#i mean the google doc is titled 'it's a whole sucking thing' so this one is kind of on me | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

couchpotatoaniki · 4 years

Text

Idol!ATEEZ: Their s/o secretly writes fanfics pt.2

A/N: This was a request from someone who wanted to read their reactions to dirty fanfics *wiggles brows* but cba coming up with more backstories, so this’ll be a continuation of the first reaction

Tag list: @lovelyrose014-blog sorry this took so long :((

WARNINGS: swearing, mature content, heavily suggestive

Part One

Kim Hongjoong:

Hongjoong made no effort to hide that he read your stories. It was as he promised; the first time he read them was not the last.

He’d been filling up his rare breaks with your works, powerful words contrasting your timid nature and no matter how many times he indulged himself in your crazy mind, Hongjoong never ceased to be amazed.

You had more sides to you than he ever could imagined.

Although, there was one thing he put off for quite some time now, and that would be reading your more popular fanfics. The fan favourites. After all, being the leader, he should know what his fans like, and as your boyfriend he should know what you crave.

Hongjoong was a smart guy despite the goofy act he put on--very similar to your intelligence and geeky-yet-quiet nature. He knew that you wanted to keep him away from the dark side of your account, not wanting to scare him away (which he would never let happen). Hence why he hadn’t gone on it since he wanted to respect your wishes to some extent.

Until now.

Hongjoong swears it was curiosity, nothing more, but deep down he knew. He still needed to see that side of you, the side you deem acceptable for a whole world of strangers to see but not him.

Drove him mad.

But he was still in denial as he chanted in his head that this was only for research purposes. Bullshit.

Late at night, when pretty much everyone had gone home and he still had some work left to do, Hongjoong decided to take a well-deserved break, lying on his sofa as he scrolled through his phone.

He was doing what he had planned--he was finally doing it and nothing made the adrenaline rush faster through his veins. He clicked on the one which had the most reads, the one that was the most popular among anything you wrote, and from the title, it appeared innocent enough.

Maybe this wasn’t the one...

Then again, you were adamant that he never read it.

“Never hurt to try...” Hongjoong mumbled, despite being the only one in the sound-proof room. He clicked on it, anticipation making him restless.

Long chapter, as usual, and everything started out fine enough. No sign of anything, nothing suggestive at all.

What was the big deal about?

The next few chapters were of a similar feel. Sweet, gentle, fluffy. But he couldn’t put his phone down, something about this story had him...unsettled. It was nothing like your usually ones--with sadistic characters and an intricate plotline.

No. This had him slightly confused. It felt too kind.

Then he carried on. And then he realised.

That was exactly your intention.

The filter you had put over the first few chapters was slowly startling to peel away, into something more twisted.

Hongjoong buzzed off this, knowing exactly that the earlier chapters were a trap, a false sense of security. How you managed to poison every reader slowly, like your words were mercury.

By the time he got to the first smut chapter in the series, he was already consumed, work forgotten . Every word felt like it sucked out a part of his soul, and the heavy themes in the scenes had him in an uncomfortable situation of rather tight jeans.

Right now, all Hongjoong wanted was you. He needed you. To do all those things you wrote, to be there with him and feel the things he was feeling.

Luckily, you were always awake at this time of night.

Just a phone call away.

Park Seonghwa:

Although he loved your shower time, there was one habit that Seonghwa didn’t like and that was you leaving your notebooks everywhere. It made his daily cleaning harder than it should’ve been.

Never did he look through them, caring too much about not invading your privacy (save for a few months ago where he accidently found out about your fanfic account on AO3). But today was a stressful day already.

All he wanted right now was to lie down with you and watch some cheesy romcoms, accompanied by some snacks. Hongjoong, ever the perfectionist, was under more stress than usual and that meant all the other members were too.

Seonghwa was the nurturing mother, and even he felt like he lacked the energy to be as such with the way things were going right now--a comeback just around the corner.

So, yes, the tall boy was quite peeved today. He needed his charger. He needed you. But you were taking your damn time in the shower and he had to pick up all your damn notebooks from the most random places.

What even was it about these notebooks that you had to buy--or try to buy--a new one every time you entered a shop? Seonghwa never understood your love for them as he had only linked the devilish little thing to his work, where Hongjoong would be composing or writing lyrics.

The last thing he needed right now was something to remind him of his job.

The stress continued to build as this argumentative thoughts accumulated in his head, causing him to drop the hardback in his hands. “Fuck’s sake,” he growled, too pissed off at the moment to notice that your book had oh-so-conveniently opened up.

When he did, however, his fiery anger cooled down at the page, which had a few words on it. Luckily for him, your handwriting was fairly neat (unlike your normal habits) so he could read your little notes.

Phrases, sentences, ideas, the plot line in general, that’s what he got from a first glance. Maybe he could have a peek, seeing as though he was exerting a lot of energy recently.

The words, the plot, everything on that page was something he did not expect. It was smut.

Surely his innocent sweetheart wouldn’t be writing those, right? He gave you the benefit of the doubt when he found out about your fanfics. But you were a sweet girl, and he had always thought you mind was as pure as your heart was.

Then again, no one’s heart is truly pure, and it wasn’t the first time you had been tainted by him.

His eyes scanned your words, finding that it was somewhat vanilla and gentle.

A sigh escaped past his lips when he found that you were still his soft-hearted princess.

Then he noticed it was an old entry. Flicked through the pages and saw that the smut scenes progressively got more frequent and dabbled a little more in the dark side of things.

His heart plummeted. Not just because your innocence was slowly peeling away, but because he too found himself getting a little interested by it. Especially one of the last entries of that notebook, where he found himself blushing hard enough to turn his normal skin to resemble that of rubies.

Yet, he couldn’t stop.

That was until he heard your voice yelling, "Seonghwa!"

Eyes like those caught in headlights, his large hands shut the book with lightning speed. But you had already caught him snooping.

"What are you doing with my notebooks?" You cheeks a dusty rouge from both the hot water and embarrassment, you snatched away the book from his hands.

"N-Nothing! It fell and opened up and I just..." He sighed, afraid that he'd already broken your trust. "I'm really sorry..."

Exhaling softly when you saw Seonghwa looking like some sort of scolded puppy, you reached on your tiptoes to ruffle his hair. Calms him down a little.

“What,” you cleared your throat to rid your voice of fear, “what did you read?”

Now how was he going to play this? Was he going to lie and say it was only one page, or would he say that he had a peruse through the whole thing? As you had caught him already, it would not be a bad idea to tell the truth. “Um...bits and bobs. Just skipped through, really. I’m sorry.”

Smiling softly, albeit a little awkwardly, you patted his shoulder comfortingly. “It’s fine, I just... didn’t... expect you to... find out this way.”

He chuckled nervously. “Well, I’ve know for about two weeks now, about your... writing.”

“What?!”

Jeong Yunho:

One problem that you have, is that now Yunho knew you wrote fanfics, you became sloppy with hiding it. Not like there was a real need to because--as mentioned--he knew about it. How you loved to write thrillers and suspense and all there strange wacky things you’d find on a documentary about dangerous people.

Though that didn’t mean you never wrote other things as well.

Your works were obviously for a certain age and above (not like the warnings you put matter because the underage ones read it anyway), so writing the occasional smut was normal for you.

In fact, you were comfortable with it. Your personal experience with Yunho, combined with the ones you read online, all fuelled your creativity. Unfortunately, now that you became more open, Yunho had more opportunities to read what you wrote.

Not like it mattered much, you thought, because the words in your google docs were pretty much ineligible from the phrases only you could decode.

Sadly, when it came to smuts (what you wanted in them and what you didn’t), there wasn’t really a way to hide what you were talking about.

So when your tall and rather innocent boyfriend took a sneak peak at your latest entry, he was smacked in the face with the bullet points on there:

Fake dating AU

Cunnilingus

Blindfolds

Size kink

Hand kink

Sir kink

Power play

Complacent sub

(Because for some goddamn reason, every Yunho smut I’ve seen had either a hand kink or size kink...not that I’m complaining tho--)

Was this the stuff you were into? Because he certainly never never knew it. Your sex life with him had been somewhat vanilla due to the fact it only recently started and both of you were still a little too shy to branch out and dabble in other things yet.

His only thoughts until he next saw you were about this. If you were channelling your frustrations into your writing, then he could help you, right? After all, he wasn’t against trying this stuff out. It was a learning experience he was willing to go through. For you.

So when you came back from work, he sat you down on the bed, very nervous with his large hands engulfing your own. Concern would be a drastic understatement.

“Y/N?” You hummed in reply, now thoroughly scared. “I just wanted to let you know... that I’m not afraid of...expanding our experiences and neither should you be.”

Your heart dropped into the abyss of your stomach. “Y-Yunho, are you breaking up with me?”

“Wait, what?” The confusion of this situation seemed rather familiar. “No, that’s not what I’m saying. I just...” he bit his lip, still quite shy. He really didn’t know how to say this outright.

So he showed you instead.

As your eyes fell on the document of your plan for the next smut scene you had to write, your face dropped. Horror was evident in every part of your expression and he could see that.

“Yunho, I--”

“Look, there’s nothing wrong with you wanting to try some of this,” he said, before bashfully looking out the same window you had when you had been discovered. “Besides... I wouldn’t object.”

Now that the both of your faces were redder than roses, the air had become slightly more...still and heavy.

“Listen, Yunho, just so you know, I don’t often write my own preferences. But I suppose trying new things is a bad idea...”

Kang Yeosang:

Almost a year had passed since your boyfriend had found out about your writing (through your clumsy cousin, no less) and you were careful as to what you showed him.

He often helped you through tough times like writer’s block, and understood your strange little habits. Even threw you an idea once in while whenever you were struggling to think of something or even took you out--restaurants, landmarks, whatever would help.

Yeosang was looking after you.

But now? Now, he pampered you.

That had you lowering your guard. He was being so kind, so why not let him read more?

Here’s ‘why not’:

Because he kept pushing his limits. Yeosang and you never had done anything, despite the fact that both of you were living together--by your request, since you had been in quite a few bad relationships where sex was a major factor. So, for the past two years, Yeosang had been alone in his endeavours.

All his intention was to find out what you were into. That was it, he swears. Thought it might at least curb the growing need to have you begging under him--or above him--just have a small glimpse as to what was in store. Maybe even have them as company when he really needed you.

Mission Impossible, is what this felt like, buttering you up, making you feel safe and comfortable (this came naturally since he always wanted you to feel this way with him, horny or not). You were like a fortress, always giving him more but not the stuff that he needed.

So he tried the same tactic he used to get you confess.

Truth or Dare (alone, obviously).

“Seriously? Last time we did it like this, you found out my rather embarrassing secret.”

“Just answer,” he pushed, watching you carefully as you climbed into bed next to him.

“Okay... truth,” you mumbled as you buried your body between his arm and chest.

“How about ‘dare’ this time?”

Your lips released a tired chuckled. “That’s not how this works, Yeosang...” But after a long few minutes of silence, you caved into his request. “Okay, fine. Dare,” you grumbled after saying something along the lines of, “if you wanted me to do something, then just ask.”

His lips brushed against the lobe of your ear, sending electric shocks down your spine. “I dare you to send me one of your smut fics.”

‘Surprised’ wasn’t really the word you would use to describe the immense shock that hit you like a train. “No.”

“Can’t go back on a dare.”

“But that’s even more embarrassing than having you read my normal fanfics...”

“No, it isn’t. Not to me, at least.”

“Yeosang,” you whined but as it became more and more clear that he would not give up as time passed on, you caved once more. Hesitant, you pulled out your phone to scroll through your works. What was the best one to send to him, you had no idea. “Can I at least ask why?”

“Because I want to get to know you more. All of you...” That one sentence had you more excited than you’d be willing to admit.

After all, it wasn’t just Yeosang who felt alone at nights (and sometimes days) for the past two years. Arguably, it was harder for you since you used to be very...active. Hence why you had such a selection to choose from right now--it was your outlet.

Perhaps it would be best to let him see the one that had you more bothered than anything after writing it--since he wanted to get to know that side of you as well.

Finally making a decision, you handed over your phone with bated breath. What would he think? Would he be weirded out? Would he not be into any of it?

For the boy, however, it was a completely different story; he was too into it. The more he read on, the worse his boner got until he looked physically uncomfortable.

Immediately seeing the discomfort on his face, it was as if your worries became reality. Hand reached out to snatch the phone from his hand but his reflexes were much quicker than yours, pulling the slab away as he kept on reading.

By the time he finished, his breathing was heavy and ragged.

This, sadly, had only made his situation worse. Only purpose this served was to make him crave you even more. Certainly didn’t help to have you leaning over him, soft, bra-less chest beneath thin, stretchy cotton of your shirt against his bare arm, trying to see if he was alright. Definitely had you concerned seeing his pained self.

“Are you okay?”

“Not really,” he humourlessly chuckled, “didn’t know it would affect me as much as it had...”

For some reason, you leaned further down and kissed him. Whether it was because of seeing his hooded eyes or feeling the tension in his muscles as he restrained himself against your body, you didn’t care. Relief was the first thing you felt, knowing that he was just as frustrated as you when you wrote it.

No, he was worse. You could tell by the feverish movement of his mouth against yours. You could tell by the harsh grip he had on your waist. You could tell by the stiffness poking your thigh.

Yeosang pulled away with as much willpower as he could muster, while your lips chased after his. “N-No, we can’t, remember?”

Huffing, you were thoroughly pissed off at the promise you made two years ago with him when you first started out dating. “Yeosang, look at me.”

His gaze was even more reluctant, knowing very well that it would be much more difficult to have the eyes he loved so much staring back at him with as much lust as he had clouding them. But he listened.

“That promise was there so I could get to know you and see if I want to commit to this relationship, long-term, and we’ve had two years to think it--which is long enough for me.” Each hand cupped his cheeks, pulling him closer for a peck since you couldn’t handle being that touch starved anymore. “So, screw me.”

Yeosang didn’t need to be told twice.

Choi San:

It had been a little over a month and San had still not dropped his admiration. Didn’t look as if that was going to change anytime soon either, especially with one of your recent updates.

Your current story had a lot of pent up sexual tension and all your readers (your boyfriend being no exception) were at the point of begging in the notes of each update.

Finally, you decided to take mercy on all the poor folks and finally write that one scene which had them crying with gratefulness at the end.

As it was a long-awaited scene, it had to live up to high expectations. While you could do the most tooth-rotting fluff ever, that wasn’t your style. This scene needed to fit the vibe of your series so the whole bit flowed nicely.

The problem was, everything you wrote was ‘too much’. Too much fluff. Too much kink. Too much basicness. Too much weirdness. Too much awkwardness. Too much cringiness.

Unfortunately, this put you in a bit of a pickle and you were close to losing your damn mind. On the other hand, San--the caring lover he was--had noticed. Wanted to do something nice for you, not just because he could clearly tell it was a bad case of writer’s block and he wanted to you to write more things he could read, but because it hurt him a little inside to see you this frustrated.

Requested a day of, which he got considering how hard he had been working, an spent that day as your personal servant. First up was breakfast in bed--fried egg (sunny side up), beans, buttered toast, hash browns and a tall glass of cold, hand-squeezed orange juice. Not to mention a shirtless San in plaid cotton pants, the only coverage his torso receiving was the pink apron he had on.

Kissed you on the forehead and told you to take your time, then get ready or a day out while he made lunch.

The next two meals went by in a similar fashion, where he had put so much love and care for everything to be perfect for you. Your favourite sandwich and a fruit salad, water and a chocolate chip cookie before a walk in the park where you both fed the ducks in one of the nearby lakes.

Later was dinner--arguably the best one out of them all. Steak with roast potatoes, and steamed vegetables (much to San’s dislike, but he withstood it for you). The day’s activity had you more than tired, cheeks aching slightly from smiling too much. Then again, you didn’t even notice because all you could think about was how lucky you were to land yourself such an amazing boyfriend.

Even after dinner, he continued to treat you like the royalty you were in his eyes. Offered a nice massage to relieve the past week’s tension all pent up in your poor muscles. It was innocent enough...

Until it wasn’t any more.

Despite the cloths thrown about everywhere on the bed, neither of you had motioned to clean up and San had instead opted to run you a bubble bath. Scented candles and all. It was more relaxing than you had imagined it to be, and by the time your face rested on San’s now-clothed torso--both of you wrapped snuggly up--you fell asleep.

The man loved the sight, and for once, he actually enjoyed running after you, making sure your every need was fulfilled whether you expressed it or not.

Because throughout the day, you were the happiest he had seen in a while, and all his efforts let up to this sight: you cuddled up close with that beautiful, enchanting smile faintly on your plush lips that he had so gently attacked not two hours ago.

He found himself loving you even more; a pleasant surprise as he had thought his cup was close to overflowing.

Two days later, he found himself falling even deeper when you had finally posted your latest chapter. San found himself grinning by the end of it--a little turned on, but more happy than anything.

Because San’s magic had worked. Cured your painful writer’s block since the words simply flowed as you typed the scene that had been causing you hell.

And whole chapter was awfully similar to that special day when San decided to take care of you.

Just tweaked a little so it would be more smut than it was fluff, adding just the right amount of sweetness that allowed your story to continue to flow perfectly.

Which was why San had been more joyous than usual the past week.

You were a perceptive person so you caught the change in his usual demeanour rather quickly. The source of it, however, was beyond you (he was good at hiding his knowledge of your secret). Any reason you tried to pin down on him was a little off.

Stress? No, he was too happy for that. Upcoming event? None that you knew of, and he shared everything of importance with you. Feeling happy just because? San was the more emotional out of the two of you and none of his moods lasted this long.

So what was it?

It was frustrating to say the least, but your boyfriend wasn’t letting it out. And you don’t think he ever will.

“Oh well,” you mumble, “can’t be that bad if he’s so happy...”

Song Mingi:

The boys had made a pact when they began to read your stories: no reading smuts with the group. This was fairly easy since they would normally be oneshots and you generally weren’t one to write them often into your series. On the odd occasion you did, you often put up a warning and explained straight after if there were any important bits.

All in all, very easy to avoid.

Mingi was a gigantic baby, and with babies, comes curiosity. A sense of need to know what’s happening. An insatiable thirst for knowledge and experience. Suppose what is trying to be said here is, is that Mingi wanted to read the explicit stuff you wrote.

What went on inside that wonderous brain of yours, he wanted to find out. But he couldn’t do that with the boys, nor did he want to. No chance in hell he was gonna be caught with an awkward boner.

Never would he live that one down.

So his plan commenced at night, when everyone in the dorms were fast asleep, he opened up his phone.

Now would normally come the dilemma of what to read, but Mingi is not that patient; as mentioned before, he is a giant baby. The first post he found that fit his criteria was the one that he read. Coincidently, that was result of your ‘experimental’ ones.

Using metallic things wasn’t something you had tried yet with Mingi, but you though you’d take it for a test run through your work to at least see it clearly how it would run if something like that was to happen. Sometimes, you found, it’s makes more sense to write it out rather to keep in your head.

On the other hand, Mingi didn’t really know that your writings stemmed from mild curiosity rather than what your really into (not that you would particularly mind trying some of it out). In his head, this was what you wanted to do.

He’d be lying if he said that the idea wasn’t much of a turn on, and the time he spent trying not to make a sound loud enough to wake up the other members would prove that. To him, this is was your wish and he would gladly comply to it.

The next day, he decided to run along with the theme, but to also add in a few twists of his own. You often liked that, both in and out of the bedroom.

Went out to buy some new rings for you, larger ones decorated with pretty gems for his pretty baby (even though he was one himself). Handcuffs, too, were ordered online, and a silver-chain choker--he made sure to double check it was safe to use. Next up was a little metal ball--he got this idea from the pokey challenge and something called the ‘passion fruit kiss’ on snapchat. Either way, he was excited to try it.

Babies like Mingi, as mentioned, have little patience and so he wanted to try it out as soon as possible, so the moment everything came, he quickly sterilised everything and waited for you to come home.

Made sure each metal piece was cold to the touch by keeping it in the fridge, and had a rolled up black silk tie stuffed in his pocket to act as a makeshift blindfold.

Sensory deprivation was the ‘twist’ he wanted to put on, since you both had tried something similar before with ice cubes and that went quite well...until it became too cold for Mingi’s mouth and that plan had to be scrapped sooner--hence fridge, for a little bit of coldness.

When you finally arrived, he looked like an excited puppy, and you had no idea why. Until he spun you around and tied a soft cloth over your eyes. “Mingi, I’m really tired and I just--”

“Shhhhh,” Mingi lulled right next to your ear, warm breath fanning over the nape of your neck which felt more sensitive than usual, “trust me?”

Sigh escaping past your lips, because yes, of course you trusted him. And now that you felt slightly more awake from his action, maybe you were willing to hear him out. ”Baby, what are you doing?”

Chuckling that followed your question was deeper than normal. Had it always been like that or was it your mind playing tricks on you? Either way, he didn’t answer and all you had heard was the fridge opening.

“Seriously, baby, what are you doing?” Now you were just nervous, all intentions of a lazy evening down the drain as your heart sped up.

It closed, and shortly after your lips were met with his, a faint taste of strawberry attached to them. Then something smooth and cold slipped past from him to you.

The metal ball was passed between the two of you in a playful game of which only your boyfriend knew the rules of.

When he could tell your guard was down and now you became a little more comfortable, Mingi slowly took your hands behind your back.

You had not paid attention, but you should have. Cold, tight restraints pressed against your skin, shockwaves making you gasp from the low temperature. But Mingi kept on going, kissing you to ease your tension.

Two metal things, so there must be a third, right? You knew about people’s strange obsession with threes so you completely expected another cold metal object to come into play. But the question was, what?

You soon found out when a thick chain choker brushed against your neck, clasping around it snuggly. This was it. This was the third and final one. And your suspicions seemed correct when you had not felt another chilly accessory grace your skin.

You wouldn’t have, not when the coldest of all the items--the rings--were being slipped onto your boyfriend’s fingers. You were in for a surprise in just a few moment.

Needless to say, there was only one thought swirling around in your head.

Maybe he isn’t that much of a baby.

Jung Wooyoung:

Ever since Wooyoung found out your fanfics were not about him, but his favourite K-Pop band, BTS, he had been...difficult. Moping around, trying to play for your attention a lot more than normal, not letting you have some peace of quiet with your computer.

It was almost as if he was jealous. You knew how needy the boy could be, wanting skinship with you more than he did with San. Knowing that you were fawning over men that weren’t him had certainly done something to him.

But Wooyoung knew you were no-nonsense. The complete opposite of him. It was exactly why he fell for you, and it was exactly why he wasn’t being as petty as he wanted at the moment.

He knew deep down you were his and he was yours.

Then again, that still didn’t stop him from feeling jealous, and had even gone so far as to decrease the amount he listened to BTS’ songs--especially around you.

At first, you didn’t notice the change since Wooyoung was often spontaneous so his behavioural pattern was difficult to decipher. Eventually there came a point where the clinginess increased so much, you couldn’t feign ignorance anymore.

Looking back, maybe you should not have burst his bubble and let him think that your fanfics were about him... Actually, no; either way, the moment he found out about your hobby, it was going to be hell. But now you just feel bad.

Yet, you don’t feel bad enough to stop. You never actually fantasised about being with them--it was just fun to write about. Clearly, he didn’t understand.

Your boyfriend seemed to be at his tipping point when he came back to you after a long day of dance practices that went sideways, typing away intently on your computer.

This was his time. You usually spend time with Wooyoung when he came back, but you were too busy to comfort him in his desperate time of need. Too busy with fantasising about Taehyung’s large hands or Namjoon’s dimpled smile.

Wooyoung was as cute as Hoseok and Jungkook. He had a unique laugh like Seokjin and was as flirty as Jimin.

He had all your favourite qualities in a partner so why spend time thinking about other men? He was literally right there, begging for your attention and yet, now it seemed as if you gave him none (which wasn’t true since the only thing you’ve done is become less secretive about writing).

When his attempts at distracting you from writing had fail, he tried to see what exactly it was you were writing about. Unfortunately, you had tried to hid it from his sight; the only thing that helped in doing was pissing him off even further.

Only after a tough struggle did he finally see what you had been so focused on that you had neglected him.

It was more BTS fanfic, but this one was worse. This one had him fuming--skin hot red and ears pooling out steam. This one was smut.

It was about no other than Yoongi, and by God, was it a rough.

That was how you liked it, and so did Wooyoung. Probably why he was so angry while reading about mirror sex with one of his fellow idols; you were just twiddling your thumbs in the corner, not sure about how badly your boyfriend was going to burst.

Wooyoung, no matter how mad he was, he had to admit... it did turn him on. Although, he was a prideful boy--not liking how you thought about others and more importantly, how threatened he felt while reading it.

Suddenly realising that it wasn’t enough just being all the perfect parts you liked (even if it came naturally to him).

He had a point to prove; Wooyoung could go beyond your wildest fantasies--and boy was it a wild fantasy.

Throwing your phone haphazardly somewhere (making you wince in prayer that it was not broken), your boyfriend gripped you by the wrist and dragged you across the room. You had barely enough time to realise what he was doing, only feeling a cold surface against your back as his lips ravished yours.

At some point, he broke away--lips swollen and slightly more red than normal. To say the sight had not affected you more than you already were would be a lie.

Still not giving you enough time to speak, Wooyoung turned you around so you could finally see what he had you pressed against.

A mirror.

If an idea of what he was planning hadn’t dawned on you, having his fingers tug at your clothes certainly gave you one now. His free hand had clasped around your jaw, making you look right into your reflection, seeing how your boyfriend’s lips were dangerously close to your ears as he looked at you dead in the eye through the mirror.

“Let me show you that I can be better than your imagination. Let me show you that you need to think about no one but me. Let me show you how good you’ll feel and who is the sole reason behind it.”

Yes, Wooyoung has all your favourite qualities in a partner while exceeding all expectations. That’s why you’re dating him.

Choi Jongho:

Ever since the release of your first movie and publication of the book it was based on, your career had blossomed. Finally, you quit the job that had been draining the life out of you to work full time at the publishing company.

Everyone around you could tell you were much happier, and the one who noticed it the most was Jongho.

Sure, your eyes were less sunken in, your cheeks more red, your step more bouncy. But he could feel that you changed on the inside too.

Your smile didn’t feel so forced after you came back from work and he had asked you how the day was. Now, your boyfriend found himself talking less and listening more to what you had to say.

If there was an expression more powerful to describe how he loved this happier version of you, he would use it in a heartbeat.

Sure, there were still times when the both of you couldn’t hang out as much as you would like to, but that was always in the job description, and the both of you were more than happy with it as long as the bed had both of you in it at the end of the day, both metaphorically and literally.

Then came along your second movie deal of a completely different story. In fact, it was based upon a movie you had watched at the time, and you hated it so much that you simply redid the entire thing.

In fact, it had irked you to the point no one could even tell it was based off of something since you had changed so much of it. However, there were still concepts you kept in the story--intimate scenes, for example (even if they too were completely changed).

You wrote such concepts before, and you would continue to do so since it was just interesting to write. Jongho, however, did not know about it.

At all.

So once your second movie was released, he was in for a surprise.

It was miraculous how terrible your memory was, since you had forgotten that you had not told him about the scene that would come up as you both watched it at home just before it’s release in the cinemas.

‘Surprise’ wasn’t really the word Jongho would use when it did come up, nor would it be ‘shock’. He was... mildly curious? Not that either... Well, all he knew that whatever he was feeling was not overwhelming.

“Did you know they changed this scene?” you spoke up.

“Really?”

Humming, you nodded your head. “They said the original scene was... Let’s just say they thought it was ‘too much’.” Then you scoffed under your breath. “Don’t know why they thought that though. It was fairly vanilla. Just some wall sex is all,” you confessed.

Now he felt a little overwhelmed. But he was mainly amused. “I don’t remember doing that with you.”

“Hmm? Oh... that’s because we didn’t.”

Chuckling under his breath, he cocked his head to the side, the paused scene in the background long forgotten. “Have you ever wanted to try it?”

“Once upon a time. Suggested it to my ex once before but he couldn’t lift me up since I was ‘way too heavy’,” you recalled with air quotations. “Didn’t bother trying after that.” You laughed at the memory, finding it to be hilarious back then and even now.

But your boyfriend on the other hand had not. In fact, he was no longer amused.

He was pissed.

It wasn’t about the fact that you had mentioned your ex--he never felt even remotely threatened by him. It was because he had called you heavy. He called his precious darling ‘heavy’. And you just laughed.

That was who you were--no matter how mean another person was being to you, you took it as a joke and moved on. You saw no point in dwelling over the bad, and that was one of the many genuine things he had fallen for. This time was different; it annoyed him.

Sure it might have been a dumb little memory for you, yet simply hearing about it had his blood boiling.

“Get up.”

“Wha--why?” The dark look in his eye had your lips sealing within the second. As if on autopilot, your body stood from the sofa you two were so comfortably perched on.

He followed you up, wrapping his hands around the back of your thighs, which only meant one thing. “Jongho--no. You won’t be able to.”

“Am I or am I not the strongest man you’ve ever met?”

“You are, but--”

“‘But’ I don’t care.” Forcefully, he lifted you up as you yelped, legs wrapping around his waist. “See? I can pick you up completely fine.”

Scanning his face, you saw that what he said was true. He picked you up as if you were as light as a feather, no tension in his neck, face, or arms to suggest he was having a hard time either.

It had you leaning against him, forehead touching forehead, laughing even more than you did before. Smile once again etched on his face, Jongho pecked your lips, walking slowly with you in his arms.

“Now shush and let me fuck you against the wall.”

115 notes · View notes

sheerfreesia007 · 3 years

Text

Finding Love In Legacy Oaks pt. 11.5

Title: Finding Love In Legacy Oaks pt. 11.5

Fandom: Kingsman

Pairing: Agent Whiskey x OFC

Author: @sheerfreesia007

Words: 2,806

Warnings: Mention of injury

Permanent Tag List: @paintballkid711, @fioccodineveautunnale, @phoenixhalliwell, @linkpk88, @weirdowithnobeardo, @athalien

Author Notes: So this chapter was a little hard for me, I had difficulty with the whole Esme blaming herself scene. I know little kids can focus on being at fault for something that wasn’t their fault. I had difficulty trying to get Es to understand it. So any feedback would be nice.

Gif Credit: Google

The hospital was buzzing with an energy that felt as if it was waiting for the next big catastrophe to roll through the emergency room doors before chaos imploded. Nurses walked through the emergency room area back and forth from the central desk to the patients’ beds. Bunny was laying in her hospital bed with her now deeply bruised right ankle propped up by some cushions as Esme sat next to her reclined back on the bed, they were waiting for the doctor to come back with the results of Bunny’s ankle x-ray. Her left hand and wrist were wrapped since the doctor advised that it was thankfully only sprained. The doctor did say she had a mild concussion and shouldn’t have any lingering effects but if she started to get dizzy or sleepy that she should come back to the hospital.

Bunny sighed softly as leaned back in the bed feeling Esme relax against her left side where she was curled up next to Bunny. She knew something was still bothering Esme, ever since they had arrived the little girl had been very quiet and keeping to herself. The nurses and doctors had come bustling in and out quickly when they had first gotten here, and while no one else seemed to notice Esme drawing inward on herself as she sat in the corner chair in the small space with the hospital curtains drawn around them to create some privacy. Bunny noticed though and was just waiting for the perfect time to talk to the little girl.

“So this was not how I planned our Friday evening.” Bunny said with a soft chuckle and felt Esme turn more into her side. “Talk to me kiddo, don’t keep it bottled up” Bunny insisted gently as she nudged Esme with her shoulder. Esme looked over at her before she began to pick at the light blanket that was resting over the two of them.

“I feel bad.” Esme said quietly and Bunny frowned gently at her words.

“What do you mean?” Bunny asked curiously as she leaned back in the bed.

“I feel like it’s my fault that you’re in the hospital.” Esme said softly and Bunny laid there just watching the little girl silently, she wanted Esme to talk through her emotions and feelings without her prompting her. “If I hadn’t chosen to roll down the hill Butter wouldn’t have gotten too excited and knocked you down the hill. And now the doctor said you have a concussion, your wrist is sprained and your ankle might be broken.” She said with full emotion and began breathing a little heavier as she got caught up in her emotions. “And if I hadn’t wanted to roll down the hill you wouldn’t be hurt or in the hospital!” Esme cried softly before taking in a deep breath.

“Okay, but this isn’t your fault Es.” Bunny reassured her and saw the look of disbelief on her face. Bunny thought for a moment before coming to a decision. “Can you predict the future?” Bunny asked suddenly and Esme looked at her with an incredulous look on her face.

“No.” Esme drew out the word in confusion as Bunny nodded her head.

“So you couldn’t have known that I was gonna get knocked down after we chose to roll down the hill right?” Bunny asked and looked quietly at Esme.

“No, but-“ Esme began to explain but Bunny held up her hand and interrupted her.

“Just answer the question Es. I promise I have a reason for asking these questions.” Bunny said softly.

“No I couldn’t have known that.” Esme said a little petulantly and Bunny nodded her head.

“Did you cause me to get knocked down? Did you push me down the hill?” Bunny asked softly and Esme jerked her head back and looked at Bunny in bewilderment.

“No I didn’t push you. But me choosing to roll down the hill caused you to get knocked down.” Esme insisted.

“How? Explain to me how you choosing to roll down the hill caused me to get knocked down it.” Bunny gently led Esme along in her though process.

“If I hadn’t wanted to go down the hill then we wouldn’t have been up there and you wouldn’t have gotten knocked down.” Esme said with sadness in her voice.

“You’re right we wouldn’t have been up there if we didn’t want to roll down the hill. But Es you wanting to roll down the hill did not cause this. If you want to place blame, blame me or Butter.” Bunny insisted. “Butter was the one who knocked me over so really it’s his fault since he knocked me down. But Es it was an accident he didn’t mean to knock me over he just got too excited and he’s a dog he doesn’t know any better.”

“But-“ Esme tried to explain again and Bunny shook her head.

“I’m going to have to find a different way to explain it to you because you’re not understanding. I know you feel bad and that’s okay. You can feel bad for me. But please don’t blame yourself. It sucks it happened and all we can do is just deal with the best we can.” Bunny said resolutely and Esme sighed softly.

“Bunny?” Esme asked softly and Bunny turned to her silently to gaze down at her. “I’m still going to feel bad but I understand that I didn’t cause you to get knocked down. I just feel like I could’ve stopped it from happening.” Esme said solemnly.

“It’s possible but then you wouldn’t have had fun. Look you’re going to make choices as you grow up and sometimes they work out great and everything goes the way you want it to. But sometimes things get messed up and they don’t go the way you want them to. Unfortunately there’s nothing we can do to predict how things will happen, we’re just along for the ride. You just gotta make the best of it kiddo.” Bunny said sagely and Esme gazed towards the end of the bed thinking quietly.

“Oooooh now I get it.” Esme said softly and Bunny burst out laughing at how shocked Esme sounded. “I still feel bad though.” Esme said resolutely and Bunny nodded her head as she wiped tears from her eyes from her laughter.

“That’s fine kiddo.” Bunny said easily and suddenly her phone her began to ring with video call ringtone. Bunny felt her stomach drop. “Oh shit.” She hissed as she reached for her phone hearing Esme gasp next to her. “Don’t repeat that! It’s a bad word. I forgot to call your Dad when we were in the ambulance.” Bunny said quickly as she pointed at Esme and cringed. Picking up her phone she held in front of her and Esme and grimaced when she saw that her screen was cracked in several places making it difficult to answer the call. “Heeeey Jack!” Bunny said guiltily as she held the phone out so that both she and Esme were on the screen.

“Hey ladies, I haven’t heard from you in a while and I’ve been texting. Started to get a little worried.” Jack said as he frowned at the phone. “Hang on is there something wrong with the connection you guys look all wonky. And where are you two?” he asked confused as he stared at the phone.

“So about why you haven’t heard from us in a while.” Bunny said guiltily and Jack frown deepened.

“Are you in the hospital?!” he asked loudly suddenly as his eyes darted around the screen and his face grew larger on the screen as he leaned into his phone.

“Yeah we are.” Bunny said with a soft sigh. “But Es is fine. I was the one who got hurt not her.” Bunny quickly reassured him and Esme smiled as she took the phone from Bunny.

“Daddy I’m going to turn the camera around maybe it’ll look better that way. Hold on.” Esme said as she pressed repeatedly on the screen holding the phone up. “Can you see Bunny better now?” Esme asked from behind the phone and Bunny grimaced slightly.

“Yeah thanks Es. So what happened?” Jack’s voice came over the phone and Bunny relaxed back in the bed while Esme sat with her legs crossed at her side.

“So Butter knocked me down a hill that we were going to roll down. Instead of rolling down the hill I kinda bounced down it. Sprained my left wrist.” Bunny explained holding up her wrist to show him. “Possibly broke my right ankle, we’re still waiting for the doc to come back with the x-ray results.”

“Dang Bunny.” Jack said in an awed voice and Bunny nodded along to his words.

“Yeah I know.” Bunny said knowingly and chuckled softly. “Go big or go home right?” she asked sarcastically and Jack laughed still shocked.

“Are you in a lot of pain right now?” he asked curiously and Bunny shook her head.

“Not as much anymore they gave me some pain meds when we arrived. Said they’d probably subscribe some too just to help with my ankle. It’s swollen up like a balloon and looks like real ugly.” Bunny explained and Esme pointed the phone down to her ankle to show her Dad. They both heard his loud hiss as he saw what her ankle looked like propped up on the cushions.

“Bunny.” Jack said in an almost chastising tone and she nodded her head just as spotted a pair of black business shoes underneath the curtain.

“Knock, knock!” called the doctor. Bunny smiled softly as she shook her head, Doctor Hart smiled brightly as she eased herself in between the curtains and stood at the end of Bunny’s bed. “Pay no attention to the woman behind the curtain.” she said in greeting and Bunny chuckled softly at the reference as Esme tilted her head to the side in confusion.

“I don’t get it.” Esme said softly to Bunny making both Bunny and Jack burst out into laughter.

“Oh I’m sorry to interrupt your phone call.” said Doctor Hart, surprised as she looked at Esme who was holding up the phone to still see Jack.

“I’ll explain later what she said.” Bunny said the Esme before shaking her head at the Doctor. “No worries, it's just her Dad checking in on us. Forgot to call him while we were in the ambulance.” Bunny explained away and Doctor Hart nodded her head before tilting it sideways like Esme had done.

“Is he not your husband then?” she asked and Bunny felt her face flush brightly as she shook her head.

“No, not married. Just friends and I look after Es here when he’s on work trips.” Bunny replied easily and Esme smiled at her as she cuddled close still holding the phone up to see Jack. Bunny watched out of the corner of her eye as Jack’s eyebrows furrowed slightly.

“Oh okay, that’s very nice of you to do. Well, results for your x-ray are in and it’s broken unfortunately. In three different places so you really did a number on it. Thankfully you won’t need surgery but we’re going to put you in a cast for a month and then we’ll reevaluate. Hopefully you’ll just need a boot after that for 2 more months.” explained Doctor Hart and Bunny nodded her head along with her words.

“So we’re looking at three months?” Bunny asked softly and watched as Dr. Hart nodded her head. Bunny’s mind began to race with everything that she had going on for the next three months and how she would be able to do them with a cast and boot on.

“Yeah it’s going to take at least three months, hopefully no longer.” Dr. Hart explained. Bunny nodded at Dr. Hart’s word and settled back further in the bed. “I’m going to have one of the orthopedic technicians come in and they’ll be putting the cast on your ankle. You’ll get a prescription for pain meds to ease any discomfort you might be feeling in the next few days. And I’ll schedule you for another appointment in a month to remove the cast. We won’t need to see you unless something happens to the cast or if you injure yourself further.”

Bunny nodded her head in understanding as Dr. Hart advised her on what she was to expect for the next couple of months. When Dr. Hart was done going over the medications that she would be prescribed, she told Bunny that she would go let the orthopedic technician know that they were ready for the cast now before walking out of the room.

Shifting in the bed to get a little more comfortable, Bunny gritted her teeth as a painful twinge raced up her ankle. Esme moved closer and held the phone up towards her face and Bunny could see Jack was still on the phone.

“Three months is an awfully long time for a broken ankle.” Jack said solemnly and Bunny shook her head in disagreement.

“I broke my wrist once and it took I think two months to heal so three months isn’t that far off I don’t think.” Bunny said as she moved her head around thinking about her prior broken bones.

“You broke your wrist once?” Jack asked, surprised as his face showed how surprised he was about that fact.

“Yeah, it was a few years ago. Broke my right wrist.” Bunny said shortly not wanting to explain any further about her prior injury, at least not yet.

“Huh, okay. Well don’t worry about anything Bunny we’ll help you with anything that you need. I’ll make sure that work understands I can’t be going out in the field for a while.” Jack said easily and Bunny began to shake her head at his words.

“Oh no, Jack. You don’t have to do that. I’ll be fine. Just move a little slower, that's all.” Bunny said regrettably.

“Don’t worry about it Bunny. They’ll understand. And now it’s my turn to help you. And I won’t hear anything about it because it’s happening.” Jack stated firmly and Bunny nodded her head slightly dejectedly knowing that she wouldn’t be able to dissuade Jack from helping her.

“Alright, alright.” Bunny relented and Jack nodded his head while smiling.

“So I should be home late tomorrow night. We’ve got one more conference meeting to go to tomorrow for a few hours but once we’re done I’ll be on my way home.” Jack said easily. “Do you guys have a ride home from the hospital or do you need me to call you a ride home?” Jack asked.

“No, Jeremy is going to be picking us up. I called him to come pick up Butter from us when the ambulance was on the way to us.” Bunny replied and watched as Jack nodded his head. Esme sat there quietly and Bunny could see her eyebrows furrow slightly.

“Oh okay good.” Jack said as he continued to nod his head. Just then there was shuffling heard behind the curtain of the room. “Alright ladies I’m gonna head out for a little bit but I’ll give you a call later on tonight.”

“Okay sounds good.” Bunny said as the orthopedic technician stepped through the gap in the curtains with a smile on his face.

“I love you Es, I’ll talk to you later sweetheart.” Jack said softly as he focused back on Esme.

“Love you lots like jelly tots.” Esme said softly and Bunny smiled at the little girls’ words. Esme hung up the phone by pressing repeatedly on the broken screen and Bunny grimaced slightly.

“I’ll have to get a new phone this weekend.” Bunny said softly and Esme looked up at her as Bunny shrugged her shoulders.

“Hey there guys! So my name is Brian and I’ll be putting on your cast. Would you like to pick a color for your cast?” Asked the orthopedic technician as he wheeled in a bedside table with supplies to create a cast. Bunny looked over at Esme who looked back at her.

“You’ll have to ask my cast artist.” Bunny said fondly as she nudged Esme with her shoulder. Esme grinned softly at Bunny before turning to the technician.

“White, so I can draw and color on it.” Esme said confidently and Bunny smiled at how she was already making plans for what she would be drawing on her cast. Soon the technician was nodding along as Esme began explaining everything that she wanted to draw on Bunny’s cast all while watching how the technician began wrapping Bunny’s ankle. Leaning back in the bed Bunny gently shut her eyes and continued to listen to Esme talk with a soft smile on her face.

#kingsman the golden circle #agent whiskey x ofc #agent whiskey #FLILO #my writing

9 notes · View notes

artpharos · 3 years

Note

prev anon again, oh god I am *mortified* with embarrassment on realizing how long ago you actually posted that fic- the tumblr app absolutely sucks and makes it hard to find posts' dates, and when i clicked on your post, even after refreshing the page, it stayed at the top so i just assumed it was your most recent one or that you had reblogged it recently so it was on your mind, like, at all oh my god i am so sorry hahaha

i can totally understand being shy to post it, hearing about that whole situation i know i'd be SOOO embarrassed if that happened to me (see above lol) so if you don't want to that's totally okay! but in that case would it be alright if i took a screenshot of it to save it? finding any content for shulk/melia, let alone one SO GOOD, is extremely rare so i like to keep a folder of things to look back through when it's a desert haha. if you're not comfortable with that though i'd completely understand!

as for the whole sequel thing... again, totally embarrassed by realizing now how old the prompt list actually is and you 100% don't have to write anything at all if you don't want to or (especially) if you're busy! i'm currently ~~procrastinating~~ on hiatus myself so i completely understand and there's no pressure at all to write anything! but if you ever do, i am so there and would love to read it :)

thank YOU for writing such a nice fic and such a kind response to my ask! and again i'm so sorry for... everything lol

Please don't be! Yeah tumblr is kinda weird and I think that fic got bumped up because someone liked and reblogged it... idk sometime within the last three months? But yeah it's not your fault for not noticing the date! Also it's been a hot minute since I've written any prompts and truth be told I was thinking I'd get back to it maybe next year, so I'll definitely write the shulkxmelia prompts then! I've already slapped the prompts onto a google doc so I mean... I already went through all the trouble of digging out the prompt list so I may as well write it LOL (no guarantees that they'd be sequels to my previous fic tho)

And yeah it's going to take me a while to like think up a fic summary and title because god those are the hardest part of posting a fic but I know being shy about posting my stuff on ao3 is something ridiculous and I'll have to get over it eventually LOL

In the meantime, yeah you can totes just take a screenshot if you want! And thanks for being so sweet over everything! It's really nice to hear that people enjoy my writing ngl sdgdsfsdgfsd

#anon asks

2 notes · View notes

greyhavensking · 3 years

Text

Fic Writer Interview

Ahhhh thank you so much @thiccbuckybarnesfic @iamthe-wo-manwhocan and @oh-i-swear-writes for tagging me! Love these kinda tag games

_____

Name: Maria

Fandoms: Marvel, mostly; and primarily stucky, though I've written some OC/canon character fics, too. I sometimes write Clintasha into my fics but I've never written a fic exclusively based around them

Two-shot: I honestly forgot I had a two-shot, but I do! Model Behavior is literally the only two-chapter fic I've written, most of them being one-shots or multi-chapter

Most popular multi-chaptered fic: Oh, that's An Act of Kindness, which is the last fic in my you are the future series. It's only multi-chaptered because I ended up making it in the 5+1 format. It's got 9465 hits, 704 kudos, and 86 bookmarks.

Actual worst part of writing: I mean, the writing itself can be pretty stressful if I'm in a funk (which, unfortunately, has been the case a lot lately), but if I'm being honest it's probably editing? I honestly don't even really do it; what you see on Ao3 is probably the first and only draft I've written for that story. Also, fight scenes are the bane of my existence. I'm much more suited to writing long-winded emotional conversations, to say the least

How you choose your titles: Yeah, no, a lot of them are song titles or lyrics. For one of my WIPs it's a quote from the movie it's based on. Some of them are more original, like The Sunscreen Wars, but I primarily use songs lmao

Do you outline?: Uhhh depends on the story? For shortish one-shots I usually don't bother, but if I've got a more involved idea I try to at least write down the major plot points I want to hit, and some background for the characters if I think it's necessary. I like outlining, but half the time I don't actually have the full story figured out so I never get as into it as I want to

Ideas you probably won't get around to, but wouldn't it be nice: I have a whole backlog of fics I want to write some day, and they've all got little summaries or ideas sketched out in a google doc in my stucky folder, but. Well. No telling when inspiration will strike, you know? Although, there are two ideas that I love very much that I sincerely doubt I'll get to any time soon: A full-on Tangled AU with Bucky as Rapunzel and Steve as Flynn Rider, and a Fire Emblem: Awakening AU (it's a video game) with Steve as Prince Chrom and Bucky as Robin, amnesiac tactician with a troubled past who is, sadly, apparently destined to kill Chrom. Trust me when I say I would have so much to work with in terms of mixing both their canons together. But alas, I lack the motivation

Call outs @me: I reblog writer call outs on the regular lmao, but mostly it's "hey I've got this really cool idea that i'm gonna talk your ear off about but also nothing is going to come of it for like eight months"

Best writing traits: I've been told my characterization is pretty good, even when I'm writing AUs, so I'm gonna go with that

Spicy tangential opinion: Uhhhh. Huh. Maybe that the "write for yourself" thing is great and all, but. Well. When people choose to share their work online, in public spaces, it really fucking sucks to get no validation at all from, and I hate that people try to brush that off by telling writers that "writing for yourself and only for yourself" is like, the only way to be a good writer, or to be happy with your writing. I know the danger inherent in seeking validation only from outside sources, but wanting someone else to look at your work and tell you that yeah, you did a good fucking job... that's not wrong

I guarantee I'm gonna tag people who've already gone but that's okay! @somanywords @turtle-steverogers @not-withoutyou @bluesimplicity73 @stuckyflangst @metalbvcky @plutosrose (and as always feel free to ignore this! no pressure to actually do the tag!)

#tag games #my writing #my fic

5 notes · View notes

wawaluxthings · 4 years

Note

13, 21, 31, 45!!!

Thank you, thank you, thank you ♡

13. Describe your writing process from idea to polished

Have brilliant idea on the verge of falling asleep. Pass out with so many words buzzing in my skull I actually dream of writing the story (but it’s all very stressful because I can only see with half my eyes and the keyboard keeps jumping around and the word doc won’t open fully). Wake up and words are gone, lucky if idea has survived and vocabulary is now restricted to grocery list. Turn on spotify. Stare at blank page. Stare at blank page. Stare at blank page. Wait for someone to give me crazy shit tons of work to do on a tight deadline. Of course words come back all at once. Begin writing frenzy which has me frothing at the mouth. Tell my better half that I’m just browsing the internet when he asks me why I’m typing so much. Convince myself I’ll read the paragraph one more time and then I’ll do the work. Three hours later, have full story out, rush through work and pretend I was doing that all along. Try to stop mouse from hovering over the word icon that wants to suck me back in. Wait for next day to fix the story. Amaze myself at how many words I skipped and how many times I changed tenses. Try to resist posting it. Give it one more night, fresh eyes, squint to spot the typos, get lost in some grammar that I’m not sure is correct. Bounce around in happiness cos this is the greatest thing EVER. Realize I forgot to do a title. Play around with words that really don’t mean anything. Read every possible synonym of simple words. Write up a summary in 2 minutes. Upload to the website and TRY to read it one more time because otherwise I’ll spot the mistakes too late. Don’t usually make it. Click ‘post’ with a grin. Immediately hate every word. Immediately hate idea. Try not to stare at stats page. Stare at stats page and refresh like a moron. Wonder how much the people who clicked on it and left hate me. Decide I’m the worst writer in history and this was so stupid, why did I bother. Close laptop and hide phone out of sight so I can stop checking stats page. Stare at tv and think of stats page. Go to bed. Tell myself I’ll just delete it in the morning. Wake up and don’t delete it. Have another story/art to obsess about.

OR – Have idea, almost get fired in haste to write it, check for typos, post, live with dark thoughts, forget about it all, move on.

21. Who is/are your favourite character(s) to write?

Ohh Matt and Foggy for sure. I love exploring how Matt perceives the world around him, how different things will sound to him or the smells and textures that we wouldn’t be able to notice ourselves. Foggy just makes me happy! I see him as the light that contrasts Matt’s darkness. I think we have a little bit of Foggy in all of us, the insecure, good-hearted spirit that is just pure awesome. It makes me happy to know that I can use him to make my readers smile.

31. Least favourite part of writing

A few, very random ones: 1) Writer’s block. It’s been killing me lately. It feels like you lost whatever you had, like it won’t ever come back; 2) The fear that comes with posting. It’s a thrill and can be so rewarding, but the first few hours are just darkness (phew, we are all so broken, aren’t we?); 3) Accepting that the story is just not working, and scrapping whole paragraphs. The words look at me with big sad puppy eyes and it breaks my heart, so I have this whole document of ‘could potentially use one day’ sentences that I’ll likely never use (but shh, don’t tell them); 4) Trying not to use the same words all the time. My brain just goes THERE, every time. I have to highlight them so I don’t forget to swap them out.

45. How much world building do you do?

I had to google what world building was lol, so is that an answer? I think not much at all. It helps that we all have an idea of who the characters are, and what their environment looks like already. I tend to start a story mid-scene and only add details if I think it will help the reader understand something. I know people can’t stand long descriptions, no matter how beautiful the wording is. I’ve stopped reading so many books cos they were too busy describing something, and I honestly didn’t care enough.

Thanks again for the ask!

6 notes · View notes

fabulouspotatosister · 5 years

Text

Admit One

summary: You’re nervous about setting up a face painting booth for a year-end fair. The Doctor might have a way to help. or “the face painting thing”, according to my Google Docs title.

a/n: can i tell you guys honestly that this was an excuse for me to write gently touching the doctor’s face? like… no plot, no actual reason. i don’t know, i just got inspired by watching my best friend work at a face painting booth and just being like “god, i wish that were me”. big thanks again to @timelord-winchester-22b and @allamarain (also from the thirsting for thirteen Discord server) for helping me out with some ideas for this fic, y’all are legends and i love you lots.

Deep breaths.

You stared at the ticket pressed between your fingers. It was a nice ticket, colorful and well designed. Printed on the ticket were the words “Year-End Fair”, and below that were different boxes that you could get signed or stamped. Each box had a different label for each booth - a marriage booth, a photo booth, a carnival booth, a movie booth, a lounge booth, and a face painting booth .

Your face painting booth.

You thought it was a good idea. It was just something you wanted to do to give back, use your talents for the community. It seemed like a good idea when you’d suggested it to the organizers of the fair. They’d offered to pay you for your time. It was a good idea.

So what were you so nervous about?

Your old backpack sat on your bed while you fished for all your palettes and brushes that you must have hidden around your room in the TARDIS. The whole art, painting thing was a hobby that the Doctor encouraged you to continue even as you travelled with her. She would dedicate whole adventures to travelling to museums in the future, art galleries in space, auctions on different planets. She’d take you to special stores to buy rare pigments and paints. She had said, once, “Creativity is one of the greatest powers humanity has.”

She was nice like that. She was very nice…

You shook your head, your hand scraping the bottom of a box that you’d pushed under your bed a few weeks ago. Now wasn’t the time to be thinking about the Doctor like that . Now was the time to be unnecessarily nervous about something that you’d come up with. You would find time to think about the alien later , when you weren’t stressed out about something that was your problem.

The box was empty. It made you wonder if the TARDIS ever cleaned the rooms, because sometimes things just seemed to go missing. You flopped onto your bed, glancing at the backpack. You’d counted two face paint palettes, and another two that were probably alright for skin contact.

Again, why were you so nervous ? It was just going to be a day of dealing with some excited kids.

“What’s all this?”

You sucked in a breath. The Doctor was standing in the doorway, her hands tucked into the pockets of her pants. The first thing you noticed was that her coat was missing , which meant that she looked smaller than she usually did. Later, you would translate that incoherent thought as she looked adorable . She raised her eyebrows at you, and she was right to do so because you were probably just sitting there with your mouth open. “Mind if I come in?”

“Yeah - I mean no , of course, of course.” Why couldn’t you speak ? “Yeah, uh, you can come in.”

The Doctor smiled in response, her messy blonde hair falling over her face, and you mentally punched yourself in the face. She stepped into your room, her eyes immediately settling on the backpack that was still open on your bed. “Planning a trip somewhere?”

“Not exactly.”

“Oh.” The Doctor frowned. “Some time , then? This is a time machine. If you just want to go anywhere, any time, in the universe, you can always ask me. I’d be happy to help.”

You bit your bottom lip as the Doctor peered into your backpack, peeling open the open pockets. Happy to help, huh? She wasn’t helping at all, walking into your room with her messed up hair and coat-less self. You closed your eyes when you heard her gasp. You could hear her smile in the sound. Why could you do that? You opened your eyes again to confirm that, yes , she was smiling.

“Face paints!” the Doctor cried, picking up one of the palettes that had been thrown into the bag. “I love face paints. I’ve seen some really beautiful ones. Are you getting your face painted?”

“Nope.” The question of the hour. “I’m doing the face painting.”

The Doctor practically jumped, nearly dropping the pallet - careful, that was really expensive - while another big smile settled onto her face. “You? Oh, that’s brilliant.”

Maybe the Doctor was right - maybe the whole face painting gig was brilliant. There certainly was a brilliance to the art form, of making people into living, breathing pieces of art, and maybe there was also a brilliance in the fact that you were getting paid for it. But you were rusty . It had been a while since you’d drawn, let alone painted anyone’s face.

The Doctor seemed to sense your doubt. She sat down on the bed, carefully putting the palette back into your backpack. “What’s wrong? You can tell me, I’ve been told I’m a very good listener.”

She was . “I don’t know what’s wrong,” you began, wringing your hands. “I shouldn’t be nervous. I know I’m good at this. I don’t know. I feel like it’s been way too long.”

“You are good at what you do,” the Doctor said, sounding deathly serious. Her eyes shone with something that you couldn’t quite describe. “That’s a very good mindset to have. Trust your abilities, and all that. But if you feel like it’s been too long - well, they do say practice makes perfect -”

The Doctor paused, cutting off her talking to smile widely. “You could always practice on me! I could be your first customer.”

If you were drinking something you would have spit it out. You weren’t drinking anything, so you choked on air instead. Was she joking? She had to be joking.

But one glance at her could confirm that she wasn’t joking at all. She was now sitting cross-legged on in front of you on her bed, her face drawn into a smile, looking so very tiny and so very cute . And she had sounded so earnest too. Here to help , indeed.

How could you say no to that?

You sighed, reaching over into your backpack to grab an old pack of facial wipes, a palette, and a brush. You could see the Doctor light up as you brought those things out and laid them on the bed.

“Stay here,” you said, standing up, “I’ll go get some water for the paint.”

The Doctor didn’t actually stay there as you’d instructed - when you came back from the bathroom that the TARDIS had put in your bedroom, she was already standing up and walking around, looking at all the stuff you’d collected over your time travelling together. Small crystals, paintings, sculptures. Most of them were gifts from her. You smiled, staring at the alien who could manage to make you feel so fond by just standing there.

That was it. You had a word for it - fondness . You were so incredibly fond of the Doctor. Whatever it was that you felt every time you thought of her was that .

“Doctor,” you called, softly, and she turned around from her examination of a small frog sculpture, her hair swinging with the motion. “You still up for it?”

“Me? Yes! Of course. Always am.” She leapt towards the bed again, settling into her cross-legged position from before. You were starting to get tired of your internal monologue calling her cute all the time. (You weren’t.) “Ready when you are.”

You sat down in front of her, setting the water down on a side table then taking the pack of facial wipes and pulling one out. “The paints I’m using are water activated, so your face has to be clean when I start - “

You paused, the facial wipe centimeters away from the Doctor’s face. Maybe you didn’t think this through. You’d just found a word for your feelings for the Doctor and now you were going to be very close to her and touching her face. It wasn’t intimate. It felt very intimate suddenly.

You swallowed, feeling your face grow warm. No time like the present .

You kept going, rubbing the facial wipe over the Doctor’s right temple, then moving it down to her cheekbone. Her skin was warm, and maybe you were imagining it but she looked like she was blushing under the not-very-bright lights of your bedroom. Wait, why were your lights like that? Didn’t you have them turned all the way up just a few minutes ago?

“I’ll put it right…” You pulled the facial wipe away, tracing where you had just wiped with your thumb. “…here, I think.”

“What will you paint?” the Doctor asked, making no move to remove your thumb from her face. “I’m alright with anything. I’m sure whatever you’re going to paint will be spectacular.”

You turned away from her to prepare your paints, dipping your brush in the water you’d left on the side table and swirling it into some violet paint. You blinked, and saw an image of the Doctor’s eyes. Stars, you decided, turning back towards her. Lots and lots of stars. Very fitting for someone who lives among them.

Taking another deep breath, you reached out and brushed some of the Doctor’s hair behind her ear. Her earring glinted in the light, but it could have been lost in the shine of her eyes - anyway . You took your non-dominant hand, placing your thumb and your index finger under her chin to stabilize her face.

The Doctor tilted her head so that you could see her cheek better. You didn’t even have to move her - she was a perfect customer. With that all set up, you started to paint.

Painting usually requires a certain level of focus. And talking was getting very hard. You were trying very hard not to stop painting and just study the Doctor’s face while it was still in your hands. Every stroke of your brush was just a chance to memorize the features of her face, every little mark you connected like constellations.

The Doctor, once again, picked up on your thoughts, because she just started talking .

The Doctor was not one to stay still . She never liked sitting around, doing nothing . She was always a bouncing ball of energy, chaos in the body of a blonde woman, and when she talked she was always very animated about it.

“It’s very quiet,” she said, somewhat nervously. “I never did like that. I’ll tell you a story - did I ever tell you about the time I was put in a simulation?”

“No,” you replied, somewhat absentmindedly. You adjusted the Doctor’s face slightly, moving it down - she followed without question. You felt your face heat up again; you hoped the Doctor didn’t notice how red your face was probably getting. If she did, she wasn’t bringing it up. She was nice like that.

“That time was really something. You never know with simulations - either they’re training you to become super soldiers or they’re just experimenting. Anyway, they put me in the simulation - don’t worry, it was a very long time ago, I think I was still a man - and the ones supervising kept going on and on about compatibility levels . I don’t know what they were going on about, they sent me in there alone - and then told me I was their first experiment, which can I just say, for an experiment about compatibility that is a terrible control -”

The Doctor was getting more animated now, waving her hands about. “Doctor, you need to stop moving so much,” you warned, but she didn’t seem to hear you. “Doctor!”

“ Oh - !”

In the middle of a particularly impassioned bit, her face slipped out of your hands and your brush, which was still on her face, left a short trail of yellow from her cheek to a spot near her chin, making the star you were supposed to be painting seem more like a shooting star.

The Doctor stopped talking, suddenly becoming very still. She looked down to try and see the damage, and then promptly deflated, sighing deeply. “I’ve ruined it, haven’t I?”

She was wearing what you would accurately call her “puppy-dog eyes”, big and round and very sad and pleading. You sighed, but one that was more amused and fond , taking her face into your hands again. “No, I can fix it.”

You lifted her chin up. The streak wasn’t very long, and the paint was still wet. You could probably do with just rubbing it away - you lifted your thumb to the area and gently rubbed the paint off, watching it disappear into her skin like it was nothing.

Rubbing the last of the paint away, you very quickly realized that your thumb was getting very close to her lips, the Doctor had gone very quiet which was unlike her, and that because you had leaned in to wipe the paint off, the two of you had gotten very, very close .

Almost too close.

“Doctor?” you asked. The Doctor hummed in response. “I - I think it’s done.”

You moved to take your hand away from her face - but the Doctor reached out and curled her fingers around your wrist. Her grasp wasn’t tight, it was gentle, but it definitely kept you from moving.

Your heart felt like it was in your throat. “What -”

“Wait,” the Doctor said, her voice wavering. “Wait, I -” She swallowed, suddenly looking very unsure of herself. Like she was about to make a stupid decision. “May I?”

“May I…?”

Your heart was beating wildly against your chest now, thudding painfully with every passing second. The Doctor was just so close and she was holding your hand close to her face like it was a lifeline. And then, with another exhale, she murmured -

“ May I kiss you ?”

The best description for what happened next would be your brain short circuited . Like a computer faced with an unsolvable problem or a complicated paradox. If there was something you knew about the Doctor it was that she could be impatient, but while you were mentally keysmashing she was waiting patiently for an answer.

There were no words. What could you say? What could you say to the woman who you had been travelling with for the longest time? What could you say to the alien who had taken you to such amazing places and treated you with the utmost care? What could you say to the person that you were so fond of?

Whatever it was, it wasn’t no .

You just nodded.

The Doctor breathed out, a sigh of relief, and turned her head, pressing her lips to the inside of your palm. The press of her lips burned your skin, the action so tender you were sure it was going to make you cry.

She moved even closer to you, her breath fanning across your face. You had never seen her eyes this close before, and you decided that you had made a very good decision to paint stars on her cheekbone - where else would you put them, if not next to her eyes, where they belonged?

The Doctor paused. Your eyes searched hers, desperately looking for something that would tell you that this was all a dream, and that you would wake up next to your backpack with a ticket in your hand. There was nothing.

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” she said softly. “Are you sure?”

You let a smile slip onto your face. “Always am.”

The Doctor smiled back, and - oh - she pressed her lips to yours.

It wasn’t like most kisses you’d had - most of them were rough and demanding and not at all enjoyable. But the Doctor’s kiss made your lips burn the way she had made the skin on your palm burn, and now perhaps all of you was burning, set alight with just her lips. The Doctor let go of your wrist and let her hands rest on your hips. You raised your other hand to gently hold both sides of her face, smiling against the kiss.

She was burning all of the old you away, leaving only something entirely new behind.

The Doctor pulled away. She rested her forehead against yours, grinning. “Well, don’t tell me you’re going to kiss all your customers like that.”

“Only you, Doctor,” you whispered. “Only you.”

The Doctor hummed in response, satisfied. She leaned back slightly, showing off your handiwork. “Well, what do you think? Does it suit me?”

“That’s not a fair question,” you said, laughing and folding one of her hands in yours. “I made it. Of course I think it suits you. But I do think it’s missing something…”

The Doctor raised her eyebrows. “Oh? Do tell.”

In a daring move, you leaned forward to press a kiss to the corner of her lips, right where the streak of paint had ended.

“There,” you said, puffing your chest out with pride, “now it’s perfect.”

The kiss made the Time Lord gasp slightly, and then she smiled, awe filling her features. She looked at you the same way that she would look at distant stars, or beautiful plants, or machines and inventions that she admired. She looked at you the same way a mortal man might view a celestial being. It was something you recognized, a look you knew well, because she looked upon you with the same adoration that you had looked at her with just a few moments ago.

(You had made art on her skin, but to her, you were the most beautiful masterpiece the universe had ever created.)

“You’re going to have to pay me for that.”

“What?”

“You don’t have a ticket!”

“Oi, you never said anything about a ticket!”

#cute shit #soft very soft content #literally my xcuse to be gay and soft and yearning #writing this made me SAD man i want a girlfriend SO BAD #jess writes #doctor who #doctor who imagine #doctor who x reader #the doctor imagine #the doctor x reader #thirteenth doctor imagine #thirteenth doctor x reader

125 notes · View notes

veridium · 5 years

Text

stolen

Well, friends, what kicks off a weekend better than a College AU update? Titled after one of my favorite songs of all time, and definitely one of the best kinds of love songs to describe Cass and Liv, the dashboard confessional classic. :)

Fall Carnival fun pt. 2 commences now!

last chapter // fic masterpost

There’s walking on glass and eggshells, and then there’s the week Olivia has leading up to the fall carnival. Ellinor deserves a medal of service for dealing with her each and every day, hour by hour, every time something unsettles her anxiety. She had told her everything was fine when they were shoving sushi into their mouths and laughing about fish puns. If only she could hold onto the same kind of half-optimistic, half-resigned sensation she felt then.

It’s not that Cassandra is mean, or even insensitive. Despite Olivia’s incessant ranting and brooding, she can’t really say it’s because of cruelty.

The day after her and Ellinor’s sushi date, she texts to check in. Cassandra replies, answering her questions, and nothing more. Olivia once again restricts herself from prodding, and comes back to her dorm to complain to Ellinor. That night she receives texts from friends insisting that they meet up at the Carnival at some point to take a fall aesthetic selfie. The dread grows.

Then it’s Thursday. To her surprise, Cassandra texts her first.

Cassandra: Hey, will you be around at 12? I have office hours, I thought we could have lunch.

The cup runneth over -- too bad her request collides with a final project meeting, and by God, Liv will not give her team more of an opportunity to disappoint. She was the one who scheduled it, set up the shared Google Doc, and delegated responsibilities. If she ducked out, the whole thing would come apart. So, as much as it makes her want to cut four of her fingers off, she tells Cassandra no. Of course, Cassandra isn’t one to give grief.

Cassandra: No problem, just thought I would offer. Have a good meeting!

Later that night, Olivia takes some initiative. The Carnival is the next day and if Cassandra isn’t feeling it, she would rather go alone or not go at all than try to force it. Cute pictures would never be worth it, and Olivia has grown up experiencing enough cringey, orchestrated “outings” to last a lifetime. She paces the floor of her dorm after sending the text, expecting one of dozens of possible reasons. After all, who wants to endure a Carnival with an ankle boot on?

Apparently, Cassandra does.

Cassandra: Yeah! Cullen and the team have been looking forward to it for weeks. I don’t see why not.

Olivia stares perplexed at her screen. Okay. Okay? Okay. That’s it, then. They’ll go, and it’ll be great. Except it won’t be, because in that split second, she’s already charted in her head all of the awkward and potentially conflictive situations that could happen. What if Cassandra gets there and her mood changes? What if she wants to get on a ride, but can’t because of her injury? What if she loses at a Carnival game and it sets her off? What if someone makes fun of her? What if she trips and falls?

As if by divine providence, she gets a phone call during her spiral. And it’s none other than Theia, finally getting back to her after over a week of radio silence. Olivia doesn’t waste time asking what happened between her and Josie, but Theia doesn’t have much to offer:

“It’s a break. That’s all I can really say,” she says, voice going low while she’s on speaker phone. “It’s a long story. I’d rather not get into it tonight.” There’s a loopy sound, like the swig of a bottle.

Olivia, scrunching her face while she sits on her bed, figures she should change the subject. She tells Theia she needs to vent to someone else besides Ellinor about what is going on with her, and Theia is the only other person who’d understand. The only other person who would be able to provide any insight as to what is upsetting her so viscerally.

When she gets to the bottom of it, Theia doesn’t speak immediately. The quiet pondering scares her, like the ominous stillwater before a gator attack on those Discovery channel shows.

“Liv,” Theia finally says, reluctant like she’s a Doctor about to break some terminal news, “you’re gonna hate me for saying this.”

“What? No!” she disagrees. “Not at all, please, help me out here. I’ve been stewing all week.”

“Well…” she chuckles nervously, “you sound just like you did when I first met you.”

Theia doesn’t have to elaborate. The phrase is code for “a couple years ago,” which comes with its own subtext, one everyone who’s gone through what she has can understand. The phrase has grown from “a few months,” to “last summer,” to “last year,” and now she’s here. Time sucks ass. At least in Theia’s use of it, it doesn’t come with the same feigned accepting grief that Olivia’s Mom has when they’re at “gatherings” with “loved ones” who Olivia hasn’t ever seen before.

Her cheeks go hot and she tosses the phone onto the comforter and looks away, as if she’s eluding the discerning gaze of a close friend. Theia knows better.

“I know you hate me,” she says, vindicated. “But, you know. The fretting, and the worrying about things that haven’t even happened to her. You’re trying to figure out her needs before she even says them. That’s how you sounded every time I’d be on the phone with you during break. You’d just...completely turn everything on for him, then your Mom.”

Olivia criss-crosses her legs, and picks at the tufted fabric of her old pajama bottoms. “Yeah.”

“Hey, you good?” Theia is quick to check, her tone more concerned. “I’m sorry. I should have warned you.”

“Warned me for what?” Olivia smirks and rubs her neck. “Trigger warning: your own damn life?”

“I mean...yeah. That’s kind of how it works.”

“Not always,” she replies, and picks up the phone. “It’s fine, Theia. I appreciate your honesty.”

Theia lets out a discomfited sound. “Maybe you should...I don’t know. Maybe it’d be best to tell her. Unless you think you can figure this out on your own. It’s up to you.”

“Yeah, it is,” Olivia nods, trying to convince herself simultaneously. All this time she’s been so worried about getting to the bottom of Cassandra’s issues, she’s scarcely thought about the consequences of her own. As if only one of them had baggage to bring around. No shit, Olivia owns her own baggage terminal. Silly for her to believe it would just go away if she just cared enough about someone else’s problems. No matter how many times she tried that trick, it never worked.

Her and Theia manage to wrap up their talk on kinder, easier terms. Both of them acknowledge they aren’t in a place to be fully open. Agreeing to be patient with each other, they hang up, and Olivia collapses back on her bed to overthink things while staring off into the ceiling.

This can be a really happy time, if you just let it. She thinks it, over and over, like a song lyric. Just let it.

The next day, Ellinor’s glee and the prospects of fun lighten her up. She puts on one of her favorite dresses, a tea-length button-up dress with short sleeves and a ribbon around the waist. It has a print, blue and white small flowers, and flows at every little move she makes. When Ellinor sees it, she damn-near tips over.

“You’re wearing that?” she asks, slipping her coat on. “It’s been a while, huh?”

Olivia smirks, and the back of her throat stings with nerves. She locks the door to her dorm and then drops them into her black denim jacket. Just a little touch of the normal aesthetic.

“It’s the carnival!” she replies, “gotta dress to the occasion.”

“Hah, well, Cass will probably...hey,” Ellinor tries to say something funny, but seeing the immediate change on Liv’s face, she stops herself. “Everything okay?”

Olivia blinks. “Yeah! Yeah. Just distracted by something. Um,” she checks her phone. No messages. “Let’s hurry, parking will be a nightmare.”

Whatever Ellinor meant to say about Cassandra’s reaction, she was likely spot on: the minute they see each other in their kitchen, it’s like the world freezes. The first time she’s seen her all week, and Cassandra looks just as beautiful as she looks in Olivia’s memory. Black leggings and a knit, sangria-colored sweater with a dress shirt underneath, all neat and fresh looking. They stand facing each other silently while Cullen and Ellinor are off somewhere making various happy noises, giggling and joking.

Olivia feels the strap of her string purse slipping and adjusts, her grip on it atop her shoulder turning deadly. The way Cassandra is acting confirms it: she knows its strange, too, that it’s been this long. But, as she always does, Olivia finds the words.

“Y-ou ready?” she asks, offering a smile.

Cassandra returns it. “Yeah! I just have to go and get my jacket.”

“Oh, you want me to--”

“No, no, don’t worry,” she says kindly, “I’ve got it.” She’s walking easier than she did the first day. Still an uneven sway, but she’s about as fast as she would be without it. She goes and comes back from her room, a fresh new team jacket over her arm. Shit, they must have got their team jackets?

She’s met in the living room with Cullen and Ellinor, who are also ready to take off. And so, with grins and happy laughs from all, they head out.

The entire drive Olivia is trying to walk herself back off the mental ledge. Now that she’s aware of what she’s doing, or at least more aware, it’s almost worse. How can she tell her new girlfriend that she’s lapsing into something that’s taken her 3 years of on-and-off counselors for her to know is even real? When she’s not thinking about that, she’s thinking about how she should have been more honest with her, especially when Cass was raw about her own issues. Then she feels unreasonable for her expectations, and then…

In the middle of it, her gaze wanders to the center console, and then to the left, where Cassandra is seated. She’s sitting there, and then she feels Olivia’s gaze and looks over, and she smiles. She’s smiling, and she’s looking so happy in the sunlight shades changing so fast as the car goes fast downtown.

Hands gathered against her waist like a kid on a school field trip, she grins back.

Next thing she knows they’ve arrived, and Ellinor and Cullen are romping in the parking lot like spring yearlings, egging each other on for donuts or something. They’re so happy it almost rots her teeth. Ellinor tries to stick with the group, and before Olivia can ask her to stay, Cassandra surprises her and waves them off. That’s all the lovebirds need to fly off.

Olivia takes a stiff breath and slips her aviators on. Who would have thought being alone with Cassandra after the week she’s had would be the exact opposite of what she wanted?

“Well, we better catch up, right?” Cassandra smiles again -- she’s smiling so much -- and slides her hands in her jacket pockets.

Olivia looks over, nods, and goes forward. “Yeah! Yeah.”

“Everything okay?” Cassandra asks as she starts walking. “You seem anxious.”

“I...I am, a bit.”

They’re near the entrance when Cassandra stops. Olivia jerks and turns around, immediately admonishing herself. “Am I going too fast? I’m sorry, shi--”

“No,” Cassandra shakes her head. She’s reaching into her pocket. “My wallet is just stuck in the pocket. Give me a sec.”

Oh. That’s...that’s okay. Ok. Everything’s good.

“You don’t have to worry about getting your wallet out,” Olivia says, grabbing her purse. “I got us!”

Cassandra furrows her brow and meets her gaze. “What? You sure? It’s not a big deal, I…”

“Nah, it’s fine.” Olivia puts in the effort for a sweet smile. She already has her wallet out and ready by the time Cassandra gives up grabbing hers.

“Oh, okay then.”

They get in through the ticket stand without trouble. Once they’re in, it’s a marathon for the senses: spices and sugary treats freshly made and slathered lace the air, groups of people in bright autumnal hues exchanging cotton candy and stuffed animals. Music plays low and abundantly on speakers staked throughout, echoing the party of the open dance floor and festival stage somewhere through the fray. Machines and games ring out their sirens, with all the bells and whistles. Far beyond the front is the ferris wheel towering over the rest of the park yard and its sea of striped spotted tent roofs. It’s paradise for a bunch of young hearts with sweet teeth and salty energy levels from a semester nearly concluded.

Olivia and Cassandra walk at a glacial pace. Cassandra looks just as endeared, scanning slowly from side-to-side, a carefree expression on her face. She looks so much more content than the last time Olivia saw her in a celebratory crowd. She’s cooler than cool. They walk beside each other so closely their shoulders bump, and ever so often one glances over and the other smiles in reassurance.

Then, because of course, they are hollered at by familiar faces.

“Cass! Liv!”

Lysette is walking over -- no, sauntering -- complete with what looks to be a giant inflatable hammer under her arm, and an ember-colored soda bottle in the other. She looks like a fabulous lumberjack, flannel, belt, boots and all. And a smug face of victory.

“High Striker champion strikes again?” Cassandra asks with a clever laugh.

Behind Lysette, a man looking like Rylen...or, sounding like Rylen, the way he’s cussing, is taking his turn at the game. Surrounded by several other bros, all chuckling and gesturing towards him as if to give pointers. Pointers he’s definitely not taking.

“Agh, what can I say,” Lysette shrugs, looking over her shoulder. “He’ll be the last to call himself a loser.”

“That’s for sure.” Cassandra tilts her head, brow raised. “He’s lucky I’ve retired.”

Olivia gapes a little at the tall machine. “You played that?”

Lysette laughs and hits Cassandra playfully on the shoulder with her balloon trophy, which Cass brushes off while smirking. “Cass taught me the magic,” she corrects proudly and takes a swig, “it’s from her that I inherited this heavy crown.”

Olivia’s brows lift into outer space as she looks over at her girlfriend, thinking of course she would, and Cassandra looks modestly self-satisfied.

“Eh, well--” Lysette is interrupted by Rylen’s roar. They all turn around and see him, huffing and puffing like the wolf from the three little pigs story, strike hammer in hand.

“Lys, you get your ass ov--h-hey! Liv! Cass!”

Olivia waves a little sheepishly. Cass nods. Lysette takes another glug of her beer. Poor Rylen couldn’t be gesturing toward a more unimpressed crowd of women. But, never one to be discouraged, he struts over swinging the thing like a baseball bat.

“Either of you wanna take me on for the Striker?” he asks it generally, but his eyes stay on Olivia. The petite dancer, of course. Easy target.

“Almost didn’t recognize you in the dress, Liv. C’mon,” he says, holding it out to her. “Take a swing!”

Olivia lets out a cautious laugh, and gently pushes the hammer away. Before she can give an excuse, Cassandra inches closer to her, until their sides are up against each other. It sends an excited chill down her spine.

“Don’t get her caught up in your losing streak, Rylen,” Cassandra defends her.

“Yeah,” Lysette snickers, “no need to pull innocent lives down with you, dude.”

Rylen looks sincerely confused at this disrespect, spreading his arms out wide to puff out his chest. “Ya’ll just don’t want to mess with the hometown glory!”

“That’s one way of putting it,” Olivia giggles, taking the opportunity to slide an arm around Cassandra’s waist. Cassandra is steady and warm. Irresistable.

“We’re going to walk around some more before getting looped into games,” Cassandra says to Lysette, who happily nods and side-steps toward Rylen.

“Come on,” she says, nudging him, “I’m not done with my streak.”

Liberated, Cassandra and Olivia turn to the left and walk on, her arm staying around her and Cassandra sending hers over Olivia’s shoulder. It’s one of the first acts of public affection they’ve done in a place like this. Well, that is, as a definite couple. The milestone is not lost on Liv, who for the first time since waking up in the morning has started to let the anxious “what if’s” slide. Cassandra isn’t dodging her, nor is she ignoring her. She’s here, she’s cheerful, and they’re here, together. The way Olivia’s head fits against the crook of Cassandra’s neck is perfect.

“He was right about one thing,” Cassandra says as they walk down an aisle of stands. “You in a bright blue dress feels like a rarity.”

Olivia smirks and folds some wisps of hair behind her ear. “I live to shock and amaze.”

“That you do. You hungry?”

“Actually, kinda. I was hoping we could go to--”

“--the funnel cake stand?”

Olivia freezes and pulls away just a bit, just to be able to look up at her with eyes wide and mouth open. Cassandra looks back at her, a bit surprised.

“Yes…” Olivia says slowly, “but the only flavor that is valid is…”

Cassandra, catching the hint, chuckles softly. “Strawberry.”

“Agh!” Olivia lays her head back and smiles, leaning into her some more like before. “See, babe, it’s the little things that get me.”

Cassandra’s chuckling continues to bubble as she wraps her arms around her. As she pulls her in, she mumbles a soft caution: “careful, easy on me.”

Olivia is eyes closed and latched onto her like a koala when she hears it, and immediately backs off like they’re suddenly magnet ends.

“Oh my gosh, I’m sorry! Ugh, I forg--”

Cassandra tilts a bit in reaction to the sudden shift of weight, and takes hold of Olivia’s flailing hands before they make her airborne. “Hey! Easy!”

Hands secured and attention obtained, Olivia once again freezes in a state of stress.

“Liv, I’m okay,” Cassandra comforts with confidence. “I’m not a piece of fine china.”

Olivia can feel the embarrassed blush as she relaxes her arms. They stay linked, Cassandra rubbing the back of her hands with her thumbs.

“I...I know that, I so know that,” Olivia repeats, “I’m sorry. I’m s--”

“You don’t have to apologize,” Cassandra adds, further dispelling the worry.

“No, yeah. Yeah,” Olivia shakes her head fast, almost dizzying herself if not for Cassandra’s close presence. “Um, listen. Uh, hm…”

Cassandra blinks. “You okay?”

She looks so open, so understanding. Liv could tell her, she could just say it. Or, she could have a bit more mercy for her and not unload all of this on what is supposed to be a good, lighthearted night out. But would it help the stone in her gut, or the noiseless but deafening sensation in her head, between her ears? Will it make the dull but deep sense of dread subside?

“Cass, I…” her voice shakes a bit. Now she’s starting to become overwhelmed by all of the sensory overload and busy energy around them. Her cheeks go from hot to cold.

“Olivia,” Cass says softly, coming closer. There’s a new look in her eyes, one that is least lost and confused. “We should go over to the picnic tables, okay? Just hold onto my hand and follow me.”

Olivia follows the instructions to the letter. After all, it isn’t exactly an unthinkable task holding onto her and letting her take the lead. Cassandra leads them over to where a few picnic tables form a semi-circle facing the venue, all but one taken up by people. It’s as if the last empty one was reserved especially for her unpredictable episode should she need it.

But this isn’t an episode, right? God, she hopes not.

“Have a seat,” Cassandra requests. Olivia, ever the dissenting queer, sits on the edge of the picnic table rather than the bench seats on either side. Her hands clamp on the wood while Cassandra stands in front of her, taking off her prized new jacket.

“W-what are you doing?”

“The thing that happens in every teenage romance film pre-dating 2005,” Cassandra replies. She then loops the jacket up and around Olivia’s shoulders. It’s a size or two bigger than she would wear, which makes it perfect. Olivia’s spine goes straighter than she’s ever been in her life, and she clutches the ends of it against herself like a blanket.

Cassandra rubs up and down Olivia’s arms, slow but vigorous. The athlete is showing. “There.”

Olivia, feeling so sheepish she could be cast as an extra for a Charlotte’s Web remake, stares and rolls her lips shut. She feels better, but if she doesn’t let herself breathe, it’ll all surely get worse.

“Are you in a place to tell me what’s going on, or should I just distract you?”

Olivia’s fast becoming enthralled in just how prepared Cassandra is. If only she could say marveling at her was distracting enough without sounding corny. Yet, she’s asked the million-dollar question: can she say it, or should she? Without thinking, her gaze flashes to either side of Cassandra’s shoulders toward the crowds. Cassandra notices and immediately hooks a finger under Olivia’s chin.

“Olivia, don’t worry about them,” she says and guides her attention back to her. Butterflies.

Olivia parts her lips and lets herself sigh. “I can’t.” She takes hold of her hand and guides it to rest in both of hers in her lap. “I wish I could, but I can’t. I don’t want to. Not here. We’re supposed to be having a good time.”

“What we are supposed to be doing doesn’t matter.”

“I know, but, I’m okay. I just need a second. I promise.” She says it honestly. She can enjoy this, if she just gives herself permission to without scolding at every turn for mistakes she had no intention of making. “Just a minute to cool down.”

“Okay.” Cassandra turns and slides onto the table right next to her, for which Olivia gladly scoots over. She lets go of her just so she can hold onto the jacket again. The sun is heading toward the mountains in the distance, but the evening is still far out.

After a moment’s silence -- well, silent as one can get amid a fall carnival -- Olivia takes her first solid breath. The feeling in her throat is cooling down, and the tension in her chest is releasing. Her wandering eyes go across from the horizon to the next tallest thing: the ferris wheel, where it looks like a couple very similar to Ellinor and Cullen are in one of the carts. If only she could see past the obstruction of a giant stuffed animal.

Knowing them, that probably confirms that it is, in fact, them. It makes her snort.

Cassandra picks up on the reappearance of good humor. “Feeling better?”

In return Olivia looks over and gives her perhaps the first real and relaxed smile of the entire day. “Yes, a lot. Thank you.”

Many yards away, near a ring toss stand, two people begin to wave. Olivia zeroes in and sees that one has a beautifully-crafted side-braid of black hair and a fabulous ruffled coat. The other is a less-familiar face, but not a stranger’s.

“Oh, Josie!” Olivia says, and waves back. Josie is holding a smaller stuffed animal, bright pink, looking like a teddy bear. The other person says some words to her, looking like a question.

She looks happy. That’s good.

“Where’s Theia?” Cassandra asks, sticking a pin in the moment without even knowing.

Taking another breath, Olivia leans her shoulder into hers and groans.

“Am I missing something?”

Olivia sighs. “You and me both. I’ll explain later.” Her phone dings from her bag. She looks up and sees Josie and her company gone, only to look down at her phone and have an answer:

Josie: I hope we can link up before either of us leaves and take a pic! You both look adorable!

She hums in speculation, and replies:

Olivia: Yes please!!

With one click and toss, her phone is back in her back, and her sense is back in her head. Ariana Grande’s song “Tattooed Heart” has started to play on the Carnival DJ speakers.

“I love this song,” she smiles, and sways a little to the beat. “How are you feeling?”

Cassandra rolls her shoulders as she leans back a little. “Great, I have no complaints.”

“Really?”

She takes one look at Olivia’s hopeful look and bites the side of her lip. “I mean, I still have my expectations. Firstly, the funnel cake. Secondly, I do want to see you take a swing at the High Striker. Third, I--”

“Oh, what!” Olivia scoffs playfully, “That hammer looks taller than me and about as heavy!”

Cassandra smirks. “With me coaching you, Love, you can’t lose.”

Butterflies, part two. “I...suppose you have a point. But if it’s gonna happen, I’ll need that funnel cake to help hold me down.”

“Deal.”

Love. I like that nickname. Hell, I’d change my name to it, why not?

She hops down with her spirit anew, and helps Cassandra back onto her feet. Just a little help, as a treat, since Cass is right: she isn’t fragile, and Olivia doesn’t have to worry. Watching the people she depends on for strength deal with physical limitations doesn’t always have to be a crisis. It might have been in the past, but the here and now is what matters. And she is allowed to believe that.

They hold hands that gently swing as walk back into the crowds. It goes from feeling like a minefield to that scene in Rapunzel where she and Eugene are frolicking among the city folk. Friendly faces turn and offer smiles and “hello’s,” and they wave back. It’s easy. It’s effortless and thrilling at the same time. The popping and bell sounds are no longer menacing. The heat of the day is no longer suffocating.

And, at last, they find their way to the main event: that beautiful funnel cake truck, with its beautiful plates bigger than her faze of fried dough, strawberries, and whip cream. After dousing it in powdered sugar because, of course you douse it in powdered sugar, she approaches Cassandra with a bit of purposeful mischief.

Smart to the look, Cassandra raises a brow, holding her fork in ready. “You pull anything, Sinclair, and it’s war.”

“Whaaat?” Olivia asks coyly, pinning her own fork between her teeth and smiling. She’s holding the plate in both hands like a holiday pie.

“You know what. Don’t even think about it.”

“I just thought maybe you could do a little taste test a--AAH!” she can’t even get the tagline out before Cassandra strikes the first blow, scooping a dollop of cream onto her fingers and smearing it across Olivia’s nose and cheek. She squeaks in a pitch nearly at Ellinor-level, and stands there, shocked and holding the pie while her fork falls from her mouth onto the plate. Eyes wide, mouth agape, and face whipped.

She can’t believe it. Cassandra, standing there, smug and unable to run. But it’s not like she would, anyway. The woman stands and is judged for her crimes just as she is for her wins.

“I…” Olivia huffs, “Did you just seriously…?”

Cassandra, folding her arms with one hand going to her mouth as she only half-conceals her kind of playful grin, only plays dumb: “What? I have no idea what you are referring to!”

“Is this revenge for the ice cream?”

“I would prefer to call it a preventative measure.”

“Preventative...for what? I was only going to feed you the first bite!”

Cassandra’s eyes narrow. “Sure, Olivia, sure.”

“I was! Dammit, I was being a nice girlfriend! I swear!”

“I suppose we will never know, now,” Cassandra laughs and takes the napkins Olivia has in her hand, the ones she’s forgotten about during this heinous act of assassination. Carefully she unfolds it and hooks her finger under Olivia’s chin like before, only now she tilts it to the side so as to get the prime angle.

“Hold still,” she’s still laughing a little as she wipes off most of the whip cream. Olivia’s eyes are adrift to the floor but she can’t resist glancing. Glancing turns to staring. A brief moment in time where everything is messy, but everything is wonderful. Cassandra looks so thoughtful, so kind.

Such a pity, since she’s in for it.

Striking just as quick, Olivia leans her cheek in and rubs it across Cassandra’s mouth and tip of her nose. Most of the mess is already off her face, but they can still share in the stickiness.

“Ha!” She beams, bouncing back. “Rules of engagement are rules of engagement, Pentaghast!” She grabs her fork and points it at her like a defensive weapon.

Cassandra chuckles and folds the napkin she had in half, looking down at the floor modestly like she knew it was coming. She isn’t mad, though. Far from it. And she definitely isn’t mad when Olivia offers to take the napkin from her and pay her due, cleaning off her face.

“You know, sometimes,” Cassandra says more quietly, as Olivia finishes with one last brush along her chin for good measure, “I...I can be very bad at allowing someone else to take care of me.” The silliness has slipped from her tone.

Olivia goes still, her hand full of scrunched, stained napkin still caressing Cassandra’s jaw. Their eyes meet, and in the hazel hue she can see it. She can see the recognition, the apology for the amount of little things that have become a pile of a bigger thing. She knows. She knew in the kitchen earlier that day, and she knows now. And for some reason Olivia, who has always been team “an apology means saying the words,” this feels like it means something deep. Something trusting and vulnerable.

Something definitely forgivable.

And so, tossing the napkin to the trash a couple feet from where they stand, Olivia grins wide and cuts into the plate of precious funnel cake until she skewers a perfect bite-sized piece of cake, cream, and berries. Then, holding it up for just a few seconds, she then stuffs it into her own mouth. She then holds the plate out to Cassandra, who grasps the plate edge with one hand.

“Don’t worry,” Olivia says with a mouth half-full, “I suck sometimes at letting others care for themselves. Maybe we both need to learn when to just stuff our faces and let things happen.”

Cassandra, looking relieved and with fondness, begins to dig in with her own fork. “You might be onto something, there.”

Though she can never not overthink things, Olivia is happy to think ahead with this one: their edges and sharp points aren’t what they used to be. The intuition she had to just ride the wave and let things play out proved vindicated. It’s uncertainty that isn’t tragic. It’s hopeful. Is this what it feels like, then, to be falling in love?

Bring it on, Hammer Strike.

#college au #modern thedas au #olivia sinclair #college!olivia #ellinor trevelyan #friends fic #chapter update #fic update #CARNIVAL FEELS

14 notes · View notes

alwaysupatnight · 4 years

Note

1, 8, 11, 13, 20, 30, 44, 49, and 53! :p 💜

So this got really long. :P Thanks so much for asking!! :D

20. Post a snippet of a WIP you’re working on. This is from chapter 3 of culebra Seth. I don’t think this will change too much before I eventually post it, but you never know. Also, CULEBRA VISION, Y’ALL. :P

Jesus Christ. Did he really wake up this morning with fangs? Richard, his mind supplies. Because of course, there could only be one explanation for all of this, and this had Richard’s handiwork written all over it. Richie might have gotten all the brains in the family, but that never once stopped him from running his mouth and getting them both into trouble, and last night had been no exception. He had to hand it to Richie though. His brother never did cease to surprise. Something primal rises up in Seth, promising vengeance of the homicidal variety, and from one blink to the next, his vision flashes and the world around him explodes into psychedelic colors, reminding him of the first time he’d tripped acid except without the weird hallucinations. Seth’s eyes rove around the room in every direction. Everything has morphed into neon blues and purples. And then he spots it—movement in the next room. He can see through the wall. The object shines, the light coming off of it glowing brighter than anything he’s ever seen. Like a blinding sunburst of warm colors that compels him to want to grab hold and sink his teeth into it, take all that warmth into himself like he’s sucking down the juices of a ripened peach. Almost in the same moment he imagines it, fangs erupt out of his upper gums, and it’s like he’s back in middle school popping a stiffy in front of all his classmates. He touches the tip of one sharpened tooth curiously, first with his tongue and then with the pad of his thumb. The sudden heat that rips through him shoots straight to his groin and makes him want to squirm. Yup, definitely like a boner. His mouth waters. The fluorescent shape glows all the colors of a sunset, and he tracks it with his eyes, mesmerized. And when Kate’s voice drifts out of it, the shock of it is so loud it sets a drumming of blood in his ears that swallows all the sound. Kate. It’s Kate, the evolved part of his brain shouts at him. His whole body gives a jerk, the fangs retreating back into hiding, and Seth stares in horror as Kate’s luminescent shape makes her way to the back of the house, trailing behind the dimmer silhouette of his brother.

Ask me questions about writing!

1. Favorite place to write. I do most of my writing on my desktop computer. But sometimes when I’ve turned it off for the night I’ll type up ideas and dialogue in the notes on my phone. I’ve just discovered the google docs app which has made transferring those notes into my word docs a hell of a lot easier.

8. Favorite trope to write. idk anymore. I feel like every story and fandom I’ve written for has its own things going on so I don’t have many tropes I can think of that I write consistently. I do always try to have the ladies making their own decisions though. They’re the ones usually calling the shots in my fics. :P

11. Describe your writing process from scratch to finish. haha okay let’s see. I usually come up with dialogue randomly, or a full scene will pop into my head. It rarely comes with a plot, so I’ll spend the next several days excited about my new idea and trying to type up all the notes I can think of and getting down as many ideas as possible so I can build a story around it. And then I’ll drop it once the initial excitement wears off, but it’ll always be at the back of my mind. And every now and then I’ll return to it and get excited about it again and add more ideas to my notes. Over the next few months if I’ve thought up enough scenes and have a specific ending in mind, I’ll attempt to write the first chapter. Then I’ll spend the next several weeks to months stressing myself out over writing that chapter while second guessing myself every moment. I’m a slow writer and I edit while I write so I almost never get any actual writing done and end up discouraging myself to the point where I want to give up. I might “give up” several times before I get so frustrated with it that I stop giving a fuck whether it’s actually any good. I’ll FINISH the chapter. Post it. And then I’ll spend the next 3-10 months complaining about the NEXT chapter. And so on until the fic is done. Are you surprised that I’ve only finished one multi-chapter fic btw? lmfao This has been my process so far. I’m so sorry I haven’t updated culebra seth, y’all. I know it’s been eight months. I PROMISE I AM TRYING.

13. How do you deal with writers block? I complain for months about being stuck and then decide to quit writing forever. And then I read a book and decide to come back to it.

30. Favorite line you’ve ever written. So one of my favorite lines I’ve written was this one from the trashy one night stand fic:

The gold cross at her neck catches the light and winks up at him like the punch line to a joke he doesn’t find at all funny.

Also this isn’t just one line, but I was really proud of myself for the ending I wrote for that fic too :P

He opens his mouth like he’s got something to say. She thinks she knows what, but the words freeze in his throat. “Kate,” he says instead, his voice cracking. It’s not an I love you. But when he looks at her like that, whiskey brown eyes free of poison and so clear she thinks she can see the future in them… …it’s only a matter of when. “Go,” she says, unable to resist a smile. “I’ll be waiting.”

44. Best piece of feedback you’ve ever gotten. Hmm... I almost never receive any so...? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ BUT IF ANY OF Y’ALL HAVE FEEDBACK FOR ME I WOULD LOVE TO HEAR IT. PLEASE. I AM BEGGING.

49. What do you find the hardest to write in a story, the beginning, the middle or the end? THE TITLE OMFG. ALSO THE MIDDLE. WTF. If I have an ending in mind, I can write anything once I get the beginning out of the way. Beginnings can be really frustrating for me too, but the middle is 100% what kills me. It’s so hard to hold onto that motivation to keep writing. Especially when you feel like no one gives a crap about what you write.

53. What does writing mean to you? I mean, I mostly do it for fun. When’s it gonna be fun? lmfao No, I really do want to improve my skills at crafting stories. It’s literally all I want to do and all I ever think about.

#replies #long post

5 notes · View notes

lazy-cat-corner · 5 years

Note

It's Christmas season! Any chance you'll be writing loki-valkyrie-frigga Christmas drabble hehe

Will I be writing loki-valkyrie-frigga Christmas drabble? Umm, now I am! Funny thing is, I do have a little Frigga-verse draft hanging up in my google docs but it is hmm, how do I put it? Kinda different from the tone of all my other previous fics I’ve written about her life? Maybe this could be a prologue to the next story? Oh shit, does that mean I am committing to something? Hope that doesn’t come back to haunt me. O_o

I also sort-of rushed this little ficlet/drabble in honor of Loki’s unofficial birthday, so pardon if it seems a bit rushed.

Word Count: 800 words

Title: From Now On Your Troubles Will Be Out Of Sight

Rating: General

From Now On Your Troubles Will Be Out Of Sight

Frigga riffled through a cardboard box and placed her hands on her hips in thought. She tossed her dark curls behind her shoulders and pursed her lips in a way Loki’s seen Brun do a number of times while fiddling with her latest project.

There were only two more weeks left for Christmas, and the little princess has been spending every last minute preparing for the latest holiday everyone at school is obsessed with. It seemed only yesterday where she spent every last hour talking about Halloween costumes, decorations and candy.

Out of nowhere, she came home from school one day asking her parents why they didn’t have a Christmas tree by their fireplace like the Whos from Whoville do. While Brun’s been less than enthusiastic with Frigga’s sudden obsession for Earth holidays, Loki’s felt a bit of relief she’s acclimated so well to school and holds an interest in the things she’s learning.

“Where’s the star? It needs a star!” Frigga said while scanning the box of leftover decor generously donated from Pepper Potts and Jane Foster.

“Star? What star?” Loki furrowed his eyebrows trying to remember what a star has to do with a pine tree. He’s certain Frigga doesn’t literally mean a star.

“The plastic gold one that goes on top of the tree,” Thor explained. “Jane and I take turns every year putting it on top. It’s sort-of an honor Midgardians give to one another.”

“Pretty sure I saw it in one of those boxes,”Brun added while lounging on the sofa and nursing a cup of coffee.

Loki raised his eyebrows and turned to his partner.

“Really? Care to be more specific?” He lowered his voice while adding under his breath, “Maybe help.”

“Hey,” Brun set her drink down and slowly stood up. “You said you could handle it. I was only respecting your wishes.”

“I don’t recall wishing for you to sit down and stare at us while we fumbled around with a tangled up string of lights,” he countered.

Her lips curved up in a teasing smile when she saw the glare Loki threw her way.

“Come on, mum. You can help me!” Frigga grabbed Brun’s hand and led her to a stack of boxes. “You can check this one!” She pointed and turned around to her work.

With Brun’s eyes still locked on Loki, she let out a faint chuckle and shrugged.

“Guess you win this one,” she said softly while picking through the boxes. After several moments, she pulled up a reflective green bauble by the string and held it up to her face. She sauntered over to the tree with as much grace as she has with Dragonfang and hung the ornament up on a branch next to Loki’s hand. Her hands moved over and swiped his fingers in between hers.

“How’s that?” Brun smiled.

“Wonderful,” Loki leaned down for a quick kiss on her lips. “Now do the same thing with the stacks of other boxes your daughter’s buried herself in.”

Brun’s smile dropped and she rolled her eyes while taking her sweet time sorting through the decorations and hanging things up one by one with as little energy as possible.

Loki glanced up at the ornament Brun left behind and paused in thought.

He knew he was taking this whole thing too seriously. Frigga would have been happy with a small two foot tall pre-made tree, but he couldn’t help himself. A part of him wanted her to be excited and have the best experience possible. And anyway, when has Loki ever half-asses anything?

If he’s being honest, his constant participation with Frigga’s newfound interests might also be a way to keep his mind away from his usual anxieties that creep up in the middle of the night.

There hasn’t been a reason to be on constant alert since Thanos, yet there’s still that voice in Loki’s head telling him otherwise. It feels like a clock ticking in the back of his mind and he can’t find where it’s coming from or why it’s going off. Anytime he feels warmth or safety, that voice never fails to shoot him down and remind him how temporary it all is.

“I found it!” Frigga squealed with half of her body bent over and inside a large storage container. Her legs kicked out several times before they landed back on the ground and she stood upright. Frigga jumped in the air while holding the glittery star above her head. “Papa, can I put on the star?”

“Of course,” he smiled brightly. “It was your idea, after all.”

“We should take turns! Next time, you can put up the star, then mum, then me, then…”

Loki felt his smile slowly slip and a sinking feeling hit his gut.

How much longer will you lie to your daughter?[tick tock] Do you feel good about yourself when you smile as if everything’s all right? [tick tock] She will only see you as this infallible god for so long.[tick tock]

He sucked in a deep breath and silenced that thought with another strand of red ribbon woven between the branches of the tree.

#Frigga-verse i guess is a thing now?#happy birthday little shit!#i love my two point five readers #valki #lazycat writes #lazycat prompts #valki fanfiction #valki fanfic #christmas #christmas fic #Anonymous #fanfiction #thor fanfic #thor fanfiction

15 notes · View notes

sagittariuswritings · 5 years

Text

smile. (1/?)

A/N: It’s kind of long for just an introduction to the series, but I enjoyed writing it.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader

Word count: 1.9k (This literally filled up like five pages on google docs and it felt like I was writing a chapter book but what do i knoW)

Warnings: None, really.

Steve had a whole list of books he planned on reading, and since he had a day off, he figured he might as well put that list to some good use. He had his little notebook full of things people had recommended to him. Things he should discover, since it had only been two years since he was unthawed. He still hadn’t got to listen to the full album that Sam had recommended to him. He only listened to about three songs when he was recovering in the hospital from the fall off of the helicarrier. As soon as he’d healed up, he went straight back to work. Which was not surprising for the people that knew him personally. If he wasn’t kept busy doing something, he might lose his mind. He was a good man who loved to work. It wasn’t like he could really help it.

He pushed open the door to a small local library, reaching into his back pocket and taking the small notebook out. Closing the door behind him, he opened the notebook, and flipped to a page with a list of books upon books. One of the books had been The Lord of the Rings by J.R.R. Tolkien. Steve was intrigued. He was more of a history nerd, really, but the title of this book definitely intrigued him.

Not wanting to bother the librarian who seemed to be busy reading already, and hadn’t noticed Steve, he made his way to where the fictional books were. It had been so long since he walked around a library. He normally just went to a store and bought those small really thick books you’d find in a single aisle of a grocery store. “The ones for old people.”, Natasha would tell him. “Maybe you should get a pair of reading glasses while you’re at it, old man.” She’d even said.

After about ten or fifteen minutes of no luck, Steve grumbled something like “Gosh dang-it.” under his breath. He made his way to the front desk, and the librarian was still reading.

Her y/e/c eyes skimmed across the paper intensely, almost as if she was having a staring competition with the book itself. This can’t be happening, she thought, her eyes wide as the scene unfolded in front of her. Her favorite character got stabbed, and she let out an audible gasp. A loud “NO!” slipped passed her lips shamelessly, not caring that she was in the library she worked at. She grumbled some curse words under her breath that Steve couldn’t quite hear, it was so quiet, and she slammed the book shut, putting it on the desk.

Shutting the book seemed to have brought her back to reality, because she looked up, and another gasp passed her lips. “Oh my word, I’m so sorry, sir! My favorite character just died, and, well, you see, pretty much everyone refers to me as a geek or a nerd, so I guess you just witnessed my inner nerd or… geek… I don’t know-- I’m sorry, again--” She blabbered on, embarrassed now. “How can I help you?”

Steve suppressed his laugh that dared to break free from his lips, and cleared his throat before he spoke. “It’s quite okay, ma’am, really.” He offered her a little smile, his eyes glancing down to the name on the desk. It read Y/n Y/l/n, and he looked back over to her. “Y/n, is it?” She nodded. “Y/n-- Does this library happen to have The Lord of the Rings by J.R.R. Tolkien in stock?”

She looked at him blankly. He must not know anything about the series. “...Which one…? The Lord of the Rings is a trilogy, sir, the first book is The Fellowship of the Ring, the second book is The Two Towers, and the last book is The Return of the King.”

He looked at her, surprise written in his futures. “...All three, I suppose. Why not?” He shrugged with a small smile, uncertainty in his futures as well, though.

Y/n read the uncertainty in his futures, and offered him a soft smile. “I think that’s a great idea. Lucky for you, I just brought them back from my place. I’ve read them plenty of times before, but it’s nice working at a library. You don’t have to buy your own copies or pay rent.” She winked, still smiling. She stood up out of her chair, and walked into the backroom behind the giant desk she was originally sitting at.

She came out of the backroom with a frown on her face. “I’m afraid I forgot them… Here, how about this: I get off this shift in about two hours. Come back here at exactly 2pm, and I’ll grab the books from my place and give them to you, free of charge. You look like a busy man, and I don’t think you’ll be coming back for a while.”

It was one of her specialties. She was able to read people quite easy, almost like a detective. If she looked hard enough, she might be able to tell you what your job or hobby is. Her friends nicknamed her Sherlock, and so she of course nicknamed her bestest friend Watson.

“Uh… Yeah, actually… I’ve got a full schedule most of the time, this is my one in a million day off.” He answered, unsure. He didn’t know how Y/n didn’t recognize him. If anything, going into the library, he expected to be noticed upon first glance. He was so used to it, and honestly, it was a relief to not be asked for whatever a selfie was every second he walked down the sidewalk.

“What do you do?” Y/n curiously asked. When she saw he took a moment to reply, she spoke up before he could. “Sorry-- You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, I’m just a curious person.” She sheepishly shrugged. “Gets boring here in the library when barely anyone comes in.”

“No no, you’re fine. I’m Steve Rogers. I worked with S.H.I.E.L.D. before it fell out. Now, I’m an avenger.”

Her jaw seemed to slacken when she heard who he was. “Steve Rogers? You mean Captain America?” She asked, dumbfounded.

He seemed to regret what he said as he nodded, but his regret disappeared when she said. “My sister is a huge fan. I’m not gonna be one of those annoying people that constantly ask for pictures or autographs. I wasn’t here during the attack on New York. I was in the Faroe Islands for a few months.” Y/n cut herself off, feeling herself about to explain in full detail of why she was there, how much fun she had, etc. It was a bad habit of hers. If she started speaking about her passions, it would be hard to make her stop.

A wave of relief washed over him when he heard she wasn’t about to ask for anything of him. “Faroe Islands? I’ve never heard of it…” Y/n’s eyes seemed to light up when he said that, obviously excited. Not many people had heard of the Faroe Islands, and she was more than happy to explain it to people. But she didn’t want him to feel like he had to stay there.

“Since it’s your day off, I’m sure you’ve got plenty of things to do, so, how about when you come by here at 2, I’ll explain on the way to my apartment. Deal?” She offered him her hand to shake on it. Steve gladly shook it, his small charming smile gracing his lips. “Deal. See you at two, Y/n.”

“See you, Cap.” She grinned at him, watching him leave.

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

2pm came faster than Steve expected. He was in the middle of ordering a sandwich at Subway when he realized it was 1:45. Thankfully the sandwich-maker was quick and finished his sandwich within 2 minutes. Subway bag with sandwich inside in hand, Steve ran down the blocks to the library.

Y/n was on her way to the doors of the library when the doors burst open, and Steve ran into her. Y/n lost her balance and almost fell, but Steve’s strong arms wrapped around her waist to keep her standing.

“Are you okay? I’m sorry--” Steve quickly spoke, his eyes flickering over her face to make sure she was okay. It surprised Y/n so much, that it took quite some time for her to finally speak up.

She cleared her throat. “Uh, yeah, I’m fine.” She quickly nodded, offering a reassuring smile. “Promise.”

Steve got caught in her y/e/c eyes for a moment before he realized he was staring. He removed his arms from around her waist after making sure she could stand.

“Do you wanna get those books and get a history lesson on the Faroe Islands, Steve?” She asked with a small sheepish smile.

“I don’t see why not. I could use the information.” Steve smiled back at her. He turned and opened the door for her, letting her walk out.

Y/n locked the doors behind them before turning and starting to walk with him. “So, first things first, the Faroe Islands are off the coast of Denmark. It’s a total of 18 islands, and it’s absolutely gorgeous there. You get from island to island by either ferry or underwater tunnel. It’s actually really cool. It’s a lot like Iceland, which some people might mistake photos of the Faroe Islands for Iceland. My absolute favorite location on the Faroe Islands, was Lake Sørvágsvatn…”

As she went on and on, before they knew it, they were at her apartment. “You can come in, if you want.” She nodded to the inside of her apartment after she unlocked the door.

Steve walked in behind her, looking around. The first thing that caught his eye was a giant shelf with books on them, camera lenses, two camera bodies, and so much more. “You’re a photographer.” He noted.

“Very well, Sherlock!” She teased, shutting the door behind her. “That’s why I went to the Faroe Islands. Well, I’d always wanted to go there and photograph the landscape, but I was contacted by National Geographic, because I signed up for some sort of random pick thingy, I dunno, but I was chosen, and I had the time of my life there. I wish I could go back, but… Money’s short right now, and it sucks.” She sighed, walking over to the shelf.

After a couple moments, she let out an “Aha!” and pulled out three books off of the shelf. “Here you are, all three of the books.” She handed him the stack.

Steve took the stack, brows raised. “How long are these each?” He asked a little warily. “Well over 400 pages. Good luck, soldier.” She chuckled.

“Thank you, really. I’ll return them to the library as soon as I’m finished with them.” Steve smiled down at her.

“Anytime! Here,” She turned around and jogged to the dining room table, grabbing a notebook and ripping a paper out of it. She scribbled an assortment of numbers on it, and handed the paper to him. “If you have any questions or something about the books, just call me. I’ll probably always pick up.”

“Sounds like a plan, Y/n. I’ll see you around?”

“I’ll make sure of it.”

With a wave goodbye, Steve was out of her apartment, and Steve was left with a sudden interest to get to know her even more.

#steve rogers #steve x reader #steve rogers x reader #captain america #captain america x reader #marvel #avengers #quite a bit of self insert here bc i'm a photographer and a lotr nerd #soft!steve

6 notes · View notes

kingsofeverything · 5 years

Text

11/11/11

@chloehl10 @ham-palpert @reminiscingintherain @realitybetterthanfiction and @laynefaire tagged me in this. Thanks y’all! I’m sorry I’m such a slack ass and it’s been weeeeeeks since I drafted this half finished, soooooooooo....

I’m going to combine and put everything under a cut.

The first 11 are from @chloehl10

1. What’s your favourite fic you’ve ever written, and why?

Don’t Want Shelter because it’s the first fic I put emotional effort into. That universe, that Harry and Louis, all of it are very vivid and alive in my head. I love them.

2. Pick three words that you think describe your works overall.

Long ass sentences 👀

3. How long does it take you to write a fic?

Depends. Writing doesn’t usually take me long but editing does.

4. What’s the hardest thing about writing?

Realizing that I’m probably never going to write some of the ideas I have

5. Do you listen to music or anything while you write? What’s normal for you when you write?

I don’t usually, but sometimes. Idk that I have a normal. I really prefer to be alone and quiet.

6. How do you come up with titles for your fics?

Songs usually. Sometimes they just come to me though.

7. What’s one piece of advice you’d give to a new writer?

Get a beta. But not just a beta. Get someone who can talk fic/plot/story with you as well.

8. How important do you think tags are when you are publishing a fic?

Very in some ways, no at all in others. I tag mainly for readers so they know enough about the fic to decide whether or not to read. I don’t tag specific sex stuff usually though every now and then I’ll throw in ‘anal fingering’ just to mix it up. I don’t tag who tops/bottoms. I do tag with fic reccers in mind thanks to B’s @nottooldforthisship instructions!

9. Do you write for fests/exchanges? If so, do you enjoy them? If not, why not?!

I have and I do but not often. I like running them and I have done exchanges in the past but it’s not really my thing to write for them. Is that weird? I feel like it is but ehhh

10. Which work of yours are you most proud of and why?

An Unbalanced Force aka marold harold because.... idk

11. What’s next for you?

Currently working on a short pwp hiccup fic

These 11 are from @ham-palpert

1. Have you ever been burned by a WIP that never updated? If so, describe that traumatic experience.

I have not! But more in a ehhhh I’m not too bothered way. I’ve definitely read WIPs that weren’t completed but idk I guess I love on quickly lol

2. Speaking of WIPs, do you like writing (or reading) them? Why or why not?

I don’t write them. As in even my fics that have been posted as WIPs (DWS and HFL) we’re completely finished aside from some editing before I started posting. I change too much when I write. That padlock in TSHU? Thought of it at the end and went back to add it to the beginning.

I will sometimes read a WIP but not often. Mainly because I don’t remember anything between updates

3. Are you a dialogue person? An inner-monologue person? A heavily descriptive scene-setter?

I think I’m gonna pass? I literally have no idea. I don’t think I heavily describe scenes but I guess that depends on the scene? This is when I send for help and ask Nic

4. Is there a scene from a fic you’ve read that you wished you’d written/thought of first?

Not really

5. Would you rather read a 150k angsty fic, or a 10k fluffy one-shot?

10k one shot

6. Do you enjoy writing smut scenes? Does it make you feel super awkward? Do you need to have a cigarette afterwards?

Sometimes smut scenes are fun to write. Especially if there’s something different about it. Sometimes I have to be in the mood. Sometimes I feel like I need to shower after lolll

7. Do you click through the recently updated list on AO3 or read exclusively fic recs? Or a bit of both?

Neither. I don’t read nearly as much as I used to. I’m nowhere near caught up on Big Bang.

8. How many words, on average, do you write a week? Do you try to stick to writing goals?

Oh wow. Idk! I could actually figure it out since I track my words per day. When I’m steadily writing, I’d say 10k a week is average? Probably more tbh

9. Are you someone who comments on the fics you read (and liked)?

Yes

10. Of all the fics you’ve written, which one came to you the easiest?

marold harold I think

11. If you had to live in one of the AUs you created, which one would it be?

Marold harold and I’d be Kate McKinnon

these 11 are from @reminiscingintherain

1. Has your writing changed now from the way it was when you started? If so, how?

yeah definitely. more plot heavy and just better overall

2. Does anyone IRL know about your writing? If so, have they read it?

yes, but no one’s read any of it. i almost sent tshu to my therapist lol

3. Is there anything you’ve written that you wish you hadn’t?

4. Do you have a set location or setting that you have to write in? A favourite cafe? The only seat that’s comfortable?

no, i will write literally anywhere. on my phone or laptop. i like writing on my back porch when it’s not a million degrees outside

5. What are you working on? If you can (i.e., it’s not on anon!), share five lines!

5 lines from the hiccup fic:

When he opens his mouth to answer, Louis hiccups and flattens his hand against his chest, shaking his head. He points to his mouth, hiccups again, then again, snaps his mouth shut and pushes past Harry, who turns and follows him out of the club to the relative quiet of the street.

“You can stay, Harry.” Louis shoves his hands in the pockets of his faded jeans and turns to glance at Harry, who’s walking beside him. He hiccups and groans, kicking his foot out and stomping. “Fuck me, man. This sucks.”

6. Have you ever written something for a fic, but ended up removing a whole scene in its entirety and using it for something else?

i think so but tbh i can’t remember lol

7. Are you a linear writer? Or can you write scenes out of order and put them together at the end?

i’m a linear writer, but i will skip over parts of a scene like....... i’ll write a bunch of dialogue with nothing around it and fill in later

8. Betas/Britpickers… opinions?

always always always. i would literally not write if i couldn’t have a beta lol

9. How much do/can you write on average at any given time?

huh idk. i’m a fast writer, but i’d say like probably 1.5k a day is average for me?

10. How organised are you? Do you have lists and/or spreadsheets, or do you just wing it?

i’m the worst lol i tried to organize my google docs and that lasted like a week

11. What made you start writing?

i was bored and i thought hmmmm wonder if i could write a fic. turns out i could!

alrighty these 11 are from layne :D

1. What is your favorite trope to write? To read?

EXES/ENEMIES TO LOVERS

2. What other fandoms do you write in/have you written in?

not a one

3. What’s one fic idea you want to read, but would never write?

i honestly don’t know because i write what i want to read

4. When do you do most of your writing - morning, afternoon, night? Which time of day do you find most productive?

i think i’m most productive in the morning, but i write when i find the time

5. Writing routine? What do you drink? Do you have a go to snack?

i don’t have a routine. i usually drink water or coffee, but occasionally vodka, wine, or beer. i don’t snack while i write but now i want to

6. Have you ever been writing something and had to get up and walk away from it? What was it and why did you have to step away?

i had to walk away from tshu because it was stressing me out that i couldn’t invent time travel irl so i wrote heading for limbo for a few weeks and went back to it lol

7. What is your most favorite scene you’ve ever written?

oooooooooooooooooooooh oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooh this is such a good question and i hate it lol i absolutely HATE picking favorites of anything but i’ll say that the scene from tshu when louis shows zayn his tattoo and everything right before and after that

8. Have you ever had an ending to a story, but couldn’t figure out how to start it? I don’t mean the typical -And they lived happily ever after - but a fully fleshed out ending with your usual writing pair, but you had no idea where to start? Did you ever write it?

nooooooope

9. What is the oddest thing you’ve ever drawn inspiration from?

idk i think being stuck in a hurricane with no power turning into don’t want shelter was pretty odd

10. You’ve accepted a prompt to write a fic using a Whitesnake song for the title. Which song do you choose, and what is your fic’s summary?

here i go again - 70s trucker au (i’m not summarizing because i’m actually planning to write this one, though the title with be different. probably.)

11. Your most recent fic is being made into a movie. What would you change your main characters’ names to and who would you fancast to play them?

ok so i’m cheating here by picking tshu instead of my most recent fic because my most recent fic is canon pwp lol and i’m sorry but i’m so lame with actors and stuff idk anyone who’d play them. and idk about names either! SORRY LAYNE

last but not least!

these 11 are from @realitybetterthanfiction

1. What made you realize you wanted to start writing fan fiction?

we were hanging at my parents’ house during a hurricane when they had power and we didn’t, and i was bored af and i think nic had just recently published her first fic and i was like....... huh i wonder if i can do that?

2. What fic changed you as a reader or a writer?

nic’s 5 times fic called fire and ice! i remember reading it and thinking WOOHOO PWP!!!! and then crying because she snuck all these FEELINGS in. so it made me think about writing in a different way, i guess. it can be fun and emo lol

3. What is your best writer’s block buster?

idk. haven’t really tried anything.

4. What’s the last non fan fiction book you’ve read?

uhhhhhhhhhhhhh a book about physics and space science (fic research lmaoooooooooooooooo)

5. If you had or have skills like our talented artists in the fandom, what’s one scene you would like to illustrate? (Can be your own work or another’s work)

THE JUGGLING SCENE FROM STRANDED IN A DREAM

6. What’s the best piece of writing advice you’ve ever gotten?

just keep writing! you can edit later!

7. What’s one genre you’re hesitant to write but really want to explore?

idk i don’t think i have one? maybe aliens?

8. Would you ever cowrite with someone else? And if you have, how to you divide the work?

nic and i are trying BUT IT’S HARD AND WE DON’T KNOW WHAT WE’RE DOING

9. Do friends outside the fandom know you write? Are they supportive? (I hope they are!!!)

no but my husband does and is

10. What is your favorite fic Niall? (give me all the Niall!)

niall and his churros!!!!!

11. What is your favorite supernatural category (examples, vampires, ABO, werewolves, angels, aliens). And can you give a girl some recs?

vampires!!!!!!!!!!!!!! i don’t have any recs because my faves are old and everyone knows them: madalynn_bohemia’s vampire series

#11/11/11 #11 questions #i didn't make any questions or tag anyone

2 notes · View notes

make-it-mavis · 6 years

Text

Darling, Without You

Summary -- Mavis and Felix have both lost someone they loved, and their grief brings them together for a night. 5682 words, angst, rated E for everyone lmao

Combined AUs -- Where Mavis is ‘reformed’ post-first-movie, and where Hero’s Duty is unplugged (inspired by convos in the discord server that I mod with allthefixins)

You can read it in google docs here if you prefer!

Hero’s Duty was unplugged.

That was the long and short of it. That was all anyone really needed to know. Its great, golden prongs backed out of Game Central Station without much warning at all, and left a hollow, cold tunnel that didn’t even catch the light that poured in from the arcade doors. Many were calling it a tragedy. Others, mostly the more seasoned sprites among them, showed a passing sympathy, but couldn’t be bothered for much more than that. In the thirty-four years that the arcade had been open, too many games had come and gone to bother being heartbroken over every loss. Such things happened. It was that way since the beginning, and would be that way until the arcade was no more. That was life.

That was the long and short.

Rather, that was what could have been the long and short, if not for one particularly beloved hero that faded away into the dark.

She was a difficult woman, to say the least -- intimidating, intense, tough as nails, not exactly friendly, but all the same, she was loved. Being one of the four sprites who achieved real hero status in the Sugar Rush invasion of 2012, she was admired. Idolized. An inspiration.

Sergeant Calhoun.

Tamora Calhoun.

Tammy.

Hard-ass.

Captain Buzzkill.

Cousin-in-law.

Cousin-in-law. Cousin-in-law. The phrase nagged at Mavis’ head like tiny birds pecking away. Once Calhoun married Felix, she became her cousin-in-law, a title that Mavis turned up her nose at. She never wanted Calhoun to be her anything. She would have been perfectly happy never seeing her again after the first day she laid eyes on her. Sure, the Sugar Rush infestation wasn’t technically her fault. But if Hero’s Duty never existed, then, chances were, Make-it Mavis would still be Pyrite. She would still have a circus full of performers and animals and firecrackers. She would still have an audience full of her favorite kids, smiling and laughing and cheering her name. She would still have the life she fought so hard to have. She would still live in the one place she ever truly considered home. And she would still have a best friend.

She would still have the one sprite she ever really loved.

Just one look at Calhoun, and Mavis would remember all-too-clearly the day that her life fell into the grinding jaws of a thousand metal monsters. But...

Cousin-in-law.

Technically, and legally… family.

Mavis would not have it. It took her long enough to even want her actual cousin to be her family. She could admit to herself that Calhoun’s absence was impossible to ignore. She wished that she were still around, if only so that everyone could stop being miserable and blubbery. But the idea that she should have felt sad, legitimately sad for losing her? She wasn’t about to go crying over some dead broad she never liked in the first place, just because of some stupid wedding.

All the room for grief in her heart was permanently occupied.

Said heart thudded heavily and bluntly in her chest as she sat atop Niceland, dangling her feet over the edge, her arms draped over her guitar, like every night. She gazed longingly through Fix-it Felix Jr.’s screen, across the arcade, at the pink, flashing, glittery eyesore over by the Whack-a-Mole. Sugar Rush. Home-sweet-home. There was a perfect view of it from the top of Niceland, which was both a blessing and a curse. It was unlikely that she would ever be allowed to set foot in her home again, and seeing it so close was just a visual reminder. But at least she could see it at all. Every night, during her designated, agreed-upon alone time, she could sit on the roof and try to soak up rays of its lights, or hear notes of its theme music. The good memories could come flooding back, and she could get by on that age-old coping strategy of hers:

Pretending.

At the very least, she could pretend he was with her again.

Once the rest of the game had long since gone to bed, she could ease herself into the feeling that she and her partner of thirty years finally had a moment alone. Downtime. Some peace and quiet, something she never truly learned the value of until she had to keep up appearances and pretend not to be as close to “the king” as she was. But away from prying eyes and big ears, behind closed doors, they could just… be themselves. Together. They could just talk.

Unfortunately, he stopped being talkative once he died.

She was never dumb enough to try believing he could reply. But maybe, just maybe, he could hear her anyways.

So, like every night, she began plucking a gentle melody on her guitar, and offered up a soft serenade to the stars.

“I’m trying to hold my breath

Let it stay this way

Can’t let this moment end…”

She closed her eyes in defiance of the utterly wrong world around her. Sugar Rush was so rarely dark, but maybe if she concentrated just right, she could believe the faint light coming from the arcade and glowing through her eyelids was just an elusive sunset, the sort that painted the horizon into an orange creamsicle.

Yes, she thought, as she felt her heart pick up. The sun would set soon, and Sugar Rush would fall into nighttime, a strange phenomena that came entirely too infrequently. Whether it was a glitch, or even an Easter Egg, she did not care to ask. All that mattered was that those nights were special.

“You set off a dream in me

Getting louder, now

Can you hear it echoing?”

The ledge she sat on was no longer the roof of Niceland. She was at the candy castle, perched on the balcony outside the royal chambers. Behind her, the ornate, windowed doors were cracked open just a bit.

“Take my hand

Will you share this with me?”

He was inside. He was listening.

“‘Cause darling, without you…”

Creak.

The sound grabbed Mavis by the heart and slammed her right back into the frigid ice water that was reality. Barely containing a furious scream, she whipped her head around at the culprit.

It was Felix.

Of course it was.

Or, rather, the weird, off-kilter husk shaped like him that had been shambling around the arcade. He looked, acted, and felt like a lethal chunk of his code had been sucked right out of his body ever since Hero’s Duty went down the tubes.

Since he lost his wife, anyway.

Mavis could not blame him for being… strange. Not at all. Even she could not be so bitter. But she hoped so sincerely that he would be strange somewhere far away from her. She wanted no part of his mourning process. She had enough mourning to do on her own, mourning for a sprite she loved for nearly thirty years, not four, and whose death was not an act of Litwak, but indirectly caused by said wife’s game. Mavis believed she could only be so sympathetic. There was only so much support she could offer him, and it was not nearly enough.

She was useless to help, and she knew it. It would have been easier for the both of them if they just kept their distance from each other for a while.

Yet, here he was. Intruding on her alone time.

He looked even less like himself than he already had in the past few weeks -- no hat, no uniform, no hammer. Just unkempt, unwashed hair, a wrinkled white undershirt, pajama bottoms, and dirty socks. An absolute mess. For him, anyway.

He looked at her, not even trying to smile. He said quietly, his voice ragged, “Mavy. Hi.”

Mavis felt her face heat up. She had no idea what to do or say, and she hated that. Looking away from him to study her guitar strings, she said coldly, “Do you know what ‘alone time’ means?”

“I do,” he said. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t sleep.”

She plucked a single note, and said a bit more gently, “Well… I’m not surprised. But why come up here?”

His voice came a bit closer. “I was thinkin’ about you.”

Her heart stuttered.

“...Why?”

“Because--” his voice cracked a bit, and he took some steadying breaths. “Because I need to ask you something.”

Mavis braced herself for the nasty feeling of having no answer, but otherwise, said nothing. After a long, uncomfortable pause, Felix went ahead and blurted it out, a little bit louder than she was expecting.

“Why haven’t you been here for me?”

Every muscle in her body tensed. It took all of her willpower not to just fly away and ditch the emotionally draining conversation before it could start. She hesitated, waiting and hoping for some suitable answer to just float into her head, one that would dissipate the situation.

Nothing came to her.

He continued, not a trace of anger in his voice, but heaps of pain, “I need you. I need my family. You know that. And I know-- I know you know what this feels like. Knowing that, how can you just leave me alone with this?”

“You’re not alone,” she interjected lowly. “The whole arcade is here for you.”

“But I want you,” he insisted. “I want my cousin. But you act like you don’t-- like you don’t even care.”

Her shoulders fell heavy. “You know that’s not true.”

“Do I, Mavis? Do I, really? What have you done to show me that? Why don’t I matter enough for you to actually try to show me you care? Do I matter to you at all?”

It was so unlike him to be so riled up, so accusatory. But Mavis knew all too well how grief could turn one into a different sprite.

She scanned the ground far beneath her feet for anything to busy her eyes with. “Sure. But it’s the things I don’t do.”

His voice hardened, crackling with upset. “Really. You know what you’re not doing? You’re not even looking at me. You haven’t been talking to me. You’ve barely been in the same room as me for over a week! How is that showing me you care? I mean, c’mon,” a humorless, pleading laugh jumped in his throat, “you’d rather sit on a roof alone than be there for your family!? Why!?”

Her defense mechanism snapped to attention, and she shot a razor-sharp glare at him.

“I don’t know! Maybe I’ve been some kind of quote unquote ‘villain’ for fifteen years and now I’m some cold, unfeeling monster,” she lied. “Maybe I have my own crap to deal with! Gimme a break, huh?!”

She instantly regretted looking at him. There had been so much pain in his eyes lately, too much for her to stand looking at, and she had just added a grand old slap in the face to it. His exceptionally blue eyes were all pink and red-rimmed, but clearly bone dry. He really had been up all night, and he had probably been crying for most of it.

Perhaps the worst of all was what Mavis’ finally saw dangling from his neck on a chain that was way too long for him.

Dog tags. Her dog tags.

The sight struck a deep, painful chord in her. It seemed barely different from what she herself had done the first time the sprite she loved had been torn from her life, all those years ago. She had found the last bit of his world left to hold in her hands, and kept it with her, so that maybe she could carry even a near meaningless fraction of him with her wherever she went. A part of her always felt a bit stupid for it, but she just couldn’t let it go. Even the thought of it brought a lonely chill to her heart.

It had been nearly thirty years since they came into her possession, and even still, they hung around her neck as she sat on that rooftop. That tattered, distressed scrap of a red scarf, and those permanently smudged racing goggles, the leather cracked and blistered. They were probably garbage, but it hardly mattered. They belonged to him, once upon a time. So a part of him still belonged to her.

She knew too well the sort of pain that would lead a sprite to keep something like that. Seeing those dog tags around Felix’s neck, there was a pang of guilt deep in her stomach. Sure, he had loved Calhoun for four years, and not thirty. But Mavis had only known the sprite she loved for four years when she lost him for the first time, and that pain nearly destroyed her.

And through all that, who had been there for her, even when no sane sprite would have been?

Felix.

Of course, Felix.

Before she thought to speak, his eyes fell, and she could practically hear his heart crumpling. “I’m sorry,” he muttered, turning away to trudge back to the door. “I’ll stop bothering you.”

“Wait,” she called back. The door did not creak.

Clenching her jaw, squeezing the neck of her guitar, staring into the forest stretching into darkness below, she sighed. “It’s okay. Come sit.”

A hesitant moment passed, but out of the corner of her eye, she soon saw her cousin’s shape sit a safe distance from her, the same as any reasonable sprite would. It was only fair that they be cautious -- she had an impressive record of morally condemnable acts, even some that put blood on her hands. For all her jokes and threats, Mavis had no intention of causing real harm again without suitable cause in her eyes. She never really did kill without necessity. But to the more fearful sprites among the arcade, she was just a hair away from snapping necks left and right. An understandable assumption, she thought.

But that was not why Felix kept his distance, and she knew that. He was just respecting her space, something he was particularly unskilled at back in the 80’s. At that, she felt a twinge of appreciation. He really had grown up since she had been gone.

The two sat in silence for a little while, Mavis idly tuning her guitar that was already in tune. After some deliberation, confusion, and frustration, she spoke up.

“So… what are you looking to get out of me right now? Do you want comfort or do you want advice? Because, honestly, I’m hardly qualified to give either. You know I’m not great with feelings and all that mess, and if you’ll think back to ‘87, you might remember I’m not an expert at what anyone would call ‘healthy coping.’”

Felix did not answer. Mavis got the impression that he actually did not know what he wanted.

“I mean…” she shrugged. “I guess you could just… vent. You know, just... talk to me.”

He was silent for some time again, but he eventually took up the offer. In a voice so small, cracked, and fragile that it seemed it might fall apart, he began to speak.

“I feel like… I’m losing my mind. I can’t do anything. I can’t do anything, because all I can do is think about her. She’s… everywhere I look. Everything reminds me of her. I can’t even sleep in our bed anymore. Without her, it’s just so… I just wake up again and again, expecting her to be there when I roll over, but she’s… not. Honestly, no matter what I try, I can’t sleep at all. I just lie there thinking about her. And then, even when I do fall asleep, I just dream about her, and… and when I wake up and remember that she’s gone, I just…”

His voice began to quake, but, somehow, he was not crying. Part of Mavis wondered if he had used up all his tears for the night already. She glanced at him, and found him hugging his arms close and rocking the tiniest bit, eyes looking somewhere far away.

“I’m just… hit with the fact that… she’s gone. I’ll never wake up next to her again. I’ll never hold her hand again. I’ll never see her smile, I’ll never-- never hear her voice, or make her laugh, or-- or kiss her-- I’ll never kiss her again, oh-- oh Devs…”

He was quiet for a while, with his face buried in his palm. Mavis had no response. She was lost on what to say, if anything at all. Truth be told, his words were hitting far too close to home, and part of her was regretting asking him to speak. It all just felt like dustings of salt in wounds that never healed. All the same, she took her pain in silence and listened.

“How…” he continued, slow and uncertain, “how do I carry on like this? How can I ever move on without her, after knowing how beautiful my life was with her? How can I just… let things go back to the way they used to be, and… be okay? I feel like… I love my game, I love my friends, I know I do, but I… I can’t believe I’m saying this, but… it’s not enough. It’s not. I go through my whole day, and when it’s over, I just think… How was this ever good enough for me before? Can you believe that? Isn’t that… isn’t that awful of me?”

Finally, Mavis felt she had something to say. After a few moments’ thought, she replied in a soft, awkward, but sincere melancholy.

“Well…” she muttered, “Yeah. It is. But all this… this was never gonna make you feel anything good. You’re gonna think, feel, and probably do stuff you would never do otherwise. But that’s the way it goes. You gotta just deal with that and… let yourself be awful, a bit. ‘Cause it’s gonna happen, no matter what you do. That’s just part of hurting.”

“I don’t…” he shook his head a bit out of the corner of her eye. “I don’t want to be like this.”

“Hmm,” she hummed in short, begrudging agreement. “Yeah. I didn’t want to be either.”

Mavis waited, giving him a chance to elaborate. When he remained silent, she continued carefully, “And… look. You probably don’t want to hear this, but… things will never be the same again. Not really. You can’t just shake something like this. It’s been--” she swallowed, plucking a single string in quiet anxiety, “...it’s been four years… since I lost him for good. And I… I still see him everywhere. He still keeps me awake at night. Even when I’m not thinking about him, I’m… still, somehow, thinking about him. Like I expect to just run into him while I’m out and about. The stupidest part of my heart says, ‘Hey, he came back once before, so who’s to say he won’t now?’ But I know he won’t. I saw what happened to him. And the life I had before that… it’s gone. It’s gone for good.”

After a pause, she heard Felix breathe weakly, “Mavy…”

“But,” she interrupted, hauling herself back on track. “Y’know… things change. Your life won’t be what it was before, but what’s normal will change. Eventually, you learn to live with it, in whatever way you can. The pain never really does go away. It never will. But it changes too. So… it’s fresh now. For you. But it won’t always be this hard. Not in the same way. I think. I don’t know. I’m still… figuring all this out.”

Another silence fell, the air thick with heavy thoughts. Mavis was not sure how much of her words she fully believed. The grief still hurt almost too much to bear, but when she thought back to the time that it was fresh, open and weeping, the difference was clear. The healing process was slow, far too slow, and she was not sure where she would end up another four years later. She was not sure where she even hoped to end up. There was no future that she could sincerely long for without him in it. Maybe it would have been enough to just feel okay again.

She just could not imagine ever getting to a point where she would feel any less homesick.

Felix spoke again, quiet and pleading. “But… what do I do now, Mavy?”

She shifted uncomfortably. “...I don’t know. I don’t think I’m someone you’d wanna be asking that sort of thing. I mean… back when I was in your shoes, you sure had a lot of advice to give. Let others help you. Don’t try to take it on alone. All that stuff. Just take your own advice, I guess. It’s probably a lot better than mine.”

“Mavy…” he said a bit more insistently, “my own advice isn’t helping. That’s why I’m asking you.”

“You don’t wanna ask me for advice.”

“Yes,” he said firmly. “I do. I want to know… What helps you?”

She scoffed.

He read it clearly, and added, “What actually helps you. I don’t mean all the self-destructive behaviors. None of that ever really helped you. Mavy, how… How do you really get by?”

Mavis dug as deep as she could, scrounging for anything to tell him. Her mind traveled back in time, back to one of the lowest points of her life. 1987. The Roadblasters incident. She just barely made it out of that alive, but when all was said and done, and she really had to be there for herself…

“I bet there’s so much you wish you could tell her. Things you wish you’d said.”

Felix paused, but agreed quietly. “Yes.”

“Even though,” she gave a single chuckle through her nose, “even though you told her you loved her every five minutes.”

“Yes,” he said sadly. “But I just couldn’t say it enough. I’d say it every minute if she were here now. I’d say so many things.”

“Well…” Mavis took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Then say them.”

“...What?”

“Talk to her. She won’t talk back, but talk anyway. Get it out. Everything. Even if it doesn’t matter, like, if it’s just about what you did that day. Even if it’s ugly stuff. Just find a way to say it. That helped me.”

She saw him leaning her way just a bit. “It… did?”

She closed her eyes, preparing to open up what she otherwise would have kept under lock and key. There seemed little point in keeping it a secret from him anymore.

Her voice fell. “Back in ‘87… when I lost him for the first time, I… wrote to him. I wrote him letters. Every day, if I could stand to. Sometimes, it hurt too much. But, weirdly enough, it… just helped. I can’t say why, but it did.”

“...Wow…” Felix breathed. “That’s… so… so healthy. Mavy, I’m proud of you.”

Mavis frowned. “Don’t make it weird.”

“Sorry,” he muttered, and after pausing briefly he said, “so… it helped you back then, you said. What about now?”

“Hm?”

“Have you… been writing to him, still? Or… or talking?”

Mavis’ bones suddenly felt too heavy for her body. She traced her fingers over the designs scratched across the surface of her guitar and gazed out at Sugar Rush again, unable to bear just how much she missed him in that moment.

She answered softly, unable to keep the pain from her voice, “Who do you think I sing to every night?”

There was a distinct feeling of clarity that she could feel emanating from her cousin, a strange sort of heartbroken awe. “I…” he breathed, seemingly at a loss, before clearing his throat. “Mavy, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize. I never would have interrupted you if I’d known how important this was to you.”

She shrugged. “It’s fine.”

“No, I…” he stood, and she looked over to see his eyes downcast and regretful. “I’ll leave you to it. Thank you for talking with me, Mavy. I think I’ll try again to get some sleep.”

He began to walk away, but before she even realized she had spoken, Mavis called to him sharply.

“Wait. Don’t go.”

Felix looked back at her, eyes full of questioning disbelief. Mavis felt her face redden as she stepped into strange territory for her.

“Stay. It’s fine. Come sit down,” she gestured to a spot on the ledge, a fair bit closer than he had been sitting before. “I’ve… got some stuff I need to say.”

Hesitantly, as if he might have frightened her off if he moved too quickly, Felix approached again and sat, watching her, clearly concerned. She supposed that he was never really sure what she was going to say, especially… in moments where it seemed like she was going to say something nice. She could hardly blame him for that. But this time, she was going to try.

“Felix…” she sighed.

“...Mavy?”

“You were there for me in ‘87. Through everything. I… should’ve been here for you now.”

“Oh,” he squirmed slightly. “It’s… okay.”

“No,” she insisted. “It’s not. I do know what you’re going through. I know how much it hurts. And I know… how badly you need help. I’m not… exactly sweet or kind or nurturing. But we’re thirty-four in gamer years, now, not five. I learned a lot about myself in Sugar Rush. I learned how to… have a family. A found family. With him, and with all those kids. That’s… that’s all gone away now, and… I guess it’s hard to want a family that isn’t that. If that makes sense.”

He frowned and looked at the world below. “...It does.”

“But the thing is, well…” her mind drifted far back to the time of the Roadblasters incident, to something Felix said when he thought she was asleep. A sentiment she had always shared.

“I don’t know how to be the family you need.”

His eyes snapped back to her, a look in his eye like he knew he had heard that before, but could not quite recall.

She continued, trying her best not to look away or give up, “I never have. But… my whole world is gone. You’re… the only family I have left now. I want to try to do this right, or at least do it better. It’s hard, it’s really hard, but I’m... still learning.”

Felix’s eyes filled with too much sincerity for her to handle. Her gaze dropped to those dog tags again, the light of the arcade casting shiny outlines over the grooves that read ‘Sgt. Tamora Calhoun.’ Mavis lifted her hand to her neck, worrying her partner’s scarf between her fingers, as she so often did.

“I should have been there for you,” she confessed. “I’m sorry.”

For some time, they were both silent, merely listening to the distant themes and jingles playing from the other arcade cabinets. Mavis felt far too exposed, and the silence was only making it worse. Even so, she sort of dreaded what he might say, and was not too eager to look at his face again.

She did anyways.

He was just staring, mouth agape, looking like he could cry. In a different way than he already looked the whole time, anyway. Mavis felt herself shrink. Her insides told her that she had said her piece, and that she was valid to clear out of there already. But she still had to finish her song, after all.

“M-Mavy, that…” Felix whispered, shaking his head slightly. “That… was the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me. I mean… ever.”

Her face grew way too hot, and she scoffed as she turned her eyes back to Sugar Rush. “Yeah, well. Lookin’ out for a bunch of kids for fifteen years can turn you soft.”

A short, incredulous, adoring chuckle drifted from Felix. “Wow. Thirty-four years and you still surprise me.”

There was a brief, pregnant pause, and Mavis could hear her heart thumping in her ears. She knew it was coming. Sure enough, she saw him scoot the tiniest bit closer, and he said it softly.

“I love you, Mavy.”

Her grip on her guitar tightened. Saying it back would have been the right thing to do. The family thing to do. But that deep-seeded, lifelong fear that had so devastatingly come true four years prior closed up her throat. She did not have the best track record for loving things and not losing them. And she could not bear to lose the last sprite in the world that she gave a single crit about.

So, rather than giving a real answer, she ran her nails slowly down her guitar strings, and breathed, “Yeah.”

Felix gave a single sad, but affectionate chuckle. “Not there yet, huh? That’s okay. You don’t need to say it.”

“...Thanks.”

A silence settled between them for some time, and Mavis could not decide if it was awkward or not. She could feel Felix thinking, could sense a question nagging at him, maybe one he could not decide if he should ask. It got on her nerves pretty quick.

“Out with it,” she prompted him.

He jumped a bit. “Oh,” he looked at his hands, “Well… I mean… If you don’t mind me asking, did he… I mean, did he ever tell you that he… I mean he did, didn’t he? Did he… say it?”

Mavis was certain she knew what he meant, but clarified anyway. “...That he loved me?”

Felix swallowed. “Yeah.”

Her heart squirmed and twisted as she watched the lights of Sugar Rush flash and dazzle. Memories resurfaced. Good ones. The best ones. And they hurt in the most precious, beautiful, agonizing way. Still, a smile crept carefully onto her lips, and she gave a sigh through her nose that could have passed for a laugh.

“He did,” she told him. “A lot, actually.”

“Huh. Wow.” Felix muttered, “Surprising guy.”

Mavis glanced over, easily reading her cousin’s mind. “You’re wondering if I ever said it back.”

He looked really quite embarrassed, but nodded. “Did you?”

“Of course.”

“Golly…”

“Yeah,” she sighed, feeling that pain digging deeper and deeper. She looked up to the stars, the ones she was so captivated by in her early years. “...But it took us so long. We… we loved each other for so long before we actually started saying so. If I could go back and do it again…” her chest tightened, “...I’d have said it so much sooner. I look back and I just see so many days we wasted pretending it wasn’t there. So many days that I should have told him. Honestly… every day. Every damn day.”

“Mavy…” Felix whispered, “I’m sorry. I understand.”

She hummed begrudgingly. “No. You were smart. You told her all the time.”

“I just…” he stuttered, “I just… wish I’d done it more, too.”

Mavis could have let her bitterness take the wheel and argue, but she stamped it down. There was no room for it in her heavy heart. It was time to finish her song. She had left him waiting long enough.

“It’s okay, though. I can make up for it with this,” she said, patting her guitar before positioning her fingers over the strings. “I can keep a stupid promise I made… and I can make up for all the times I didn’t tell him. All the chances to say it that... I didn’t take. And for--”

Her words stopped dead. It was too much. Her throat seized up, her body quivered, and her eyes stung. Felix did not ask if she was alright, but she could feel him looking. She heard him begin to sniff. Finally, Mavis’ lungs pulled in a sharp breath of their own accord, and she broke into tears. The pain burst out and spilled over like lava.

Voice quaking, she finished her thought. “And I-- I can make up for all the chances I’ll-- I’ll never get again.”

At that, Felix crumbled into whimpering sobs next to her. There seemed very little she could do for him, but she could not keep her song inside any longer. Mustering up all the composure she could, she played herself back into where she left off, and sang in a voice cracked and broken with grief.

“‘Cause darling, without you…”

Felix sucked his teeth hard. “Ngh-- oh--” he coughed, shaking his head. “Mavy--”

Somewhere deep inside, she found another ounce of strength to push into her voice.

“All the shine of a thousand spotlights

All the stars we steal from the night sky

Will never be enough

Never be enough,”

Every note seemed to carve deeper into her poor cousin, but he listened all the same, his face pushed into his palm, his back slouching dangerously over the edge. He must have found plenty more tears to cry in the time that he had been up there. It may have been breaking his heart, but Mavis fully believed that if he knew the words, he would have been singing along with her, singing to his wife.

Mavis, despite her better efforts, would not have blamed him for it.

“Towers of gold are still too little

These hands could hold the world, but it’ll

Never be enough…”

Tears streamed down Mavis’ face as she sang with what little might she could muster. This was supposed to be her designated, agreed-upon time to mourn, and that was something she chose to do alone. Having Felix there was not something she would be keen to repeat, but for one night, it was okay. They may not have been mourning the same sprite, but they could still mourn together. Just for one night.

Their circumstances may have been different, but once their walls really began to break down, it seemed as if their pain bled together into one color. Grief was grief. Mavis lost the love of her life, and so did Felix.

That was the long and short of it.

“Never be enough for me…”

#fanfiction #wreck it ralph #oc #fix it felix #make it mavis #fics #you're welcome

30 notes · View notes