your brain think things that weren’t true.

But then you’d woken up in the morning, and it had still felt like you were home and that he was the key. And it kept feeling like that, over and over. It had felt like that the first time you’d fucked, the first time you sat with him at breakfast, and made him tea, and food for his children. It had felt like that every time you saw him smile, every time he laughed. It had felt that way because he was, somehow, he was. He was home and he’d been handed to you over an upturned milk crate, knelt in front of your father’s caravan. It was a truce, yes, a deal between families, but it had been a hand out in the cold, a light in the distance. You had never realised you were always wandering, looking for a way back, until you had felt the pull of John beside you. The call of home at last.

‘Oi,’ he says, tapping his finger on your chin. ‘Where’ve you gone?’

‘Nowhere.’ You smile and look up at him like he’s gold in a river-sieve. ‘Shall we go?’

‘Not ’til you’ve sorted this fucking thing.’ He dangles the end of the tie in front of you and then, thinking better of it, pulls it from under his collar and puts it onto your lap. ‘Do it in the car, we’re gonna be late.’

You’re sitting with the tie knotted, and hanging around your neck, when he pulls the car into the road by the church. There’s guests already gathering, but not a lot which is a good sign. It means you aren’t late, not in trouble, not yet. Polly will be inside somewhere, wrangling the kids so you don’t have to. God bless her. She’d offered to watch them before hand, willing, but begrudging all the same, and you couldn’t help but feel glad of the time it’d given you and John. It’d been months since you had any peace, had the freedom to go about your morning slowly and intimately. It’d made everything feel even more special. It wasn’t your day, no, but that didn’t mean it couldn’t be an occasion for the two of you.

You let your gaze draw from the flowers by the entrance to settle on John, who’s craning his neck out the window to see himself in the wing-mirror.

‘Is my hair alright?’ he asks, pawing at the parting he’s given himself.

‘Yes,’ you answer, grinning though you want to roll your eyes. ‘Christ, John, it’s not you going up the aisle, y’know?’

He tuts. ‘I won’t look like shit with the fucking cavalry there.’

‘You don’t look like shit.’

‘You sure?’ He pulls back into his seat to look at you.

‘Yes, I’m sure.’ You lift the tie over your head and onto his, settling it under his collar. ‘I’m sure you’ll find a very nice soldier to-‘

‘Alright,’ he drawls, ‘very funny.’

You laugh and push the knot tight to his neck. ‘Seriously,’ you say, ‘stop fretting. They’re gonna look like a bunch of unlit matches standing there in their uniforms.’

‘Bunch of fucking pricks more like,’ he grumbles, eyes flitting over your face. ‘Have I said you look beautiful yet?’

‘No, not yet.’ You hang onto his tie, dragging him forward until you’re kissing and he’s speaking into your mouth between pecks.

‘Well,’ he says, ‘you look. Fucking.’ You bite his lip; he swallows once before trying again. ‘You look…’

‘Hm?’

‘Stunning.’

‘Thank-you,’ you purr, breaking away and leaving him to gawk. His mouth’s red from meeting with your lipstick. ‘I was waiting for you to say something.’

His hand goes to your face, to your hair, it sweeps it behind your ear, gentle enough to not disturb the main structure of its styling, and then drops so that his fingers can run down your neck. ‘Can I marry you again?’ he asks through the corner of a smirk. ‘Is that a thing?’

You pout, humming as if you’re considering it. ‘You’d have to divorce me first, I think.’

‘Nope, no way.’

‘Well then, you’ll have to settle for just the once.’

He groans and turns to open the door on his side. ‘You can’t have it all,’ he says, stepping out and away from you. You watch him cross in front of the bonnet, around the car, until he’s by you on the pavement. He pulls the door open and offers his hand, which he does every time he drives you anywhere. You don’t think you’ve opened your own door once since you’d met him. ‘Come on, Polly will have your tits if we’re late.’

You take his palm and step down, holding the fur of your shawl in place with the other hand. ‘No,’ you laugh, ‘she likes me. It’ll be your balls on the line.’

‘Yeah, and you’d miss them too much, wouldn’t you?’

‘John!’ You smack his arm lightly and move out the way so he can lock the car behind you. ‘This is a church, you know? It’s right there.’

A very ungodly grin is thrown over his shoulder at you. ‘And which one of us brought up my bollocks, ay?’

You laugh because you can’t do anything else, because he coaxes it from you like he’s been trained to, like he’s an expert in making your cheeks hurt from grinning. He was put on Earth specifically, you think, to make you laugh in the ugliest way possible: loud and uneven. He’s annoyingly good at it, desperately, desperately annoying.

‘Stop it,’ you tell him, stifling the giggles. When he comes back to you, ready to link his arm with yours, you nod to his face and say, ‘You might want to…’ You point at his mouth, gesturing around its shape, following the smudge of lipstick above his cupid’s bow. ‘From the kissing,’ you explain.

In one second, his eyebrows pinch and then crumple down in annoyance. ‘Oh for fuck’s sake, babe.’ He turns quickly, bending to look in the mirror closest. ‘I look like a fucking clown,’ he moans. He scrubs at his lips, licking his fingers once, then again, to wash the red-stain away. It comes off easily, but his frantic rubbing will only leave more of a mark.

‘You don’t need to rub that hard,’ you say.

‘Am not going in there with fucking lipstick on. S’not funny.’

But it is, and you laugh again, because he’s just so John, and so silly, and everything he does makes your heart dip into the same sickly ambrosia.

You put your hands out for him. Wave him forward like you’re consoling a child. ‘Come here, let me see.’

After they took Epsom, John had come home with his tail between his legs. Cap off, shoulders slack, he’d walked through the front door like they’d lost, not won. Like something had gone wrong. He stood in the doorway to the kitchen and cleared his throat once, like he had something to say, and then he’d looked from you, to Katie and the baby, and said nothing at all. It was the only time he’d ever looked like a stranger in the house he’d bought for you.

‘What’s happened?’ you’d asked, standing from the table as soon as you’d seen him. ‘Katie, take your brother upstairs.’

‘We got it,’ John had started. ‘Epsom. It’s ours.’

‘Okay?’ You walked toward him; slow, like snowfall pulling down from the sky, drifting until it found something to cling to, something to wrap around. ‘So, what’s wrong?’ You put your hands to his biceps, ran them up until you were looped around the back of his neck. He looked tired. Weary but not damaged, not hurt. A few scuffs that wouldn’t last past the next day. ‘You look worried, John,’ you said, prompting him to tell you more.

‘It’s Tommy,’ he forced out, looking between you, his gaze aiming for the floor. ‘They took him,’ he said, ‘some coppers. We haven’t.’ He stopped mid-sentence and you finished for him because you knew nothing else would come, he wouldn’t push any words that didn’t fall easily.

‘He’ll be fine,’ you told him, out of comfort rather than certainty. ‘Tommy always has a plan.’

‘This wasn’t fuckin’ part of it.’

‘I know.’ You rubbed your thumbs into the shortest part of his hair. ‘He’ll turn up, he always does.’

And he did, of course he did, but it took you twenty minutes to wind John down, to get him sitting and somewhat comfortable. It was only after the call from Pol, telling you that Tommy was fine, that he let you make him something to eat. Let you look after him properly. You sat at the table and watched him take slow forkfuls of food, lagging with each bite.

‘He’s alright,’ you said to him, leaning on your palm. ‘Why do you still look stressed?’

‘I’m not.’ He lowered his fork until it was flat on the plate; he looked at it like it had done it all by itself.

‘John.’

‘It’s nothing.’

You sighed and the sound itched life under his skin, animating his features with a burst of agitation.

‘I felt fucking invincible,’ he said. ‘Then it went bad and, I don’t know, feels fucking stupid, doesn’t it?’

You sat upright, reached a hand for his, but he ignored it. ‘What does?’ you asked.

‘All of it,’ he spat, his face reddening. It twisted up until he was scowling, throwing words into the woodgrain. ‘What’s the point in having fuckin’ Epsom, if they can just, just, put you in the back of a van and fucking cart you away?’

He’d flung his hand out then, catching the plate and sending it across the table to you. It rattled against the top as he continued.

‘We can go as fucking high as we like,’ he said, ‘and they’ll still treat us like dogs. Like fuckin’ mutts.’

You’d set your jaw, wound your fingers through his and put both of your hands down to still the fidgeting. ‘Then we go high enough that we’re the ones doing the carting, John.’ You’d ducked your head to make sure he saw your look, your promise. ‘We’re no-ones bloody dogs, alright? Not now, not ever.’

He’d scoffed and recoiled bitterly. ‘It’s not like we have a fucking say, is it?’

‘Course we do,’ you’d told him. Of course we do.

The wedding ceremony is over, and now the party’s been taken to Arrow House; the rooms are stocked with guests, the ceiling pushed high with noises, with music, with chatter. Your head’s spinning and it’s only a fraction to do with the alcohol.

‘I don’t think I’ll last til dinner at this rate,’ you say to John, who’s got you leaning against him in the largest room. How they’d managed to clear enough furniture away to make it feel like a dancehall, you’ve no idea, but it’s convincing enough that you hardly believe you’re in a home at all. ‘Who the fuck are these people anyway?’ you ask. 'I don’t recognise any of them.’

His hold tightens over you, pulling your back flat to his chest. He’s got his arms across you like bandoliers. ‘Grace’s lot mostly,’ he says into your ear, chin on your shoulder. ‘Lot of fucking rich boys in suits too big for them.’

You snort. 'You’re a rich boy too now, J. They’re probably looking at you and thinking the same.’

‘Nah, they can’t even fucking look at me, see.’ He nods forward, to a man in a red uniform opposite. ‘Y’alright?’ he booms; you can hear the smirk without turning to look. The soldier lifts his gaze, catching the pair of you for a moment, before looking away quickly. Like he’d caught sight of something indecent. ‘See?’ John boasts. ‘We’re like fucking ghosts to them.’

‘You’re enjoying that too much,’ you quip, though your own grin betrays your words. It still feels nice to be on the Peaky side. The side with power, danger. The ones people were afraid of. ‘If I ask you to dance, will you say no and break my heart?’ you ask, twisting your head away from his in order to flash him your best pout, to trap him with your eyes.

He smirks, squeezing you in response. ‘I’d be mad to tell you no. Come on.’

He peels himself off you, but leaves a hand dragging, cloying, snaking down your arm until he has his palm locked tight around yours. He tugs you into the centre of the room, melting the two of you into the crowd.

‘I still think ours was better,’ he says, smugly, once he’s picked a rhythm and stuck to it. ‘Our wedding.’

‘Yeah?’ You let him spin you. ‘Wouldn’t do it differently now we have the money?’

He shakes his head; the rose in his breast pocket teeters on the edge. ‘No way. Too fucking poncy for us.’

You agree with him, nodding, and laugh as he dips you half-way to the ground. ‘You drop me and I’ll fucking cut you, J.’

‘Do I look like I’m gonna drop you?’ he replies, grinning wildly. Your mad man, you think, your wonderful bucket of frogs. He pulls you up again and you fall against him with the force of it, chests held tight to each other as he pours all the wonder and drunken giddiness from his eyes, into yours. ‘This wedding’s done something to my head,’ he pants, looking bewildered.

You’re smiling before he’s even said why. ‘What d’you mean?’

‘I can’t stop thinking about how much I fuckin’ love you,’ he says. ‘I’m gonna explode with it.’

‘Alright,’ you laugh. ‘Explode then, I’ll do it with you.’

When you’d been married a month, just a month, you’d accidentally told him that you thought you loved him. It had fallen out of your mouth and onto the foot of the bed like a woollen blanket. A sock. A piece of clothing kicked off in the night without care, without thinking.

‘What?’ he’d said, quicker than you’d hoped, head snapping up from where he sat. You had wanted him to miss it entirely. You were married, yes, but it wasn’t like other marriages. You were working backwards, unpicking the puzzle after it had been made. ‘What did you say?’

‘Can’t I say it?’ you’d asked back, stalling time for your head, for your heart, to decide if it had really meant it.

He was on the edge of the bed, undoing his boots, but then he’d stopped. The ends of his laces clicked against the floorboards. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘I don’t know if I heard you right.’

‘Then don’t worry about it.’

You tried to brush it away, but he grabbed your wrist and pulled you to stand in front of him.

‘Say it again,’ he told you and, if it wasn’t for that slight smirk on his lips, that tiny curl of enjoyment, of wishful thinking, you would’ve bolted. You would’ve told him to stop being so bloody annoying for once. But he sat there, looking up at you, with an almost-grin behind his features, and you’d thought, alright. Alright, sure, why not.

‘I think I love you,’ you’d said quickly, and it bounced right off his pretty face, back into your stomach, back to mingle with the butterflies.

‘You think?’

You nodded. ‘I haven’t decided yet.’

His grin settled, flourished. Grew wide and made home in his cheeks. ‘I think you have,’ he said, ‘I think you do.’

‘If you think so much, then why do I need to?’ You stepped forward and his arms had gone up to your waist like it was choreographed, like his hands knew their target without an invite. He held you steady and you found yourself toying with his hair, looking down at him fondly, so fondly. ‘I shouldn’t have to say it if you know so well,’ you’d mused.

He turned his head and kissed your forearm. ‘Just wanna hear it, from the boss herself.’

You’d snorted at the nickname, the false title he’d adopted to make you feel appreciated, valued. It only came out when he was being playful.

‘Okay,’ you’d said, ‘I love you, then,’ and he’d answered, ‘Okay, well I love you back.’

John, for all his goodness, for all his charm and well-meant nature, could be a devil walking when he wanted to be. Right now, right in the middle of a dinner party, in the middle of a fucking wedding reception, he’s being the very fire-scorched man himself. He’s got you bundled in his arms again, coaxing you from the party, tempting you with kisses and words, and touches in places he knows will break you down into nothing more than a woman; a woman who wants a man, her man, his touch, his heat. He’s tugging you out of Arrow House, away from the smokers, across the gravel. Spinning and twisting until you’re dizzy with him, lost entirely.

‘John,’ you laugh, pushing against him weakly, falsely, ‘someones going to see us.’

He drags his lips up your neck. ‘They’ll look away if they know what’s good for ‘em.’

You meet his mouth as he offers it, kissing him like you’re coal and he’s fire and that’s the spark, there it goes, up it comes. ‘You’re taking me to the car, aren’t you?’ you ask, pulling back to look at him. He’s foggy, eyes glazed with lust, desperate with need. Beautiful in the most boyish way.

‘You read my mind,’ he says. He drops his lips to your hand, or maybe your hand goes to his lips, eager like ships to lighthouses, willing to be peppered, wanting to be looked for. He takes hold of it and pulls you after him into the dark, away from the noise of the party.

You stumble along, tripping your heels through the stones, letting him guide you to where he’d parked it. Once you’re there he has you against the door, the low-cut of your dress leaving your back to meet the cold metal, the fresh steel. You gasp as your skin goes flush to it.

‘Wanted this all bloody day,’ he says into your throat, in such a throw away manner that it could’ve been a thought, one that had escaped without him realising. He nips the skin between your breasts, then comes up for a moment to say, ‘Get in.’

You laugh and it bubbles above him, pulls him to the surface. He straightens in front of you with an eyebrow raised and waiting. ‘You’re being very bossy, J,’ you tell him.

He sighs. His hands grip the dress at your waist like he’s scared you’ll vanish. ‘Please,’ he whines, needy without the shame of it, head sinking into one shoulder with the plea. ‘Please get in the car so I can fuck you.’

The smile you’re wearing might as well fly off your face and up into the stars. It’s too big to stay down, too light to not be free.

How you landed someone so perfect was beyond you. He’s every element, every angle, every part of him was made to compliment your own. So similar, that even your arguments make sense. Even your disagreements are clockwork. Ornamental. You took a gamble, you played the cards, and you’d taken the prize. You won the pot. He was yours, all yours, standing there in all his daft, gorgeous glory, loving you more and more each day. Wanting you every morning, every night. Craving you like you crave him.

‘Why’re you smirking like that?’ he asks, frowning.

‘Because,’ you drawl sweetly, ‘when have I ever held my own door open, John Shelby?’

He groans but then matches your grin, leaning around you to pop the door open, to hold it back for you to climb in. ‘After you,’ he says, playing the part.

‘Thank-you.’ You give a half-curtsey, one led by drunken humour, and duck into the back seat, feeling him follow after you keenly.

You’re flipped onto your back and then his lips are on you again, kissing the love into your mouth. He swirls his tongue with yours, tastes that part of you and leaves his own in return, and then pulls back, hands pawing at the silk of your gown.

‘John,’ you scold, ‘I swear to God, if you rip this dress.’

‘I’ll buy you another,’ he pants. He pushes it up to your hips, freezing at the sound of snagging tights, of stockings tearing and losing their purpose. ‘Sorry,’ he says, though he doesn’t mean it. ‘New ones of those too.’

You hum and reach for his collar, his neck. Your nails drag down the heated skin and his eyes roll with the feeling of it. ‘Just as long as I have something to wear afterwards,’ you warn.

He folds over you again, pressing kisses and marks into your chest. ‘Anything you want, Mrs. Shelby. Say the fuckin’ word and it’s yours.’

It flashes across your mind, white-hot fire in the dark, sweet, lasting tenderness. It strikes onto your tongue like lightening. ‘You,’ you say. ‘I want you.’

#John Shelby #john shelby x reader #john x reader #john shelby imagine #peaky blinders fanfic #sorry but have i been shot by cupid lately why am i writing love so :( <3 #anyway enjoy!!!!!!!!!!!#let me know what you think as always because i live off of feedback #i feel like i never write john so immediately im like bet its terrible !

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fangirleaconmigo · 3 years ago

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Descarada’s Fic Recs Part II: More Witcher Rarepairs

My niche as a writer may be Geraskier (and Jaskier x Eskel) but I read everything and I want to boost writers of rarepairs that I love.

This is from a ficrec series. Here is the masterpost, with a list of upcoming rec posts.

These fics have about 60-800 fics on AO3.( I previously did a post on extra rare rarepairs with 1-60 fics on AO3)

Please scroll down for the ficrecs for:

Geralt x Regis

Lambert x Aiden

Geralt x Eskel

Yennefer x Tissaia

Jaskier x Yennefer

DISCLAIMER #1 Please check the tags on the fics. Our triggers and preferences will be different.

DISCLAIMER #2 Please do not be discouraged if I don't recommend your fic. It doesn’t mean I didn’t love it. My brain is a sieve and space is limited. Treat this as a starting point only. I encourage you to reblog and add your own.

1. The ship: Geralt x Regis

Why I love this ship.

Regis is an elegant, genteel, vampire who can turn dangerous and deadly at the drop of a hat. He is kind, sex positive, and chugs his respect women juice. I mean THE BEST. And doesn’t our Geralt of Rivia deserve the best??

Regis is a monster that Geralt is theoretically supposed to kill. But he loves him instead. That’s classic and good.

Geralt being with a ‘monster’ frees him from the burden of being treated as the ‘other’ in respect to humanity.

Geralt adores Regis so much that he doesn’t even realize that Regis is a vampire for like 88 pages. (Wow, what a great graveyard this is, Regis. Wow, you know so much about vampires, Regis. I like this herb smell you’ve got going, Regis.)

Geralt, who has a hard time trusting, trusts Regis completely.

Regis shows that he is willing to sacrifice anything for Geralt (and by extension, Ciri).

So look, you get the BEST OF BOTH WORLDS. You get the drama of enemies to lovers (witcher + vampire) along with the comfort and softness of friends to lovers.

The fic: I Came Here Without A Choice, by @merulanoir

Why I love this fic

It is the canon-setting, Geralt x Regis of my dreams: a quiet, gentle burn of: we swear this is casual, to a deep, genuine friendship, to a profound love.

Their dynamic is teasing and warm and safe, in spite of the occasional angst.

The sex scenes are so incredibly well done. 🔥

I was the human equivalent of key smashes and sobbing emojis several times over.

It follows them through the books and games, but you don’t need that background to follow. Canon deaths are QUICKLY resolved.

But if you really don’t want to be spoilered for books or games, check out the one shots below.

Recs for further reading:

Falling by Firelight, by @caffeinatedmusing Geralt kisses Regis. Regis finds out that Geralt has little fangs of his own. 🥺

From Different Perspectives, by @snuckybarnes on AO3. Vampires have glamours that fade when they begin to trust someone. So why does Regis still look the same to Geralt? (So sweet)

From the Wisdom of Bards by @rallamajoop Geralt asks Dandelion why he’s been dreaming of Regis. Hilarity ensues.

2. The ship. Geralt x Eskel.

Why I love the ship:

My favorite ship dynamic of all time is childhood friends => lovers. Why? Because our component parts: love, pain, betrayal, powerlessness, shame, are at their most potent, feral, and savage in childhood.

When you know someone then, you know their raw materials. Can anyone be more seen? And if that person has seen that and still loves you? What could be more affirming?

Now, Geralt and Eskel. There are few things so achingly sad in fiction than characters who are the last of their kind. It is comforting when they find love and companionship with each other.

Childhood friends to lovers only gets more profound in the presence of severe childhood trauma. When I think of the horror of The Trials, I really get in my fucking feelings. The idea of either of them being alone through it is too horrible to ponder. So I want them to comfort each other. And for that friendship to grow into love? Oh god. I just. I love that.

They strike me as a pair who can be quiet with each other, who can sit somewhere and whittle or look at the fire, and never have to speak.

They would understand each other without a word, and no matter how long they are apart on the path, it would be like no time has passed when they reunite.

The fic: breathe into my hands; i'll cup them like a glass to drink from, by @inber

Geralt is nervous about the additional rounds of trials and Eskel comforts him. Explicit.

Why I love this fic:

Their chemistry is so achingly sweet and nervous and their friendship is so evident.

The writing is evocative and vivid. (Inber is always fantastic)

Geralt has a loving and safe first experience, which my god after everything he goes through he deserves such a thing.

Eskel is the way I like Eskel. Protective and gentle.

Further recommendations:

@djarining has a series of ficlets with moments from their youth. Her writing is beautiful and makes your heart ache.

Love Looks Not With Eyes by @rawrkinjd . I cannot fully express how much I love this one. Eskel is a flower fairy and lives in a garden. Geralt and Ciri move into the house.

Stones by @madamemeduse is a sweet, touching ficlet about Geralt coping with his worries about Eskel.

@bawdybean has a longfic Finding Center that is a work of love for Eskel, and is endgame Geral/Eskel. It is sometimes incredibly heartbreaking because it follows videogame lore including the sacking of Kaer Morhen, how Eskel gets his scars, and times when Geralt is with other people. It is also full of heart, vivid emotions, character development, memorable oc’s, and incredibly well done sex scenes.

Honestly, it pains me to stop listing fics, some of the best writers in this fandom write this ship. So all I can say is...go forth and find more.

3. The ship. Lambert x Aiden.

Why I love the ship:

To explain this ship, we have to start with Lambert, the youngest Kaer Morhen witcher. He is known as being the angry, smartass one who is resentful of being a witcher, and you know what? He is ONE HUNDRED PERCENT CORRECT. Being made a witcher was not a fucking favor. It was an atrocity. And it also means that his only support system (Geralt, Eskel) is inextricably tied to some of his worst trauma.

And who is Aiden? In the game, Lambert says that Aiden was the best man he’s ever met (to Geralt! A damn good man himself!), and he spends years trying to avenge Aiden’s death.

So how did Aiden, this cat witcher with ambiguous ethics, who no one else seems to have known, inspire that kind of consuming, undying, devoted love in crusty ass Lambert, even after his death?

We don’t know. But it’s compelling. It compels me.

So we imagine it together. Aiden occupies a liminal space between canon and fanon.

Aiden is a witcher, but he is from a different school, so they have intense commonality but also it gives Lambert some space from his past.

I just love watching closed off Lambert melt like an angry little icicle in the spring.

I love when fic writers have them call each other pup or kitty. IT’S CUTE, SUE ME.

The fic: Be Alive while I'm Here, by @imperfectkreis

Lambert and Aiden compete on the same contract. One wants to kill the ogre and one wants to lift the curse. Over the course of meeting up again and again, Feelings Occur. (Explicit)

Why I love his fic

It gives me the meet-ugly I crave with Lambert x Aiden.

Lambert’s development of feelings is gradual and believable.

Aiden teaches him other ways to be a witcher. He validates his anger. He encourages him to forgive himself and accepts him for who he is.

Aiden swaggers, and teases, and challenges Lambert, until one day Lambert realizes...uh-oh

By the end, oh Lambert is in love and it's beautiful.

Additional recs:

These Are a Few of My Least Hated Things, by @stfustucky Please, even if you don’t normally read modern AU, I beg of you give this fic a chance. The wolves run a bakery called Kaer Morsels and Lambert is in charge of making the rude and bawdy pastries. Aiden is a delivery guy who throws him for a loop. Their dynamic imagined so beautifully. It’s funny and heartwarming and insanely sexy.

I don't look for trouble, trouble looks for me!, by @lynge81 Lambert x Aiden meet on the path and fight monsters together and fall in love. It has all the humor and banter and feels I look for in these fics. You can tell that Lynge is super passionate about these characters, so the way they are developed is distinct and done with love.

Fun and Games, by @dapandapod Sweet, adorable, first kiss one shot.

Explicit, scorching hot ‘reunited and it feels so good’ fics:

Spring Thaw , by @crimsonherbarium

If You're Gonna Mess Me Up (Don't Do It Slow), by @writinglizards

4. The Ship: Yennefer x Tissaia

Why I love this ship.

Sometimes being a queer woman means that I am trash for intense complicated fictional wlw relationship. It also means that I’m extremely attracted to Tissaia de Vries. So here we go.

Tissaia and Yennefer are so similar in some ways (passionate, stubborn as fuck, resilient), so they have this connection. But the gulf of their differences are so vast that their bond reshapes the other on a fundamental level.

I find that dynamic rich and fascinating.

Tissaia is unbelievably stubborn, strong, and resilient. But in a way, she has always colored within the lines. She runs an educational institution, which is inherently ‘within’ a system of power.

Yen matches her in passion and stubbornness but is also rebellious in a way that Tissaia has never conceived of. Tissaia sees her rebellion as selfish at first. And Yennefer sees her clinging to the power structure as weak.

But their connection is so strong and profound that they are able to reshape the other. Yennefer sees that working as a team to save innocent lives is meaningful. And Tissaia ultimately chooses empowering Yen over controlling her. She helps her become the hero she was meant to be.

LET YOUR CHAOS EXPLODE. That moment DID THINGS to me. Their chemistry was electric.

The fic: And If I Recover (Will You Be My Comfort), by kapua on AO3.

With Tissaia’s health and life in the balance, they find the courage to say things that they’ve needed to say for awhile. (The AO3 doesn’t list a tumblr)

Why I love this fic.

SO MUCH BEAUTIFUL YEARNING.

It’s tender, sincere, soft, and sexy.

It is everything I wanted for them, and gives me closure for the battle of sodden.

The writing flows and is just full of warmth and affection for the characters.

Writer has so much Yennaia, including an adorable one where Tissaia is a librarian and Yen needs to use the printer.

More recommendations;

Sliding into Her DMs and Her Heart by @jzxr7 Tissaia is a senator and Yen is a movie star who drunkenly hits on her via Twitter. It’s amazing. This writer has SO MUCH great Yennaia, including several creative modern AU’s like this.

Some super hot PWPs in canon-verse.

Is this supposed to shock me?, by @magicsophicorn Tissaia walks in on the magical orgy instead of Geralt, and teaches Yen a very sexy lesson.

Yennefer the distraction, by tissaias_piglet on AO3. Yen keeps distracting Tissaia at these council meetings.

Whispers, by @lovefoodmusic Disturbing Tissaia’s work has some very sexy consequences.

5. The ship: Yennefer and Jaskier

Why i love this ship

I can’t resist a rivalry that melts into love. A heap of bitchiness just barely obscuring a chaotic, passionate love.

Maybe some people even still think they hate each other because of their banter. But then someone harrasses or hurts Jaskier, and Yen turns that person’s dick into an eclair.

Then they make out.

So yes, I love the banter and chaos potential. HOWEVER, I ALSO love the potential for softness and affection. Yen has a similar thing to Geralt where her trauma and abuse has caused her to shut people out. I love the idea of Jaskier melting that.

So really, this ship can be anywhere on the range of hilarity, hate sex, or achingly gentle healing love. (Some fics nail all of these at once) It’s versatile, babes.

The fic: so tight i'd bruise you, by @ric0cheted

Why I love this fic.

Mainly, because the writing is so good it makes you want to punch something. (Not from anger but from an excess of love)

It’s rare that a fic writer can get both voices SO SPOT ON that you can SEE them as you read. (Believe me, as a fic writer, this is difficult. We are almost always noticeably better at one or the other.)

It nails Yennefer’s protective hostility being slowly but surely chipped away. It requires you to read between the lines a bit because it’s from her perspective. And that’s half the fun.

You feel so deeply for both of them: Jaskier, who thinks he has fallen first and is terrified of showing it and being pushed away. And Yen, who has also fallen but is terrified of vulnerability and is denying it until the dead last minute possible.

It is part of a two part series, but I started with this, the second part. I had done a search to exclude Geralt tags because I really wanted to read about JUST the two of them, (which, unsurprisingly is actually kind of difficult to find) and this one came up. I realized afterwards that it is technically sort of pre-poly but it focuses on these two so much that I’m putting it here. (I’m doing a separate poly-rec post)

More recommendations:

I Found a Home in Your Touch, by @unremarkablegirl This is short one shot with sunsets, comfortable silences, and hand holding. It’s a warm blanket for your soul.

i made it through the wilderness, by @some-stars Jaskier accidentally reveals that he had a horrible first sexual experience, so Yen roleplays a do over. This one will sneak up on you with a (loving) punch straight to your feels.

Your body, like sugar and spice, by @feraljaskier Jaskier gets pegged and he loves it 🔥

the poet's wish, by @limerental I have already rec’ed limerental for Yengilla, but their 100k slowburn Yenskier enemies to lovers is the most ambitious AU for Yen x Jaskier (no Geralt related jealousy or heartbreak. Just the two of them with their own story) in the fandom. And it’s beautifully written.

So, that was a few of the extra rare rarepairs and fics that have caught the attention of this humble multishipper. Again, I know sometimes people don’t like rec threads because people feel left out. I am a writer too, and ofc I know that feeling. I just think it’s still worth it to do. What else are we going to do? Never hype each other???

So help me add to it and rb with your fic, or your fave if I missed it.

Witcher dividers by @firefly-graphics

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timextoxhajima · 3 years ago

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Love Me A Little Less: Chapter 9 - Obligation

LOVE ME A LITTLE LESS CHAPTER MASTERLIST

Member: (3rd person pov) arranged marriage au with Lee Juyeon

Genre: angsty wangsty

Taglist: @hyunjaethereal @sunwoowuvbot @suzy-rainbow @miingxuxi

“It was like Se Kyung’s eyes had been surgically transferred into another body. ”

Hesitation stops Kim Jo-Pil for a few seconds. He parts his quivering lips and takes a deep breath, then says, just loud enough for Juyeon to hear, “I made a mistake. One too big for me to dig a hole and throw it in.”

Juyeon’s frown deepens, and he hears the sheets shuffling in the bedroom. He reaches forward, pulling Jang Won’s door shut.

It is only in Kim Jo-Pil’s home-made office (also known as Jang Won’s second guest room) that Juyeon is surprised by the number of mini and portrait-sized canvasses painted by his wife. Just for a split second, Juyeon buys it. Maybe Kim Jo-Pil isn’t as horrid of a person Kim Jang Won thinks he is.

But it’s the picture of their family sitting on his desk that ironically turns Juyeon’s head around.

“What is all this? For show? For when Jang Won storms in and you’ll think she’ll go soft, seeing all this?”

Kim Jo-Pil lands himself in the sofa seat next to the bed, piled with files and documents and boxes, leaving Juyeon to stand awkwardly by the end of the bed, eyes scanning the mess in the room.

“You sound like her... after her mother passed and before I did.”

Juyeon’s nostrils flare. “If you don’t want to tell me why you decided to come back and ruin her life, so be it. I don’t need to stand here and listen to all your-”

“Younghoon wasn’t Se Kyung’s first child.”

Silence.

Juyeon’s heart halts in his chest.

Kim Jo-Pil looks out the window, eyes looking in the distance where the city’s skyscrapers were kissing the sun. “Se Kyung had a child born out of wedlock before she married me. But they made her choose. The child’s life or her freedom.”

“Back then, The Board already had administrations favouring arranged marriages between families under the conglomerate. It was an easy system to keep the number of royalties under control. The cycle repeats itself. Two families become one, and a new family joins. Superpowers are reduced from two to one overnight, and The Board would never have to be worried about being overthrown because the supers would simply be too busy outdoing each other and seeking validation from the administration.”

“Did you know?” Juyeon whispers. “That she already had a child?”

“I knew... not because I was meant to, but because I wanted to. It was The Board’s annual Christmas Charity Event in the early 1990s and Se Kyung had gone with her parents, and I had gone with mine. She was sweeter than a daisy in a meadow full of flowers. She was polite, kind, and had a reputation for being the most stubborn creature on the planet, even then. It was one of the many things that Jang Won had inherited from her.”

“She spent her early twenties away from home, supposedly in another country working her way through foreign industries and making a name for herself. I didn’t know she had returned until my father told me that the Yoo family had chosen to merge with another - mine - I couldn’t be happier. One night, I decided to sneak to into their property and propose to her formally, way before the arrangements were to be made public. And... I heard it. The crying. Fighting.”

Kim Jo-Pil’s eyes fall. “She had returned with a child in hopes to bond her to the Yoo family. The father was a coward and ran once he had heard she was from a reputable family. Too much politics, too much money.”

“But the baby. Oh, the baby. Sweetest little thing I’ve ever seen in my life. My poor, poor Se Kyung... She was given the options: Marry into the Kim family and give the baby away, or her parents will have it dispensed like it had never been born.”

By now, Kim Jo-Pil has tears in his eyes.

“After we had Younghoon, something in Se Kyung clicked back to life. I remember the night she delivered him. The sparkle in her eyes that I fell in love with the day I met her had returned... but I knew for a fact that I needed to find her first-born, no matter the implications. It was the least I could do for her. By then, the child had to be a few years older than Younghoon and so, I spent the time that I should’ve spent with Se Kyung and my own children looking for her - the baby.”

“Se Kyung lost her parents in an accident the night Jang Won was born. She lost the worst nightmares of her life in exchange for a beautiful baby girl... so, what more could she ask for?”

Kim Jo-Pil sucks a deep breath. “I couldn’t find the child. I went to all the orphanages and the foster homes and by then Se Kyung had already fallen ill. Brain cancer - inherited. All I wanted was to return Se Kyung was her first-born and yet I did not deliver. When Jang Won was 16, Se Kyung passed. The last foster home that had taken care of the child said that she had reached a legal age to take care of herself. She could’ve gone under the radar if she wanted, changed her name if she wanted, and I’ll never be able to find her. Little did I know that she had grown to become much more of a person than I ever expected her to be, and she had been practicing advanced medicine throughout her college life.”

Juyeon is giddy from the influx of information, and so he braces himself when his own neurons piece the puzzle together.

“She was the one who revived you. The child.”

The elder shuts his eyes and lets the tears dribble over his lids.

It felt like a dream. The ache in his chest. The rough texture of gravel under his cheek when he collapsed. But Kim Jo-Pil opens his eyes, in thorough shock, when he realises he’s not in the hospital, but in some worn-down warehouse with a bunch of illegal medication that shouldn’t even be legally available outside of the hospital.

He had remembered the lights in the operating theatre, and even the sound of his slowing heartbeat in the drums of his ears.

So how is it possible that he’s-

“Ah, you’re awake! I was starting to worry that it didn’t work, Goddamn Narcan.”

Kim Jo-Pil tries to move, but he can’t. He couldn’t move a single muscle in his body besides his eyes.

“Don’t worry, I’m not gonna hurt you.”

The lights above him had been preventing him from seeing her face, and when he did, he swore he could’ve been snapped into two when he recognised her eyes.

She pushes away the lights and turns to remove her surgical equipment, the sound of latex snapping away from her fingers echo through the dismay of the room. She returns her attention to Kim Jo-Pil.

It was like Se Kyung’s eyes had been surgically transferred into another body.

“I’m Yoo Hye In, and I heard you’ve been searching for me.”

Exasperated and in disbelief, Juyeon runs his hands through his hair, turning to make sure the door of the room was shut.

“Why are you even telling me this? How do I know I can trust you to tell me the truth?”

“Yes, because I have all the damn time in the world to be cooking up this story!” He gets up and pulls up his shirt, revealing a stitched scar right over where his heart was. “I trust you because you have no reason to backstab her.”

He releases his shirt.

“Other than Younghoon, I don’t know if anybody else in this system can offer her any kind of security.”

“How do you know I’m not gonna run off after getting half of HERA & ARTEMIS?”

“Because if you wanted to, you wouldn’t have been such a jerk to her over your wedding.”

Juyeon presses his fingers over his closed lids. His vision is blurred when he opens them.

“Why don’t you just tell Jang Won about this? She can protect you. She can sieve out this... Yoo Hye In, give her what she wants-”

“Jang Won will never give Hye In what she wants.”

Juyeon can feel the edges of his lips curl downwards and his lids getting heavier from mental exhaustion. “...Hye In wants HERA & ARTEMIS?”

Kim Jo-Pil’s eyes can’t seem to leave the floor. He can’t help the dreaded feeling of failure drowning his conscience as a father, as someone who was rightfully supposed to protect her.

“So, what’s your plan? Hye In wants HERA & ARTEMIS, and you know for a fact that Jang Won won’t give that up... like, ever. What happens if Hye In doesn’t get HERA & ARTEMIS?”

“Hye In will go to the press. Her existence being Yoo Se Kyung’s first-born out of wedlock will destroy everything this family has built. Hera’s Manor, HERA & ARTEMIS, Artemis...” He shakes his head. “Either gone or hers. She’s playing saint by not doing that directly.”

“But what does Yoo Se Kyung’s mistake have anything to do with Jang Won?” Juyeon seethes, inhaling such a deep breath that his chest hurt. “This is unfair. She should not have to go through this-”

“And you think I don’t know that?” Kim Jo-Pil’s lower lip trembles, a hardening gaze plastered to Juyeon.

Heaviness blankets the room. Juyeon’s frown feels cemented into his forehead as he sits at the edge of the crowded bed, fingers on his temple.

“Juyeon.”

The younger side-eyes the elder, cautious.

“Once you’ve acquired Apple-Korea, I want you to buy all of HERA & ARTEMIS, then acquire Artemis Entertainment as well.”

“You know Jang Won won’t allow that.”

“Try. You’ll have the power to and she can’t exactly stop you,” He huffs, chest rising. “She doesn’t need to know yet. I will tell her the truth when it blows over.”

“’Blows over’? How is this going to ‘blow over’? You just said Hye In won’t give in until she gets HERA & ARTEMIS.”

“But she can’t fight for ownership if it’s the owner is not of Yoo’s descent. Which means once you acquire all of HERA & ARTEMIS-”

“Then she’s no longer a threat.”

Kim Jo-Pil nods. “But you will need Jang Won’s trust to acquire all of HERA & ARTEMIS, and she cannot know about Hye In before that happens. Once the order is out of place, Jang Won will stop at nothing to fight for HERA & ARTEMIS, not knowing that she’ll be fighting a lost war.”

“Jang Won doesn’t even trust Younghoon. How do you expect her to trust me?”

“Look at where you’re standing,” Her father turns, but doesn’t look at Juyeon directly. The sun kisses a single side of his face as his eyes scan the room. “You’re standing in Hera’s Manor, and you’re her first overnight guest in five years. I’d say you have a pretty good chance at earning the rest of her trust.”

Juyeon winces slightly, shutting his lids to process the information. There’s a grave sense of responsibility perched on his shoulders now, and the dread that lingers in the back of his skull when he thinks of Yoo Hye In strutting around in public makes him uneasy.

Juyeon finds himself mindlessly heading for the dining hall, where Mr Ro was finishing up the preparation of the wide array of food on the side table. The butler bows, but it goes unnoticed. He pulls the chair back for Juyeon to sit, and eventually calls him a cup of coffee when he notices Juyeon’s lack of attention.

“Mr Ro.”

“Hmm?” The chocolate-brown shade of coffee glitters under the light from outside.

“How long do you think it’ll take Jang Won to trust me?”

Mr Ro pulls away, handing the pot of coffee to another staff. “Well, Mr Lee... that depends on what circumstance we’re envisioning.”

“Her life. Maybe something she loves, something she can’t live without.”

“So, a prized possession.”

“Mm.”

Mr Ro pauses for a thought.

“Long, but play your cards right, and she will eventually trust you.”

Juyeon offers a strained curve of his lips when Mr Ro bows and returns to the kitchen, leaving him with a bunch of pastries that should be sold in some five-star hotel instead.

Jang Won strolls into the dining hall dawned in a gorgeous full-fitted set, make-up and hair done like she was going for her own press conference. Juyeon remains quiet at the table, only looking up once when she first enters, then he returns to spreading Nutella on his croissant.

“Jesus, do we not have anything from Younghoon or my father to let him wear besides those pajamas?”

“You lent me these pajamas, don’t make it sound like it was my bad choice to make. Besides, they are comfortable and cute,” Juyeon looks down at himself.

Jang Won gruffly scoffs. “Of course it’s comfortable. It’s made from Supima cotton. What do you think we are, savages?”

“Mrs Lee, I-”

“Call me that again and I will fire you,” She abruptly instructs, glaring at her butler.

“Ms Kim,” He corrects himself. “We have already called Younghoon’s fitters to bring by some wardrobe for Mr Lee before he joins you for the itinerary meeting.”

“Itinerary meeting?” She whips her head from Mr Ro to Juyeon, who was busy licking the Nutella off the knife he was using. “Don’t you have to be in the office or something?”

“And do what? Put myself in a situation where my parents can come to kidnap me home? No thanks.”

Jang Won leans back in her seat as the staff places a cup of tea in front of her, surprised at Juyeon’s enthusiasm with something that he didn’t need to worry about.

“Well, I have a doctor’s appointment after, so, you can come back home after unless you want to hang around old, dying people.”

“What?” Juyeon sneers. “What for? You look perfectly fine to me.”

“That’s because I have been going for these medical checkups, dumbass. I’m not gonna stand around and then what if I magically die of a heart attack- then what? Give you all of HERA & ARTEMIS and Artemis Entertainment? Pshht!”

Juyeon purses his lips - a terrible attempt at hiding his smile.

Young Jin Seol [12.13pm]: Your father just dropped by this morning. He knows you’re at Hera’s Manor.

Young Jin Seol [12.14pm]: He’s requesting for a meal, for him and Mrs Lee as well as you and Kim Jang Won after you return from your honeymoon.

He quietly locks the device, attention drifting from the messages to Jang Won, who was busy strolling about the office. The ride here had been quiet, for Juyeon had chosen to drive and Jang Won sent two guards to Kim Sunwoo’s residence to get her Mercedes back.

Heavy and thoughtful, Juyeon thought. The atmosphere in the car was strange, and he can’t help but to wonder of Jang Won was even aware she had a nightmare (or a trauma relapse, or whatever you called one of those) earlier in the morning. Maybe it was the accustomed sight of Jang Won being as cold and rigid as a statue that makes it harder to bear. Juyeon fails, when he tries to restrain the ache that devours his chest, unable to remove the image of her crying and holding on to that mini canvas like it were her life.

The door of the office clicks open and it steals both his and her attention, the tour agency officer bowing to the two tycoons with files in her arms. Juyeon stands, patting down his pants.

“Mr Lee!” She holds out a hand. “Pleasure to meet you. Mrs Lee didn’t make your attendance known.”

Juyeon smiles politely at her, shaking her hand whilst admiring the distasteful grimace on Jang Won’s face at the address.

“Please, just call me Juyeon, and my wife, Jang Won. We’re still not used to the new... salutations.”

The officer offers a low chuckle, turning to Jang Won and raising a cheeky brow. Juyeon’s left brow twitches when Jang Won’s grimace remains cemented into her lips, and yet the officer was still grinning like an idiot.

“Do you two know each other?”

“Call me ‘Mrs Lee’ one more time, and I will murder you,” Jang Won seethes, opening her arms and pulling her into a tight hug. An exhale gets punched out of Juyeon, feeling somewhat at ease with the change in atmosphere.

“I knew that would totally get you on edge,” The officer laughs, patting Jang Won on her back between her shoulder blades. Pulling away, she turns to Juyeon and bows, this time more candidly. “I’m Ki Hae Ri, your tour officer for your honeymoon next week.”

Watching Jang Won talk to Hae Ri was almost like watching her get possessed by a 13-year-old teenager. More than amused, Juyeon wasn’t even paying attention to the actual content Hae Ri was talking about regarding the itinerary - all he could see was the bright smile on Jang Won’s face.

And for once, since the day he first met her, this smile was genuine. Her eyes are folded into crescents when she laughs and chortles and berates Hae Ri for every little detail she puts in the conversation to tease Jang Won.

“And for you, Mr Lee,” Hae Ri’s voice snaps him out of his mindless admiration. “Jang Won here has told me that you like diving and so I must tell you that she suggested of doing Belize.”

The folder slides across the table, and Jang Won shoots Hae Ri a look of betrayal. Automatically darting his attention to Jang Won, Juyeon’s fingers trail the edges of the folder, a picture of the Belize Blue Hole printed on the cover page.

Clearing her throat, Jang Won looks afar, refusing to even face him. “So it’s an 8-hour drive, or a 1.5 hour flight from Guatemala to Belize. It was a suggestion in one of the itinerary sets anyway.”

Juyeon looks up from the 3-day Belize stay itinerary, noticing Hae Ri’s prideful, cheeky grin stretched up her lips.

Back in the car, Juyeon’s hands are on the steering wheel, engine already churning and the air-conditioner blasting the coolness into their faces. Jang Won waits for some moments, before realising the amount of movement in the car - or rather, the lack thereof.

“Hello? Doctor’s appointment?” The edge in her voice is back and Juyeon can’t help but wonder just how she does it - being so cold and caring at the same time. “If you’re not interested, then you can just get the fuck out and I’ll call Mr Ro to come pick you up.”

Juyeon pauses for a moment, collecting the vocabulary in his head.

“My parents want to meet us for a meal after we return from our honeymoon.”

The whir of the air-conditioner suddenly sounds a little louder.

“What for?” Jang Won snorts. “Is your mom planning on baking cupcakes and apologising for making this the worst decision of your life, even though it wasn’t even yours to make?”

“I don’t know, but we’ll have to go. They are still my parents.”

“What?” She criticises, her upper lip hooked upwards. “You ran away! From home! And now you want to just... bring a basket of fruits to a picnic with them just ‘cause they’re your parents? Ha!”

“Look, I don’t like it either, but if we don’t do this then they’ll just be bugging me forever and if that happens then I can’t do what you want me to do with HERA & ARTEMIS peacefully. If anything, they might just fuck shit up if they don’t have this meal with us.”

“‘Fuck shit up’? I’ll fuck them up-”

“We’ll go, and that’ll be the end of it, okay? Trust me, you don’t want them dipping their noses into our shit once we start with all the ownership administration.”

“’Dipping their noses’? Just who the Hell do your parents think they are? They don’t even own any of the companies related to the-”

“I know, God damn it,” Juyeon finally rebuts, patience running thin. “But they have power. According to The Board’s conglomerate, my family is on the same tier as yours.”

Jang Won huffs, crossing her arms over her chest and looking out the window.

“Just... just this once, and they’ll go easy. It’s not worth picking a fight with them, I promise you. Okay?”

Jang Won struggles to remove the frown off her forehead. She knows it’s not his fault. She knows his parents are shitty people.

And yet, for some reason, she’s jealous that Juyeon even has parents to feel obligated towards.

Destiny, prophecy, fate. You name it. Just what is it that makes things so complicated in life? Circumstances can be created, changed, altered. Jang Won can question God about how she ended up right in this very spot every day, but she won’t get an answer, ever. Juyeon can wonder why she had to be the one responsible for her mother’s mistake, and he’ll never know why either.

Juyeon trails carefully behind Jang Won, slightly surprised that she wasn’t visiting the area’s best hospital for her medical checkups. Not that this was one was bad, but it was... affordable. Taking in the sights and sounds as he enters the main hall, Jang Won advances towards the registration counter and pulls off her sunglasses.

“Here,” She slides a clipboard to the side. “Fill this visitor registration form up.”

Juyeon picks up the pen, watching her pull out her wallet and hand it over to the administration staff.

“Hi, I have an appointment with Ms Yoo Hye In.”

Juyeon’s eyes dart upwards from the visitor registration sheet, pupils flitting between the administrator and Jang Won, who was calmly signing into some check in registry. He can feel his breath grow shaky and unstable and all of a sudden, Jang Won’s looking at him like he was the crazy person in the room.

“What? Are you okay?”

He parts his lips to deny the question, wishing to brush it off and simultaneously, maybe convince himself that it was just someone with the same name.

“Jang Won! I was wondering if you were going MIA today again.”

Ironically, his heart stops. Jang Won puts on her service smile and provides her doctor a subtle wave as the two close the distance between them.

“Of course not. Gotta make my check-up down-payment worth it. I can’t run around the city working my work if I’m unwell, can I?”

“Well, I see you brought the future director of Apple-Korea with you,” Yoo Hye In turns to Juyeon, eyes bright and her smile convincingly kind. Her hair was short, well trimmed, and Juyeon was almost in shock that he could see the similarities between her and Jang Won.

The tycoon whips her head upon the silence, almost shifting to nudge him. “Juyeon.”

“No, no, it’s okay! No need to rush him,” Yoo Hye In grins widely, offering a hand to him. “I’m Jang Won’s personal doctor, Yoo Hye In. You can call me Hye In.”

#multifandomnet #destinyverse #ficscafe #juyeon scenarios #juyeon imagines #juyeon fic #the boyz scenarios #the boyz imagines #the boyz fanfic #tbz scenarios #tbz fanfic #tbz imagines #lee juyeon scenario #juyeon fanfic #the boyz #the boyz juyeon #tbz #tbz juyeon #love me a little less

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prose-for-hire · 3 years ago

Text

Penny for your thoughts

Pairing: Wesley x reader

Request: Not requested. I just needed to write something from my own brain !! Inspired very loosely by season 3′s ‘earshot’. Reader can read minds and struggles with this. One day, they meet Wesley and thoughts threaten to spill. [Italics = thoughts]

Warning: Very mild violence mentioned. Hostage situation.

When you first meet people, you always knew exactly what your first impression on them is. Sometimes it was good, others not so good. But it was never as disastrous as the time you met Wesley. He hadn’t been in a good mood that day anyway, he was late and his research had led to nothing. Even worse, he would have to face Giles and admit that he had been wrong about which codex the relevant information would be in.

It was the early morning and you had arrived at your new job. You had needed something normal, you weren’t to know that living in Sunnydale would be the furthest thing from normality. You were the new school administrator, hired only because you knew the exact answers that Snyder was looking for when he interviewed you.

There was something about you that people couldn’t tell just by looking at you. You were telepathic. You could read people’s minds. That’s how you knew exactly how much he disliked your demeanour. Some people were jealous of your abilities, but often you decided it wasn’t worth the constant headache (both metaphorical and unfortunately literal too).

Whenever anybody found out, they often held you at arm’s length. People liked to keep their thoughts in their own heads, apparently. Not in yours. You had been practicing ways to ease the headaches and thus quietening the voices down inside your mind. These foreign thoughts bubbled up when you focused on someone you were near, but you could block out a lot of it now. Thanks to a lot of practice.

This morning, Wesley had been trying to walk straight past the front office and into the library without being stopped – but you had got in the way of that. You stepped in front of him and he stared at you as if he was trying to burn holes into you.

“Yes?” he asked curtly, looking past you now towards the corridor he should be walking down.

“Hi, I’m Y/n, the new administrator. Snyder’s asked me to put this sign-in sheet in place for, uh, late staff…”

“This is ridiculous! I am barely a minute past the hour-”

“I know, but you still need to sign…” You said, your voice wavering as he thought about how he wished that you would explode into dust like a vampire and leave him alone. He scribbled something illegible onto your sheet and stormed away, cursing you both in his head and under his breath as he walked.

You sighed. You learned two things on your first day at Sunnydale High, one being that doing your job and contractually having to side with Snyder wasn’t going to win you any friends. And a second being that vampires, demons and evil existed. Which, I mean, you guessed it must be true if you had the abilities that you did but it was finally confirmed to you.

The rest of the term went on like this, with you only ever encountering Wesley the same way and him getting decidedly more annoyed with you every time. You, on the other hand, became more fond of him. You learnt more about him every morning through his thoughts and found him to be a kind and genuine man who was just desperate to prove himself to the people he now worked with.

After getting a cold reception ever since you met him, one morning was a little bit different. Not only because Wesley was early but he made a point by saying good morning very loudly to you to which made you smile widely at him. You couldn’t help it, his thoughts had made you really like him. He faltered only slightly and you didn’t quite catch what he thought as he brusquely walked past.

Much like in verbal conversation, you didn’t always hear everything clearly if you weren’t focusing enough. Moreover, you often tried to make a point of letting people have as much privacy as you could. You could hear an underlying buzzing of everyone’s thoughts but if you focused and isolated on a person you could hear it clearly. But everything was always so busy it could be hard to catch things clearly sometimes.

In some instances, however, some specific thoughts called out to you with an almost painful clarity. This happened later that same day. You had walked into the library to explain to Giles that there had been some complaints from students that they had been turned away from the library for no good reason when it hit you.

I will eat them. I will kill them all…

You must have reacted very obviously as Giles with sincerity asked if you were okay. You rushed out your words, knowing that this was a lot to suddenly admit – but you knew these were the right people to tell.

“There’s something in here, the school I mean. Something looking to eat people. You need to, uh, do some research. The Sumerian will have to wait, this is happening. And soon-”

“H-how did you know about-” Giles began, he had just thought about beginning to read the Sumerian text he needed.

“Uh, yeah, so, I can read thoughts and I know I can trust you because you save the world often between school opening hours and I never once thought about telling Snyder so please just trust me?”

“I knew it!”

“You have never thought that before, Mr. Wyndam-Pryce”

I may have done… eventually.

“But you didn’t” You smiled softly and he looked at the ground. Giles caught this look between you and your seemingly one-sided conversation. You found his look endearing and found yourself thinking this for a moment too long before snapping yourself out of it.

Nobody tried to test you or question you after they chose to trust you. They appeared to be able to tell how genuine and how much you appeared to want to help. So, they listened to what you said and began to do more patrolling. Some even questioned other students in case they had seen anything suspicious (which, they had it just didn’t happen to be the kind of suspicious you were all currently researching).

Buffy and her group of friends were guarded around you with their thoughts which you were used to, people really didn’t like their thoughts being shared. But at the same time, you could hear that they thought you were pretty cool which was really a big compliment.

You were all searching for this demon on the school campus, it had been a week by this point and you and Wesley kept being paired up by Giles. Whether that look you gave him had inspired him to be a match-maker or he was truly oblivious and just wanted the two of you far away from him you didn’t know. Either way, you had quickly been adopted into the little team.

Wesley was bashful and often began tripping over his words to talk about anything that you appeared to take an interest in. He began to warm to you once he realised you had just been trying to keep your job and not trying to ruin his career as a watcher (and fake librarian).

You kept listening intently as you and him did your usual loop around the school, having to hope everyone in the school could forgive you listening to every single thought in search of the person you had heard that day. You were sieving through every thought anyone had ever had and it was getting tiring. Exhausting, even. Your head was so full it began to spin almost violently. A merry-go-round you could never get off, it kept going faster the more you listened.

While you were listening one day in the library, Wesley, who you had been distracted by and had been watching from the other side of the room had moved to stand beside you. You hadn’t noticed him, much less that he was speaking until your legs gave way from under you. You started to collapse to the ground until his arms reached to catch you. It was instinct, he gripped you tight preventing you from falling. He allowed you to shift some of your weight onto him as you walked towards a chair. He turned away to make you a cup of your beverage of choice to relax you.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Wesley said softly as he sat beside you. His demeanour so different from how he had been even a week ago. You had become fond of him much before this, but he was just beginning to warm to you. To understand you had only been doing your job, helping his when you could. You had been leaving notes of thoughts you had overheard on Wesley and Giles’ desks ever since you realised what was going on with the school and the Hellmouth.

“If I got a penny for every thought I heard… I would be rich” You smiled, but you appeared washed out and weakened as you tried to raise yourself from your seat. This was a mistake, you began to go dizzy and tried to still yourself, raising your hand to your head. Without you noticing (or, admittedly himself until it happened) his hand rested on the back of yours. Your stomach flipped, an elation rising inside at the mere whisper of his touch.

He leaned in closer, his face now level with yours. The proximity sent shivers through your body. You closed your eyes, focusing only on his touch. No thoughts, not even your own should interrupt this. It was promise. Of care, of some deep down need to comfort you. No matter if his intentions were romantic or otherwise, just knowing he cared meant something. It was enough to keep you happy. You wanted to stay in this moment, where his touch was yours.

But, of course this was Sunnydale. Wesley had appeared to help you clear your mind. Enough to hear something.

Kill… Eat… Kill… Eat again

“No!” You shouted, a completely different style of shivers now went up your spine. You were horrified at the images you were starting to see. The thoughts were getting stronger which meant… they were getting closer. If only you could make out exactly where.

“Y/n, I apologise. I should n-not have thought to-”

“Wesley, no, that was- well, it-” You paused and sighed. This was a conversation for another time. You just wanted to tell him how much the tenderness of his touch meant, but it really wasn’t the right moment, “Demon. I heard the demon! I think it’s in the basement” You rushed out, gesturing for him to follow you.

How is that possible? We checked at least a dozen times.

It could have been hiding or somewhere else – it could have even been invisible. I just know where it is now.

You nodded, thinking this was the only reply you had given him. He blinked not once but twice. He was surprised to say the least. You had communicated to him without speaking. You were fascinating to him. He looked at your lips before scanning the rest of your face as he thought how much he wished that he could…

No. Better not think on this now. His mind may run wild and the last thing he needed was you catching this particular train of thought.

You stepped gingerly into the dark basement, the light was very dim but you were both able to just about get your bearings. You could hear the thoughts again, louder and louder as you approached. All this guy seemed to do was think about killing and eating.

Talk about one track mind.

Wesley made a noise that sounded like a laugh. You didn’t realise that it was in reaction to your own thoughts. But any remnants of a smile was wiped off his face when he saw the scene before him.

There was a pit of what appeared to be lava with a green coloured demon hanging precariously above it. In the corner of the room, a man that looked human apart from the sizeable canines and horns protruding from his face.

Without thinking and notedly before the demon in the corner of the room had spotted you, you started to pull at the rope that the green demon was suspended from. Wesley, although the frown on his face read as a reluctance to assist what would usually be seen as the enemy, came and helped you anyway. Especially when he saw how affected you clearly were by what you could hear of the demon’s thoughts.

You managed to untie the rope that was fixed in place to keep the demon suspended just as the man who intended to dine on them began to run at you. This made your hand slip, letting go of the rope and making the green-hued figure drop into the pit with a scream.

As Wesley moved to protect you, using the skills he could remember through the fog of fear he was experiencing you ran to the pit. You gasped, pleased to see the four hands were clinging onto the crumbling side of the pit. The demon hadn’t fallen into the pit yet – you still had time to help.

“Take my hand!” You shouted over the noise, opening your palm for the green demon to take. You could hear the demon’s desperation, their thoughts that it was the end. You couldn’t bear it. You had to help them.

“Go” Wesley shouted to the green demon as you both helped them up from the pit. The demon whose thoughts brought you into the basement became even more mad at this and began to attack you fiercely.

You managed to keep the demon at bay until reinforcements arrived. Buffy and Angel soon ran into the basement and held off the demon from snapping off your limb and eating it like a chicken leg. You did all you could to assist with the fight and shouted out the demon’s intended movements out to give the others the upper hand.

Wesley walked you home that evening, after Willow spoke an incantation to close up the lava pit and make it very hard to enter the basement (the last thing you needed was anyone else setting up (evil) shop down there).

You continued to be a big part of the group as the months went on. You would spent a lot of your time researching and learning all you could from demons and the students to help Buffy fight. You didn’t have the heart to tell the others that they weren’t fooling anyone – most people had at least some idea there was something special about her and her super-strength.

As you did your bit to save the world, your mind was never far from him. You had grown close, savouring every detail you learned about him. You knew that through the sometimes clumsy and ‘proper’ exterior, there was a kind and well-intentioned heart. He wished to open up to you, but his upbringing made it hard for him to grow out of the need to hide his emotions and feelings.

He caught your eye during a meeting and you couldn’t stop your own thoughts from flowing.

I love him. Wow, is this what being in love feels like? I can’t stop thinking about him…

He smiled wider as you thought this which made you want to hold him into you even more. Everything about him, from his need to stick to what he had been taught to the letter to the deeply sensitive and caring parts of him he revealed with out even meaning to and everything in between.

He was soon the reason you arrived at work with a smile on your face. Just to catch a glimpse of him or hear something from him. It meant everything.

Graduation day came and so did the battle against the Mayor and his ascension. As rubble, dust and demons lay defeated around you, he made his way straight towards you. Ensuring that you were safe. That you hadn’t been hurt.

“I think I’m out of a job” You joked, still catching your breath after the fight. But this was a futile task as Wesley rested his hand against the base of your skull and pulled you towards him, crashing your lips with his.

His lips glided over yours, a subtle urgency igniting your continued passion for him. You grasped at the shirt that had been ripped in the fight, feeling the warmth of his skin as you kissed him with all the feeling within. He pulled you nearer still, no matter how close you were to him would never be enough.

This fight had put everything into perspective. He needed you, he loved you just as he was sure you felt the same. He couldn’t hide away from revealing the deepest parts of himself from you anymore. He had only kept it because he was sure that his mind was deceiving him. You couldn’t possibly feel those things for him. Those things he had dreamed and hoped and wished that you would say. It had appeared too good to be true.

“My entire life I have found myself having to prove myself, to work to be accepted. When I met you, without realising until much after, my heart started beating again. I began to live because you made me feel like I matter. That I could make a real difference.”

“Wes, you make a difference everyday…”

“Well, before I met you it appears that I had been living my life wrong”

What does this mean?

“It means that, uh, I was miserable. You showed me a joy to life that I had not even considered” He replied before continuing to explain how much you meant to him, “You do the right thing, the decent thing, no matter if it is written in the watchers handbook or otherwise. To assist even a demon in their hour of need, I am in awe of you. Truly”

You smiled, leaning in to press your lips against his again, ready to tell him exactly how you felt about him. You couldn’t hide this feeling you held, your soft adoration enveloping him in the best way.

As you leaned against him, you realised something – he had just answered your thought. He knew everything, had heard every adoring thought fact that he had been too polite to reveal to you until recently. He had been able to read your thoughts.

You had been so wrapped up in your feelings in a way you never had before, your feelings for him were just so strong, that you had managed to broadcast your own consciousness into his mind. Only such strong and true feelings could do this, you were sure of it. He confirmed this to you later when he revealed he had done extensive research on it.

The soft aroma of love now surrounded you, it smelled of him. Cologne and old books. This smell surrounded the area, which thankfully masked the smell of dead demon in the air. You walked away from the battle, victorious, now in more ways than one. You felt as if you were on top of the world, invincible by his side.

With his confession and your minds entwined with the deepest sentiments of love, you didn’t think twice when he asked you to leave Sunnydale with him. You would embark on a trip spanning several states, the two of you fighting evil and helping others. You grew closer, adoring every inch of the other and finally made your home, at least for a while, in Los Angeles.

#Wesley #Wes #Wesley x reader #wesley wyndam pryce #Wesley wyndam pryce x reader #btvs #ats #Buffy The Vampire Slayer #buffy the vampire slayer imagines #btvs x reader #btvs imagine #btvs x you #Wesley Wyndam Pryce x you #Wesley Wyndam pryce imagine #angel the series #ats x you #ats imagine #gn reader #gender neutral

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cheri-translates · 4 years ago

Text

Headcanon - when you’re drunk

This work, 当你喝醉了, was originally written by 君兮耶君兮 on Weibo, and she has given me permission to translate it 🌸

[ VICTOR ]

After clinching an international collaboration project, your company decides to celebrate. At the party, everyone takes turns to propose a toast to you.

With a low alcohol tolerance to begin with, you soon find yourself having trouble walking straight. Using your phone, Anna sieves through your contact list and gives Victor a call.

When he arrives at the karaoke bar and sees a familiar drunkard gripping a microphone and performing a screaming duet with Kiki, he carries you off in resignation.

Everything goes smoothly till he settles you in the car and grabs the seatbelt.

You start flopping around in your seat like a fish on land.

“Victor! The seatbelt is strangling my neck!”

He stares at you in confusion, then looks at the seatbelt in his hand, which he has yet to strap across your body.

After a bunch of twists and turns, you finally make it back home.

Lying on the bed, your hands are on both sides of Victor’s face, squishing his cheeks.

“Victor, don't worry. Even if you get crow’s feet or become bald at the age of thirty, I’ll still love you!”

“...dummy. I love you too.”

[ GAVIN ]

“Bro Gavin! Sis-in-law is drunk - pick her up quickly!”

After receiving Minor’s call, he rushes over to the scene and collects you from Willow.

He carries you on his back, taking a slow walk home.

“Gavin...”

He tilts his head slightly to face you.

“I’m here.”

In a dazed state, you lean in close to his ear. “Please stop what you’re doing to Little Green...”

“...all right.”

Your grip around his neck tightens, snuggling against his broad and firm back. “Why not take care of me instead? I’m really easy to take care of~”

Gavin props you up slightly, then leans his head so you can burrow your face into the crook of his neck more comfortably.

“All right. I’ll bring my little lamb home now to take care of her.”

Gavin’s Google Search History:

How to propose?

How to pick a venue for a proposal?

How to select a wedding ring?

[ LUCIEN ]

When you’re drunk, you become the polar opposite of your usual lovable self.

“Why can’t I slice the meat?”

Lucien watches you grip a rolling pin your hand, smacking it against a lump of dough. Laughing internally, he answers, “Perhaps my wife isn’t using enough strength?”

His words register. Summoning more strength, you whack the lump of dough. Staring at the slab of “meat” which has absolutely no visible change despite your efforts, your shoulders slump defeatedly.

“Lulu, I think you should do it. I can’t slice it.”

Quickly, he seizes the opportunity to snatch the rolling pin from you, then leads you to the bedroom. “Why don’t you rest for a while? When you’re awake, the meal will be ready.”

After receiving a goodnight kiss, you eyes flutter shut as you cave into a peaceful slumber.

Ensuring that you’ve finally settled down, Lucien succumbs to his fate and returns to the messy kitchen to tidy up. Seeing the flat blob of dough on the chopping board, he pushes the knife rack deeper into the highest shelf of the cupboard, out of sight.

[ KIRO ]

“Miss Chips, stop flailing!”

Kiro pinches the bridge of his nose, watching as you kick the blankets off yet again.

In your drunken state, his words fail to register in your mind.

Kiro bundles you up in blankets for the nth time, taking his pyjamas and heading into the bathroom.

“Go to sleep. I’ll come back immediately after my bath.”

In the middle of his shower, Kiro senses himself being watched. When he lifts his head, he sees a hazy silhouette at the door.

“Miss Chips... is that you?!” Kiro wraps himself in a bath towel and heads towards the door. Even before he reaches it, you’ve already opened the door, lunging towards him in your drunken stupor.

Worried that you’d slip and fall, he instinctively reaches out to you.

Alas, he’s too late. As the champion of clumsiness, you never disappoint.

The moment you step into the bathroom, you slip on a puddle, grabbing his bath towel.

“Ahhhhh Miss Chips, are you okay?!”

Ignoring the bath robe on the floor, Kiro rushes to help you up.

In a haze-filled state, you raise your chin to look at him.

“Hehe, Kiro, you’re really handsome~ I want a kiss~”

Only now does Kiro notice his current state of undress. The corners of his lips curl into an amused smile.

“Since Miss Chips can’t resist and is flinging herself onto me, let me satisfy you properly.”

[ SHAW ]

“Shaw, do you not like me...”

Deliriously drunk, you’re currently hugging the table leg while bawling your heart out.

Feeling a headache coming on, Shaw attempts to make you loosen your grip on it. “Who says I don’t like you?”

As though your life depends on it, you swat his hand away, refusing to let go.

“Then why are you always arguing with me?”

Despite the back of his hand reddening from your slap, Shaw decides not to hold it against you in your current state. “I don’t always argue with you...”

“Yes you do. You’re always calling me ‘Old Auntie’, and even saying that my brain isn’t working! I think yours is the one that isn’t working!”

“...”

He does seem to recall saying such things to you.

“That’s called a pet name! Do you know what a pet name is? Don’t you also call me ‘Pikashaw’?”

“Who in the world calls their girlfriend ‘Old Auntie’!”

Shaw peels your fingers off the leg of the table one by one.

“I do. Be good. If you listen to me, I’ll bring you to Live House tomorrow to watch the performance.”

“Really?” You sniff.

“Really.”

Satisfied, you stand up shakily. In one smooth movement, Shaw lifts you off the ground. “An obedient child is going to sleep now~”

“I also want to drink your mixed cola tomorrow...”

“Whatever you say.”

More translated and original works: here

[ Permission to translate ]

君兮耶君兮: You can - just note the source of the author

#mlqc #mlqc victor #mlqc gavin #mlqc lucien #mlqc kiro #mlqc shaw #cheri shortcake #am excited for the angst headcanon tomorrow hoho

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itmighthavebeenintentional · 4 years ago

Text

Shadows and Pills - 3 (end)

Summary: Some people come away from the Battle of New York with scars and broken bones. Some come away with nightmares and years of therapy ahead of them. Some don’t come away at all. Alexa comes away with a shadow.

18+ ONLY, MINORS DO NOT PROCEED

Warnings: RAPE, Torture, Abuse, Self Harm, Negative Images of Psychological Services/Mental Health Professionals, Hallucinations, Stalking, Supernatural Horror, Prescription Drug Use and Eventual Abuse, Mental Illness, PTSD, Flashbacks of Violence, Flashbacks of Tragedy, Starving Oneself, Isolation, Physical and Mental Exhaustion, Denial, Self Neglect, Gaslighting, Mental Spiraling, Mental and Emotional Abuse

18+ ONLY, MINORS DO NOT PROCEED

Author’s Note: This is not a happy story in any sense, at any point. I could only write this at my lowest places, emotionally and mentally speaking, and I had a hard time coming back from it. This is dark, and it does not at any point get lighter. I relied heavily on my own experiences with mental struggles and took a few pieces here and there from my own experiences with mental health professionals. MY EXPERIENCES ARE MY OWN AND ARE NOT TYPICAL, NOT EVEN FOR ME. If you need mental help of any kind, please DO NOT HESITATE TO REACH OUT TO GET IT. This story was an exercise in mental exorcism, in a sense.

For all the Loki lovers out there, I do not shine him anything like a good or redeeming light here. He is evil incarnate, more or less. I love Loki, I love good Loki and redeemed Loki and misunderstood Loki and just about every incarnation thereof. I needed a villain, and he fit the story.

Above all, please be kind. This was one of the most difficult things I’ve ever written, and it took me years to work up the courage to post it. Thank you to all my friends, especially @thoughtslikeaminefield and @glassjacket .

18+ ONLY, MINORS DO NOT PROCEED

Word Count: 1 - 3785; 2 - 3513; 3 - 1068

In Case You Missed It: Shadows and Pills: Part 1 | Part 2 ItMightHaveBeenIntentional’s Masterlist

...

Shadows and Pills -

3 (end)

Morning routine: Can’t wake up if you never went to sleep.

Alarm clock’s broken, anyway. Can’t…

Shower is too far. Not sure she can stand.

Meds…

Dry swallowing sucks. Maybe...give the doc a call. She could try the emergency number.

Getting locked up has to be better, has to-

She can’t find her phone at first. It takes a while to make it out of her bedroom. Her legs don’t seem to want to support her, and it’s oddly painful on her wrists to pull herself up. Maybe she hurt them when she fell out of bed.

Her vision is wavering, and she has to take frequent breaks on the short trek to the kitchen. She considers trying to eat something. It’s been so long, she can’t remember the last time she-

Oh. No food in the apartment. Yeah, so. No, then. No.

What was…

Phone. Doctor. Emergency number.

She grips the back of a chair, forcing numb feet to shuffle on.

Phone. Doctor. Emergency number.

Another step. One more. But why? She doesn’t even know where the damned phone is, anyway.

Phone. Doctor. Emergency number.

Her new mantra carries her across the small apartment, reminding her sieve of a brain of her purpose, no matter how many times she loses track. When she spots her cell phone no more than ten feet away, she almost weeps with relief, but she can’t spare the energy. She allows a single strangled whimper to escape her cracked lips as she fixates on the black rectangle as the lifeline it is.

One more step. And another. And another.

But the phone remains just beyond her fingertips, just beyond her reach, no matter how close she gets. It takes nearly ten minutes of concentrated effort to realize that she’s no closer to the phone than when she started, that she will never reach it.

He won’t let her.

She drops. There’s...why bother...she’s just so tired. And empty. She can’t remember the last time...the last...she can’t-

She can’t remember.

…

Afternoon routine: She. She is.

She was.

She knows she was, once. She had. And she did. But now she doesn’t, she isn’t, she.

Can’t.

She can’t remember.

She wants to stand, to move, to sleep, to eat, to call...someone, she knows she was going to call someone, but-

She wants anything, anything beyond this slump on the cold, hard floor. But she doesn't have a damned thing left. Her eyes track the shadows as they slowly parade across the room, chasing the setting sun.

A final tear rolls down her cheek when she realizes she can’t remember her name.

And then her tears are gone, too.

You are ready for Me now.

“Who-“

Gentle, infinitely powerful arms lift her from the floor, and she feels the sensation of moving without effort. It’s so nice, peaceful even, not having to make an effort. It’s been a long time since anything was so easy. She wonders for a moment why the fingers pressing against her skin feel so right.

Shouldn’t they be cold? It seems like she’s always been cold, but now, the hands, the arms, her breathing, everything just feels easier.

Better.

Rest now, child. Find your peace. Everything will be easier now.

Then the arms are lowering her, and she knows a moment of panic where she is falling, falling for so long, drowning in the oily, choking cesspool-

Hush now. You will know bliss and joy once more. Accept Me, take Me in, and you need never suffer again. I am your salvation.

She takes in a shuddering breath, and the effort alone nearly steals her consciousness. The pain is creeping back in; she has meds for that, there are pills that could-

I am your opium. Breathe Me in, and I shall flow through you, sing elation in your very blood. No more struggle, no more nightmares, only solace and sanctuary.

So tired. She could do it, she really could, though.

Rest, love. Let me comfort you, take your burdens.

Fingers, perfectly warm and gentle, smooth the furrowed lines on her brow, pressing comfort into the creases, tracing soothing patterns on her delicate, papery skin. For the first time in as long as she can remember, she feels cared for, cherished and comforted.

She’s forgotten everything. And now she’s beginning to forget even that. Why was she fighting? Who was she fighting?

There is no one but Us, My pet. Rest now, I will carry your burdens. Will you let Me heal you now?

The question hangs in the air, heavy and much more than it seems, but Alexa is too tired to battle through the implications anymore. She’s done.

“Yes.”

…

“Glad to see you’ve taken advantage of my vacation to make some progress. How are your sleep patterns the last week or so?”

Alexa surveys the doctor quietly for a moment, considering.

“Definitely longer stretches at a time. There are still nightmares, but I don’t remember most of them.”

The doctor’s pen scratches for a moment, then, “Any flashbacks?”

“Fewer. I’ve been trying some of your other suggestions. The meditation seems to help, especially before bed. It’s easier to fall asleep.”

“Good, good. I’m glad you’re seeing some progress at last. Now, who are we up to this week?”

“Actually, Doctor,” Alexa says, standing and gathering her coat and purse, “I have some work I need to get done and sent in to the office before they close for the day. I apologize for cutting short, but I promise I’ll have more progress to report at our next session.”

She turns away from the doctor, opening his office door and departing before he has time to recover from his shock. There will probably be a worried or stern voicemail on her phone later, but, then again, maybe he’ll be impressed enough by her...progress...to leave well enough alone.

Small blessings.

She presses the button for the elevator, then pauses a moment as she waits. A mirror hangs on the wall next to the elevators, and she studies her reflection carefully. A slow, careful smile spreads over her face, and blue eyes sparkle back at her from the angles and curves of her pleased expression.

“Excellent progress,” she murmurs. The elevator announces its arrival with a diminutive ding, and the doors slide open. Alexa steps inside, still smiling as the doors close.

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the-pale-goddess · 4 years ago

Text

Breakfast at Tiffany’s - Ethan Ramsey x MC (Tiffany Addams)

Tiffany surprises Ethan with a fancy breakfast.

It’s all cute until it turns to filth. Then it’s fluff again. Aaaaand back to slutty. A three-course, self-indulgent breakfast, if I may convey.

Rating/Category: Explicit / smut with a side of fluff

Warnings: p*rn with no plot, language

Author’s note: Coming back to my OH2 more or less canon fic business!

Here’s the smutty part of the little band aid I promised for all the harm I’ve done to you with Home With You AU. I just wanted to give you something sweet before we proceed with the emotional rollercoaster in Chapter 3...Well, I did my best, but my filthy mind would never allow me to write some pure and innocent fluff 😅 Hope it’s not too slutty for you lol You’ve been warned!

Please, forgive me the title - I just saw the opportunity and I took it lol

____

Ethan opened his eyes with a sinking feeling this Thursday would be out of the new ordinary. His bed was cold and empty. There was no cascade of black hair unwittingly waking him up with a gentle tickle on his skin, no tender caress begging him to stay in the sheets a tad longer.

Another surprise awaited when an overfamiliar appetizing smell hit his nostrils, forcing him to rush out of bed in order to investigate the unexpected scene.

The missing piece of Ethan's morning routine was dancing her way through the kitchen, wreaking sweet havoc with a pile of dirty dishes and different ingredients scattered all over the kitchen island, just to cook a tower of flawlessly fluffy pancakes – now proudly placed on display near the oven. They looked perfect, but not as perfect as Tiffany in the weak morning light; her dark wavy hair falling down on bare shoulders, in contrast to the lacy white lingerie set that flaunted all her curves. She was swinging to the tune she whistled to herself, oblivious of the lurking admirer.

„I don't think I'll ever get used to this view.” Ethan's voice got her spinning around in a flutter to face him. He was leaning against the fridge, an adoring smile playing on his lips as his eyes were roaming over her silhouette. She flushed furiously under the intensity of his gaze, trying to hide the sudden clumsiness of her movements with a sheepish beam.

„Your girlfriend cooking breakfast for you in nothing but her underwear?”

He eyed her intently, biting his bottom lip before he answered with a poker face. „My kitchen in disarray.”

Tiffany shook her head incredulously, as she strained the freshly made raspberry sauce through a sieve. „Trust me, it'll be worth it. And don't worry, I'll clean everything up later, Doctor Terminator.”

„It already is.” He pulled her body close to his, causing her back to collide with his chest. „I can't believe you're still using that nickname.”

„You have to admit it's catchy.”

„Mhm. Do you need any help?” His arm draped over her shoulder, hugging her tight.

„Sure. There's a dozen of pancakes waiting for you. Hope you're ready for a sweet death topped with whipped cream and a home-made raspberry sauce.”

„I didn't plan on falling into a food coma, but you had me at pancakes. Meaning yes, I'm ready.” The powerful combination of Ethan's soft lips and his scratchy chin glued to the sensitive skin on her neck, peppering her with featherlike kisses.

„Someone's clingy today.” She gave him a loud peck on his forearm.

„I'm starving, Tiffany.” A husky whisper rolled in her ear, the words followed by a gentle bite that sent a red-hot shiver down her spine. She chuckled to herself.

„Good! I was genuinely scared that you'd hate the idea because of your love-hate relationship with pancakes. The sauce will need a few minutes to cool down a bit, and then – Oh!” Tiffany stopped dead in her tracks when the hard evidence of Ethan's hunger pangs pressed against her butt. She dropped her jaw in surprise, slightly amused by the realization she didn't get the hint quite right – it was a different kind of appetite. She spun round to face him, the wicked smile suggested she was more than eager to play along.

„On second thought, I suppose we can have a taste of what will be served today.” Never breaking the gaze, she dipped her finger in the whipped cream and offered it to Ethan. He licked it clean, keenly watching Tiffany's face turn crimson red.

„Not bad for a mixture of fat and sugar. Though it's far from what I expected to be on the menu.” Tiffany raised her brows, fake offended, her expression elicited a hearty chuckle from Ethan.

„Well, aren't you a picky eater, Doctor Ramsey? Luckily, I came prepared.” Her finger dived into the bowl with raspberry sauce. „Try some of this.”

„Mmm, delicious.” He gushed, his tongue slithering around her finger. „But yet again...That's not what I crave the most.”

”I wonder what would that be...” She bit her lip seductively as she reached for Ethan's hand. He swallowed loud and moved a bit closer just when she slipped his thumb into her mouth. The provocative movement had his imagination run wild. „Aren't you gonna tell me?”

„Tiffany, I...” Ethan failed to articulate his thought, too absorbed in sinful visions almost melting his brain.

„Tell me what do you crave, Ethan.” She demanded and he suddenly felt even weaker. His thumb got trapped in her mouth again, her other hand massaging his inner thigh through the material of his pants.

„You.” His voice dripped with wild need.

„How do you want me?” Tiffany released the thumb with a heady pop, holding his stare the entire time.

„I want to...”

„Do you want to come in my mouth?” She used his finger to brush her bottom lip, then grazed it with her teeth mere seconds later.

„Fuck...Yes, please.” He muttered, pressing his forehead together with hers.

Smiling magnetically from ear to ear, Tiffany crashed into Ethan, kissing him hungrily with their tongues twisted together. The prelude wouldn't last long, and in a flash she moved down his body – already hot and shivering with primal need. Her lips glided over every inch of his skin, placing open-mouthed kisses along the way. Just when she was low enough, she flipped her hair and dropped on her knees, pulling his pants down with her.

Ethan could swear that the very sight of her mischievous smile dancing around his throbbing cock was enough to make him come. He shuddered in tense anticipation as he watched her tease him with graceful strokes of her tongue wandering around his abdomen.

„Could you...” A tantalizing base-to-tip lick shut him up on the spot and took his breath away. She followed the same path with a soft touch of her lips, quietly humming with relish. His hips bucked involuntarily, overpowered by the tender sensation, begging for more.

The unspoken request was yet to be fulfilled – her slim fingers began stroking him at the base, while her mouth covered the sensitive tip. He groaned in response, his body temperature rising to a dangerously high level. His hand instinctively tugged at her hair, tying any defiant locks in his handy grip.

When Tiffany slid his whole length into her luscious mouth, the divine warmth took away the last bit of control he had, and made him gasping for air. Fighting back the tears was a feeble effort with his huge member hitting her throat, but she rose to the challenge, gagging violently before she adjusted to a safe and steady rhythm.

Ethan marvelled at the view of her watery emerald eyes gazing into his blues as she sucked him like her life depended on it, her precise tongue and skillful hand working him up to a blissful fever. The overwhelming feeling of pleasure had him moan ecstatically, bringing him on the verge of madness. Encouraged by the guttural sounds reserved only for her, she quickened the pace, bobbing her head up and down. His muscles reacted in an instant, tensing even harder, demanding an immediate release. A few moments later, he reached his high and spilled inside her mouth; the obscene groan of his climax ringing in her ears like a favorite song. She took the load with a triumphant smirk, swallowing every drop.

„This is grossly unfair.” He leaned on the nearest countertop awestruck, satiated and out of breath, struggling to keep himself standing.

„What is?” She got up, climbing up his body, and bit down on his shoulder blade.

„The power you have over me.”

Tiffany grinned, pressing her cheek to his broad back as she wrapped her arms around his chest. „But you did like the first course of your breakfast, didn't you?”

„I haven't eaten anything yet.” Ethan turned around, falling into her embrace with a pointed look.

„All right, I'll fill you up with these pancakes now.” Chuckling softly, Tiffany took a step back, seemingly ready to start the day, but Ethan kept her in place by holding her wrist. A gleam of lust reappeared in his eyes as he was slowly regaining his energy.

„Pancakes can wait a little longer. Let me eat you out.”

Before she managed to form a sentence, Ethan's fingers skimmed through her back and unclasped her bra, tossing it to the ground. His greedy hands began exploring her body, tracing her curves, only to slide his fingers behind her panties and pull them off, so they would share the fate of the bra.

„You know that I've never really understood the purpose of art, but looking at this absolute masterpiece right in front of me?” Tiffany raised her brows in surprise, returning his worshipful gaze. „I think I might modify my stance.”

„Wait, is that an actual compliment, or you're quoting some lines from the poetry book you'll soon be releasing?” They both snorted with laughter that quickly died when their lips fused in the hastiest, sloppiest kiss.

„I'll let you win this one, you deserve it.”

„Oh, what a lucky day!” She chirped in sarcastic tone. Ethan shook his head and lunged for her neck, sucking at her skin.

When his lips abruptly broke away from her, she yelped in protest, but little did she know what Ethan had in store for her. The burning desire in his eyes instantly set her body ablaze. He turned her around, brushing her messy hair away from her back, and began kissing her along the spine, inch by inch, moving excruciatingly slow. His beard rough against her silky flesh, scratching her pleasantly. She closed her eyes, relishing the delight of Ethan's touch. Suddenly, a piercing smack flew across her butt.

She jumped, flabbergasted, as her blood boiled with excitement. „Ethan Jonah Ramsey!”

„You liked that, didn't you?” He let out a supremely confident laugh and spanked her again.

„I plead the Fifth.” She giggled, biting her lip. His hands squeezed her bum and lifted her up. A moment later she lay flat on the kitchen island, legs spread wide and waiting.

Ethan wasted no time – his lips continued the journey across Tiffany's aching body, nuzzling her hips, kissing her thighs, licking her belly, sucking on her breasts. They were everywhere, except where she needed him most. He noticed how hopelessly she tried to catch his attention with the suggestive movement of her hips, but he decided to torture her for his own enjoyment, savoring the exquisite scent and taste of this very special meal.

Her impatience eventually rubbed off on him. At last, he nestled comfortably between her legs, and sunk his tongue directly into her soaked folds. She didn't even make an effort to tone her moans down and Ethan was quite grateful for that. His tongue worked its magic, lashing at her clit, knowing exactly where to suck to bring her over the edge. Her hips rolled to the rhythm of Ethan's licking, begging for more friction. He immediately read the sign, inviting his fingers to join the fun. He rubbed her expertly, all the while licking her swollen clit. She was so close, already sweaty and shivering, with hands on both sides of the countertop, her knuckles white from all the force she had to use to keep herself from falling down.

When Ethan kept his pace up, she knew he was going for the last bite. In the blink of an eye, she arched her back, coming hard as the outpouring of bliss washed over her. She fought for her breath, lying still with her eyes closed and mouth open.

„Don't get too comfortable there, Rookie, I'm not done with you.” She could feel him smirking against her skin when his lips moved down her trembling leg.

„Is it because last night I fell asleep during your precious documentary and we missed our daily dose of inappropriate snuggles?” Tiffany cracked up and Ethan soon followed.

„Yes and no.” He leaned his chin on her knee, meeting her gaze. „I know how much you hate both cooking and waking up early. This is the least I could do to make this morning more tolerable for you.”

„Keep spoiling me like that and I will literally melt.” A beam of unfiltered happiness spread over her face, her eyes filled with utmost adoration. „Besides, just to clarify: I hate cooking, but I enjoy doing it for you.”

An intimate silence washed over them as they stared at each other, basking in the glorious feeling of these small gestures of affection. Ethan shook his head in wonder, his mind racing. He wanted to tell her. He was certain she knew that already, probably even long before he had realized the nature of his feelings...And yet, his words failed him, offering a blank space instead of a proper way to name the drums echoing in his heart at the very thought of Tiffany. He quickly gathered himself, stood straight and cleared his throat.

„Enough chit-chat, we're on a very tight schedule. Stand up.” With a little help from Ethan, Tiffany jumped off the countertop and hooked her arms around his neck.

„Oh, I'll show you tight, sir.” She avowed with a devilish grin.

„God, you're impossible.” Ethan heaved a long sigh in response, right before their lips melted into a deep, fervent kiss.

Cutting to the chase, Tiffany turned her back to Ethan, colliding with his body. Without any hesitation, he entered her with a hefty push, filling her up in a way she'd never experienced before. She was perfectly accustomed to his size, but the standing position was brand new to them. She didn't expect that a slightly different angle could leave an all-consuming, almost agonizing feeling of fullness before he even began pounding her. A series of vehement whimpers escaped her mouth without her permission. Her chest heaved as she struggled to control her breathing. If it wasn't for his firm grip, her legs would surely give up.

Ethan immediately noticed the unconcealable shift in her demeanor. He cupped her cheek, slowly pulling out of her.

„Baby, is everything all right?” He whispered, his voice full of concern. „Do you want me to stop?”

She instinctively grabbed his hand and locked her body on him in a desperate cry, every word a torture. „I want you inside.”

He nodded, relieved, pulling her as close as it was humanly possible. Her head lolled back, resting comfortably on Ethan so they could still glance at one another. They exchanged a blithe smile, reflecting the dizzying sensation of each other's presence. His lips brushed her forehead in a sweet kiss just as he began moving inside of her.

He started off slow, pulling in and out as gently as he could, keeping her steady in his protective arms. Her previous remark proved to be right – she was insanely tight and dripping wet, her scent and unrestrained moans only adding to his arousal. He knew he wouldn't last long.

„Harder, please.” She whimpered, tightening her clutch on his arms. He willingly complied, deepening his thrusts, setting a merciless pace. The sound of slapping flesh punctuated by their heavy breathing and pleasure vocalized in the most indecent way.

Everything was Ethan – he invaded all her senses, emptying her mind, leaving nothing but his name. Tiffany could feel the thunder in his heart pounding on her back; his hands were mindlessly roaming over her curves as she remained trapped in his strong embrace. His fingers snuck to her clit, rubbing her with expert precision while his cock kept on ravishing her. She was mere seconds away from another orgasm, unable to communicate in any form other than shameless moaning.

Ethan was right behind her, chasing the finish line. His deafening groans got more desperate, thrusts slower and rigid, his fingers pleasuring her frantically, until they both cried out in unison – their bodies twisted in overwhelming ecstasy.

Tiffany toppled over the countertop, breathless – her blazing flesh took comfort in the cold of the marble, with fingers skimming blindly across its surface in a desperate attempt at keeping herself steady. She had no time to recover, as Ethan's body clutched at her tight, his burning skin clamping around hers. His ragged breath hovered over her ear, just as his hand dived into the damp mess of her hair, pulling her locks aside to gently suck on her neck.

„Oh, God...We should...” She panted with her eyes closed, tilting her head to give him more access.

„Mhm.” He hummed with approval, tracing scratchy kisses across her shoulder. „I know.”

Instead of acting on the incoherent thought, he turned her around, crashing into her lips without any warning. They kissed slowly for a long minute before Tiffany retreated, gazing into the endless ocean of his eyes. A cheeky smirk flew across her face.

„You called me baby.”

Ethan stared at her perplexed, his brows frowned. „No, erm...I didn't?”

„You totally just did.” Tiffany's laughter filled the room, the sound shook him to the core, along with the realization the pet name might have accidentally slipped through.

„No, you probably misheard that.” He stuttered an evasive reply, that earned a well-deserved scoff.

„Don't try to deny that you called me baby for the first time, and it happened – let me stress that – during sex.”

„Stop it. Let's not make a big deal out of this. We still need to get to work.” Ethan countered, hoping that the final argument was meaningful enough to end the cross-examination.

„That's a very convenient excuse, Mr I'll Casually Avoid Any Uncomfortable Topic. You're right, though. We should hurry up with the proper breakfast. But let's take a quick shower first.”

„Together?” He cocked his brows, sceptical about the idea.

„Yeah, why not?” Her index finger twirled around his nipple.

„We're already running out of time, we can't afford the further delay.”

„I thought you like a challenge, baby.” She pressed a wet kiss on his chest and broke the embrace. Ethan watched her walk off towards the bathroom with a tantalizing sway of her hips. He took a sharp breath, his eyes followed her every move, scanning her naked form up and down. When she reached the bathroom door, she shot him a sultry wink and disappeared behind the door. He shook his head, transfixed and defeated, muttering to himself.

„We're going to be late then.”

___

Sorry if there are any typos or mistakes, this B is too tired to double-check lol

___

Taglist: I’ll post it separately in a reblog because [tumblr] is being a brat

#ethan x mc #open heart #ethan ramsey #my fanfic writing #ethan ramsey x mc #sorry not sorry

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wevegottogetaway · 4 years ago

Text

Thanks fo’ saving my ass (Part 2)

There is a part 3 coming, I think these two deserve the...culmination, but I wasn’t sure if I could have it ready soon enough. Stay tuned for more, hope you enjoy! x

Part 1 - Part 3*

It starts with a resounding bang. A back curving over maple hardwood; taut muscle stretching soft cotton fabric; twin jades squinted in concentration; a shoulder blade protruding briefly for one swift determining movement. Red, blue, yellow, purple, orange phenolic resin scattering across green worsted wool like a dozen pinballs simultaneously kicked in various directions.

It ends with the deep echo. A ball falling into emptiness before meeting rock-bottom; the release of a soft withheld breath; firm flesh unflexing with satisfaction; two sets of glossy eyes meeting in a knowing look. "Nice break, Styles. Stripes it is," y/n happily comments once Harry leans back from the pool table.

Gibson’s is full of rowdy chatters, tipsy laughs and fulsome smiles. Strangers bonding for a night of undiluted carefreeness, clicking drinks after merry drinks in honor to their new ephemeral best friends. All sorrows have been forsaken on the coat rack at the entrance, hung in insouciance, leaving nothing but good spirits to sit at the tables and loiter near the bar. Everything about this place is warm and nurturing, a cosy embrace after a tedious day, a home for the people that lets them nurse bottles and wounds alike, and sees them leave later on, cheerful, relaxed and healing. It took but a second for Harry to understand why y/n is so fond of the place and he was not surprised to find her on a first-name basis with the barmaid, the two of them catching up on life while she was preparing the drinks.

Now, fifteen minutes in, they’ve happily made their way to the vacant timeworn pool table at a secluded corner of the bar, drinks and grins in toe. The space is only lit up by a single lamp hanging from the ceiling, casting daedal shadows along the walls and across the table’s carpeted surface. The subdued light and music crooning in the background make for a suggestive atmosphere, air thick with limitless curiosity and enticing promises.

The corner of Harry’s lips quirks in a wry smile and a bold glint takes residence at the crease of his eyes; the telltale sign of a burgeoning idea brewing up in his cheeky mind. "What’dya say we make this a lil more interesting?" The offer is served with a raised brow, a hand on his waist, and one foot perched on its toes over the other as he leans against the cue.

From across the pool table, y/n is quite endeared at the sight but her response comes out in fake offense,"oh I’m sorry, am I boring you already?"

"Quite the opposite actually." His head tilts the slightest bit to the side, gaze unwavering from her face in a mission for persuasion.

Her lips grimace as she tries to suppress a betraying smile to no avail, "fine, I’m listening."

He grins victoriously at her inability to keep a straight face, his limbs dislodging from his casual pose. "We take turns," his motions at the space between them. "F’we pocket, we get to ask one question. No bullshit answer, jus’ the truth." His eyes are wide as he gauges her response.

"A question, huh?" she takes her time to contemplate the proposition just to watch him squirm in impatience. "Damn, for a sec I thought you were about to suggest strip-pool." She sends him a playful look as she walks the length of the table to step closer to him and have a better look at his chiseled features.

"I mean, m’totally down but might be a bit unfair on your part," his eyes briefly trail down her body in silent conveyance of her single-piece attire. He’s got much more material to shed before exposing skin than she does.

"Wouldn’t you like to know." The suggestive retort has Harry’s stomach churn with humid passion, the question of just how many layers she’s wearing exactly, playing with the most lascivious parts of his brain. "Not that it matters, you’d be butt-naked before you’d get a nip-slip."

"Overestimating yourself?"

"Just giving you fair warning," she shrugs in nonchalance running her fingers along the edge of the table, "so you know what you’re getting yourself into."

When she lifts her head back to connect their gaze again, she finds him biting at his bottom lip to contain his signature smirk, "no worries there, darlin’. M’all willing." He almost punctuates his retort with a salacious wink but decides to save it for a more opportune time. Something tells him he’s in for a long evening, not that it’s any cause for concern. Like he said, he is very much consenting to anything her heart desires to do to him.

"Good to know." Y/n quips back with a smile before leaning on her hand resting upon the pool table. "What’s your question then?"

For a moment, Harry forgets he just broke the rack and successfully sent a plain purple ball in one of the table’s pocket, taking him one step closer to victory and granting him one question as per his own proposition. He quickly gathers his reeling thoughts before settling on an easy inquiry, fingers fiddling with the desire to sketch every bit of her character. "Right um, do you have other hobbies besides playin- or should I say, winning pool?"

She wants to slap- or should she say, kiss the smug look off his lovely face, but her answers airs in the same level tone she employs at work, "yes I do."

It’s not enough for Harry’s archeologic curiosity though. He’s barely dusted off the ground beneath his feet to reveal the hint of new groundbreaking findings; armed with sieves and brushes, he is eager to dig a little further, "and what might those be?"

However, y/n is quick to rebuff him, "uh uh, that’s two questions."

Indignation soars through his straightened posture, as he cries out a faint ’what? no!’ and her own ego grows two size at her cunning deceit, "gotta up your game if you wanna keep that perky bum intact, Styles."

Earlier words resonate in the confines of his outfoxed mind then, you can kick my ass at that game of pool as promised, and he tries really hard not to think about the promise following them. Instead he counterattacks in obvious diversion tactic, "that’s twice you’ve mentioned my ass in the past 5 minutes, perhaps I should read into it?"

"I guess you’ll have to wait and see," she lithely deflects as she grabs her own cue with a determined look etched upon her face, "my turn now."

With powerful strides, y/n navigates around the table to position herself at the most promising angle for a score of her own. Once she has both her target and the cue ball in firing line, she tunes out every last bit of stimulus encompassing her; the muffled sound of the music, the sticky oxygen filling up her lungs with sensual tension, the charming presence of the beau intently ogling her every move.

It barely takes her a couple seconds of intense concentration before a sharp thump is bouncing off the table and piercing through the air. The shot is so accurate, clean-cut, vigorous yet graceful and elegant all out once, Harry finds himself mesmerized by her skills more than the subtle form curving out from her bent posture.

The satisfaction is evident in her traits as she straightens up to face him, a pleased rictus forming at her lips. She doesn’t let any suspense unfurl before she cashes in her prize, "so what’s up with the muffin deliveries? You a stress-baker or summat?"

It’s a puzzle that’s been boggling her mind for while now; ever since the first time she watched him gallivanting around the office, handing out kindness and freshly baked goods for the small price of a friendly smile; it’d been a reoccurring thing ever since. The recollection has Harry’s cheeks warm up to a bashful shade of vermillion at the thought of admitting the reason behind his action: he’d bake a basketful of cakes just so he could give her one without exposing himself. Being straight forward with his infatuation may have been unfeasible at the time, but there was nothing against inconspicuously indulging the sweet tooth he knew she had, right?

"I dunno, just like seein' people smile, and everyone likes a good muffin, right?" His answer teeters on the ledge between veracity and evasion, the genuine ‘they were all for you’ being replaced by a less naked truth.

Y/n nods at his answer and waits until he is about to aim for another shot to voice her musings out loud, "mmm, they are quite delicious." Her attempt to distract him turns fruitful when his ears perks at her sultry voice right as he pointedly knocks the white ball with his cue. It’s off by an inch but a near-hit doesn’t help assuage his frustration, "fuck."

"Oh bummer. Guess you’ll have to pass," y/n can’t help but to tease him.

And the pout on his lips does nothing to quell her amusement, "bollocks, you distracted me."

"I did no such thing," she denies before taking his place at the table. The odds are in her favor, a perfect alignment offering itself to sink the blue striped ball right into the closest pocket. And because y/n never misses a clear shot when she’s handed one, that’s exactly what happens. Tucking the cue back at her side, she mulls over the hundred questions titillating her mind and settles for another pass at him,"is this suit the most extravagant you own and if not, what are the others like?"

Harry scrunches up his nose at yet another dig taken at the expense of his clothes, his voice pitching a halftone higher than usual, "hey, s’nough outta you, leave my suits out of it." There is a pout puckering at his lips and y/n giggles at his theatrics when he brings his hands to his chest in a protective gesture. This man and his suits…

"Somehow I don’t believe you give a single fuck about people’s opinion on your fashion choices."

"Very true. But I do value your opinion." For a brief moment, humor and wit give way to vulnerable sincerity as the two of them lock eyes over the pool table. A shy smile graces y/n’s lips, her heart faltering at his sweet sentiment before Harry gently breaks the consuming stare-off, "well, if you’re lookin’ fo’ more extravagant, I actually have a canary yellow flared suit that goes with a violet dress-shirt." And just like that, they found their way back to confidential banter.

"Damn, now I have to see it."

"One day if you’re lucky," this time he does wink at her, and this time he doesn’t let her enchantress juju distract him from the task at hand. As soon as the balls vanishes from the table, the question flies out of his mouth, "do you really find my suits obnoxious?"

Y/n pauses at the inquiry and tries to read into his eyes. She inspects the bright emeralds for any unsuspected insecurities and when she finds none, she sends him a simple smile, "I love them. I just enjoy too much your reactions when I give you shit about them." Her chuckle tugs at Harry’s lips, before she lets honesty flooding past hers, "you got such a great sense of who you are, Harry, it just shows in the way you dress. I admire that, don’t let that go."

Interiorly, he’s heart is jumping in somersaults at possibly the kindest compliment someone’s ever granted him, the fact that it came from her only sending his beating organ into more acrobatics. Exteriorly, he returns her tender smile and mutters a timorous ‘thanks love,’ before watching her pocket another ball.

This time she doesn’t have to mull it over, "why did you wait?"

"Huh?"

"When we kissed earlier, you said you’d wanted to do it for a while. Why didn’t you?"

Her words are bare of any reproach as they both lean on their side against the table, inches apart from each other. It’s a fair question; one that she doesn’t really own as the word could have easily tumbled out from his mouth instead. It’s him on the spot though, and while he didn’t quite expect to broach such hazardous matters over a game of pool, he appreciates the openness of their bond. "I dunno, you always seemed so attached to boundaries at work, always so professional, I didn’t think you’d want me to make a move."

"I secretly did," she whispers.

"Yeah?"

"Mhm."

Goosebumps race down Harry’s arms as he takes in her confession and the way her teeth are nipping her lips into a darker shade of pink. His eyes are drawn to them, the urge to close the gap and have her moaning in his mouth growing harder and harder to ignore, "fuck that’s sexy. You’re sexy."

The praise washes over y/n like a cold shower after a scorching day at the beach; startling shivers at first, golden skin tingling, and then all-encompassing relief. She loves how unfiltered he is with her, baring his thoughts to her just as they come, no editing, no secret agenda, no diffidence. Just her pure effect on him plastered across his beautiful face and candy-coating his words with a thick oozing layer of honeycomb syrup.

Leaning the slightest bit towards him, she tempts him with a near-kiss, almost dipping her lips in exquisite spongy fudge, but stops just as their breaths starts blending in one hot mess, "your turn," she purrs against his lips tantalizingly, before stepping away.

Harry looks like he is now the one in need of a cold shower, eyes pinched closed as he tries to compose himself, "right," he clears his throat. It takes him a bit more time to regain enough focus to make a successful go at the game, but once he’s got a good hold on the cue, a stable breath and a clear view of the shot, he takes it with ease and fortune.

As soon as he straightens up, he erases the distance between them, a determined look hardening the subtle lines of his face. "Did you ever think about me like I thought about you? At work, did you ever see me pass in the hallway and it took everythin’ you had not to follow me and kiss me senseless in the copy-machine room while no-one was watchin’?"

"Fuck. The thought might have crossed my mind once or twice," y/n confesses in batted breath. It’s clear the scenario isn’t so much a fabrication of his mind made on the spot as it is a confession of his own experience, and the thought has the air in her lungs going scarce, as though she’s reached the apex of Mount Everest.

Harry isn’t fending off the heated tension much better, fingers twitching around his cue as he’d rather have her underneath his fingertips instead. He takes one look at the ceiling to stave his yearning some and draws in a deep breath."This is killing me," he whimpers while his lips skim over he skin of her forehead. "Go on, take your damn shot so we can be done with this game."

"It was your idea," she reminds him wryly. All of it, really; coming here, playing pool, playing 20 fucking questions, this heated hodgepodge of salacity and virtuous adoration is all his doing.

"I miscalculated."

"Poor you," y/n gently mocks is disgruntled attitude before scoring another ball, or as she likes to regard, another question, another opportunity to further tease at his already crumbling countenance, "what about you, Harry, do you ever think about me? At work… or otherwise?"

She already knows the first half of the answer and only voiced the double-entendre to rile him up, so she’s quite stunned when he whizzes, "too fucking much fo’ my own good."

The pained expression on his face is almost comical for y/n, she can’t resist probing at his despair, "me too." He groans at the flowing visuals he can’t ban from his filthy mind before she gestures towards the pool table in a gentlemanly way, "and that’s your cue," they both share a chuckle at her silly pun.

If Harry wasn’t so lost in a whirlwind of lustful thoughts, he would revel in the way their intellects seem to dovetail on all fronts; humor, banter, seduction, sincerity, nothing is lost in translation, they seem to talk in the same love language. From teasing digs and dirty innuendos to play on words or heartfelt confessions, they know exactly which frequency to tune in.

"Fuck, I can’t see straight," he laughs as he misses a shot for the second time, and y/n quickly takes over his spot around the pool table. Settle, relax, aim, breathe, shoot; another point to her flawless record. She turns to him, looking intently at his blown irises to stir up the flame already inhabiting them, "was it good?"

"Mind-blowing," he answers without unlocking their eyes, and the whole conversation is starting to get to her too. Her thighs rub against together, knuckles turning white around her cue as she tightens her grip and Harry has to bite his lips to contain a moan. He tries to distract himself by taking his turn in the game, and burst out in laughter when he pockets the ball and y/n cries out, "blue ball in the pocket! I feel like their might be a subliminal message somewhere but I can’t quite put my finger on it"

Once they regain their breath from laughing, tears of joy actually peeling from the corner of their eyes, they go back to staring at each other. It’s Harry’s turn to ask a question, and the anticipation had y/n fidgeting under his consuming gaze. She expects him to bounce back on the previous question, but to her surprise he decides to take a different route, "tell me darlin’, if I were to kneel at your feet and look up that pretty dress right now, what color your lil panties would be?"

The question sounds boyish really, yet instead of rolling her eyes at him, her core clenches around emptiness at the thought of having him between her legs right this moment, "can’t answer that, sorry."

"Oh come on love, you gotta say. Them’s the rules," Harry tries to coax the answer out of her but she’s not budging.

"Sorry, Harry. I’d tell you if there was anything to tell." His eyes widen at her lewd implication, the revelation of just how many layers away she is from being in the nude, coming into light. Damn, he would have gotten much more than a nip-slip.

"Fuck me, I need to sit down for a mo’."

She laughs at his dramatic response before picking up her cue, "you do that, in the mean time…" The rest of her sentence is cut short as she positions herself at the pool table, and the next sound cutting through the humid atmosphere comes from the ball falling into its target.

"Jesus, do you ever miss?"

"I don’t play to lose, Styles," she quips back. "Now, what’s your biggest fantasy? Aside from shagging in the copy-machine room, that is."

Harry takes one step closer, gently backing her against the table with one hand encasing her at either side of her waist. As he towers over her, his ardent look ignites a fire at the pit of y/n’s stomach, flame licking all the way up to her heart and down to her toes. Her core throbs before the words fall out of his supple lips like maple syrup on a stack of fluffy pancakes. "Right now? Bend you over this pool table and have my way with you."

"In front of all this people?"

"What d’you think is stoppin’ me from doin’ it right now?"

"Manners?"

The retort earns her a deep chuckle, as he shakes his head in disbelief, "fuck y/n, I lost my manners the moment you kissed me."

The raw admission sends a shiver down her spine, before she regains her full bearings and pushing his cue against his chest for him to grab, "your turn."

Barely moving from his spot nestled against her, he successfully sends the ball down the drain and doesn’t waste any time before asking in the same sultry voice, "favorite position?"

‘Why are y’asking?"

"Future reference," he announces confident.

"Well in that case, kinda like this…" she brushes against him as she bends over the table, ass jutted out on one side, before adjusting the angle of her cue and aiming for the pocket, "…when everything aligns and it just sinks…" bam, she propels the sphere in one strong hit "…right through." She finishes her demonstration with a score and a suggestive smile, only but one ball left for her to obliterate; the eight ball. "Are you ready to lose, Styles?"

"Dunno, is that your question?"

"Yes. I got everything I want to know already."

"Then I don’t fucking care about losin", s’not the game I wanna play anymore," he trails a finger down the skin of her back, goosebumps erupting at his touch. He is stopped by the tip of her cue pressing at his chest, slowly pushing him back from her space, and his hands meet this air in surrender. She’s got a wicked smile on her lips and a title to uphold after all, "last shot, make it count."

Harry takes the shot hastily, half expecting another miss, but the solid yellow ball disappears into the table’s corner in a vibrant crash. Eyebrows raised and shallow breath, he pivots back towards her, "please tell me this is turnin’ you on s’much as it’s turnin’ me on?"

"Yes," she rubs the exposed skin of his chest, eyes leaving his face to trail down his torso. "I’m just better at hiding it," she brings her lips to his ear, "physically or otherwise apparently." Then she leaves a loud smack on his cheek and goes around the table to sink the last ball standing in the way of her victory. In true y/n fashion, she completes a faultless round with one last graceful hit that leaves Harry transfixed by her dexterity.

"Damn, you are the queen of pool, I’m bowing down to you. Any final question?"

She lays the cue down on the table before coming up to him, "Harry?"

"Yeah?"

"Take me back to my place?"

His head falls back on its neck, eyes closing in deliverance, "fuck yeah." This whole night may have been the most intense and rousing foreplay he’s ever experienced, he can’t wait to deliver good on his own promise.

➪ Masterlist

#harry styles writing #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfic #harry styles one shot #reader insert #friends to lovers #coworker!harry #harry styles fluff #creative writing #part2 #flirting

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aerial-aspie · 4 years ago

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An Autistic Point of View 2

Hi there! It's Hazel and I'm first going to talk about what it's like to me to be autistic.

So for me I got diagnosed with Asperger's Syndrome at the age of 14 and it has helped me understand a lot of my traits, which now I can articulate to you.

I'm obsessive and I mean very obsessive, once I find something I really really like it's all the occupies my brain day and night, everyday and sometimes to the point where I can't focus because all I want to think about is my obsession. A few examples of this was Vocaloid, BTS/K-pop and right now Genshin Impact.

During lessons, I struggled to stay 100% focused at all times because my brain always likes to drift off into dream land and I have to make a big mental effort to reign myself back into reality. This problem affect me when I used to take Chemistry (it was far too hard for my pea brain anyway) and the moment my brain switched off, BOOM! I'd missed a ton of information, even if it was only for 10 seconds.

However, now, after changing subjects and finding the right ones for me, I'm finding it much easier to control my need to daydream and can focus much better.

Next, I am forgetful. Imagine a sieve but only the unimportant information (normally to do with what I'm obsessing over) stays and everything else falls through, no matter how important it is to me. I hurt my knuckles over lockdown learning and needed to ice them frequently and it was very important, however, 2 seconds after remembering I needed to do that, you guessed it! I forgot about it.

Forgetfulness is hard, especially when at school because I need to drill my theory into my brain so hard because I will forget so easily. As well as at school, I have my phone and Alexa full of reminders to tell me to simple tasks such as to update this blog or to practice my piano or else I'd forget.

Lets throw in a weird one now. To be honest even I have no clue if this is an autistic trait but it's certainly something that affects me. When studying or reading I can't listen to any music with English lyrics. Why? Because I focus on the lyrics and draw myself into them and then struggle to concentrate when working because I can understand what's being sung. So my playlists involve game soundtracks, a few screamo bands (you can't understand what they're saying anyways) and Asian pop.

One thing that was said through my diagnosis is that it's possible I could have anxiety for life and as of writing this I'm currently trying to get therapy or medication for it.

Anxiety is isolating, it's painful with its physical side effects (which manifest in chest pains for me), it gives unneeded stress over problems which to others seem minor, it gives me panic attacks which range in severity, it gives a fear embarrassment, of messing up, of standing out, of being DIFFERENT.

Everything about myself I scrutinise, I'm trying to give up chocolate because it gives me so much extra stress that I believe it's unhealthy for myself. I must present myself in a way where I don't seem rude or impolite as I'm scared of how everyone will react. If I get into an argument or something I believe is an argument, I beat myself up about it and I feel like I hurt everyone around me.

I believe I'm a constant annoyance, when I'm around people I'm comfortable with I'm a chatterbox and you can't shut me up. But it makes me self conscious, am I talking too much? Is everyone just being friendly out of obligation? Are they all secretly annoyed at me? Are questions I ask myself daily and blame myself at some points for not being normal.

My brain sticks to the past and words echo my mind for sometimes years giving me fears that others would even know of. Such as the lessons about heart disease in biology always play in my mind to the point I want to give up chocolate because it's giving me so much stress as my brain is like OH MY GOD YOU ATE CHOCOLATE NOW YOU'RE GONNA DIE! And then I get stressed and get chest pains which only further add to it.

Now we got the heavy topic out the way lets move on! Autism has led me to have a fine motor coordination disability which has affect me my whole life, I can't handwrite well, I struggle opening tins, peeling vegetables, unlocking the door to get in my house, using scissors, folding things and the list goes on (and let me tell you it's long).

But you get the gist, I struggle with a lot of things and it can take me a much longer amount of time to work out things than someone normal.

I'm also extremely disorganised, actually that's a lie. I'm extremely organised but it doesn't look it. My room is a mess and I know that but I could tell you where everything is in seconds because it's what I call 'an organised mess'. I organise things but it's not neat, it's just where my brain decides is a good place to put things.

My school bag is so organised to point I don't like people touch it because I know where everything is and it has to be in the same pockets or else I'll get upset because it just has to be there and that is something no one can change.

However, even though I'm on that point of organisation, I still get stressed about if I have forgotten anything even though I never have.

Part of my autism is physical traits too, I am born with weak muscles in many places, the ones I know of so far are my wrists, knees, eyes and lower back. Because of this I can't handwrite long essays and have to have computer support to help me with this problem. With other areas, it's places I know I need to be careful when training at circus because I discovered my weak back after crucifix rolls on a cloudswing went wrong (it's a type of error that will always happen when learning this move) and I locked up my spine, from then on I've never done that move ever again.

Whilst being quite extroverted (only around people I'm comfortable with, if not I'm extremely shy) I'm actually very sensitive to things. I can't be touched suddenly or at my waist or I will flinch or flail and let me tell you, as I martial artist I do hit extremely hard in reflex. I also am sensitive to loud noises when I'm not expecting it, such as seeing war horse the stage show where the sounds of gun shots and explosions were played so loud that I had a panic attack in the theatre. However, at concerts, I'm fine as I'm expecting this loud noise and I know what is coming.

A weird thing I find about myself is that I'm very contrasting, I'm highly emotional but don't understand emotion. My first emotional response to any emotion is to cry and yes it is extremely embarrassing to cry in front of others (I believe crying in public should be normalised not shamed). Yet I can't understand emotion such as when people are sad, I don't realise it and happily talk to them and then feel like they hate me because they ignore me and then beat myself up for not realising they're sad when they tell me so. But it's not just sadness, being talked to in a firm voice, to me means they're angry when they're not, criticism means everything I've done is stupid and you get the point.

However, not only do I not understand emotion normally, I actually at times can't feel it, I get excited before a concert but when it starts I feel nothing, everything I feel just disappears and my mind is blank, so I actually have to force myself to be happy and then my brain realises I'm happy and I don't have to put in effort to sustain an emotion.

Now last but not least (remember how I said I was forgetful, it's already come into play here that I can't even remember if I've covered everything about my Asperger's) I can't do instructions, if I'm given a list of items I need to take, a long list of instructions to follow with no physical copy to reference by the time the last instruction has been said, I've already forgotten the first one and this has been fatal when I've ended up with really bad sunburn because I forgot to bring sun cream because the list I was given was too long to remember.

And that's it folks, my autism is a nutshell that's probably missing some stuff but it's as much as I can tell you from the top of my head and if I remember more stuff I'll make sure to post it.

Thanks for following!

#autism #autistic experiences #being autistic #autistic culture #autistic problems #actually autistic #autistic life

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pareidoliaonthemove · 4 years ago

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A Worthy Sacrifice

Notes:

This is what happens when I’m not careful about what shows I watch on the idiot box in close proximity. In this case, an episode of BBC’s excellent Horrible Histories, closely followed by Thunderbirds Are Go! Episode “Attack of the Reptiles”.

And, yes, the Roman Emperor Caligula was rather keen on people honouring their promises to the Gods, and did make people honour their promises to the Gods to exchange their lives for his after he recovered from a potentially deadly ‘brain fever’. I mean, technically, he wasn’t wrong … but sheesh!

The standard disclaimers, I do not own Thunderbirds, either the Original Series, the Movies (both Supermarionation and Live Action), or the Thunderbirds Are Go Series. (Although I do own copies on DVD.)

I do not do this for money, but for my own (in)sanity and entertainment.

____________________________________________________

Gordon pulled frantically at the starter on the hoverboat’s engine, resolutely ignoring the noises coming from behind him.

“Come on! I’ll give up Celery Crunch Bars for a year if you’ll please just start!”

One final pull, as the Pentergasts cried out, and …

The engine caught.

“Yes!”

High above Tracy Island, aboard Thunderbird Five, John flicked off the holographic recording and paused, smiling.

“Give up Celery Crunch Bars for a year? You might just need a little help to honour that promise, Gordon. And I know who can help you with that.”

“Ugh,” Alan moaned pitifully, “I mean, who cares?”

“Who cares about what, Alan?” The voice made Alan jump, how all two-hundred-plus pounds of Virgil managed to sneak up on him in steel-cap boots, he would never understand.

“History,” Alan moaned. The wonky eyebrow raised at him. “Ancient Roman history,” Alan amended, still hoping for sympathy.

“A lot of the basic principles of engineering were set out by the Ancient Romans,” Virgil commented. Alan rolled his eyes. Trust Virgil find a way to relate to a bunch of dress-wearing guys dead for nearly two thousand years. He’d be lucky, if Virgil didn’t start on about their art, to boot.

The holographic projector built into the kitchen bench flared into life, the halo of light resolving into John’s torso floating serenely in mid-air. “Virgil, good, you’re here, too.”

“What’s up, John, is it an emergency? A space emergency!?”

“No, there’s no emergency. This is more a … social call.”

Both brothers paused, “John, is everything … okay?” Virgil asked cautiously.

“Everything is fine, Gordon and the Pendergasts have managed to escape the facility, and Scott is about to make an extraction. How’s your shoulder, Virgil?”

Virgil scowled, one hand automatically going to rub the shoulder that had been strained as he had tried to keep from falling into the sea from the severed evacuation tube the previous mission. He was saved from answering by Alan.

“John, you don’t do social anything,” Alan pointed out with his trademark lack of tact.

“What are you supposed to be studying, Alan?” John asked.

The younger boy deflated. “Ancient Roman politics,” he moaned, once more dejected.

“Have you already done the Emperor Caligula?” John asked.

“The crazy guy who had sex with his sisters, and made his horse a senator? Yeah.”

“Do you remember what happened when he was deathly ill with ‘brain fever’?”

Alan frowned, trying to remember. “Yeah … he was popular then, a lot of people, trying to suck up to him in case he survived offered their lives to the gods in exchange for his … And when he got better …”

Virgil broke in, worried, “John, where are you going with this?”

John smiled innocently, “You know that saying that those who do not remember the past are condemned the repeat it?”

“Yeeesss?”

“Well, this just happened.” John activated the recording of Gordon and the hoverboat.

Virgil and Alan watched in silence. John flicked off the image when it stopped. “Well, what do you think?”

Alan grinned. “I think Gordon’s condemned to repeat history!”

It had taken a lot of negotiation, but the care and housing of Buddy and Ellie the bearded dragons had finally been resolved.

A lot of negotiation, and not a little blackmail; “They’re a gift for their number one fan, in order to thank him for saving their lives. How upset do you think the Pendergasts would be if they found out you’d sold them?”

And so, as always in the face of a lack of brotherly sympathy, Gordon went to seek out the next best form of comfort: Celery Crunch Bars.

It was a little unusual that there none left in his stash in his rooms – Virgil had only just done the supply run not two weeks ago, but Grandma had been cooking a lot lately.

It was suspicious that there were none to be found in the gigantic industrial pantry – Gordon knew there had been an entire pallet there the other day.

And when his Celery Crunch Bars were not only missing from both Thunderbird Four and her spares warehouse, but replaced by the protein meal replacement bars that the other Thunderbirds stocked, it was a blatant act of sabotage against him. One worthy of the Hood.

So Gordon was distracted as he re-entered the comms-room, trying to figure out if it was feasible for the Hood to have regained access to Tracy Island, and not only sneak about Villa, but enter Thunderbird Four. Not that he was surprised that he would be most interested in the sub, after all, she was the most important vehicle of the International Rescue fleet, even if his brothers wouldn’t agree.

He was so distracted that he almost walked over Scott and Virgil. Not an unimpressive achievement, his oldest brother was ridiculously tall, and Virgil wasn’t exactly built for stealth, with all that muscle and steel-cap boots.

So Scott’s outraged, “Watch it, Gordon!” and hopping around clutching allegedly squashed toes, wasn’t met with the accustomed apologetic grovelling and ‘please-don’t-make-me-scrub-the-hangars-with-my-toothbrush’. Which naturally attracted the interest of the smother twins, along with demands for an explanation.

So Gordon explained, a lengthy and spirited explanation that attracted an ever growing audience. As Gordon started to elaborate his theories, the interruptions started.

“My uncle? Here? Absolutely not!” Kayo snapped.

“A-After the previous i-i-infiltrations, I upd-dated the security s-systems. T-There is n-no way the H-Hood got back on the I-Island,” Brains said with absolute finality.

“It’s not the Hood, Gordon,” Virgil said calmly.

And that derailed Gordon. Kayo and Brains denying his proofs, absolutely. They were both now so personally invested in the security of their home that they had initially not even listened to Scott and John’s increasingly less calm request/instructions to dial back the sensitivity of the sensors ringing their private waters, the two nets around the islands, and the Villa. It had taken Grandma in her full blaze of fury, something that none of them – not even their father – had ever defied, to get the sensitivity reset so that every ruffle of a leaf or wavelet braking on the shore didn’t set off an alarm.

But Virgil – Virgil who had spent a whole week scrubbing every inch of the Villa, and hangars, and had to be physically stopped from trying to sieve the sands to rid the island of the taint the Hood and his henchmen?

“How could you possibly know that, Virgil?” Gordon demanded, squaring up for argument.

Virgil rolled his eyes. It was a good effort, Gordon distractedly gave him a 7 out of 10; but Johnny was the master of eyerolls, closely followed by Scott. “John, Alan. This is on you. Explain, so we can all get back to our lives.”

In answer, a hologram popped up in the centre of the comms room. Gordon stood and watched himself desperately trying to start the recalcitrant hoverboat. Uncool, he looked so uncool – Wait! What?

“You’re kidding me!” he wailed. “You can’t expect me to go without Celery Crunch Bars for a whole year!”

Alan shrugged. “Think yourself lucky that’s all you offered to the Rescue Gods.”

Gordon stared. “The Rescue Gods?!”

John shrugged. “Why not? It’s something Dad used to say.”

Scott nodded, slowly, “Yeah, if we were planning an outing on the weekend, it would be in the hands of the weather gods; an unpowered landing was ultimately in the hands of the aviation gods …”

Virgil nodded. “And finding a good car park was ‘Thank you, parking gods!’”

Grandma smiled into the distance. “Wasn’t just your father, your Grandpa said it a lot, too. Probably where he got it from.” She quickly wiped at her eyes under her glasses.

Gordon frowned. “So what does this have to do with my Celery Crunch Bars?”

Alan raised his eyebrow at him – he had obviously been spending too much time around Virgil. “You made a promise, you would give up Celery Crunch Bars for a year if the hover boat started. And the hover boat started.”

“Therefore, the Rescue Gods heard you, deemed your sacrifice as worthy, and accepted it, causing the boat to start,” John chimed in. “It’s obvious, really.”

Kay and Brains drifted away, Max following, having lost interest once it was established that the Island was still secure.

Gordon’s eyes narrowed. “So what happened to all the Celery Crunch Bars?”

John shrugged. “As you are giving them up, and no one else here eats the disgusting things; they were donated to a charity dedicated to feeding homeless people.”

“Yeah,” Alan chimed in. “No point them going to waste.”

Gordon eyed Virgil, the traitor. “No points guessing how they got there, either.”

“I took them,” Scott said brightly. “Hardly counted as ‘heavy lifting’,” a smug sideways look at Virgil, “and I had a meeting nearby the location this morning, anyway.”

“Don’t even think of trying to order more, Gordon,” John warned. “Our suppliers, and the factory, have been instructed not to accept any orders for Celery Crunch Bars for the next 12 months.”

Gordon stared in horror; ‘pet’ lizards, and now no Celery Crunch bars? He would rather the Hood.

His family drifted off, back to their planned activities, interest lost now that Gordon had been stunned into silence.

A plaintive wail followed them. “What am I going to eat for a year?!”

“There’s always my fresh-baked cookies.” Grandma brandished a tray at him. “Go ahead, take two.”

#Thunderbirds #thunderbirds are go #fanfiction #attack of the reptiles

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winterscaptain · 4 years ago

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directors cut on metanoia! it’s one of my favorites for some reason

you ask and i deliver!! metanoia, with commentary, under the cut with my commentary in bold italics

up next: redamancy!!

warnings: discussion of miscarriage

“Alright, team. This week we’re headed back to Terra Mesa, AZ, for a series of murders at the university.” Penelope stood in front of the screen, outlining the recent crime scene photos as the rest of you looked through the case files. “Some of the residents at the Apache reservation nearby were injured in one of the attacks, and the presumed killer is leaving tokens around the reservation that are currently being treated as threats.”

Finding an excuse to get back to Terra Mesa was hard, but I managed to figure out something that would be big enough for the BAU to make an appearance without involving other federal authorities.

Any excuse to see Blackwolf is a welcome one, and I really wanted to bring him back into our world in AJF. He’s such a fantastic character and frankly it’s a crime we only saw him once.

You all looked to Emily, who nodded once, and the team stood with her. “I’ll start with Derek at the reservation, and visit our old friend John Blackwolf, while the rest of you start building on what they’ve got at the precinct. Wheels up in thirty.”

+++

Moments before the plane landed, your phone rang. You answered it before the rest of the team could see the name. “L/N...Speaking…Really?” Your voice didn’t give much away, but the team was listening in anyway. “Thank you...I’m currently out of town for work. Can I give you a call when I get home?...Great. Thanks...Yeah, I’ll be in touch.”

Looking back, this was before I moved to present tense and phased out “Y/N” and “L/N” conventions. Oh well. I’ll get over it eventually.

That’s what the writing process is for, though, right? It’s always changing and always growing.

You hung up and sat back in your seat. You did your best to school your expression into something pensive and neutral as you stared out the window.

Pregnant. Again. Fuck.

Elation, fear, anxiety, and anticipation all warred within you. You hadn’t breathed a word to Aaron, even when you realized you were late, or suddenly didn’t like the smell of your own body wash. It seemed reasonable to keep it from him until you were absolutely sure.

Reading this back while working on the Reality Check trilogy was a trip - I really wanted to lay a foundation for these emotions warring within Mom in this moment and explain why it was so hard to tell Aaron.

I think I did alright??

A false alarm, or worse, would be a damning disappointment.

+++

You were admittedly distracted as you went through the motions at the crime scene. A fog clouded your head, and you’d zoned out more than once as JJ tried to engage you in conversation. After a while, she decided to leave you alone, only returning when she was finished discussing MO with the officers outside.

JJ crouched beside you as you took a few more photos. “You alright?”

My dumb ass forgot JJ was eight months pregnant here, but it’s fine. She’s athletic enough to crouch and stand up if she’s careful.

It was when I was reading this back that I decided to put all the episode/canon notes into a big spreadsheet to keep track of shit. My brain is a sieve.

“Just fine, Jayje.” Your voice sounded tired even to your own ears.

She didn’t buy it. Her hand rose to your upper arm, squeezing a little. “I’m here if you need anything, okay? You know that.”

You nodded. “I know.”

“I’m serious. Anything.” She leaned in close to you. “And it all stays with me. Nothing goes to Hotch unless you tell me it’s okay.”

This was a line of dialogue looking to include somewhere as well. There’s always that element of discretion because they all work together. Because Hotch was unit chief for so long, there’s always that feeling that mom (or anyone else) could tattle without realizing it.

I originally had this in a really early one of my fics, when I had Reader joining the team in season one and she and Hotch were married already, but it was scrapped and shuffled into pieces that actually made sense. It was a profiler, profiled episode where mom looked at Derek and said “I’m not my husband. You don’t have to hide from me. Anything you tell me stays right here between us unless you want me to talk to him about it.”

No matter what iteration of Reader I’m working with, there’s always a kinship with Derek. Not sure why. Maybe it’s because I feel like he’s slept on within the fandom? Idk I just love him and want him to have friends and adequate support all the time. He and Hotch are such strong folks and it’s a shame the CM writers don’t know how to use the great characters they’ve created.

You bumped her shoulder with yours. “Thanks.”

Thoughts raced around in your head on repeat. There was part of you that wanted to tell Aaron right away, just step out and call him right then. Another part of you couldn’t fathom putting him at risk for that kind of loss again. Not after the first time.

What he didn’t know couldn’t hurt him, and you could handle it on your own, right? It wouldn’t be so bad to wait another few weeks? Just until the end of the first trimester.

+++

Three days into the case with very little progress, the director was under pressure to have this case solved, and solved quickly. Working closely with the Native American community was good PR for the FBI - failing to solve a case as more university students were murdered was decidedly not.

Thus, Aaron was flown in from Quantico Hello, passive voice! Nice to see you! to oversee the investigation, and act as a liaison for additional support, should it become necessary. I had to figure out how to get Section Chief Aaron out here...Once again, your emotions were at war. It was always a delight to have him by your side in the field, but he’d know something was on your mind. If he asked you outright, you couldn’t - wouldn’t - lie to him.

Aaron arrived at the precinct faster than you expected. He held back a smile when he saw you, electing to re-introduce himself to the police chief and make nice before formally stepping in as the FBI authority on-site. You were the only member of the team that didn’t already know everyone - the Terra Mesa cult killings were before your time at the BAU, and indeed even before your time at the FBI.

This was before I had a “real” ajf timeline, so I sprinkled little things in here to help myself when I actually sat down and put it all together.

Emily had you bouncing between the crime scene and the precinct, so you had yet to visit the reservation. The infamous Blackwolf was still a mystery to you, but you’d heard a great deal about him from Aaron.

“Hotch, Y/N, can you take a trip to the reservation to see how Spencer and JJ are getting along? We want to make sure we’re doing everything we can to work collaboratively with Blackwolf, and I’m sure another familiar face would go a long way.”

In the car, Aaron held your hand. It was nice to have him out in the field, a rare occurrence these days. You often missed him during the longer cases, but it was much more fun to talk about your day when he wasn’t beside you for most (if not all) of it.

My mom just said something about this regarding quarantine - she’s like “it’s so boring to tell your dad what I did all day while we were...sitting next to each other working from home.”

I laughed.

Unlike Strauss, he was very-hands off with the units under his jurisdiction, and it worked. It kept him out of the field and on the good side of the unit chiefs. The section was performing beautifully, with few bureaucratic hangups and even fewer infractions. About halfway through the drive, a smile crossed his face.

Any opportunity to emphasize that Aaron is really capable of taking over the bureau is an opportunity I’m going to seize.

“What’s funny?” You asked, laughing a little. There was something warm in your chest that bloomed whenever Aaron smiled, and the joy usually bubbled out of your mouth - often without permission. The rare treat almost made you forget about the rock in your stomach. Almost.

“I want to see something when we get to the reservation.”

“Oh?”

He nodded, a secret little smile still on his lips. “Just trust me and follow my lead.”

You scoffed. “Don’t I always?” You paused, and he raised his eyebrows and opened his mouth. “Wait. Don’t answer that.”

And thus a very early indicator of their dynamic is exposed…

This is the fun thing about writing out of order - there’s something so exciting about going back and reading stuff when you’re building up to a certain point and finding the groundwork you’ve already established. It’s like building the roof of the house before the foundation and then you’ve suddenly got a whole house. It’s cool.

He smiled at you before schooling his expression into his normal resting skepticism and removed his hand from yours as you approached the reservation. You wiped the pout off your face after a moment, falling into the professional modality you’d developed prior to Aaron’s promotion, when you had to keep your hands each other in the field.

Those years were brutal.

Brutal, indeed, and I can WAIT to explore them further!! We’ve got three years where mom and Aaron work together on the same team before he’s promoted and I’m so excited to see how that dynamic works out once the team is made aware of their relationship.

You placed your sunglasses on top of your head as you stepped out of the car and followed Aaron to the reservation school.

“Hotchner.” A handsome, well-built man with an impressive knife on his belt called out to you from across the courtyard, and a small smile broke out across Aaron’s face.

“Blackwolf.”

They exchanged firm handshakes, and Blackwolf’s attention fell to you. You watched as his eyes quickly jumped from your face, to your gun, to your engagement ring and down to your shoes, before returning to your eyes.

I LOVE JOHN BLACKWOLF!!!

“Agent Y/N L/N. Your reputation precedes you,” you said with a smile and an extended hand.

Blackwolf snorted, but took your hand in a firm, warm grasp. “I’m sure it does, if Agent Hotchner here has anything to do with it.” He glanced at the both of you and turned. “Follow me.”

If we don’t start with snark when we meet Blackwolf, what do we have left?

Nothing.

He took you around the reservation, explaining the possible weaknesses in defense should the serial killer jump the highway. You and Aaron trailed a little behind him as you walked, but Blackwolf never looked back as he spoke.

He was explaining the possible positions of an attack from the hill, and the possibility that their assailant could attack from any direction, but “...that shouldn’t be an issue for Agent L/N.” He glanced back at Aaron, the first time he’d done so. “Was it your influence that inspired your fiance to carry two guns, or did she start doing that on her own?”

THIS LINE RIGHT HERE is what started this whole fic for me. I thought of including John in AJF really early on, and I knew right off the bat that Aaron was going to trick him and not tell him that he and Reader are together as a kind of test. This moment always existed as John passing that test with flying colors.

You glanced up at Aaron, eyes wide and alarmed. Aaron only smiled at you and replied, “I taught her. She carries hers -”

“On the offside, I know,” he finished. “It’s smart, if you’re into that sort of thing.”

Aaron huffed a laugh. “Don’t start.”

You sputtered a little, and you lost step with them for a moment before jogging to Aaron’s side. “Hold on, back up. How did you…?” You were speechless, to say the least, and you could tell Aaron was doing everything in his power to keep from laughing out loud.

This scene was so alive in my head, and I’m really pleased with how it turned out. There were like eight or nine different versions of this dialogue I worked on before settling on this one.

Finally, Blackwolf stopped and faced you, gesturing to you as you spoke. “Just like with Agent Hotchner’s left, your right step is slightly heavier, and you favor your right arm for balance when you walk. When you walk beside him, you’re on his right, placing your weapons on the outside of your frames for the best defense. Now, whether or not you do that on purpose I don’t know, but it’s an inherently protective posture.”

You blinked rapidly for a moment, adjusting to the onslaught of information. “How did you know I was engaged to him?” You threw a thumb in Aaron’s direction.

He raised an eyebrow, and a smile ghosted across his face. “Can’t give away all my secrets, now, can I?”

The truth of it? I have no fucking clue how he’d figure that one out so I just left in another “Blackwolf Magic” moment.

A laugh left you. “That’s fair enough.”

He opened his mouth and took a breath as if to speak again but closed it, squinting at you. You swallowed, feeling very exposed all of a sudden. His face transformed then, as if he’d realized something. “You should ask Agent Hotchner about perception. He may have learned a few things since last I saw him.”

This was almost the big reveal, but then I realized John would have more tact than that. And it also wouldn’t be long enough, not to mention deeply unprofessional :)

You looked up at Aaron, but he only rolled his eyes good-naturedly at his friend and kept walking.

+++

The way Aaron was around Blackwolf made your chest hurt a little less. They were like a pair of kid brothers - giving each other a hard time and cracking wise whenever they got the opportunity. Weak insults like “Captain America” and “Fortune Cookie” ran abound when out of earshot from the local officers, but there was a kind of deep respect and hard-won warmth that flowed freely through all their interactions.

“What happened the last time you were out here?” You asked Aaron, on the way back from the university one night.

Aaron looked at the road as he replied with a quirk of his lips. “I learned something.” He reached for your hand, and you held his in both of your own, kissing his knuckles.

I really believe Aaron learned so much out in Terra Mesa in season one. There’s such a distinctive, yet subtle, shift between the Aaron who rolls up completely skeptical and the Aaron who’s willing to accept that “there are many roads that lead to the same place.”

I LIVE FOR MEN WHO TEACH AND CHALLENGE EACH OTHER!!!

+++

It was only when you were alone with Blackwolf, days later, scouting terrain on the border between the university and the reservation, did you ask him. “Were you going to say something earlier, on the first day Hotch was here?”

I love it when Mom calls Aaron “Hotch” at work, even when they’re alone. Makes me all soft.

He nodded, crouched and studied the thicket-lined path. “I was.”

You waited patiently and did your best to see what he saw. It was a hopeless endeavor. All you saw was a well-worn path surrounded by bushes of indistinguishable varieties.

“I was going to ask you when you’re due, but I didn’t want to spoil the surprise.” He looked up at you with a crooked little smile. “Congratulations.”

How on Earth…

Breathless laughter punctuated your next words. “Okay, I knew it was a possibility that Aaron had told you we were together, but I haven’t breathed a word about that to anyone...yet.” You sobered for a minute, thinking of the last time.

He must have seen your face drop, because he stood and placed a hand on your shoulder. There was an understanding in his eyes, gentle and familiar. He treated you like he’d known you all your life, and you were grateful he took you as seriously as he did Aaron. “How many?”

There were so many options for this exchange as well, but I ended up loving the simplest one. There isn’t much that he needs to say. There’s a connection, I believe between Blackwolf and Hotch, and I wanted to extend that link to mom as well.

Your lip quivered and your eyes stung. You swallowed, doing your best to keep it together. “Just the one.”

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

You whispered your thanks and smiled a watery smile at him before wiping your eyes and getting back to business. “Did you see anything of use over here?”

He dropped his hand from your shoulder and followed your eyes down the path. “No, nothing here. We should track back to the reservation and see if our guest left anything new for us to find.”

You turned, but a hand on your forearm stopped you. “You and Aaron are more alike than different in this, I think, so I’ll tell you this.” You met his eyes, and he seemed to almost look through you as he spoke. “Some things are meant to be carried together. Joy and grief are two of those things that are too heavy to bear on your own. Tell him today.” He released your arm and continued ahead as if he’d said nothing at all.

There’s so much respect in accepting someone’s vulnerability, and then moving forward. It’s doesn’t change how that person sees the other. It’s just human. It’s part of them, and it doesn’t need to color every interaction from that point forward.

My best friend calls these “so noted” moments. You just take the note and move on.

After a moment, you followed him.

The man really is like a fortune cookie.

But he’s right.

+++

You returned to the precinct with a lighter step than before, Blackwolf on your heels. Aaron squinted at you as you walked in, and you could tell he knew something had changed.

Emily and Derek flew through the door behind you, and John pulled you back by the elbow to avoid getting run over in their haste.

Contact!! I wanted to establish a little more familiarity between reader and John after their conversation. It was vulnerable and shifted their boundaries just enough for Aaron to notice.

“We have a lead. Get roadblocks up now,” Emily had her phone out and was on the phone with JJ, who was at the university with Spencer. She spit instructions in only the way she could, and Aaron was hot on your heels as Emily tossed you the car keys and you all flooded out of the building.

The takedown was decidedly eventful, and JJ got a black eye for her trouble. Dave took care of her by the ambulance while Emily directed traffic. You got caught up taking a few statements from the neighbors, and it was late evening by the time you were all on your way back to the hotel.

In the car, Aaron was quiet. Your hands were linked over the center console, and he rubbed little circles into your skin.

“What’s going on with you, honey?” He knew better than to look at you while he asked, but his circles never ceased or stuttered or hiccuped on your hand.

You sighed. “Can I tell you when we’re back at the hotel?”

He nodded. “So, something is on your mind?”

“Yeah.”

“Good, bad?” His tone was prompting, but not pushy, and you appreciated it.

You tried to offer him a smile. “Good, I think.”

He squeezed your hand.

Again, any little moment where I can just let the implication speak for itself is one I’m going to grab. They don’t need to be crazy verbose or explain themselves. They just get it.

And they TRUST EACH OTHER!

+++

You dropped down into the middle of the bed, crossing your legs. Aaron sat across from you, mirroring you with his legs crossed and his hands loose on his knees.

Pajamas were on, teeth brushed, and you were both ready for bed.

You heaved a deep breath. “So, John said something to me today that had me thinking.”

Aaron’s mouth quirked up in a smile. “He has that effect on people.”

“So I’ve heard.” You took his hands. “He said to me today that there are some things that are meant to be carried together, and that joy and grief are two of those things.”

I’d like to think the way Reader started this conversation really freaked him out, but he does his best to stay cool and I’m really proud of him.

His eyes were soft and patient as he waited for you to continue, his mouth relaxed.

“My doctor called today -”

“Are you alright?” He couldn't help but interrupt, and a little huff of a laugh left you.

Ah. There it is. He can’t help himself.

Can you blame him?

“Yeah, I’m fine. She just wanted to tell me I’m due in March, is all.” You let the words tumble out as casually as possible, but your shaky breath betrayed you.

Aaron was quiet for a moment, just looking at you. After what felt like forever, he pulled you forward by your hands, and you crawled into the hollow haven of his body. His hand traced over your arm, the other resting over your temple, as if to hide you from the world.

“Are you upset?” You asked, your voice small.

You felt him shake his head. “Not even a little. In fact, quite the opposite.” He kissed your hair. “How are you feeling?”

The lack of big response was really important to me. If he’s gotten really excited, I think mom would have felt undue pressure, and I think he knew that.

It’s another moment where I got to show that Aaron fully understand what she needs at any given point, and that fact itself isn’t necessarily significant enough to be acknowledged on its own. It’s tacit.

Your fingers wrapped around his arm, and he took his hand from your face, curling his arm around your waist. “I’m really happy, but I’m really scared too...I don’t know.”

“That’s okay, sweetheart.”

Tears pricked at your eyes. “I just - I don’t want to fuck it up this time.”

His hands stilled, and he grew quiet, his voice low. “What?”

“I don’t want to lose this one and I was scared to tell you because if I told you and we lost him, you would be sad and I just don’t want you to be sad and I don’t want you to lose anyone else, ever.” You weren’t sure you were coherent, but that just about summed it up.

That’s the wild thing about grief, you know? It puts all these wild stories in your head that it’s your fault, even when people you love tell you otherwise.

I think even after faith, and even after how well Aaron handled the loss - so supportive and affirming the whole time - there’s this doubt that she’s not good enough, that she could have done something differently.

It’s a doubt Aaron recognizes in himself, and it breaks his heart.

“Baby, look at me.”

You leaned back and met his eyes. He held your gaze as he spoke, almost unblinking. “You did not fuck anything up. It was not your fault. These things happen, and yes, they’re sad. Yes, I grieve for the child I didn’t get a chance to meet. Yes, it’s painful. But honey,” there was a desperate edge to his voice and he wiped your tears away with his thumbs, “you’re my partner and I love you. You don’t have to go through anything alone ever again.”

You nodded. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you right away.”

He pulled you close again, tight to his chest. “It’s okay. It’s okay.”

He completely understands. I mean, he’s the guy that kept his separation from his team for weeks without breathing a word. He knew that they would be there for him, but he just thought he could do it on his own.

These idiots are made for each other, I swear.

(Well, they are….)

You were quiet for a little while. Then -

“Did you say him?” Aaron’s voice was nearly trembling. Because you knew him so well, you knew it was barely-contained euphoria. You knew he was holding back because he didn’t want to scare you, didn’t want to get too excited in case something went wrong, but his efforts were futile. You saw right through them, and hoped his joy would last and that the worst was behind you.

That’s love and trust, babey!

You turned your head, pressing your nose into his neck. “Just a feeling. I dunno.”

He sighed, his arms winding impossibly further around you. “We’ll just have to see, won’t we?”

You nodded into him.

“When’s your ten-week?”

“Two weeks, on Wednesday.”

His breath washed through your hair as he pressed his cheek to the crown of your head. “Can I come with you?”

He’s learned so much and I cry about it regularly. I just watched that episode where Haley calls him because she’s at Jack’s doctors appointment and he’s not there and he just screws out up and had a big weep about it.

You nodded.

When you woke up in the morning, You were still curled in his arms, on top of the covers, with the lights on. Aaron’s face was pressed into your hair and his body was flush against yours from shoulder to calf.

One of his (truly massive) hands rested over the waistband of your pajama bottoms.

It’s going to be okay.

That concludes this installment! I LOVED going back through this one with a fine-toothed comb. Definitely one of my favorites in this series. I’m so glad so many of you love it like I do!!

#forgottenword #tali answers stuff #tali provides commentary #tali talks cm #a joyful future

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