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captain-huggy-bear · 8 days ago

Text

In Your Element

Pairing: Quinn Hughes x Fem!Reader

Warnings: N/A

Summary: Quinn finally gets an opportunity to each lunch with you at your school, but he arrives a little early and sees a different side to you, when you're absolutely in your element.

Notes: This was a request which I very much enjoyed writing, so thank you:

'For Quinn x teacher reader you could do Quinn going to eat lunch with her at school and getting there early on accident and just admiring her teaching and her getting along with her students and then getting home and just telling her how much he admires her and loves her and wants to marry her'

Not me researching Canadian school grades and ages because it is not the same in the UK (Grade 11 is age 16-17, where as year 11 in the UK is age 15-16 and also the final year of secondary for us)

Totally happy to take requests/ideas/prompts at the moment in my ask box :)

Writing Masterlist

Most days Quinn doesn't get a chance to go and visit you at work and he'd never had the opportunity to sit and eat lunch with you during the school day. After all, you were busy and so was he. You had maybe 40 minutes in a day to sit down and eat, then if he subtracted the time in that 40 minutes you needed to tidy your room, put books out for your next class, write the title on the board, sort your powerpoint out and then pee, plus dealing with any dramas your students brought to your door? Well, you probably had 10 minutes to eat...and he, well, how often was he actually available at that specific time of day? It was like ships in the night sometimes, both having highly busy careers in different ways, but you made it work. Partly by taking any moments that you could find and utilising them, both of you had to learn to be a bit more spontaneous and flexible.

Something that was easier said sometimes than done, but your desire to see each other had a way of making bending easier than breaking. It helped that you'd moved in with him before the season started, so at least he saw you at night and in the early hours of the morning.

Today was different, an odd day where the stars had seemingly aligned. Quinn had a free 2 hours in his day just at the right time for lunch with you and you had a free period after lunch which meant you didn't have to spend all your lunch break sorting stuff out for your next lesson. So, you'd agreed to tell the office he'd be visiting and he agreed to bring your favourite sandwich from your favourite deli along with other goodies for you to snack on.

The problem was Quinn hadn't expected to be 20 minutes early, Vancouver traffic being almost non-existent (which was a rarity) and the deli having absolutely no one inside despite it being lunch time (he briefly considered that the zombie apocalypse might have happened at that point). Being 20 minutes early meant he didn't really have anything to do. At first he assumed he'd have to simply wait in the office, but Maria on reception just gave him his visitors badge and walked him to your classroom, ushering him away from the uncomfortable visitors seats.

Your door is shut to keep the noise of the corridor out of your classroom. From the small window in the door Quinn can see the way your 11th graders sit in various states of focus, you're leant against your desk at the front, hands moving as you talk to them. There's something about how relaxed you are at the front of the classroom, the way you seem to be in your element that hits him. He's never seen you teach a lesson before and it strikes him that it seems right, like it's where you're supposed to be.

Maria knocks on the door and he watches as you pause, telling your students something before setting a timer on the board. Watching for a second to make sure they were all on task before walking to the door and reaching for the handle, your face a picture of surprise at seeing him here early.

"Mr Hughes is here to see you, I thought he could sit in the back or help you with the last little bit of lesson."

"Thank you, Maria I'm sure we'll figure it out." You smile warmly at Maria and it strikes him that you probably know all about her, that you've probably spent time with her at the staff Christmas party and eaten lunch together. It hits him that there are people you see every day that he has no idea about because your worlds simply don't cross that often. You know his team mates but does he really know your colleagues? He suddenly feels very out of place.

"You are early." You give him a look that makes him smile sheepishly at you, raising the bag of sandwiches as if that would solve the problem. Still you let him into your classroom, your students narrowing their eyes at the new face before promptly widening at who just walked into their classroom. Still they don't say anything, like you've taught them better, heads down as they continue writing an answer to the question on the board. A timer ticking down the remaining couple of minutes left.

He drops the bag onto your desk before you point to a spare seat at the back, "You can watch if you want...sorry, it might be boring."

"I don't think anything you could do would be boring." He knows the way he's looking at you is probably a little much for a classroom, he can't help it though. You're so pretty in your teacher clothes, there's a different sort of confidence rolling off you, you own the room and it's attractive, the way you command the room even when you're not overtly doing anything.

A quiet little murmur runs through the class at his statement, a few raised eyebrows and David lets out a little 'ohhhh' that you hush with a sharp look. Even that is hot, the fact a single look from you has a teenage boy shutting up, Quinn's rarely seen you like this, in complete and total control, effortlessly. In your pairing you're usually the one who follows while he leads. He orders your drink at a coffee shop or initiates a kiss, this is a different you.

"Go to your seat, Mr Hughes." The raised eyebrow does it for him as well and he thinks if he had to actually respond he'd have stuttered, instead he choses to follow your directions, trying desperately not to look utterly devoted to you in front of a bunch of teenagers.

He forgot how uncomfortable classroom chairs were, still he uses it as a chance to watch from the back corner. You wander the room, green pen in hand for the remaining time on the timer, writing notes on students' work and giving direction here and there. A few times you give warnings to students who haven't worked hard enough, but there's a general sense that this group of students work for you because they respect you. Even the kids who clearly aren't the most academic seem to try for you.

The timer is blaring when it goes off, some sort of lute sound that you clearly picked because it was mildly medieval and fit the vibe of your history classroom. It's ridiculous but it also describes you perfectly, those elements of quirkiness and fun that fit in even into a classroom where students write paragraphs and complete work. Like you have a balance perfectly set.

"Right, times up, so put your pens down..." You march to the front in quick time, nabbing a flashlight that one of your students was playing with at the front before they could even protest, slipping it into your pocket. It's impressive, the way you seem to have eyes on every corner of the classroom, the way you notice things that Quinn definitely would not have.

The student in question puts his hand up in the air and you call on him as if it was expected, "Yes, Rory?"

"Can I have it back at the end?"

"Yes, Rory, you can have it back at the end." It's interesting, the way that that is enough. That Rory seems to respect that it shouldn't have been out, doesn't try to argue that you shouldn't have taken it, but trusts that he'll get it back enough not to press they issue. Quinn's pretty sure Miller has argued with him more over lesser things before.

"Who can explain to me then how war has had an impact on medical development? Bonus points, potentially getting the bonus point duck for the rest of lesson, if you can give me concrete examples from our unit." He's close to putting his hand up to ask about the bonus point duck when you reach into your desk drawer and pull out a rubber duck dressed as Henry VIII.

It's in that moment that Quinn realises he does not know as much about you as he thought. He knew you. He knew the woman he called his girlfriend who couldn't sleep with her feet outside of the bed covers and absolutely had to have the shower on the highest heat setting, but he didn't know teacher you. Never in his life had you mentioned a bonus point duck, never would he have predicted that that was something you even had in your classroom and it's utterly ridiculous and shouldn't motivate a bunch of teenagers at all and yet, suddenly there were 20 hands in the air, a few calling out as if that would make you pick them quicker.

He watches the way you smile, the scan of your eyes over each, the way you bypass those not meeting your expectations until they correct themselves and then you pick a student that Quinn would likely not have picked, a student he knows his history teacher in school would have avoided.

When he thinks of picking a student to answer there are two modes he thinks of from his own high school career:

The one without their hand up, who doesn't look like their listening, the one a teacher wants to catch out

The student who is clearly a nerd, clearly good at the subject and will clearly given an impressive answer, the easy kid to pick

You pick neither. Instead, you go straight to a girl with her hand up but with thick blonde hair extensions in and enough gum in her mouth that Quinn can hear it smack from here. The stereotypical popular girl who probably doesn't care much about school and would rather be at the mall.

"Angel?"

"Well, it's like when there's a war on like World War One then all the government care about is winning the war, right?"

You nod in encouragement and it hits him that you picked Angel for a reason. That you picked a student who likely doesn't like school, likely gets discouraged but who you know can answer and get a confidence boost. It's smart, he does something similar with rookies, where he gives them a chance to do something so he can boost their confidence, can build a relationship with them. Suddenly captaincy and teaching seem awfully similar, minus the gum and the smell of Lynx Africa.

"So like if they don't improve medicine then all their soldiers just die, right? Either outright or later because of like infection like why they funded Florey and Chain to mass produce penicillin in World War Two or like why people were so into the leg splint thing in 1916. So, the governments put more money into medicine because that means soldiers live longer and can get sent back to war and then they can win the war because they still have men alive, but like if they all die you're going to lose the war, duh."

"Beautiful answer and a few specific examples in there, you have earned the duck," You smile widely at her as you walk to plop the rubber duck on her desk and he can see it, the way she seems to puff up in pride, the way a student who maybe would have hated History is engaged because of you.

He's pretty sure he just fell a little bit more in love with you.

"Yo, Miss?"

You sigh a deep sigh as if this interruption is expected, stopping mid walk back to the front of your classroom and turning on your heel, "Yes, David?" Your voice is mildly amused, not impatient or frustrated like Quinn would expect.

"Why ducks?" There's a beat of silence and Quinn watches the way you just stare at David, eyebrows high on your forehead like your considering whether you'll actually treat the question seriously or not.

Then a big smile crosses your lips like you're laughing at yourself before you even say the punch line to a joke. A silly little smile that is so his girlfriend that suddenly both versions of yourself seem to merge together.

"Because ducks fly together."

"C'mon, Miss! Really? Did you seriously just quote the Mighty Ducks when a hockey legend is in the room?" It's your patience with David that smacks Quinn in the face. You could have given him a detention by now or told him off for disrupting your lesson, but you're not. Like you're confident you can bring it back to the lesson soon enough. It makes him wonder if you'd be that patient with your kids, if he's seeing a little glimpse into a possible future where you're this patient with the kids you have with him.

"Well, maybe we should ask the 'hockey legend' what he thinks of my jokes? Mr Hughes?" You ask him because you know he'll back you up, and it's that sense of being needed that makes him sit up a little straighter in the chair he's in and smile widely like he's scored a goal.

"Hilarious as always, although maybe you need a bonus point orca?"

"Oh, do I? The duck not good enough?" There's a little glint in your eye, the one you always get when you're teasing him, playful. It feels like the rest of the world disappears, falls away, like you're the only two people in the room.

"Seems a little too Anaheim like for my taste,"

"You would say that, no taste." As if you're a Anaheim fan when you are in fact a Canucks fan through and through, but you know the statement will get a little rise out of Quinn. You can see the way his brow twitches at the suggestion that you'd pick the Ducks over the Canucks, the sense of male pride being slighted.

"Miss, stop flirting with Quinn Hughes!" It's David, it's always David. David with a wide grin that shows off his braces, David who's waggling his eyebrows at you, typical teenage boy behaviour really but it stumps you. Quinn can see that it stumps you.

There's a beat of silence, like your brain is trying to process what's just happened, and for the first time you're off your game, flustered, a little taken aback like you didn't expect it to go this far. But, then, Quinn was never in your classroom while you taught, never there for you to banter with in front of students. Quinn had proven to be a distraction, a disruptive presence if you will.

Your choice of tactic is perhaps not the best nor the most smooth, but simply to turn back to your powerpoint plastered on the board and pretend that it simply hadn't happened. To move on.

"Anyway, back to medicine," Your voice is a little unsteady, a little less controlled and Quinn feels slightly bad that he put you off your game, but admires the way you push forward.

You turn the slide on your powerpoint, an old cartoon springing up on the board, "I'm going to give you a copy of this source from 1847 about anaesthetic and I want you to analyse it like we've been practicing. If you can do this properly in 8 minutes then I will let you ask Mr Hughes some questions..." You pause briefly, looking directly at David, "Appropriate questions."

There's a bubble of excitement that sees students volunteering to help you hand out glues and copies of the source before all heads hit the desks, hands moving ferociously across the paper while 8 minutes ticks down on the clock. Just like that you've got them back on track and it is utterly impressive, how you managed to completely save a lesson that he'd accidently ruined for you.

You both survive the few minutes of questions at the end, David only asking a few minorly inappropriate ones which Quinn fields with his usual tactic of say nothing and refuse to answer. By the end he's not entirely sure how you handle being questioned all day by hundreds of teenagers and Quinn's a lot more sympathetic to your reluctance to make decisions when you get home after a long day of teaching. He gets it now.

"Have a good lunch, everybody!" You wave the last of your students off at the door, shutting it the moment they're all out and letting out a massive sigh of relief, shoulders slumping.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, just tired." The unspoken is there. That your job is hardwork, that getting kids in the modern age to focus on anything for more than 60 seconds might look easier to the outsider but takes more brainpower and more routines and techniques than you can shake a stick at.

Quinn decides to leave it for the moment, you probably don't want to spend your entire lunch break talking about teaching and he's ultimately here to see his baby, not talk about education.

"Sit, I got your favourite," He's guiding you gently, hands on your shoulders to your comfy desk chair, the one he hasn't seen you sit down in at all. You let him force you to sit down, let him sort out your sandwich placing it in front of you with a napkin and your favourite packet of crisps with your favourite drink to boot. It's a little thing but the way he sets it out in front of you, the way he takes care of you helps ease a little bit of the strain of the day.

"Thank you for coming and having lunch with me," You reach for half of your sandwich, exactly as you like it down to the type of bread used, watching as Quinn pulls one of the desks closer to you so he's not so far away. His own sandwich being pulled from the brown paper bag.

"You don't have to thank me. I wanted to see my girl, who's looking extra pretty today by the way." You almost choke on the first bite of your sandwich, cheeks warming even as you cough and roll your eyes at him. Feeling decidedly unattractive after nearly choking on bread.

"You are such a suck up!"

"Oh, so I can't compliment my girlfriend now? That's sucking up? I'm just stating facts. The sky is blue, water is clear and my girlfriend is gorgeous."

"Quinn!" You laugh at him and it's the most beautiful thing he's seen all day. The way your face lights up, eyes crinkling as you twist your head away from him because of how ridiculous you think he's being. When you laugh he can't help it, it makes him grin, teeth on show, sandwich half forgotten in front of him.

"And she can't take a compliment to save her life."

The two of you fall into a comfortable sort of routine, taking bites of your lunches while interspersing eating with conversation about his upcoming roadie and what you're going to send to your mum for her birthday.

He doesn't say anything about your teaching, doesn't even bring up the bonus point duck because he doesn't want to take up your few precious non-teacher minutes with it...and also because he's pretty certain 40 minutes is not enough time for all the things he's thinking.

How does one condense down how much they admire their partner? How does he talk briefly about how utterly amazing you are at your job and how he can't wait to marry you, to have kids with you, to see you be just as patient, just as amazing with them? He can't, so he decides to leave it til later.

He doesn't just eat lunch with you before he leaves the school though, Quinn, ever determined to make your life easier helps you tidy up your classroom and fix a display board that you couldn't reach the top corner of. You can't help but admire him as he stretches up up to staple a bit of border roll back in place, the muscles of his back flexing underneath his t-shirt, the way his hair falls effortlessly across his forehead. It's weird seeing him in this environment, your environment but you can't help but think that he fits in it, like it suits him to be helping in a classroom. Maybe in a different life he'd have been a teacher or maybe you were just waxing poetic in your head.

You walk him out to his car once your done, even though you should be using this time to plan, you can't help but try to get as many moments with him as possible, any little bit of time precious.

"I'll see you at home later?" You ask just in case he'd planned something with the team, fingers twined with Quinn's as you stand by his car.

"Yeah, I should be home already when you get in, figured i'd cook dinner tonight." He wants to make it nice for you, special, because he knows you're going to shy away from his compliments, his admiration...but he feels like he has a lot to say. Good stuff, but a lot and he wants you in a good mood, more receptive.

"Mmm, anything good?"

"Your favourite." You think about the spicy noodle dish he's perfected cooking, the little spring onions on top, the warming broth and it makes you feel almost hungry despite having just eaten lunch.

"And what did I do to deserve this treatment?" You tug him closer by the hands, tilting your head back to look up at him with a sweet smile that makes his heart race just a little bit faster. You're so pretty without even trying.

"Just being yourself, baby." Quinn breaches the distance between the two of you, leaning down to close the remaining space, lips pressing to yours gently, once, twice, a third time because he can't help himself, "Have a good rest of your day and I'll see you later, sweetheart"

Quinn presses one more kiss to your lips, a longer one that lingers, a force behind it that almost takes you off guard, your hands reaching up to grip at the edges of his jacket.

It takes you a moment to catch your breath, just long enough for Quinn to notice and smirk about it, to find it cute that he can still make you react like that.

"Bye, I love you." You force yourself to pull away, watching as he steps into the car.

"I love you too." You watch Quinn's car roll out of the school car park, wave back at him when he turns to look at you from the driver's seat before he's completely gone, before heading back instead to finish off your day.

The rest of your day goes relatively smoothly bar the incident in which a student decided to swallow a battery he had in his backpack to see what would happen, resulting in him being taken to hospital and your last class of the day being unable to focus on anything but that. Still as days go it was relatively stress free and made ten times better when you walked into the apartment to the smell of Quinn's world famous spicy noodles and the way he'd set up the dining table with some candles just to make things sweeter. The lights in the apartment dim and romantic feeling.

He's stirring the dish when you get to the kitchen area, back to you, but head turned at the sound of your feet padding towards him. You don't hesitate to wrap your arms around his waist from behind, pressing your cheek into the centre of his back. Quinn leans back into you with a hum.

"You've really gone all out, huh?" You mumble it into his shirt, moving with him as he takes the pan off the heat and carries it towards the two bowls already laid out on the side. Shuffling alongside him determined to stay close to his warmth despite how inconvenient it was.

"Wanted to surprise you, now get off me and sit your cute ass down." You do as your told, jumping a little at the light swat Quinn gives to your arse as you move away from him. You turn to glare at him as if you're offended even though you both know you'd let him slap your arse whenever he wanted if he just asked.

Quinn serves you first, placing your bowl in front of you with a glass of your favourite thing to drink at dinner before grabbing his own noodles and sitting across from you.

At first it's quiet, the two of you more focused on eating than talking, but every now and then you look up to see Quinn staring at you as if he has something he wants to say. You choose not to rush him, both of you finishing your dinner before you insist that you put the dishes in the dishwasher since he cooked. Still he doesn't say anything and you don't push him.

It's not until he drags you to the couch, pulling you to curl up next to him while some movie plays in the background that he finally speaks his mind.

"You were amazing today..." You're tucked under Quinn's arm, his hand resting on your arm as you press your cheek into his shoulder, soft eyes looking up at him from under your lashes.

"Mm? What at work?"

"Yeah." You let him think for a minute, knowing he has more to say but clearly trying to figure out how he goes about saying it, his fingers tracing light circles on your arm. "I've never seen you like that...so in your element..."

There's a pause in which he shifts, pulling your legs over his lap, other hand gripping your calf. It's the most natural movement in the world, a touch neither of you even think twice about. "The kids love you. You got kids who probably hate school to willing write paragraphs for you and...you're so, so confident in that room, baby..."

"I'm just doing my job..." You hide your face in his shirt for moment, feeling that familiar bashfulness come to the surface. You've never been good at accepting compliments, even from Quinn, and now is no exception even as his words fill you with a giddy kind of happiness.

"I know but...the way you just knew you had it, even when someone was off topic, you knew you could get it back on track, that was so fucking attractive and even the silly things, like the duck!" Your head shoots up so fast at the mention of the duck that you almost knock his chin with the top of your head, the look you give him is nothing short of confused.

"The duck is attractive?"

"Not the duck exactly, but the fact that you wanted to make History fun but also still make sure they're actually learning...and, and it was so you, y'now? So silly but endearing and...I don't know..." Quinn looks away from you, red flush high on his cheeks as he starts to regret ever saying anything, feeling mildly embarrassed about how into you he is. Which he knows is ridiculous because he should be into his girlfriend.

"You don't know? Sounds like you do, you're just embarrassed about how much you love me." You tease him, hand cupping his cheek to get him to face you again, even when he's embarrassed he can't help but lean into your touch a little more, cheek pressed fully into your palm.

"I do love you...watching you teach was like seeing our future."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I thought..." There's that hesitancy again, flush bright on his skin, lip being bitten between his teeth. It's like he's worried he'll mess up if he speaks his mind, which is ridiculous because you love him so much you're not sure anything he could say would change that.

"You can't put me off, Quinn, if you're worried about saying the wrong thing...i'm too in deep to be put off, so, you thought?"

You wait, oh so patient, while he assesses you, judges whether you're telling the truth. Like he needs to double check that you're correct when you say you're in too deep.

"I was just thinking about how you're so patient with your students and how patient you'll be with our kids, y'know?"

"Our kids?" There's a giddy little sensation of butterflies flipping in your stomach, eyes widening in delight at the mention because how many relationships have you had where your exes refused to even consider children, where they didn't want that with you?

"Well, yeah, I'm going to marry you one day." It's so matter of fact as if he'd just said he was going shopping tomorrow or had a game on Saturday. A statement of objective truth as if there was no other option, no other outcome.

"Oh, you are?"

"If you let me. If you don't? I'm never going to marry anyone." You pull back from him, just enough to look at him, mouth slightly dropped open. He's dead serious, lips pursed, brows furrowed.

"Quinn."

"I mean it. I love you, you're so fucking amazing and I...seeing you in your element today made me realise how impossible it would be for me to fall in love with anyone else, to marry anyone else, to have a family with anyone else. I don't want anyone but you."

You let out a shaky breath, smile watery but pleased, full of love and affection.

"I...I guess it's a good thing then that I want to marry you one day. Can't have you dying alone, that would be sad." You're trying to lighten the mood, but the truth is you're so deeply touched, so in love with him that you hope he means it. If he breaks up with you, you're certain it'll break you for good because you were certain he was it for you too.

"Just to be clear this isn't a proposal, you're getting a proper proposal and it will be a surprise."

"You think you're sneaky enough to keep it secret?" Your arms wrap around his neck as the two of you shift, fingers playing with the dark curls at the nape of his neck.

"I think if I want something enough, i'll get it." Quinn's voice lowers in that way that has you raising your brows, cheeks warming as smirks down at you, green eyes peering at you from underneath unfairly long lashes.

"Oh?"

"Oh." You lean back against the couch, lowering yourself flat as Quinn crawls his way over you, arms bracketing your head on the couch beneath you. You reach a hand up to cup his jaw, scruff rough against your palm, the air around you feels charged.

He's the first to move, wasting little time before lowering his lips to yours. A soft press that deepens as your arms drag him closer, fingers curling in his hair tight. You're working on instinct when Quinn's tongue swipes across your bottom lip begging for entry, opening up for him as your legs wrap around his hips.

In that moment you are so very glad that you're never going to have to know what life is like without Quinn Hughes. That you'll always get to revel in the way he presses his whole weight onto you, the way his breath wavers when he pulls back just to catch his breath before diving back into you.

Maybe you're just lucky or maybe fate intervened, but you are so fucking glad you met Quinn Hughes and so fucking glad that he decided a random History teacher was more than enough for him for the rest of his life.

#huggy bear writes #quinn hughes/reader #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes #nhl imagine #nhl x reader

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calmcoldevening · 2 years ago

Text

Pov: You knew slashers, when you was a child (Slashers x fem!reader)

I'm back! Well, it os a lazy post from my drafts, until I end my new idea <3

TW: no

Characters: Thomas Hewitt, Brahms Heelshire, brothers Sinclair

P.S.: English is not my native language, so lot of these words was translated by simple translator, sorry for misspells and e.t.c.

Enjoy this!

Thomas Hewitt

The transition to a new school has always been a great stress for a child, especially in the middle of the school year.

You and your parents often moved from city to city. Maybe it was their work, or maybe they just wanted to show you as many different places as possible so that your childhood would remain really memorable — you didn't know. But the constant moving was followed by a change of schools and kindergartens. On the one hand, you liked it — new acquaintances, interests and a lot of positive emotions, after all, you were a cheerful and active child — but it also brought its inconveniences — you didn't have "best" friends, you had no more than a couple of months to communicate with each of them, and multiple the change of the team has made you a real chameleon in society.

You were ten years old when you and your parents moved to Texas. The age when most classes have already been divided into peculiar interest groups, which are quite difficult for a new person to join. That's why your mom decided to bake cookies that you could distribute to new classmates. Who doesn't like homemade cakes? You actively participated in the cooking process. A little more practice, and you could learn these cookies on your own. As soon as the treat was ready — several pieces were successfully taken away by your father — your mother beautifully put it in a colored box, now tied with a ribbon. The inscription "Welcome" was painted on the lid in gold paint.

It was very hot in this area of Texas. Therefore, on your first day of school, you decided to limit yourself to a beautiful white T-shirt with some simple pattern and black shorts. The first impression is the most important, right? Your mom took you to school by car. At the reception desk, your mom introduced you and found out the number of the right office. After kissing you goodbye on the cheek, she left you to your own luck. Although you were already used to it, a nervous feeling of anticipation bubbled somewhere in your chest; your palms were sweating.

After a good seven minutes, you were standing in front of the right class, 212, clutching a box of cookies to your chest. Adjusting the strap of the gray backpack, you exhaled anyway.

Your homeroom teacher, Mrs. Sullivan, introduced you in the office. A lovely woman with curly locks hanging down on both sides of her face and freckled cheeks. Her soft figure, dressed in a white blouse and a black pencil skirt, caused a surge of strength and confidence in you. The woman lightly put her arm around your shoulders, so motherly, and asked you to tell about yourself.

"My name is Y/N Y/L," your voice trembled slightly while your gaze ran over the children sitting in the classroom, "I'm ten. I like animals and beading... Mm, my parents and I move around a lot, so I don't think I'll stay here for more than two months. I hope we'll become friends."

You ended your performance with a sincere warm smile. Mrs. Sullivan asked you to take an empty seat. Your choice fell on the farthest place by the window; a guy was sitting behind it, hunched over and staring at the street. Was he weird? No, rather unusual. He had long black hair, so unusual for a boy; his gaze was lowered somewhere on the dusty road near the school, so you couldn't see his eyes. Sitting down next to him, you quickly took out a notebook and pencil from your backpack.

"Hello?"

The boy seemed startled by your voice. He looked at you uncertainly, and you saw a face wrapped in bandages. Sad cornflower blue eyes peeked out from under the white cloth.

"I'm Y/N," you whisper, holding out your hand to the boy, "And what's your name?"

There was no response. Disappointed, you lowered your hand, now paying attention to the teacher's explanation. The woman was writing down her words on the blackboard, and you quickly began copying them into your notebook, clutching a pencil until it crackled.

There was something about this boy that attracted you. It doesn't matter if it was his shyness or isolation — you decided that you definitely want to make friends with him.

At recess, you approached a group of girls. They were dressed up like girls from fashion magazines that you often saw in kiosks by the road.

"Hi," — you said with a light smile.

"Well, hello," said one of the girls, popping a bubble of gum.

"I want to ask. M, that boy," you pointed to the long—haired boy, "What's his name? I asked, and he ignored me."

"Haha, he won't answer you. That's our little Tommy," another girl hissed sarcastically, giggling, "Thomas Hewitt is weird. Very strange. I heard that his father is his brother!"

"And he's also a terrible freak!"

You awkwardly put your hand in your hair. Thomas didn't look as disgusting as the girls described him. It's all rumors. And what to take from these children, they probably didn't even try to talk to Hewitt!

You didn't talk to this company anymore. After waiting for lunch, when all the children went out to the garden at the school, you again approached the boy. He didn't budge. It seems he hasn't even written anything since you sat down next to him.

"Hey, hello?" you waved your palm in front of the guy's face, "Thomas, right?"

This time the boy paid attention to you. There was no emotion visible under the thick layer of bandages, but you were sure that he arched an eyebrow questioningly. He's wondering how you know his name?

"You were sitting alone, so I came over. Your name is Thomas, right?" you repeated the question, finally the boy nodded, "That's wonderful! I'm Y/N, let's get acquainted."

Smiling happily, you hand the guy an open box of cookies. Golden crust with chocolate chips. You had no desire to share such a delicious thing with such terrible and tactless people. And Tommy. Tommy was different. He was timid and calm, unable to cause harm.

"Help yourself," you babble, sitting down next to Hewitt, "I made them myself! Not without my mommy's help, of course..."

You blush slightly and see Thomas's eyes narrow. He smiled! He seems to be starting to like your company.

"Can I call you Tommy?"

• Thomas has become noticeably happier since you met him. The boy began to spend more time outside the house, in your company (Luda was very surprised by this, because usually after school Tommy always came home and sat in his room).

• For your birthday, Thomas himself sewed a soft toy for you, a fox, as he found out later, this is one of your favorite animals. The toy was sewn from different, but matching pieces of fabric, a little sloppy, but quite skillfully. It made you smile. You threw your arms around Hewitt for joy.

• Once you praise him, Tommy immediately blushes a lot. It's good that it's not visible under the layer of bandages. From the moment you became friends, Thomas's self-esteem has risen a little.

• When you first offered to help Thomas change the bandages, he strongly refused. The boy just couldn't let you see his face. But when he finally gave up, Hewitt was pleasantly surprised that you didn't scream and run away. You didn't call Tommy a freak or a monster, but only sympathetically stroked his scarred cheeks.

• Over time, you began to understand Thomas without words, absolutely. You found the right answers in his movements, grunting, awkward head turning or excessive gesticulation. Even Luda was a little amazed at your nonverbal communication, but the woman was glad that her son finally found a real friend.

• Tommy often showed you his drawings. It was like the scribble of a five-year-old child, but you were always happy to accept the leaves and hang them over your bed. Basically, Thomas drew his family: angry Charlie in the corner of the paper, Monty sitting next to him in a chair, a little further away, Luda was cooking, and in the center of the drawing you and Thomas holding hands and smiling.

• It was the first time you begged your parents to stay in this city longer. Fortunately, they agreed after seeing your enthusiasm for the "strange boy".

Brahms Heelshire

• Your parents and the Healers kept in touch for a while, you can say your families were very close. You first met Brahms on his fifth birthday. He was a very well-mannered but private boy, so Mrs. Heelshire was only too happy to introduce you.

• At first, your communication did not work out. Brahms was a rude child in places, took away your toys and teased you.

• His true attitude towards you showed up when you didn't come to his house, although you were visiting the Heelshire family every Monday and Wednesday. He was seriously worried. All morning Brahms sat in his room by the window and looked at the road going through the forest, waiting for your little body in your favorite blue dress to appear from behind the trees. But you were never there. It turned out that you were just sick. That day Brahms went to your house and did not leave your bed, squeezing your hot palm.

• Your parents worked most of the time, so they were not against your games with Heelshire Jr. You stayed in their house more and more often, sometimes even overnight, and you and Brahms made noise all night, forcing his mother to swear. But still, the woman was glad that at least Brahms was behaving quite comfortably and boldly with someone.

• You were only a couple of months younger than Brahms, but you thought it was a good reason to tease you.

• The boy allowed you to enter his room without knocking, consider it a worthwhile privilege, because Heelshire does not let everyone into his personal space.

• When you were sad, Brahms brought you bouquets of flowers hastily made with his own hands. That's why his palms were green most of the time.

• Brahms makes wonderful sandwiches. He often makes them when the two of you are having a "picnic" in the garden. Although in fact he agrees to it only to admire you.

• Heelshire loves sweets very much. Very. His mom doesn't allow the boy a lot of sweets and cakes, so you secretly bring them to him from home. The boy is insanely happy.

• Brahms loves kissing. This habit, or rather the need, appeared in him because you praised the boy in this way. Has he finally cleaned the room? A kiss. Did he break his mom's precious vase during the catch-up today? A kiss! So now he can demand them for any reason. He especially likes it when you kiss him before going to bed, and Brahms falls asleep hugging you.

• You're his best friend. That's why Brahms trusts you with all his secrets. You are the only one to whom he has told about the strange and frightening thoughts that sometimes sound in his head.

"Good night," Mrs. Heelshire said, turning off the light and closing the door behind her.

You smile and blow her a kiss, covering your mouth with your palm. When the woman's footsteps recede, you exhale with relief, plopping down on the pillow with force. Squinting your eyes, you wrinkle your nose, trying to blow away the stuck strands of hair from your face. Brahms giggles and gently tucks your hair behind your ear.

The room is cool. The window is slightly ajar, letting in a light autumn wind. The curtains are swaying from side to side, taking chaotic frightening shadows.

You get under the covers up to your nose. Brahms follows your example, pressing his whole body against you, and you stroke his head.

"If I ever do something very, very bad, will you stay with me?" Heelshire whispers, looking up at you.

You look into his sad emerald eyes and laugh. He likes to put pressure on your pity, because he knows that at such moments you see him as a tiny abandoned kitten.

"I don't think you'd do anything so bad, Brahms."

"But if I do. What if everyone turns away from me. Even mom and dad. Will you stay with me?"

You pressed your lips together, frowning. Brahms had never asked such strange questions before. And how can a child who is only eight years old think about something like that after a while. Looking down at the ceiling, you turned your head, looking into Brahms' eyes.

"Yes. I'll stay."

"Honestly?" Heelshire asks incredulously.

"Honestly."

"Promise?"

"Yes, I promise you, silly boy!" you abruptly cover his face with a blanket, holding the edges on both sides of his head.

The boy was kicking, trying to get out from under your weight, while you tried not to laugh. Taking pity on his futile attempts, you took off the blankets, admiring Brahms' flushed face. Heelshire was breathing heavily, and his cheeks and nose were burning like Chinese lanterns that your parents launched on your birthday.

"I won. Again," you grin.

Brahms is silent. You sigh and lie down again, turning your back to Heelshire. Your eyes are shining with joy, and your lips continue to curve in a smug grin. You know that Brahms will not dare to do something to you in return. He always let you get away with such antics. Absolutely always.

When you are ready to fall asleep, through the chatter in your head you hear a plaintive whisper. Having opened your leaden eyelids, you groan with displeasure.

"Kiss me," Brahms whines, and you get up on your elbows, chuckling softly.

"Okay," you kiss Heelshire on the lips, "Good night, Brahms."

• "Now I've won," Brahms croaks, pressing you against the wall and spreading his hands on both sides of your head. Just like a child. Except now he's not the victim here, but you. Although was he ever a victim in your games? Rather, he always played the role of a presenter, you just didn't notice it, as if you were looking through your fingers. And who would have thought that that innocent little boy would ever stand in front of you, towering over your body by a good two heads, and grinning with eyes shining in anticipation through the black slits of the mask.

Sinclairs

Christmas is the most mysterious and magical holiday of the year; the day when the whole family gathers at one big table to properly celebrate this moment together; the day when you receive a lot of gifts from all kinds of relatives, which you sometimes did not realize; the day when all wishes come true.

You clumsily shuffled along the road, shaking your back every now and then to adjust the heavy backpack. Things inside rattled a lot, and you tried to straighten your back faster to avoid crumpled packages.

Christmas was your favorite holiday. And although your parents have been working constantly lately, you were glad that you could spend this family holiday with your friends.

You met not so long ago, only about four months ago, when you first moved here. Ambrose turned out to be a very nice and cozy city with friendly and caring people. Mrs. Sinclair, Trudy, and your mom became friends right away— their interests converged on art. That's when I met her sons, the woman suggested that you make friends with them because of their similar age. And it turned out to be a very good idea. The boys quickly became addicted to you.

Once again adjusting the canvas straps of the backpack, you quickly climb the steps requested by the snow and knock on the sand-colored door several times. On the other side, there is a fussy shuffling and dissatisfied grumbling.

"Hello," you say, smiling, when the door swings open in front of you, revealing a view of the timid Vincent.

The guy nods to you and opens the door wider, motioning you to enter. You kiss Sinclair on the cheek of the mask. Brushing off your feet at the threshold, you quickly take off your shoes and leave your backpack at the shoe shelf. Music from an old radio is coming from the kitchen, some station unknown to you is playing old songs from the seventies. As soon as you entered the room, Vincent stood at the stove again, frying something in a frying pan. Whenever Trudy was busy making figures and arranging a museum that she someday wanted to open, it was Vincent who did the cooking and other household duties. Bo was stubborn and didn't want to do "women's" work, and Lester was still too young for such a large-scale activity. The latter was now sitting at the table and skillfully sliced an apple with a hunting knife into neat pieces.

"Morning, Lester," passing by the boy, you leave a small kiss on his forehead.

"Hi, Y/N!" Sinclair winces contentedly, flapping his big copper eyes.

You sit down next to the boy and imperceptibly take a piece of apple from under his nose, throwing it into his mouth contentedly. There were already several plates and cutlery on the table. Vincent loved order, so he prepared everything in advance.

"Where's Bo?" you ask, rocking slightly in your chair, for which you get a menacing look from Vincent.

"Mom asked him to help at the museum," Lester replied, "He should be back soon."

You notice how Vincent turns off the stove and turns his whole body in your direction. The guy takes a notebook lying on the table and quickly scribbles something.

"Have you had breakfast?"

"Yes," you say shortly, when Vincent closes the notebook and puts it back, "Honestly."

Sinclair puts the hot omelette on plates and pushes you a bowl of oatmeal cookies. You happily take one piece. Vincent sits down across from Lester and lifts the mask just enough to see his mouth. You frown, noticing the edge of his deep scar.

"Hey everyone," it was heard from the threshold, when the front door slammed shut with force, "Oh, honey, and you're here," Bo walks past you, lightly touching your shoulder in greeting, and sits down next to Vincent.

During brunch, you watch Lester and Bo actively negotiate. When their plates are empty, you decide to step in.

"Since everyone is here," you babble happily, clapping your hands to attract the attention of the guys, "I want to give you gifts a little earlier than planned, do you mind?"

"Of course not," Bo abruptly pushed away from the table, "I'm all for it, babe."

Bo winked at you playfully, to which you rolled your eyes. Vincent signed something, and you looked at Lester. Your sign language was not yet good enough to understand most of the phrases, you barely remembered the words of politeness. That's why you've always relied on little Lester at times like this.

"He said: "Why are you doing this so early?"", Lester explained, innocently blinking his eyes.

"What's the difference," Bo frowned, "Sooner or later — the main thing is that she gave."

You didn't comment on the elder Sinclair's words, but just got up from the table and went to your backpack resting in the hallway. When you came back, the brothers were already sitting in a kind of semicircle on the floor. Bo sprawled impressively closer to the sofa and grinned in anticipation; Lester, in his usual manner, sat cross-legged; while Vincent tucked his knees to his chest.

You sat down between the twins and put the backpack next to you, unzipping it. You said "Close your eyes" and, as soon as the boys fulfilled your request, you began to take out colorful boxes. All packages had the same color, different sizes. Alternately, you put the gifts in front of them and allowed them to watch. Lester giggled when he saw that his box was the biggest.

"Merry Christmas," you drawled, spreading your arms out to the sides.

The very first gift was opened by Lester. The boy happily tore open the package, scattering the paper around him, and screamed when he saw the cherished surprise. A big stuffed fawn. He had a soft beige body and neat brown horns sticking out in different directions. The muzzle was cheerful, with a big nose and shiny button eyes.

"I knitted it especially for you," you babble, smiling, when Lester looks up at you with an enthusiastic look.

"Thank you!" the boy throws himself on your neck with lightning speed, squeezing your body until the bones crunch; you stroke his back.

Bo was a little surprised when he saw a set of tools under the wrapper. He loved tinkering and was well versed in mechanics; the fact that you remembered about this hobby touched the guy a little; his lips curved in a slight smile.

"Well, thanks, babe," Bo grins, patting your hair.

You're pouting a little. All the time spent in the morning combing this tangled nest has gone to waste. You are dissatisfied with blowing off a few strands that caught your eye.

The last person to open his gift was Vincent. The boy very tenderly unwrapped the package, not trying to tear it, as if stretching and savoring this moment. You watched the deft but careful movements of his fingers with burning impatience. Finally, Sinclair took off all the paper, removing it from the side, and looked down at what he saw. A large set with colored pencils. Exactly the one that the boy looked at with undisguised envy in the window of an art store about a month ago. Did you remember that? With slightly trembling hands, Vincent takes the box and turns it in his hands. There were several more drawing pads under it.

Vincent looks at you, and you see the trembling gaze of his azure eyes in the slits of the mask. Such unbelievers, but at the same time grateful. You crawl up to the boy and hug him tightly, nuzzling his neck. Vincent lets out a ragged sigh.

"Merry Christmas to you, boys," you congratulate them once again, seeing the boys' satisfied smiles.

"So why did you decide to give it to us so early?" Lester asked, clutching the toy to his chest.

"Oh, that," you awkwardly fix your hair, "Well, my parents decided to leave. To another state. We'll leave tonight. So I thought I could have some fun with you now."

There was an oppressive silence in the room. You were afraid to look up, but you could feel the disappointment on the boys' faces. Your heart was painfully squeezed in your chest, from which you gritted your teeth with a creak.

"Will you come back?" Bo broke the silence.

"I don't know. Dad was offered a job in another state. Mom just said I wouldn't be able to see you."

You looked at each of the boys in turn. Vincent's head drooped, Bo's brows furrowed, and Lester's lips tightened into a crooked thread. The elder Sinclair sighed heavily.

"We'll be waiting. All together," he looked at you from under his brows, "Just try not to come back to us."

• Vincent loves sweets; but, often, Bo takes most of the goodies. That's why you put an envelope with several edible bracelets in one of the donated notebooks. Bo will probably consider them girly and will not take them away from his brother.

• You have been knitting a fawn for Lester for about five days; the boy is very happy with your gift. Your relationship is like a brother and a scary sister. He is always ready to rely on you; Sinclair is glad that he has such a caring person, unlike the same brothers (in particular Bo).

• Trudy adores you. You could say that in these few months she began to perceive you as her own daughter. You even know where the spare keys to the back door of the house are.

• Bo always tries to impress you as a self-sufficient high school student. He saw his father's old magazines with tackles, seduction and other materials not for children, so he decided to train on you. He didn't notice how he fell in love.

• Vincent is a good cook.

• Most of Vinnie's drawings in the new notebooks are you. He will paint your portraits for many years after your leaving.

#slashers x reader #thomas hewitt #thomas hewitt x reader #brahms heelshire #brahms heelsire x reader #lester sinclair #lester sinclair x reader #vincent sinclair #vincent sinclair x reader #bo sinclair x reader #bo sinclair

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slut4christopherr · 7 days ago

Text

— HOTEL ROOM —

PART ONE!!

warnings: m recieving, getting caught kinda?, sneaking around, gagging, cumshot, alcohol, weed, straddling

summary: you and matt HATE eachother, but on a school trip hou find yourself inside a hotel room with him for 2 weeks, but you and chris did something inside of the room whilst he was gone. read to find out!!

a/n: this will be a series/chapters!! also i will be finish my other story i'm just leaving y'all cliffhanging teheh, it will be done by monday dw!!

chris talking = orange

matt talking = blue

your bsf talking = pink

you talking = white

warning: divider may not work on light mode!

i finally get off of the plane, we are in LA!! i grab my suitcase and talk to samantha

matt had the fucking urge to dirty look me, i flip him off and he grins, chris walking closely next to him

i can't lie, the way he hated me, turned me the fuck on

"if we're not in the same room i'm GOING to flip"

i laugh and shake my head

"oh me too, i can't stand anyone else here"

i mock a gag and she laughs

teachers are assigning our rooms

then she suddenly says

"samantha and paul, room 382"

my jaw drops

"wish me luck"

i sigh, now i've got to spend 2 weeks with someone i probably hate

"matthew and y/n, room 383"

you have GOT to be kidding me? out of everyone here they chose me and matthew fucking sturniolo

my hand grips my suitcase as i grab the key to the room and get in the elevator, hitting 3rd floor

matts at the other side of the elevator, avoiding eye contact. let's just say. awkward!

as i walk out of the elevator my heart pounds as i try and find the room,

i say to myself

"383, 383, 383"

i finally find it and put the keycard in and open the door, i take one look and my face drops

matt walks in behind me and drops his bags, equally as shocked as me

"one fucking bed? oh fuck no, this has to be a mistake"

i shake my head

"go talk to reception"

"¡ can't believe im actually listening to your dumb ass"

matt walks back into the elevator and as he goes down i see chris walking past my room and he gives me a quick smile

"oh come on chris, just a smile, not spoke for ages!"

chris turns around

"yeah, s'been a while huh?"

i nod

"you going to this party tonight? matts taking this random girl so, wanna come with me? not as a date or anything just, for fun y'know"

i grin, loving the idea of an LA party

"'m in, but how we gon' get out without teachers seeing?"

chris chuckles and jingles keys

"didn't talk to reception for nothin' there the fire exit keys, so no alarm goes off”

i grin, nodding with the idea

next minute

matt storms out of the elevator

"fuckin' apparently they didn't mix it up, last room they fuckin' have"

i sigh

"i'll just sleep on the sofa"

matt nods and walks into the room

“see ya later, sweetheart”

oh the way he said sweetheart had me pulsing, i squeeze my thighs together and he turns around, going toward his room as i walk into mine & matts room

"i'm gonna get ready for this party"

matt looks at me and snickers

"do you know what LA party's are like?"

i laugh

"course i do, why? think i can't handle a big person party huh?"

i smirk and grab my black corset, a pair of stockings, a black leather miniskirt and knee high black boots

"ive just never seen you, i mean,anywhere really”

i sigh and walk into the bathroom to change

as i tied the corset, i sucked my stomach in so i can tighten it more but when i let my breath go, way too tight, i loosen it a bit, i look at myself in the mirror, and i smile, knowing goddamn right i look good

"i need to curl my hair"

i walk out of the bathroom and see matt in a pair of jeans and a checkered button-up tee, he looks me up and down before sighing and picking up his phone

after i curled my hair, a knock on the hotel room door, i stand up and lean my curling iron on the wooden table then look through the peephole, it's chris, hes wearing a fresh love hoodie and a pair of grey sweats

i open the door and grin

"well your early mister!"

chris' eyes linger from my thighs, to my boobs which the corset pushed up, to my lips, then my eyes

"your gon' get me in trouble t'night ma"

i grin

"nights not even started and your already horny?”

matt gags

"will you two shut the fuck up? and chris i-"

chris cuts him off

"yeah, we're done, jeez."

matt and chris are ready, they're waiting for me to finish doing my lipgloss, and as i finish, matt grabs his room keys

"don't expect me to drive you to the party as well"

i sigh

"'ll just get an uber, it's all good”

chris shakes his head

"no, your coming with me, your coming in my car"

i grin

"let's go then, what're we waiting for?”

as we walk into the house, the smell of alcohol and the faint smell of weed fills my nostrils, chris guides me to the kitchen where there is a heavy selection of drinks

“whachu want?”

i sigh

“jus’ make me somethin’ good!”

chris nods and hands me a drink a minute after

i try it and surprisingly it’s not death in a cup

a few hours later, me and chris uber back as were too drunk to drive at all, we’re sat in the back of the uber singing

hotel room — montel fish

as we pull up to the hotel, we step out of the uber and walk inside, chris gives the fire exit key back to the girl behind the desk and we walk upstairs, and i pull him into my room

“ma, you had me so fuckin’ hard tonight”

his words came out slurred

i grin

“want me to help, handsome?”

chris groans

“keep talking’ like that ill cream in my pants”

i push chris down on the bed, his head against the headboard as i crawl upto him, before anything, i straddle him and kiss him deeply.

he bites my bottom lip and i open my mouth a bit to give him full access, our tongues dance as we slowly pull away, i plant kisses to his jawline, neck, and keep moving down until i’m at his waist band

i look up at him through my eyelashes, his head nodding instantly, giving me permission to continue, i unbutton his jeans then unzip the zip, slowly, very slowly

chris groans and throws his head back in impatience and i grin, looping my fingers into the waistband of his pants and pull them down , his boxers following quickly

i was pretty stunned at how long he was, how was that gonna fit in my mouth

i lick up his shaft and decide to focus on the tip

“oh ffuuuck ma- y’keep doin’ it like that i’m gon’ cum”

i grin and my tongue flicks over his tip, i taste the precum on my tastebuds as i hear him moaning my name

“ffffuck y/n, yeah yeah, keep doin’ that, goin’ down on your enemy’s brother? fuckin’ slut”

i feel him twitch inside of my mouth, signalling hes close

his hand tangkes in my hair, making a makeshift ponytail as his hips roll up into my mouth as he finds his release, hot ropes of cum go to the back of my throat

i’m took out of pleasure when i hear

“are you fucking kidding me?”

part two!! ⬇️

a/n; hopefully y’all liked this one!! i found this so fun to write

@mattsobvimyfav (heard about this before y’all)

#chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #chris smut #matt sturniolo #sturnsvelocity #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo smut #sturniolo fanfic #matthew sturniolo

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rose-tea-and-strawberries · 1 year ago

Note

I'm kinda curious about your view on vil and your thoughts on the trauma he possibly or could have inflicted on Yuu during book 5.

I have this headcannon inspired by this one shot by uniquethingtastemaker

https://www.tumblr.com/uniquethingtastemaker/720073081338626048/neige-x-reader-white-beaches-and-a-spring-morning?source=share

The headcannon: Basically Yuu (who is female for this) hides the fact that she's a girl for safety reasons (I mean not only is Yuu magic less in another world, she's also in a all boy school. Yeah that doesn't scream good idea). The only who knows are the teachers, Crowley, Grim and later Ace and Deuce when she's comfortable enough to tell them. At some point before book 5, Yuu is allowed a small vacation out of NRC for the crap she had to deal with jamil in the previous book; during her vacation goes out as herself and runs into neige. They become friends and stay in touch with one another. Yuu made Neige promise not to say anything about her actually gender as a few know in NRC.

*Also have a headcannon where Yuu is a school idol like love live and secretly helps Neige and the dwarfs write a song and dance that works for them for VDC. Yuu and Neige were already writing a song together just for fun since Yuu missed being a school idol and hasn't written a song since coming to twisted wonderland 😅

Plus it's something she has a choice in and would fun doing with a friend. During book 5, Crowley literally forced Yuu's hand by threatening their plumbing and Vil just dub them the manager without asking if it was okay with them. There's also how forceful he was being. . . .

There's no rule that has she can't and she's not even in the group.

Sorry for rambling 😅

So I've written about my thoughts on Vil before and honestly he's kind of one of my - if not my most - least favourite character(s).

I've cut this up for length:

I know that he has a lot of trauma and that he's a character that lots of people can mischaracterize and hate irrationally but he just rubs me the wrong way - and I'm saying this as a former gifted child and as someone who has witnessed people go through burn out both in Primary and Secondary school. I feel sorry for him and I understand that the pressure of perfection can be an incredible burden to bear but the way he treats others is just so grating that I can't say I like him that much.

Honestly, Book 5 is my least favourite book (then it's 3 then 4) and I have so much to say for everything; the blackmail, Vil's behaviour, Vil cursing our food without telling us, having to share a dorm with Jamil when he used Yuu and endangered them for his own gain (and then Kalim for sweeping it under the rug), Vil almost making Deuce cry, the Neige hate, Vil facing absolutely no consequences for trying to murder someone and then nearly killing everyone and destroying a building.

Yes, I agree that Epel has a mindset of toxic masculinity and yes, it should be addressed and challenged. But Vil's military dictator training and forcing him to do things that he hates (and even making him hide his accent - something that connects him to the home and family he loves) is not how you do it. I don't despise feminine things like he does, but even I would hate to live up to Vil's standards every single day (especially when Vil degrades far more times than he praises).

Something I really really hate about the twst fandom is how lots of people put down Neige or make him the butt of a joke just to make Vil better. I've seen so many jokes or fanfics or imagines where Neige gets rejected or laughed at or treated terribly just so that Vil can be seen as superior and as someone who actually really likes Neige and has Snow White as their favourite princess ever since they were in reception, I just can't stand the Neige hate. Especially when he was almost a victim of a poisoning plot - as in Vil literally tried to kill him for absolutely no reason at all (before he then tried to kill us for 'seeing an ugly side of him' which we are supposed to forgive because of course we are)

I really loved that Neige story and I actually do headcanon that Neige and Yuu are really close friends and they text each other 24/7 (and also with Prince Rielle). I did make a #JusticeForYuu post where I said that I wanted Yuu to just send the entirety of NRC (minus Ace and Deuce) to coventry and not give them the time of day so I thought it would be just delicious if Neige is the one that helps Yuu with all things fashion related since he's just as famous (if not more so) than Vil with his own line of clothing and make up and would have access to things they would need.

And I think you somehow managed to read my mind because I have this Yuu that's a theatre kid (this is not relevant at all but this fem!Yuu was also Christine Daaé in her theatre's performance of Phantom of the Opera) with the voice of an angel that's best friends with Neige and the two of them totally duet together - I did kind of toy with the idea of Neige hyping her up to sing something for VDC as a closing performance and her blowing everyone away but I digress...

You know what? I am actually against the headcanon that RSA is filled with snooty, condescending, stuck up rich kids with a holier-than-thou attitude - I'm under the firm belief that the RSA students are actual sweethearts who are kind and caring and aren't the type of people who would inflict trauma on an innocent magicless teenager. The only reason why I don't want Yuu to transfer to RSA is because they'd have to leave Ace and Deuce behind (as well as the Ramshackle ghosts) and those boys are literally everything to me so I like to think that Yuu likes to go to RSA like once a week or something to spend time with people who don't try to manipulate or mistreat them.

I do have a lot more things to say but my brain has gone to mush and I can't think of anything so here

#twisted wonderland #twst #twst yuu #asks

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katyspersonal · 2 months ago

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Tbh being in this fandom helped me to recover my love for drawing?

I've always loved to draw, since early childhood, and I've always picked bright colors and put too much thought and detail into drawings! Like, I wasn't yet six years old and my ways to draw were already showing xD

Things started to go sour since maybe 14, because it was when teachers noticed my talent and started to exploit it to make me draw shit for stupid school events -_- It was also when I started to draw digitally, so, posting my art online. It became an obligation I was not even compensated for irl and a strong stress of "getting audience" and "improvement" online. And it was a very long timeframe of drawing with how my art will be received in mind. I think I've temporarily lost originality as an artist when I've got on Tumblr, even. Because I tried to chameleon to ideas, trends and styles of everyone else. It's been YEARS.

But joining this fandom forced me to abandon my fixation on reception. I've never gotten my art side-eyed and disliked so much in my whole life. I've heard pearls like "You don't have a talent (as an artist) and it is cringe that you say you do", "I don't like how you draw people", "I think you should focus on writing, you are way better at it than at visual art", "Only people who can't draw would enjoy your art" - and none of these came from haters! A lot of ignoring, a lot of visible and obvious irritation from a fan of [character] because I've drawn them "ugly", pity liking because they don't like my art but like me as a person, nothing good to say about my art besides "well you've put a lot of effort in" etc. It just became obvious that my art doesn't fit in Soulsborne fandom. Everyone here are talented, studied artists with academical skill. When they aren't, their style is appealing, simple, anime-ish and pleasing for the eyes. And then there is me lol

The thing is, whereas I had multiple episodes of wanting to delete all my fanart from socials, wanting to give up on art altogether, starting to hate my art myself because others hated it and avoiding looking at other artists' blogs to not face the humiliation of how much more love they get compared to me... I waded through it.

I came out of it a stronger person, that learned to love drawing only and ONLY for the heck of it. I've noticed that I really just like drawing, because it's fun. Because I want to see some drawing, not because someone else might. I was forced to grow up, except.. I wasn't? I could have given up on art like I "wanted" to! I knew some artists in Soulsborne, mostly 16-17 but not only, who gave up on drawing (at least for this fandom) or straight up abandoned their blogs because of facing similar snobbery regarding their art styles! They were similarly very detailed and "inconvenient", to think back on it. 🤔 But I am here, right? I didn't even do the bare minimum of trying to "fix" my art style to be more "appealing", I just continued drawing the way I like to.. and tbh, the way I used to love drawing back in childhood returned. Long ago before internet, "content", "platform", "relevance" and all this stupid shit that defeats the point. I am lucky to get 30 notes on fully colored fully detalized drawing, 20 of which are friends or mutuals, but I just stopped caring? I am drawing for the heck of it, so many years later, again?

In general, guys, I don't know who needs to hear this, but if you are dealing with ignoring, snobbery, taunting or all at once as an artist, I really recommend you to endure through it and not give up. Eventually you will naturally become strong and self-sufficient! The best way to learn to not rely on anyone else's approval is to actually not be given this approval but continue. The joy of enjoying the drawing regardless of whether your art is liked by others is a wealth much bigger than popularity

#creativity #drawing #personal #just got those thoughts during adding finishing touches to halloween drawing yesterday #I knew I was late and all #but finishing it felt SATISFYING and that mattered #shading all those leaves and hassling with balancing so many bright colors..#it was genuinely enjoyable #maybe I don't have talent or skill but I have something I love doing #and it is a big one for depressed person

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haveyouseenthisskeleton · 7 months ago

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Hello,

Since it's the end of Pride Month, I wanted to do something a little different today. So here's a short story I wrote this month on the subject :)

It's not related to Undertale. It's very much personal.

It’s difficult to remember when it happened.

In kindergarten’s playground, when finding yourself a small guy to fall in love with seemed to please your parents enough?

In elementary school, when appearing in the boy’s top ten girls’ rankings of the classroom used to be a consecration?

In middle school, when finding someone to love becomes an obsession to appear mature enough to have friends?

Or maybe in high school when everyone starts to brag about their first sexual exploits?

I don’t know. How do you know something happens if it never happened?

All my life, I endured the other’s color. The color of first love, the color of these couples in my favorite TV shows, the color of those relationships in those novels I read. The color of love.

All my life, people told me it was normal to fall in love. Even the school said it. I remember this awkward assembly where teachers and scientists presented to us condoms that were the color of love. They said it was at the end of our teenage years that the color exploded, that it swallowed everything like a tidal wave, and that we had to be careful to not let that wave overflow to prevent being burned. But you can’t be burned with water, I said, and everyone laughed.

I then told myself it was normal it didn’t happen yet. After all, I still had a few years before the end of my teenage years, right? Maybe the color would appear someday, magically. I had no idea how it worked. I wasn’t born with a guide in my hands. Or maybe not the same the people around me received.

Finally, I asked the question to the people I cared the most about. Surely, they would know.

Do you see the color? How do you see this is the color? What does it feel like to see the color?

Why can’t I see it?

In kindergarten, I pretended to please my parents.

In elementary school, I never wanted to be part of any rankings.

In middle school, I thought I was a failure.

In high school, I resigned to my fate.

Maybe I was condemned to never know the color.

Or maybe I couldn’t see it. That’s what people often said to me. “Have you seen how that boy is staring hungrily at you?” No. “Can’t you see he was flirting with you?” What do you mean?

“You’re so innocent, that’s cute.”

Was it innocence? I don’t think so. These boys, they came back again and again. They wanted to share their color with me. I knew they wanted it. I tried to open to their color, I really tried. But in that abyss that seemed to be my soul, no color ever crossed through.

Life is unfair. Why was I not allowed to see the color? Did I do something wrong to be punished this way?

As I reached the end of my teenage years, still without the shadow of the color, I turned to a screen. The screen didn’t have any color either, right? Just some code. Cold, gloomy. I asked it why I didn’t have any color.

The screen took my hand and guided me to a secret door, hidden, far from the binary world. And when I opened it, I stayed dumbstruck.

I could see the color.

It was not the color of the others. It was another color. A no-color, with several shades. And in each of these shades, some people, like me, that couldn’t see the color and ended up gathering together to support people, like me, that got worried they couldn’t find it.

The color exists, they said. It’s simply not the same for everyone. Sometimes, a color was receptive to an opposite one. Sometimes, the color preferred people who had the same color they had. Other times, the color got confused for a long time, questioning, waiting.

And for a rare part of the population, the color was enough to itself and didn’t call for any other.

That revelation relieved me deeply. I could see the color. I could see the no-color. I wasn’t blind, or broken. I just didn’t know where to look until that moment.

That color that explodes at the end of our teenage years is a myth.

That color that everyone has to find is a myth.

I have my own color and I don’t need another one.

That’s when it happened.

Those no-colorful people put words on what troubled me for so long.

Asexuality.

Aromantism.

Two simple words, singing on my tongue, that allowed my no-color to spread and flourish.

Since then, I can see the no-color everywhere. At first, it was complicated to accept it. But the people in that non-binary world helped me to feel better.

Today, it’s my turn to be a part of that non-binary world. Sitting in my lair, I’m waiting.

I’m waiting to help new people who can’t see the color. To show them it’s possible to accept who you are despite those differences.

You only have a door to push.

Push it.

You won’t regret it.

Everyone deserves to see the world in color. You just don’t know it yet.

#myfanwi talks #short story #lgbt+ community #lgbt pride #asexuality #asexual #aromantic #aromantism #ace aro #acespec #lgbt art #lgbtq authors

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solitaryandwandering · 1 year ago

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15 people, 15 questions

I was tagged by @wen-kexing-apologist (here) and @telomeke (here), always glad to arrive late to a tag game!

1. Are you named after anyone?

I share a middle name with my paternal and maternal grandmothers (and coincidentally with an aunt who married into the family). As for my first name, my dad used to tell everyone that I was named after Meg Ryan, who he had a crush on and my mom really disliked (unrelated to the crush). It's a slightly creepy story and entirely untrue. I believe in reality they just thought the name sounded nice and chose it over the alternative, Kate (thank GOD).

2. When was the last time you cried?

I honestly can't remember the last time I full-on cried. Usually I only really cry when reading, watching shows or films or otherwise engaging with emotions in that way. When I was visiting family in Ohio I was feeling pretty unlike myself and stifled (the majority of the family are Trump supporters or centrists, if that gives you any idea of the kind of stuff being said). Whenever I visit them and the attention turns to me, the only things they tend to focus on are my love of reading (which I can no longer do very often) and disabilities. I am the first to assert that I am not ashamed of being disabled but there's very little agency I feel around this group of people (and though I love my immediate family they weren't always very helpful), made all the worse by the fact that my sight has considerably worsened in the last year, so any and all attention and vicarious grieving was a bit more difficult to swallow this time around. So, the night before we left, I did sit in the bathroom and tear up for a bit. But, no crying! Legitimately, one of my intentions of the new year is to let myself fully feel my emotions so I can more consciously heal from more of my PTSD and be more mindful in my life, which necessitates more tears. Lots to unpack there.

3. Do you have kids?

No, and I'm unsure if I ever want any. Definitely don't ever want to be pregnant. But I do love kids a lot.

4. What sports do you play/have you played?

I consider myself to be naturally pretty athletic, despite it all. When I was growing up I played a wide myriad of sports, like tee-ball, ballet (is that a sport?), track (usually 200m), and volleyball, with lots of swimming, gymnastics, rock-climbing (usually in the context of hiking), basketball, baseball, and football thrown in there. I'm still pretty proud of the fact that I can throw a perfect spiral (though getting my hand around the football is a bitch). I used to do a decent amount of weight-lifting, too. I was asked to play rugby at one point in middle school by my history teacher but had to decline due to the risk to my cochlear implant. But by far my number one sport was soccer; I played 19 seasons before I graduated high school, though it was always on a club level. I was actually pretty good (and very fast), if inconsistent (Usher + ADHD + low confidence + toxic sports environment led to some apathy on my end). My nickname was "bulldog" because I was so effectively aggressive and quick. I usually played as a defender (all positions, but left-winger typically), though I was also a midfielder due to my speed. Pretty sure I played every position at least once. Only scored one goal, and it was not an auspicious moment lmfao. I really loved the sport, even if I was bullied/ostracized by many of the girls. Right now, I don't play sports and am in the worst shape of my life, so a 2024 intention is to slowly get back into exercising as regularly as possible, even if I can only regularly keep up with PT workouts.

5. Do you use sarcasm?

I am almost entirely made up of sarcasm and dark humor. I've had to soften this, though, since a large majority of people in my life are not super receptive to either due to either some neurodiversity or trauma.

6. What’s the first thing you notice about people?

Depends on the environment, haha. If it's crowded, loud and unfamiliar I am usually noticing people's position in relation to me, if they're looking at me, and if they're trying to say something to me. So, a lot of looking at people's mouths. Otherwise, I think I still notice people's proximity, their body language, their eyes and smile/facial expressions. I grock on to people's emotions pretty quickly so I notice their general mood, too.

7. What’s your eye color?

On the brown side of hazel. I actually think they're a pretty color, especially when sunlight hits them. Then they can look golden, with some streaks of green or copper.

8. Scary movies or happy endings?

Weird dichotomy, but ok. I'd say I largely prefer happy endings, especially if they're earned. I'd actually argue that some scary movies do have happy endings, just depends on your definition of "happy." I like horror quite a bit, especially as a genre to discuss and learn about, but my OCD does not enjoy watching them, so I am pretty particular about the ones I see.

9. Any talents?

Yes, I suppose? I think I am good at analysis, critical thinking, listening to others, media literacy/reading comprehension, coming up with creative ideas, and learning new things. I also like trivia, though it's been a long time since I really exercised that talent. I think I'm a pretty good writer, too. Really had to resist sarcasm and self-criticism, there.

10. Where were you born?

In a hospital in Northern Virginia, strangled by my umbilical cord and forcibly pulled from my mother with forceps.

11. What are your hobbies?

Watching BL and scrolling Tumblr, of course. But I also love watching films, in general, and reading media analysis and criticism. I also like reading social critique (that's my sociology degree talking) and lightly keeping up on psychological research in areas I'm interested in (trauma, sexual health, mental illness/health, developmental psychology, etc.) as much as I can. I also listen to a lot of podcasts (mostly fiction) and listen to music. Another intention for the new year is to slowly get back into reading books, however I can. And I also want to write more about BL on here :)

12. Do you have any pets?

Technically no - we have one dog which was passed on to us when my high school Braille teacher died, but she is with my dad, whom my mom is in the process of divorcing. He is holding on to her both as emotional support and collateral. So... I am not sure if I will see her again.

13. How tall are you?

Sort of average, around 5 ft 4 in

14. Favorite subject in school?

English, first and foremost. Followed by history (though my teachers usually were not great), most sciences (even if the mathematical sections caused some grief), and anything artistic or creative, such as a film studies elective I took in high school. In college I liked most of my psychology and sociology classes, thankfully, since those were my majors. Basically anything but math. I could always get behind the theoretical enjoyment of mathematics but (undiagnosed) dyscalculia REALLY made me suffer in those classes.

15. Dream job

If I ever get enough money and stability to do so, I want to go to grad school to become a clinical social worker. Otherwise, my actual "dream job" is to work in some way in media analysis, though I have no idea what that would entail or what it would look like.

Not tagging 15 people, I don't even know that many who would do something like this lol. Do if you want!

#it's me #tag game

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virusinfected-memes · 2 years ago

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PONYO SENTENCE STARTERS ;

128 starters. Feel free to change words and pronouns as needed!

“I can’t get it out.”

“That was weird.”

“It looks kind of dead.”

“It licked me! It’s alive!”

“_____, we’ll be late!”

“This wind is crazy.”

“Well, have you found my daughter?”

“What?! She was captured by a human?”

“You are alive!”

“This is bad. This is very bad.”

“Wow. That guy was a freak show.”

“We never judge others by their looks.”

“Another experiment for school?”

“Your teacher doesn’t really like Show and Tell…”

“Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of you.”

“She came to me. She might be magic.”

“I saved her. She’s my responsibility now.”

“Humans are disgusting!”

“Not now, _____. I’m concentrating.”

“You’ll be safe here, _____. I’ll be back soon.”

“Hmm, I wonder if there are any cats around here.”

“Look at me! My mother made me a new dress. Isn’t it pretty?”

“Hey, _____, let’s go play.”

“You’re not busy. You’re five.”

“You are so weird.”

“There are rules about bringing things to school for a reason.”

“The rules are, look but don’t touch.”

“That was my fault.”

“There it comes again. I hear old _____’s voice.”

“So it must be only in my head.”

“Oh, that’s a relief. I haven’t lost my mind quite yet.”

“Are you ready to see my big surprise?”

“Maybe she could use some of her magic to fix my hips and back.”

“Fish with faces who come out of the sea cause tsunamis.”

“Come back here and apologize!”

“Don’t worry, _____. No matter what, I’ll protect you. I promise.”

“Listen, _____, you know, this could be for the best.”

“Do that. I think that’s a lovely thing to do for _____.”

“Come on, _____. Let’s get out of here.”

“What if _____ comes back?”

“Your wife must be pretty mad.”

“_____ says he’s very sorry.”

“B-U-G O-F-F!”

“_____ says he loves you. He says lots and lots.”

“Don’t cry, _____.”

“I know _____ breaks his promises sometimes. But he does his best for us.”

“I promised _____ I’d take care of her. Then I lost her. I wonder if she’s crying now.”

“You are so good!”

“Don’t you worry, _____. You did your best and _____ will be just fine.”

“I say we start with dessert and go backwards!”

“It’s been a backwards kind of day.”

“I want to be a human too!”

“Human? Ugh. What do you know about humans, _____?”

“Enough! You’re making a terrible mistake!”

“You can’t be human and magic at the same time, sweetheart.”

“If you could only remain innocent and pure forever.”

“I don’t have the power to hold her for very long.”

“Calm. I must remain calm.”

“When I think of meeting her again, my heart won’t stop pounding.”

“This door still doesn’t fit right.”

“If even one living creature got in here…”

“This cursed door!”

“Are you sure you don’t need my help?”

“If I were you, I’d get out of here while you still can.”

“Oh, _____, is that you? It’s so dark in here, I can barely see.”

“I bet the lights came back on because _____’s here.”

“Ah, this stupid TV. Nobody understands weather anymore. Might as well look at shadows and listen to crickets.”

“You need to go back and seek shelter there.”

“Okay, but right now, I need to get home.”

“_____, you gotta get out of here!”

“Try to hang on to something!”

“I’ve never seen the ocean like this.”

“_____, we have to go!”

“Life is mysterious and amazing.”

“It smells like you in here!”

“There, got ya’! Now let’s rub you down and dry you off.”

“Is he an evil wizard?”

“Looks like something must have gone wrong with the fuel line.”

“I can’t get any reception. That’s really weird.”

“Do you think _____ came from far, far away?”

“I’ve gotta go help them. I can get there if I take the mountain road.”

“I’d feel better if you stay up here.”

“I’m going to leave you here in charge. You’ll do the right thing. I know it.”

“Finally, we can get our bearings again.”

“We’re someplace I’ve never seen before.”

“What mountains are those? I have no idea where we are.”

“That is a huge wall of water.”

“Something’s coming this way.”

“I just saw the Goddess of Mercy!”

“So you saw her too? I thought maybe I was hallucinating…”

“That has a powerful spell on it…”

“This is serious! I’m trying to save _____!”

“It’s been a long time, my love.”

“Why isn’t _____ with you?”

“My baby likes you.”

“It’s just like a parade!”

“Looks like the whole town is here.”

“I don’t see _____. I hope she’s okay.”

“There’s water coming from your eyes…”

“The other side is nice, isn’t it?”

“You mean this is the other side?”

“Where do you think we are? Las Vegas?”

“The time has come for you to bear witness to a sacred test of love.”

“Aren’t they too young for this?”

“Remember, this is a very important moment. A crucial moment.”

“Do you think we can trust him?”

“I wish we could hear what they’re talking about.”

“Whatever happens, I’m just glad you’re all here for this.”

“I think I’ve been here before.”

“Don’t like this place…”

“Don’t let go of my hand.”

“_____! Please don’t die!”

“We’ve all been waiting for you.”

“I promise I’m not going to take _____ away from you.”

“_____, don’t listen to that wacko!”

“Did you hear me? Nobody fools me!”

“There is so little time! A choice has to be made!”

“That’s the best excuse you can come up with?”

“_____, please listen. You have to trust me.”

“Jump for it!”

“I don’t know why we’re here.”

“She needs you to accept and love her as she truly is.”

“Could you love her if she moved between two worlds?”

“I love all the _____s. It’s a big responsibility, but I really love her.”

“To become human, you must choose to abandon magic. Can you do that?”

“The balance of nature is restored. Life begins again.”

“There you are! Are you alright?”

“Try to remember me kindly, if you will.”

#ask meme #inbox meme #roleplay meme #rp meme #rp sentence starters #sentence starters #studio ghibli #ponyo #* mine

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orchidyoonkook · 1 year ago

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Fanfic end of the year asks:

15, 17, & 23.

And thank you for bringing me Yoongi this year - be he under a willows tree or in a Valentino suit, he was breaking me down and healing me up. 💕

VIOLET 🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹. My love. My darling. My Moot. My bestie. My friend. How I adore you so ♥️♥️♥️

Thank you for asking 🫂

15. Something you learned this year

Apparently I can write smut. Which was both incredibly relieving and also terrifying at the same time?

Or even the fact that people like my writing. Prior to posting fics, only high school English teachers had read my writing. So I’d never really gotten a response on it before. Didn’t know if it was any good. Didn’t really give it a worth while shot. All my friends were writers so I just assumed I was the odd one out.

But then I got tumblr.

And posted a fic just to see if it was worth continuing.

And learned that maybe I can write a little bit.

And that if I keep going. Maybe I can write a lot one day.

17. Fics you’ll continue next year

I’m gunna use this as a planned fics and continued fics question to keep track for myself cuz I will forget 😂😂

So!

I currently have two requests (literally how wild is that!!???) in my inbox that I have to brainstorm. One for JK and one for the UTWT couple.

I will also hopefully be much more active in updating TWWWBAATTA. (Ideally I get at least 6-8 chapters out this year)

As well as a collab that’s been in the works since maybe August?? It’s currently on hold due to life on both ends, but I love love LOVE the concept and the plot and everything about it so I’m excited to dig into that! It will also probably be my first darker work, so I’m stoked for that too! Trying out a new genre.

I have an (undisclosed member) fic in my head right now that I’m plotting out. (I’ve talked about it with you but I wanna keep it under wraps until I at least have a rough draft). It’s a winter themed fic so ideally I’ll have it out by at the latest, February. But if it’s later in the year, it’s later in the year.

And lastly, for planned works that is, I’m toying with the idea of potentially expanding the TDWV universe due to the wonderful reception of the world it takes place in.

23. Fics you wanted to write, but didn’t

The previously mentioned collab fic. I wanted to have at least one chapter of it out by the end of 2023. But then I got a new job and moved within a month of each other, and went from working one shift a week, to full time, and then the holidays happened and I ran out of free time.

My New Years Resolution this year was to try and write more/ create more. And I would really like to stick to that if I can. But with quality over quantity.

And then the undisclosed member fic, also previously mentioned. I’d hoped to have it done over my winter break from work. But timing and plans said no!

———

You’re so so so welcome my dear. I don’t even have the words to begin to describe what your support has meant and done for me. And I can only hope I’ve been able to do a fraction of the same for you.

I hope I can bring you more Yoongi’s and maybe a Joon or two in the future too♥️

#wow this got long fast #my never ending problem of never being able to shut up has struck again!#I’m pretty sure you don’t mind tho #asks #Violet ♥️#Violetsiren90 #ms.mailbox📬#ask games with yoon #Yoon on writing

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artificialqueens · 2 years ago

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When We Begin Again (Sasha Colby x Anetra) - Athena2

Summary: After a loss, Sasha grows closer to her daughter’s taekwondo teacher, and deals with her feelings.

A/N: Thank you so so much to @slutnetra for suggesting this idea, and for being lovely enough to let me try my hand at writing it. I hope this is at least close to what you had in mind, and I really hope you like it. Please leave feedback if you like, I really appreciate it!! Thank you to Writ for betaing.

Sasha is grateful Kerri fills the silence on the drive to her taekwondo class. Driving makes her nervous lately, even though she wasn’t in the accident, and the talking helps. It’s Kerri’s first class back after the summer—after the funeral, Sasha tries not to think—and she’s bouncing in the backseat. Her hair is finally long enough to have the pigtails she wanted since a girl in her class had them and she cried because she didn’t think she could have hair that long, and she twirls both as she talks about school and her friends.

“We’re here,” Sasha says as they pull into the parking lot.

Kerri quiets a little, and she holds Sasha’s hand on the way to the door even though she’s insisted she’s too old for that lately. Sasha squeezes her hand gently, rubbing her thumb along the back like she’s done since the day they adopted her.

Sasha’s only been inside the taekwondo studio—dojo, she’s pretty sure it’s called—a few times, when Kerri had a skills night. Jack always brought her to class. The reception area is bright and open, with awards and medals shining on the walls.

Anetra, Kerri’s teacher, is in the entrance, a little intimidating with her dark hair pulled back and a black belt around the waist of her white uniform. Sasha knows the uniform has a name, but can’t think of it once she sees the wings of a butterfly tattoo on Anetra’s chest peeking above the fabric. She hasn’t noticed anyone like that since Jack. It feels wrong, and she shakes her head to clear the thought.

Kerri runs up to her, and Anetra crouches down to Kerri’s height. The intimidating look on her face breaks into a smile, softening the scar running through her left eyebrow. “Hey, Kerri. Did you have a good summer?”

“Yeah!”

“I love the pigtails,” she says, and Kerri beams.

“Mommy did them for me!”

“She did a great job. Do you want to put your stuff away and get ready?”

“Okay!” Kerri runs back into the main room, and Anetra straightens up and turns to Sasha.

“Hi,” Sasha says.

She’s seen Anetra from time to time at the skills nights, but always from afar. She was at the funeral since she talked to Jack a lot when he dropped Kerri off, though Sasha’s memories of that day are too numb to remember any interactions with her. She does remember the reception after; Kerri had slipped away, and Sasha found her sitting next to Anetra, neither of them saying a word. When Sasha asked her about it later, Kerri said that she was tired of grown-ups talking to her, and Anetra just let her be quiet.

“Hi,” Anetra says.

“Kerri won’t be behind or anything, will she? I know she missed some classes after—“

“She’ll be fine,” Anetra says in reassurance. “It’s nothing too intense at this age group. I’ll be here to help her if she needs it.”

“Thank you.”

“Of course.” Anetra smiles sadly. “I know I talked to you at the funeral, but I wanted to tell you again how sorry I am.”

“Thank you,” Sasha says on autopilot. She’s heard it so many times since it happened, but Anetra sounds like she means it.

“How are you doing? I—I don’t know if it’s okay for me to ask that, or if you’re sick of talking about it.”

“I don’t mind. People don’t really ask anymore, now that it’s been six months.”

In the days right after it happened, people treated her like glass about to break. They were so kind, so helpful, and there was so much to focus on, that she had no time to break. But when the food people brought got eaten, when the texts to check in on her stopped, when the responsibilities of a funeral were gone and there was suddenly so much time with nothing to fill it, the more Sasha felt like she was going to break. Like there was nothing holding her together anymore. But she’s kept it together for Kerri, and deals with what she needs to in therapy. She’s not going to bother anyone else with it.

Anetra nods.

“Most days are okay,” Sasha continues, because something about Anetra makes talking easy. “They’re okay, and then I start to feel guilty that they’re okay. Like it’s too fast. Like I shouldn’t be okay this soon. Sorry, I didn’t mean to tell you all that,” she adds, running a hand through her hair.

“I don’t mind. And I understand. I think it’s normal to feel guilty that you’re doing better. But it doesn’t mean it’s wrong.” Her low voice is warm and steady, and as much as Sasha has kept things in, it’s good to talk to someone like this, no therapist’s desk in between them.

Two students and their parents file in, and Sasha snaps out of it. She’s just here to bring Kerri, and turns back to the door. “Thank you. I—I’ll be back to get Kerri.”

“See you.” Anetra smiles, and it lightens Sasha’s heart in a way that nothing’s done in six months.

—-

Time flows strangely for the next week. The days themselves go on for years of blankness, but put together, they happen in the blink of an eye. Her therapist says it’s normal, and Sasha listens to her. Before she knows it, she’s back in the car taking Kerri to class.

This time, there’s a puppy howling in the backseat too. Kerri’s been asking for one for years, but Sasha and Jack wanted to wait until she was a little older. She turned six over the summer, and Sasha decided that was old enough. Besides, lately it’s hard for her to refuse anything that brings Kerri a little joy, makes her feel excited. Kerri’s child therapist thought it might be good for her too. Hence the hyper dachshund in her backseat.

“Can we bring him inside?” Kerri asks once they reach the studio.

“Just to the door.”

Kerri runs to the door with the dog running beside her.

“Hi, Kerri. Hi, Sasha.” Anetra greets at the entrance. “And who’s this little guy?”

“Kerri somehow convinced me to get a dog last weekend.” Sasha sighs.

“His name is Stitch!” Kerri says proudly.

“He’s so cute. Can I pet him?”

Sasha nods, and Anetra bends down to pet Stitch. He sniffs her hand, and then jumps up, licking her face and wagging his tail a hundred miles an hour.

“Sorry.” Sasha pulls him away before he can completely slobber all over her. “He really likes you.”

“It’s no problem.” Anetra laughs. “Want to go get ready, Kerri?”

“Okay!” She gives Stitch one last squeeze, hugs Sasha goodbye, and runs inside.

“How’s everything going?” Anetra asks. It doesn’t have the hushed tone or hint of pity the question usually has when people ask her. It’s more like Anetra is just asking, like she would for anyone else.

“Okay, I guess.” Sasha shrugs. “Nothing exciting, really. Just work and getting things settled with the dog. Lots of laundry, for some reason. You’d think Kerri wears five outfits a day. That’s probably more boring than you wanted to hear,” she says with a laugh.

Anetra laughs too. “I mean, I spent the weekend cleaning my apartment. That’s even more boring.”

“That is more boring,” Sasha agrees.

“Yeah, and then I used too much bleach in the bathroom and almost got high. But not even in a good way.”

Suddenly Sasha’s laughing until her shoulders shake, laughing in a way she hasn’t in a while. It feels normal, and it’s nice to feel normal. “Sorry,” she gets out through her laughs. “I don’t know why I’m laughing this much.”

“Because of me and my horrible cleaning skills, that’s why,” Anetra says, the moment only ending when more students trickle in.

“I’ll see you later.”

“See you.”

—-

After a few weeks of their chats before class, Anetra surprises Sasha with a chocolate chip cookie when she reaches the entrance.

“This is kind of contraband,” Anetra whispers. “They’re for the kids and parents after class but I wanted to give you one before they swarm the dish. Just don’t tell.”

Sasha grins. “My lips are sealed,” she says, taking a bite. “Thank you, this is amazing. I have a headache from helping Kerri with her math homework. Did you know math is different now? Because it’s different.” Sasha’s great with history, but Jack was always better at math, making sense of numbers that made Sasha’s head spin. She tries not to think about that every time she has to watch a tutorial to make sure she’s showing Kerri the right thing.

“I could barely do math when it was normal,” Anetra laughs.

“Me too.” Sasha rolls her eyes. “But otherwise she’s been doing well. I think this class has been good for her.”

“It was good for me too, when I was a kid. I was quiet then. Even quieter than I am now.” Anetra smiles faintly. “But it helped a lot. It didn’t make me into some extravert, but I made a few friends, got more confident in myself. I think it was an outlet for those things I didn’t know how to say.”

It’s the most Anetra’s said at once, especially about herself. She seems to understand Kerri in some way, and Sasha thinks back to the two of them after the funeral, quiet and calm, Anetra able to give Kerri the peace that none of the other well-meaning adults could.

“Thank you,” Sasha says. She means it for a million things at once. For being such a good teacher to Kerri. For reassuring her own worries. For helping Kerri that day at the funeral. It’s not enough for everything, but Anetra nods solemnly, almost like she knows.

“You’re welcome.”

—-

It’s a hard week, one where the loss is big and dark enough to devour her. It comes to her in small things. Things she never would have thought of. Looking down at the rice she’s stirring and thinking that it’s not enough for three people, before remembering that it’s only for two. Wondering why she hasn’t seen any boxers or dress shirts in the laundry lately. Stretching her arm out in bed, and hurting like it’s the first time when she meets empty space.

The wind whips around as Sasha follows Kerri through the studio door, her head turning to see—

A tall man with blond hair, a polite smile on his face.

Sasha freezes like a wind-up toy that broke mid-motion. “Um, hi,” she says. “I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Sasha,” she adds smoothly, covering her confusion.

He nods. “I’m Steve, Anetra’s teaching assistant. I’m doing the class myself tonight because she’s not feeling well.”

“Oh.” Her mothering instinct kicks in, and she absurdly wishes she could bring Anetra soup, the way she would for Kerri. Or Jack. “I hope she feels better,” Sasha says, ignoring the tightness in her throat.

Lately she has to think about what she’s feeling, what emotion is making a home in that numb block of her chest. She’s disappointed, she realizes. Disappointed that she didn’t get to see Anetra, exchange their few minutes of conversation that make her feel normal. The disappointment cuts deep in her chest, heavy against her ribs, and she blames the intensity of it on sleep deprivation. Kerri had a bad dream last night, and Sasha was up half the night with her, holding her while she cried and reading to her until she fell asleep again.

She’s just tired, and disappointed, and that’s probably why Anetra appears in her dream that night.

—-

“Do you feel better?” Sasha asks Anetra next week, before she’s even fully in the door.

Anetra looks normal—no flush of a fever, no sniffling nose. “Much better, thanks. I had a cold, which wasn’t that bad, but then I got a migraine, and that was”—she glances around to make sure there are no kids nearby—“really shitty. I hate missing class, but I thought my head was gonna explode.”

“It’s good that you took care of yourself,” Sasha says, feeling like a hypocrite because her therapist reminds her of that all the time, that taking care of Kerri doesn’t mean she can’t take care of herself too. “I mean, you can’t break boards and stuff with a migraine.”

“Do you think I just casually break boards all day?” Anetra teases with a wry smile.

“No,” Sasha says, her cheeks warm. “Well, maybe a little. It would be cool if you did, though, wouldn’t it?”

Anetra laughs, that deep laugh that makes Sasha feel calm every time she hears it. “Yeah, it would. I’d be like some action hero.”

Just then, a kid comes barreling through, bumping Sasha just enough that she stumbles. She pitches forward into firm arms.

“You okay?” Anetra asks softly. She quickly pulls her hands off Sasha’s hips, and Sasha misses the touch. It’s been so long.

“Yeah, I’m good. Forget the boards,” she says before she can stop herself, “I think you’re already an action hero.”

—–

Time passes, slow and fast. They’re at the part of the year Sasha was dreading the most, like a monster lurking behind you in a nightmare: the holidays. As weird as it is, the holidays help, in a way. She lets the calendar dictate what she needs to do, and functions in that same autopilot mode she was in right after the accident. November means turkey and pie with her friends like always, because she doesn’t talk to her family, and Jack was never close with his. December means cookies and wrapping presents and carrying Kerri to bed after she falls asleep watching Christmas movies on the couch. January means a night watching Golden Girls reruns instead of the ball dropping, because for the first time in ten years, there’s no one to ring it in with.

They just happen, and that’s about all Sasha can say for them. They happen, and some moments she’s really enjoying everything, and some moments it’s like she’s in the room but there’s a sheet over her, and everything is hazy and faraway.

It also means no taekwondo classes, with all the holidays and days off school. When Sasha finally brings Kerri back in January, it’s like returning to a long-forgotten place. Especially when Anetra smiles in the doorway.

“Did you have a good holiday?” Sasha asks after Kerri has scampered away.

“It was nice. I did stuff with my friends. I don’t…my family and I…we don’t really talk,” Anetra finishes. Her head is down, and Sasha has learned that means she doesn’t want to talk about something anymore.

“I understand. Um, do you want to see a picture of Stitch dressed like an elf?”

Anetra’s head lifts, her face brightening with her smile. “Is that even a question? Of course I do!”

Sasha pulls out her phone and shows Anetra the dog, dressed in a dark green coat with a matching belt and little elf boots with bells on the tops, a pointed hat on his head.

“He was fine with it at first, but when I put the hat on he got so mad,” Sasha laughs. “I got one picture before he ran around to get it off. Then he chewed it up.”

“In his defense, the hat makes him look very undignified.”

“He’s a dog who tries to eat garbage, he has no dignity.”

Anetra laughs. “Yeah, that’s fair. The boots are my favorite.”

“He really likes the boots. He still wears them. Figures my dog would be a shoe lover like me.”

Anetra is still laughing. She’s still laughing, and Sasha is laughing with her, and that tingling in her chest is—it’s happiness. It rises like a wave, almost knocking her over in its strength and purity. Happiness wild and free, shining on her face and burning in her arms and legs because her body doesn’t know how to contain such a feeling anymore, doesn’t have the space for it.

Did the happiness just burst in her naturally, or was it made easier by Anetra? Anetra, with her kind eyes and deep laugh and listening ear. Anetra, who talks to her like she’s normal and doesn’t treat her like some tragedy. Anetra, who makes Sasha feel warm and happy, who makes her heart melt in that way it used to around…

The happiness, like her heart, turns to ice.

—-

The thought churns in her for weeks.

She likes Anetra.

Her wedding ring squeezes her finger, weighs her hand down, like it’s mad at her for even thinking such a thing. She and Jack were married for eight years, and together for two before that. Ten years, and now, he’s been gone for eleven months, and she likes someone. It feels like a betrayal.

Everyone tells her that Jack would want her to move on and do things, like go out with her friends instead of always declining. He wouldn’t want her to suffer and be sad for the rest of her life. Logically, she knows it’s true. He always wanted her to be happy, and if it can’t be with him, he’d want it to be with whoever made her happy. But it still feels wrong. Just like each good day where she has fun with Kerri and isn’t hit with a wave of sadness feels wrong. Like she’s moving on too quickly. If just having a good day feels wrong, how could liking Anetra not feel wrong? In some ways, it’s even worse, like she’s just throwing away the years of love she and Jack shared.

She talks it over with her therapist, who tells her that liking someone is natural, that it isn’t a betrayal. Her therapist suggests getting coffee with Anetra as friends. She doesn’t even need to think of it as a date. It can be something with a friend. Something for herself, since it’s been so long that she’s done something for herself.

It’s easier to think of it that way. She’s just asking Anetra for coffee as friends. Then she doesn’t have to think of how she leaves as early as acceptably possible to bring Kerri to class, so she can have a few more minutes talking to her.

She strides to the door behind Kerri, loosening the tension in her shoulders. Just coffee, just as friends. Asking is nothing, really.

“Anetra?”

“Yeah?”

“Would you like to get coffee with me this Saturday?”

“I would love to.”

—-

Sasha’s leg bounces into the coffee shop table, rattling her mug. She’d spent hours getting ready, trying to find something between sweatpant-casual and date-dressy, and settled for jeans and a sweater. She purposely came early to get a table in the cafe’s loft, private and secluded.

She waves to Anetra when she arrives, who waves back with a smile. She gets her coffee and makes her way to the loft, and Sasha can’t help staring, because it’s so different to see her anywhere but the studio entrance, in head-to-toe black rather than her uniform. Sasha can’t stop taking in all the pieces of Anetra she’s discovering. The black leather jacket that curves around her shoulders like a hug. The tiny lesbian flag pin on its collar. The silver ring in the right side of her nose.

“Hi,” Sasha says.

“Hi,” Anetra says, shyer than normal, like she’s not as sure of herself outside the studio. “How are you?”

“I’m good, but I…I was wondering if I could hear about you, if that’s okay?” Sasha asks. “I feel like I talk a lot.”

“Um, sure.” Anetra sips her coffee, and Sasha’s pretty sure she’s blushing.

She tells Sasha of nights sneaking out of bed to stay up and beat another level on one of her video games. Weekends spent at taekwondo tournaments, trying to do homework on the ride there, clutching a new medal or trophy on the ride home. She won major tournaments and world championships, and Sasha figures most of the awards in the studio are hers, not just the studio’s. She’s been on her own for a while, and opened the studio when the years of competing took their toll on her body, but she didn’t want to leave it behind. She likes ducks, and goes on walks in a park farther from where she lives just because it has a duck pond.

Sasha talks too, and they trade stories until they finish their first mugs, get refills, and finish those too. It’s not until her fingers absent-mindedly twist her ring around, like she’s done millions of times, that she realizes she hasn’t thought about him at all today. Her eyes burn with that familiar sting, and Anetra’s face softens with concern.

“Are you okay? Did I do something wrong?”

“No,” Sasha says thickly, trying to get it out around the tears burning in her eyes. “You didn’t do anything wrong, I promise. This whole thing has been perfect. It’s been perfect, and I…” And I didn’t think about Jack once, she thinks, but she doesn’t say it, because she’s breaking in that way she thought she would in the beginning, but never did.

“Hey, I got you.”

There are arms around her, soft and warm and strong, and Sasha lets herself melt into them, the leather of Anetra’s jacket soft against her cheek. She hates that she’s doing it here, that she’s ruining the day, but it’s almost a relief. To not worry about holding herself together anymore. To fall apart in someone’s arms, let them take some of the burden she carries. To just let that glass break, let it shatter into a million pieces, and not worry about cleaning the pieces up.

The tears flow and her shoulders heave, and Anetra doesn’t let go until Sasha pulls away, wiping the last of her tears. She takes in a deep breath that feels lighter, like she’s shed everything she’s been carrying for almost a year.

“Do you want water, or anything?” Anetra asks, still hovering at her side, like she wants to help but isn’t sure how.

“I’m okay.” She really is, calmer and lighter and relaxed.

Anetra sits back down, her eyes so kind and warm it nearly takes Sasha’s breath again.

Sasha breathes slowly. There’s more she needs to tell Anetra, and she wants to tell her while she has the chance. “I like you. I really do. And I don’t want to mess this up, or lose you.”

“You didn’t mess anything up. You’re not gonna lose me.”

“I–-I like you as more than a friend, if I’m being honest,” Sasha says, and Anetra’s eyes widen. “But I don’t think I can do anything about it yet. I need to take things slow. And I don’t want to forget Jack.”

“I would never want you to forget him,” Anetra says seriously. She bites her lip, and looks at Sasha, nothing but warmth in her gaze. “Sasha, I’m your friend, and I care about you. I–I want to be there for you. Whether that’s as friends, or if you ever want it to be something more. I’m here for you, no matter what. You don’t have to do this alone, you know? I know you’re used to doing everything yourself, but I’m here.”

The words are a hug just like Anetra’s arms. To know that Anetra’s seen her at her lowest, and it didn’t change her opinion of her. To know Anetra sees what she’s carrying on her shoulders, and simply wants to stand beside her and share it.

“Tell me about him,” Anetra says suddenly. Sasha hesitates, but Anetra nods in encouragement.

“Well, he never closed a drawer all the way a day in his life. Drove me nuts.” Sasha smiles a little, to bring up one of his flaws, instead of the endless positives everyone always mentions. “I really like oranges, but I couldn’t peel them when I had my nails done, so he’d do it for me. He’d take Kerri shopping and let her pick out his ties for work. She’d pick ones with flamingos and butterflies and flowers, and he’d wear them. ”

She could keep going, but she stops. The memories are warm and golden, but the sun hitting Anetra’s face is warm and golden too. Maybe she can live in the memories a little less and in the present a little more today, without it meaning she’s throwing the memories away.

“Anetra?” Sasha asks.

“Yeah?”

“Will you take me to that park you mentioned? I want to see the ducks.”

“I would love to.”

—-

Two Years Later

The wind rustles Sasha’s hair gently. She stands by the duck pond in the park, watching the little yellow ducklings paddle after their mother.

“Faster, faster!” The silence is broken by Kerri’s laughs and shouts as she urges Anetra to give her a faster piggyback ride. Stitch begins yipping along, and Kerri leaps off Anetra’s back and takes Stitch’s leash from Sasha, running around the duck pond with him.

Sasha lays the blanket on the soft grass, then stretches out on top of it. Anetra settles in at her side. They don’t talk yet; they don’t need to. Sasha just sits, and looks at the sun lighting up the pond in a golden glow, and breathes. Everyday gets a little better, a little easier. It doesn’t take away what happened, what she lost. It doesn’t erase the memories, but it makes them hurt a little less, until she can think of them and smile, rather than cry.

“Everything okay?” Anetra asks softly, stroking her hair.

Sasha rests her head on Anetra’s shoulder. She breathes in the spring air, breathes in Anetra. She loves Anetra, and Kerri, and their dog who barks too early in the morning, and she knows it’s okay to feel it. “Everything is perfect.”

#rpdr fanfiction #s15 #sasha colby #anetra #anetra x sasha #kerri colby #lesbian au #hurt/comfort #mild angst #athena2 #tw death #concrit welcome

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specialagentlokitty · 2 years ago

Text

Martin Evershed x reader - someday

You were so happy when you were chosen to go and teach at Ackley bridge. Yes, you had heard horrible things about that school and it’s students, but you loved a challenge, and you knew the new acting headmaster as an old friend of yours.

Pulling your car into the parking space, you checked yourself over in the rear view mirror before stepping out, swinging your bag over your shoulder.

“That cars too fancy for a teachers wage miss!” A student yelled.

Turning around, you eyed up the boy and gave him a little smirk as you crossed your arms over your chest and walked over in his direction.

“Robbed it from some moron on London.”

“Woah really?!” He gasped.

“No!” You laughed, “I sold my old car and had some savings saved up so I could get a new one. Now, can you tell me where to find Mr Evershed?”

He shrugged and pointed behind you to the reception desk where a man and a woman were talking away as students entered the school.

Nodding your thanks to the student, you made your way over and walked into the building, giving it a quick once over before walking over to the desk.

“You need to retire, teachings making you go grey Martin.”

The man turned around and a wide smile spread across his face as he walked over and quickly gestured for you to follow him so you did.

You followed Martin to his office and he closed the door behind you both before quickly pulling you in for a hug.

“Why are you here? I thought you were at that prep school?” He asked.

He pulled away and you both sat down.

“Yeah I was but I wanted a change of pace, and the trust said this school was the only opening.”

“Ah they stuffed you here with us lot then?”

“Yeah you could say that.”

You guys spoke for a little while before he left you to get situated and you loved it.

You were the new music and arts teacher, and you loved working with the students. They were so different from the usual rule abiding students you were used to.

You loved every moment of it, even though it could be incredibly stressful at the best of the times, you still loved it.

A few months had slipped by and you were sitting in your classroom, humming to yourself as you looked over some papers of the music test you had given the year 8s earlier that day.

A knock on the door made you looked up and you smiled.

“You free?” Martin asked.

“Sure am, what can I do for you?”

He smiled and walked in, sitting down opposite you as he flicked through some of the pages you had already graded.

“You’re aware of the trust trying to sell our fields, right?” He asked.

“Yeah I am, but is there anything we can do about it? We can’t forcefully stop them.” You sighed.

“What if we convinced the parents to sign a petition?”

You hummed, setting your own down as you looked up, folding your arms over your chest and leaning back in your chair.

“It could, but you’d have to do it sooner rather then later before they find a buyer. I can create some leaflets and hand them out if it’ll help?”

He sighed and nodded his head.

“Please, it would be great. These kids just deserve so much more and selling the fields won’t do any good for them.”

“I know, but we can give it our best shot, right?”

He smiled and nodded his head and you picked up your pen again to carry on.

“You’re gonna be here all night trying to read that writing.” He chuckled.

“Good thing I’m not going anywhere then.” You laughed back.

He stood up and took the pen from your hand, setting it down he grabbed your jacket from one of the desks you had left it on and held it out.

“Come on, let me buy you something to eat at least, as a thank you for helping.”

“Only if we can make it a desert place, kinda liking the idea of cake.”

“Of course don’t worry i remember, you’d pick a cake over any five star restaurant any day.”

“What can I say, I’ve got a sweet tooth!”

You tossed your jacket in and followed him out, you both went home to drop your things off and he drove to yours to pick you up.

Martin took you to a small cafe and you walked in, taking a seat at one of the tables as you started looking through the menu.

“How’re you liking it here in Ackley anyway? I haven’t had much of a chance to ask you, I know it’s a huge change.”

“Yeah it is. It’s good though, the students are a handful but lovely in their own way. It’s a bit lonely though you know?”

“Markus didn’t move with you?”

You shook your head and set your menu down as you stared sadly out the window.

“No, he said he didn’t want to leave his job for some dead end town. Found out he was cheating a week later.”

“(Y/N) I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.” Martin spoke softly.

You shook your head.

“It’s fine, you weren’t to know. Glad I didn’t marry him.” You chuckled sadly.

“Well, for what it’s worth, I always thought you deserved more than him.”

“Thanks. What about you and your wife? I haven’t seen you with her since I got here.”

He sighed and explained they had divorced, and why and you nodded along.

“It can take a toll on your personal life, it’s hard to find that balance.”

“I know but this is why I got into teaching. To help students like Corey, Sam, Johnny, because they deserve it.”

“I know Martin, and it’s selfless of you, but you need to focus on you too you know.”

He laughed a little running his hand over his hair as he looked around before turning his attention back to you.

“I know, no I know. It’s just hard sometimes.”

“I get it, it is. But I know you’ll find someone who’ll accept that.”

You guys changed the topic to what had gone on in your lives since you had last worked with each other a few years ago.

The evening was fun and relaxing, something you had both needed for a while, him to destress and you to feel a little less lonely in the new town.

Over the next couple of weeks you and Martin would go to that same cafe almost every day, and as the week came to stop the sale of the fields you knew he was distraught about the lack of response.

“Maybe we can send out a reminder letter and email?” You offered.

“What’s the point? It’s not going to happen, no one’s going to listen to me, I’m the laughing stock of the whole school because of Marina’s little stunt.” He sighed.

Sitting down in front of his desk, you offered him an encouraging smile.

“Because the Marin Evershed I know would never walk away from a challenge to help students.”

“I don’t even know why I bother! They don’t care about what happens to them, they think this is all fun and games! I don’t see why I waste so much time and effort trying to help people who don’t want to be helped!” He snapped.

“Because you care, and there’s nothing wrong with caring Martin. They’re just kids, they act out and pretend they’re all tough and brave but half of them are scared and it’s the only way they can cover it.”

He scoffed a little and crossed his arms over his chest.

“Come on, why don’t we go get something to eat and we can talk about what to do about this meeting?” You offered.

“Right because it all just goes away that easily doesn’t it? Some of us don’t have that luxury (Y/N) because some of us actually have to put the work into our jobs.”

You rose a brow at him slightly taken aback at his harsh attitude towards you all of a sudden.

“You don’t think I put effort into my classes?”

“No (Y/N) that’s not…” he trailed off.

You stood up and grabbed your jacket and bag.

“I’ll have you know I put every ounce of thought and care I can into my classes Martin because music and art is the only escape some of this kids can get.”

“(Y/N) come on-“

He trailed off as you slammed his office door closed behind him and sat back down, burying his face in his hands and took a deep breath.

He had to apologise to you, but before he could get up and catch up there was a knock on his door and marina and her mum walked in.

He’d find you after his meeting with them.

You’d gone straight home, anger and sadness boiled through you blood at his comment.

Is that how he really saw you? How all the other teachers saw you? As just some lazy uncaring teacher who just half assed everything?

It hurt that anyone would ever think such things because you had a real passion about teaching and anyone who stopped to look could see that.

You had a few missed texts from Martin and a missed call but you didn’t answer them.

As the following morning came around you found yourself not wanting to confront him or anyone after yesterday, so you sent an email to Lorraine asking her to let the headteacher know you weren’t well and would be taking a few days off.

Around midday there was a knock on your door and you walked over it to answer it.

“Mr Hussain, what can I do for you?”

The sports teacher grinned a little and shrugged his shoulders as he looked around.

“Some students told me you weren’t in and they were worried innit. I was free so came to check up on you.”

“Well that’s very kind of you but I’m not feeling well so you should go.”

“You look fine! You not sick at all!”

You snapped your eyes to behind him where Mrs Pratcha was stood and Hussain grinned a little more at you.

“Sorry bro, she said you wouldn’t have let her in if you saw her first.”

“Right right come in both of you.”

You invited them in and made them both a drink before sitting down at the table with them.

“So why lie? Why say you ill if you’re not?” Mrs Pratcha asked.

“I suppose I’m just… wondering if I’m in the right line of work, having seconds thoughts.”

“You bloody brilliant teacher! You care! You work hard! You shouldn’t be doubting yourself.”

“Thank you Mrs Pratcha I know it’s just…” you sighed.

“You had an argument with Mr Evershed, now you’re doubting yourself right?” Hussain asked.

“You know?”

“Of course we bloody know every does!” Mrs Pratcha huffed.

You sighed and nodded your head, taking a sip from your cup.

“Look he’s just stressed innit, we all know you’re an awesome teacher, the students love you bro. You work harder then anyone, Mr Evershed is just under a lot of pressure innit.”

“I know, I know.” You sighed.

“So you come back, you teach your classes.”

You looked at Mrs Pratcha.

“I just want some time to think about it…”

She sighed and nodded her head.

“I understand innit, you stressed, worried. Running away is no answer.” She said.

You just nodded.

“You take time, rest then come back in few days got it? If not I pick you up in truant bus.” She scolded.

“Alright, alright.” You laughed.

Mrs Pratcha smiled, happy with that answer and nodded her head.

“You’re coming to this meeting tomorrow right bro? You helped with a lot of it.”

“I’ll think about it Hussain, thank you, you guys should get going before anyone notices you’re missing.”

They said their byes and you saw them out before closing the door and heading back over to the table, picking up the post you had hidden.

The trust finally had a better position they wanted you for, and you had to decide whether to stay at Ackley bridge of take the new job.

Sighing you set the letter down and decided to focus on setting up some tasks for the cover teacher while you were off.

As the evening came by, you heard a knock on your door.

Cautious, you walked over and looked through the peep hole and seeing who was on the other side you decided not to answer the door.

Marin sighed and looked at the flyer in his hands before he slipped it through the Mail box and left.

You waited a few seconds before picking it up, walking into the living room you sat down and unfolded it.

Inside was a little note neatly folded up and you opened it.

I’m really sorry, I hope you feel better soon, and if you’re up to it I hope you come tomorrow.

You set the note down and looked at the flyer, a small smile spreading on your face as you saw it was the one you had designed.

The following day, you showed and dressed, and as the time approached you walked you way to the school to pass the time.

Seeing all the cars parked around made you smiled and you made your way inside just as Martin started his speech.

You stood at the back, leaning against the wall as you looked at him, and as his eyes scanned the crowd at the end while Ken was talking they landed on you.

As the whole hall erupted in clapping and cheers he never took his eyes of you and he started to make his way over only for Ken to beat him to it.

“Nice to see you turned up, I suppose this was your idea as well?” He asked.

“Yup, because it’s wrong what you’re doing.”

“Look the trust aren’t going to hold this against you, they still want to offer you that position if you’re interested.”

You sighed and looked away, only to spot a few students nearby looking shocked.

“Miss you can’t!” One yelled.

Ken looked behind him.

“We’ll talk about this later.”

With that he left and you were bombarded with student and fellow teachers.

“What’s going on?” Martin asked.

“Miss (L/N)’s leaving sir!” Sam rushed out.

“What?”

“No I’m not leaving okay? I was just offered a job is all, I’ve not accepted.”

“Right all of you lot go, you don’t have to worry about this alright? Go have fun, celebrate!”

They seemed unsure but they all left and Martin walked over.

“How long have you known?” He asked.

“A few days…”

“And you didn’t think to say anything?”

You could hear the hurt in his voice and before you could reply he left and you sighed, going to get something to drink and a snack while you gave him some space.

You spoke to some parents, teachers and students before you followed the direction Martin had gone in.

“Martin I-“

You cut yourself off as you stared at the scene in front of you and you simply just turned around and backed away, deciding you had enough of the event and went home.

You were shocked, and slightly upset about what you had seen.

Not long after you arrived home there was a knock on the door and with a heavy sigh you walked over and answered it.

“What Martin? I’m busy.” You lied.

“You’ve just gotten home, you walked I saw you up ahead on my way over, can I come in?”

You shrugged and let him in and walked to the kitchen to start cooking yourself something to eat.

“What you saw, that wasn’t, I didn’t…”

“Relax Evershed, you’re a free man, you can do whatever you want, right? Just like I can. I’ve decided to take the job, I’m going to email the trust in the morning, I’m glad the speech went well though.”

“You can’t take the job (Y/N)! You hate prep schools!”

“Oh and you know me right?” You scoffed.

He sighed and ran a hand down his face.

“Yeah, yeah I do. I know you like music, you love it in fact you’re always listening to it, you like sunsets and the beach, you love sweet treats and tea and winter nights because you said you can see the stars for longer. You love helping people and you have a real passion for showing students what they’re capable off and teaching them how to create art and music without worry to escape everything, and when you’re not doing that you’re advising them on hard situations.”

He lifted his head to look at you while you just stared at the floor.

“(Y/N) what you saw in that hallway didn’t happen the way you think it did, okay? She tried to kiss me, I stop her, I put my hand in the way.”

You turned around to start preparing your meal.

“I don’t see why you’re telling me, or what any of this has to do with me taking this new job.”

“You can’t take it because… because I like you okay? I like you a lot, more then I probably should. Which is why I’m telling you this.”

He walked over, gently taking your wrist in his hand he turned you around to face him.

“I’m telling you this because I didn’t want to kiss her (Y/N), because all I could think about was you and how I was going to loose you over something stupid I said.”

You said nothing for a few minutes and he sigh, gently letting your arm fall back to your side.

“If you want to take the job then I support you, if that’s what you want to do.”

He started to walk away.

“I was only going to accept it out of pettiness…” you mumbled.

“What?”

“I didn’t actually want to take the job, I was going to out of spite and pettiness.”

He rose a brow and you rolled your eyes at him.

Walking over, you grabbed his tie and let the feel of the fabric run through your fingers as you pulled on it a little, pulling him down.

“I’m trying to say that I was just upset I thought you were interested in someone that wasn’t me and I couldn’t bare that. I’m trying to say I want to kiss you moron.”

He grinned and quickly let dow, placing both hands o the sides of your faces as he kissed you and you quickly responded, taking your hands from his tie to wrap them around his neck.

He smiled into the missed before pulling away for a second.

“God I’ve been wanting to do that for ages…” he whispered.

“Then don’t stop idiot.”

He grinned and leant down again, kissing you once more before you pulled away this time, resting your head on his chest.

“Sorry for avoiding you Martin.”

“No, I’m sorry for what I said, I shouldn’t have snapped it’s not your fault.”

You hummed a little and pulled away, patting his chest and walked out the room.

“You can make it up to me by making me dinner! I’m supposed to still be sick!” You called.

He laughed and rolled his eyes, a grin on his face as he started to cooking what you had began to make

#ackley bridge #Ackley bridge x reader #Ackley bridge x you #Ackley bridge imagine #martin evershed #martin evershed x reader #martin evershed x you #martin evershed imagine

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cto10121 · 2 years ago

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R&J Clown Takes Special Edition—TV Tropes Still Exists

Popped into that old swamp for an idle Inuyasha check-up and suddenly got the bright idea to check its R&J page and see whether it still kept up its clownery. A lot of the worst offenses has been mercifully cleaned-up, but there is still some really tasty clownery, meet for this blog. So hie ho, let’s go

~Obvious Aesop!!!!

Already this one paragraph contains so much clownery. Such fresh and succulent meat cannot be good for you, alas. But I shall bear it for ye, my readers.

1. High school teachers teach love story so wrong!!! So I can’t speak for every high school English teacher out there, but as I was in training for the shit, let me tell you: The schools do 90% gun hard for the “cautionary tale/R&J’s tragic flaw was their impulsivity” element, with an added “Who is really responsible/the true villain for R&J’s deaths!!!” Very juvenile, but schools have to school, which means coming up with an Aesop, no matter how ill-fitting.

2. Elizabethan audiences would have seen—!!! Now this is just plain bullshitting. What evidence we have the Elizabethan reception of R&J has been consistently that of a very popular tragedy—the Second Quarto was titled “The Most Excellent and Lamentable Tragedy.” In an elegy to the late Richard Burbage, who played Romeo and countless other Shakespearean lead roles, the author wrote this:

Poor Romeo never more shall tears beget

For Juliet’s love and cruel Capulet.

This is a very positive portrayal of Romeo, Juliet, and the play itself, with an added slight at the feuding families. It also suggests that Capulet’s forcing Juliet to marry Paris left a very big impression on the Elizabethans. Romeo was definitely not seen as a Lothario but as a tragic hero.

3. Most 17th/18th century playgoers universally disliked it!!! Samuel Pepys is the only one that comes to mind, but even then he said only that the play was “the worst that ever I heard in my life, and the worst acted that ever I saw these people do.” Not that the play itself was coarse and brutal.

I’m not sure of the others, but considering they were writing in the neo-classism-loving milieu of the 17th century, Shakespeare’s dramatic realism would have been abhorrent to their sensibilities. That does not mean that the play itself is coarse. Just the 17th century being 17th century.

For the last time, there was no such thing as romance as a genre in Shakespeare’s day. The main genres were comedies, tragedies, pastoral, histories. Shakespeare’s later plays were experiments in tragicomedy. The romance plays are more kin to fantasy/sci-fi. Rom-com style plots (commedia dell’arte) were very much a thing, but they didn’t constitute their own genre—they were all under the comedy umbrella.

R&J establishes itself as a tragedy from the word go and literally every scene would have been full of red flags to the Elizabethans—Juliet at 13 urged to consider marriage, the Prince’s doom, Tybalt’s rage, and even the Nurse’s comedy about toddler!Juliet inadvertently making a double entendre. They would not have been at all surprised, because the tragic outcome was both explicitly stated in the Chorus and was well-foreshadowed by Shakespeare.

“Characters mock the main characters—” As said before, there are none. Mercutio mocks Romeo’s infatuation with Rosaline; he does not know about Juliet. The Friar is frustrated, bewildered, and even angry, but he does not mock Romeo; he takes him seriously. Benvolio is genuinely concerned.

Chopped Logic

TV Tropes literally had the perfect answer in Rule of Symbolism, but alas, it just had to keep going.

No, Romeo’s choice of poison over a dagger doesn’t imply unmanliness in this context. Considering that he almost killed himself with his own dagger when he thought Juliet had rejected him and he killed Tybalt and Paris with swords, it can be argued that Romeo, ironically, is the most tied to the weapon save Tybalt. He is the one male character who wields it the most effectively, anyway, and the one character with the most kills in the play.

Occam’s Razor here, but for my part? It’s the erotic symbolism. Again, Shakespeare’s framing of the lovers’ suicide as romantic-erotic is part-and-parcel with the thematic concerns of the play overall.

I have a whole-ass tag dedicated to analyzing the play and why the play as a whole is not critical of Romeo and Juliet’s relationship. On the contrary, it develops and exploits their love connection shamelessly, even giving them the best and most powerful lines and a full arc from obedient teens to courageous if vulnerable tragic heroes.

Their tragic end doesn’t even come at any of their actions, but the most dangerous and significant force of them all: The literal plague. It wasn’t a case of a faulty mailing system. Shakespeare literally used THE PLAGUE, which had ravished London for the better part of two years, as a plot point to doom the lovers. Shakespeare was not fucking around. He went so damn hard we’re still talking about it 400 years later.

As for the relationship moving absurdly fast, we literally have 2/3rds of all Shakespearean couples marrying at the end of their plays. Plays are not novels; all events must be condensed into the two and a half hours of their story. Hence the popularity of instalove as a trope and quick courtships.

Ooh, about time these antis weaponized the Pyramus and Thisbe show in AMND against R&J. Unfortunately for them, I’ve been expecting this.

So the Pyramus and Thisbe show in Midsummer is brilliant in that the bulk of the comedy lies not in making fun of the story, but in making fun of amateur writing and acting—as in, the execution. It is riddled with all the hallmarks of bad writing and acting at all levels:

The players getting worried that the ladies would take the Lion as a real one and be frightened, so they write a fourth wall breaking speech for the actor

Creating whole-ass characters for The Wall and Moonshine to denote the literal wall and moon…when they could literally just say, “There’s a wall” or “It is night.”

The actors constantly forgetting their lines and not obeying punctuation and proper line reading

Just bad writing overall (“I see a voice!”)

Of course, Shakespeare was also flexing his skills at turning a tragedy into a comedy and (eventually) vice versa. But given that he would go on to write similar couples who fall in love immediately or very quickly (the love quartet in Love’s Labor’s Lost, Rosalind and Orlando, Fernando and Miranda, etc.) without satire, he most likely didn’t think the trope was inherently comic…or that his own carefully considered and very popular play of the same theme was crappy.

Also, consider Midsummer was written around the same time as R&J, to the point where academics like to call them sister plays.

R&J just never got a chance to fall in love properly, guys. 😔 Their love was doomed only to remain stagnant at the shallow teen lust level 🥺 So tragic, so sad.

So falling in love /= courtship/dating. R&J never had a fulsome courtship for obvious reasons and are denied a chance to, but it’s undeniable that in the narrative they did fall in love. After the initial attraction of the Courtship Sonnet, they even managed to woo at the balcony scene. Their love is well established, so much so that more courtship would honestly been superfluous.

Shakespeare could have followed his source, Brooke’s poem, and the longer courtship there (three months, I think). But there Romeus and Juliet’s relationship is even less convincing than R&J’s. Dudes just fucked around for three months doing da sexy times!!! It reads, pretty much, that Romeus and Juliet only got married for the sex, which is not too far off given Brooke’s explicit agenda.

Meanwhile Shakespeare!R&J talk, woo, and decide to get married and…actually do it. And then consummate their marriage properly. Huh. Almost as if…they really are serious about each other and don’t just want fun sexy times.

Here Come Our Philosophers

*studio audience groan* Not this shit again. This is one of those quotes that sounds profound but are really just absurd.

Suffice to say that R&J has a…very ambivalent reception among modern teens. In fact, I’d wager that most teenagers dislike/don’t care for R&J more than they do. I can assure you that it’s a particularly hard sell in YA unless changed to fit the tropes. Modern teens and even older ones, it turns out, don’t like unhappy endings to their ships.

Because while the play is sympathetic to the youths and their perspective…it’s a very adult kind of sympathy. And, in the end, understanding. Had it really taken a youthful perspective, R&J would just be another boring, trite power fantasy of super special teens who beat the odds—only instead of Chosen One shenanigans it’s you and your lover triumphing over your lameass parents and living happily ever after.

No teen (and adults too—it’s a human quality) truly believes their relationship will not last. Logically, they may acknowledge the possibility, but in the heat of it all, no. Shakespeare, though, does not indulge either teen or adult fantasies. He, frankly, didn’t give a fuck. He is a poet of nature—he writes how humans actually act, not how we think we should act.

I have already addressed why I don’t think this particular legend is true, but I’ll deal with it here too.

Suffice to say, Mercutio was a character in Brooke’s poem, though a courtier and suitor to Juliet. Shakespeare changed him into Romeo’s friend and foil, which means that he almost certainly planned to kill him off.

Shakespeare’s Tybalt is a belligerent character, but one who takes honor and dueling seriously, so he would have never attacked Romeo when the latter refused him as Brooke’s Tybalt did in the poem. Thus, a sacrifice needed to be made, some very good reason as to why Romeo would consent to fight Tybalt. And since Benvolio is as close to a pacifist as this play gets, that role falls to Mercutio. This legend is definitely 17th century fanon.

Only Sane Man I get, but…Deadpan Snarker? What? The only thing close to snark that Benvolio gets (in my memory, anyway) is “She will indite him to some supper,” mocking the Nurse’s malapropisms. Definitely not deadpan. Romeo trolls more (“One that God hath made, himself to mar”; A gentleman who speaks more in a minute than he would stand to in a month”) than Benvolio, especially with regards to Mercutio. Weird.

#romeo and juliet #rj clownery #r&j clown takes #rj clown takes #tv tropes #it’s still a swamp but a more organized one thankfully

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