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batsandbugs · 4 years ago

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Daminette December

A/N: Okay so this one spiraled out of control a little bit, but I’m so happy with how it turned out! Marinette and Damian back to being chaotic little shits, Marinette being understanding, and Damian going a little too far but finding the one person who doesn’t mind. Let me know what y’all think. Thanks @daminette-december2019-2020

Daminette December Day 15 – Cats

If you had told Marinette back in May that by Christmas she would be living in the most crime-infested city in America going to college, working at a pet store that was most likely a front for the Russian mob, and trying to unravel a 300-year-old curse on said crime-infested-city…

… she would have believed you.

After all, it wasn’t the weirdest thing that had ever happened to her.

But back to the pet store.

There she was a week before Christmas living in a shoebox apartment, drowning in fabric and notions, with a magical box filled with tiny gods who loved to squabble and give conflicting vague advice. They were supposed to work on how to break the giant magical curse laid out across the city, but Marinette had gotten hired at the local pet store down the street because if she spent one more minute sequestered inside trying to decipher the handwriting of centuries-old monks, without a break, she would scream.

Plus, the animals were ridiculously cute and the current owner obviously had no clue how to take care of them – which is how she concluded the store was a money-laundering front. The owner, a Mr. Petriov, had known her for all of three days before leaving her to manage the shop by herself. That hadn’t changed much in the month she had worked here, but at least the animals were in better shape now and she had a slightly larger budget for the endless amount of coffee she drank.

Marinette swept the back of the room, trying to make sure it was as clean as she could get it. Despite her best efforts at trying to cheer the place up, the plastic Christmas decorations and lively music did little to distract from the poor living conditions of the animals. Marinette wished there was some way to help, but she was rather limited in her options in a foreign city and Plagg’s suggestions of stealing all the animals and burning the place down was not a viable one.

No matter how much Marinette wanted to sometimes.

The store bell rang.

“I’ll be with you in just a moment,” she called. She finished sweeping the last of the room, before putting the broom away, and coming out to the main part of the store. “Hi there, I’m Marinette, how can I-”

“Did you know that Gotham Department of Health and Safety Regulations, Section 45: Animals and Livestock, subsection C.1: Living conditions, states that cages for cats must be 30 inches in width, 28 inches in length, 30 inches in height, and 30 inches on the diagonal? And that yours do not match those specifications?” There in the center of the store stood a man about her age. He was dressed head to toe in black, with a long, expensive, looking coat billowed out behind him. His voice was posh and smooth, and his tone could cut glass. He looked around the store in thinly veiled disgust.

Marinette vaguely recognized him. He’d been in the store about two weeks ago. He hadn’t said anything when she asked if he needed help. He just went around to all the cages watching the animals through the bars. She had gone about her normal routine, and then he left a little while later. The only reason she remembered him at all was he was wearing the same designer coat with wool Marinette’s hands itched to get a hold of.

“I- I did not. Although, this is not my store.” The man glared at her, and had Marinette not been used to a lifetime of truly piercing glares from Chloe, she might have crumbled underneath it. “I’ve only been working here for a month and let me tell you it’s better than it was before.”

“These conditions are intolerable.”

Marinette usually kept a cool façade with the few customers who came in here, but this man was obviously looking for a fight; not that she didn’t completely agree with him.

“I’m well aware, but I’m doing the best with what I have here, especially since my boss doesn’t care.” One of the cats mewled loudly, and Marinette sighed. She knew exactly who that was. Walking over to one of the cages she opened it up. A tiny grey cat with tipped black ears and paws jumped into her arms. Marinette had named him Macaroon since Mr. Petriov hadn’t bothered to give any of them names.

“Sorry,” she said. “Macaroon likes attention, and he’s good with people so I bring him out when others come in to pet them.” The man came over and let the cat sniff his hand before scratching under the his chin.

“He looks well taken care of,” he complimented, although he still scowled. Marinette couldn’t help but think he would be much more handsome if he smiled.

“As I said, I try my best. I take them all out of their cages so they can stretch their legs, and not just the dogs either. But that’s whenever I’m not cleaning, or prepping food, or taking care of the paperwork.” Or at home trying to figure out how to banish a city-wide curse, Marinette thought to herself.

The man hummed. “Look, you seem… nice.” He said the word in such a way that implied he didn’t believe the concept existed. “So, I’ll let you know ahead of time, but this store is going to get raided tomorrow. It’s a-”

“Front for the Russian Mob?” Marinette finished. The man seemed taken aback and immediately glared at her again. “Yeah, I figured that out within a few days of working here. I just had no clue as to who to go to about it. Who’s going to help a tiny French girl about a corrupt business in a city known for corruption?” She raised an eyebrow at the man who seemed taken aback by her abruptness.

“Fair point. So why are you working here then? If you know it’s corrupt.”

Marinette sighed; it was true she had plenty else to be doing, school was over for the semester sure, but there was always magic to learn, or sites to go check out to see if they were connected to the curse, or she could have gone home for the break and visited her parents, but…

If she did any of that, no one would be here to look out for the animals. And just because she couldn’t actively be a hero, didn’t mean she was going to turn up her back on those who needed her, even if they were of the four-legged variety.

She looked back at the handsome man; how could she explain any of that to him.

… not that she should.

Because that would be bad.

She didn’t know him at all.

Even if he was ridiculously good looking.

Fuck.

She did not have the time to get caught up in anything else, especially not a crush.

So instead, she went with a mostly true answer. “Just because the people running the store are bad, doesn’t mean the animals are. I would come by here on my way from school and would want to let the poor things out of their cages. So, when I finally had enough time, I applied for a job.” The look on the man’s face was a cross between surprise and understanding. “And you’d want to do something else too if the last three months all you did was stare at miles of hand-sewn hems and contemplate if death would be kinder.”

Marinette bet the man would deny it if pointed out, but the side of his mouth turned up at her comment.

“Understandable.”

“My question is,” she asked, stroking Macaroon who was happily purring away in her arms. “Why would you tell the person working at the Russian mob front that you’re going to have the store raided the next day? Doesn’t that seem a little counter-productive?” Not that Marinette was in any way complaining, she had been waiting for an opportunity like this for weeks.

“It depends on whether you tell your boss or not.”

“Hell no.”

Finally, the man’s face morphed from a resting scowl into a self-satisfied smirk.

Oh no, he’s even hotter like that, Marinette thought.

“Then I think telling was exactly the right idea. You’ll need to give a statement to the department doing the raid, but you won’t be in trouble for anything that went down here.”

Marinette nodded, and then remembered something. “Would pictures help?”

“Pictures?”

“I’ve been taking pictures of all the documents that come through the front desk. The legitimate ones and the less legitimate ones. It’s only about a month’s worth of stuff, but I have it on a flash drive.”

The man’s smirk grew a bit more. “Yes, I do believe that would be useful.”

Marinette smiled, finally glad this place would get shut down, but then she looked at Macaroon so snuggly in her arms, and all the other lovely creatures throughout the store came to mind. “And the animals, will they be okay?”

“Of course, I wouldn’t allow anything to happen to them. They’ll all be going to reputable shelters or good homes through the Wayne Foundation.”

Marinette readjusted Macaroon in her arms. “That’s good. So, should I bring the flash drive when I give my statement or-”

“I can take it,” he said quickly. “I mean,” he cleared his throat. “You can give it to me, and I can hand it off to the… proper authorities.” The glint in his eye spelled trouble. Marinette thought it was completely unfair how attractive she found it.

“It’s in my apartment. My shift is only another hour, but….” She thought about her mess of an apartment covered in yards of fabric, questionable ancient artifacts, and the tiny floating talking gods. “It’s a bit of a mess, how about we meet elsewhere?”

“Yes,” the man responded quickly. He looked down at Macaroon and stroked the cat’s back, a light blush playing out over his cheeks. “Of course, that would be acceptable.”

“Coffee then?” asked Marinette, glad to have a little longer to chat with him.

“Sounds good. Inman Perk at 7th and Forge Street?”

“I love that place. I’m Marinette by the way, I think I said that.”

The man smirked again, “You did, but it’s nice to hear it. I’m Damian, Damian Wayne.”

“I’d shake your hand Damian, but my arms are a little full.” She readjusted Macaroon, moving over to his cage placing the content cat back inside. Marinette smiled, happy to know this would be the last night the animals would have to sleep in these too-small cages. She turned back to Damian and offered her hand.

“I’m looking forward to working with you, Mr. Wayne,” she said with a grin.

He clasped his hand with hers, and she delighted at the chill it sent up her spine. “Not nearly as much as I am with you, Ms. Dupain-Cheng.”

Marinette paused for a moment, “I don’t think I ever gave you my last name?”

Damian paused, his face of a person caught with their hand in a cookie jar. “I may, perhaps, have done a slight background check on you before I decided to confront you today.” He retreated his hands and clasped them behind his back. “Uh, I- I apologize if that comes off a little…” he trailed off.

“Invasive, creepy, overbearing?”

Damian’s face fell. “Yes.”

Marinette tried hard to hold in her smirk. “Or protective, concerned, over-invested? I’ve had friends like that before.” Thinking particularly of Kagami, or her own actions towards Adrian during those early years. “It’s a little much, but not so bad especially when confronting someone who may be part of the Russian mob.”

Damian’s face went from contrite to an all-out grinning smirk. “You? Part of the mob? A little hard to believe.”

“Oh, you never know”’ she teased back. “I think I could pull it off, no one ever expects the tiny French girl.”

A bark from the back of the store interrupted their flirting, soon all of the dogs were barking, and Marinette realized the time.

“I’ve got to get them all taken out and fed. I’ll be finished in about an hour, I’ll grab the stuff from my apartment and meet you at… 8:30?”

Damian nodded. “Of course, see you there.” And with that he turned on his heel and walked out of the store, his long coat billowing like a cape behind him. Marinette watched him disappear from view and waited a second before she punched the air. She couldn’t wait. She kneeled back down at the cage and scratched Macaroon’s chin.

“Thanks for being such a good luck charm.” The cat purred back happily. Marinette headed off to finish what she needed to get done, wondering what the heck she was going to wear.

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@loveswifi @fusser90 @animegirlweeb @ihavehomeworkbutistillhere @your-resident-chicken-nugget @nathleigh @moonlitceleste @m3owww

#damian x marinette #maridami #maribat #damimari #mlb crossover #ml x dc #marinette dupain-cheng x damian wayne #marinette dupain cheng x damian wayne #moodboard #damientte #daminette december #day 15: cats

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uwua3 · 4 years ago

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hmmm can i request masumi moving on from the director to the assistant director (reader)? like how he would transition and realize that he doesn’t actually love the director and is falling in love with the reader instead? thank you so much. i love your headcanons. theyre super lengthy, and they capture the emotions of the characters perfectly!! keep up the good work, love! :)

thank you so much!!! i’m so glad that i can portray the emotions of a character somewhat well 🥺 i often have a hard time pinpointing exact feelings so i’m so happy it doesn’t hold back my writings! i will keep doing my best to bring you the coolest pieces ever, mark my words!!! but this prompt is so ??? interesting that i’ve been thinking about it outside of tumblr, you know! i’ve held this off until i had a solid idea so here i am! ready to bring this to justice, wish me well!!! ♡

summary: masumi’s love language is making playlists, apparently

warnings: absent parents, one (1) argument, unrequited love

author’s note: please understand masumi was a hopeless romantic teen who grew up without love so his crush on izumi is definitely unhealthy, but it makes sense for his background TT i hope he overcomes a character arc where he “falls out of love” and loves himself more :D

word count: 3,666

music: breakfast in the park – scotty sire

one playlist, one song.

🌸💌 usui masumi

everything masumi did was for izumi

he acted on stage flawlessly by the script just to hear her approval from backstage. he put his acting career before his studies to have her praise the next day when he memorized his lines. he woke up for izumi, and fell asleep to see her sooner. eat, sleep, and breathe for izumi. masumi was in love

it didn’t matter if she loved him back, it was the feeling he wanted

growing up, no one loved him. so this unrequited love wasn’t painful, maybe it’s what he deserved for being so hard to love. if only he was better, did everything to improve, used every waking hour of his time to become the person izumi wanted him to be, then maybe he’d be deserving

masumi loved izumi, at least, so he thought

(but was this true love? why did the people he love always reject him? what was wrong, what did he have to do to be loved?)

it was another day, masumi opened his eyes and his first immediate thought was to greet izumi “good morning” and make sure she had her breakfast the way she liked it. he would pull a chair out for her, sit across the table after preparing her favorite coffee perfectly, and spend every second in between with her until they had dinner together

it was a cycle, a pattern misumi couldn’t find himself not doing. he lived for it, it’s what he was born to do

when masumi hurried to the kitchen to remain on schedule, he stopped by the entrance. someone else was in izumi’s place, a mug in your hand with a packet of papers open on the counter. you didn’t notice the teen by the door as you read through the stack

huh... you weren’t izumi

you looked up from the fine text and saw a boy staring at you with an apprehensive expression, as if he was wishing to will you away with the sheer force of his glare. in fact, he even appeared frustrated, his eyes narrowed and arms crossed over his chest

(of course he was angry! you were in izumi’s place, you interrupted his entire plan of the day! this was taking time out of his “loving izumi” schedule)

before you could say anything, the director walked into the room and you knew what was going on. the teen’s eyes practically became hearts, you could hear the pulse of his heartbeat from where you were, he instantly smiled and his whole face changed

it didn’t take any skills whatsoever to know izumi had a (not so) secret admirer in the dorms

“masumi!” izumi said, smiling back at him and missing the way he immediately melted at the way she pronounced his name. masumi suddenly wanted to hear it again and again. if he had a tail, it’d be wagging everywhere from how overwhelmed he was with emotion

he trailed after her like a puppy, seeking her attention and touch as he mindlessly followed with wide sparkling eyes and a permanent blush

as he tried to continue their day as normal, izumi led him to you with a big grin as she placed him in front of you. he didn’t bother turning to look at you, his entire focus was on izumi like he was stuck in a daydream

it wasn’t until izumi said those words that changed the rest of his life that he snapped his eyes towards you

“—meet our new assistant director! they’re going to be your acting coach!”

and ever since then, masumi’s hated you

it didn’t take long before the spring troupe members confessed izumi used to be masumi’s daily acting coach after practice. now that you took over her position, you basically stole him away from her (meaning less time for masumi to try to win over his true love)

(truthfully, izumi was grateful you replaced her. it was mentally draining to have to reject every single advance from the lovesick teen without breaking his heart. she pulled you into a hug with a relieved exhale, thanking you for your service as you wondered what she meant by that. you found out very quickly afterwards)

masumi couldn’t have ditched extra practice or else he’d let izumi down. so, he stayed against his will, using every chance to silently express his complaints about spending his limited time with you instead of izumi

of course, you didn’t react. you wanted to make a good impression for your first official job as the mankai assistant director (thank god your high school had a connection to offer apprentinceships), knowing this was an opportunity of a lifetime to even be inside the theatre business

(yet, you were questioning if masumi was a test or not. was this a test to prove you were patient, respectful, and willing to adapt to different types of actors? there was no way this kid was this in love with a grown woman, he couldn’t have possibly been this infatuated with izumi to the point of desperation)

(he was)

a week or two into extended practice and you were already stretched thin. masumi never took off his goddamn headphones, his volume on max with rock music damaging his eardrums as he barely paid attention to you. just nodded whenever you attempted to reprimand him, he didn’t care at all as he treated you with no respect

you were tempted to snatch his headset off and make him actually do something. you stood across from him in the practice room, his slouched posture completely not fitting the character he was portraying and his mumbled words the exact oppoosite of his performance whenever izumi was around

as he skimmed over his part and boredly stated the line in a monotonous attitude, you took a deep breath in and out with a forced smile

“masumi, perhaps you should emote more, with feeling.” you advised, your cheeks hurting from how strained your facial expressions were. masumi hummed, rolling his eyes as he turned the volume up higher (how was that even possible?)

“masumi, please pay attention.” you warned, an edge to your voice as masumi didn’t even acknowledge you. he glanced towards the door, as if hoping izumi would come through, then at the clock with a very disappointed sigh

“masumi.” you said, clutching the script in your fist as you tried to not cross your arms. your patience was on thin ice, how long would his bratty and arrogant attitude hold? you exhaled sharply, trying to maintain your composure for the sake of your internship

he didn’t respond. he yawned and stretched, as if he had just woken up. was masumi spaced out this entire time? you went to open your mouth and ask about his well–being (perhaps, you were being too critical of him. you were also a high school student, he must’ve been pressured in class), but before you could speak, he turned away with a curse

“shut up already, you’re so fake.” masumi mumbled, about to push his headphones over his ears completely but you threw the script onto the floor, startling him as it was your turn to glare at him

“usui masumi!” you shouted with disappointment, not believing your ears. why were his first words to you an insult? you wanted to go back to the stage of your relationship where he didn’t speak at all

masumi stared at you with an impatient look, as if he was waiting for you to get it over with already

“you want the truth, then? well, here it is!”

before you could stop yourself, you released all the anger you bottled up ever since you worked with him in a singular sentence

“izumi doesn’t love you, she never did and she never will, so give up already.”

this was the first time masumi even reacted to your words. his eyes widened, his hands frozen hovering above his headphones and his breath hitched in his throat. you instantly knew what you said was out of line, and when you tried to apologize, masumi sprinted out of the practice room rubbing at his eyes

the door slammed close, echoing in the corridor as you released a breath you weren’t aware you were holding. what could you do now? practice was over early, apparently

you were waiting for it to come, you knew you were being fired. you anxiously paced the floor, checking your phone multiple times to see if a notification with your resignation was arriving. it never did, even throughout the night, as you arrived to the mankai dorms with the weight of your outburst on your shoulders

as usual, you greeted the other troupes with respect despite being around the same age as them. in terms of their careers, they were leaps and bounds and years ahead of you and you made sure they knew that. they responded back friendly enough, offering sympathy most times whenever it was time to work with masumi

this time, the dorms were awkwardly quiet. it looked as if everyone was wary, looking out for something, on edge as they quietly moved around and tip–toed outside a certain door. members shushed each other with a hiss whenever a cabinet door slammed shut, or a bowl clattered against the table surface too long. it was an organized plan to not die, apparently

“what’s—” you started but were immediately silenced by a few pushing their pointer fingers to their lips with a warning expression. you bowed slightly as an apology and lowered your voice, glancing around you for the threat

“what’s wrong?” you whispered and everyone didn’t hesitate to point to masumi’s dorm room door. you learned that, to your surprise, masumi refused to leave his dorm and didn’t even let izumi in (you also found out he didn’t tell anyone what had happened between you two and your lack of professionalism)

you guessed this was going to be your apology then for not making you lose your job on the first day

when you straightened your back and confidently made your way to masumi’s door, the hushed warnings and pleas not to perish right then and there faded when you rapidly knocked on the surface with a stubborn intent to your actions

“masumi, it’s time for practice.” you called through the door, able to pick up on the vibrations of the music he was blasting through a speaker. no response, as expected of the drama queen (he was a teenager, after all)

“masumi, come outside or i’m making you.” you demanded, knowing he heard you when the volume was lowered a bar. it was instantly increased to the max, making most of the boys wince and cover their ears as the floor beneath them shook. you knew what this was: a challenge

scrolling through your albums, you found it and pressed play

without warning, masumi whipped his head towards his door as he heard something other than his own music

were you... were you playing the latest single of his favorite band?

you pressed your phone speaker below the door frame, letting it pass through the crack as he slowly turned down his own volume, staring at where the sound was coming from

after more than half the song, you breathed a sigh of relief when his door finally opened. masumi stood in front of you, his headphones pushed down to his neck, as he observed you (it was like he was really seeing you for the first time)

“you...” masumi paused, unsure how to continue. the song was winding down and fading out, coming to an end as he blankly stared at you. you fidgeted under his stare gazing through your soul, wondering if you had gone too far before—

“you know my favorite band?”

you blinked in surprise, as if you were expecting literally any other accusation but that. you nervously laughed, rubbing the back of your neck as you looked anywhere but at him. was it weird to admit that?

“y–yeah, of course. you play them all the time, so i assumed. i took a listen, they’re not bad.” you rambled, about to continue before masumi bent down to grab your smartphone. he held it out to you, which you took as he glanced at you up and down. was that, an impressed look to his face?

“of course they’re ‘not bad’. i listen to them.” masumi said, taking his script and leaving in the direction of the practice room without another word. you scrambled after him, attempting to keep up (you were usually the one dragging him to go)

masumi tried not to think about it too hard, but he did anyways

izumi didn’t even know what type of music he liked, but you did

it was during that fateful practice where masumi actually made an effort to try, and it’s like the fight from yesterday didn’t even happen

mankai couldn’t believe it—you actually managed to coax masumi out of his toxic mood swings. even izumi had a hard time processing it, confirming her gut feeling that she hired you for a reason

your hours with him increased, coincidentally enough

ever since then, you began learning more and more about who masumi truly was. any other person would’ve dismissed him as problematic for his borderline–creepy attraction to izumi, but past that, you realized there was a deepy rooted traumatic reason why masumi sought love from a select few

masumi was more than his love at first sight crush on izumi. you learned through his short, slightly rude responses, that his parents were absent from his life. when you put two and two together, it was obvious his guardians abroad didn’t give him the approval he needed as a child

(you made an effort to praise him more, genuinely complimenting his talents and encouraging him to do even better. you never noticed, but masumi’s face burned from being appreciated for once)

yet, you weren’t afraid to discipline him. you knew uninvolved parents meant a lack of authority in his life, resulting in his indifferent approach to everything. in a way, your ability to keep a level head but still reprimand him when necessary kept practice productive and functional (you learned being honest didn’t hurt his feelings one bit)

your relationship with masumi bloomed to be more than two aspiring actors. if you were lucky enough, you would even consider him a friend

he liked checking out new physical music releases in the form of cds and had a huge collection of post/progressive rock organized on his desk. when you gave him a mixtape of your favorites to share your music taste, you noticed it was closest to his player

(one time, izumi was worried about him. it had been quite some time since the last time masumi tried flirting with her. she was about to walk into his room before izumi noticed it was left open a crack. she looked in and saw masumi was lying in bed, staring at nothing with a small smile on his face as he listened to an unfamiliar song. it was your cd on repeat)

after school, you and masumi often rode the train back home if the mood called for it. he always leaned against the doors, staring out of the blurry windows with his headphones on and seemingly thinking of everything at once (probably izumi, considering how many times he subconsciously smiled to himself)

you sat beside him, focused on your apprentinceship work and staying on top of all your tasks. it was pretty much a quiet ride home, your friendship with masumi didn’t require talking to fill the silence. the comfortable gap between you two was expected, just two people co–existing with one another

except this time, it was different

you opened your laptop, about to start working before you glanced at masumi and stopped. he didn’t have his classic white headphones on, he always had them

before you could offer your own, masumi turned towards you, holding out one earbud with the other in his left ear

when you took it and placed it on your own ear, masumi slid over to sit closer and the casual distance suddenly closed. he shuffled through some playlist, he liked making them even if he did it rarely

masumi turned his head to look at you, and he seemed to be quietly asking what your opinion was on the track

(how much time had you spent with him that you had familiarized yourself with his complex body language?)

you closed your laptop and put it back in your bag. scooting closer, your legs were touching as you leaned over to read the title, humming a sound of agreement

“this is one of my favorites.” you confirmed, moving back only to realize how close your faces were. one wrong move and—

“me too.” masumi said, and he smiled

you wondered where you had seen that smile for and remembered: it was the smile he had given izumi every time he saw her in the morning

could it be?

you two listened to the music for the rest of the train ride, feeling as if you were trapped in a timeless space as no rules applied here. it was like your own little world, with masumi by your side and the background soundtrack of all your favorites

(misumi remembered your favorites, too. at the departure, you noticed he had messaged you a link. it was to the playlist he played earlier and a comment: thanks for the mixtape)

you two headed to the dorms, hands brushing and no words exchanged, like always. you weren’t aware how close you had become with the boy in love until now, especially with a singular cord keeping you two together

yet, it was as if nothing changed. when masumi saw izumi, he became the character everyone thought he was: a lovesick teenager in an unrequited relationship. he left you and sought izumi’s nonstop approval, his earbud pulled out of your ear as you watched

why was he such a different person around her? which version was his true self? and why did you want to know so bad?

(maybe, you wanted to be the one who knew masumi inside and out)

after that, you asked to ride the train home more. it was one of the only times you had him for yourself

sharing music became a way of communication over talking. you could predict masumi’s mood based on what he was listening to, and you always knew what to do when it came down to it. if masumi had something to express without his usual bitterness, he’d send a song and wait for you to listen it in full just to be understood. sometimes, his playlists even spelled out sentences

your relationship with masumi was mutual, and that was a first for him. he didn’t feel like he had to spend every second with you to confirm your friendship. he sometimes saw you irregularly throughout the day, but enjoyed it regardless

what was different was you made an effort to see him, you showed up to practice early with new song suggestions and plans to attend more music concerts. you included him, didn’t let him off easy, and had high expectations without being like his parents

no one wanted him around like you did, he had never felt this before. was this what it was like? being loved?

as you guys kept walking home with his earbuds connected, masumi was fully aware of how he wanted to hold your hand

“what is it?” masumi began, pushing his hand in his pant pocket to keep his voice steady. “love?”

you stopped, causing him to pause with you as he felt the tug of the cord. masumi turned towards you, the lyrics still played in the background as the instruments continued. a verse passed before you answered slowly, as if you were unsure and contemplative yourself

“love... love is what you feel. it isn’t defined, but it’s what you have for something that makes you happy, that motivates you to do your best.”

masumi didn’t seem to understand, so you explained further

“like, doesn’t music make you happy?”

masumi nodded

“then you love music!”

masumi seemed to understand as you two kept walking. but, masumi was even more confused, because didn’t that mean he loved you? you made him happy, you were his source of motivation

“then do you love me?”

you didn’t stop this time, but walked faster as you fell out of step with masumi. a new song was playing, but you couldn’t hear it over your own heartbeat

“don’t ask things like that, especially when you love izumi.” you laughed, but there was no humor whatsoever. masumi didn’t say anything else and the silence returned, it wasn’t as comfortable anymore

when you two walked through the front door, masumi hesitated. wasn’t this the point where he quickly latched onto izumi’s side? why did he want to stay with you? masumi glanced at you and before he could say anything, you gave him back your earbud and left to do your job

izumi waved at him, and masumi followed. for some reason, he questioned if izumi had ever heard his music before

(he realized, he never made a playlist for her)

it was nearing the end of your shift, you had blocked out your thoughts with the masumi method: maxing out your headphone volume as you revised masumi’s lines and corrections for next practice

your phone pinged, making you flinch at the sudden sound as you pushed the papers to the side. you sat with your chin on your knees, leaning against the practice room mirror as you lazily grabbed your phone, unlocking it to see a new text from masumi

it was another playlist titled “you make me happy, you motivate me”

you opened it and was about to press play before you noticed there was only one song

“i love you”

#usui masumi #masumi usui #a3! act! addict! actors!#a3!#act! addict! actors!#a3! actor training game #a3! headcanons #act! addict! actors! headcanons #mankai a3!#mankai company #a3! x reader #a3 x reader #masumi x reader #a3! masumi #a3 masumi

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lifeofkaze · 3 years ago

Text

An Art of Balance #31

Orion Amari x MC

A/N: Azariah Steele belongs to the fabulous @cursebreakerfarrier

Word Count: ~ 2.500

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Chapter 31: A Matter of Nerves

The sun was already hanging low in the sky when Lizzie left the castle in search of her friend. She took a moment to enjoy the last warm rays that were painting the landscape around her in hues of orange before the cold of the night would creep up on them. The air was still pleasantly mellow, the heat of the day radiating off the stone walls of the school. If she listened closely, she could hear voices and music drifting over to her from the training grounds where the pre-match party had undoubtedly begun by now.

Ignoring the compelling beat of what sounded suspiciously like The Weird Sisters playing, Lizzie walked past the path leading around the castle to where the party was going down. She nodded to quite a few people walking into the direction she was coming from, all exchanging astounded looks; after all, Lizzie had become somewhat of a staple on every pre-match party, no matter who would be playing the next day.

But now wasn’t the time to enjoy herself in order to take her mind off tomorrow; she had to check whether Skye was alright and there was only one place where she would be hiding from the rest of the world.

Lizzie was glad when the seemingly endless flow of people lessened and the ground became emptier the further she walked away from the castle. It was a peaceful summer evening, one of those Lizzie liked best; she could hear the crickets chirping in the wide meadows stretching between the castle and the Forbidden Forest, which had already begun to sink into the coming darkness. A light breeze shifted Lizzie’s hair, smelling of warm grass and pine trees.

The Quidditch pitch lay very quiet and deserted in the golden light of the sunset. It was a strange thought that it would be flooded with people tomorrow, the sound of the crowd drowning everything else. It made the silence hanging over the stands and its wooden towers that much more poignant, as if the whole stadium was taking a last breath before the impending storm.

Lizzie had never understood why Skye took her refuge here of all places. She found nothing calming about the atmosphere; if anything, the knowledge that she would have to perform in this exact same spot, which was now lying so peacefully in the evening glow, made Lizzie feel even more anxious. But then again, despite all their similarities, Skye and Lizzie just weren’t alike in some ways.

But when she climbed the rickety stairs and emerged on top of the stands, her eyes swept over the scenery again. The sunlight reflecting off the banners hanging from the wooden towers made them look like they were set on fire, a mixture of golden hues and shades of red. The megaphone attached to Murphy’s commentary box was gleaming so brightly Lizzie had to look away after a moment.

Come to think of it, the place had its own kind of beauty after all.

Lizzie continued walking along the stands, trying to shut out the memory of the last time she’d been here outside of a match. She had spotted Skye as soon as she had entered the wooden construction; she was sitting in the first row a little bit ahead of her, her chin resting on her arms that were crossed on the railing in front of her. Lost in her thoughts, she was watching the goalposts quietly, holding a piece of parchment clutched in her fist.

Lizzie recalled the last time she had come to find Skye hiding from Penny up here. So much had happened since then; it felt more like a lifetime than only one school year ago.

Skye tore her gaze away from the glinting hoops for a moment when she heard her approach. Lizzie quietly sat down next to her and Skye smiled melancholically, nodding her head towards the pitch stretching out below them.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?”

“It is,” Lizzie replied noncommittally, testing the waters for Skye’s mood.

“Believe it or not, this is how I like it best; the pitch, I mean,” Skye continued as if she hadn’t heard Lizzie’s reply. “When you’re flying by the packed stands and the crowd’s going wild for you, that’s a smashing feeling and all, don’t get me wrong; but no one really appreciates the place itself.”

She pushed herself back from the railing and leaned against the wood making up the footrest of the second row behind her. “A Quidditch pitch is something steady, you know? No matter where you’re going, the pitch remains the same; same lawn, same goalposts, same open sky,” she explained. “I’ve seen more Quidditch pitches than I can remember but when you’re sitting up on the stands all on your own, there’s always something peaceful about it.”

“I guess everyone has their personal way of finding a place of peace,” Lizzie agreed. “Orion meditates, I go to the reserve and you come here.”

“It’s the only place I can have a proper think; it gives me exactly what I need. Before a match, there’s already this incredible energy, as if everything is holding its breath in anticipation; and when all is done, it’s calm again but still so full of life, as if you can still hear the cheers on the stands… ” Skye blinked incredulously as she trailed off. “Blimey, I’m starting to sound like Orion, ain’t I?”

Lizzie chuckled. “A little bit, yeah; but I don’t mind.”

“Of course you don’t,” Skye teased, making Lizzie shove her playfully.

“Low blow, Parkin.” A few days ago, Skye’s remark probably would have hurt her and left her feeling down, but now she was able to just let it pass; ever since talking to Orion back in the changing room, somehow, she felt different.

“Do you want to tell me what’s wrong?” Lizzie now got to the point of why they were actually here.

Skye raised her hand still clutching the parchment, which Lizzie assumed was the letter Penny had spoken about.

“It’s my dad,” Skye sighed, “he’s hurt again.”

Lizzie’s face twisted in sympathy. “Oh no, I’m sorry to hear that. Is it something major?”

“No, just a dislocated shoulder, they fixed him right back up. But he’ll be missing the final matches of the season.” She sighed again. “I’ve been knowing that for ages, though.”

Confused, Lizzie tilted her head to the side. “What’s the problem then? What did his letter say?”

“He told me he’s going to be here tomorrow,” Skye told her quietly. “He didn’t tell me earlier because he wanted it to be a surprise.” She opened the folded letter up and quoted, “He ‘wants to watch his little girl hoist up the cup’.”

Skye sighed deeply and gripped the railing in front of them tightly as she shook her head. “I don’t know if I can do this, Lizzie. What if we don’t win? Don’t want to sound like McNully, but our odds really aren’t the best.”

“Come on now, they’re not that bad. We have as good a shot as Gryffindor at winning.”

“Maybe, but a good shot’s not enough,” Skye replied. She was turning the letter around in her hands over and over again, tapping her foot against the wooden balustrade. “Quidditch is the only way I know to really get through to him. He’s expecting only the best from me; I can’t disappoint him.”

Her distress was palpable as she tugged on the hem of her jacket sleeves. “I just want to hear him tell me that he’s proud of me this one time,” she finished quietly.

Lizzie’s face softened at Skye’s confession. “Oh Skye, of course he’s proud of you! How couldn’t he be? You’re his daughter after all, he loves you. He has a weird way of showing it but he does. If he didn’t, he would never be so invested in how our team’s doing; it’s not because of Quidditch, it’s because of you. You could never disappoint him.”

Skye looked at her doubtfully, but also with a touch of hope; she wanted to believe Lizzie was right. “You think so?”

“I know so.”

Not entirely convinced, Skye sighed again. “But what if something goes wrong?”

“Well, with that attitude it certainly will,” Lizzie told her off jokingly. When she saw Skye hanging her head though, she leaned forward to catch her eye.

“Listen up, Parkin, remember what you drilled into me? ‘No heartache, no distractions’. It helped me get a grip again and the same now goes for you.”

“Can’t really call that heartache though,” Skye huffed.

“Maybe not in the traditional way, but it’s definitely distracting you and we don’t need that right now.” Lizzie leaned in and lowered her voice conspiratorially. “Apparently, Azariah, the Gryffindor Keeper, has been joking that we won’t get one shot past him tomorrow. Do you think we can let that stand?”

“Absolutely not,” Skye answered immediately, a lopsided grin forming on her face. She was already looking a lot more like her old, fiery self again. “He’ll have no idea what’s coming at him.”

“Exactly,” Lizzie concurred, “And not only will we show Gryffindor how it’s done, but the whole school and your dad are going to see what we’re capable of. We’re going to show your dad something he’s never seen before.”

Skye raised her eyebrows. “What would that be, though? I’m a Parkin after all. Dad’s the one having trained us ever since we were in our nappies. He knows exactly what a Parkin can do on a broomstick.”

“But he won’t be seeing any old Parkin play,” Lizzie corrected her. “What he’ll be seeing is the one and only SkyeParkin; flying ace, Chaser prodigy, nuisance extraordinaire.”

She grinned as Skye started laughing at her over dramatic praises before she continued more seriously, “When you just do what you’re doing best, your dad won’t even know what hit him.”

Wanting to end her pep talk on a lighter note, Lizzie added, “And if that’s still not enough for you, look at it that way: if there ever was an opportunity to show off to Rath, this is it.”

Just like Lizzie had anticipated, Skye guffawed at her last words. “That’s true,” she snickered. “Bet she’s livid they beat us and we’re still playing for the Cup instead of Ravenclaw.”

“Probably,” Lizzie agreed. “I still can’t believe we turned the season around that way,” she contemplated after another moment. “The win against Slytherin was quite the team effort, wasn’t it?”

“That it was; our team’s a smashing bunch.” Skye smiled openly at her. “I know I’m not exactly the most popular one with our mates, but I still couldn’t imagine a life without you lot anymore. Orion has a point somewhere when he calls us his family.”

Lizzie smiled back at her, happy to see her friend’s mood being lifted. “I guess he has.”

Skye’s gaze swept over the stands and down to the pitch, where it lingered on the goalposts once again. With a happy sigh she leaned back and watched the last traces of red fade from the darkening evening sky.

“Remember the first time we’ve been up here, way back in our second year?”

Lizzie chuckled at the memory. “Of course I do; can’t believe how long ago that was. I tried helping you with Charms; I still can’t believe you maimed that poor book like you did. And made me ride a jinxed broomstick,” she couldn’t help but add wryly.

Skye started giggling as well. “And set some Bludgers on you,” she recalled cheerily.

“And set some Bludgers on me.” Lizzie didn’t quite share her amusement, though.

Still laughing, Skye nudged her with her elbow. “But look how far you’ve come since then. I don’t know that many who can hold a candle to you now.”

Blushing at the compliment, Lizzie twisted the ends of her ponytail between her fingers and smirked. “I’ll give you that, it worked. Although your teaching methods definitely weren’t what you’d call conventional.”

Skye only grinned at that. “Maybe, but neither one of us is conventional either.”

“True,” Lizzie laughed lightly. “I’m glad everything went how it did, though.”

“Me too; if anyone had told me back then we’d be mates I’d have called them bonkers, but here we are. You’re certainly one of the best mates I’ve ever had,” Skye continued in a more serious fashion, “cheers for putting up with me all of the time; I know I can be quite the handful.”

Lizzie shook her head. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

They were silent for a bit, listening to the wind that had picked up rustling through the House banners below them.

It was Skye who spoke up again after some time. “Can’t believe the year’s almost over now. I’m sorry it wasn’t the best one for you, though; this whole situation is sucking big time. I’m not saying that because of the team, but because of you.”

Her eyes flickered over to Lizzie momentarily before she continued. “Maybe you and Orion will find a way after all. If any of my mates deserve to be happy, it’s you guys.”

Lizzie sighed; she had hoped this topic wouldn’t come up. “I think I made my peace with it, in a way. It’s not like I can change the way things are now anyway. It’s my fault everything blew up in my face, so it’s only fair I have to deal with the consequences now.”

She shifted her weight and made a conscious effort not to fiddle with the birthstone pendant she knew was resting under her jersey. “But let’s not talk about this now, alright? All I want to focus onis the match and getting our hands on that God forsaken Cup. After that, we’ll see what happens; it’s one step after the other.”

Lizzie clapped her hands on her knees, the sharp sound echoing across the silent stands and rose to her feet. “Speaking about it, my personal next step is going to the pre-match party, they’re probably waiting for us by now. Are you coming?”

To her surprise, Skye shook her head. “No, go ahead without me, maybe I’ll catch you later. I want to stay here for a bit now.”

Once again, her green eyes followed the perimeter of the stands facing them. Darkness had begun to settle over the pitch, the commentary box was barely discernible anymore.

“Need to set my mind for tomorrow properly. You’re right, Jameson, it’s full focus on winning now, everything else has to wait until after that bloody Cup is ours; it’s one step after the other.”

#hphm #hogwarts mystery #quidditch #orion amari #skye parkin #lizzie jameson #aob #art of balance #the quidditch squad #not much longer to go #redoing this cause tumblr fucked the first attempt up #im mad

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babbushka · 4 years ago

Text

Mind & Soul (9/10)

The story of how one man fell out love, and into it again.

Charlie Barber x Reader

Tumblr masterlist for previous chapters // Available on AO3

8.3k ; warnings for cheating/affairs, mention of nsfw, heavy angst

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If I should lose you, the stars would fall from the skies

If I should lose you, the leaves would wither and die

The birds in May time would sing a lonely refrain

And I would wander around hating the sound of rain

With you beside me, no wind in winter would blow

With you beside me, a rose would bloom in the snow

I gave you my love but I was living a dream

And living would seem in vain if I lost you

You’re anxious, while you wait. There’s a little coffee shop near the courthouse, and you’re tucked away in a corner of it. You’ve got a window seat, a good view for when Charlie comes down the steps across the street. It’s the last day of this, the last day of the trial. The lawyers told Charlie, and Charlie told you, that when he comes out of that building it’ll all be over, one way or another.

You’ve got your laptop on the table in front of you, an empty cup of coffee you keep wanting to refill but don’t. You don’t think your nerves could handle any more caffeine, not right now. Not when you’re here by yourself, no one to talk to to distract the jitters from your feet as they do their best not to tap.

Despite the jitters and the anxiety of the outcome of the case, you can’t help but smile a bit into the last remnants of foam that collect at the bottom of the cup. It feels all too familiar, feels like back then, back before all of this, back when you and Charlie started this whole thing, this whole affair.

It seems like ages ago, a lifetime ago, that you and Charlie began meeting one another in secret. How long had it really been, you wonder? When was the first time? The theater -- the kiss, was it then? Or was it all the coffee dates in cafes like this one, where sweet saxophone music and bass guitar fill the air. Maybe it was the parties you only went to if you knew the other would be there, wanting nothing more than to catch a glimpse at one another, wanting nothing more than an excuse to be close, to smile and laugh at the jokes you tell. Maybe still it was the simple act of babysitting, of Charlie wanting you around and you wanting to be too.

You sit back in the coffee shop and think about how long it��s been, how long you two knowingly sought the comfort of each other’s bodies, company, laughter and love. Two months of the divorce, six months of Nicole’s departure, and a year before that.

A year of loving him in secret before that.

You feel guilty, guilty for the whole thing. Guilty for loving this man who you know you shouldn’t have, guilty for not feeling guilty enough. Selfish was the theme of the divorce, wasn’t it? You were selfish too, loving Charlie. Loving him the way you do.

But how could you not? How could you not love him, when he was so charming and intelligent and kind to you? How could you not fall for this man, when he was handsome and funny and caring and genuine. That always struck you about Charlie, you think with a smile as you swirl the foam around in the cup, Charlie had always been so genuine.

You think back, since you’ve got nothing but time to kill, think back to how it all started, how it got to the point that it did, to the point where you’re staring out the window hoping for a happy face, hoping for a smile on the man that you love.

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It started in a grocery store, you remember. It had been a beautiful day and you took the opportunity to get some errands accomplished, errands that you never had the energy for when it’s gloomy because you’d rather spend the day watching a rainy-day film. But the sun was out, and so were you, out and about running all over town, your last stop being the grocery store.

You run into him, literally. Your head is down staring at the little list of things you need, and you’re too caught up in your own concentration, and your body collides with someone else’s so significantly that you drop the little notepad and pen in your shock.

“Oh shit I’m so sorry – !” You gasp, immediately wincing in embarrassment.

“Hi, fuck sorry, here you dropped – ” You hear a deep voice, the warmth of someone standing too close, bending down to pick up the notepad.

“Here I can get it, hold on – ” You go to pick it up, your hands reaching for the little pad at the same time.

Only then is when you look up at him, at this poor guy you’ve knocked into, and as if you weren’t embarrassed enough, it just had to be the handsome man from next door. You both stand up, still apologizing over one another, smiling awkwardly.

He doesn’t take his hand off the notepad, not yet, and you remember thinking how flustered that made you, even before you really knew him, he made you flustered.

“Hi.” You manage, hating how it sounds to your own ears.

You’re both finally realizing where you are – right in the middle of the grocery store, and now people are looking at you because you’re kind of blocking the way, and people with their baskets and carts are trying to move around you, so you move too.

“Wait!” Charlie stops you suddenly, and you turn, beckon him over to you so you can stand closer to the side. He moves towards you easily, almost subconsciously, as he runs a hand through his hair and squares his shoulders subtly. “You’re (Y/N), right? From next door.”

“Yeah that’s me. Mr. Barber?” You try and act casual, as if you hadn’t been so curious about him for the whole month that he’s lived next to you, as if you didn’t do your research and figure out who he was, who his family was.

“Call me Charlie, please.” He corrects you, and you nod, duck your head a little in residual embarrassment.

If this were anyone else, you might have already moved on with your life, might’ve searched for cover in the bakery section and avoided that particular shopper for the rest of your trip to the grocery store – but you knew him, sort of. You couldn’t just give a cold shoulder.

So instead you try and turn the situation into a positive one, and take a peek inside his cart. It’s all fresh and perfectly ripe, and is exactly the fruits that you’ve come to this section of the grocery store for.

“I like your taste in produce, Charlie.” You offer, and he practically beams at you for it.

“I’ll be honest, I picked it up because of you.” He rubs the back of his neck, gestures to the contents of his cart. “I’ve been dreaming of that pie you made.”

And that makes you beam, the thought that a month later he’s still hung up on your welcoming dish, a little something made with love from the heart. You had no idea who it was that was moving into the neighborhood, you didn’t keep up with any of the corner-gossip, it really was just a gesture that you wanted to make, a way to be neighborly.

Who the fuck knew the neighbor in question would be so wonderful?

“Oh I’m so glad you liked it! I was worried.” You grin at him, can’t help but smile, feeling so pleased. “New people, new preferences, you know. The last thing I wanted to do was make a poor impression.”

“Consider me impressed.” Charlie smiles right back a you, and you find yourself enamored with it, with his crooked teeth and the ways his eyes scrunch up around the corners. He’s got dimples, you think, and he’s so handsomely speckled, little moles and freckles all over that you could stare at forever. He looks around for a moment, chews on his lip and asks, “Are you here by yourself?”

“Yeah, I make a real thing out of doing the groceries. Going up and down all the aisles, seeing what the weekly sales are, all that.” You explain, wetting your lips briefly, trying not to look casual, to not be so interested that it would come across as inappropriate, “What about you?”

“Me too -- I mean, I’m alone too.” Charlie stumbles over his sentence, and you smile at how he gets the most beautiful blush across his cheeks. “I’m really just a scout today, I’ve been trying out a couple different stores, seeing which has the stuff we get, which one we might stick with.”

“I’ve been coming here for years, I can vouch for this little supermarket.” You say easily, because it’s the truth, and…well it’s terrible but…if Charlie likes this grocery store then maybe you’ll see him again one day.

You can see the gears turning in his head as he shifts his weight onto his other foot, runs his hand through his hair again.

“What would you say to letting me be your shadow?” He asks, making you raise a playful eyebrow. He’s so charming, when he smiles at you and says so cooly, “I’m sure I can learn much about this store by sticking close to an expert like yourself.”

“I’d say I hope you’re in for a long browsing, I don’t like to rush my shopping.” You warn him playfully.

“That’s fine with me, I’ve got time.” Charlie says, surprising you, playing back.

That had been right at the beginning, you remember. You remember how he followed you around up and down the aisles, how he reached for things on shelves you couldn’t quite get to, how he introduced himself to the women behind the deli counter, accepted their samples gratefully and offered them to you.

You never could imagine that those grocery store visits would become something of tradition, you both going in your separate cars and meeting in secret, browsing the shelves right next to one another, talking about everything and nothing, and then parting ways as if you’d never met. You never would believe that he’s buy you pastries from the bakery and share them with you in the parking lot, your cars parked right next to one another, a stolen kiss in a back seat while he “helps you put the bags into your trunk.”

Looking back, you wonder if that bump in the store was a coincidence, or a planned means of getting your attention. Knowing what you know now, knowing how Charlie had begun to fall in love with you right from the moment he had a slice of that pie, maybe it wasn’t so farfetched of an idea.

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

But you didn’t know then, not back then. Back then you were just a neighbor, just a friend.

After the grocery store meeting, he stopped to talk to you whenever he saw you, wherever you were. You both came out to greet the mail-woman at the same time, and spent too long chatting with one another after she left.

As time went on, neighbors became friends. You and Charlie exchanged phone numbers for emergency contact purposes, went out for drinks every now and again. He introduced you to his friend circle, and you introduced him to yours, and eventually eventually eventually, when he fired his babysitter and was in dire need of someone to watch Henry, his first thought was of you.

He alone always picked Henry up, and you grew fond of the few stolen moments of company that you had managed when he did. He’s at your house one evening, alone, looking kind of miserable. Your heart aches for him, he and Nicole have been fighting more and more recently.

It’s not hard to hear, with them being so close. She screams at him sometimes, late into the night if Henry is having a sleepover with a friend and it out of the house. Those nights you always want to reach out to Charlie but you know it’s not your place.

You know better than to get entangled in a marriage squabble, know that’s just not your business to get involved in.

But it hurts, seeing him all alone like this, with red-rimmed eyes and a clenched jaw. It hurts knowing that he feels so bad, so down. You want to bring him back to happy, he deserves that you think, he deserves to be happy. He’s always trying so hard to take care of everyone else, tries so hard.

Who takes care of him?

You let him into the house when he knocks at your door, invite him to make himself comfortable if he’d like. He does, sits down at one of the little bar stools in the kitchen by the breakfast bar. He’s nearly got his head down against the table, holding himself up with only a shred of decency, not wanting to appear too pathetic in front of you.

“How was he?” Charlie asks, and his voice is raw, and your heart breaks.

“Wonderful.” You reply honestly, “I was worried he wouldn’t like me, but we did some painting and watched a movie and I let him pause it to ask questions every five minutes.”

Charlie sits up at that, a frown on his face.

“Painting? Shit I hope he didn’t make a mess or anything – ” He starts, but you shake your head, wave it off.

“Nah he was fine. I know how kids are, everything was washable. I gave him a big tshirt to wear over so he wouldn’t get it on his clothes or anything either.” You smile, trying to get him to relax for a minute. He didn’t have to be so pent up all the time, you think. Not when he’s with you, anyway.

“Thank you, Nicole would’ve had a fit.” Charlie groans, and you bite your tongue.

“I get it, the last thing you want is for nice stuff to be ruined.” You say, gesturing to the living room. “He’s fast asleep on the couch, I’ve just been working on some stuff in the meantime.”

“What sort of stuff?” Charlie perks up, suddenly looking a little less miserable. The curiosity in his eyes warms your heart.

Lately he’s been asking just as many questions as Henry had, wanting to know more about you, wanting to tell you about himself in return. You welcomed it, enjoyed the opportunity to grow closer, to become better friends. He was so smart, so well spoken – well, when he wasn’t picking his son up at midnight on a Wednesday after what was clearly an argument – that you found yourself drawn to him, to wanting to hear his opinions and to share yours in return.

It made you feel really good inside, that he wanted to hear them.

“I’m a writer.” You explain, suddenly realizing you never actually specified what it is that you do for a living. He knows you’re in the entertainment sphere, you’ve gone to the same parties with the same crowd of people, but you never divulged this little secret of yours, not that it was really a secret.

“TV?” Charlie asks, eyes sparkling.

“No, film.” You crinkle your nose playfully at the thought of writing for television, and he laughs.

“Holy shit, that’s pretty nice.” Charlie is impressed, and it feels good to impress him, feels good to know that he holds you to a high opinion. “Did you write anything I might’ve seen?”

“How do I know what you might’ve seen?” You tease with a raised eyebrow.

You walk out of the room and go down the hall to the den, where you’ve got all your awards on display on the mantle above the fireplace.

“Is that – ” Charlie’s eyes widen, drawn to them, even more impressed.

You can’t help but bite at your lips and feel proud of yourself, of your work – proud that someone sees these awards and knows what they mean.

“Just a couple, nothing too fancy.” You try to play it off, looking at all the little gold statuettes with your name carved into brass plates. You shrug when he turns around to you, and you smile because he looks so enamored with you, so amazed, and he laughs when you wink, “No Oscars yet.”

“You’ll get there.” He nods, confident in that fact.

“I know.” You say and he laughs a little louder, appreciating your own confidence, your own lack of modesty. The laughter dies down to a soft smile in your direction, and you hate yourself for bringing her up, but you want to know how much time you have with him tonight, if you need to prepare yourself for his departure anytime soon by asking, “Where’s Nicole?”

His whole demeanor shifts, and the sag to his shoulders comes back a little bit. That wasn’t right, you think, spouses shouldn’t make one another feel like that.

“Oh she stayed at the party a little longer, I was tired and decided I’d come back home early.” He says through clenched teeth, trying his best to not get bitter and angry, trying not to look that way in front of you.

It’s okay, you think. He can be bitter or angry in front of you, everyone needs to let it out every once in a while.

“Do you…” You steel yourself for rejection, “Do you maybe want something to drink? A bite to eat or anything? Henry and I made cookies, I boxed them up so he could take them home but I don’t think he’d mind if we ate one or two.”

“I can’t say no to homemade cookies.” Charlie surprises you by accepting the offer, the invitation to stay longer, to stay with you. You smile, until he randomly stands up straight and fishes something out of his trouser pockets with an, “Oh, here.”

“Put that away I’m not taking your money.” You roll your eyes fondly at him when he tries to hand you a couple rolled up bills.

“Are you sure?” Charlie frowns, worried, nervous for a rejection of his own.

“Of course I’m sure, we’re friends aren’t we? I’m happy to help and watch Henry.” You say sincerely, pushing his hand away from yours.

The contact is electric, that little moment where your fingers grazed his knuckles. You try not to think about how it sends tingles up your arm, try not to think about how warm his skin was, how much you’d like to feel that warmth again.

“I can’t just dump my kid on you and have a cookie and not give you something back for that.” Charlie tries, but you shake your head.

“I mean it Charlie, really it’s okay.” You whisper, not so sure why you’re whispering, not really.

It’s just…he’s so handsome. And he’s here, and he’s caring, and he’s looking at you like you mean the world to him. You’ve only known him a couple months, but the way he looks at you it feels like you’ve known him your whole life. You know he’s probably like this with everyone, but well…you can’t help it if he makes you feel special.

The two of you stand in the dark of the den, in front of all your awards as the glint softly in the moonlight outside the window. He retracts his hand, but then…ever so slowly he reaches it out again. He grazes the back of his hand against the soft skin of your arm, a motion so gentle and slow that you wonder if you’re imagining it.

“I should probably take him home, huh.” Charlie whispers too, that touch so tentative, so afraid, worried you’ll throw him off of you.

But you won’t, you never would, and even as shame and guilt bubbles up in the pit of your stomach, even as his wedding ring reflects the same light as your awards, you don’t push him away. In fact, you take a daring step closer, one that has the scent of his cologne curling in your nostrils.

“You could stay a little while longer, I could show you what I’m working on if you’d like to see it. I bet you’d have tons of notes, big director that you are.” You say, trying to keep things normal, trying to keep them casual despite the way he so desperately wants to hold you in his arms.

“You’d show me?” Charlie asks, taking another step to you, and another, until your arms are winding around his shoulders, and his are tightening around your waist.

There’s no music playing, nothing but the sound of nighttime insects and distant travel in the city that never sleeps. There’s nothing but the sound of his heartbeat against your ear, and yet the two of you sway ever so slightly to the tune of one another’s breathing.

“If you’d like to see it.” You nod, letting your eyes close against his chest, embracing you and allowing yourself to embrace him back.

What was a friendly hug between friends, you justified it to yourself. Who better to give this man comfort than someone he trusted? You’d give him anything he asked, you know. You wonder if he knows, wonder if he’s aware of just how deep your feelings for him run, when he pinches your chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilts your head up and whispers,

“I’d love to.”

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

That had been a turning point, the first time he asked you to babysit Henry. Henry liked you so much that it was never a question of who would watch him, from then on. You got along so well with that kid, the two of you always had a good time. You were happy to pick him up from school on days where Charlie and Nicole were stuck in rehearsals, were glad to bring him to playgrounds and parks so he could play basketball with his friends after class.

Spending time with Henry brought you and Charlie even closer. You never planned for that, never planned for any of this to happen, but Henry’s approval of you made you even more wonderful in Charlie’s eyes. You respected that in a person, how Charlie was always so considerate of Henry’s thoughts, his opinions.

Charlie calls you up now randomly, asks to spend time together for no real reason other than because he wants to see you, wants to be in your company. You call him too, you text back and forth, you make plans with friends and also together alone, as friends.

He’s calling you now, one overcast morning, the phone vibrating on the night stand as you’re just waking up. You see his name on the caller-ID and grin, your stomach doing flips and flutters when you answer and put the receiver up to your ear.

“(Y/N)? I know this is last minute but, I was wondering if you’d like to come out for coffee with me?” Charlie sounds so nervous in that way of his, and you can’t help but grin, thinking he’s so sweet how shy he gets when he talks to you.

“Morning Charlie! Of course I would, where were you thinking?” You’re already out of bed, walking into the closet to pull out something nice to wear.

“That little corner store, you know the one down the block? It’s not too big but it’s pretty empty right about now.” His voice is golden over the phone, deep but friendly, warm. “I figured we could write together.”

“That sounds like a good idea, I can bully you into finishing the draft finally.” You chuckle a little, and he laughs too, and his laugh only makes your stomach do those little flips some more.

“Please come bully me (Y/N), you’re my only hope.” He begs, and you’ve come to love this back and forth you’ve built with him, this playful teasing thing you do with one another.

“I’ll be there in ten, prepare to give up your lunch money.” You almost want to blow kisses into the phone, but you hold yourself back, hold yourself back from making a fool of yourself before you hang up.

He’s watching for you, when you step through the door of the little café. He stands like a gentleman, greets you with a warm hug and takes your jacket. It’s a chilly day outside, and you smile when you see a big mug of something hot waiting for you.

“I got you your favorite -- I asked them what your normal order is I’m not a creep I swear.” Charlie says softly, and your heart blooms with affection for him.

“You could be a creep, I wouldn’t mind.” You say, and it’s not entirely a joke, not entirely a lie.

You sit down opposite him, and he sits down too, and you both smile at each other, clinking your mugs together and taking a nice hot sip. The drink warms you up, gets the chill from the walk out of your bones. When you both put the mugs down and open up your laptops, Charlie can’t stop looking at you.

He’s been doing that more and more, recently. Looking. You catch him sometimes, stealing glances at the mailbox or at parties, at work or with friends, when he picks up Henry from your place, when when when. It’s flattering, but…but it’s getting your hopes up, and that’s a dangerous game.

It’s dangerous because you want him so badly already, so badly as it is.

And you can’t have him.

Still, he’s looking, and the gaze has to mean something, it has to, doesn’t it?

“You look really nice.” He finally manages to say, gets the words out and only stumbles over them a little.

“Thanks, it has pockets!” You show off your little outfit, standing up slightly to give him a 360-degree view, knowing knowing knowing that he’s going to drink you in. “I just picked it up the other day, figured what better place to debut the look than the corner café?” You tease.

“And we’re all better for it, really.” He’s serious, and there’s something about that seriousness that makes your heart pound in your chest. He smiles at you, and you smile back, and when you sit down he turns his laptop around, pushes it towards you. “Would you look at what I’ve got?”

“How bad is it?” You arch a brow, and he slaps his face into his hand. You take a glance at the file, and see that it’s nearly one hundred pages shorter than it was the last time you got a glimpse of it. You gasp and swat at his arm. “What happened – I thought you were close to being done!”

“I need help, I’ve got writer’s block.” He groans into his hands.

“Then go call up your muse.” You regret the words as soon as you say them, even though you mean them lightly.

The reminder of Nicole stings the back of your throat.

But he looks at you, looks looks looks, with an expression that’s halfway between misery and love, and you’re trying desperately not to get your hopes up for something you know cannot happen – except, maybe it can.

Maybe it can, because he’s looking at you in the corner café, with yearning in his eyes, and his hand is reaching out towards you, the same sort of touch he gave you all that time ago on the first night when he came to pick Henry up, the back of his knuckles barely barely barely grazing yours.

Maybe it can, because he smiles at you gently, nervously, so warmly, and says,

“I did.”

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

Months pass, and with the change in seasons come more friendliness, more familiarity. It’s a sunny day, and you and Charlie have taken up a habit of walking through Times Square together when the weather is nice. There’s a big stand of bleachers outside the discount ticket window, and you put your sunglasses on, walk arm in arm around the block, settle near the bleachers and people-watch.

Nicole has been taking trips to Los Angeles more and more frequently recently. She’s been doing auditions for things there, television shows. You never liked television, but you can’t help but be glad for her absence. Charlie’s so much lighter whenever she’s gone; he laughs a little louder, smiles a little wider.

He spends more time with Henry, brings him to the theater often. Charlie’s telling you about it as you sit with your shoulders touching on the bleachers, telling you about how Henry got to go up on stage and pretend to be a prop for blocking purposes, telling you how much he loved it.

“I’d like to see one, a rehearsal.” You smile at him, genuinely curious what he gets up to when he’s in the zone. You and Charlie are at a point in your friendship where you can pout and be silly, be demanding with his time and affection. “If that’s allowed.”

And you’re lucky, because he’s demanding with yours in return. He pretends to think for a moment, tosses a piece of street-vendor popcorn at your face, cheers in surprise when you catch it in your mouth and eat it.

“It’s only allowed if you know the director.” Charlie says with mock-apology, shaking his head and shrugging, putting his hands on his hips.

“Hmm, I’ll have to shoot him a message then.” You play along, before the two of you break out into joyous laughter.

Nicole is out of town, away under the sunshine of her own on a coast you don’t care for, and you know that the troupe is working on something new and exciting and you want to share in that excitement with your friend, with Charlie.

He pulls the brim of your hat down your face and makes you laugh from it, makes you pinch at his thigh when you fix your outfit. Charlie beams at you, and you can’t help but think that if you were his wife, you’d kiss him on the cheek for such a display.

“There’s one tomorrow, you could come. I’d like you to come, will you?” He looks at you, looks so handsome with the sun on his hair, “It’ll probably be good for them, the troupe. They like to preform; it’ll make them better.”

“Send me the address to the theater, I’ll be over when I’m finished up with some meetings.” You nod, and he lights up like the fourth of July at the thought of you showing up.

The entire troupe is there to meet you the next day, when you arrive. They practically jump at the chance to shake your hand, to greet you hello, to give those fancy kisses on each cheek back and forth and back and forth. You shake, and greet, and kiss, feeling so welcomed and loved by this gaggle of theater lovers already.

You feel even more welcomed, even more loved, when Charlie materializes from somewhere and slides an arm around your waist, pulls you close to his side and looks down at you with a big smile.

“Everyone this is my best friend, (Y/N).” He introduces you to the troupe, and the words, the introduction is alone to have you beaming.

But what’s even better is their reaction to you, the way they all burst into excited chatter.

“So you’re the girl Charlie doesn’t shut up about.” One of them, a short balding man says a little louder above all the rest, making Charlie go bright red in the face.

“Aw you talk about me?” You bat your lashes at him, both feeling over the moon that you mean that much to him, and reveling in how he gets so flushed and shy and embarrassed.

“All the fuckin’ time, it’s nice to finally meet you.” That same man answers for Charlie, and the whole troupe exchanges knowing glances and smiles that have your cheeks aching from the grin.

“It’s nice to meet you guys too, I’m really honored to be here, I won’t be a distraction I promise.” You say, wanting to be polite and not to cause too much of a fuss.

“That ain’t something you’ve gotta tell us, honey.” One of the women winks, and Charlie makes a strangled sound that would have you laughing if you weren’t so enamored with him.

“Okay and that’s enough of that – places everyone.” Charlie cuts everyone off, claps his hands twice and pretends to shoo them all away. They keep looking over their shoulder at the two of you even though Charlie shields you from their gossiping gaze. He speaks softly with you, trying to get a grip on himself. “You can sit anywhere you’d like, get comfortable. I’ll be up there.”

And so you do, and up he goes, and it’s amazing.

You’ve spent enough time with Charlie to know that he can be commanding, that he can be present, can be in total control. He likes it that way, being in control, he’s so particular about the way he does things, you know. But to see it, to bare witness to this creative genius at work is breathtaking.

He knows just how to orchestrate this production so that it becomes less a series of events and more of a story, less a choreography of props and lighting and more of an immersive experience. He’s avant-garde in the best of ways, the most impactful of ways, even while in jeans and a button down.

You’re in awe of him, of the way he isn’t afraid to get up on the stage and illustrate just how he wants things done, isn’t afraid to execute his vision exactly how he sees it. And it’s such a process, all of it is, it’s a process that you’re a part of, because he’ll ask your opinion in the middle of it all, and that makes you feel warm, makes you feel good, knowing he values your opinion this much, respects it this much.

You’re honest with him, you tell him when things aren’t working and when they are, and he smiles at you.

By the end of the rehearsal, you’re so entranced with the performance and the story in front of you, that you can’t imagine spending your spare time anywhere else, anywhere other than here, than where Charlie is his most at-home.

And you try not to listen to them when they say it’s because of you, you try.

But it warms your heart when at the end of another rehearsal, he seeks you out, takes you to dinner, and the next day asks if you’ll do it all over again.

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

After the kiss, things change.

They change for the better, you’re thrilled to find. They change in the best ways. You’re in love with him, so in love with him, and he with you. You can say the words now, can say them out loud – and oh! Oh how freeing it is to say them and know the feeling is returned.

For so long, you thought that you were kidding yourself, delusional. You thought your feelings were one sided, but no, not they aren’t, the tingle on your lips is proof.

You kiss a lot more now, more than you could have ever dreamed. You kiss in secret meetings in the grocery store, in your car. You kiss in the kitchen when Charlie picks Henry up when you babysit him after school. You kiss in the café, the coffee shop and the theater.

You kiss when he brings you to hotels and fucks you blind, fucks you dumb late into the morning, in the pale light of dawn.

He’s happy now, you can tell. It’s beautiful seeing him like this, seeing him so free. You never really realized it before, but looking back, before confessing your feelings for one another, you don’t think you’ve ever seen him this happy. His eyes are brighter, his cheeks are pinker, he looks healthy – that glow of love eternal.

And you? You’re over the moon, completely and totally. You’re on cloud nine, your heart about to burst. Every morning you get with him is a dream, and every evening is a memory embedded into your brain forever more. He takes you out to these secret little hideaways, little old fashioned clubs where the music is soft and sweet and the neon lights glow red blue purple over your bodies as he slow dances with you.

You meet him in hole-in-the-wall bars, kiss and get handsy in a booth in the back where no one will disturb you, and he’ll take you to a hotel room that’s nearly on reserve for you at all times, to peel you out of your slinky dress and heels, to have sex until the sun rises over the New York City skyline.

You walk arm in arm down Time Square, but this time you rest your head on his shoulder when it starts to grow chilly, you snuggle up to him when you people-watch. He buys you gifts, all sorts of gifts, all the time. And you wear them, because you’re proud to, you’re proud of him.

It’s only a little while into the affair, when you find yourselves at the café working on a new script together. He slides a little piece of napkin across to you, really subtly, secretive.

You glance down at it and see that it’s a phone number written in his scrawling handwriting.

“Just for us.” He says with a shy smile.

“What is this?” You raise a brow, taking it and putting it into your purse for you to deal with later, when you’re not out in public.

“I…” He lowers his voice, licks his lips and pulls out a cell phone that you don’t recognize. It’s black, different from his white phone you’re used to seeing. He blushes as he unlocks it and shows that it’s empty, brand new. “I figured it wouldn’t be safe to use my regular phone for us, for this. So I got a new number, one that’s just for us.”

“You mean it?” You whisper, eyes widening. You know he does, you know, you just need to hear it.

“Yeah.” He swallows, runs a hand through his hair like the very first time you bumped into him when he was shy and nervous, “You…I love you, and I don’t want to hold myself back from talking to you. But if Nicole finds out – ”

“She won’t, we’ll be careful. We’re doing this the right way.” You stop that train of thought before it can spiral.

“Is there even a right way for this?” Charlie huffs out a little laugh, and smiles at you, glad that you aren’t going to kick him to the curb, feed him to the wolves.

You want to hold his hand, but you can’t – you can’t because then someone could see, and you don’t want anyone to see.

“Maybe not, but then we’ll just make our own rules, our own way.” You say, keeping your hand to yourself, keeping your kisses to yourself too, knowing that once you go back to your house, before Nicole or Henry come home, you’ll have your fill of one another. “She won’t find out.”

“Will you call me, text me when you need me?” Charlie asks, and you smile softly.

“Yes, as long as you do the same when you need me, I don’t want you feeling alone, left out to dry the way she leaves you. I’m always here for you, always.” You nod, sighing happily, so so so in love.

He gets frustrated then, a frustration which has been cropping up more and more, the more serious you two get about each other. His jaw clenches and his eyes start to water and you do cover his hand with your own then, public be damned, wandering eyes be damned too.

“I’m here for you, I want – fuck (Y/N), I want to be here for you more than I am. One day, when things settle down after the run of the show, I’m going to break things off with her and be with you.” He says with great restraint so he doesn’t shout out about it all.

“I know, it’s okay, I know.” You say, letting your thumb rub soothing circles on the back of his hand. “We take it one day at a time.”

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

He’s away in California, for the second time that month. You know it’s driving him crazy, making him insane. He doesn’t know why they insist so much of the trial has to be there, when he lives in New York, when Henry has always lived in New York. Even when Nicole fucked off for six months, Henry stayed in New York.

But now Henry is in California with his mother, a mother who decided to show her face once again after abandoning her family, a mother who has come back with a vengeance that isn’t deserved, hasn’t been earned.

And Charlie is in California too, attempting to furnish a very small apartment he rented so he doesn’t have to keep paying for expensive Los Angeles hotels. He’s all the way in California, and he’s pissed off, frustrated for too many reasons.

He’s got this apartment now in addition to the house he bought, bought with fuck you money. He knew it was a good way to impress the judge, the gorgeous home. Ironically, you’re furnishing the home while he’s away in California, getting it ready for him and Henry to come back and live in.

He’s worried, nervous that the case is going to end badly, that he’s going to lose, and he’s freaking out about the whole thing with you on video chat as he holds up different drawings and paintings that Henry did, trying to figure out which one to put up on the walls.

“Fuck I wish you were here.” He grumbles and groans, “I hate this, I’m not good at this kind of shit.”

You’re laying on his bed, a bed which you’ve come to think of as your bed, because you’ve been sleeping here while you get it prepared for them. You’ve already done the living room and kitchen, and just finished the master bedroom -- you’ve shown him everything and he loves it, he keeps complaining how much nicer everything would look if you were there, how much better he’d feel.

“I know honey, but let me see the options again.” You say from the bed, lounging in pajamas because of the time difference.

Charlie holds up two paintings, both of them ones that you all did together as a family, one rainy night when the weather was too gloomy for anything else. One is a beautiful landscape in crayon and marker, the other is what you can only assume is a stick-figure family portrait that has always made you smile.

“I want to get them framed, should I just get them both framed?” Charlie is too frustrated to even care about the portrait, too worried. He needs this to go well, you know, he knows you know.

“Can you hold up the computer?” You ask, disregarding the paintings for a minute, “Like, let me see the whole room, I need to visualize.”

He does so quickly, and gives you a tour of the space.

It’s small, and it’s bland, and you’re already pulling up interior design websites, trying to help him.

“Please honey I’m hopeless.” He complains.

“Shut up no you’re not, you just need some…direction.” You say, knowing it’ll make him roll his eyes at you.

He turns the computer back around so you can see his face, and despite himself, he’s got a big incredulous grin he’s fighting.

“You think you’re so funny.” Charlie shakes his head, fond and in love.

“You’re laughing, aren’t you?” You tease back.

He sets the computer down and not for the first time during this whole shitshow, your heart aches for him. He looks so out of place there, in Los Angeles. This isn’t the city for him, no way. He hates spending time there, hates that he has to spend time away from you.

Things had been so good, hadn’t they? You’d been doing the best you could together, the best you could to try and build something new, the best you could to build a family.

And she just had to ruin it.

“I wish you were here.” Charlie says for the thousandth time, and for the thousandth time you wish you could reach through the computer screen and kiss him, could put your head on his shoulder and let him hold you, hold him yourself.

“You’ll be home to me soon.” You say, and those words give him the strength he needs to carry on through it all, because soon, soon he’ll be home to you – home in New York, yes.

But also home in your heart.

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

You spot him, leaving the courthouse then. It’s across the street, and so he’s a little farther away than you’d like him, but you recognize his height and stature anywhere. You’d recognize him anywhere, and there he is.

You’re quick to pack up your stuff, your laptop that’s nearly untouched, the cup of coffee that you still never refilled. The nervousness courses through you so badly that your hands shake when you try and bring the little cup and saucer over to the dish return cart.

You look both ways before crossing the street, before walking as quickly as you can to him, begging begging begging for good news.

Charlie’s been through so much, too much. He needs this, needs good news.

But when you see him, he doesn’t say anything, nothing at all. There’s a wet sheen to his eyes, and your stomach drops, it twists and churns in your gut and you think you’re going to be sick, from the way he holds back his tears.

He reaches out for your hand in utter silence, and you take it without any hesitation. You can feel how clammy his palms are, how they tremble, how they shake.

Walking to the parking lo, your vision nearly goes spotty with anxiety. He opens your door for you and closes it after you when you’re safely inside. Your heart hammers in your chest as you force yourself to hold back the thousand questions that you have. You don’t want to overwhelm him, not when he’s so overwhelmed already. You buckle your seat belt and wait, wait for him to say something first.

It isn’t until he’s at a red light, when he’s got a white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel, that he startles you with his voice.

“Will you move in?” He asks, throat dry as he stares straight ahead, wills himself not to cry. “Officially, I’m asking you to move in.”

“Yes.” You say right away, and your chin is already wobbling, your throat already tightening for him.

You feel like your heart is breaking, and maybe it is. Maybe it is, with this, with how everything has been shattered, how everything is now going to change.

“Thank you.” He whispers, and his voice cracks and you turn to face him then, you can’t help it, can’t help but sit in the silence anymore.

“Charlie…” You shake your head, speechless. You’re speechless, as the light turns green and he blinks away hot tears that spill down his cheeks.

“It’s – we’re. I’m.” He blinks and blinks and blinks, and his breath comes in faster and faster as he stutters over his words, “We’re going to be okay, aren’t we? Won’t we? I – he just – the judge – ”

“Pull over.” You know he must be stunned, he must be shocked beyond belief, because he’s in a bit of a daze, and one that you know is dangerous.

The moment Charlie finds a random shopping center to pull into and puts the car in park, you’re unfastening your seat belt and racing out of the car, opening up the driver side and pulling him out, pulling him into your arms.

He holds you tightly in the parking lot and bursts into sobs, shoulder shaking hard around you. You cry and cry and cry, hyperventilating against one another with incoherent mumblings of I’m so sorry.

“Maybe he’ll do college on the east coast.” He whispers, an echo of words that a nicer lawyer once told him, back when this first started to get messy, and you crush him to your chest.

You feel sick, you feel like this has to be some kind of cruel twist of fate, like this has to be a mistake – it has to be, it just has to be.

But Charlie is holding you too tightly for you to do anything else but hold him back.

You cry, lean on each other for support, wondering and fearing for an uncertain future.

But one thing is for sure, even though your hearts are crushed and the damage has been done, you’ll just have to do as you’ve always done, and take one day at a time.

For now, it’s enough to hold onto one another there in the parking lot, enough to be together in your grief and devastation.

And as Charlie clings to you like a life support out in the ocean, an anchor, a buoy out at sea, there are no words to offer him other than an I love you, and even those hurt, even those break your heart.

If I should lose you, the stars would fall from the skies

If I should lose you, the leaves would wither and die

The birds in May time would sing a lonely refrain

And I would wander around hating the sound of rain

With you beside me, no wind in winter would blow

With you beside me, a rose would bloom in the snow

I gave you my love but I was living a dream

And living would seem in vain if I lost you

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

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#charlie barber x reader #charlie barber/reader #marriage story #adam driver character #adam driver marriage story #charlie barber fanfic #charlie barber fluff #charlie barber #charlie barber x you #charlie barber/you #my writing #mind and soul #mind & soul

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juminly · 4 years ago

Text

Sugar & Spice

Matchup story written for @nafeary. ❤

Context: From the moment you walked through that door, you made yourself at home (at an incredible pace). Some of the residents were more than pleased to have someone new in the mansion, someone that could stir things up a bit and make things a bit livelier. And others (mostly Mozart, Jean and Isaac) wondered why they would even hope to disrupt the semblance of peace that they have.

You were surrounded by geniuses of all the arts and you were definitely going to take advantage of that. You took the time to spend time with each one of the residents or they would even invite you to spend time with them. Mozart told you about his music and would let you listen while he composed (after you made him understand that you would not leave him alone cause this is an opportunity of a lifetime that you wouldn’t miss), history and warfare from Napoleon, physics from Isaac and the list goes on and on.

One of the residents that seemed to be irritated by your presence was Theodorus. Or at least, that’s what you thought. He always had snarky comments, stating his opinion even when he wasn’t asked. It only seemed that you argued all the time.

[The few times that he’s called you “Hondje”, the punches he got from you were enough to make him stop. You were not all bark, you would bite too (he loved that but never admitted it)]

But that wasn’t the truth. You could call it “intellectual tension”. You were constantly engaged in debates without you noticing it. Theodorus had a wealth of knowledge when it came to the arts, appraising assets and had a keen eye for talent and genius.

He saw something in you and sometimes deep inside him actually believed that he didn’t really have anything to teach you and he somehow had to prove himself.

The day that brought you closer together was a very very weird idea from Sebastian. This man suddenly comes up with things and everyone has to go along with him because he always puts it under the guise of “this was advised by Monsieur le Comte”. He had prepared a cooking lesson where he taught you how to make the most delicious pancakes. Theodorus had a ferocious sweet tooth and if pancakes were involved, he would definitely play nice. And since he was guaranteed a plate stacked with over 8 pancakes, for the first time since you arrived, both of you actually had a nice time together, teasing one another about your techniques and talked about everything and anything that crossed your minds.

From that day and onwards, you would often bond over pancakes (and even go on walks) and he’d be interested to know about the exploits of other artists in the future (and see how he can learn from the information you have to give him).

[he once said: “are you ready for your walk, Hondje?” and you made him regret him by refusing to talk to him until he apologized profusely and in front of all residents for his insolent behaviour]

As an avid lover and fanatic of Shakespeare and English literature in general, almost every single resident in the mansion froze when you mentioned his name. Except for Vincent. He was delighted to take you to see him.

In Theodorus’ mind, Shakespeare was a threat. To his brother and to you (he didn’t necessarily care about you [that’s what he tells himself] but you were the Comte’s guest so all residents had some sort of responsibility to ensure your safety]. He never liked him and he never will. He recognizes his genius but could clearly see, in those dichotomic eyes, an abyss of grief, darkness and sin. The man was starved for his muse and the universe to bless him with inspiration to create more art. And Theodorus didn’t want you to be a victim of that.

[Shakespeare was no threat to you. He was pleased by your fascination with his work and enjoyed your conversations. He noticed the younger Van Gogh’s behaviour and knew for a fact that there would be other individuals who would have a part in your story. He would have to sit this one out and just watch.]

Everytime you and Vincent had a visit to Shakespeare’s place, Theodorus would escort you there and back. If it were anyone else, he wouldn’t give a damn but something inside him wanted to interact more with you. He knew that you could possibly open more doors for him. He noticed that you had an eye for things, very perceptive and analytical and your curiosity was your best trait. The more information you get, the better decisions and arguments you can make.

On your way to and from Shakespeare’s place, you and Theodorus would sometimes take detours while Vincent would go buy painting supplies. The younger Van Gogh would take you to art galleries, ask your opinion about other artists’ pieces and as time went by, he started taking you with him when he’d try to negotiate deals for certain venues. You would help him assess the locations, the type of public/audience that surrounded the area and debate on whether it would get the right exposure for Vincent’s art.

The more you both interacted with one another, you discovered that you both might seem like you’re rough around the edges but what drives you the most is your curiosity and your desire to uncover/discover the broad horizons that the world actually had to offer. Theodorus believed in you and knew that you were capable of so much and was so glad that you found yourself in the mansion with all these men, to learn and be who you aspire to be.

After a while, Mozart was so used to your behaviour which was bizarre to him but completely normal to you. You didn’t take it personally cause Mozart thought everyone was weird. Listening to the composer just play, day and night, ethereal music just swimming in the air and coursing through your body. You would close your eyes and enjoy the music, and sometimes, even dance to it.

Theo passed by the room a few times and thought that you were probably out of your mind… Then after a few times, he couldn’t help but sneak into the music room and dance with you. He was surprisingly light on his feet and it said a lot about his upbringing, something that he was not fond of talking about, but you couldn’t blame him for it.

Genuine smile and seemed like he was enjoying himself, he held you up and twirled you around, letting your feet land on his so he could do all the leading and you would just have to enjoy the ride. Dancing together, your laughter was enough to earn you both a good scolding from Mozart, however, you could see the slight quirk in the corner of his lips. He was pleased to see others thoroughly enjoy his music.

Your interactions with Arthur were always interesting. And this man had a thing with harassing you in the hallway, inviting you into his room, leaning in close, wanting to show you all the joy and pleasure a vampire has to offer. It became more of a joke and a type of banter you would engage in with the mystery writer. However, Theo was not aware of that. He happened to pass by one of your interactions one day and didn’t hesitate to growl loudly at Arthur for making a pass at you, even baring his fangs at him. [He was then so embarrassed to know that both of you were just joking around and immediately left with a disgruntled expression. (you definitely saw a pout also!)]

One day, Arthur was feeling very playful and invited you out to hang out with him at the bar. He had a few games in mind and he had a lot to “teach you”. Even with his sneaky attitude, you tagged along with him and had quite an eventful night. Arthur played a few rounds of poker with some other patrons, with you at his side. He gave you tips on how to read people and pointers on how to find their weak points and tells.

When the clock struck 11, Arthur excused himself to the restroom, leaving you surrounded by the other patrons who took it as an opportunity to make a move on you.

And who just happened to enter the bar at the same exact moment? The younger Van Gogh. (Well played, Arthur).

Theo’s eyes almost flashed at the sight of those men, leering so disgustingly over you. In the blink of an eye, he was by your side and glaring daggers at them. “If you value your own life, I suggest you all stay put in your seats. You, come with me.” Unsure on whether he should take you by the hand or not, he stepped aside and gestured for you to join him with his hand.

One of the men did the grave mistake of trying to reach for you and you could almost swear you heard Theodorus threaten to cut both his hands off if he dared to touch you.

Once you made it to the table, you saw how flustered the man was and the crease between his eyebrows was so deep. It wasn’t a look that suited him but it obviously amused you to see him in a state like this (in a situation that has nothing to do with his brother).

Theo: Why on earth are you here at this godforsaken hour? Toni: Theo… you need to relax.

Theo: Easy for you to say, Hond… Toni. Do you even realize what those men were planning to do to you? Toni: It doesn’t really matter what they were planning to do. I wasn’t going to let them do anything to me anyway. You know me. Plus, I’m not even here on my own. Arthur was with me. Theo: *his frown only got worse and he covered his face with his hands, rubbing hard* That son of a… Toni: *you leaned closer to him, rubbing your thumb between his brow* As much as I like seeing you like this, this expression doesn’t suit your smug (and stupidly) handsome face. Theo: *he scoffed and a crooked smile appear on his face* Handsome, huh? Toni: Oh, shut your mouth. It’s not like you weren’t really aware of that.

Theo: *exhales and shakes his head* Arthur got me good.

Toni: Huh? Theo: He knows that I believe you’re a masterpiece… I can see it in your eyes. You’re so strong, so fierce… *he gently takes your hand and kisses the inside of your palm* Don’t look at me like that. I’m serious… *he keeps talking and it almost seems like he’s pouting, his cheeks tinted in the most adorable shade of pink* You’re a treasure that I’ve come across…You’ve become so precious to me and… I can’t let you go. *he pressed a soft kiss on your lips* I don’t want to.

You told him from the very start that you were asexual. Theodore was not shy to ask you any questions about what that meant and to learn more about you. If anything, It taught him to look at things in a different way, especially in how he expressed his love to you.

When you became lovers, you discovered that he has trouble sleeping and barely manages to get a few hours a day. He worries too much about his brother, about the future of his art and whether he’s actually capable of getting people to truly recognize his work. Apparently, he spends all night just reading books and occasionally drinking. But, not for long!

You would force the tall boy in bed and force him into a death-grip cuddle so that he can’t distract himself with anything else but focusing on laying by your side, your warmth and your voice. You would hammer the truth into him, lay it on thick and you knew for a fact that he would do the same for you. You would tell him all the things he needed to hear and know, tell him where he should try to grow and also know when and how to let go. No sugar-coating and no poetry or romancing involved in it. Both of you kept things real all the time which is something that you adored about one another.

If you touch the ridges of his ear, he’ll get awfully ticklish and call you a “monster’ and you couldn’t help but grin at that and say “I’m your little monster”.

That was enough to make this grown-ass man all blushy and mumble something along the lines of “Don’t be so full of yourself”.

His weakness is whenever you actually make him feel like he belongs to you and you belong to him.

As a token of his love for you, Theo came up with an interesting idea and wanted both of you to share something that reminded you of one another. He gifted you a pair of amethyst earrings (your horoscope gemstone) but there was a catch. One earring for you and the other for him. So you both went to get your ears pierced in the same place and wore it with pride.

He acknowledges the fact that you have your limits and boundaries and he fully respects them. Relationships are all about giving and taking.

He vowed to you that he would not take blood from another and only drink Blanc and Rouge. He cannot fathom the idea of drinking from another human but you. It went without saying that, only if you were willing and actually wanted to, he would gladly drink your blood. From which part of your body? He didn’t give a damn, even if it were from the tip of your finger, he would be satisfied to know the taste of the blood that courses through your vein, the taste of the life in you. As a vampire, he can’t help his instincts in wanting to consume the blood of his beloved.

He gets a bit flustered if he gets hard and usually just jerks himself to get it out of the way. He also enjoys it when you talk to him while he’s pleasuring himself, reminding him how much you love him (Nothing makes him happier than when he hears those words from you, even if they make him blush) and whenever you feel like giving him a hand, he’ll never actively ask for it though.

Theo did the stupid mistake of teasingly asking you for a kiss and smirking at you. He’d expect you to get on the tip of your toes and try to reach for his lips. What he didn’t expect was for you to punch him in the gut and grab his face and kiss him while he was hunched over. Smug bastard got what he deserved but he was pained and happy nonetheless.

Arthur can’t help but chuckle whenever he sees how Theodorus looks at you or acts around you. He’d tease him and say that you’ve tamed the wolf and turned him into a mutt.

And you’d simply reply back by saying “Maybe it was just meant to be” and didn’t that just draw a shit-eating grin on your boyfriend’s face (he stopped calling you Hondje a long time ago).

Places he kisses to show you affection: your wrists and temples.

Bonus:

Dazai would always use the following nicknames “curious little thing” and “curious little creature” just to tease you.

But your boyfriend was having none of that. Theo was not taking any of that and the writer’s intentions were more than clear to him. He’d sneer at him with “This little creature is mine. Make sure to remember that.”

It’s as if Theodorus knew, that if he didn’t approach you in time… Dazai would be the one to snatch you since he’s your runner-up suitor. ;)

#ikemen vampire #ikevamp Theo #ikevamp Theodore #ikevamp #ikemen series #otome #matchup #i hope you like it <3 #theodore van gogh #submission

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shebeafancyflapjack · 4 years ago

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King Takes Knight (Part 5)

Shawn gets just what he hoped for.

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

(TW: Torture, captivity, ‘nails’)

This was a glorious day. Victory Day. Maybe he’ll make it a national holiday to commemorate the occasion. Every employee will have a microsecond less work to do than usual. He can be generous like that.

Shawn watches from the stage as a Bad Janet enters, bending the arm of that pesky mutated Good Janet in front of her as she marches her down the steps. Behind them are some generic demon guards who he will have to learn the names of, if only so he can reward them for grabbing a human each between them. The four irritating losers who are behind this whole mess.

He can’t help but laugh! How stupid can they be to have all come at once? Now there’s no one left to run their ridiculous experiment.

“Good evening, dickweeds!” He greets them cheerily, amused by the defeated looks on all of their faces - though Mendoza looks as gormless as ever; “So glad you could attend the show.”

“Oooh, what show? Is it Shrek the Musical?” Jason asks, lifting his chin up.

The large guard holding him gives his arm a painful tug, making the dumbass yelp like a cat with its tail caught in the door.

“I’m afraid not. But I’ll definitely be keen on making you sing soprano when I have them saw your balls off.” He gloats.

With a wave of his hand, he instructs the guards to walk the four of them forward, up the steps, and then force them to their knees at the front of the stage. The Bad Janet struts to stand next to him and Shawn allows her to give him a low five at his side in celebration.

Not that it took much effort.

“I applaud you for trying. But that really was a pathetic attempt to save Michael. You really thought we wouldn’t have Molotov-proofed the doors after last time?”

Tahani turns to tut at Jason; “Told you!”

“Well I told you guys it was a trap but none of you listened!” Eleanor hisses.

Oh, this is wonderful. He would be happy to simply lock them in a room and watch them blame and scrap with each other, just as Michael originally intended, rather than all this wholesome chummy crap that ended up happening. How ironic.

“Such a shame that Chidi couldn’t be here to join you all. I guess he’s busy getting all loved up with his fellow nerd Simone, right Eleanor?”

He grins as that hits a nerve and Shellstrop darts forward, looking to go for him, before the guard grabs her hair and yanks her back down.

“Don’t worry. I have to keep my word to the Judge, after all. So I’ll be happy to let the experiment carry on, with Chidi and the others under the ‘safe’ guardianship of my employees wearing your skin suits.” He taunts them, “They won’t even notice you’re gone...especially as they will, literally, be the same skin torn from your bodies!”

“You twisted wanker.” Tahani glares at him, the British brat suddenly baring fangs; “Where is Michael?!”

“Y’know, she’s so right...Michael should be here to watch us slowly slice that fat skin off of them, shouldn’t he.” Bad Janet sways her hips, looking knowingly to Shawn with that glint in her eye; “Want me to go fetch him and give him the front row seat?”

This Bad Janet must not have got the memo.

“Oh I wasn’t foolish enough to have Michael be here. I just needed these filthy rats to think that’s where he was by the video.” He brags, watching the shock quickly drain the anger on their faces into hopelessness; “I had Michael moved a nice, cosy location far, far away. You weren’t even close to getting to him, idiots!”

“FUCK!” Eleanor swears, not even looking as though she can enjoy the opportunity to curse; “I told you all, it was too easy!!”

“No biggie.” Bad Janet rolls her eyes; “I can still stream him the footage to wherever that dingus is, can’t I? I sooo want him to see us cut Tahani’s hair into an uneven bob.”

“No! No! NOOOO!” The wannabe princess screams until the guard gives her a slap.

The Bad Janet has a point though. It wouldn’t be worth torturing Michael’s precious humans unless he was there to watch it, even if the plan with the Michael-suit fell through. Damn Vicky and Glenn both being blown up meant he had no duplicate to use, especially as he forgot to share the design with other skinsuit manufacturers (shut up, Glenn!).

He’s certain there is very little of Michael’s awareness left after how much they’ve inflicted on him over the past few...well, it was only a handful of months but, thanks to Jeremy Bearimy, he’s endured a lifetimes worth of restraints, freezing, impalement, whipping, electrocuting, bad Adam Sandler movies, and soo much worse. There had been a time when he’d looked into those blue eyes and seen so much raw hatred. Now, whenever he took a glance at his wretch of a former employee, the light was flickering out, as if he’s conscious of nothing except the constant pain and loneliness.

Just like the humans he adores so much that end up here, where they belong. Because they’re terrible and that’s all that needs to be known. He should have left well enough alone.

At least now, finally, Shawn gets to have some entertainment.

“You’re right, Bad Janet. Set up a connection to the Tenth Circle, Sector B. I left one Bad Janet on duty there with Nicole who’s currently ‘taking care’ of Michael. And by that I mean making him very miserable.” Just in case the humans are too dumb to get the expression.

Bad Janet texts on her phone, popping another piece of gum.

“Tenth Circle...Sector B....Got it.” She raises her head, an oddly pleasant smile spreading across it, eyes suddenly bright and pleasant; “Thanks for that!”

“What-?”

The not-so-Bad Janet karate chops him in the side of the head and knocks him to the floor. He hears her make a shout, the theatre spinning around him, unable to find his feet quick enough before the humans get to their feet and surround him.

Shawn blinks, rapidly, as they proceed to take out some rope and tie his wrists and ankles together.

“What is the meaning of this?! GUARDS! DON’T JUST STAND THERE! GET THESE STINKING HUMANS OFF OF ME!” He rages, trying his best to break out of their puny hold but they’re, for some reason, freakishly strong.

The Bad Janet continues to smile at him.

“Oh they’re not your guards...and these aren’t the humans. You were being so smug that you didn’t see what’s right in front of you, did you?” She says.

Shawn frowns. What is she talking about?!

He glances up at Tahani leaning over his head, trying to spot the....Oh. Farts.

They’ve fooled him again. That’s no Bad Janet. And these humans have no auras. They don’t even smell! They’re the same as her. They’re...

“Meet my Janet Babies. I produced a bunch more to come with me. We just needed to know where Michael was really being kept and now we do. And I’ve forwarded that to our Team Two so, thanks!”

She gives Shawn a kick in the teeth before her group stand back at her command.

He spits, wriggling, bound and prone on the wooden floor.

The fake Jason stuffs a green stress ball into his mouth to gag him before all of them leave him there, muffled curses being hurled at them, before they lock the door and leave him in the empty theatre. He fucking hates Good Janets!

She likes to use the metal hooks to dig into his flesh and give them a tug, eager to get a reaction out of him despite his near frozen state. Every now and then she’ll manage to hit somewhere extra tender and a whimper will break out of his lips.

She has a schoolgirl's giggle.

“This is like ice fishing. And you’re my big piece of frozen shrimp.” She teases him as they sit in the inside of a giant glacier.

She doesn’t seem to be affected by the code, only wearing a pink slip dress. There’s not even any goosebumps on the arms of her suit..

The new one they’ve left with him is one he hasn’t seen before. She seems new to torture, possibly even new to the slim skinsuit she’s been given, still fascinated by the way her own fingers move. The way she caresses his face and sticks her tongue out makes him suspect she’s some kind of giant leech monster. The kind they used to let suck humans brains out with straws. Or cut their skulls open and lick them out like a kid with a bowl of cake mix.

Definitely not a fire squid, whatever she was.

“I bet Shawn’s almost finished making your buddies feel at home here. If you’re really good to me, Mikey...I might ask him to bring you their heads as a treat.” Nicole, as she said was her name, informs him.

He’s beyond attempting to beg for them to be left alone anymore. He’s beyond expecting any sort of mercy.

Everything he had tried for so long....everything he had hoped to avoid.

All of his efforts for the past few years were for nothing.

I’m sorry, I’m so sorry... He thinks as more tiny crystallised tears sting from the corners of his eyes.

A loud bang outside makes him start.

Nicole turns to the Bad Janet at the door; “What was that? Go check on it, will you!” she orders like a spoiled brat to her butler.

The Bad Janet rolls her eyes, flipping the bird and then doing as she’s told.

Nicole turns back to kneel in front of Michael.

He tries to escape into his hallucinations but she wants his focus on her. Her hand grips his cheek and squeezes tight.

“I dunno what you did to get the Boss to hate you so much, I don’t really give a toss about current affairs...But m’just glad I get this as my first job! Punishing a dirty traitor...” She runs the tip of an ice pick up his face, towards his nostril; “...And all the other dirty things I hear about you...My mate Kath said you had the hots for one of them humans...You creeps should keep that fetish on the internet where it belongs! Look where it’s got you now...”

She takes a small hammer out from her pocket and puts it to the bottom of the ice pick, shoving it up Michael’s nose.

“I wish you had a brain in there so this could get the same effect it does with those creatures...But the simulation is good enough.”

He wishes he could laugh through the binding in his lips. He wishes that her wish could come true. Give him a lobotomy? Take away his memories of constant failure? Make him oblivious to how he’d loved for nothing and lost everything? She would be doing him the greatest favour.

As it is, he’ll just sit there and take the pain of a nail through his fake skull. He’ll let her have her fix until she gets her reprieve and he’s left alone to his own personal inner torment. His guilt. His regrets.

Just let go, Michael. Just...forget.

Nicole leans in close, ready to fiercely tap; “Hold still. This will only hurt a-.”

She doesn’t get a chance to finish her taunting before her skin suit explodes, sending a wave of pink goo across Michael’s face.

He blinks. Something happened.

The ice pick and the hammer clatter to the floor.

Wha...

Eleanor Shellstrop stands at the door, clutching a Bad Janet marble in one hand, pointing Janet’s demon exploder in the other.

#whump #rescue attempt #angst #tgp fanfic #mini fic series

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arctickat2400 · 3 years ago

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Safe Is Overrated - Part 2 <> Peter Parker

Part 1

I probably could have made it all one part, but it's too late now so y'all can read two instead of one! Enjoy!

* * *

Yes, I know Peter’s secret. He told me a while back, a little after I moved in. I’m not sure if it’s because he knew I could keep a secret and that, as his best friend, I wouldn’t spill his secret, or that he knew I couldn’t spill his secret, that I had no one to tell. Either way, he told me, and I’m glad he did. It made us that much closer. I’ll be sitting outside and see him swinging in onto his terrace in the dead of night. I’ll smile, knowing he’s out there, saving the city that I one day hope to see for myself, not only from my terrace but out and with him.

I open my window, a slight smile on my face, although trying to hide it. “Peter Parker, what the hell do you think you’re doing?” It brightened up my whole life to see my favorite person in the world on my terrace, so close to me. He’s done this in the past, a few times when I first moved in, but once mom found out, she forbade him from doing it again. And, the obedient man that he is, Peter never did it again, only communicating through the phone and through glances from terrace to terrace.

“Come with me,” Is all he said as he held out his hand to me. It was the impulse. To touch him again, to just be around him again, is what made me do it, to place my hand in his, ignoring the nagging in my head telling me that I shouldn’t go. But it’s all happening so fast.

Peter flips as he lands on my terrace and my heart races. It’s been so long, years, in fact, since we’ve been so close. Just then, Peter presses his chest and is now concealed from prying eyes. He pulls me close, and even through the vibranium suit, I can feel his body heat, I can feel his breath against my neck. I barely remember saying, “I’ll be right back, Whiskey,” before I, myself, am being whisked away from the home I’ve never left. My safe place. But now, being in Peter’s arms, it seems that he is my safe place, and always has been.

Peter flies through the air, holding me close and tight, my arms wrapped around his neck and my legs around his waist. I’m unaware of where we are going, my eyes sealed shut. Until I don’t feel my stomach drop anymore, my body is still.

“Open your eyes,” Peter whispers in my ear, and I follow his words. Opening my eyes allows me to see everything I’ve wanted to see and more. We are stood on top of the Queensboro Bridge, overlooking the entire city, covered in lights and I hear music down below. It’s so much more beautiful than my terrace. I’m out. I feel the ocean breeze whip my hair around. I smell the Queens and ocean air. It’s all so exhilarating.

“I saw the way you looked on your terrace. I’ve always seen it. I’ve been planning this for a while. We have a few hours to kill before your mom gets home. I was thinking I could buy you some famous New York pizza, maybe some cheesecake for dessert. I know this great place just over there,” I follow Peter’s gaze and see what I recognize as the famous Central Park. It was one of the most illuminated places; you couldn’t miss it. The trees were covered in lights and, even from the top of the bridge, I could still see people walking around, couples holding hands, pigeons, dogs, store front’s lit up with OPEN signs, and so much more. Everything was so beautiful, a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity it seems.

“Then, we can walk around Central Park, maybe swing by the ocean side for a little bit. I know how you’ve always wanted to see the ocean up close.” Peter continued, and I smiled, wider than ever before.

“Peter, I can’t believe this,” I was stunned, to say the least. Heart racing, head pounding, it was all so much, and yet, so much more than you could ever ask for. I turned in his arms as he presses his chest as his mask disappears. Looking up into those chocolate brown eyes I’ve missed so much, I see everything I would ever want, everything I’ll ever need if life would just give me that much.

“I know this would make your mom freak, probably have a heart attack, and I know this is much out of your comfort zone. But, I see it in your eyes. You beg for this. And you deserve this and so much more. Of course, this isn’t the safest…” But I didn’t let him go on when I smash my lips to his, taking a leap of faith that I will never regret, nor never forget. His lips move in sync with mine, and it feels so perfect. His hands around my waist, his face held between my hands, I pull back to stare into his warm, comforting eyes.

“Safe is overrated,” I smiled, allowing one to form on his lips before he pulls me back in.

#peter parker #peter x reader #spiderman imagines #peter parker imagines #fluff

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syncogon · 4 years ago

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[QZGS meta] what’s in an OP? dawning glory (pt 1)

or, why TKA S2′s OP is actually really good

{The King’s Avatar season 2 premieres in less than 24 hours!}

(part 2) (part 3)

Ever since I got into The King’s Avatar, I’ve always wondered what a “classic-anime-style” TKA opening would look like. OPs are something I pay a lot of attention to, both for the sheer enjoyment and hype as well as the deeper story and symbolism they may allude to. And although I enjoy the S1 and OVA OPs for what they are, I always wanted an OP that really followed the tried-and-true formulas, an OP that gave a proper look at what the series was really about, an OP that had a lot to dig into and analyze.

S2 brought us this kind of OP, finally, and I’m very excited to see it. Heavily inspired by the “What’s in an OP?” youtube series by Mother’s Basement, I really wanted to try and break down this OP. Because things got very long, this is only part 1; the other 2 parts are linked above and below.

Some of the points I bring up may be reading too deeply, but whether some of these details were intentional or not, their meanings and effects are still worth analyzing. Also as a warning, there will probably be novel spoilers.

For reference, watch and read the lyric translation here.

With all that said, let’s jump right in.

We open with some very nice shots of the morning light streaming in, shining on the gamers’ tools of the trade. Right away, the new animation studio promises us a visual treat - the lighting and colors are excellent. Although the props are unmoving and there are no living beings in these shots, the changing angle of the light adds motion to the scene, giving the impression of a sped-up sunrise. This accompanies the music well, which starts out muffled and distant, and gradually comes into clarity. From the very beginning, the OP grabs our attention and holds it, building our anticipation for what’s to come.

Now we cut to outside, atop a roof, and we get a proper look at the sunrise - only for a brief moment, though, as Ye Xiu’s hand quickly comes up to block the blinding light. “Anime protagonist staring at sunrise” is a pretty common trope, but I think it’s used to nice effect here - we’re introduced immediately to the “dawn” motif that underlies this entire OP (it’s even in the title). It’s a suitable motif for this arc of the story, because this is where Ye Xiu finally has the concrete goal of building up his own team - this is truly the dawn of Team Happy.

I like how it’s Ye Xiu’s hand that’s the first thing we see of him, or of anyone. As a pro, his hands are the most important part of himself; his hands are also one of the first things that Chen Guo notices about him when she first meets him.

Furthermore, this view provides a nice natural transition to the next shot, in which we finally get to see him properly.

Look at how pretty the sky looks! Look at how pretty his smile looks!

After the first few seconds of pure buildup in the music, the beat kicks in at the exact same time as his hair begins to blow in the wind. I think it’s very important for the visuals and the music to sync together in an OP, simply because of the raw impact this has on the viewer - they reinforce each other’s effects. Both components of an OP need to work well together in order to create something greater than the sum of the parts. It’s just very exciting, when you can sit back and think “oh yeah, it’s all coming together.”

Ye Xiu stares thoughtfully at the sunrise for a few moments, before breaking into a soft, relaxed smile (right on the second four-count after the beat starts). It’s not one of his mocking smiles, or his shamelessly confident smiles - here he’s just genuinely happy and hopeful at what the future has in store.

We see him lower his arm, and then the camera pans upward to a shot of the new series logo for Season 2. This pan-up to title card is also a fairly standard technique, but hey, it’s effective and efficient at getting us ready.

Speaking of the new logo: it’s basically the same as the old, but I was shocked to see just how prominent the English title “The King’s Avatar” is now. Honestly, it’s really exciting to see - feels like it adds some legitimacy to our small English fandom, and it’s also so cool, knowing how the title “The King’s Avatar” became the official English name almost by accident - we could have easily ended up with something much less interesting. However I do think they could have positioned the text a little better, because I and others keep reading “The King’s Iavatar” haha

As the dawn shifts more into morning, we refocus on Happy Internet Cafe, the origin of it all. Notice the new green leaves on the tree: our story began on a snowy winter, but we’re now firmly in spring, a time of new beginnings.

The music excitement level settles down a little as we enter the first verse, and here we get a montage of many of the to-be Team Happy members. Although each shot is fairly short, each manages to tell a story, conveying a good amount of information about the character in question. One of TKA’s strengths is its large cast of well-developed characters, and I’m really glad to see that they’re not completely flattened out in this opening montage.

Here we see Chen Guo, presumably opening up the cafe for the day. However, by the time she comes down here to do this, it seems that Tang Rou has already been awake and training for a while.

Like Ye Xiu, the first thing we see of Tang Rou is her hand, a parallel that perhaps emphasizes how deep Ye Xiu’s influence on her is and how she wishes to learn from and surpass him. The nimbleness of her fingers on the keyboard definitely evokes the image of a pianist - a subtle clue for the future.

Look at her straightened back and serious eyes - her posture and expression say it all. Awake, alert, steady, calm, as she continues to strive for improvement.

The lyric for this part is roughly, “the bugle call to split open the dawn is sounding right here and now.” As mentioned, it’s here at Happy Internet Cafe that it all begins.

From one internet cafe to another, it’s Wei Chen and his bros! Notice how he’s at the center of their little group, in both position and attention - we immediately get the sense that he’s their leader. Slouched against the couch (which seems to be built more for comfortable lounging than proper gaming), hands behind his head, glancing between his friends, an easy smile, it all gives off a relaxed, casual air of confidence.

Still, in contrast to the seemingly light-hearted mood of this scene here, the accompanying lyric is somewhat melancholy: “were those daydreams or the past?”

When Wei Chen’s character design came out, a lot of people were surprised at how young he seemed to look, and he has barely any stubble. But with this close-up of his face (which is specifically timed to “or the past”), the lines under his eyes are clear to see. Combined with the lyric, there’s suddenly something sad beneath his smile here. He’s not young anymore.

Notice the one screen that’s turned on behind him - clearly an image of Glory. Despite everything, he couldn’t bring himself to leave this world entirely.

Where the hell is Steamed Bun? Why does he have a bat? We just don’t know. We don’t even have any lyrics to give us a hint. He’s a real-life Brawler, totally incomprehensible. Even the camera shakes a bit erratically as it tries to follow his movement. Honestly, isn’t this just the best way to sum up his character?

Our favorite math nerd Luo Ji, in a library of course. The shot begins with everything blocked off by the books, and it’s only when he pulls out one of the books (the black-to-light is timed with the lyric “I open my eyes”) that we’re able to see him. He’s still framed by the books in this shot, because he’s first and foremost still a student. For now and for a long time to come, his studiousness and mathematical ability will be what defines him and his contributions to Team Happy.

Still, he looks thoughtfully at the book in his left hand. Maybe his contributions can go farther. Pay attention to his character Concealed Light when we see him later.

I can’t say if there’s a significance to the woman passing by, but it serves its purpose as a transition to the next scene.

Qiao Yifan! From the logo in the back, as well as his uniform and color scheme, you can see he’s still at Tiny Herb here. He looks determined and focused on his screen at first. When he blinks, though, his gaze subtly shifts to the side and down. Something is distracting him; he’s not quite as certain as he might appear at a glance.

The lyric here is “[I can’t tell] what side of the road I’m running on,” an apt reflection of his current, conflicted and somewhat precarious situation. He’s on a championship team right now, a place that so many would envy. But he feels much more at home with the ragtag crew from Happy. But what prospects do they have? But it’s not like he has much of a place in Tiny Herb right now either…

From Qiao Yifan looking to the side, we cut to An Wenyi looking to the side - our eyes are able to very naturally follow the transition. Although blurry at first, we soon see that he’s looking at a figurine of Immovable Rock - the number one Cleric in Glory, An Wenyi’s idol. He looks at it thoughtfully for a moment, brows furrowed, before turning away and closing his eyes. As though in resignation, knowing he’ll never be able to reach that level.

The lyric is, “do I understand” - a very short line, with the note held out.

An Wenyi is the logical one; he’s the one who understands. He understands his current position, he understands that he has no hope as a pro with his current skill, he understands that the chance Happy is offering him is a once-in-a-lifetime kind of opportunity for someone like him. It’s a decision he considers carefully, he’s unafraid to ask bold questions about the practicality of what Chen Guo and Ye Xiu are trying to do, but in the end he knows this isn’t something that he can pass up.

I like An Wenyi’s character arc a lot. There’s a lot of worry and self-doubt in his expression as he looks at that figurine; there’s a lot of sadness as he turns away. Even through Season 10, this aspect of him doesn’t just magically disappear - he has to deal with this reality of being Happy’s weak point. His logical mind is both his greatest strength and his greatest weakness.

From An Wenyi’s closed eyes, we cut to Su Mucheng’s downcast eyes - another natural eye-focused transition. She looks up as the wind picks up around her, blowing her hair and scattering leaves.

Notice that she’s not wearing her Excellent Era uniform here. Her dress reminds me of her outfit from the prequel movie, actually - color scheme, sleeves, bow, length, cut, etc.

It’s a style calling back to younger, simpler times. The light pink color adds to that effect as well.

As the camera pulls out, we’re able to see just how alone she is, isolated from the cars passing beneath her, not a single other person nearby. And at this point in the story, she really is rather alone; she doesn’t really have any allies on the team, and her only escape is to play in the game with the Happy crew.

The wind is scattering many leaves, and she blurs into the background as the camera focuses on one drifting red maple leaf in particular.

Blatant symbolism is blatant (it’s not even fall right now, it should be early spring…). Still, it’s a convenient shorthand to reference many things. One Autumn Leaf, Ye Xiu’s account and identity for a decade, now snatched away. The symbol of Excellent Era and those earliest hopes and dreams, now lost to the wind. It could even reference Su Muqiu himself, the boy with “autumn” in his name, now lying in eternal rest.

The lyric is, “interwoven in the dawn, those memories and rests.” The past is now past, far out of reach; all we can do is look up and reminisce on what once was.

Over the course of these shots, you can see the passage of the morning. The earlier characters are illuminated by a golden glow, but by the time we reach Su Mucheng, she’s standing in full daylight. Here we end section 1 (verse 1), and move onto the next part of the song.

Thanks for reading so far!

(part 2) (part 3)

#quan zhi gao shou #qzgs #the king's avatar #tka #全职高手 #mine #qzgs commentary #synco talks

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shireness-says · 5 years ago

Text

You’re Always 16 Hours Ahead

Summary: Killian Jones never expected to hit it big, but the opportunity of a lifetime pulls him away from home and the woman he pines for. Can a friendship that just might be more survive a concert world tour?

(With wide eyes and faith

That life could never pull us apart if we were ok

But distance kills the best of intentions…)

(~2.6K. Rated T for language. Also on AO3)

~~~~~

A/N: I’m so excited to share my contribution to the @csconcertseries! This is an idea I’ve had for a long time, and I’m excited to finally bring it to life. This is inspired by “Jet Lag” by Frank Turner, and also includes references to “Polaroid Picture,” “Get Better,” and “Plain Sailing Weather.” I’ve definitely been blasting his stuff all month long and dragging other people with me (looking at you, @thejollyroger-writer). Super thanks, as always, to @snidgetsafan for her beta talents.

Without further ado: Enjoy, and let me know what you think!

~~~~~

POP PRINCESS ANNOUNCES WORLD TOUR

Great news, Fairy Fans: Wildly popular pop music star Tink is planning a world tour. The international exhibition will be undertaken to promote her latest album, “Neverland No More”. Tink will be joined on her tour by recent up-and-comer Killian Jones, who will serve as her opening act. Jones has captured the world’s ear with his recent hit single, “Green Eyes,” which continues to climb the pop charts. A full schedule of planned concerts can be found at…

September 17th

Dear Emma,

I know it’s only been a few days, but I already miss you and Henry. Los Angeles is loud, and congested, and so much unlike Storybrooke that it scares me a little. But when that happens, I try to remember our bench on the docks, and it helps ground me. I’ve got a picture of us out there taped to the inside of my guitar case, just as a reminder that even if everything changes, I’ve always got something to come home to.

You didn’t think I was kidding when I said I’d write, did you? Mark my words, I intend to write you from every stop. To hell with blocking or setup or rehearsals or whatever, I’ll be sitting on an amp backstage writing you.

You must tell me everything, Swan - don’t you dare get skimpy with the details in your next email! I know it’s been less than a week, but I’m sure there’s something from the gossip mill. Has Liam secured a new Friday act yet? I’m sure he won’t find anyone nearly as talented (or handsome!) as yours truly, but I can’t imagine he and Robin are leaving that slot open in my honor. Tell me, how much do you think he’ll groan if I send back a signed world tour poster?

I’ve got to go - something about the lights. Such is the life of a rock star, isn’t it?

Your own personal celebrity (and best friend),

-Killian

September 19th

Liam -

Brother, you’ve got to stop calling every few hours. I know you’re bored and your life is empty without me, but this is getting ridiculous. Half the road crew thinks you’re my father. Do you intend to run up your phone bill when the tour crosses the ocean? I love you, but please don’t go broke on my behalf. Now is the time to wean yourself off me.

All teasing aside, I do appreciate the calls, not to mention everything else. If you hadn’t insisted on making those demo tapes and forcing me to Boston and any venue or bar that would take me, I wouldn’t be here today.

You’d have been so proud to see me - I must have been sweating gallons, but I got up on stage in front of that massive crowd and I did it, sang my pieces. The noise of all those people practically shakes your bones, Liam - and that wasn’t even half the noise that Tink elicited! I don’t know how she does it. I suppose I’ll find out, though, won’t I? After all, this is my big break, as long as I don’t screw it up too badly.

I’m sure I’ll talk to you later - in the meantime, say hello to the lads for me.

-Killian.

P.S. Keep an eye on Emma and Henry for me, would you? I know you’ve already promised, but I worry. I owe you one, brother.

October 2nd

Emma -

Hello from Seattle! It is just as rainy as promised, and I’ve lost count of the coffee shops. Part of that might be the Starbucks, though. I swear, they’re like a plague, popping up all over the place.

The tour is still going well. I might even get used to this tour bus life! I miss you all, of course - my love especially to Henry - but it’s exhilarating, getting up on stage every night in front of so many people. The crowds are huge, Swan, larger than I ever could have imagined. I know they’re mostly here for Tink, but there’s always applause and a handful of people singing along to my songs, and it’s the best kind of adrenaline. Leaves me with an itch in my fingers and a new song stuck in my head. I’ll work it out later.

I’m so happy to hear that Henry is doing so well in kindergarten; he’s always been a little social butterfly. I’ll bet that he makes tons of friends; I’m glad he loves it so far. I’ll call soon, I promise.

Yours,

-Killian

October 20th

Swan -

Happy Birthday, darling! Technically, I’m mailing this a few days early, but I hope it’ll reach you just in time. I’m sorry to be missing the festivities this year - just know that I’ll be thinking of you all day, wishing I was there to celebrate with you. Keep an eye out for a package or two - and before you even try to protest that I don’t need to, they’re just little things, love. Stuff that made me think of you. Tokens of my affection, if you will. It’s your birthday, anyways - live a little! Let us spoil you for once.

Texas is… less than impressive. Large? Yes, in a way that feels almost performative. It’s missing some kind of charm, at least to me. Then again, I’ve never been much for cowboy hats; maybe that’s the real problem, here. Regardless, I’d gladly take the northeast fall colors any day.

Make a good wish, alright? I hope the year to come is as wonderful as you are.

Yours,

-Killian

November 26th

Dear Henry -

Happy Thanksgiving! Did you have a good holiday? Did Granny make enough macaroni and cheese for you to eat your fill? I know that’s your favorite.

Thank you for watching the parade! I was really excited to be in it too. Sadly, the powers that be wouldn’t let me take home the Snoopy balloon for you, but I did manage to get a couple of handfuls of confetti for you. It should be inside this envelope. You would have loved it, Henry - the confetti was flying everywhere and I saw so many really cool floats up close and personal. We’ll maybe have to go together in a couple of years, aye? We’ll ask your mum.

Draw lots and lots of turkeys for me, little mate - I know you’re really good at that. And give your mum and Liam a great big hug for me!

Love,

-Killian

CELEBRITY FILE EXCLUSIVE INTERVIEW WITH EVERYONE’S NEW FAVORITE HEARTTHROB - KILLIAN JONES

… In researching this piece, I heard over and over about how personal Jones’ lyrics were, how well they captured every feeling and variation of being in love. Every fan out there seems to feel like his words are written just for them, like a window into their soul. So when I finally met with the man himself, I couldn’t help but ask: Was there anyone who inspired such lyrical devotion? Some woman - or man! - in his own life who inspired such moving words?

“You know, the thing I’ve always liked in listening to music on my own is being able to recognize a little bit of myself in someone else’s words,” Jones told me in response to the question. “It always made me feel a little less alone - a little more connected to other people, I guess, to hear that they experienced or saw things the same way I do. It’s very rewarding to hear that people feel the same way about my music. I’m of the opinion that music should be a universal experience, and when I write, I write words that I hope other people can see a bit of themselves in.”

Something about that blush and the nervous scratch behind his ear that fans know so well tells me he’s holding out on us…

December 11th

Dearest Swan -

The holidays have crept right up on us, haven’t they? Do us both the favor of imagining me singing that sickly-sweet “I’ll Be Home For Christmas” nonsense, because it’s true. December 20th. Mark your calendar, and don’t blame me if I fall asleep on the car ride home from the airport. It’s all this travel, you see - takes it right out of you. You can’t blame a man for that, love.

(Also, please ignore that I’ll be flying in from Chicago. I still plan to claim jet lag. That one hour difference, love, it’s a real killer.)

Is there anything in particular that Henry especially wants this year? I’ve done my best to pick up things for you and Liam and everyone else, but I know the lad’s tastes change practically hour to hour, and he’s probably got a whole list stashed somewhere. I want to get him something he’ll really like instead of just wandering through the toy store in a panic, if at all possible.

Counting the hours until I see you again,

-Killian

January 8th

Emma -

I don’t even know where to start. How can I properly apologize for what happened at New Year’s? I struggle, because I can’t truthfully say that I regret it. I don’t think I’ve made it a secret all these years that I’m helplessly enthralled by you and everything you are. There are words - big words, three words - that rattle around in my heart every day, but I know you’re not willing to hear them yet. I’ll be here, love, whenever you’re ready.

I know you’re scared, Emma, but I’m begging you - just talk to me. We can forget all about this, if that’s what you want, but you’ve got to talk to me. Every day I don’t hear from you is just a little bit harder. I’ll follow your lead, whatever you say.

You’ll always be my best friend, Swan - no matter what else happens.

-Killian

January 20th

I kissed her, Liam.

I’m sorry; that’s not much of a way to start a letter is it? How are you? Everything going well?

But I’m sorry, I’ve got to talk about this and get it off my chest. Because I kissed her, Liam. Emma. I kissed Emma. And then it kind of… all went to shit. I guess that’s just like me, isn’t it? Give me one fine day of plain sailing weather, and I can turn it to stormy seas.

And I know where she’s coming from, really - I know better than almost anyone about how she’s been left behind too many times. As much as it hurts to have this sudden radio silence, I know she’s just trying to protect herself. But I love her, Liam. I’ve loved her forever. This isn’t just “distance makes the heart grow fonder,” or something stupid like that. I should have acted a long time ago. I should have done a thousand different things, but here we are.

If you have any ideas of how to fix this, please, let me know. I hope you’re having a happier new year than I so far.

-Killian

February 2nd

Dear Emma -

I can’t tell you how good it was to hear from you the other day. You may think that there’s nothing interesting about all the goings-on in the bar, but that particular kind of nothing is soothing. It’s like a little piece of home in every email. Besides, I know that the bar is never quite as boring as we always joked. And I’d welcome any word from you anyways, after how much I’ve missed you.

We’re in Paris right now. It’s gorgeous, truly - I’ll have to bring you and the lad back sometime. I know you’d call me a nerd, but I’ve been hitting museums - the Louvre, the Musee d’Orsay, the Rodin museum, etc. I made sure to do the Eiffel Tower too, just for you, even though the crowds were utterly terrible. Stuffed my face with pastries too, all on your behalf.

(Okay, you caught me, Swan - the pastries are for me too. The croissants, Swan! The bread! I surely won’t fit in my trousers if we’re here any longer, but I can’t regret it. I swear, I’d ship some back to you if I thought they’d survive the trip.)

We’ll have to schedule time for a call home soon - I find myself so often longing for your voice. I love your emails, but there’s something to a phone call that can’t be replaced.

Yours,

-Killian

March 11th

Dear Henry -

Thank you for sending me that drawing! I love it. It’s taped to the inside of my guitar case now, where I can look at it every day. I especially like the yellow you used for your mum’s hair. You’ll have to thank her for scanning that for us on my behalf. That’s good form, you know.

I’m in Amsterdam right now. Your mum or Liam can show you where that is on a map; it’s in Western Europe. I went someplace I think you’d love today; it’s called Madurodam. It’s this entire miniature city, with little airplanes and zoo animals and everything. I had a lot of fun exploring it, and I think you would too.

A graduation, you say? From kindergarten? I wouldn’t miss it for the world, lad. I’ll be home, no matter what.

I miss you, Henry, and your mother too. It always brightens my day to see an email from you.

Sealed with a great big hug,

-Killian

April 21st

Emma -

London is rainy and cold. I suppose I shouldn't have expected anything different, but here I am, surprised all the same. It’s hard to convince myself to go do any of the tourist-y things when the weather is like this, so I’m stuck inside, writing to you. Not that that’s ever a hardship...

You’d hardly recognize me with this get-up I’ve found myself in for the show tonight - the heavy eyeliner especially. Gone are the days of some beat-up tee - though I think you might like the vest. Getting dressed feels like slipping into some other persona. I worry a lot of the time about whether I’ve changed beyond recognition, or if I’m still the same person you know. That’s the man I want to be, you know - someone you can be proud of, but somehow still that same poor bastard in the bar, just trying to write words that mean something. I hope I am. But you know how it goes - distance kills the best of intentions.

I miss you terribly, Swan, and Henry too. Hell, even Liam. These letters are all that ground me some days, I fear. On the loneliest nights, I reread your emails and imagine you’re talking to me instead. It’s always just a too-brief daydream, unfortunately.

I’ve grown rather maudlin, haven’t I? That won’t do at all. I blame it on the rain. Here’s a happier note for us both: I’ll be home late next month. Perhaps I’ll have to make one of those paper chains Henry’s so fond of; if I do, I’ll include a picture with my next letter.

Counting the days. Until then -

Love, Killian

May 17th

My Swan -

By the time you get this, I’ll be home with you and the lad again, and hopefully have already told you in person everything I want to say now:

I love you, Emma. Every word of every song is for you. I’ve loved you from the first moment I laid eyes on you, and no time or distance or groupie is ever going to change that. I’m yours, love, body and soul. And I have faith that life can never tear us apart as long as that’s true.

I’m coming home, love. And my home is you.

Yours (in every sense),

-Killian

BREAKING NEWS: KILLIAN JONES’ SECRET LOVER?

Bad news for all the fangirls and Killy-Tink shippers out there: Bad boy popstar Killian Jones appears to be off the market. The singer, 27, was spotted locking lips with an unidentified blonde at the Storybrooke Memorial Gardens, just outside of Boston, where Jones calls home. Sources have long speculated that Jones has a secret girlfriend back home, and this just might be confirmation. Check back as this story continues to develop. StarWatchOnline remains YOUR #1 celebrity news site…

~~~~~

Tagging: @snowbellewells, @profdanglaisstuff, @kmomof4, @winterbaby89, @teamhook, @ohmightydevviepuu, @optomisticgirl, @spartanguard, @thisonesatellite, @let-it-raines, @scientificapricot, @searchingwardrobes

#cs ff #captain swan ff #cs concert series #Captain Swan #You're Always 16 Hours Ahead #epistolary fic #rockstar!Killian

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angelatmidnight1 · 4 years ago

Note

oh wow, I really loved reading through your mirage/wattson fic, its so well written and adorable and it kind of put a smile on my face the whole time :) I was wondering if you could write something with wraith and wattson? Maybe wattson getting wraith cuz shes usually more quiet and needs to loosen up a bit? Or for instance, the other way around- wraith getting wattson, which catches her by surprise since she never in a lifetime would think that the reserved wraith would have this playful side

Can You Keep A Straight Face?

The voices in Wraith’s head have been giving her a hard time and she’s become more reclusive than usual. She has managed to push everyone away except for Wattson, who is determined to be her light at the end of the tunnel. The Legends have time off away from the games and it is the perfect opportunity for the engineer to talk to the mysterious skirmisher. While they spend time together, Wattson hears a song on the radio that she wants Wraith to explain to her. Wraith tells Wattson what a ‘poker face’ is and the engineer takes it upon herself to explore the meaning further. Wraith always says that nothing phases her, but is that really true? Natalie wants to know for sure and, well, let’s say Renee saw this coming a mile away.

“Tea?”

Wattson tentatively pushed the mug of dark liquid towards the skirmisher across from her. The mug was a purple, 16 ounce galaxy themed mug that Natalie bought especially for Renee. The black tea inside the mug was prepared with two spoonfuls of sugar and a splash of milk, made exactly the way Wraith preferred. Wattson didn’t know a lot about Wraith but she did catch her drinking tea on the occasion. This prompted the engineer to seek out a mug that matched Wraith’s theme and, at least in her opinion, the galaxy mug fit her perfectly. Wraith, however, didn’t look up when the mug was pushed in front of her. She was staring at the wall across from her with a distant look in her pale eyes. Wattson frowned; the engineer knew that the voices kept her safe in the Apex Games, but she wasn’t sure if she could say the same thing outside the arena. There weren’t any games scheduled in at least three days and, clad in her oversized black hoodie and snug fitting jeans, Wraith looked so small and alone. Wattson waited to see if her friend would acknowledge her but, when the skirmisher began to anxiously tug at the cuffs on her sleeve, she leaned forward and placed her hand on her arm. “...Renee?”

Wraith flinched and accidentally brought her knee up to the table with a loud bang. The entire table shook and threatened to spill the contents of her mug. Wattson jumped away with a squeak and eyed her worriedly once she finally returned her gaze. The skirmisher was rubbing her knee with a pained expression on her face and sighed quietly. “Sorry..” Wraith’s voice barely qualified as a whisper and she finally took notice of the hot tea in front of her. “I’m not thirsty, Natalie. Thanks though.”

“Oh…” Natalie answered sadly as she picked up the mug and brought it to the middle of the table. The last thing she wanted was the tea to go flying if something or someone startled her again. “Well, how about chocolate cake then? I made some this morning.” Wattson tried to sound happy again as she bounded over to the nearby countertop. The chocolate cake was encased in a cake pan but the engineer cut two slices out of it ahead of time. Right before she could take the lid off, however, Wraith shook her head and pulled her sleeves over her hands. “No thank you.” She murmured, her fingers finding the soft cotton material and curling into it. Wattson turned back around and could not hide the sadness on her face this time.

“But you love chocolate cake. It’s good, I promise! Elliott and Octavio already had a slice.” She responded as she picked the cake pan up and brought it over to her anyway. Wraith’s lip curled into a very, very faint smile once the dessert was in front of her. There were, indeed, two slices missing from another side of the cake.

“I don’t think there’s any food that Elliott wouldn’t eat. That’s probably why the fridge tends to be empty.” Wraith answered with a quiet chuckle that thrilled Wattson to no end. Smiles were rare for the skirmisher, but laughter? Those were worth more than gold. The smile disappeared almost as soon as it appeared but it didn’t deter the engineer. Everyone had to start somewhere, right?

“Well, don’t just take their word for it.” Natalie chirped, popping the lid off of the cake pan and letting the sweet aroma of chocolate fill the air. “Let me get you a slice!”

The pair sat in comfortable silence as they ate their cake in the small kitchen. Wraith even elected to drink the tea to go along with her cake and had a small, content smile on her face. “The cake is good, Natalie.” The skirmisher offered after a few more minutes of silence. “The tea is too. Not too sweet and not totally bitter.”

“I’m glad you like it. We can have tea like this whenever you want. Did you know that there’s even some teas that change color? It’s amazing!” Natalie spoke excitedly and earned another quiet chuckle from the raven haired woman.

“No, I didn’t know that. We’ll have to try it sometime.”

Wattson beamed and finished off the last few bites of her cake. “Then we will. It’s decided!” She declared with two thumbs up. Renee nodded and went back to quietly eating her cake. In the course of listening to the white noise inside the dropship, a thought popped up in Natalie’s mind, though she was hesitant to breathe life into it. She let the thought run laps in her head before deciding, even more hesitantly, to put a voice behind it.

“Renee?”

Wraith looked up and put her mug down on its matching plate. “Yes?”

“Um..” The engineer looked down at her hands and took a breath before looking at her. “I just want to say that if you ever need someone to talk to, or just sit with, I’d be more than happy to help. I know that your...um…” Wattson trailed off and felt her heart pound in her chest. Maybe it was better to stop talking, but something in her told her to keep going. “Whenever we’re on a team together, and you know that someone is aiming at you? Those voices? I understand that they help keep you safe. I just wanna tell you that there isn’t one person on this ship who wouldn’t do the same thing.” Natalie offered with a small, nervous smile, praying to whatever god was listening that she communicated the message in the most efficient way possible. Wraith blinked and pushed the crumbs around on her plate, processing each word the engineer said to her. Natalie felt worry grip her insides when the skirmisher didn’t respond right away. What if she upset her? What if she got up and decided not to talk to her again? The worries rose all the way to her neck and threatened to choke her, but they were quelled by Wraith’s grateful glance.

“Thank you, Natalie. I’ve learned to live with the voices. They help remind me who I am and what I need to find, but...I appreciate your concern.” Renee replied in a soft voice but, this time, her smile was genuine.

Wattson squeed and unintentionally knocked her chair over as she ran over to give Wraith a hug. She was careful in how she hugged her for a couple of reasons: One, she didn’t know if Wraith even liked hugs. And two, Wraith was a little shorter and smaller than she was, and she didn’t want to suffocate her. So, with that in mind, the engineer gently wrapped her arms around the woman’s shoulders. Wraith flinched and stood in her hold awkwardly, prompting the blond to release her. “Any time, mon ami~. Hey, do you like music? Here we are sitting in this quiet ship when we could be rocking out to some tunes.” Natalie giggled as she skipped back over to a different part of the counter, standing in front of her portable radio. It was small, round, orange, and had little lightning bolt stickers on the side. Octavio got it for her and spray painted it and the sight made a little blush dust her cheeks. Wraith watched Natalie press various buttons before an upbeat, yet unfamiliar melody sounded from the little device. “I don’t listen to music too often.” The skirmisher admitted with a light shrug of her shoulders. “I guess anything would be fine with me.”

“Got it~!” Wattson asserted happily as she flipped through the different stations. Some songs were too loud and others made her blush but, after a few more changes, the engineer found one that made her smile. “Oooh, I like this one. Come on, Renee, come dance with me!” Wattson demanded with a grin, not waiting for an answer as she ran over and pulled the woman to her feet. Wraith suddenly looked uncomfortable and didn’t move from the spot she was pulled to. “I don’t know how to dance, Natalie.” She mumbled, crossing her arms against her chest. By now, Natalie was swaying to the beat and took a hold of the woman’s wrists. “It’s easy! I’ll show you.” She giggled as she lightly pulled Wraith along to make her sway to the beat along with her.

While the pair, mainly Wattson, danced along to the beat of the song, the engineer raised a brow and turned towards Wraith. “Renee? What’s a...po-ker face?” She questioned, saying the term slowly and letting go of her friend’s wrists. Renee retreated to her seat once freed from Natalie’s grasp. “A poker face is a blank facial expression. You’re not smiling, but you’re not frowning either. It helps when you’re playing card games, like poker, because the person you’re playing against can’t tell what cards you have because your face doesn’t give it away. This is what Elliott tells me anyway.” She explained with her foot unconsciously tapping to the beat. Wattson slowly nodded before perking back up and pulling up a seat beside the skirmisher. “So, poker faces are kind of what you have, right? I mean, when we fight together, you always look so composed. Even if we’re getting shot at.”

Wraith thought about it and shrugged her shoulders. “Yeah, I suppose you could say that.” She confirmed with a small nod, adding, “ Nothing really phases me anymore.”

“So even something scary happens, or maybe something funny, it won’t affect you?” Natalie asked curiously with a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. Wraith shook her head and gave the engineer a strange look as she stepped closer to her. Without any warning, Wattson gently poked the skirmisher’s cheeks and giggled as she reeled away.

“Why did you do that?” Wraith grunted and rubbed both sides of her face.

“I’m doing what the song says! Poke-her face. But you’re the strongest woman I know. So you should be able to keep up a poker face, oui?” Wattson grinned, a rush of playfulness coming over her as she booped her nose. The skirmisher groaned and swatted at her hand but Natalie kept coming back.

“Stop, Nat...that’s not even what the song means--” Wraith’s breath hitched as the engineer’s pokes wandered to her sides. She sharply recoiled out of Wattson’s reach and the voices in her head started whispering:

You’re not safe there.

Danger, move!

Wattson blinked at the conflicted look on her friend’s face. “Renee?” She whimpered as she took a slow step forward. “I didn’t mean to--”

The second Wattson approached her, Wraith turned around and phased out of the room, leaving a dejected engineer behind.

It was true that Wraith’s voices kept her safe by warning her of impending doom. A sniper having her in their sights, a punch about to be thrown her way...she always knew what was about to happen to her. Having that knowledge kept her one step ahead of any opponent before her. An extension of keeping her safe, however, also included warning if someone tried to tickle her. The voices added this extra layer of precaution because the skirmisher was both ridiculously ticklish and friends with the only one brave enough to touch her, besides Wattson that is: Elliott Witt. Wraith nearly broke Mirage’s arm the first and only time he decided to tickle her. He just wanted to make a pretty girl smile, he said, but Wraith made him swear on everything he loved that he’d never try a stunt like that again. Elliott was too frightened to refuse and never brought it up again. But now, alone in her room, Wraith pressed her hand against the spot that Wattson poked and shuddered at the lingering ticklish sensation. She didn’t like being ticklish; it made her feel weak. Powerless. There wasn’t a bullet large enough or a knife sharp enough to break her composure, so why did a poke to her side or a scribble on her neck force her to laugh? The skirmisher growled and stared at the ground but then she thought about Wattson. Wattson didn’t tickle her to make her feel weak, she just wanted her to smile. Like Elliott did. Wraith felt a little guilty for leaving her behind the way she did. But maybe, she thought, she’d go back and show the engineer how to really keep a ‘poker face’, just like hers. Wraith smirked and set a portal from her room back to the kitchen.

Wattson sniffled and rubbed her eyes as she put the plates and mug in the cupboards. She blew it. She had one opportunity to become better friends with Wraith and she mucked it up. “Tu es un idiot (You’re an idiot)..” She cursed aloud, finding her chair and burying her face into her hands. She started to cry and didn’t hear the faint sound of a portal being set. Wraith heard the cries from the corner she hid in and felt even worse. She had to make this right in the only odd way she knew how. The skirmisher, a veteran in stealth, creeped over to the crying woman and grabbed her by the back of her shirt. Wattson gasped but didn’t have time to scream as Wraith pulled her into the portal that led back to her room.

Once the pair was in Wraith’s room, the skirmisher closed the portal and released Wattson. The engineer felt a little woozy and wobbled on her legs, prompting Wraith to hold her arms to steady her. “Easy, easy. I’ve got you.” Renee whispered as she sneakily removed her scarf and bound it around Natalie’s wrists. Natalie, once her head stopped spinning, tried to look over her shoulder at the woman but she kept ducking behind her.

“Renee? I’m sorry for upsetting you. I won’t ever touch you again. Will you please forgive me?” She pleaded as she kept trying to turn around to face her. It was difficult to do because Renee’s shorter height meant that she could just hide behind her. But another thing that was difficult, the engineer realized with alarm, was that she couldn’t pull her wrists free from whatever was holding them together. “Renee?”

“You don’t need to apologize, Natalie. I knew your every move.” Renee answered coolly, walking towards her bed with the longest end of the scarf in her hands. She gave it a hard pull and dragged the engineer along with it and, once Wattson was sitting on the mattress, she pushed her flat on her back and tied the rest of the scarf to the bed frame. Terror washed over Natalie’s face as she struggled and looked up at whom she believed was still her friend...right?

“I’m sorry!” Natalie wailed with the tears finally rolling down her cheeks. “Please don’t hurt me, Renee. I--”

“Hurt you? Natalie, you’re my friend. I’d even say you’re my best friend so long as you don’t repeat that to Elliott. I would never hurt you.” The skirmisher assured as she knelt beside her.

Wattson blinked away what was left of her tears and opened her mouth to speak. What came out, though, was a squeak as the skirmisher tapped her sides. “Whahat--” Natalie sputtered and squealed as Wraith hooked both of her small hands around her sides and raked her fingers up and down. “Whyhyhyhy aahahahre yohohuhuh--REheheheheheheheneee!” The engineer giggled madly as Wraith quickened her tickling pace. Unlike Wraith, who wore a thicker hoodie, Wattson’s thinner Nessie shirt made it easy to literally get under her skin.

“I thought you’d want to know how to keep a poker face, like I do. I told you that nothing phases me. Not pain, not death, not tickles.” Wraith smirked a playful, evil smirk as the realization colored Wattson’s face. The skirmisher reached under her shirt and clawed at her bare belly, drawing out squeaky cackles from the woman. “Can you say the same?” Was the last thing Renee asked before she kneaded and scratched all over Natalie’s tummy.

Wattson shrieked and laughed loudly as Wraith’s short nails scratched along every ticklish nerve on her stomach. She pulled at the makeshift bond that held her wrists in place and tossed her head back when Renee dragged a nail around her navel.

“NAHAHAHAhahahahaha stahahahahahahahahp!” Natalie screamed and kicked her legs against the mattress while the skirmisher continued to torment her stomach. When Wraith poked her navel, the engineer snorted and turned over on her side. “PLEHEHEHEhehehehehase dohohohohohohn’t!”

Wraith grinned and pulled Wattson back down and pinned her kicking legs with her powerful thighs. Wattson paled; she didn’t realize how strong the skirmisher was. “Don’t what, Nat?” She chuckled as she gripped her sides again and squeezed them repeatedly. Natalie laughed harder and tried to wiggle out of her hold but Renee didn’t let her go. “DOHOHOHohohohn’t tihihihihihckle! I cahahahan’t taahahahahake ihihihihihihit!” She squeaked, arching her back when Wraith’s fingers buried back into her tummy. “RENeneneheheheheee! Plehehehheheheehehase!”

“You need to learn how to tune out sensations.” Wraith calmly explained over Wattson’s mad laughter. “It isn’t easy, but nothing worth doing ever is. I’m going to help you build up your endurance.” She concluded quietly before ducking her head down and blowing a raspberry over her navel. Natalie’s screams went up in pitch and she shut her eyes, shaking with laughter.

“NOHOHOHOHAHA STAHAHAHAHAP!”

Renee chuckled again and blew another raspberry, causing Natalie to scream again and arch her back. “This is just one of many sensations you’ll have to learn to ignore. Try focusing on something else and Stop. Laughing.” The skirmisher accentuated each word with a poke to Wattson’s ribcage. Natalie sputtered and fell into a heavier laughing fit. Panic boiled inside of her since the skirmisher was coming awfully close to her armpits.

“I CAHAHAN’T! IT’S TOHOHOHOHO MUHUHUHUHCH! JAHAHAH’AHAHAHBOHOHONE! (I give up!) PLEHEHEHEHAH!” Wattson couldn’t finish her sentence and bucked as Wraith rubbed circles on her lower ribs. The engineer arched her back with another cry of laughter, yet Renee easily pushed her back down. “RENEHEHEHEHEE NOHOHOHOHOH!”

“You won’t get anywhere with that attitude. I need you to believe in yourself just like you believed in me.” Wraith smiled and tweaked her lower ribs before she started kneading her way up the ribcage. The skirmisher once believed that tickling was humiliating but now, she could see the appeal. It made her happy to see Wattson laugh, even if it was forced. “I’ll make you a deal, Nat. If you tell me where your worst spot is,” Renee began, flicking her nails up and down one rib that really made her struggle. “I might go easier on you..”

“NEHEHEHEHVER! I WOHOHOHOHN’T DOHOHOHOH IHIHIHIHT!” Natalie yelled and wriggled her trapped hands, the ticklish scratches driving her up the wall.

Wraith smirked; that’s exactly what she hoped she would say. The skirmisher pretended to be disappointed and fluttered her fingertips against Natalie’s upper ribs. Wattson thrashed violently and shook her head in protest, her eyes snapping open and searching Wraith’s for mercy. “NOHOHOHOHT THEHEHEHRE! RENEE! HAHAHAHAVE MEHEHERCY!” She screeched, her eyes tearing up as she looked into the resolute, pale eyes of the skirmisher. Wattson wasn’t going anywhere.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to tickle here? Or do you mean...here?” Wraith suddenly leaned forward and buried her wiggling fingers into Wattson’s exposed armpits. She made her fingers into little clawlike shapes and jabbed her nails into her skin. The engineer let out a hoarse scream and finally dipped into hysterical, high pitched laughter.

“AAAHAHAHAHAHAH THEHEHEHRE! NOHOHOHOHT THEHEHEHREAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”

“Where is there? You keep saying, ‘not there, not there’, but I don’t know if you mean here…” Wraith mused as she dropped her hands back down to Wattson’s upper ribs. She kneaded her thumbs into each side of the ribcage and even though she laughed hard, the skirmisher already knew that her armpits were her hot spot. “Or here?” Renee finished innocently as she took her thumbs again and stroked the very center of her armpits.

Wattson was in stitches and helplessly flopped against the mattress, pulling down on her wrists like crazy. They didn’t move an inch and the skirmisher took one finger on each hand and slid it up and down the length of her arms, forcing another desperate wail of laughter.

“BOHOHOHOHOHTH! NEHEHEHEHEITHER! AAAAHAHAHAHAH I DOHOHOHOHOHN’T KNOHOHOHW JUHUHUST STAAAAHAHAHAHAHAH!” Wattson managed to get all of that out in one breath before all she could do was struggle and laugh.

Renee giggled and took both of her hands and dove onto only Natalie’s left armpit. She clawed her fingers again and scritched around the outside of the armpit, slowly following the curve to make her way back down to the center. “I’m sorry, Natalie, but I’m just not understanding you.” She snickered, sneaking in a quick pinch as she got closer and closer to the armpit. Natalie’s laughter just dipped back into manic giggles but, whenever the skirmisher flicked a nail against the hollow, she coughed out a laugh. “NOHOHOHOHOH MOHOHOHOHOHRE!” She begged, a few mirthful tears slipping down her cheeks as she desperately tried to sit up. “PLEHEHEHEHEASE! I THOHOHUGHT WEEHEHEHE WEEHEHRE FRIEHEHEHENDS!”

“We are friends, Natalie. But you’re not even trying to hold in your laugh. If this tickles that much and you really want me to stop, then why don’t you just put your arms down? I’m not the one holding them up..” Wraith flashed her an evil grin as she suddenly descended on her left armpit and tickled mercilessly. Wattson howled with another round of hysterical laughter and whipped her head around like mad. The tears kept coming, she kept pulling, and her arms stayed locked in place.

“AAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH SAAHAHAHAHAH NOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOH!”

Renee kept tickling Natalie’s armpit until her laughter became silent. She slowly, slowly, stopped wiggling her fingers to let her breathe, but kept her hands buried in each armpit. Natalie breathed raggedly and rubbed the mirthful tears off on her shoulder, looking up at the skirmisher with a mixture of awe and gratitude. “I...didn’t know you were so mean…” She panted tiredly and tilted her head back with a groan. “Mon Dieu (My God), my stomach hurts…”

“It isn’t my fault that you can’t keep a straight face, Natalie. I’d say try better, but it wouldn’t help against me.” Wraith teased and tensed her fingers, pretending as if she was about to launch another tickle assault. She snickered when the engineer jumped and squealed, the panic returning to her in full force. “You still haven’t put your arms down?” Renee tutted, tensing her fingers again and hovering both hands over Natalie’s right armpit. “I guess that means you want me to keep tickling.” The skirmisher continued with a shrug before tauntingly wiggling her fingers over the sensitive skin.

Wattson’s eyes widened and she struggled frantically, nervous giggles already sounding from her as Wraith’s fingers grew ever so closer. “I can’t!” The engineer whined, grunting as she pulled down on the scarf as hard as she could. What was the scarf made out of? Metal? “I’m trying, Renee, and I can’t! Please! I can’t put my arms down!” She cried out desperately, giving the skirmisher puppy dog eyes as she held her hand just above the armpit. Renee remained silent, a heavy tension filling the air before she spidered all ten fingers into the poor woman’s armpit. “You’re not trying hard enough. I know you, Natalie, and I’m sure you can do anything you put your mind to.” She smirked, unable to help herself from joining in Natalie’s screams of laughter.

Apparently, Wattson’s right armpit was just a little bit more sensitive than the left one, and Wraith picked up on that immediately. She used one hand for scratching little circles against her skin and the other one for squeezing where the armpit met her upper ribs. By now, Natalie was crying with laughter and gave up on trying to free her wrists. “AIEHEHEHEHEHEHS PIHIHIHIHIHIHTÉ! PAHAHAHAHAS PLUHUHUHUHS S'IHIHIHIHL VOOHOHOHOHUS PLHAHAHAÎT! (Have Mercy/No More Please!)” The engineer cried before dipping into silent laughter again, her arms shaking in place.

Renee eventually let up on the tickling when Natalie’s face started turning deep shades of red. She leaned up and smirked as she untied the woman’s wrists and laughed when she immediately pulled her arms down. “That’s all you had to do, Nat. You’re lucky that we’re friends, otherwise I may have kept going until you put your arms down yourself.” She threatened playfully as she wrapped her scarf back around her neck. Wattson trembled and rubbed her arms against her sides, a smile still etched across her lips. The ticklish sensations still plagued her skin, but she was happy that Wraith seemed to loosen up and smile...even if it was at her expense.

I hope this was okay! I got the inspiration from Lady Gaga’s Poker Face. Please let me know what you think!

#apex legends #wattson #wraith #wattson apex legends #wraith apex legends #ticklish!wattson #ticklish!nataliepaquette #ticklish!natalie #ticklish!paquette

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awrestlinggirlwholoves80sbands · 5 years ago

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School sucks but you don’t( Slaxl Highschool AU) Chapter 3

A/N: There’s the last chapter ! I’m so sorry it took so long but it is extra long so yay. Also a big thanks to @duffshairdye who edited this for me (ya know, ‘cause English is not my first language)

Part 1 Part 2

As soon as he woke up, Slash knew that he wasn’t going to go to school.

He had spent all evening staring up at his ceiling, trying to understand what had gone wrong. He genuinely believed that something could happen between him and Axl, but he guessed that the redhead thought he was a fucking joke. A stupid naïve idiot who really believed that somebody would choose to go to prom with him.

He pretended to get ready anyway, but as soon as he arrived at school, he spotted a fluffy haired blond that he knew too well.

“Yo Slash, what’s up?” Steven Adler, his childhood best friend asked, with a smile. Damn, that kid always smiled no matter what.

“Do you wanna ditch?”

The younger boy energetically nodded, then he got his backpack and motioned for Slash to follow him.

“You know that I’m always gonna say yes to that, man. But first, we need to buy some beers. Do you have your fake ID?”

A little smirk appeared on Slash’s face. Maybe a bit of alcohol could make him forgot about all this shit. Or maybe make it worse. He nodded, then followed behind Steven.

“So, what happened?” Steven asked.

“Why does something have to happen? Can’t I just want to ditch school?”

“Yeah, but you’ve been acting weird lately and Duff said that he can’t tell me anything!”

Slash was glad that his best friends had the decency to not share anything without his consent, but at the same time he didn’t want to talk about it at the moment. He knew that it would help, but he was scared that he’d break down and cry.

“I’ll tell you, but you have to promise not to tell anybody. Also, I need beer first!”

20 minutes and half a beer later, Slash told Steven everything he needed to know; he was actually proud of himself because he didn’t cry.

“Oh, shit man, that sounds like a sticky situation. But I don’t think Axl would do something like that!”

“Well, he did!” Slash said, a bit irritated.

“Then move on, man. Now I have to go, but why don’t you try to get to know your prom date better? Maybe she won’t be that bad!” Steven smiled.

The next day, Slash found that Joan was actually a really cool girl but, unfortunately, she wasn’t Axl. Yeah, she was a badass, and yeah, their music tastes were pretty similar, but still she didn’t have Axl’s beautiful smile, she wouldn’t look at him with pure imagination when he was explaining some weird science experiment, she wouldn’t stroke his hair, she didn’t have his smile.

Because he was so distracted, he ended up bumping into someone—Axl Rose to be precise.

Of course it’s him.

“Oh, hey Slash!” He said, his usual smile on his lips.

Remember Slash, you’re angry. Don’t get fooled by that smile.

Hi.” Slash replied, as cold as possible.

Axl seemed a bit confused, but he handed him a notebook. “Can you give this to Duff? And tell him Izzy says thanks!”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Well, I have to go now. See you at prom, pretty boy!” Axl said, complete with a little smirk.

The audacity of that boy!

Slash tried to ignore his frustration while he searched for his best friend. He eventually found him standing against a row of the lockers and talking to Steven.

“Why did you give your notes to Izzy Stradlin?” Saul asked, pissed off.

“Shouldn’t I have done it?” Duff asked, confused.

“Oh, I mean, his best friend totally didn’t break my heart!” Slash said dramatically, and Steven went to hug him.

“Hey, you still have a date! And don’t worry about that asshole, he lost the opportunity of a lifetime.” He gave Slash a pat on the back, then hurried off to his classroom.

But Slash didn’t want to cry, so even if his heart hurt, he decided to try to actually enjoy prom night.

Everything is going to be okay.

---

When the doorbell rang, Slash was still taming his curls. His parents had left earlier, kissing him good luck, so he had to go downstairs.

Joan insisted to come to pick him up ‘cause she was just that badass and independent, not that Slash was complaining. But when he opened the door, it wasn’t Joan who was standing there.

It was Axl Rose!

“What the hell are you doing here?” Slash asked, confused, raising his eyebrows.

“Well… Lita dumped me last minute to go to prom with Joan, so since we both don’t have dates, Steven suggested that we should join him, Duff and Izzy so we all would be a group of five idiot friends going to prom together!” Axl said.

Slash looked at him for a moment, his thoughts travelling as fast as a train. Should he trust him? Should he give him another opportunity to break his heart? He would be lying if he said that he didn’t want to spend the night with Axl, but they also wouldn’t be alone.

What should he do?

“Okay. Just give me a minute.” He replied, literally slamming the door in Axl’s face.

He looked at himself in the mirror, taming his wild curls, then let out a breath. He took the flower corsage that he was supposed to give to Joan and opened again the door. Axl stood there, looking at him.

“Is there something wrong?”

“N-No, you’re just really beautiful!” Axl replied nervously, and Slash fucking blushed at that.

“Let’s go before the others kill us!” He stated, and Axl followed him.

Slash sat in the back seat, squeezed between Steven and Axl, while Duff and Izzy seemed to be pretty distracted by each other.

He tightened his grip on the corsage, feeling a bit anxious: he didn’t know how Axl was going to act. Would he be sweet and caring? Or cold and distant? Would they have an opportunity to be alone and talk? Slash needed to talk to him, needed to make him understand that he wasn’t just a toy to play with.

“What have those flowers done to you?” Axl asked, chuckling.

“They were for Joan, but I actually want to give them to you now,” Slash replied. Then he mentally face-palmed himself. Really Slash? Really?

Axl blushed, his pale cheeks turning the same shade of red as his hair. He snatched the corsage from Saul’s hands and then suddenly he seemed really interested in looking outside the window.

Eventually Duff put some music on, which made Steven start dancing happily and singing off key.

At some point, Slash felt a hand on his own, then Axl placed another corsage into Slash’s hand; he didn’t say anything but also he didn’t pull his hand away either, so Slash just decided to let it be, focusing his on the song that was playing. The redhead started to tap his fingers, following the music’s rhythm, and Slash felt like they were in his bedroom again, Axl running his fingers through his hair.

How long is this going to last?

Saul was pulled from his thoughts when the car stopped in front of the school’s parking lot. Steven bolted outside, ready to let his energy run wild; Duff and Izzy were still talking and smiling like two idiots in love, and Slash wanted to kill them. He didn’t know why, maybe it was because they were already getting too sappy, maybe it was because he was jealous.

He and Axl still had their hands entwined, but as soon as Axl noticed, he quickly let go and got out of the car. Slash couldn’t help but feel a bit upset, then he decided to exit the car and actually have fun. He just wanted to drink, and he was hoping that someone had spiked the punch.

The flashy lights and loud music started to annoy Slash, so he used his curls as a shield. There were many teenagers, just like them, dancing, drinking, eating or kissing (well, more like trying to eat each other’s faces).

Steven started to pull them towards the dance floor one by one as soon as a stupid pop song blasted through the room.

“C’mon, boys, it’s only prom once!” He said, excited, while starting to dance.

The others couldn’t help but dance, too, finding their friend too cute to care about embarrassing themselves. Slash and Duff tried their most awkward best friends’ moves, while Axl tried, unsuccessfully, to make Izzy do a weird choreography. The redhead made sure to avoid Slash at all costs.

They did that for a couple of songs, and they also started to get a little drunk (thanks to Duff and his hidden vodka!) and everybody seemed to have a lot more fun. Duff and Izzy were getting closer to each other, the blond trying to subtly touch the black-haired boy, Steven tried to flirt with every free girl he laid his eyes on, and Axl seemed to be less distant and went to dance near Slash again.

Slash really enjoyed being with his friends and dancing like idiots with them, but a part of him was still thinking about what could have been a prom with only Axl. Just the two of them slow dancing, maybe flirting with each other and even kissing, but he knew that there was no way in hell that Axl would have done that in front of their friends.

Slash felt someone tugging at his wrist, then somebody took his hand and literally dragged him towards the bathroom. Of course it was Axl.

Axl stopped only when he was sure that nobody was there. Slash looked him in the eyes—they were a bit glossy, a sign that he was a bit tipsy, but he was also totally cable of thinking clearly. He probably gained some liquid courage, because what he said next shocked the curly-haired boy.

“I-I think I own you an explanation.”

“You think so?” Slash shot back sarcastically, before mumbling out an apology.

“I know I’ve acted like a dick, and I hurt you but I….” Axl stopped, looking around the room.

“But you what?” Saul asked, confused.

“But I’m scared. Because I really meant it when I proposed to go to prom with you that day. And I’m scared that my stepdad would find out, and he’d do some not so nice things to me!” He paused, and Slash understood that he had to be scared of that man; he decided to not touch that topic.

Axl took a deep breath, then he added, “And I’m also scared of what you do to me, how I feel when I’m with you. I don’t want to poison you or make you deal with my shitty life! But at the same time, I love when you’re next to me.”

“I wanted to go to prom with you. You know, do stupid date stuff, like slow dancing and maybe kissing! You could’ve told me that before, we could have found a way!” Slash replied, wanting almost to laugh at the situation.

Suddenly a slow song started to play. Axl looked Slash in the eyes, then he gently grabbed his hands.

“Can I have this dance?” He said with a smile.

How did he sound so sexy and badass even when he was being a goof?

Slash nodded, and the redhead pulled him closer, his hands resting on Slash’s waist. Saul laid his head on Axl’s shoulder as they started to sway gently. They stayed like that for a while, Axl’s hands moving from Slash’s waist, up to his shoulders, and finally to his fluffy hair.

As soon as the song finished, Slash kissed Axl. He didn’t hesitate, he just knew it was the right thing to do; Axl kissed him back, being as tender and sweet as the curly-haired boy.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have done that without asking first!” Slash admitted, afraid that he had scared the other boy.

“No, it’s okay. I wanted to do it, actually,” Axl replied, smiling.

Damn, Slash just loved his smile.

“How comfortable would you be with PDA?” Saul asked.

“We can hold hands and slow dance. I don’t think I’m ready for a public kiss, I’m sorry! I know you’re too beautiful to be hidden but I swear that when I’ll sort things out, I’ll show you off non-stop!” Axl answered.

Slash took his hand and led him outside: the first thing he saw was Duff and Izzy dancing really close together; Axl grinned at the scene while dragging Slash towards the two boys.

“We’re cock-blocking you!” He joked, while Izzy almost elbowed him in the stomach.

“Don’t you have to pretend that you don’t like Slash?” Izzy replied, annoyed.

“Been there, done that!” Slash said, raising their tangled hands.

“Well, at least now you won’t annoy me anymore,” Duff smirked, while continuing to dance with Izzy.

Slash smiled and started to head towards the food table, but Axl gently pulled his wrist and moved closer. He started dancing like he did in the bathroom earlier, but a little more awkward and unsure. The curly-haired boy led him without judging him: he was proud of the effort his boyfriend was putting in (could he call him that?) and he wanted to enjoy all the little moments they could.

“Did you already have a crush on me?” Saul asked out of the blue. “I mean, you proposed to go to prom with me straight away!” He added with a mischievous smile. Axl’s cheeks became as red as his hair.

“Kind of. As soon I saw you, I knew I had to take you to prom. Then, well, I was an idiot and almost screwed up everything!”

“You’ve been an idiot, but you’re my idiot now!” Slash affirmed, only to melt after seeing the redhead’s beautiful smile.

Apparently that was the last dance of the night, so the boys all got in Duff’s car again, ready to go home.

“I wanna sleep at your place, if that it’s okay with you,” Axl whispered, petting Slash’s hair. The curly-haired boy had his head on Axl’s shoulder, and he tilted it a bit.

“Are you sure? Won’t it have consequences?” He questioned, a bit worried. The older boy simply shook his head, then intertwined their hands.

Duff dropped them off after ten minutes, recommending that his friends used condoms, and Slash opened the front door.

They were alone and tired, so they decided to change into something comfortable (Slash had to throw clothes on Axl, who just wanted to sleep in his boxers) and cuddle in his bed.

They were hugging each other tightly, occasionally giving little kisses on each other’s cheeks. They stayed like that for a bit, until Slash started to drift off; but this time he wasn’t afraid that Axl would leave, so he snuggled even closer to him.

“This mean that we’re boyfriends, right?” Axl asked.

“Of course, Rosie, I didn’t bust my ass this long for nothing!” Slash said, sleepy.

“Love ya, puddle head,” Axl replied, closing his eyes.

“Love you too, angry kitten,” Slash shot back as he felt himself slowly starting to fall asleep.

After all, Duff was wrong: Slash didn’t get his heart broken and he finally had Axl at his side

Taglist: @duffshairdye @slashscowboyboots @cosmicrealmofkissteria @ozzy-dumbass-of-darkness @smokeandmirrorz @thespacecowboyyy

#axl rose #slash #slaxl #duff mckagan #izzy stradlin #steven adler #fanfic #guns n roses #highschool au #80srock #80s rock band

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bensakindofmagic · 5 years ago

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Dad and His Son

so i wrote an au based on this post, because apparently i like to hurt myself. you can read it if you like to hurt yourself too.

w/c: 1.8k

no warnings, just fluff

A/N: this is an au in which roger is ben’s dad, and for the sake of ease/clarity/my laziness, his mum is a fictional woman. i didn’t want to get bogged down in research and step-parents and exploring those relationship cause this is just a light-hearted wee blurb. don’t get mad about it. right. that’s the admin done with.

“Hey, it’s gonna be fine,” Ben said calmly, coming round to your side of the car as you got out and taking your hand in his considerably larger one. You took a deep breath, exhaling hard, as you took in the house before you. It had been intimidating from the end of the drive as it was slowly revealed behind the automatic gates, and as it grew before your eyes your pulse had started to quicken. It was beautiful, and enormous, and surrounded by fields and forests. You would have marvelled at its magnificence had you not been so nervous of what lay inside.

“Easy for you to say,” you muttered, disgruntled.

“It’s just my parents, and they’re going to love you, Y/N/N.”

Just his parents. Meeting the parents for the first time is hard enough, but when your boyfriend’s dad is Roger Fucking Taylor, that makes everything a little more tricky. Needless to say you were shitting a brick.

He rang the doorbell, even though they had already buzzed you in through the gate, and what was supposed to be a steadying breath rattled in your chest. Ben squeezed your fingers.

“Ben, darling!” his mum gushed, engulfing him in a hug. She managed to wrap him up entirely despite being significantly shorter than him.

“Mum,” he said, detaching himself from her after kissing her cheek, “This is my girlfriend, Y/N."

You smiled in your best impression of someone who’s not feeling horrifically awkward and contemplating a runner, “Hello Mrs Taylor.”

“Oh love, call me Jodie.” She smiled warmly and immediately pulled you into a hug. Ben grinned at you over her shoulder. “Come on in, lunch is nearly ready. Roger! They’re here!” she called into the house, bustling into the kitchen.

“After you,” Ben gestured, raising his eyebrows.

The house was massive, but beautifully light and spacious. A large staircase stood proudly in the middle of the hall, splitting the room and leading to the upstairs realm. Evidence of Queen’s rock-god days lay casually scattered everywhere, hiding in plain sight — framed gold discs were hung on the walls beside artworks, photos of the band were camouflaged between groups of children smiling giddily up from their frames. Conscious of not appearing nosy but wanting to see everything, you peered furtively through a half open door to see piles of old records surrounding an enormous speaker.

“Come on,” Ben gestured with a nod of his head, “I’ll give you the tour later.”

You allowed him to rest his hand lightly on your lower back, anchoring you to him as you ventured into the kitchen/living room.

Roger — that being Roger Taylor. Actual Roger Taylor — was sat in an armchair, idly flicking through the channels on the TV. He glanced at you over his shoulder, piercing blue eyes like ice as they caught you in their hooded stare. Ben may have got the green from his mother but the intensity of colour, the gaze that turns you into a puddle on the floor, that was all from his dad’s side.

“Rog,” Ben’s mum admonished, “come and say hello.”

He stood slowly, and crossed the space between you: it seemed to take a lifetime. Your heart thumped loudly around your head, the sound bouncing between your ears with each step.

“Dad, this is Y/N.”

“Y/N,” he said, testing the word on his tongue, and held out a hand to you. His skin was soft with age but still calloused in the places where his drumstick fit between his fingers. A smile hid beneath his moustache. “Ben’s told us a lot about you, but I see he didn’t mention how beautiful you are.”

Your blush was ferocious.

Ben scoffed, “Yeah, alright Dad. I know you still fancy yourself as a ladies’ man, but can you not flirt with my girlfriend please?”

“Well someone’s got to do it,” he mumbled, turning his attention over to his extensive wine rack. You laughed, incredulous, and Ben just rolled his eyes.

You sat down for lunch and gratefully tucked into the beautiful food Ben’s mum had made, making sure to to compliment her and thank her for her hospitality. You were desperately careful, as images of knocking over wine glasses or sending plates crashing to the floor with your elbow flooded through you mind’s eye. Ben felt your tension and laid a palm on your knee under the table.

He gave it a gentle squeeze and shot you a slight smile.

“Are you keeping up your drumming, Ben?” Roger asked.

His hummed his assent while he swallowed a mouthful, “Yeah, not as much as I’d like, what with work being so busy, but it’s a good stress reliever.”

“Are you a musician, Y/N?” Jodie inquired.

“No, no I’m not. I’m a music lover, for sure, but I never learnt an instrument.”

“But she has an incredible voice,” Ben interjected.

You fought a blush and admonished, “Given present company I think that’s something of an overstatement.” Roger chuckled; you felt a small glow of pride in your stomach.

“Y/N, sweetheart, tell us about yourself. What do you do?”

“Uh, I’m a film journalist. I actually met Ben to interview him for a piece.”

“So your thing is movies? Which is your favourite?” Roger asked.

You shook your head, “I can’t answer that, it’s like picking between your children.”

“That’s easy, Ben’s sister Rory, she’s the smart one.” His face was stoic but his glinting eyes betrayed him.

Ben grunted sarcastically, “Cheers Dad.”

Ben held conversation a lot of the time, knowing how nervous you were and how you struggled to make conversation with new people as it was. He talked you up wherever he found an opportunity and made it easy for you to engage. By the end of the meal some of your nerves had worn away and the gnawing in your belly was replaced with a satisfied fullness. Roger sat back, sated, and announced, “Alright Y/N, you get one question.”

You looked to Ben in confusion, “I’m sorry?”

“People are always dying to ask about Queen, and I like so you I’m going to give you one question. Make it a good one, mind, not just ‘what was Freddie like?’ Or ‘which is your favourite song?’”

“No pressure then,” you sighed. “Okay, who was best at scrabble?”

Roger laughed heartily. “Oh Brian, obviously. He got the highest score I’ve ever seen — it was ‘lacquers’ and he scored 168, the bastard. But Fred was a bit of a dark horse too. He used to just put one tile down and connect this here and that there and tot up all these points.”

His eyes glazed as the memory played out in them. He gave a sad smile, cheeks dimpling with the weight of it. “Oh the adventures of life on the road.”

You got the tour of the house after lunch; Ben showed the studio and his old bedroom and you delighted in seeing his old photos in his room. You gasped, picking one up, “Oh my gosh, Ben, is this you?”

A smiling Freddie Mercury was holding a blonde, rather pouty-looking baby.

“Yeah,” Ben smiled softly, “I never knew him properly, he died when I was still really young. But it’s pretty special to think that he knew me.”

There were more traces of Queen, and other rock ’n’ roll bands, around the room, posters and albums, and the drum kit in the corner bore the band’s logo. Photos chronicled his childhood, frequently featuring a much younger Roger. It was bizarre to you, to see that version of the man you recognised from your favourite band, holding a young boy who would grow up to become the love of your life. How strange, that those two strands of your life converged in the preserved bedroom of a teenage boy.

“I didn’t know you were such a Queen fan, Ben. You don’t talk about it much.”

Ben shrugged, “I was a bit obsessed when I was a kid. Obviously I’m still so proud of Dad, and I love the music, but I guess I’ve toned it down a bit. I’m following my own path now, but back then I wanted to be just like him.”

His hand was sat limply in his pocket, so you threaded your arm through his and kissed his cheek. “I think it’s sweet.”

“What do you think of them?”

“Your mum and dad? They’re lovely.”

“Not going to scare you off then?”

“Never,” you smiled.

Back downstairs you offered to help Jodie with the washing up while Ben and Roger talked shop in the studio about some new drum kit or other.

“You’re too good to them, letting them skip out on helping clear away,” you joked as you dried up.

“Oh I wouldn’t usually,” Jodie mused, “but Rog likes it when Ben’s home. I think he misses the kids more than he cares to admit. But I hope that means you don’t let Ben get away with not doing his fair share!”

“Absolutely it does. He’s good about it though, you taught him well.”

“I’m glad to hear it… You know, you’re the first girl he’s ever brought home to meet us,” she said, glancing at you. Your movements stilled. “I think he’s always been nervous about it. I suspect he was worried that they’d be intimidated by the whole thing, that his dad would scare them off. But he was very keen for us to meet you. He was most anxious that we make a good impression.”

Her words took you aback; you had been so worried about your own nerves that you’d barely stopped to consider his. When you came to think of it, there had been a slight tension in his shoulders, a hint of rambliness about the way he had spoken, as if he felt he had to fill the silences before they materialised.

Jodie continued, “You know, I thought you must be someone pretty special if he wanted us to meet you so badly. I’ve been very excited about it.”

You smiled meekly, pressing your lips together, “I hope I didn’t let you down.”

“Oh of course not darling, it’s been a pleasure. And it’s very sweet to see you with Ben, he looks so happy with you. I think he’s quite smitten.”

You were spared your blushes by footsteps in the doorway and Ben came in, followed by Roger, asking, “What are you two gossiping about? Already ganging up on me?”

He slipped his arm around your waist and looked down fondly at you.

“Hm, something like that,” you hummed, and returned Jodie’s knowing smile.

He leant down to whisper in your ear, “I think they like you,” and nudged your cheek with his nose.

Roger smiled, eyes sparkling, “Son, I’d say this one’s a keeper.”

#ben hardy #ben hardy imagine #ben hardy fanfic #ben hardy blurb #ben hardy au #ben hardy x reader #ben hardy x female reader #taylor!ben hardy #soft ben #roger taylor #dad!roger taylor #bohemian rhapsody #borhap #queen #the absolute shit i put in these tags #*shakes head in disappointment with myself*

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deesdiaries · 5 years ago

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eryWARNING: Spoilers ahead! Do not proceed if you haven't seen Season 6, episode 6 of Vikings, "Death and the Serpent."

The Seer's prophecy was fulfilled on Wednesday night's heartbreaking episode of Vikings.

Lagertha (Katheryn Winnick) met her end -- and the gods -- at the hands of Ragnar's son, Hvitserk (Marco Ilsø), in a violent, devastating match after the wounded shield-maiden had just saved her community in a battle against the bandits.

The episode, titled "Death and the Serpent," marks the end of an era for Vikings; Winnick was the last remaining original cast member on the show. The Canadian actress thus saw her time as Lagertha coming to a close, and as Vikings creator Michael Hirst tells ET, he wanted to give her an "incredible" send-off.

"She owns that storyline," Hirst says of Lagertha's journey this season, in which she returned to her farming roots and tried to put her life of struggle behind her. "Almost for the first time, she's not involved in someone else's storyline, where she's the wife of Ragnar, or she's the mother of Bjorn. This is her storyline, and her last fight with the leader of the bandits is one of the most powerful fights I've ever seen on TV. I mean, it's incredible."

"Her death is a huge tragedy. I even cried when I was writing it, for Pete's sake. But I wanted it elevated as well," he explains. That "elevated" component came in the form of a Polish singing group he brought in to sing Lagertha goodbye.

"They came to the studio. They were singing in this ancient language no one understood and it was just the crew and the cameras and a few actors. I didn't tell them what was happening. They didn't really know what the song was about, but by the time the song was over, everybody in the building was crying. Me and the camera crew and the crew, everybody was weeping, and that's the music you'll hear when you see the death of Lagertha," Hirst continues.

"It is heartbreaking. It is astonishing, and I think it does huge justice to what Katheryn has given to this show, and I'm so pleased that it's made her a star. I mean, she deserves everything," he declares.

Winnick feels that same affection for Hirst -- and for the character she's spent so long embodying.

"I don't know if I've actually said goodbye to her," she confesses. "I'm still looking at her shield and sword right now in my living room, so she's definitely a big part of my life right now."

In an emotional conversation with ET, Winnick opens up about the years she's spent playing Lagertha, her intense last day of filming, and shares a message to the fans who have been so inspired by her work and the character.

ET: You've played Lagertha for so long -- how did you prepare for her to no longer be a part of your life?

Katheryn Winnick: It was a long time coming. I think I'm the only cast member from day one that's been there for that long, and it was nice to say goodbye to a character that's so dear to my heart and finally close that chapter. As hard as it was emotionally, it also felt the timing was right. I felt definitely fulfilled as an actor and I felt I pushed her storyline as far as I can possibly take her. She is, after all, a granny at this point. And I definitely feel I've been put under the ringer and so many circumstances throughout six seasons that it felt it was a good time to say goodbye to such an iconic character.

When did you find out when -- and how -- Lagertha was going to die? What was that conversation like?

I have a very strong and close relationship with Michael Hirst. It was always a conversation together of when we're going to let go of Lagertha, and I originally didn't think I was going to stay on for as many years as I did. I've been lucky enough and blessed enough to have such loyal fans that they didn't want to let me go or let Lagertha go, but after six seasons, I felt that it was the right time.

I told Michael Hirst, as long he'd give me a really epic death, something that people won't forget, I would be happy to be able to say goodbye to her. As hard as it was, and also it was important that we say goodbye to Lagertha in the right way and proper way, and I feel that Michael Hirst has done that with her death and her funeral and also getting a chance to get behind the camera and direct for the first time. That was my way of really saying goodbye as well.

Michael spoke a lot about bidding farewell to Lagertha with that beautiful song.

I do remember the song very well. Michael sent it to me and played it first at a dinner, and then he came on set, he was there on set on the day of my death as well, and he played it for me again. I was so overwhelmed to have a song made and named after Lagertha. It was so moving and so powerful, and to have that on set and hear it before my death, it was just -- overwhelming. And I actually remember that day really well, shooting and chronologically. Usually, we don't shoot things in order, but it happened to be my very last day shooting as well as Lagertha, it happened to be my death.

Lagertha's last scene alive is incredibly violent -- what was it like filming that day?

It was a freezing cold day. It was below zero temperatures. We had a rain machine. We were soaking wet, all on the ground crawling. It was physically extremely demanding, and to be able to try to stop your body from shaking because of the cold [is difficult] and obviously it's a very emotional scene, and very powerful. We had a medic on set too, because I remember having to go in and out of the hot box. They created a little hot box to keep us warm and go in and out of the rain. We were trying to prevent our body from going into shock, just because physically, to have your body go through such hypothermia and extreme conditions was tough.

So, I'm not sure if I really let go. I don't feel like -- at the end of it, after Lagertha got killed, I just wanted to get warm, so I left quickly. It wasn't as much of a goodbye as I would have imagined. But for me, the real goodbye was coming back after my death and seeing the funeral and coming back to really direct. That was my way of giving back to the seven years I was on the show.

You've been with Lagertha through so much, from overcoming domestic abuse to losing a child -- is there a moment in her storyline that has stuck out to you?

Most people don't have the opportunity even once in their lifetime to have such a role like I got with Lagertha. The priviledge to play her for almsot seven years, and that's such blessing. Most people get maybe one chance to be able to get that. I've had the opportunity to dive into such an iconic, moral character that people look up to and make tattoos from her and dress up like her on Halloween and name their cats and dogs after Lagertha. So anyway, it's just been overwhelming but amazing to see.

And I don't think -- to answer your question, I don't think it's really one particular scene. She's gone from being a farmer to shield-maiden to dealing with domestic violence. She's dealt with having to kill a few husbands or wannabe husbands. She's made her own way and really stuck to what she believes in that I feel that it's hard to sum her up in just a few moments. ... But all those moments make her who she is, really. If it's losing a baby or if it's divorcing her husband, or becoming a queen or now retiring or believing in the fates of the gods and accepting her death, there's -- she's just such a tycoon and such an iconic character. I don't know if I've actually said goodbye to her. I'm still looking at her shield and sword right now in my living room, so she's definitely a big part of my life right now.

Lagertha's death is going to be hard for those viewers you've mentioned that have grown so attached to her and were so inspired by her. Do you have a message for those fans?

Oh, now you're going to make me cry [voice cracks]. It's hard to say. I hope that Lagertha lives on for many years to come and on our TVs and people rewatch and she's an inspiration to all the young girls out there from around the world. The most gratifying thing I have as an actor is when I've had the pleasure to travel to India and the Philippines, and Spain and all around the world, and to have fans from these remote, tiny villages that watch Vikings on their iPhone, without necessarily having running water, and to hear how Lagertha has been an inspiration for them. Whether it's finding their own strength internally or leaving an abusive relationship or really getting the equality they deserve in the workforce as powerful women -- it's just been remarkable how Lagertha has touched so many people around the world, and I hope she continues to do so.

The Vikings spinoff, Vikings: Valhalla, has been picked up by Netflix -- and Michael Hirst has spoken about possibly incorporating some Vikings characters into the show in some way. Any chance fans could see you make a cameo or come back for that series in any way?

I'm a huge fan of Michael Hirst, and I always will be. I consider him family and we've been in touch since [Vikings], and of course, I would love to work with him in one form or another. It doesn't have to be as an actor, it could be as a director or just have him in my life, even as a mentor, he's family to me, and I'm excited for Valhalla to get on Netflix and to live on. It obviously won't be the same original castmembers as Vikings, but I'm glad that there's such a need for it, and there's going to be another spinoff.

Vikings airs Wednesdays at 10 p.m. ET/PT on History. Winnick will direct season 6, episode 8, "Valhalla Can Wait," airing on Jan. 22. Circle back to ETonline for more on her directorial debut.

********************

I have not “let go” of Lagertha yet. It would have been nice to see her reunited with Ragnar in Valhalla. 😭😭😭

#ET #Vikings #Lagertha #Katheryn Winnick #olaedit

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