#its just hard to do full types on old drafts on the phone | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sarasa-cat · 2 years ago

Text

Writing like painting? WTF???

Have been sllllooowwwwwllllyyyyy getting back to writing actual prose fiction, as in writing drafts of actual scenes rather than merely research or outlining or organizing lots of crap.

It is — uh, hmmmmm, uh, welllllll — interesting(tm) after taking such a very long break from Writing. Actual. Scenes.

I have been spending lots of time on other writing activities over the past couple/few years: lots of nonfiction words. And lots of researchy-outliney-organizational-thinkythoughting for all kinds of writing projects, fiction and non.

But writing actual scenes? For fiction???

It has been a while, a very long while. And I feel like a weird sort of rust has covered parts of me and needs to be sanded off and repaired.

But, obviously, this is nothing like when I was first making serious attempts at learning/studying/practicing the Craft of Writing. All of that knowledge is still there in my brain and close enough to active memory that I could probably just write about how to write, or lead a workshop or something. Plus, I think a lot about craft while researching, outlining, organizing, etc etc.

Instead, it really is just the doing — the crafting actual prose-for-fiction — that I have been doing less and less of over recent years.

I wrote a scene late last night that is probably just shy of 300 words. It was the strangest writing experience I have had in a very long while and I don’t know if this is the start of something good-but-different or if it is just a big multi-hour session of sanding off the rust.

The almost-300 words took forfuckingever to write which is NOT Old Me’s standard M.O.

How long? Idk. I picked up my phone and scrolled a few times so hard to say. A couple of hours? A few hours? For 285ish words?????? Not me.

But what was actually really interesting about it was this:

1. I had an idea for a scene I wanted to add to a manuscript (novel length story that, btw, is being drafted completely out of order). I knew exactly where this scene needed to go in the larger timeline. I could SEE portions of the scene in my head like how it would look in a movie. But… prose. I needed prose. And merely describing the scene in my head would be epic fail for this because it was all about feelings — deeply contradictory feelings — being experienced inside a character’s head.

2. Once I was settled down with my laptop and my scrivener binder updated (which took a while actually because of some cloud-based sync nonsense — lots of going back and forth with my ipad, which i often use for just typing words but never for stuff that requires Scrivener’s full capabilities), I knew right where to go in the big manuscript to insert this scene, set up its scrivener meta data, and fill out my custom-made scene meta data (lots of important stuff that helps me organize this mess, especially with multiple POVs and multiple timelines). So, all of that took some time. Not sure how long, but that was part of my writing session.

3. Next, I scrolled down to where the actual SCENE DRAFT goes, cracked my fingers, stared at the blinking cursor for a few minutes while searching for actual english words … and wrote the most god-awful opening line for this scene. Well. It’s a start. I followed it with another equally badly written sentence while consciously turning off the volume on my internal editor. Nope. Just get the words down. I’m good at that. I’ve been known in the past to just blast words at high speed.

4. After writing that second sentence, I realized I needed to do some research for a few objects in the scene to make sure I was getting a few things right about the environment/setting. Opened a browser window. Searched. Carefully tiled the windows with those search results off to one side of my laptop’s screen. Returned to scrivner, back to the scene in progress and….

This is when the weird thing happened.

In the past, which is now the increasingly-distant past, I would just fill my mind with basic ideas and then BANG OUT SCENES, writing down the page at very high speed with my internal editor turned off because I knew that when I did my (endless, lol) editing passes, I would have all the time I needed to not only tighten up the flabby prose but also flesh out the concepts a lot more. You see, in the past, with the exception of dialogue, I tended to under-describe scenes. My editing passes usually increased word count a good deal, sometimes doubling it (!) despite cutting out lots of flabby sentence structure via micro-edits. That was my old M.O. for — omfg — literally millions of words. But then I stopped writing actual prose fiction SCENES for a long while and, well, this weird thing happened.

I WROTE THE 285(ish) WORDS COMPLETELY OUT OF ORDER.

Imagine having a page and just typing a phrase in the middle and then moving the cursor up a bit and sticking a few words here. Then moving the cursor down to the bottom and starting the beginning of a sentence there but just leaving the rest of it hanging. Pushing the cursor back to the middle of an existing paragraph, hitting return a few times to break it into two paragraphs while shoving a few more words in between as a mini paragraph of its own. Etc.

And I just kept on doing this, adding a phrase here. A word there. A couple of short sentences there there and there. Etc. Moving that cursor up and down the page until I looked at it and said, yeah, that feels done. Like done done. Just needs a fast editing pass to remove flabby sentences but otherwise, done and ready to go.

In the moment it felt awkward and inefficient except, honestly, so much of it is tight and punchy and just right and able to stand as is without any editing pass whatsoever.

It also, in the moment, felt a little painful because I, the writer, was having a lot of trouble turning images in my head (and director’s acting directions to my character/actor) into linear prose on a page. It was like — wtf? Have I actually forgotten how to write? O_o

But now, looking back at it today, I realize OMFG. THIS IS HOW (most) PAINTERS PAINT!

Seriously. It was actually very similar to how I (and most artists) paint a painting.

Okay. Let’s say I’m painting an urban landscape and let’s say I am literally sitting at a street corner with a small portable easel and my paintbox. I’ll start by thinking for a moment what I want to capture because there is far too much that is visible to me than what I’m going to paint. Once I’ve made that decision, perhaps with a few tiny thumbnail sketches (hm… sort of like all that scene metadata attached to each scene file in my scrivener binder?!), I’ll select a very neutral colored earth-tone paint and put some of it on my brush but very thinned down (if oil, or heavily watered down if any water-based paint). I’ll quickly sketch out the BIG SHAPES as lightly as possible and scrub in masses for the darkest darks (note: if I am using transparent watercolor, the process is a little different but the mindset is still EXACTLY the same). That gives me a vague outline of a painting.

At that point, I’ll start thinking — with my brain and eyes, NOT my paint brush — about big color shapes and their lightness-vs-darkness (their “value” as artists would say). Once no more than a handful of big color shapes (literally 2 to 5 big color shapes) have been identified, I’ll mix those colors and slap ‘em on my painting-in-progress. Now that I have built a structure — those few sketchy lines in a neutral tone and those big color shapes — I can start fleshing out the painting with a push-pull method. Maybe I decide to blur too edges together to unify some shapes. Maybe I decide to sharpen an edge and bring up contrast to draw your eye to something and pull an area into focus. Maybe I decide to refine some subtle color transitions (mix mix mix, deliberately slap down a brush stroke. Mix mix, very deliberately slap down another brush stroke, mixmixmix, super-deliberately slap another brush stroke, etc). Maybe I grab my tiny pointed round brush and “draw-with-paint” some very specific details. Maybe I grab my big flat brush and blur an area together.

But, you see, there is actually something very deliberate going on in all of this. Every single time I slap down a stroke of paint in a deliberate manner, the moment my brush pulls away from that action, I pull my whole body back and LOOK at the entire painting-in-process. How does it stand as a whole? What do I need to do next? What is this painting-in-progress TELLING ME it needs to have done next?

Like, I might realize that my street scene has too much contrast between the top of a two story building and the sky and that sharp contrast is NOT a good focus for the painting-in-progress. So, I need to fix that. Need to make the top of the building and the sky a more similar value (a more similar lightness or darkness). Or, I might realize, oh shit, there is absolutely nothing going on in this one section of the painting-in-progress and that absence is really distracting so I make a decision to help unify that spot of white canvas/paper with surrounding shapes by extending tone/value into that area. Etc.

The other thing that goes on in my head while painting is keep an eye on the clock (note, after I left aca, I was painting FULL TIME, 7-10 hrs per day, 5 to 6 days per week, often on tight deadlines for a bunch of years). My mind was constantly thinking something like this: I have 3 hours to finish this, but I’m gonna need a couple of breaks and other various shit will come up so let’s call it 2 hours 10 minutes. Thus, I was constantly making trade offs with what the clock was telling me vs what my painting in progress was telling me. And, ya know, BAMN. When the clock says time to finish, I’m slapping on those final details that pull everything into focus and — DONE. Time to clean up, pack up, and go. (Because that’s how a pro is supposed to Get Shit Done. On Time. And trust me, it is hard a first but you learn to do it and then it becomes second nature.)

AND THAT WAS THE WEIRD SHIT I WAS DOING LAST NIGHT WITH WORDS.

Just like, putting a single fucking word 3/4s of the way down the page as a reminder to do something with it later. And then glancing at the clock. And then thinking thinking thinking. Ah, idea! Writes that sentence down. Has a realization after seeing that sentence. Writes down a few more words! Yes! Jumps back up to the second paragraph to fill something in. Etc.

So… I don’t know what I make of this. This is strange as fuck. My brain does not write prose fiction the way it used to and I don’t know if I will go back to who I was — my old M.O. when writing fiction. Also, I don’t know if I will eventually switch back and forth between my old M.O. and whatever the fuck I was doing last night which was just weird.

Also, honestly, I still write nonfiction as just one big linear BLAST OF WORDS that run down the page, to be tightened and edited later. So idk.

Writing is weird.

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

3 notes · View notes

ginkgomoon · 3 years ago

Text

Victor’s Mercury Retrograde Call- Analysis

Saw this particular call and was inspired to do an analysis into what Mercury retrograde is and especially on what Victor’s views on these types of concepts are. Mercury retrograde happens tomorrow on the 29th to June 22rd. So I’d thought it would be fitting to post this beforehand. (And maybe foreshadow upcoming content....) Please enjoy! ❤️

Mercury

Mercury is the communication planet. It also talks about short distance travelling, governing your thirst for knowledge, your wit, negotiating skills, logic and rationality. In the Solar System, it’s the smallest planet (rip Pluto, you're still a planet to me) as well as one of the hottest. The name came from the Roman god Mercurius- the god of commerce, mediator for mortals and messenger of the gods.

Retrograde (Rx)

By definition, “retrograde” means that a planet is moving backwards in the sky. Really, it’s just an optical illusion. It comes from the Latin word “retogradus” meaning “backward step”. As planets orbit the Sun faster than Earth, they sometimes overtake our planet. This is what causes the retrograde motion to occur, making it looks like the planet is moving backwards from our view on Earth.

When planets are in retrograde in astrology, this means that we are stalling in the proceedings of the planet and the energies turn into itself, feeling the effects of one another deeply and more intensely. It can be shy, awkward, but can also progress great depth depending where the placement of it is in your chart.

What is Mercury Retrograde?

Mercury is the most well-known planet that goes into retrograde, normally occurring three to four times a year. Since Mercury rules communication, technology and rationality, people are often fearful when it is in retrograde as it’s known (and blamed) for various disruptions and misunderstandings to occur. But it’s so much more than just that.

When Mercury in retrograde occurs- just like the start of tomorrow, Mercury stops moving backwards on it’s cosmic path reminding us to do the same. This all relates back to the rule of as above, so below. This means whatever happens within our solar system will ultimately affect us here on Earth. (For example, the moon governs our emotions, and since our body is approximately 70% water, why wouldn’t the moon affect us too? But it’s not just us, it’s the moon’s gravitational pull on the oceans, in the same sense, it’s also the moodiness you may feel during full moons!)

Mercury in retrograde gets us to pause our own endeavours in its jurisdiction and review, reassess and clean up what no longer serves us. People from the past may show up, situations can repeat itself and things that have been lost may turn up again. Repressed issues, emotions or situations will come back and we’re forced to deal with them no matter what, requiring us to come up with new resolutions to old problems.

Victor’s Call

Victor: What was that message you just cancelled? MC: Oh sorry about that, I just sent it to the wrong person. Victor: I saw my name. It was about me, wasn’t it? MC: What? No, you must be seeing things! Victor: Really? Was I seeing things too when I saw all the incorrect data and typos in your report? MC: Sorry, I’ll revise that and I’ll have it to you first thing in the morning. Victor: As inept as you are, you never made such basic mistakes such as sending the wrong email or messing up data. What’s wrong with you lately? MC: I don’t know... just have been feeling really off, like I can’t do anything right. Victor: What was that? MC: Oh sorry, I shouldn’t be saying this to you. Victor: Didn’t you complain before about me not being a good listener? I’m listening now. MC: That’s okay save you listening for someone else. Victor: You might as well see you to my face if it’s me you’re going to complain about. MC: No, not complaints, more like constructive criticism you don’t mind, do you? Victor: If I minded, you wouldn’t have this chance. MC: Well, I’ve been in a terrible mood lately and with all this pressure from you... Victor: Terrible mood? Why? MC: Probably because Mercury is in retrograde. Victor: Mercury in retrograde? What the heck is that. MC: That’s when the planet Mercury... never mind, you won’t understand anyway. Victor: Don’t try to cover up for your inability to explain things. MC: Simply put that things happen with Mercury is in retrograde, all right? Victor: So you’re saying... Cosmic events have thrown your mood and work quality out of whack? MC: It may sound unbelievable but it’s true. It affects many people. Recently, my bracelet came somehow undone, I dropped my phone in the sink and just now I was tripped. Let’s not mention work. I don’t even know how I made the errors you pointed out. Victor: Are you sure it’s not because... MC: No, not because I was stupid but because... how do I put it... supernatural forces. It’s like an unseen hand leading you down the road of calamity. Victor: That retrograde stuff it’s all in your head. If you’re feeling unlucky that’s exactly what happens. Just like if you don’t think you can do the job. Don’t be late around by negative thoughts. If you’re truly struggling, take some time off if you feel overwhelmed, cut back on your workload. Oh and please feel free to call me to offer criticisms during Mercury’s retrograde.

Analysis

I did birth chart readings for Kiro and Gavin previously so before anything, I did a little check in on Victor’s birth chart and… wow. I was expecting to see some strong Earth/Capricorn placements, but I didn’t expect to see so many. This man has 5 planets in Capricorn! This means the Victor is dominantly Capricorn ruled- in most of his inner (main) planets as well.

This is relevant because this may influence how he views the concepts of astrology, which enforces the reasons why he doesn’t believe in it and relies on physical/ logic-based evidence, instead. This is compared to Gavin for example, who doesn’t have so many Earth dominant placements and he is all in about astrology and astronomy. But of course, this shouldn’t apply to everyone as other surrounding planets, placements and variables play a huge part in contributing to form their own opinions about these topics.

However, with Victor's dominant Capricorn placements, this manifests his disinterest and dishonesty for Mercury retrograde (and these types of concepts in general), refusing to believe in an idea or thing existing where there’s no physical evidence supporting it. Because to Earth placements, it’s more so the hard work, dedication and effort you put into something that creates the end result, more over a something that you can’t see.

In the call, MC is clearly not in the right mood to argue with Victor and knows that he wouldn’t believe her anyway.

Victor: Mercury in retrograde? What the heck is that. MC: That’s when the planet Mercury... never mind, you won’t understand anyway. Victor: Don’t try to cover up for your inability to explain things. MC: It may sound unbelievable but it’s true. It affects many people. Recently, my bracelet came somehow undone, I dropped my phone in the sink and just now I was tripped. Let’s not mention work. I don’t even know how I made the errors you pointed out. Victor: Are you sure it’s not because... MC: No, not because I was stupid but because... how do I put it... supernatural forces. It’s like an unseen hand leading you down the road of calamity. Victor: That retrograde stuff it’s all in your head.

Victor, MC is just understating the effects of Mercury retrograde. In fact, what MC experienced is probably one of the most mundane things that someone could think of when writing about what happens during retrograde- due to of its true complexity, it's rather hard to write about, perhaps. Though, I’m still incredibly appreciative that they included it in the game. Even more than once!

During Mercury retrograde, some good ideas are to double check your emails before sending them, to wait a bit more rather than sign a major contract, and have backups of whatever you need. (I’m literally backing up my drafts as we speak.) Don’t be afraid of Mercury retrograde because it’s here to help our growth, not to delay it. Ironic, but true!

This year, I was contemplating whether I would starting on posting Tumblr and finally started the day the first Mercury retrograde ended. So, always not a bad thing from the results of retrograde!

#mlqc #love and producer #恋与制作人 #mr love queens choice #mlqc translation #mlqc analysis #mlqc cn #mlqc en #mlqc victor #victor

26 notes · View notes

kyber-kisses · 4 years ago

Text

Something More

Dean Winchester x Reader

Warnings: mentions of character death.

Summary: When you lose your best friend, its hard to move on. . Luckily its not the end for either of you.

A/N: So this is much shorter than my usual fics but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless. feedback is greatly appreciated! Also this is a hot mess that has been sitting in my drafts for eons. . . so its probs garbage.

It was so quiet.

The type of quiet that feels like it’s sleeping into the very marrow of your bones. The type that curls around you and is almost irritating. That type that makes you uneasy. Sure there was the light hum of the radio turned down low and the occasion sound of a page being flipped. . .but your head had blocked those out.

You were drowning. And silence was the suffocater.

With your arms folded over the top of Bobby’s desk, you rested your chin atop your hands, eyes mindlessly locked on the glass in front of it.You had been doing a lot of that lately. Getting lost in your head space. Blocking everything out.

“You keep starin any harder and you might actually melt the ice.” Bobby sighed, breaking the silence from the other side of the desk. The old hunter shifting his way through a pile of books besides him.

“Mmhmm.”

“You gonna actually have a conversation with me, or no?”

“Mmm.”

“Y/N.”

“What Bobby?” You snapped, lifting your head up to find his gaze. “What?”

“We need to talk this out.”

Slumping back in your chair you folded your arms over your chest. “Talk about what?”

Bobby let out a sigh before tossing another book to the side, his pile growing slowly. “It’s been four weeks, Y/N. You’ve barely said a word.”

“What is there to say? my best friend is six feet under and Sam has taken off to parts unknown. That about sums it up.”

“Y/N-“

You shook your head before pushing yourself out of your seat. “No. No. I ain’t having this conversation. Not now.” You didn’t give the hunter any room for more words before you were leaving the study and disappearing down the darkened hallway.

You couldn’t sit here any more. You’d been cooped up in this place for almost month, and when you did leave it was only to wander aimlessly around the junkyard. With Dean gone it felt like there was a massive hole in your life and you felt lost.

It was twenty minutes later that Bobby found you seated a the kitchen table, shoving a handful of clothes into a backpack with much more force than was actually needed.

“So, you finally leavin me too?” He sighed, arms crossed as he leaned against the door frame. You didn’t stop your movements, only letting out a huff.

“Bobby. . . It’s not- it’s not like that. I’m not pulling a Sam. I’ll come back.”

Bobby let out an almost amused and airy laugh. “Yeah, sure. Keep talkin like that.”

“I’m serious. I will come back. I just- I can’t sit around here anymore.” You began, pausing to zip up the pack and throw it over your shoulder.

“Alright, kid. You gotta give me more information than that.”

That was when you felt the first sting of tears collecting in the ducts of your eyes. Letting out a tired sigh you looked up at the old hunter, the exhaust and pain clear on your features. “Bobby, I don’t sleep.” You breathed, voice shaky. “I don’t eat. And it’s so quiet here. Each second I sit here, I’m just drowning in grief. I need to occupy myself with something. Even if that means hunting.”

“By yourself?”

“Yes, by myself.”

“You sure that’s a good idea?”

Another sigh. “You know, probably not. But I’m not gonna sit here anymore and drink myself into a stupor.” You slid your other arm through the empty strap. “It might help me work through this.”

There was silence for a moment before he slowly nodded. “Well, if that’s what you want. But promise me you’ll check in every once and awhile?”

“I will.” You promised before stepping across the old floors of the kitchen and pulling him into a quick hug. “If Sam calls, tell me.”

“Will do, Kid.”

And just like that you were giving him one last look and disappearing out the side door of the house, the dark swallowing you almost instantly.

*. *. *. *. *. *.

Three months later

Spitting the excess water out of his mouth, Dean reached for the hand towel lying untouched on Bobby’s kitchen counter, wiping his face dry.He had been back less than a day and had already been attacked by some unknown force and the man he called a father figure. Resurrection was not treating him easy to say the least.

“I’m not a demon either, Bobby.”

“Can’t be too careful.” He shrugged, setting the flask down on the closest flat surface. When he originally heard knocks on the front door now a days the only person he expected it to be was you. (Then again, you usually just walked in.)He didn't expected to see a dirt covered Dean Winchester smiling at him on his stoop.

The hunter nodded, a heavy silence falling over them as green eyes darted around the otherwise empty house, as if looking for something.

“They ain’t here.”

“What?”

“You’re looking for Sam and Y/N aren’t you?”

Tossing the towel back down, the hunter shrugged. “I mean, yeah. I guess I just expected them to be here.”

Dean had tried calling both yours and Sam’s phones when he first got topside, but there had been nothing, leaving him only with an uneasy feeling in his belly. He had missed your voice. He was hoping to hear it sooner rather than later.

“Well, I haven’t talked to Sam in months.” Bobby sighed, crossing his arms as he leaned back against the table.

“Why the hell not?” Eyes widening, Dean sent him a bewildered look. “Bobby you shoulda been lookin after him.”

“Well excuse me. But after you. . .you know, bit it. He took off. As far as I know he’s fine.”

Dragging a hand down his face, Dean let out a deep sigh. “. . . And Y/N?”

Another shrug. “She comes by every once and awhile, she’s been burying herself in hunting.” He paused, unsure whether to fill Dean in on everything.

“What?”

“She hasn’t been doing well. She shakes it off each time she comes to visit but it’s easy to see.” Bobby explained, moving to the fridge and rifling through it for a couple of beers.

“What are you talking about?”

“After you died. . . Dean, it was like she became a husk of her former self. She didn’t talk, she barely slept. Refused to eat. It was bad.”

Dean took a deep breath, trying to wrap his mind around what he was hearing. “And what happened?”

“One night she just packed her bag and took off. Said she couldn’t just sit around here anymore drowning in grief.”

Of course you did. Of fucking course. You never were one to sit by and just let things happen. You were similar to Dean in that aspect, choosing to instead bury yourself in work rather than face the issue head on.

“You should have stopped her.”

“Oh and done what? Acted like a damn babysitter? That would go over well.” Bobby huffed, cracking the cap off of the second beer and handing it over.

“I know, I just- she shouldn’t be alone.”

“She wanted to be, Dean. I wasn’t gonna stop her.”

“Alright, fine.”raising his hands in defeat, Dean winced. The gash from where Bobby has cut him with a knife minutes earlier stinging from the sudden movement.

Bobby let out another tired sigh before setting down his beer bottle and walking off down the hall. “I’ll get you some bandages for that.”

*. *. *. *. *. *.

Pulling into the auto-salvage after a two week long hunt, you let out a groan at the sight of another car in your usual spot.

“Dammit Bobby, another car? Seriously?”

The old man already had enough of them as it was just sitting around the place, now there was another one. . . And in your spot no less. Throwing your own vehicle into park behind it, you gathered up the groceries you had promised Bobby you would pick up and threw open the drivers door.

Your boots crunched against the dry gravel of the driveway as you made you way towards the side door into the kitchen, pocketing the keys with one hand before reaching to open the door and stepping inside.

“Alright you old man, I got those fuckin groceries you asked f—“ your words died quickly on your lips as you froze, looking up from your bags.

No. No you were imagining things. You were sleep deprived and needed food that was all.

You blinked.

Nope. He was still there. Okay. Cool, cool, cool-

Dean froze right along with you, his eyes widening as he pushed himself up from his spot leaning agasint the table. He could feel the corners of his lips turning up at the sight of you. Your flannel was tied around your waist, and your hair. . .your hair was shorter than the last time he saw you. But your eyes were still the same, bold and full of life- even if you were staring at him like he had sprouted a second head.

“Y/N.”

And then you were moving. The bags dropped from your hands and before Dean could fully register your movements you were pulling a small throwing knife out of your boot, pulling your arm back and throwing it with all the force you had before closing the space between the two of you with firm strides. He ducked quickly, the soft thunk of the blade lodging in the wall somewhere behind him being heard over scattering groceries.

“Y/N! Wait-“ his hands went up but not before your fist collided with his nose. He saw stars for a moment before his vision tried to focus once more.

“Fucking shapeshifter!”

And then he was on the ground and you were stradling his chest, fist raising again. “ damn it, Y/N! Stop, stop it’s really me!” Attempting to shield his face from your knuckles he held up his hands.

“Don’t you dare fucking use his voice!” You growled, free hand moving to his throat. “I may not have a silver knife on me right now, but that won’t stop me from choking the life out of you.”

“Would you fucking stop it! It’s me!”

“No! Dean is dead! My Dean is dead, you're just some sick imposter!”

“Good god, woman-“ Dean wheezed, hands wrapping around your wrists in attempt to pull you off.

“What the hell?”

There was a commotion from somewhere behind you and then two firm hands were forcefully yanking you off the monster. You struggled against his grip.

“Bobby, let me go! He’s a shifter, he’s a fuckin shifter!”

“No, no I already checked.” Bobby breathed, continuing to hold you back. “It’s not a shifter. It’s rally him, Y/N. It’s really Dean.”

“No-“ you struggled more, unfortunately feeling your energy start to give. “No. Deans dead. He’s dead.” You could feel the tears starting to burn as you shook your head.

“Damn it, kid. I’m tellin ya, it’s him. I did all the tests.”

There was another moment of struggle before you slowly gave up, prying yourself from Bobby’s grip. Your eyes never left Dean, who was still recovering on the floor. He wiped the blood away from his nose with the back of his hand before slowly sitting up.

“Was the choking really necessary?” Looking up at you he had hoped to find a look of relief maybe even a smile. . . Or even get a hug. But all you did was stare him down for another moment before storming off back out the side door, slamming the screen door with much more force than necessary.

“Okay. . . Wasn’t the reunion I was hopin for.” Dean groaned, pushing himself off the floor as he rubbed at his throat. “Has she always been that strong?”

“You best go find her before she comes back with a bat or something.” Bobby joked, only to get a glare from the older Winchester.

“You’d think she’s be happy to see her best friend after him being dead for four months.” Grumbling, Dean made his way towards the door, using his hip to push it open.

It didn’t take long to find you. Your back was towards him as you leaned against the trunk of one of the many cars in the auto salvage. Just beyond the yard the sun was beginning to set behind the tree line, the rays giving you an almost golden trim.

Fourty years. Forty years of being in hell, and you were the first beautiful thing he had seen since coming back. . . Even if you were for some reason mad at him. He paused in his spot for a moment, suddenly remembering how many things he had wanted to tell you before his time ran out. Things he never got the chance to.

“Is that your ugly ass car in my spot?” You spoke suddenly, not turning around to look at him.

“. . .Okay, first of all- not my car. I found it. Secondly, I didn’t know that was your spot.” Shaking his head he continued moving forward until he was siding up next to you.

Your jaw clenched as you looked back towards the horizon. You didn’t mean to be angry at him, truly. You were ecstatic that he was back. You wanted nothing more than to throw your arms around him and tell him you missed him.

But you were angry.

Angry at him for selling his soul, angry at him for leaving without telling you. Angry at him for emotionally scarring you-

That’s when you suddenly spun and your palm connected with his cheek with a loud crack, the hunters own hand flying up to the already red welt.

“Ow! What the fuck was that for?”

“That was for dying! That was for you leaving!!” You snapped, eyes blurry with tears. “You left to go find Lilith with Sam and you didn’t tell me! You didn’t even leave me a note or anything!” Your voice cracked. “I came back from a supply run that night and found the place empty! Bobby was the only one to tell me anything! And by the time I got to where you were— you were- you-“ you stumbled on the words.

That’s when Dean felt his heart break. You were right. You had every reason be mad. He took off on the night his year ran up and he didn’t tell you. But he only did that because she didn’t want you there when it happened. He couldn’t put you through that pain.

“You’re right, you’re right.” He sighed, nodding slightly before pulling you into his arms. “I’m so sorry. I should have said something. I’m sorry for putting you through that.”

You struggled against him for a moment before giving in, practically melting into his arms. You didn’t realize how much you had missed his hugs. They were so nice. Warm. Comfortable. Safe.

“Why’d you leave like that? Why didn’t you tell me? I thought best friends were supposed to tell each other everything.” You mumbled into the fabric of his jacket, his hand smoothing over your hair as he exhaled.

“I knew what I was walking into. I didn’t want you there. I didn’t want you to see that.” He admitted, feeling you clutch him tighter.

“You’re an asshole, you know that?”

“Yeah. Yeah I know.”

“I’m sorry for almost killing you back there.”

“its fine. . .But you do have a killer right hook by the way.” He chuckled, praying you would laugh. You didn't.

You let yourself stay in his arms for another second before pulling back to look at him. Fucking bastard. Showing up here after being dead for months and then making you go all soft again. Who did he think he was?

You raised a palm again, Dean holding up his own in defense, ready for your strike- and then he felt it tug on the collar of his shirt and was caught off guard when you pulled him to your level and pressed your lips against his. For an instant Deans brain short circuited and he found himself frozen before hesitantly kissing back. Unfortunately you pulled away much too soon for his liking.

“And what the hell was that for?”

“That was for not staying dead.” You paused. “And for being a pretty bastard who stole my heart a long time ago.” This time your words much quieter.

“What?”

“Oh you heard me you gorgeous asshole. Don’t act like you didn’t.”

This time it was Deans turn to twist his fingers into the fabric of your flannel, yanking you against his chest. His lips found yours again, this time deepening the kiss.

“And here I thought my feelings where all one sided-“ he mumbled against your lips, arm wrapping around your waist.

“Well, you thought wrong Winchester.”

And in that moment, for the first time in forty years- Dean Winchester smiled. He was home, and he was happy.

SPN Taglist:

@familybusinesswritingbro@a–1–1–3 @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce @music-is-all-i-need @agusdoti @callmekda @jordangdelacruz @orphiceseum @andthatsmyworld @marvelfangirllll @fandomnerdespressourself @gladiosamicitias @castielsangelsx @lxstgxrl-ck @tis-i-the-wayward-idgit @amendoise @phoenixuprisingsstuff @ericalynne007 @kaitlaitlaitl @totallyluciferr @supernaturalenchanted @dolanfivsosxox@supernatural-ocs @emptycanvasposts @akshi8278 @defenderrosetyler @heyyy-hey-babyyy @supernaturalenchanted@emptycanvasposts @vicmc624 @all-will-be-well-love@busy-bee-angel-misska @starsandmidnightblue @lilulo-12fanfiction @beanie-beebo @xoxoaudreymarie @greenarrowhead @mrsjenniferwinchester @mysticalfuncollectorus @brebolin @biahblue @noahandthegiraffe @hhiggs

#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester one shot #dean winchester #spn x reader #SPN #bi-danvers writing #dean winchester fluff

109 notes · View notes

snowdice · 4 years ago

Text

Finding the Time to Study Fic 2 [Day 42]

Here is my starting post for today’s study break stories session. See this post for more details and feel free to send me asks to keep me going! It’s been a lot of fun so far! I will reblog this post with the story as I write them today. I’ll be constantly looking for ideas of times and places for Janus to have missions, so feel free to send in any you can think of at any point!

If you are a new follower or just don’t want all of these posts clogging your dash, please feel free to block the tag “study break stories” as all posts and voting about it will go there. You can still see the finished product of the story even if you are blocking that tag as I will not tag the edited chapters with “study break stories” but with the tag “folds in paper.” See edited chapters below. None edited chapters are under the cut.

My Masterpost Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15

I also have a playlist on youtube (because Spotify didn’t have one of the songs I wanted). It’s short, and not really for serious listening, but I had fun with it.

Gotta finish my first draft of my research paper today, so let’s go!

Arc II What We Do to Each Other

Chapter 16:

As it would turn out, Janus and Virgil did not get in trouble for hooking up the old phone to Virgil’s integrator, mostly because it wasn’t really a mistake on their part. The phone cleared all virus checks that the tech people both from the university and the TPI ran on it. The phone should have been clean and should not have caused an issue.

In fact, they were still trying to pin down the code on the general university server. They could tell that something was mucking about on the system but what or how was a mystery. This also meant that there was no telling what information had been compromised and considering how many things Silver Mountain had its hands in, that was… a bit worrying.

Another worrying thing was there was suddenly more activity of late at the TPI. There were more time distortions popping up every day. Usually they would be few and far in between. There had been 3 total recorded the year before, but over 12 in the last week. Some of them were fake like the one Janus had investigated, but some of them were real. It painted a distressing picture and also was a drain on their resources. Khalid was actually looking to advertise positions to hire new recruits which was something she rarely did as she liked to keep appointments to the TPI in house.

They’d even loosed the number of field agents needed for each mission and Janus and Remus had been splitting up just to get everything done. Today, he and Remus had thankfully only two missions scheduled for the day.

“Are we going together or separate today?” Janus asked Remus.

“Think they’ll burn me at the stake for being a witch if I go alone to either of them?” Remus asked.

“I don’t know. Probably. I think we’re getting a bit late into the 1700s for that in Cuba, but I have no idea about Mesopotamia.”

“Let’s just go together. I did not like almost drowning yesterday because I was the only stranger in town when the weather was going wonky.”

“Surely it isn’t because you opened your mouth. Ever.” Janus said dryly.

“How was I supposed to know he was the local clergyman’s son?”

Janus rolled his eyes. “On second thought,” he said, pushing a button on his desk to choose Cuba as he next mission, and standing up. “I don’t want you coming with me.” Yet, he did not protest when Remus also signed up for the Cuba mission and he waited for him by the office door before going to talk to Rhi.

Rhi was a bit frazzled when which meant quite a bit as she was usually incredibly put together. Remus didn’t even seem inclined to tease her today.

“Okay,” she said once they’d closed the door behind them. She flipped through some documents on her desk. “Picani and Clockson. Camaguey Cuba 1755. Do you know Cuba?”

“Uh,” Janus said. “Yeah?”

“Like you’re reading the things, right? I don’t have to babysit you, right? You got it? The Seven Year War was happening, but it won’t affect you much as it hasn’t really hit Cuba. It’s the middle of the Camaguey Carnival. Everyone will be everywhere and there will be chaos so as long as you don’t really fuck up you should be fine. Um…apparent races.” She looked up at them and studied them each for a moment as thought looking at them for the first time despite having known them for years. “It’ll work. Go to costuming.”

“Shouldn’t we…” Janus said, “sign things?”

“…Yep,” she said, fiddling with her desktop and then sending documents over to their side to sign.

Janus and Remus both did before sending them back.

“Great. Good.” She stood and grabbed some things from behind her. “You can go.” She sat back down as they took their things and Janus noticed a message pop up on her desk. She looked up at Remus looking exhausted. “What?” she asked.

“Just open it,” Remus said.

Rhi tapped it and a photo opened.

“I got her a new mouse toy!” Remus said happily as Rhi looked at the picture of Diesel Fuel attacking a cloth mouse.

“That is… appreciated Agent Clockson,” Rhi said. “Now get out.”

They did, leaving to get their costumes on and checked. Costuming was just as busy and frazzled as Rhi had been and they actually had to wait for decon because there’d been a mix up with the agents leaving before them. They landed in Cuba without issue. Janus could already hear the festival in full swing outside the small building they’d were in. Remy was standing there with a very not time appropriate mug of coffee.

“Sue me,” Remy said when Janus raised an eyebrow at it. “Please just… get in and out without causing trouble. Seriously. I don’t want to have to deal with that on top of everything else.”

“We’ll do our best,” Janus assured.

Remy pulled his sunglasses down to look at him. He looked exhausted. “God please do more than your best.”

Janus nodded tightly. “We’ll be in and out,” he said, already glancing at his timepiece. It had been disguised as a golden bracelet which made it a bit harder to actually use, but wrist watches wouldn’t be invented for more than a century, so they’d have to make do. “The time distortion, if that’s what it is, should be in the middle of town. Let’s go.”

He and Remus exited the building onto the packed city street.

Janus was immediately bombarded with all types of sights, sounds, and smells. There were many colorful articles of clothing and costumes as people went every which way along the street talking to other members of their community, playing instruments, and dancing. There was the sound of people speaking Spanish, still mostly almost pure Castilian Spanish with perhaps a bit of influence from Taino as the Haitian revolution had yet to push the Creole language over to Cuba. People must have been hard at work cooking different dishes for the carnival as many different spices wafted through the air. It was sticky hot considering it was the middle of June in the tropics and Janus was immediately sweating despite the temperature appropriate clothing he’d been outfitted with.

He glanced around their immediate area, just scoping out the crowds. His eyes were immediately drawn to one person near them.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” he said out loud when he saw Pat. Remus looked in the direction Janus was.

Even if Janus didn’t recognize him the moment he laid eyes on him, he probably still would have ended up staring as he was the only person in the area who clearly did not know how to do the dance he was attempting.

Remus snorted and Janus shook his head in secondhand embarrassment. “Well, would you look whose boyfriend’s here,” he said to Janus. Make that firsthand embarrassment. “Has anyone told him the Mambo wasn’t invented until the 1900s and also that’s not how you do it?”

Chapter 17

Pat stopped dancing the moment he saw Janus approaching him, but he still bobbed cheerfully ( and unrhythmically) to the music. “Hi Janus,” he said pleasantly.

“You just have to rub it in, huh?”

There was a flash of confusion across his face, but then he smiled. “Well, I know where in our relationship you are. How was France?”

“You’re a bastard.”

“You stole the phone,” he laughed.

“You stole the bomb,” Janus countered, “and you wanted me to steal the phone. You booby trapped it.”

“No,” Pat correct, putting a finger up. “We have security on my phone because in high school I once forgot it in the school locker room and long story short, the three of us ended up in a lake. So, then Lo made sure I always had some sort of tracker on it. When I started time traveling, he updated it and when I met you we updated it again in case there was ever an opportunity like that. Lo calls it using our weaknesses to our advantage.”

“He’s a bastard too,” Janus growled.

Pat just laughed.

“Is someone talking about me?” Remus asked, stepping over to them. Janus rolled his eyes.

“Oh,” Pat said, blinking at Janus’s partner for a moment. “Remus.” He hesitated slightly. “How are you doing?”

“Me?” Remus asked. “Uh, I’m doing good. A little stressed out with work, but fine.”

“Good,” Pat said with just a little too much heartfulness to it.

“What?” Janus asked, eyes narrowed at Pat. “What is that?”

“What is what?” Pat asked. He met Janus’s eyes briefly and it made panic surge up Janus’s spine because the look Pat was sending him wasn’t one that said he was playing dumb. It was a warning.

Oh, Janus did not like this. That look told Janus Pat had some foreknowledge that he absolutely could not tell Janus about without messing up the timeline spectacularly. This was why this mess the two of them were mixed up in was so bad, but it seemed Janus did not have much of a choice when it came to Pat.

Despite how bad of an idea he knew it was, he still wanted to push, because whatever Pat was hiding could be very, very bad and it had to do with Remus. There were so many reasons Pat could be acting like that around Remus, but the worst ones were definitely the ones on his mind. Death, injury, illness. They were all possible especially in their line of work and especially with how time was being screwed with right now. And Pat knew. He knew exactly what the answer was, and oh did Janus want to push.

Experience knowing what worse things could come out of having foreknowledge made Janus bite his tongue.

“So, what are you two doing here,” Pat asked, and Janus unhappily let him change the subject.

“Oh, like you don’t know,” Janus replied.

“I don’t know,” Pat said innocently.

“There’s another time distortion,” Janus said, “and while you didn’t know what it was the last time I saw you, I’m pretty sure you do now.”

“Oh, I didn’t know there was a time distortion here. I can help you if you like,” he offered sweetly.

“Oh, yeah, sure. Then why are you here?”

“I wanted to see if I could find the Flying Dutchman,” Pat told him.

“And so you went to Camaguey?”

“Uh huh.”

“One of the farthest places from the ocean in Cuba?”

“Is it?”

“I don’t trust you.”

Pat just shrugged. “Well, if you don’t want my help finding the time distortion, I’ll just be on my way then.”

“Wait,” he said when Pat went to turn away. Pat paused. Janus turned to Remus. “Remus, do you think he’s bullshitting me so I let him wander off and do whatever the hell he’s doing, or do you think he’s bullshitting me into letting him come with us.”

“Hmm,” Remus said, looking Pat up and down. Janus could immediately tell he wasn’t going to get any helpful answer. “Well, if we’re going with the how much do I get to see his, admittedly very sexy, ass criteria.” Janus pinched the bridge of his nose. “Letting him leave now means instant gratification and a nice full image when he turns away. However, letting him go with us means many more opportunities to get a glimpse, but they’d probably just be glimpses. So, yeah that’s a tough call.”

“You didn’t even bother to give me an actual hidden suggestion with that bullshit,” Janus groaned. He glanced at Pat only to see him hiding his very red face in his hands. Janus blinked. “Oh,” he said. “You got him, Remus.” Janus was surprised. He’d expected a bit more tenacity for someone with Pat’s personality. Of course, Janus was used to Remus, so that perhaps had some effect. Pat made a muffled distressed sound behind his hands and Janus raised an eyebrow. “You really got him.”

Pat flapped one hand around while still using the other to completely hide his face. “It’s just. His face. Saying that. Is weird.”

Janus could not say that he didn’t feel a slight spark of joy at seeing Pat flustered. After all, Pat’s weapon of choice had often been flirting with Janus in the past. However, he still smacked Remus on the shoulder when it looked like he was about to continue with something likely far more inappropriate. “We are here for a reason,” he reminded. He turned to consider Pat and squinted at him. “You’re coming with us, I’ve decided. I don’t want to let you out of my sights. Don’t,” he said empathically turning to Remus as the man opened his mouth once more.

Pat had mostly recovered, though his cheeks were just a bit pink still. “Yeah,” he said. “I’ll go with you. Where do we start?”

Janus glanced at his timepiece. “It’s not showing up on our trackers yet.”

“It messed with your tracker last time,” Pat pointed out.

“I know,” Janus said. “Which means it could be another fake one or whatever is causing it hasn’t started yet. If things start going wrong, but it still doesn’t show on our radar, it’s almost certainly a fake one, but some of the fake ones haven’t blocked our technology.”

“Here, I can check,” Pat said.

“Please don’t pull out an iPhone,” Janus begged.

Pat stuck out his tongue at him, and then smiled. He reached for the bracelet on his wrist and twisted it back and forth a few times before pressing his palms together. He glanced around them quickly to make sure no one around them was watching and then peeled apart his palms like he was miming reading a book.

“What the fuck is that, and how do I get one?” Remus asked immediately. It was innocuous, whatever it was. If someone from this time caught a glimpse of the display, they’d likely assume it was a trick of the light, but staring right at it, Janus could tell it was a map of the surrounding areas with a softly glowing blue light marking their current location. Janus could see no screen or origin of a hologram. It looked like the image was drawn onto the man’s palms, but as he watched, the image shifted to zoom out.

“There doesn’t seem to be anything major yet,” Pat said wiggling his fingers a bit. The display changed slightly to some sort of colorful overlay Janus did not understand. Pat hummed. “Did you two come from that building recently?” he asked nodding at it.

“Yes,” Janus replied. “How do you know?”

“There’s sometimes a slight temperature change when people time travel,” Pat explained. “I can read it on here.” He tilted his head. “There also seems to be a big enough temperature change in a church a few blocks away that could indicate time travel. Want to check it out?”

“We might as well,” Janus agreed.

“And if it’s nothing, we can get drunk on the communion wine!”

“He’s going to get immediately struck by lightning,” Janus said.

Chapter 18

“If we see anyone,” Janus said as they entered the church. “You keep your mouth shut. Do you understand me? Remus, do you understand me?”

Remus immediately turned to Pat. “You know, I didn’t grow up Catholic,” he said to Pat who looked at him in confusion. “So the first time I ever entered a Catholic church, you can’t blame me for being a little confused about the whole cabinet thing with a wall between them. After all, everyone was singing about glory to god and what not. So I…”

Janus slapped him. “This is why you were almost burned at the stake yesterday.”

“Excuse you,” Remus said, putting his hand over his heart. “I was almost drowned.”

“You were almost drowned?” Pat asked, his voice seeming legitimately distressed.

Remus shrugged a smile on his face that caused a Pavlovian migraine to start up behind Janus’s eyes. “It’s one of the hazards of the jobs, and really it would have all been worth it if I’d actually gotten to drown in that man’s…”

“We’re in a church!” Janus cut him off switching from Spanish to Swahili in the hopes that no random passersby would be able to understand him in this time and place. “Don’t talk about lewd sex things. Don’t talk about sex at all. It’s a Catholic church!”

Remus continued to speak in Spanish with no regard for anything. “But not talking about lewd sex things takes away 3/4ths of my personality,” he pouted.

“More like 9/10th,” Janus grumbled, “and the other 1/10th is just normal stupid.”

“Hey, you shouldn’t be mean,” Pat scolded, in fucking English for some reason, “but Remus, honey, you probably shouldn’t be saying things like that right now.”

“No, no, he has a point,” Remus said switching to English.

“He’s my partner, I have the right to call him stupid,” Janus insisted.

“And I love you too!” Remus said in Greek because he was really, truly, stupid.

Pat looked between the two, but then seemed to accept it, dropping the concerned expression for a slightly amused one. “If you say so.”

“Can I… help you?” A voice asked. All three of them whipped around to see a young boy looking at them and seeming very confused. Which was fair considering that to his ears, they’d just been speaking nonsense.

“We’re here to pray!” Remus claimed, then he turned to wink at Pat and said under his breath in Swahili, “to that ass.” Pat went immediately bright red again, which was doubtlessly Remus’s aim. Janus subtlety stepped on his foot while smiling at the boy.

“Oh,” the boy said. “Okay.” Thankfully, he didn’t seem interested in questioning the random strangers in front of him further. “I’m going to go back to the celebration now.”

Janus smiled at him. “Have fun,” he said. He waited for the boy to leave through the front door before slapping Remus on the back of the head.

“Ow!” he whined sounding far too pained for how hard Janus had actually hit him.

Janus rolled his eyes. “Let’s just start investigating,” he said.

“Sure, sure, you never let me have any fun,” Remus said, pulling up his wrist and spinning the golden bracelets on his arm. “Hmm…” he said.

“What?” asked Pat.

“Either I put on the wrong jewelry this morning… or my timepiece isn’t working.”

“Well, then I’m guessing we’re in the right place,” Janus said. He turned to Pat. “Your stuff still working?”

Pat brought up whatever device was on his hands. “Yeah,” he said, “and it looks like something is just starting.” Just as he said it, there was a violent crash of thunder.

“Well,” Janus said. “We should probably find the source and soon. Which way?”

Pat glanced around himself and then motioned with his wrist. Suddenly there was a 3D display of the church in front of them.

Janus could see immediately where the problem had to originate. There was a swirling mass of some sort of energy centered at the top of the bell tower of the church. As he watched, he saw the picture of the church glitch out a bit. He had a bad feeling about that.

“Is there something wrong with your display?” he asked, or more hoped.

Pat shook his head slowly. “I don’t think so…” The room seemed to shift suddenly underneath their feet. It felt a bit like time travel, but also wrong. The picture on the display flickered harder, part of the building fracturing and dissolving before appearing back in place. The room settled after a moment, but Janus’s stomach did not.

“Whatever is going on,” Janus said, “We need to stop it right now.”

Pat nodded. “The quickest way up would be that way,” Pat said pointing. The display closed as he did.

“Then, let’s go,” Janus said.

The world was eerily calm as they all started off in the direction Pat had pointed out. In fact, it was almost too quiet.

“Where’s the nearest window?” Janus asked when they came out on the second floor.

Pat glanced at his hand. “There should be a couple a few feet that way.” Janus nodded and left them standing there. When he glanced out of the first window he came to, it appeared to be night. Yet, when he walked to the next window, he saw daylight.

26606

“Time is fracturing,” Janus informed them. “We need to be careful.” This time distortion was much more intense than any of the other ones the agency had been tracking down over the last few months. It had also come on much faster. Usually there was some time between when the time distortion began and it started having extreme effects on the environment. He was suddenly very glad that he and Remus had not split up today. He was even glad for Pat’s company, no matter how aggravating he may be sometimes. Not to mention, he was glad for the man’s technology that seemed to circumvent whatever was blocking Janus and Remus’s timepieces.

He backed away from the windows and returned to the others.

“Whatever you do,” Janus said. “Don’t let anyone be in a room alone.”

“I know what time fractures are this time,” Pat promised.

“It was as much for the idiot as it was for you,” Janus said.

“You accidently bring a bubonic plague infested rat to 900BC one time and you never live it down.”

“I’d say I should put a leash on you, but you’d twist it into something disgusting.”

“Probably,” Remus agreed.

“Where next?” Janus asked, ignoring him.

“That way,” Pat said.

They walked together to the door he’d indicated. “Please don’t be bullshit,” Janus prayed. He opened the door and immediately got bowled over by a stream of salt water.

Chapter 19

Janus landed flat on his back, a wave of water splashing over him and then quickly retreating, but still leaving him absolutely drenched. He sighed, looking at the ceiling. “Don’t,” he warned, “say a word.”

Of course, he was with the two most impossible people in all of space and time, so neither of them headed him.

“I thought you said we were far from the ocean, Jan,” Pat said.

“Yeah, Janny,” Remus immediately jumped on board because he was an asshole. “I thought we were far from the ocean!”

“Maybe I’ll achieve my goal of finding the Flying Dutchman after all!”

“Ooo ghost pirates! I’ve never gotten to fight ghost pirates before. Any good with a sword Patty?”

“My friend has a sword and he let me use it before… but all I did was cut a hole in our couch, and then Lo was mad at us.”

“I mean… just pretend the pirates are a couch and we’ll be good!”

Janus slowly sat up. There was still water on the floor and every so often a wave would crash into the room as though the door frame signaled the edge of a beach. Pat reached down to offer him a hand up and Janus slapped it away.

“Rude!” Pat claimed, but his eyes were alight with mischief.

Janus shoved himself to his feet on his own power.

“You deserve it,” he hissed. “For all of this!” he waved his arms around.

“Water you talking about. I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“You are on thin ice.”

He looked down at his feet with a contemplative expression. “Looks like water to me.”

“Arg!” Janus spat, throwing up his arms.

“I don’t sea why you’re screaming, Janus.”

“Yeah,” Remus contributed. “You seem overally emotional to me.”

“Yes, yes,” Pat replied. “Very em-ocean-al.”

“One may even say he’s pretty salty.”

“I know where you live, Remus,” Janus reminded.

“Alright, alright Remus, reel it in,” Pat said.

Remus opened his mouth to respond, but Janus cut him off. “Why don’t the two of you dedicate all of that brain power to figuring out how to cross the literal ocean in the next room,” Janus suggested hotly.

And it was a literal ocean. If one ignored where they were and the fact that there was a staircase climbing out of said ocean about 80 or so meters away. There was sand being washed up across the door frame and a seagull flying in the distance. At least it looked like a nice day in the room with the way the sun was glinting off the water. At least it wasn’t storming there. Yet.

Janus’s head throbbed with the thought of what had to be happening with the time distortion to plop a piece of the ocean into one single room in a church. Usually they’d be calling the TPI for backup or at least for information, but that was a loss. Even if they tried to get out of range of whatever was disrupting their timepieces, time was so unstable, they’d very possibly get dumped somewhere dangerous. It was better to just get to the time distortion as quickly as possible and stop it.

“Hmm,” Remus said. “I wonder how deep it is. Do you think there are man eating sharks in the water? Or giant jelly fish? Remember that one time I got stung by a jelly fish and almost died?”

“Yes,” Janus said, lips pursed, “and it was entirely your fault.”

“I just looked so squishy!” he declared, “I didn’t know it was a murder blob.”

“I think I have a boat,” Pat said.

They both turned to him. “What?” Janus asked. He was looking at his hands and just hummed in response to Janus’s question. The next thing he knew, Pat made some motion with his hand and a yellow raft started to autofill from his palm. “...Why?” Janus asked.

“I… recently started carrying a wilderness survival pack in my time device.”

“I’m not going to question it. It’s better than swimming.” By the time the raft was completely deployed, they’d all been shoved into the walls by it.

“Huh, on second thought. I probably should have put the raft in the room before blowing it up.”

“You think?” asked Janus.

Pat glared at him over it. “I never really thought about how to open it in a narrow second floor corridor.”

“Just try to shove it through the door without popping it.”

“Why are you looking at me?!” asked Remus.

They managed to somehow squeeze the raft through the door into the other room after a few minutes.

Pat squinted at the tottering raft he was holding to the door frame. “After you,” he offered.

Janus glared at him.

“You’re already soaked!” Pat defended himself.

Janus sighed and very carefully climbed into the raft. It tottered dangerously, but he didn’t immediately fall out, so that was a plus. The other two of them slowly also climbed onto the raft with him. They then sat in it for a few seconds. “Is there an oar?” Janus asked.

“Oh right!” Pat did something else with the device in his hands and an oar slowly unfolded from his hand.

“Seriously, I want one of those,” Remus said.

“Let’s just get out of here,” Janus said, snatching the oar. The staircase luckily wasn’t too far away. They probably could have swam it if necessary, but the raft gave them some modicum of protection. Everything seemed to be going in their favor, which of course meant everything was about to go incredibly wrong.

They were about halfway across the water when the entire world around them rumbled.

“…I hope that was a giant jellyfish,” Remus said.

It was unfortunately not a jellyfish or any sea creature at all. The world around them fractured, the ocean seeming to split right down the middle so the water right of the staircase was 6 feet higher than on the left. The sky flashed red and yellow before the water split completely like Moses splitting the Red Sea.

There was a millisecond as the split widened until it was only a few feet from them, to decide whether when they landed they wanted to be on the side with the water or on the side without it. On one hand, going towards the side without water could mean they fell to their deaths or the water crashed back down on top of them when it settled. On the other hand, if the fissure was closing or shifting to a new area, it was very possible that they’d end up trapped in the middle off the ocean with no connection to the church.

Well, the best chance to actually get to where they were going was probably the side without water. It seemed everyone had the same idea at once because as he grabbed for both of them, they both grabbed for him and they all went tumbling off the raft into what could have very well been a bottomless pit.

Janus learned after a couple of seconds of free fall, that it was definitely not a bottomless pit. He landed hard, flat on his back and saw stars. The next moment something landed on top of him, squeezing all of the air out of his lungs.

Something else fell half on top of his legs.

“Ow,” Pat said from near his ear.

“Yeah, well you’re the one on the top,” Janus groaned though his teeth.

“Wow, I never took you for a bottom, Janus,” Remus said from near his feet. Janus kicked up his legs into whatever part of him was on top of Janus and he gave an “oof.”

Pat snorted a bit and Janus glared at his… shoulder? He shifted around a bit so he was less thrown across Janus and more just on top of him. Janus blinked. There was a wooden ceiling above them, so that was a good sign, though there was also a giant dark hole of nothingness directly above them which was not as good.

Janus moved slightly. He could tell he was going to be bruised later, but he didn’t seem seriously injured. “We should,” he started, but was interrupted as the hole above them pulsated and dumped a bunch of sea water.

Pat shrieked as they were all drenched with the chilly water. Luckily, they seemed to be on higher ground because, while water kept pouring out of the hole, it drained away just as quickly instead of drowning them.

Water still hitting his back relentlessly, Pat peeled his head up to look Janus in the eyes. A giggle bubbled out of his mouth.

“It isn’t funny,” Janus informed him. Pat just giggled more, leaning his head against Janus’s chest and cackling.

Janus just rolled his eyes. “Yes, yes, this is an entirely appropriate reaction. Thank you for your contribution to our very important mission.”

Pat seemed incapable of stopping laughing completely, but he did calm himself enough to peel himself off Janus’s chest and lean forward so their noses almost touched. “It’s hilarious and you know it,” he claimed.

“In what way is this ‘hilarious’?”

“In many waves,” was the joy filled answer.

“You’re horrible.”

Pat hummed. He hadn’t moved to get off of him even though they really should be moving in case something worse than water came through the hole in the ceiling. He hadn’t even moved his face away.

“No, no, you two just tell me when you’re done being gay for each other,” Remus interrupted. Janus was surprised to see he’d stood up at some point and was now hovering over them.

Janus flipped him off even while Pat laughed once again. Pat finally drew away and rolled off of him so Janus could sit up. Pretty much everything hurt when Janus moved, but he was able to stand up, so he was probably fine enough. “So,” he said looking around. “Where are we now?”

Chapter 20

Janus looked around himself while Pat booted up his map to try to figure out where they were. They were in a small room that may actually be considered a large landing as there were staircases on either side of it. The water that was still coming out of the ceiling was running down the staircase that led down from the room.

Something was stopping the water, creating a pool on the steps that was already about to overflow into the room. With the speed the water was flowing, they should have enough time before the room completely filled up with water and drowned them.

Janus wondered if they were in the church or not. It was not out of the question and there was church like décor around them, but who knew? He could feel a strange vibration in the ground and the one window in the room shone with green light.

“Hmm,” said Pat. “That looks not good.” He’d projected his map so they could all see everything.

The map itself was moving. Rooms were phasing in and out of focus and fracturing down the middle. One room was even spinning lazily around in circles. Janus could see the room they were in. It was connected to the bigger blob of rooms, and there was a black line connecting it to another room from the top which was obviously the hole spewing water at them.

“Well, at least the time distortion is still coming from the bell tower,” Remus said. Janus shot him an unamused glance. Said bell tower was currently upside down and shuddering as well as divided from any other room by at least two inches of empty space.

28842

“How are we supposed to get there?” asked Pat.

“We don’t,” Janus said. “It’s literally impossible.”

“There has to be some way,” Pat argued with a frown.

“If we try to use time travel, we’ll definitely get shredded by the warping time and space around it and walking there isn’t an option. There aren’t even any entrances!”

“Well, there were at one point.”

“Yeah, before,” he gestured wildly to the ceiling that was still pouring water into the room.

“So?” Pat asked.

“’So’?! What do you mean ‘so’?!”

Pat shrugged. “When one door closes, cut another one.”

Janus froze and looked at him for a long moment. “Where the hell did you hear that?”

Patton raised an eyebrow. “You.”

“I don’t think like that anymore.”

“Well then I guess we’ll die,” Pat said lightly. “Of course, that’ll make an even worse time loop considering I’ve met older versions of you.”

“Fuck,” Janus spat. “Fuck. Fine. Give me a minute to think. Not that I even know if we have a minute because,” he gestured once again to the room.

“Okay,” Janus said. “The room with the source of the time distortion is separated from us by a swirling pool of dark nothingness and there is no way to get to it. But, the only way we’re going to stop the distortion from ripping apart time and killing us as well as probably a bunch of other people is to get to it. That is an impossible situation. There is no solution. That door is closed to us. What other ways are there to look at it?” He looked at the visual representation of the rooms. One of them suddenly went spinning out and his eyes tracked it. We need to be in the same place as the source,” Janus said. “That is fact, but we don’t have to get to it.”

“Um, what do you mean?” Remus asked. Pat shushed him.

“If you want thing A and thing B to be in the same place, there’s more than one way to do it. If you can’t move thing A to thing B, you might be able to move thing B to thing A. Pat, you have a working time device. We can’t travel with it because that would kill us, but if we can make it do a stutter warp, it could draw the time distortion to it.”

“You…” Remus said. “Want to create another time distortion in hopes that the original time distortion will be pulled into this room?”

“Yes.”

“Well, sounds good to me!” Remus said.

He maybe had expected Pat to argue, but he didn’t. Instead, he moved his hand to his wrist. There had been nothing there before, but when he touched down on his wrist with two fingers, there was suddenly a metal bound around it that Janus immediately recognized from the times he’d seen Pat’s timepiece before. How was it made invisible? He shook the thought off as Pat offered it up wordlessly. Janus took it and Pat leaned over his shoulder to look.

Despite the fact that the device looked nothing like his own, the interface was surprisingly convenient. “I assume you have safety setting to prevent a stutter warp,” Janus said. “How do I turn those off?”

Patton pointed at a gear icon on the screen. “You put it under your normal settings?” he asked.

“I have to put in my password or use my fingerprint!” Pat defended.

“It doesn’t matter right now.” He navigated through the settings. He was interested to see that there were many different saved default security settings, but he didn’t get much of a chance to read what all they did. He just turned them all off.” It popped up with a message to put in the password and Pat pressed his fingertip to it. Another message popped up warning them that turning off these settings could cause damage to the machinery, the person using it, and time itself. Janus pushed “okay.” A message popped up that asked “Continue” and Janus pressed “yes.” One last message popped up that said “Security functions disabled.” Janus pressed “okay.”

“Anything else I’d need to disable?”

“Nope,” Pat confirmed.

He navigated back to the main screen and then bought up the manual travel input screen. Yet another message warning him not to do this flashed and Janus once again ignored it. He copied the space time coordinates that the device said they were currently at and put it in the ‘travel to’ location. “Well,” he said. “Here it goes. Let it be known that if I die, it’s my own fault for allowing Remus into a church.”

“Really?” Remus said. “That’s what you’re choosing to be your last words?”

Janus just raised an eyebrow.

“Love you too Janus.”

Janus nodded and hovered his finger over the travel button. He quickly mashed his finger to the button 22 times.”

The device warmed in his hand enough that he almost dropped it. Time literally froze for a few breaths as whatever Deity that may or may not exist processed their stupidity.

Janus was not a scientist or technician, but he had a good idea of how badly they were fucking up right now. The timepiece was attempting to travel over and over again to the exact same place and time. This basically punched a small hole through time, that if left unfixed would grow and disrupt space time all around them. As it was, their current position, all gathered around it and staring at it while one of them had it literally in their hand, was perilous.

There was a rumble under their feet and the world tilted on it’s axis. The all went tumbling down in a pile of limbs to new floor of the room which had once been a wall.

Of course, this change of gravity caused the water that had been building up in the staircase to dump on top of them.

Janus would have cursed, but he was too busy being under the water. He maneuvered himself away from the other two flailing bodies and managed to shove his feet against the wall turned floor. His head popped above the water in time to see the ceiling, or well, it would be the opposite wall, rip in two and the other walls/floor/ceiling start to fold in.

“Give me a boost!” Pat called over the noise of water rushing and walls crunching.

“Give you a boost where?” Janus asked.

“Up!” Janus wasn’t sure if ‘up’ really existed right now, but he still nodded. The water was a few inches over his head, so he held his breath and interlaced his hands so Pat could put his foot in it. He was shoved down into the water, but it gave Pat enough leverage to shoot up out of the water. When Janus resurfaced, he saw that the man had grabbed ahold of the crumbling wall and was pulling himself up into what for all appearances seemed to be absolutely nothing.

It took a moment, but then Janus blinked, and he was suddenly in a new room entirely or perhaps it was the same room. He honestly didn’t know at this point. Remus was next to him. He couldn’t recall if he’d been there before the shift or not, but they were both treading water. Pat crashed into the water next to them. Janus’s wrist buzzed as his timepiece came back online. “Got it!” Pat declared when he resurfaced, holding a device up. It looked almost the same as the device they’d found in France, but this one was definitely different if it was able to cause that much chaos that quickly.

Janus looked around and pointed at what appeared to be a set of stairs. The three of them swam over and pulled themselves out of the water.

“Where are we?” Pat asked.

“Looks like a basement,” Remus replied. “A flooded basement.”

Janus pulled up his timepiece and pushed some buttons to stabilize Pat’s timepiece. It slowly stopped vibrating and cooled. “Here,” he said, handing it over to him. “I suggest you put the safeties back on now.”

Pat nodded and took it.

“We’re still in Cuba,” Remus informed them, looking at his own timepiece. “Same church too, but in the basement and… two and a half centuries later.”

“Remy is going to be pissed,” Janus said.

Remus shrugged. “He’s always pissed… at least at me.”

“Well,” said Pat, slipping his timepiece back onto his wrist. “Thanks for being willing to pool our resources.”

Janus rolled his eyes. “Stop.”

“Ah, mi sirenito-”

“I hate you.”

“-never.” He disappeared with a pop which was when Janus realized, he’d never handed over device that had caused the first time distortion.

“…You bastard!” he yelled at thin air as though the man could hear him.

“Well,” said Remus, “that mission went swimmingly.” Janus reached over and shoved him back into the water.

Chapter 21

“We should probably get out of here,” Janus said, very much not helping Remus out of the water. Remus pulled himself back up onto the staircase and shook like a dog. Janus crinkled his nose as water droplets hit him. They didn’t smell salty anymore, he noted. In fact, there was a broken pipe spewing out water on the other side of the room.

Janus and Remus cautiously snuck out of the church, not wanting to be seen and blamed for the flooded basement. They came out on a city street that was much different than the one they’d entered from.

They walked down the street a bit, Janus’s eyes scanning the buildings. His eyes caught on a sign and he tugged Remus towards it.

They entered the small paladare and the person delivering food to one of the tables blinked at them both. Right. They were in clothing from the 1700s and were soaking wet. He met eyes with the woman, challenging her to say something. She did not.

They found a seat at one of the tables.

“Ah…” the worker said, approaching them. “English?”

“Ron,” Janus said, “por favor.”

Remus turned and started ordering the both of them food in Spanish. Janus didn’t pay attention to what he did.

After his second shot of rum, Janus sighed and brought up his timepiece to ping the TPI. The reaction was almost instantaneous from their perspective. Remy all but kicked down the restaurant’s door and walked over to them. “How the fuck?”

“Ah, Remy,” Janus said calmly. “Have a seat. We’re waiting on our food.”

He did, but probably only because people were looking at them. “What are you doing here?”

“It’s been a long day,” Janus answered, “and I’m hungry.”

“Yeah, it certainly looks like you’re interested in the food,” Remy said, eyeing the empty shot glasses.

“Let’s just say, I’m glad Cuba started letting paladares legally serve liquor a few years ago.”

It’s clear that Remy wanted to ask them what had happened, but he also was cautious enough not to make a scene here and Janus wasn’t planning on getting up until he’d at least gotten his food. “Why are you soaked, by the way?”

“Turns out the ocean isn’t as far away as we thought,” Janus said.

“Also, a church basement is flooded,” Remus said.

“Fantastic,” Remy replied.

They sat there mostly in tense silence until their food came, and then Remus and Janus ate. Remy slapped down some pesos once they were done and then proceeded to all but physically drag them out of the restaurant.

They were led to an alley way and then through an old almost hidden door. Remy immediately rounded on them. “What the hell happened?” Remy asked.

“The time distortion caused level 5 time fractures in its vicinity, we almost drowned three times, and the worst person in the universe fucked me over again.”

“To be fair,” Remus said. “He did save our lives before that.”

“I saved our lives first,” Janus said. “I don’t have to be fair.”

“Oh, yeah, Mr. Curl Up In A Ball And Perish. I’m sure we would have been fine without him.”

“Anyway,” Janus said to Remy. “If you want your lump of flesh, I suggest you take it now, because Khalid is going to murder me, and then fire me, and then rehire me so she can put me on desk duty and make me do paperwork until the end of time.”

“What did you do?” Remy asked.

Janus grimaced. “Made a time distortion.”

“You were the one who made the time distortion?” Remy asked.

“Not exactly,” Janus answered.

“He made the second time distortion,” Remus said. “It was actually pretty cool.”

“It was not cool,” Janus snapped. “It was irresponsible and dangerous. I shouldn’t have done it.”

“We would have died,” Remus said.

“And we could have done worse than dying if it had gone poorly,” Janus argued. “I just…” he tugged on his hair a bit, and Remus gave him an alarmed look. “I’m going to go talk to Khalid,” he said. He didn’t give Remus any time to speak, but just waved his hand to travel back to the TPI.

Remus followed him instantly, of course, but Janus proceeded to ignore him until they were out of decontamination. Janus walked himself straight to Khalid’s office.

He knocked on her door and she called for him to come in. He did and sat heavily in the chair in front of her. She frowned at him. “You really should go to Cultural Outreach first.”

“Just fire me,” he said.

“What?” she asked.

“I just shouldn’t work here anymore,” he said. “At least not as a field agent. Really any type of agent.”

She paused and reached to her desk to pull up some file on the screen there. “I’ll fill out the incident report myself instead of Dr. Eran then,” she said. “Tell me exactly what happened.”

Janus explained everything that happened, and Khalid diligently wrote it down. It was far outside her job description, but she didn’t explain or really react to anything he said more than nodding to say she’d gotten it recorded.

When he was finished, she saved the file and leaned back.

“Well,” Khalid said, folding her hands in front of her and scrutinizing him. “Honestly, this isn’t anywhere near a fireable offence.”

“But I…”

“You went against policy certainly, but policy sometimes has to be broken in disaster scenarios. You know that.”

“It was stupid,” he bit out, feeling sick to his stomach.

“Is it if it worked?” she asked.

Janus didn’t answer.

“The major reason I originally assigned you to be a field agent is because you’ve always been good at thinking your way out of difficult situations even when they go against the rules we set. You have good instincts that I trust, but you haven’t seemed to trust them lately,” she said.

“You shouldn’t trust them,” Janus said darkly.

Janus felt his throat tighten as she considered him for a long moment. “This isn’t the first time you’ve asked me to fire you,” she said. “You wouldn’t tell me why then, and I respected it at the time, but…” she paused. “You’ve changed, Janus.”

“Well then I’m not any good to you.”

“I’d beg to differ,” she replied, “but fine.”

Janus was actually surprised by that. He looked up at her. He somehow thought he’d feel better when this happened, but he didn’t in that moment. He just felt ill.

“I’m not firing you,” she continued, meeting his eyes, “but if you don’t want to be a regular field agent, fine. I have a particular mission in mind for you.”

“What?” he asked.

“This ‘Pat’ thing is getting ridiculous,” she said. “I don’t have enough resources to focus on it right now considering how much is going on, however, but I trust you and you’re already involved. So, I’m going to reassign you. No more missions. No more dealing with in department duties. You find him and his source of time travel. That’s your job. Whatever you think you need to do that job is fine. Request whatever trips or resources you need. Bring on Remus when you need or even Fred and Lena.”

“You’re…” he said. “Giving me more freedom and resources?”

“Like I said, Janus. I trust you. The one time I didn’t, after all, Pat ran off with a timebomb, so I learned my lesson.” She smiled briefly and stuck out her hand. “Deal?”

Janus sighed and once again resigned himself to staying at the TPI. “Fine,” he said. “Deal.”

Chapter 22

Janus sighed. This was stupid. What was he even doing? He glared at the large hologram that took up a good portion of his office now. During the day, he usually shrunk it so he could only see part of the diagram he had up, but right now the office was abandoned other than him, so it took up and entire two walls. He rubbed his forehead. Why had 2pm Janus thought putting a bunch of words on this hologram was a good idea? Even the pictures were starting to look like they were vibrating. He drew a red line between “Nick Jonas” and “iPhone,” and he honestly wasn’t even sure why at this point.

His board didn’t even make sense. Why did he think this would be a help? He swiped a picture of the first device he’d found that had made the time distortions off to the side with his own (bad) artistic rendition of the one Pat had stolen. There wasn’t a pattern with Pat’s behavior that he could see other than, perhaps, a liking for early 21st century pop culture.

Frustrated, he turned away from the board. He needed a walk, he decided. He stepped out of his office into the TPI hallway and chose a direction at random. There were still some people in the building as even this late at night, someone had to be on call, but for the most part, the building was abandoned.

He wasn’t paying attention to where he was going, and even if he had been, he likely wouldn’t have realized where he was because he’d never been to the AMO offices since he’d gotten his house, and they’d moved since then.

He paused in front of it the doors, eyes touching on the lit-up names on the door’s screen. He focused on his own last name until it stopped looking like letters at all.

“Did you need something?” a familiar voice asked.

Janus jumped and whipped around. “You… it’s late, what are you doing here?” he asked Emile.

“There are at least two AMO workers at the office at all times. Today is my night,” he explained.

“I… see.”

Emile tilted his head. “Did you need anything?”

“No,” Janus said, perhaps a bit too fast. He bit his lip. “I was just going for a walk. I didn’t mean to come here.”

Emile folded his hands in front of him and rocked onto his heels. “I heard that you almost died,” he said.

“Yeah,” Janus said. “I fucked up.”

Emile arched an eyebrow. “And is that why you got a promotion?” he asked in that mild tone of his that informed Janus that his brother was wholly convince he was an idiot. Janus looked away and Emile sighed.

“Well then,” Emile said, walking past him to the door. Despite himself and the fact that it was his fault, Janus felt hurt at how short Emile was letting the conversation be. Then he felt disgusted with himself that he even dared to feel that way.

Yet, Emile paused at the door. “If you ever decide you want that help, I offered, you know where my office is now.”

He wouldn’t, Janus thought, but he didn’t say anything. He just let Emile push open the door to the AMO and disappear inside.

Why was he even here right now? Janus wondered to himself. It was the middle of the night and he didn’t remember the last time he’d slept. He didn’t remember the last time he’d been home.

Yet the house by the lake wasn’t home, was it? Going there to the nothing that pervaded the place made his throat tighten. He’d had different homes in his life. The small childhood home, the claustrophobic apartment he’d had in his college days, the first home the AMO had assigned him which he’d shared with his brother, but none of these were available to him anymore. He brought up his timepiece. There were only three pre-programed space-time coordinates in his device. The first would only take him back to his office with the frustrating board that wasn’t giving him any answers and the third took him to the lake house he couldn’t bear to see empty right now.

That left him with only one option. He selected the second saved coordinates and stepped forward into Remus’s house. He landed in total darkness, which was expected considering it was around 3 in the morning and Remus lived about 3 decades before electricity was invented. Janus stumbled forward in the dark, his eyes very much not adjusted, until his shins hit the couch. He carefully turned and sat before blowing out a breath.

“Mew?” came from the corner, and Janus titled his head to see eyes shining in the dark.

“Hello,” Janus said. “Sorry to wake you.”

Diesel Fuel make a little burrhr sound and padded over to him.

#study break stories #not writing

23 notes · View notes

kane-m-killer · 3 years ago

Text

Here’s a small horror story draft

________________________________________

Has anyone seen Pete? He’s 25,6’1,black curly greasy hair,pimple face? Used to frequent this subreddit often? I wanted to ask you all if you have seen them cause I’m an old friend of his and I wanted to say if any of you saw him or have seen him.

Run away, Run far away.

No I’m not joking either,Or trying to paint him in a bad light. This guy is serious bad news, and if you won’t take my word for it. First off, good on you for not trusting a random Redditor. Allow me then to start from the beginning as to why the next time I see this man it will be in a morgue when we are both dead.

I met him at a A&A meeting. I was in bad shape when I met him, addicted to drinking at 21 and down on my luck. He was a new member we had to say hi to and he sat next to me once he introduced himself.

I can’t remember the details of the conversation but I know we talked about something boring like the weather maybe.

He was there for a few more sessions until he stopped coming.

I didn’t think much of it until one autumn night when I left the building after the meeting,7 weeks sober then mind you, he was there leaning against the building. It was like he was trying to seem cool but in actuality just looked dumb and a try hard.

But nevertheless I still went up and talked to him, I can’t tell you why but I guess it doesn’t matter now. We talked more and his slow monotonous voice gave an air of disturbed charm to me. I thought he was like one of those guys that are bland on the outside but fascinating on the inside. And strangely because of that we became friends.

Friends for 3 years for that matter. And through all that time he was a good friend, he offered his advice and gave me a shoulder to cry on when needed. It’s just that something about his behavior sometimes really should’ve told me he was trouble.

For example when me and him were at a bar being the sober friends at a party and he was flirting with a girl next to us, me being too tired to be a wingman I stayed quiet but listened to his conversation.

“So what are you doing tonight honey?” He started off with

“Nothing to do with you that’s for sure” she retorted and I held back a laugh.

“…You should shut the fuck up then before I take those hot lips of yours and cut them off.” He said with a voice that I haven’t heard him use ever. It was fucking creepy

“Excuse me?!” The lady said immediately getting up to leave

“I’ll be able to kiss your sexy lips all the time if I cut them off, you sure aren’t using them much if you're using them to talk shit.” He continued grabbing her arm. I was utterly shocked and disgusted with him and got up and punched him clean in the face. He reeled back and gave me the dirtiest look and yelled at me, we argued, screaming at each other for a good minute before we were kicked out the bar for disturbing the peace, he left in his car and I was there with no ride.

I was about to call an Uber when someone tapped my shoulder. It was the girl who Pete harassed, she wanted to thank you for defending her and asked if I needed a ride. We talked on the way to my house and I’ll cut off at this bit to just say Her name is Desiree and she’s now been my best friend for three years.

The reason I’m telling you this is because me and Desiree became close enough to move in together, and throughout that whole move from my mothers house (yes I know, cringe) I haven’t told Pete about her and me, in fact I don’t think I had a full conversation with him since the bar fight. And honestly I was fine with that.

I just wish it stayed that way.

It’s been a couple weeks since I fully moved in with Desiree and I was home alone while she worked the night shift. I was messing around on my phone when I felt eyes on me. Not the kind of eyes you feel from a worried mother or annoying friend but just eyes, cold unmoving eyes.

I got up from the couch and looked at the windows. Desiree had one of those studio apartments with the balcony window the size of the wall. I tried to stare into the blackness that was night outside but of course I saw nothing of anything or anyone. But the eyes still wouldn’t leave me. I looked everywhere in the house but no dice.

The eyes felt like it was amused at me failing to try and find its source. I decided it was just my mind messing with me and I just went to bed.

I fell asleep pretty easily after I calmed down and the eyes almost went away,until I woke up.

Now there’s this thing about humans that can detect if it’s life is in danger. I think my body activated because of that. Cause when I woke up I felt a weight at the side of the bed.

Someone was in the bed with me.

I didn’t dare move, I didn’t dare speak. Anything that could have indicated I was alive save for my breathing ceased. I tried to access the situation but a hard metal object touched my back, it felt like every nerve in my body prepared me for this moment but when the moment came I just froze. It’s such a pathetic thing to do but I couldn’t do anything other than freeze.

I felt the person scooch up to me pressing the knife closer at my back, to the point where I was drawing blood and the person’s chest was touching my back. I could feel their hot breath on my neck that night.

We stayed that way for what felt like hours. I think they were waiting for me to move or show that I was awake or something cause I stayed froze in that position, at that time I couldn’t even feel my body with how hard I was trying to keep it together.

The worst part about it was that they never spoke a word, but their eyes were unmistakable. They were the same eyes watching me from afar earlier now staring at the back of my neck waiting for me to mess up.

The front door soon opened with what I assume was Desiree coming home from work, the person in my bed slowly moved away and came off the bed. Their weight being so heavy I almost flew up when they got up.

While they opened the door out of my room I slowly reached for my phone on the desk. I heard him walking downstairs and typed in a number quickly.

Pretty soon I heard it. Desiree’s phone rings. She picks it up and her sleepy but joyful voice almost makes me cry of relief.

“Hey dude, what’s up? Did you go to sleep early?” She said, I can hear her smile as she puts down her things and opens the fridge. I can’t hear the person who was in her house.

“I’m fine, just wanted to say hi, and yeah…could you do me a favor and go outside real quick?” I said trying my best to not sound like I’m shaking as my body finally responds to moving as I snuck out of bed.

“Um,what? Listen man I’m too tired for any games rn.” She said sounding a little annoyed. I don’t blame her.

“Just, go outside like right now.” I hear a creak of wood on her end of the line “please.”

I raised a glass cup high above my head, the plan came to me during the call as I was straining to listen for the intruder. I smashed the glass against the wall and I heard it double on the phone.

“Now!” I screamed into the phone before hanging up and jumping out the window of my room, her apartment was thankfully on the second floor to the way down wasn’t deadly. But concrete on bare skin hurted like a bitch.

I heard a scream from the window and my heart dropped, but the next thing I saw made my whole body stop again. The intruder was looking at me recon the window I dropped from.

And it was Pete.

Me and Pete stared at each other for what felt like eternity, his dark eyes and pimple faced morphed by the dark room into something hideous to look at. I heard the building door open and out came Desiree with blood coming from her arm.

We both ran away with him close behind. It hurt to move after being still for so long but I had to keep running. We managed to lose him in traffic and alleys and after thirty minutes found a police station. We came in scared and with bloody bare feet, we told them everything and we stayed there for the rest of the night.

Some police went back to the apartment and by a stroke of luck found him waiting for us in Desiree’s room doing stuff that I won’t repeat here. He was arrested for attempted murder and breaking and entering. I later found out he was outside watching me through the window via a ladder. So that would explain the eyes.

But something happened in court and he was let go due to good lawyers from his family. He’s out free and I haven’t seen him since

So that’s why I ask, have you seen Pete? I don’t know if he’s moved to another country or is still around here. He could be anywhere and I wouldn’t have the foggiest idea where to look.

Remember what he looks like. 25,6’1,black hair and pimple face. Don’t trust anything he says to you and just run.

And watch the people you meet in a AA meeting

#horror #horror stories #literature #writerslife #writeblr #writers on tumblr #my writing #writing

1 note · View note

weebsinstash · 4 years ago

Note

Not that I'm starved for your content or anything but maybe you could post your oldest drafts as they are? Kind of like just extended scenarios. If you have 60 then your oldest one must have been done a while ago or do you write them up that quickly??

So I guess I'm gonna kind of ramble to answer this just because it's kind of a multipart question:

-sometimes I write quickly but uh no, some of these drafts are like. God. Some are literally over a year old

-idk if it was an issue with the model of phone I had having its software become outdated (was using the same phone for like 3 years, recently replaced it) or tumblr mobile but, I often start jotting down ideas or WIPs for fics by saving them as tumblr drafts, since its easier to just open up my phone then like go through the ordeal of booting up my shitty laptop. Quite some time ago (around 3 years ) I noticed that when the drafts became too long, editing them on tumblr switched everything to HTML mode and I would be forced to physically type in html bullshit every time I so much as wanted to paragraph space, so I began just having the same story having multiple small drafts to avoid that bullshit and also because sometimes tumblr just glitches and my draft gets lost so keeping them small and saving occasionally is like a failsafe

-tldr for that bullet point: that number of 60 drafts is inflated by the fact that some stories are just in multiple pieces

-there is a large variety of shit though like it's not like I have only 3 things in here, i have idk at least 20 different ideas maybe at least, i havent gone through them recently enough

-sometimes I'm drunk or stoned or god forbid sober and the scene I have in my head or maybe even a particular sentence sounds really really good and I want to write it down in case I want to use it. OR I'm thinking if the scene in such great detail that I wanna get it all down before I forget. So some of these drafts can be super short or not even have a full story or anything, I was just like "hey that sounds neat jot it down"

- i bounce around between ideas a lot and I'm really impulsive and some of this shit will probably never be finished

But anyways, to answer the big overarching question I guess, while I was answering this ask I got the idea that, hey, for some of them, they're long enough that I could do the whole chapter upload thing? Just upload a bunch of first chapters and work on them over time? But if I upload too many drafts at once I would probably just get overwhelmed so.... i dunno. I guess i need to ask myself which of these I actually plan to post and which ones I'm just kind of hanging onto because even if I'm not interested anymore it just jund of sucks to give up and throw out your hard work :(

#in other news of certain numbers getting high i gotta purge some of these asks there are literally 100 #and its becoming a little overwhelming lol. feel free to re ask things if you think something was thrown out #but for now i gotta clean up some because it deters me from answering asks at all #which is not you guys fault im just real anxious and finicky and let them all pile up

14 notes · View notes

senaar-ika · 4 years ago

Text

The Pixie & The Bard: Ch. 1

Hi there. It’s been a while. I honestly just haven’t had the creative energy or motivation to write recently. I moved house and started working more and I’m about to start a new semester of university. What with the world being a flaming trash bin my brain hasn’t quite been up for much.

Welcome to all the new followers and thank you to everyone who’s stuck around. I’ve had this first chapter of a multi-chaptered fic sitting in my drafts for a while so I thought why not share. I hope you enjoy!

Summary: You’re working as a fairy at a Renaissance Festival in the New York countryside when you meet Charlie and Henry. A father and son who are quite the pair. You flirt with guests at the festival for fun all the time, but something feels different about this one . . .

CW/Tags: nothing major, just heavy flirting, awkward dad Charlie, literally too much Henry but I promise his relationship to reader is important, also E making up shit about renaissance faires, this is mostly just me longing to dress up like a fairy and go to a festival and watch people joust ok

Word Count: 2.6k

Chapter 1 - An Chance Encounter

The festival grounds are surrounded on all sides by forest. Trodden down dirt walking paths snake past vendors and performers, ultimately leading visitors to the main events in the center clearing. The Fairy Tree -as it is affectionately known by performers and guests alike- is your territory. The ancient sycamore tree looks like something right from the pages of a storybook with its sprawling roots, knotted trunk, and layers of thick branches.

Your inner child sprang out on your first day when your manager led you to the tree, explaining that your character should mostly keep in a close radius to it. She didn’t have to tell you twice. You were up the tree and swinging casually from the branches in minutes. Some of the other fairy cast members wander the festival, making mischief and spreading glitter. But you’re perfectly content to hang around your tree.

Of course you’re safe, never climbing too high or swinging too recklessly. You keep a little wooden flute at one hip and your bag of “fairy dust” at the other. Piping out mysterious tunes from up in the tree only to surprise guests who happened along past. If they have children you often toss a handful of sparkling fairy dust down, relishing their squeals of delight.

Today is Saturday. First Saturday to be exact. First Saturday is always the busiest, or at least that’s what the returning cast members have been telling you. First Saturday always falls on the first weekend when schools are closed for the summer, so the families turn out in droves. You likely won’t get a real break today; it’s all hands on deck.

You lean against the trunk of the old fairy tree, one arm hugged as far around it as you can. You’re only about ten feet up, but it feels like you’re part of the forest. A breeze rustles the leaves, bright and green for the start of summer. You close your eyes gently. In the distance you hear a horn sound and a wave of cheers rise up, carried by the breeze.

Afternoon tournament already? The day has flown by. Cast members don’t get to have any modern technology on hand while performing, so you tend to gauge the time by the schedule of festivities. Afternoon tournament started at two. You’d been up in the tree since lunchtime. The tournaments, which include jousting, sword fighting, and axe throwing, pull the biggest crowds. Meaning smaller attractions got a bit of a break.

Carefully you slide down to sit, resting your back against the trunk and balancing your legs horizontally along the length of the branch. You breathe in deeply, just listening for the familiar sounds of the tournament.

“Dad, look!” The whisper-shout of a young boy pulls you away from the quiet, but your first glance at the boy’s father nearly fells you from your perch. Tall, dark, and built like one of the festival’s knights. He’s focused on his phone, typing furiously. The boy tugs at his father’s sleeve, trying very hard not to look away from you, as if he’s afraid you might disappear.

“What is it, Henry?” It isn’t sharp, just distracted, offhanded, but the bassy richness of the man’s voice sends a flutter to your chest.

“There’s a lady up in the tree! Look!” You smile down at the boy, Henry, leaning forward a bit so that the iridescence of your wings catches the light, and you wave. The dad glances up briefly from his phone only to do a double take.

“Hail and well met, gentlemen!” You called, pitching your voice up and putting on your character’s fairy accent. “Ye wouldn’t happen to be lost would ye?”

Henry is quick to speak up, “My dad is trying to get a good phone signal!” The dad’s face turns a ridiculous shade of pink, his expression sheepish and embarrassed. You giggle, swinging your legs over the side of the branch so they dangle.

“I dunno what that is, young lad, but perhaps he’d have better luck with a carrier pigeon?” One of the top rules was to always stay in character. No talking about modern life. Immersion is key and after all you’re here to make magic. But Henry seems confused.

“You don’t know what a phone signal is? Don’t you have a phone?” Ah so he’s one of those smart kids. Before you can say anything, Henry’s father cuts in.

“She’s a fairy, Henry, look. Fairies don’t have phones.” The dad explains, gently. His voice is practiced, as though he has to explain a lot to his son. You nod along with him, crossing your ankles and propping your chin on your hand.

“Aye, he’s right!” You chime in, “And you two look like . . . hmmm.” You scrunch your face in consternation for a moment. “Ah! I know! A knight and his squire?” You point from father to son.

Henry starts to laugh and his father smiles, looking from you to his son and back.

“Yes! Young squire Henry and the brave knight Sir . . .” You trail off, gesturing towards the boy’s father.

“Charlie,” He finishes, holding your gaze steadily. You feel your grin widen and you tilt your head, reminding yourself to stay in character.

It’s not like flirting with guests is discouraged; actually, it’s almost expected of most fairy cast members. You’ve just never been caught off guard like this before. Something about this man, Charlie, sends your heart racing. Perhaps because he seems far too dashing for a dad, or maybe it’s how quickly he is willing to play into the immersion of your job.

“So the brave knight, Sir Charlie, and young squire Henry find themselves at the Fairy Tree.” You slide yourself over to the trunk and begin climbing down, using the little foot and hand holds nailed into the tree. “Trying to relay a message with no luck?”

When you reach the ground, Henry bolts over to you. “Why didn’t you just fly down?”

You crouch down to his height. “Flying for me is like running for you. It’s so exhausting!”

Henry nods, understanding, and looks back over his shoulder at his dad, still standing a ways back. Charlie smiles at the two of you before glancing back at his phone.

“My dad is trying to send a picture of me to my mom.” There it is. You feel something in your chest sink a little. You should’ve expected it really. Hot dad and cute kid? There has to be a mom somewhere in the picture. Henry, unaware that his simple statement shook you, continues on. “She lives in LA, but I get to come see my dad every month. He likes to take me to do things like this.” Oh, hot divorcee dad.

“And what have ye done around the festival today, young lad?” You actually smile as Henry carries on in that childlike way, just talking. Simple statements. Pouring out their day for you.

The two of you plop down to the forest floor. Henry absentmindedly plays with the grass and pebbles. You pluck a couple of clovers from the grass and begin stringing them together. Usually the fairies are encouraged to tell stories to the children, but this particular child seems happy to tell you the story of his day. Henry is just finishing up recounting how they had eaten turkey legs and french fries for lunch when his dad approaches.

“I’m surprised to see such an adventurous pair missing the tournament,” You remark, handing Henry the bracelet of clovers you had woven while he was talking. “But I’m glad to hear your stories, young Henry.”

“There’s a tournament?” Henry’s eyes light up as you slip into your role, telling him all about the lore of the festival.

“Why of course, young Henry! Every sixth day the King holds tournaments where our bravest and strongest knights may show their skill! There’s sword fighting and jousting and horses, and of course all the fair maidens of the kingdom come as well!” You try to avoid looking up at Charlie, squatting down beside his son, for fear of stumbling over your words. “The fairy folk like me perform great songs and dances for the royal court, and all the guests like you cheer and awe at all the talent!”

Henry is hanging on your every word, completely frozen and enraptured in your performance.

“Unfortunately for you, the tournament for today is probably just finishing up.” Seeing the boy’s face start to sink with disappointment you add, “But! After the tournament the fairy folk will lead a parade back to this very tree and we’ll tell stories! There’s always a bit o’ music with our stories. I play this!” You pull your flute from its slot on your belt and hold it up for Henry, whispering your next sentence. “If you and Sir Charlie aren’t in a rush, I suggest you stick around, the parade should be arriving any minute now.”

“Can we stay, dad?” Henry turns excitedly towards his father, eyes still wide. Charlie’s face breaks into a full grin that goes all the way to his eyes which crinkle at the corners. A noticeable dimple also appears on his cheek. Stay in character, you have to remind yourself.

“Of course, honey, if you want to.” Charlie places a hand gently on his son’s back.

It seems as though Charlie’s about to say something to you, but before he can you’re overtaken by the sound of jingling bells, flutes, and footsteps crunching along the dirt path.

“The parade!” Henry scrambles to his feet, turning in the direction of the noise.

You catch Charlie’s gaze as you both move to stand up as well. He mouths a silent “Thank you.” You smile and give him a wink, lifting your flute to your lips. Moving quickly, you dance back to the tree and climb up to hang by one hand from one of the handholds nailed into the trunk. The tune of your flute matches up with the commotion coming up the path.

At least once a day, a large group arrives at the Fairy Tree led by cast members like yourself. It’s part of the job, performing like that. So why are you so nervous?

The parade rounds the forest bend, finally coming into sight. Two fairy cast members lead the group, one with a tambourine, the other a pan flute. A dozen or so children are close behind with a couple more fairies mixed in. Bemused parents and adult stragglers make up the rear.

“Aha!” The performer with the tambourine, halts the parade and points to you. “Kind guests and members of the parade, this is our sister Dewdrop!”

You hop back down to the ground, lowering your flute, and slip into the loose script that formed around storytime each day. “Are we to tell these fine folks a story today, Evergreen?”

And with your line, you settle. This is just your job. You do this every day. Every day there’s a new story. Every day there’s a new crowd.

You and the other fairies sit the little ones down on “toadstool” seats while the adults gather around. Henry choses the seat closest to where you stand, you notice, so you make sure to give him a smile when you can. Like a good actor, you dance your eyes across the crowd, trying to bounce rather than stick to anyone in particular. But.

But you can’t help but get stuck on Charlie. He’s watching you so intently, occasionally glancing down at Henry as he laughs at all the silly jokes and goofs. Today’s story is one about how the king of the festival was trapped and magicked to dance for eternity by the trickster pixies until a kind hearted fairy saved him. The stories are always a bit silly like that.

When you and the other fairies take your final bow, all conducting the children in a chorus of “The end!” and tossing handfuls of fairy dust, you make eye contact with Charlie again. Everyone is clapping politely. He’s smiling at you. You hold his gaze for just one second longer. He’s the first to look away, clearing his throat and raising his gaze to the treetops. You barely have time to process what just happened before Henry is tugging at your skirt.

“You didn’t tell me your name is Dewdrop!” He exclaims, somehow still thriving off of the high energy of the show.

You giggle, dropping down to his level. “You never asked, young Henry!”

“That’s a funny name.” He scrunches his nose in such an innocent way you can’t help but smile.

“Well all the fairies are named a bit differently than you humans.” You explain, “We’re given names that connect us to nature and-”

“Wait a second!” Henry interrupts and suddenly runs over to his dad.

They converse softly for a moment, Charlie leaning down so Henry can whisper in his ear. Charlie seems to be thinking hard about whatever his son is saying. He flicks his eyes over to you for what seems like a millisecond, you can’t even be sure he did look at you. Then he nods and Henry scampers back over to you.

“My dad says we can come back tomorrow! I want to see the fighting and the contests like you said!” Your heart seems to stop for a second before you become very aware of it beating in your ears.

“That - That’s wonderful, young lad!” You shake yourself back to this fantasy that is reality. “You must stop by the tree and say hello then.” You chance a look over at Charlie to find his eyes locked on you. He smiles and gives a slight nod of his head.

He steps forward reaching for his son’s hand. “Alright, Henry, let’s get going now and let our friend get back to doing … fairy stuff.” Henry’s face scrunches in a way that your years of working around children tell you he’s not thrilled at the idea of leaving. So you swoop in with a little assist.

“Sir Charlie’s right, young lad.” You take a pinch of fairy dust from the pouch on your belt, “I’ve got official fairy business to attend to around the festival. But here, I’ll give you a bit of parting sparkle so that you’ll shine until we meet again!” With a flourish, you dust Henry’s flower bracelet with the glittery powder.

That seems to satisfy the young boy as he gives you a toothy grin and turns to leave with a quick “Bye! See you tomorrow!”

“Well hang on just a second!” You decide to milk this moment a tiny bit more, just for fun. “That’s no way to leave a proper lady! Give us a bow and a fare thee well!”

Henry looks confused for a second but Charlie elbow’s him lightly. “Like this,” he whispers. He executes a wonderfully low bow, crying out “Fare thee well, Dewdrop! We shall return on the morrow!” in an over the top sort of faux English accent.

You laugh, fully, almost definitely out of character. That’s when Charlie looks up from his bow, holding your eyes as he rises back up to his full height. After a second, he clears his throat and elbows at Henry again, muttering “Your turn.”

Henry does his best to imitate his father, but his bow is a bit shaky. “Fare thee well, Dewdrop! We shall . . . Dad what is it?”

“We shall return on the morrow,” Charlie mumbles, failing to conceal a smile.

“We shall return tomorrow!” Henry finishes and stands back upright.

As the two of them finally start down the dirt trail you call after them. “Safe travels, Sir Charlie and Squire Henry! T’was a true pleasure that our paths should cross!”

“Bye!” Henry yells back.

Charlie looks over his shoulder at you one more time. You wave. He smiles. And then they turn the corner. And they’re gone.

#i can't promise anything about when i'll update this but i just want at least this chapter to exist in the world #charlie barber fanfic #charlie barber/reader #charlie barber/you #charlie barber x reader #charlie barber x you #marriage story fanfic #renaissance festival au #the pixie & the bard #e's writing

9 notes · View notes

adriannasharp · 5 years ago

Text

Fake Dating Fic Sneak Peek!

So about two years ago, @minakosaino posted on here that she needed a fake dating fic with Minako and Kunzite and the wheels in my head began turning. Today, I finally finished my first draft of this fic (because I very much need to write a full fic before I post it or there will be so many plot holes). For now, I’m going to let it sit for a while before I go back to edit it but in the meantime, have the first draft of chapter one! Enjoy!!

Minako sat, staring out the window. The bullet train rumbled ever so quietly as it turned through the Japanese countryside. It was a beautiful day. The sun was bright and she knew it would be hot on her skin when she stepped outside of the air conditioned passenger car. A binder sat in her lap, open to a seemingly random page but she couldn’t focus on it anymore. There was only so much of Kunzite’s life she could take in before she felt the need to gag. And no, that was not the fault of the train, as it was smoother than anything.

It was no secret to their friends that Minako and Kunzite did not like each other. If they didn’t share their circle of friends, they would most certainly never be seen together but, such is life, or however that saying goes.They were always on opposite sides of discussions and he mocked her at every chance he could. Of course, she would throw fire right back at him. He was just so arrogant and serious and never any fun. Fortunately, after one too many rather public fights, they silently agreed that they should just stop ever talking to each other unless something nice could be said. After that, they barely spoke and always made an effort to sit as far apart as possible whenever there was a group get together. She still wasn’t sure how she would get through a whole weekend with him.

It was a few weeks prior that he asked her for a favour. She was hesitant, of course. What kind of favour could you ask of someone you don’t like? Well, it turned out he needed a date.

As the train curved past a small town, she recalled the conversation.

“You want me to be your date to a wedding?”

Kunzite’s face was its usual stoicness. Of course. He never did show emotion, after all.

“Yes. My little sister’s wedding.” He was silent after those words, hoping that was going to be enough but the disbelief on her face said that she needed more information. “If you must know, my mother has been...pestering me for some time about my single status. She has been rather insistent about me finding someone so I told her several months ago that I was seeing someone. Unfortunately I did not take into account bringing this fictitious woman to my sister’s wedding.”

“And you chose me?” Minako said somewhere in between mockery and confusion.

“Yes.” His face was in disbelief as well. “Unfortunately, my mother knows my friends and their significant others too well for me to utilize one of them. And it would be incredibly inappropriate to ask someone from my work.”

Right. He was a bigshot partner at some law firm and everyone he worked with worked under him. Yeah, she supposed that would be weird. And he was such a damn workaholic that he really didn’t have time for anyone else outside of his usual circle. But there were other things he could do.

“And before you say anything derogatory, no, I will not hire someone from an escort service.”

Damn. How did he know she was thinking that?

She looked him over. He looked surprisingly genuine with his turned down eyes and, was he fidgeting? Hmmm.

“What’s in it for me?”

“I would pay for the whole weekend, of course. And outside of the wedding itself and the rehearsal dinner, we can completely avoid each other.”

Minako eyed him skeptically.

“That's it?”

“And,” Kunzite continued as if it pained him to continue, “my firm recently gained a new client. If the weekend goes well, I could arrange a meeting with Minami Ogawa.”

Minako eyes popped. “The casting director?!”

It was true that Minako had been trying for years to get her big break in the entertainment industry. Her friends knew it, their partners knew it, and, of course, Kunzite knew it. This could make her career. But she also didn't want to quite admit defeat yet so she reigned in her excitement for one more clause to the deal.

“And you'll pay for two new dresses for me for the weekend?”

“Two?”

“Yes. I can’t wear the same dress twice in one weekend. You want me to look presentable, don't you?”

Kunzite sighed before holding his hand out. “Deal.”

Minako pulled out of her reverie. She tried to enjoy the summer sights but she couldn’t. She looked back down at the binder in her lap and mock gagged. She had insisted that they just wing it but he disagreed. He had to make things so much more complicated, as usual. She had met boyfriend’s parents before and she always come off lovely and charming and promising the mother she would keep in touch. It would be easy. Instead of winging it, he made a comprehensive binder listing details that he felt she should know. You know, things a girlfriend would know. How they met (common friends, at least he stuck with that one), where they had their first date (Ginza Sky Lounge), their second date (Jindai Botanical Gardens), the first movie they saw together (some pretentious Western movie she had never heard of), his family (both parents still alive and one soon to be wed little sister), and it went on.

At first, she tried to look at this as an opportunity to practice her acting skills. Surely, a weekend of playing a doting girlfriend would be good practice, right? At first, she took the binder with enthusiasm, determined to learn her part. But then, as she got further into the details, she found it harder and harder to continue. The thought of dating Kunzite was just…weird. And as the date loomed closer, she found herself pushing the binder away. But she was due at the station in under an hour and if she wanted to woo Kunzite’s family and get that meeting with Ogawa, she had to learn the last few pages quickly.

The wedding was in a small town a two hour train ride outside of Tokyo. They were staying at a hot springs inn a little ways from the station and the wedding was in some nearby hall she had never heard of. Well, that was probably because she didn’t venture much outside of Tokyo.

Kunzite didn’t say much about his sister in the binder. Just that she was four years younger than he was, she was a kindergarten teacher, and that the groom was an old college friend of Kunzite’s. It was weird to think of Kunzite with family. He never talked about them so she just sort of assumed he didn’t have any or he wasn’t close with them. Apparently it was the latter.

Her phone pinged with an unwelcome trill and she tried not to visibly shudder. She set his text tone separately so she knew it would be a message from him. The tone she chose was called chimes. It was a nice, pleasant sound that she hoped would balance the dread that would inevitably follow. So far, it hadn’t worked.

Did you manage to catch the train?

Only he could sound so condescending over text. To even it out, she typed back in her most sarcastic manner.

Yes. I did catch the train. I’m not a moron.

Good.

Was that really all he had to say? Jerk.

She thought about going back to the binder but she pushed it away with a grimace. Instead, she pulled up her contacts and called one of her best friends.

“Minako?”

“Hey Rei.”

Both girls paused. Rei waited for Minako to say why she was calling, but Minako wasn’t sure what to say.

“What’s up?” Rei asked. “Shouldn’t you be on the train right now?”

“I am.” She paused again before continuing. “Am I crazy? This is crazy, right?”

Minako could practically hear Rei’s smirk over the phone.

“I did say the whole thing was rather ludicrous.”

“Thanks for the encouragement,” Minako drawled.

“If you wanted encouragement, you should have called Makoto. You called me so you must have wanted me to talk you out of it.”

“No. I don’t want that. Just...do you think this is doable?”

Rei sighed. “If you’re both committed to it and don’t yell at each other, maybe.”

Right. The yelling. To be fair, it didn’t happen often. Their whole gang was discussing some heavier topics and, of course, Kunzite had the complete opposite opinion of her.

“What the hell do you mean?” she asked.

“Simply that if you cannot afford to have children, people should be careful about their-” he paused, searching for the right word, “dalliances.”

“So people should just never go out and enjoy themselves? Is that it?”

“No, that’s not what I-”

“Or do you think we should all be abstinent and boring like you?”

“If you would just listen-”

Before Kunzite could finish, Nephrite slammed his hands on the table. “Stop it both of you.” They both stopped and sat back. At least Kunzite had the sense to look mildly embarrassed. Well, as much as a piece of granite could look embarrassed. “Hearing you two argue is not what I had in mind for my birthday so if you could both just cut it out, you won’t have to leave.”

Minako shrinked back in her seat as Nephrite changed the topic. While Nephrite was usually the happiest of the group, he could be downright scary when he was mad. So Minako glanced at Kunzite and they both nodded, as if finally realizing how much their arguing was getting in the way of their friends.

Stupid Kunzite. He always had to escalate things. Since then, they just tried to avoid being in the same conversation, with some near misses.

“And how do I manage that?”

“Minako, you’re an actress. Just act like there’s something about Kunzite that you find desirable.”

Minako slumped her head against the window. “Any suggestions?”

“You won't believe a thing I have to say anyways. Pick things you can work with. He’s attractive, right? Use that. Find a few things about him that you can latch onto and talk about to his family.”

Minako massaged her temple with her free hand. “That’s going to be hard.”

“Then get off the train at the next station, turn around, and go home.”

“And miss my chance with Ogawa?”

“That’s up to you. But if you do want that meeting, you have to do a good job impressing his family and pretending like you’re in love with him.”

“Whoa. No one said anything about being in love. We just have to pretend we’re dating.”

“Minako, you don’t bring someone that casual to your little sister’s wedding. If you bring someone to a wedding, it’s someone that you’re going to be in love with.”

Shit. Rei was absolutely right. How could she overlook that? Shit shit shit.

“So I have to be lovey dovey with Kunzite?” The thought almost made her retch.

“What were you expecting to do before?”

Minako shrugged, although she knew Rei couldn’t see that. “I don’t know. Just hold hands and be lovely to his family?”

“You know Kunzite will need more than that. If you’re going to sell this, you need to do more than that. Channel Makoto. You know how lovey dovey she gets with Nephrite.”

Minako pictured the couple in the midst of one of their cutesy wutesy talks and chuckled. “Thanks. That kind of helps.”

“Good. Are you alright now?”

Minako let out a breath. “I think so.”

“Good. Because I have to go. Jadeite is burning lunch.”

Minako hung up and used the rest of the time on the train to begrudgingly learn the rest of the binder. Fortunately, it wasn't overly complicated and she was able to skip some redundant parts Kunzite wrote. Did she really need to know what his favourite food was? Or the colour of the walls in his apartment?

The final section was, oddly, about her. It would seem that Kunzite told his mother some details when pressured so, of course, Kunzite felt the need to include all those details too. According to him, Minako was a receptionist who enjoyed museums and dabbled in fine wine.

She scoffed. A receptionist? How dull and uninspired was that? Was this the kind of woman Kunzite looked for? Well, she supposed that would be perfect for him. She wouldn’t threaten his success and they could be dull and uninspiring together.

As the train slowed to a stop, Minako heard chimes again and shuddered.

I’m in the parking lot.

Minako groaned. It was a half hour drive to the hotel they were staying at. Minako insisted she could take a cab but Kunzite seemed to think it would look better if they arrived together. And of course he had to drive. He was too good to ride the train like a normal person.

Okay she replied and resisted the urge to add a rolling eyes emoji.

She hoisted her bright yellow suitcase off of the train and wiped her brow at the sun’s heat beating down. Her wheels click clacked on the tiles as she made her way through the station and finally through to the parking lot. He was standing by his too fancy car, sunglasses on. Women stared at him as they passed and Minako remembered Rei’s words. “He’s attractive, right? Use that.”

Sure, he was attractive. She wasn’t blind. He had a strong jawline, relatively broad shoulders, and always dressed well. It was just his personality that was so unattractive. She wanted to yell the truth to the women passing by, that he was arrogant and entitled and probably wouldn’t give them a second glance unless they were models or something.

He raised his hand slightly to get her attention and Minako could feel the jealous looks on her back.

“Hi,” he said as she approached.

“Hi.”

An awkward moment passed between them before he reached for her suitcase. “I can get that. The car’s unlocked.”

She muttered in acquiescence, slid into the car, and realized she was wrong. His car wasn’t just too fancy, it was WAY too fancy. There were a ton of buttons that she couldn’t even figure out the purpose of. There was a fancy screen mounted on the dash and she found herself waiting for some kind of personalized AI to jump out of it.

The driver door opened and Kunzite slid in. The car started up again but the engine was so quiet, she barely noticed. The only sign of the car starting was the screen coming to life and a full blast of AC.

It was at this point that normal people would make small talk. He would ask how how the train ride was or tell her a bit about the hotel they were staying at. But no. This was Kunzite and he was Mr. Silent, Mr. Unfriendly. He could never be bothered to say something nice to someone else. So she supposed it had to be up to her.

“So have you been to this place before?”

“No. But that does remind me.” He reached down to the console and punched in a few things on the screen. Next thing Minako knew, she heard an electronic female voice coming out of the console, directing them where to go. Kunzite seemed to have forgotten Minako’s question and stayed silent.

So much for small talk.

Well, if he was going to be silent, she could too. She fiddled with the radio, trying to find a good station. He eyed her out of the corner of his eyes but said nothing. She found something with some fun pop and settled back in her seat. It was only a half hour to the hotel. She could manage that.

Well, she lasted seven and a half minutes.

“Are you going to be like this all weekend?”

“Like what?”

She gestured at him wildly. “Like this. All stony and quiet. Can’t you be a little more interesting?”

“Interesting,” he echoed in a deadpan voice.

“Yes. Interesting. I can’t work off a piece of granite all weekend.”

“Are we trying to impress someone right now?”

She opened her mouth and then closed it again. “No.”

“That’s why I made the binder. No extra contact with us, right?”

Minako shrugged. “I guess. So you just want to figure this out when we get there?”

“You act as if it’s going to be difficult. As long as we have both prepped for this, this weekend will run smoothly. And I thought it best not to talk too much if it wasn't necessary. Keep the peace and all.”

Minako picked at a loose thread on her shorts to avoid looking at him. That was a pretty good point, she supposed. If the two of them ever fell into a conversation, it always escalated into a full on argument. I mean, does he have to be so disagreeable all the time?

She realized she still hadn't said anything so she muttered, “I guess that makes sense.”

The sounds of a Jpop star filled the silence and Minako decided to watch the scenery, though there wasn't much. Just lots of trees. Then, she heard the music change.

Kunzite's hands were still on the wheel but it was definitely a different station. He probably had fancy controls on his steering wheel.

“What was that for?”

He raised an eyebrow. “I changed the music. Those top 40 pop songs give me a headache.”

“So? I was enjoying it. And besides, it wouldn't kill you to listen to it for a half an hour. May I remind you that I am taking a weekend out of my life to do something nice for you.”

“Something nice?” He scoffed. It was the most emotion she heard in his voice the whole ride. “You're only here so you can meet Ogawa so don't pretend like you're doing this out of the goodness of your heart.”

Damn. He had her there.

“Well,” she trailed off for a moment, trying to find the right words. “If I were in your shoes, I would at least try to make a guest feel welcome.”

She crossed her arms, sank into her seat, and rested her feet up against the dash.

He swatted them down without taking his eyes off the road. “My car, my rules.”

“You know, it wouldn't kill you to do something nice once in a while.”

“Like let you dirty my car and blast your terrible music? No thank you.”

Minako rolled her eyes. “That's not what I meant.”

“It's exactly what you meant. You want to have your own way.”

“What?”

He shrugged and continued as if it was common knowledge. “You do. And no one else’s opinion matters.”

She was aghast. “Excuse me?”

“Come on. At least admit it. It’s obvious.”

Her cheeks reddened. How dare he? “I don’t do that. I just want people to be included.”

“Against their will.”

Her face grew an even brighter red. “Well at least I'm not a stick in the mud with a stick up my own stick ass.”

“At least I don't always have to be the centre of attention. I understand subtlety and I don’t make everyone around me uncomfortable.”

If steam could be coming out of Minako's ears, they would be.

“Pull over,” she demanded.

He raised an eyebrow but obliged. Before the car could fully stop, she was out the door. She walked around to the back and Kunzite watched her struggle a bit before she stormed over to his window.

“Open the trunk please,” she said. Her voice was calm but her teeth were clenched.

He pulled a latch and she stormed to the back of the car again. After an awkward yank, she hoisted her suitcase out of the trunk and began walking away.

Kunzite sighed and stepped out. “Where are you going?”

“Isn't it obvious? Back to the train station. I clearly won't be respected this weekend so there's no point in me staying.”

She paused, waiting for him to say something. Instead, he glanced over her, settling on her feet. “It's probably about a three hour walk back to the station and those shoes don't seem to be built for that.”

True, her wooden wedges were less than suitable for the rocky sides of the road. “I’ll call a cab then.”

He leaned against the car, as if he had all day. “Do you even know where you are?”

She was aware of the long pause she took but she still said, “Of course”

He said nothing. He just stood there and stared at her. It was a challenge. He was calling her bluff.

“Well, I should start back to the train station then,” she said. “Anything is better than being in that car with you for five more minutes.”

With that, she flipped her long golden hair and continued walking away.

“Okay then. Good luck.”

She didn’t even look back as she reached her arm high and waved goodbye. She waited for him to get back in his car. She waited to hear the hum of an engine and the sound of him driving away. Then she remembered how quiet his car was. Damn. Did he already drive away? Should she risk a look over her shoulder?

She forced herself to count to twenty as she walked away. Then she took a glance over her shoulder.

He was still there. In fact, he hadn’t even moved.

“Are you done?” he called out to her. “Will you get back in the car?”

She turned around and took several steps towards him. “What do you mean?” she yelled back. “I’m storming off. Tell your family I was sick or something.”

“You and I both know that you’re not going to miss out on a chance with Ogawa. Now will you stop wasting time and get back in the car?”

Her eyes darted back and forth as she weighed her options. Her act of storming off was supposed to make him apologize but if she went back now, he had the high ground. And she didn’t like losing.

On the other hand, it was true what he said. She could just prolong this and hope she ended up with the higher ground. But she also had a feeling that he wasn’t going to budge. He was definitely stubborn like that. Stupid stubborn jerk.

“Okay.” She was still a fair distance from him so she still had to raise her voice. “I’ll come back. But you have to be nicer to me.”

Minako thought she saw him roll his eyes behind his sunglasses but she was too far away to tell. “Fine.”

She walked back to him, expecting him to step forward and help her with her suitcase again but he just got back in the car. She hoisted her suitcase back in the still open trunk and made sure to slam it shut with more force than necessary.

Minako stared out the window. She didn’t think she could look at him without getting mad again. Neither had said a word since she got back in the car. She thought about trying to find a neutral conversation point but her imagination kept coming up with ways he would argue with her.

Okay. Maybe he was right. Maybe they should just avoid talking to each other unless they had someone to convince that they were madly in love. So instead, she flipped through her phone and the radio stayed quiet. The only sound she heard was his dash, telling him where to go.

As they turned the corner and pulled into the hotel, Minako forgot about her vow of silence.

“It’s gorgeous!”

It really was. It was a little more modern than she expected. There were glass walls intermixed with the wood but still held an older look. It fit perfectly amid the surrounding greenery, the crisp, fresh smell of it wafted on the air.

After pulling out their suitcases, they made their way into the building. It was beautiful. Rich, traditional wood architecture mixed with more modern brickwork and glass. Rooftops rose high to a peak, making the dark wood seem more airy, and doors were wide open, letting in the warm summer air. But it got a bit gloomier when Kunzite took her hand. It felt weird. His hand was stiff and had callouses. Before she could ask why, she realized a middle aged couple was walking towards them.

“Kunzite. You made it.”

It was the woman who spoke. She had long dark hair and a friendly smile. The man with her had neatly trimmed hair and glasses and she assumed them to be his parents.

“Hi mom. Hi dad.”

Minako forced herself to stand a little straighter, her posture for girlfriend who was madly in love. At the last second, she stepped closer to him. Intimacy, right? She didn’t miss the look he threw her. But it passed quickly. His parents were approaching fast.

His mother pulled him in for a hug and then smiled wider when she looked at Minako.

“So, you must be Minako.”

“I am. It’s so nice to finally meet you. Kunzite has told me so much about you.”

Her words had the desired effect of making his mother blush.

“I’m so glad to hear that. We haven’t seen him in ages and he kept refusing to send me any photos of you. I was starting to wonder if you even existed.”

“Well, it is hard to get him to be in a picture with me. If it wasn’t for us going out in the daylight, I would have thought he was a vampire.”

Minako felt Kunzite’s hand squeeze a little harder but his parents were laughing. It even allowed his dad to interject.

“Kunzite never was one for photos. He always looked far too serious in them.”

Minako laughed but she felt like Kunzite was getting annoyed. He overcompensated for it well though.

“Well, we should really check in. We don’t have too much time before dinner and we should get settled.”

“Oh,” his mother began, ruffling through her purse. “I actually got everyone checked in. You two are in room...” She pulled out a key card and squinted at the number, “204.”

She handed Kunzite the key card and it wasn’t until she let go that he realized what she said.

“Both of us in the same room?”

“Of course,” his mother waved her hand dismissively. “You’re an adult now.”

“And this isn’t our trip to Nara,” his father said.

“We are perfectly comfortable with you two staying in the same room.” Kunzite looked shell shocked. If Minako wasn’t so shocked herself, she would have wished she had a camera. “Now hurry up you two.” She glanced at her watch. “Kunzite’s right. There really isn’t too much time before dinner tonight and I would love to get together with you both before that so we can get to know you.”

“Of course,” Minako said, keeping her voice soft and light. “I would love that.”

“Perfect. Then we’ll meet you in the restaurant at five?”

“That sounds wonderful.”

With a wave, his parents walked away and it took Minako and Kunzite a moment before they snapped back to reality.

“Let’s go,” he said, letting go of her hand.

She was happy to let go and took the moment to rub a bit at her face. Maybe that smile had been overcompensating a bit.

The trip to the second floor was quiet and when they reached their door, Kunzite swiped his card and held the door open for her. Minako raised her eyebrows and wondered where the sudden chivalry was coming from.

“Take the luggage in. I’m going to get another room.”

So much for chivalry.

The door closed behind him and Minako was left to check out the room. It was lighter and airier than the rest of the hotel. The walls were off white with wood accents. The bed was large and looked incredibly comfortable. That was confirmed when she ran her hand over it and experimentally flopped onto it. But what really caught her eye was the view. The balcony was large with a couple of chairs and looked out on a sea of green. She felt herself getting calmer already.

Then the door opened again. Loudly. Leave it up to him to break the serenity.

Minako walked back inside and saw the frustrated look on his face. “What’s wrong?”

“The place is completely booked.”

“What?”

He huffed before continuing. “We’ll just have to make do with separating the futons and not look at each other.”

Kunzite was still in the entryway. He didn't see the bed. He didn’t know.

“Umm. That might be a bit difficult. This place is a bit more modern than that,” she said pointing towards the bed that he couldn’t see.

He quirked an eyebrow and walked in to see the very sturdy, very heavy bed frame, bearing a single, whole mattress.

“Shit.”

#senxshi #minako aino #kunzite #venusXkunzite #kunzite x minako #fanfic #slow burn #enemies to lovers #fake dating

25 notes · View notes

foramomentonly · 5 years ago

Text

Nail in My Coffin, Part 8a

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six

Part Seven

Summary: Alex and Kyle are fashion designers on a Next In Fashion style reality show. Michael is their model. Dom/sub elements. Prompt courtesy of @signoraviolettavalery .

Michael and Alex go public. Takes place between Parts 5/6 and Part 7.

TW: Semi-public sex, restraints

Author’s Note: This one got LONG. So this is part A and part B will be posted simultaneously and is a direct continuation.

Read on AO3

The swagger with which Michael enters the studio in Alex’s Air Force t-shirt can only be described as excessive.

He’s worn it before, of course, usually half-concealed under a jacket or one of his endless denim or flannel button-downs—for a man working in the fashion industry he has shockingly little interest in personal style and grooming. But today, when he throws open the heavy double doors on set and ambles in looking like the cat fucking drowning in cream, the shirt is on full display, logo across the chest pulled a little less taut than it would be on Alex’s frame, but bold and obvious nonetheless. Alex smirks, trying and utterly failing not to stare as Michael locks eyes with him across the studio and sets off toward his station like a bloodhound. Kyle notices, notices Alex noticing, and shoots him a quizzical look.

“What’s he doing?” he asks. “He’s working with Liz and Rosa again today, isn’t he?”

“I think he’s coming to say hello,” Alex says, shaking his head in amusement and unable to keep his eyes off of Michael as he weaves between stations, equipment, and people. “We had a...talk the other night.”

He turns as Michael approaches, leaning back casually against the drafting table and waiting. And with zero hesitation Michael steps into Alex’s space, crowding him against the table with his arms on either side of Alex’s hips and captures his lips in a wet, open-mouthed, not-even-remotely-appropriate-for-public kiss. Alex slides his hands into Michael’s curls and tugs, biting at his bottom lip and laughing into the kiss as Michael moans exaggeratedly, and half the room whoops and burst into applause. Alex pulls back a little self-consciously, but he can’t stop smiling, and Michael is looking at him like he’s forgotten he was putting on an elaborate show not thirty seconds ago.

“Hi,” he whispers, and sneaks back in to peck Alex once more, light and sincere.

“Nice shirt,” Alex replies lightly, and Michael grins wide.

“Oh, it’s not mine,” he shakes his head, voice teasing, but eyes intent. “It’s my boyfriend’s.”

“Okay,” says a brash voice to their left, “you know everyone’s only clapping cuz they don’t have to watch you two pretend to sneak around anymore, right?”

They turn their heads to find Rosa, hip cocked, arms crossed, and dark eyes narrow. Her stare is severe, but there’s a glint in her eyes, and her full lips are quirked in a playful smirk.

“Let’s go, güey,” she says to Michael. “You got a lot to make up to me and we started when you still had your tongue down your boyfriend’s throat.”

Michael grins one last time and darts forward, pressing a dry kiss to Alex’s cheek before he turns dutifully toward Rosa.

“Take him,” Kyle says, disgusted, waving his hand as if to shoo Michael away. “Take them both. How is it worse now that you're not sneaking around?"

"Really, dude?" Rosa laughs as she turns back to her own station, confident Michael will follow. "Did you think they'd tone it down?"

***

Being open about their relationship is better because it’s clearly better for Michael. He’s basking in it, preening for no damn reason, so secure in the knowledge that everyone knows he belongs to Alex. And Alex is happy to see Michael so content, he really is. But as the day goes on, Alex’s mood grows darker, and he can’t seem to grasp why Michael’s barking laugh, his bright eyes and flashing teeth seem to haunt Alex as he struggles to maintain some semblance of professional focus and integrity.

Alex is working on the hem of their model’s shorts—it’s always the fucking hem—and watching Michael out of the corner of his eye. He’s laughing with Liz, Rosa rolling her eyes dramatically, but smiling. She pushes his shoulder and gestures at his torso, and Michael easily lifts Alex’s shirt over his head and drapes it over the garment rack to his left. Alex glowers at Michael’s tan, bare chest and the sharp curve of his hips, now on full display for the whole studio to see. Alex burns, arousal flushing his cheeks and something dark and unforgiving heating the blood in his veins. His next pass of the needle is a touch too aggressive, and his model gives a yelp as it pricks her thigh.

“I’m so sorry, Maria,” Alex says, leaning back as she bends over to inspect her leg.

“It’s all right,” she assures him, straightening again and gesturing for Alex to continue his work. “It was a pinch, that’s all.”

Alex shakes his head and he takes the garment back in hand, hyperfocused on his next stitch.

“It was stupid,” he insists. “I’m just—I’m distracted today.”

"I noticed,” Maria quips, laughter in her voice.

Alex looks up at her and she smirks knowingly, eyes traveling deliberately to where Michael is—oh, fuck—dramatically dropping his pants, standing smugly in tiny red briefs as Rosa gags and Liz covers her mouth, half gaping, half giggling. Maria’s gaze returns to Alex and she raises a perfect brow.

“He's a lot to look at,” she grins. “Believe me, I know."

She gives him a conspiratorial wink, and Alex blinks. When he doesn't respond, her brow furrows and she begins to chew her lip nervously.

"O-oh, I'm sorry," she says. "Did you not know he–or that we used to–"

Alex comes back to himself and smiles quickly, reassuringly.

"No, no," he assures her. "You're fine. I mean, I didn't know about your, um, history, but don't worry. You didn't say anything wrong."

She smiles weakly at him and clears her throat, eyes fixed ahead and very much not on either Alex or Michael.

And, objectively, it really, absolutely is fine. Of course Michael has a sexual history, and Alex has always known it includes both women and men. He's been in this industry long enough to know that the social scene in any given fashion hub is insular and smaller than you might think. He's not at all surprised Michael has slept with another model from the show. They are some of the most beautiful people in the world by trade; it's natural that they’d seek out sex with one another. Alex would never begrudge Michael his history, not even when he currently has a hand on its very long, very soft, toned leg.

But he can't fight the dark, hot roil in the pit of his stomach that is growling mine.

***

Liz and Rosa finally let Michael go around three o’clock, confident they won’t need him again until the final fitting before runway the next day. He re-dresses hurriedly, eyes drifting shut as he tugs Alex’s shirt over his head and catches the scent of Alex’s detergent, his body wash, the heady smell of his skin. Michael runs a hand down his own torso under the guise of smoothing the wrinkles out of his shirt, but in reality, he’s worked up, on edge, and while it’s not his own hands he wants to feel dragging across his body, any touch helps to ground and focus him. He needs to find Alex, who's been conspicuously absent from his station since he let Maria go fifteen minutes ago.

Michael groans as he carefully fastens his jeans. He’s been half-hard all day long, Alex’s gaze a tangible thing, hot and heavy on the back of his neck. It’s been awkward, given the joke underwear he threw on to fuck with Rosa. It’s also unsettling. He's used to working for it, drawing Alex's focus from across the room slowly, painstakingly, with flourish. He's used to earning Alex's attention. Today, it has seemed to haunt him, and there's a hollow pit in his stomach and a dark voice in his ear whispering, You fucked up.

As soon as he's out of range of Rosa's prying eyes, he pulls his phone from his pocket and sends Alex a text.

M: Where are you rn?

He doesn’t expect Alex to answer quickly; Alex isn’t the type to jump for every buzz of his phone. But his reply comes almost immediately.

A:Dressing room.

The show isn’t nearly high profile enough for individual designers or models to have their own space, but they do have one dingy, communal “dressing room” set up for general purposes. Private phone calls, crying and bitching sessions, even panic attacks are not out of the ordinary. It’s a space designed to be out of reach of cameras and mics. That Alex is using it now pushes Michael from unsettled to concerned.

M: You okay?

A: Yes.

Michael is considering a response, his desire to respect Alex’s privacy battling with his need for reassurance, to wrap himself in the warm security of Alex’s touch and voice, when his phone vibrates again in his hand.

A: Wanna play?

Oh. Oh.

Michael licks his lips, pulse quickening. He’d sensed Alex’s restlessness, the steady strum of tension between them, and fell back into old habits. Presumed the worst, accepted fault, assumed he had failed on some intrinsic level. But this is not Michael disappointing Alex; this is Michael overwhelming him.

Michael grins.

M: On my way, Captain.

#malex #malex fic #rnm #rnm fic #malex fashion au #d/s elements #alex manes #michael guerin #kyle valenti #rosa ortecho #maria deluca #tw: semi-public sex #tw: restraints #my fic

9 notes · View notes

hallie-fics · 5 years ago

Text

author spotlight - still_i_fall

He wants to forget how it felt to be hers for just one second.

- remember it’s all pretend @in-my-head-i-do-everything-right

one of the most prolific writers in the hallie fandom, @in-my-head-i-do-everything-right (still_i_fall) has graced us with classic after classic. i had an absolute blast talking with her, and hope you all enjoy the interview!

q&a

Hey! Thanks again for including me in this! Very excited to answer the questions. I love talking about myself.

Favorite of your stories (and why)

I almost got stuck on this question. I really want to say remember it’s all pretend because I am so incredibly proud of that one. It was the first multi chapter fic that I ever properly finished and I feel like that really means something to me. I also really love that concept, and how it was able to fit in slowburn and enemies to friends to lovers and mutual pining plus a million other little tropes. And, most of all, it was really fun to write. It happened really easily. It’s something I’ll go back to sometimes if I’m ever in the mood to reread my own work.

But I also love this new thing that I just wrote called i just wanna dance with you. I think if I can pull it off, it could be something really amazing. I was able to write the first chapter in about a week and had a ton of fun doing it. And I really love writing Harry’s pov and just switching things up a little. Ugh, I really love the idea of hallie meeting/knowing each other as little kids and I think that’s pretty apparent in these two fics.

Easiest story to write

I’ll stop the world (and melt with you) happened really quickly which I guess qualifies it as easy to write. I thought it’d be more difficult just because so much of it is dependent on canon which is something I’m not entirely used to, but it ended up going to fast. I think somewhere I still have a page of notes on that Prom episode and everything that happens to Allie and Harry. I really wanted to include pieces of dialogue from the show.

I also think it was because I used to do this thing when I was bored where I’d think about who I’d want to be trapped in a Groundhog day like loop with and what’d I’d do. It was just this recurring thought/ daydream I had when I was younger so it’s definitely a situation that I’ve thought through a little.

Hardest story to write

The taste, the touch, the way we love has been a pain in the ass to write right from the start. Sometimes it’s really fun, but I think I’ve been sticking way too close to the outline I drew at the very start and have been avoiding writing it for too long. Sometimes I absolutely love to write it and have the time of my life, and other times I hate it. There’s not much of an in between. Still definitely want to finish it. Just waiting on that final bit of inspiration.

Pre-writing process

I’m all about doing a full outline. Usually. With most longer fics (anything I think will be over 6,000 words), I do a full outline where I plan out the progression of the fic and specific scenes and pieces of dialogue. Usually, the plot hits me all at once and is usually the easiest part of the writing process for me. From that original outline, I usually have at least a few specific scenes fully planned out with pieces of dialogue and/or exposition. For example, for i’ll stop the world I started out the planning process with the introduction piece of the fic. That first paragraph is straight out of the note apps on my phone. A lot of the time it’ll end up being a bullet point list of main bits. I’ll use parentheses to specify the tone of a scene or little details and then use brackets for things that I want verbatim in the fic.

But sometimes I end up with very little pre-planning. The skating au is kinda the only good example of this. I only had the roughest of outlines for that one (how i wanted the first chapter to start and end) and everything else just came together as I tried to get from point A to point B.

What drew you to Hallie

The potential. They could have a really great story and I think that’s fun. There’s a lot of chemistry there and their dynamic is fun and, yeah, I think I’m a little too far in to get out now.

Favorite line (or lines)/ section you’re proud of

God, I have so many. Hope you don’t mind me going through them. It’s incredibly self indulgent but also gives me an excuse to go through my old works.

From the very first hallie fic I ever wrote, how you wish it would be all the time:

“And Harry's not perfect. He's not what she wanted before this all started or even really after, but everything's different now.”

Sometimes I forget about this fic, but I really shouldn’t cause there is a solid chance that this was my peak. And this line is really fun.

From we kiss and we keep busy:

“The stars may have moved a little bit, but they’re still there, and they still look the same, and that’s good enough for her.”

I promise I’m not going through every hallie fic I’ve ever written but god I love this line.

From i saved a picture where your hair was braided:

“It’s late nights and long talks and video games and cookie dough. It’s almost kisses, then definite kisses, and then not wanting to wake up anywhere but his bed. That’s how she starts to fall in love with Harry Bingham.”

Just that last part. That last line. The rest is just there for some fun context. Fun fact: this entire little mini fic was a desperate attempt to stave off writer's block and is based entirely around that single line in the song Donna by the lumineers. Still had a lot of fun with it, though.

From remember it’s all pretend:

“He wonders when she’ll realise that this hasn’t been pretend for him in years. Probably never. (He’d still run away with her.)”

“In the back of her mind, Allie wonders why she didn’t try harder to stay with Harry, why now she can only seem to fall in love in front of a camera where there’s the promise of pretend.”

“She likes to think that they’re still friends, that they’re just friends who don’t talk anymore, two people who drifted because one couldn’t handle the idea of change.”

This fic has a million little bits that I love. I could literally go on forever. It’s just full of that mutual pining angst that I live for.

From but i close my eyes and i’m somewhere else:

“She did not mention this earlier because she was trying desperately hard to ignore it, but fuck, she’s really missed him calling her Pressman.”

“She wonders if Cassandra has any travel sized neck pillows.”

This fic is surprisingly good seeing as I don’t remember writing it at all. I was very much high on some sort of flu medication while writing this and I think that explains a lot about this fic. It’s fun, though. I really love the tone.

From the taste, the touch, the way we love:

“She starts to feel like she couldn’t avoid Harry if she wanted to (and somehow, as the days turn into weeks, she finds herself not wanting to more and more).”

“There’s saltwater in her eyes, hair, and mouth. Harry’s leaning back in it, floating. She is too. The water is blue, and warm, and the sky is clear. Sometimes his hand will grab hers just to pull her closer. When she thinks of calm, of happiness, and vacation, she’ll think of this moment.”

“They’re quiet for a moment. Maggie Rogers can be heard in the background, faded and slow. Harry’s tapping his fingers along to it on the wheel, eyes staring straight ahead. The road is lined with trees, and it all feels like home.”

“For a half a second, she thinks she loves him. She pushes that away and watches him throw wrapping paper behind him dramatically. She pushes it away and she smiles and she laughs and she tries not to think too hard about what all of this means.”

This fic definitely has its moments. I’m really excited to get the last part done and out, though. I just feel like I’ve spent too long on this fic. I want it done.

From i just wanna dance with you:

“Allie met Harry the same day Cassandra did. It was early in the morning and she was four and now, when she looks back, all she can remember from the moment is the vague outline of wild hair and a smile so bright and wide and carefree that it really can’t be anyone else’s.”

“She tries to remember that she likes skating with Will, that there’s no point in wondering what it’d be like if things were just a little bit different.”

“She lied earlier; gold, silver, bronze, doesn’t matter. Harry always looks good.”

“The first time he ever placed first in a competition, she was skating with him. He wonders how long he’ll associate the feeling of a gold medal around his neck with her hand in his. He hopes it’s not long. “

I’m so excited to finish this fic like you guys don’t even understand. It’s really fun and it feels easy to write (so far; knock on wood) and I love the concept.

What type of Hallie stories do you like to write/read?

I only write au’s just because I think the rules are little different, everything’s just a little bit more relaxed. You’re allowed so much freedom when it’s a completely different universe and I really love that. I went through a phase recently where I was obsessed with canon divergence and this whole idea of a history of contingency. Just there being these points or moments where if one thing was just a little different, everything would’ve changed. I love that and I think that’s really apparent in my drafts/ unreleased wips.

I’ll read anything, though. Especially with the Hallie ao3 page being so small. I do definitely have a preference still towards au’s, though.

How long have you been writing

For forever. As a kid, I’d fill up entire notebooks with story ideas. It was my favorite thing to do. When I was twelve, a teacher complimented my writing, and I think that really stuck with me. It’s just something I’ve always enjoyed doing.

Do you ever worry about how your stories are received

Not really. A little bit with multi chapter stories just because I really want every chapter to be better than the last. I just really don’t want to disappoint anyone.

What’s the hardest part of writing for you

The middle bits. I usually have a very clear idea of the beginning and end so it’s everything in between that I have trouble with. I think that’s why I’m so big on outlining.

Do you ever get writer's block and how do you deal with it

Oh my god all the fucking time! Right now, for example. Usually, I just try to work through it, especially if I have a project in progress. I also do a lot of reading to try to force some sort of inspiration. A lot of what I write is based on what I’m reading. I’ll also listen to music. And, recently, I’ve been making mood boards for my fics which has been so much fun. I really like looking at pretty pictures.

Biggest risk you’ve taken as a writer

Lol I don’t really take risks. I think the riskiest thing I do is post the first chapter of a story with none of the second chapter started. I do that a lot.

Favorite Hallie trope

Reluctant friends to very good friends to lovers. Also, living together without establishing a clear relationship. I write that a lot. Mutual pining is always fun too.

Favorite Hallie headcanon

That Harry calls Allie ‘Pressman’ which forces Allie to call him ‘Bingham’. I just think there’s something so fun about calling someone by their last name. Plus, then you get that moment when the first name is used and that gets to be significant. Oh, also that they both swear like sailors, but that’s mostly self-insert on my part.

This felt very self indulgent, but I hope it was at least somewhat enjoyable for someone.

I am forever waiting to read whatever @in-my-head-i-do-everything-right writes next. It was great to see some of the behind the scenes and I would definitely recommend her latest release cities you’ll never see on screen.

#the society #hallie #author spotlight #in-my-head-i-do-everything-right #still_i_fall

9 notes · View notes

fmdxsujiarchive · 4 years ago

Text

summary: a close producer tells suji the story of his twenty year-old niece falling in love with her first boyfriend, and it takes suji back to the days when she was young, stupid but in love date: multiple times around june to july word count: 2,205 words, excluding the lyrics notes: creative claims (full lyrics & composition) verification self-para for one day of twenty! not name-dropped but some very vague mentions of jae 👀

it’s been a couple of weeks since she’s submitted 26 for confirmation. the feedback that she received from the couple of in-house producers about the song had been overly positive. they say that they’re proud that she’s ventured into something a bit different and that going for a rock ballad style doesn’t sound too bad for her next album. suji knows that they’re mostly teasing her, but she appreciates the genuine support that she’s been receiving. she really wouldn’t be anywhere close to a singer songwriter if all these people surrounding her hadn’t been so helpful and supporting.

she’s mumbling on about how many she should go find herself an actual studio to work in other than her home studio so that she doesn’t have to borrow equipment from a bunch of people inside the company when the producer that’s been allowing her to use his studio walks back in. he’s brought in some food, and she almost forgets how she hasn’t eaten in about five hours. she gives him a quick thanks.

“hey, so my niece is turning twenty soon, and i was wondering what twenty year-old girls would like? i literally have nobody else to ask but you, suji-yah.” the look on his face tells her enough that he’s quite desperate for some advice, and she can’t help but chuckle as she takes a fry out from the bag.

“i haven’t been twenty in so long, oppa,” she replies with a slight hum. “the most typical presents are roses, perfume and a kiss. i’m positive she doesn’t want the last one from you so maybe perfume? just go to olive young and ask them what’s popular these days with college freshmen. i’m sure they’ll be more than ecstatic to help you.” there was nothing special that she received on her turning of age day so she wouldn’t be too much help.

“my sister—her mom—tells me she has a boyfriend already though so she’ll probably be getting all that from him anyway. isn’t there something more useful?” suji can’t help but laugh at the look of disgust that’s on minwoo’s face as he talks about his niece’s boyfriend. her sister hasn’t blessed her as the position of an aunt just yet, but she thinks she’ll probably understand the feeling one day.

“if you want to be useful to both your sister and your niece, i say get her a laptop. that’s useful for college freshmen.” that seems to do it for him because he immediately whips out his phone and types on it. she assumes he’s making a note to himself or looking up laptops. either way, he seems to have hit the jackpot so she swivels her chair around back to the computer.

she’s pulled up an older beat that she’s had drafted since preparations for her first mini album. it wasn’t polished enough then to be released as an actual song, but it was a soft beat that she enjoyed, and so she’d been working on it for a couple of days now, trying to polish it up so that it actually sounded like a song.

“that sounds nice, suji. almost like a softer version of 26.” suji turns back around at the sound of minwoo’s voice with a raised brow because she hadn’t considered it like that before. the background sounds are quite repetitive as she’d been hoping to keep it minimal with the instrumentation, but now that he mentioned it, she could hear the similarities. “i guess? it has a lot less guitar though because i’m not trying to write another rock song, trust me. 26 was difficult enough though jaehyuk oppa was helpful when it came to the guitar in that one.”

he gets his eyes off of his phone to walk over to the screen. “yeah, but i think where the beat falls is pretty similar. not that it’s a bad thing. i actually think if you were to finish this, it’d go well in an album with 26. that is if gold star confirms 26 which they’d be stupid not to.” she gives him a light punch on the arm out of pure embarrassment from the compliment.

“okay, yeah, my sister definitely wants the laptop. i think she just doesn’t want to buy one herself for her daughter. speaking of my niece, apparently she’s head over heels for this boyfriend. it’s her first boyfriend so can you blame her?” she can see that he’s trying to brush it off like it’s not bothering him, but she can see the clenched jaws as well as how he’s tapping the soundboard a bit too rapidly. “i think everybody thinks they’re in love at that age.”

he nods in agreement before telling her how he needs to leave. she nods goodbye at him, and he doesn’t forget to give her one last burst of encouragement about how nice the composition sounds, and she gives him a thumbs up in response.

now that her distraction was gone, she went back to the composition at hand. it was almost finished, but after minwoo had implanted the idea that it was similar to 26 but softer, she couldn’t help but wonder if it was the right decision to keep taking it. the instruments used are different, but the direction and sequence of things was similar. she puts it on repeat a couple of times before coming to the decision that she still likes how raw it sounds as it was originally drafted back when she was beginning to learn how to compose. she’ll take his words as meaning that her sound just really hasn’t changed too much.

the volume of the background instrumentals don’t shift throughout the whole song, and she likes that about it. she continues to add a few new sounds as the song progresses, but it returns back to the original composition that she had in the very beginning at the end. the song progresses like it’s telling a story and that after the climax, it comes to a resolution just as it began. just the way she likes it.

the completed composition is a step up from its very first original draft she created back in early 2019. she knows that her upcoming album is going to be released late into the year, and she thinks the way the muted bells and other instruments work together reminds her of walking on a fresh blanket of white snow.

she hopes that it’s how others perceive the song as well.

she’s on stand by in the middle of filming and hanging out in her car to avoid the harsh sunlight when she decides that she’s already memorized all five of her lines, and that’d she would like to use her time a little more productively. she takes out her cellphone as well as the notebook she keeps with her at all times in case she gets a burst of inspiration.

she’s scrolling through her list of compositions that are naked without lyrics when she gets a kakaotalk from minwoo.

[ hey! my niece really loved the laptop so thanks a lot, suji! but she’s always on a date with her boyfriendㅠㅠㅠ i miss when she was seven ]

suji can’t contain her laughter at the whiny text, and she’s lucky that she’s the only one in the car right now. it would have been embarrassing to explain what she was laughing so hard about if anybody was around. leaning back onto the car seat, she tries to think back to her own life back when she was twenty. what was it like? was it as great of a transition as people make it out to be?

twenty would mean six years ago which was exactly when she first debuted with fuse. she doesn’t remember any feelings of being in love around that time or really falling for anybody. all she can remember is the nerves she felt from performing on stage and just overall from being a rookie in the industry. looking back at the text that minwoo sent her, she smiles because his niece seems to be living the life.

twenty.

it’s made out to be some extravagant age, but nothing really changes much. however, korea seems to put a lot of emphasis onto the age. you’re suddenly allowed to drink, stay out during later hours and buy lottery tickets. though it also means you no longer can pay a discounted fare for the subway and bus, and that you’re suddenly thrown into a bigger society that’s no longer just school.

but she can’t help but be a little jealous of minwoo’s niece. to feel like you’ve fallen so deep in love that you can’t live without your significant other though they’re both young. people grow out of love as quickly as they fall in love. she hears stories of how people were in the most beautiful relationships as college freshmen right when they hit twenty, and then they go through nasty breakups and then all marry someone else. however, when she hears those stories, the same people who curse their boyfriend or girlfriend at the same time also tell her that it was a meaningful time of their lives.

perhaps that’s what’s so beautiful about being twenty.

being allowed to do wild things, throw yourself into all these relationships but then look back at it and excuse yourself because you were young. because you were fresh, and you didn’t know any better.

you know, there’s nobody i like so much these days that it makes my heart burst not since that blue summer of our’s that we passed through and suddenly faced breaking up

there’s that feeling that exists when you first fall in love where you feel like you can’t live without the other person, and that you’re going to be with them forever. though she wasn’t twenty when she first felt it, she remembers the butterflies she felt as well as the way her cheeks would flush up at the mere thought of him. now suji looks back at it and laughs because just like minwoo’s niece, she was simply young and stupid but equally in love. loving at that age isn’t invalid, and that’s what she wants to tell minwoo, but she also understands why adults are quick to tell their adolescent children that nothing will actually last forever at that age. sure, there are the exceptions but most people are born as the rule anyway.

the moment you turned away from me that night i cried alone so hard that i couldn’t breathe i’m still here the same

what was love to me back then? somehow i don’t think i can love again

suji never actually confessed because the crush came and went, but she thinks that if she weren’t living her life as an idol, and that she was some regular college freshmen going through a breakup with her first love, this is how she would feel. somehow after losing your first love, you’re left with the thought that you can no longer love again. it’s only years later or when you’re meeting someone else that you tell yourself that it was such a silly thought to have. again, it’s the perks of being young. of being twenty.

back then when it was thrilling and clear back then when the whole world was brilliant that time when i cried alone and hurt back then, at that time

one day in my twenties that seemed like it would last forever

it’s like the butterflies are back in her stomach as she writes down the lyrics as if she’s writing a boyfriend to some non-existent ex-boyfriend from her younger days. there’s a specific face that comes to mind that she does her best to try to erase because she knows it’s foolish; she knows that she’s completely over that now. she doesn’t feel her heart fluttering anymore around him, and she doesn’t blush at his every touch like she used to. or at least she doesn’t think she does.

suji makes a mental note to herself to thank minwoo—or more like his niece—for being the inspiration to this song. if he hadn’t walked in on her that day and asked for the present recommendation as well as whine about how in love his twenty year-old niece was right now, she doesn’t think she would have been inspired to finish the song.

it goes well with the soft instrumentals of the song, and she likes the way that it can act as a key to locked up memories that people most likely have of their first love, their first relationship, and their first heartbreak.

a lot of people like to think that when they turn twenty, they magically turn into complete adults. they go above and beyond to prove that they can care for themselves only to look back at those days about five or six years later and cringe, kicking the blankets as they try to go to sleep with those memories in their head.

but there’s a nice, cringey emotion that comes with the memory of coming of age. twenty, while legally now an adult, is a transition between still being young and learning more about yourself and the world. not just in love but all around.

she scribbles little doodles and hearts around her finished lyrics just like she would back in school and closes the notebook with a satisfied smile. perhaps if this song makes it onto her next album, it’ll become one of her favorites.

#fmdverification #( ♡ * // self para: happiness. )

1 note · View note

nomorelonelydays · 6 years ago

Text

kick your pretty feet up on my dash

Part 1 | Part 2

Two days after the Instagram account opens, Sidney unofficially gets put on naming duty.

The strawberry shortcake biscuit is named The Taylor.

The cream cheese-stuffed banana muffins, crusted with dark chocolate ganache, is The Fleury.

The slice of warm spiced peach cobbler (available for just two weeks), topped with a generous portion of thick, whipped cream and vanilla ice cream, is The Deidre.

He shares the account password with her, but she seems more interested in digging up her mom’s old recipes from an ancient box filled with yellowed index cards than photographing.

“I’ll leave that up to you,” she says, then passes him a card titled, ‘Cherry Layer Chocolate Cake.’ “I think I’ll make this for the holidays. What do you think?”

Deidre makes just one and a half cakes for a trial run (the other half, which had come out lopsided, is sitting in the back of Sidney’s fridge). It’s another instant hit.

Sidney watches a couple, two teenagers who are making it pretty painfully obvious that they’re on their first date, split a slice in a corner seat. She’s chasing the cherry around the plate with her fork, and he watching her like she hung the literal moon. He laughs a little too hard at her jokes, his eyes crinkling like Geno’s when he’s chirping Sidney. But with the way she’s beaming, it’s clear that she doesn’t mind at all.

He’s not jealous—or, at least, he doesn’t think he’s jealous. Having hockey and having a boyfriend have always been mutually exclusive. But now, with no obligations to the NHL, he’s supposedly free to do everything that he’s wanted to. He doesn’t dwell too long on it though, because the last thing he needs is to have an existential spiral in Deidre’s store over whether or not he’s missed his his golden hour to be happy the exact minute the Penguins drafted him all those years ago.

He finishes lettering the card for the cherry chocolate cake and slides ‘The Jack’ neatly into its proper holder.

Geno calls him on Thursday nights now, like clockwork. He’s grateful for the routineness of it, especially when he knows how much Geno lives on spontaneity. It’s always the same—updates on how the team is doing (good, the weather over in Pittsburgh (not so good), another dumb prank the rookies are trying to pull (hilarious, but slightly unoriginal with the shaving cream), even though it’ll never be as good as the ones Flower used to plan.

“How are you?” Geno asks one night, while Sidney is puttering around the kitchen to figure out what he wants to make for dinner. “Your tomatoes grow?”

“I think those are a goner,” Sidney grimaces. The entire plant had shriveled up weeks ago, despite Sidney faithfully watering them. “Guess I’ll just have to stick with the storebought ones.”

Geno is silent for a bit. Then, “Is quiet in locker room without you.”

Sidney pauses. “I doubt that’s true.” There’s plenty of rookies every year, eager to prove themselves on the ice and to establish themselves as a personality on the team. Besides, Sidney has never been the life of the party—that’s always been Geno himself.

“No, is quieter.” Geno sounds like he’s swallowing a yawn. “Different without you.”

Sidney’s heart flounders, and he has to blink a couple of times before his throat unclogs. “Maybe you should get to sleep. It’s pretty late over there.”

“No, I’m not tired,” Geno mumbles, sounding very drowsy. Sidney can almost picture Geno, hair-mussed and sleepy eyes about to close as he curls up on his mattress. “Want to keep talking.”

“I know you have practice tomorrow, G,” Sidney says. “You have the C now, you can’t get there two hours late anymore.”

“I’m never late,” Geno huffs. “You too early.”

“Get some rest,” Sidney says gently. “I’ll still be here next week, same as usual.”

“Maybe I call tomorrow.’

“I won’t go anywhere.”

“Wish you still here, Sid,” he murmurs. “Miss you so bad, some days.”

Sidney doesn’t miss a beat. “I miss you, too,” he whispers, because any louder and he knows his voice will crack. “I’ll be here tomorrow. And the day after, if you still want to call.”

“Okay,” Geno says. “Okay.”

Sidney’s restocking the brioche rolls when Deidre’s voice casually pipes up from the coffee machine, “You have a secret admirer, you know.”

“I know. It’s Samantha. PTA President,” Sidney says, trying to not sound exasperated. He only knows her name and title because she must’ve giggled it at him as a greeting every single time she’s marched in. “She asked me what the main ingredient was in the banana muffins and I told her banana like, three times.”

“She just likes to hear you say banana. And no, it’s not Sam.” Deidre makes a come hither motion with her hands and slides a napkin towards Sidney. “Yesterday afternoon, there was a young man, maybe around his 30s, who stopped by for a latte and he asked where you were.”

“Oh.” There’s something he can’t name fluttering in his stomach. The words on the napkin scrawled out, Jeremy, and a string of numbers. “What did you say?”

“I told him, ‘He’s a cute one, isn’t he? He’s the store eye candy, bringing in all the sales.’”

“Dee, you didn’t.”

“I did, and he went full red. It was adorable. And I told him that you pop in in the mornings and in the afternoon to help with opening and closing.” She leans forward, grinning. “I’m just saying, think about it.”

He thinks about it.

At night, he tells Geno, “I think I have a secret admirer. Or a stalker.”

Geno’s voice suddenly becomes infinitely more awake. “Have what? Someone stand outside your house? I read about this before, you need call police.”

“No, it was at the bakery. I got his number on a napkin. Well, the owner gave me his name on a napkin, so I don’t really know what he looks like. He could be 100. People in this town are usually…around that age range.”

Geno still sounds perplexed. “So say no.”

“What?”

“Say sorry, only go on dates with girls. But thank you.”

Sidney’s brain feels like it’s stuttering to a pause. “Geno, what the fuck?”

“What?”

“I don’t ‘only go on dates with girls.’ I—” Well, to be quite fair, he hasn’t gone on any dates at all. “You know this.”

It takes a full ten seconds for Geno to crackled back to life on the line again. His voice is hesitant. “You only bring girls to events. Like Halloween, or—”

“They’re my friends, I’ve told you. I’m not going to bring a guy in front of you guys,” he exclaims, then reigns in his voice. His heart is beating like a jackhammer boring straight through. “Hey, listen, I have a pretty early day tomorrow, I’ll talk to you next week, okay?”

“Sid, wait—”

He hangs up and puts his phone face down on the nightstand. It’s not his proudest moment.

I’m sorry(((, the text reads. The timestamp indicates that the message had been sent at 2 AM. You should go on a date with secret guy. Maybe he’s secret Ryan Reynolds.

Geno’s texts are never longer than five words, usually cryptic versions of a yes or no, accompanied by eyeless smilies. Sidney wonders if he’d been painstakingly worrying over each word since Sidney hastily ended the conversation.

I don’t think he’s Ryan Reynolds, Sidney sends back. Besides, no one in this town knows hockey. That’s gonna be a problem.

Geno’s reply is instantaneous, as if he’d been waiting.

Picky)))))

More messages follow in quick succession, before Sidney can even start typing.

But always best for u. Deserve the best only.

He laces up his shoes and heads to Dee’s.

It snows a little mid-December.

He helps Deidre with the decorations, hanging up tinsel and little snowflake cutouts on the window. She has a box of Christmas lights stored away in a dusty box from the attic, which definitely looks like they haven’t been disturbed since the 80s, but the one of the bulbs dies with a sad fizz the moment Sidney plugs it in. So they have to make do with the other nonflammable options.

The store looks nice. ‘Well-loved’ is a better word for it, with its mismatched decorations and ancient garlands. He snaps a photo of the mini tree on the counter for Instagram before he goes to help Deidre frost the rest of the ornament-shaped sugar cookies.

There’s commotion on the streets from all the tourists and families coming back for the holidays. He thinks about flying to Nova Scotia for the holidays, but then he realizes that none of Deidre’s children will be coming to Cardwell Point.

“They’re busy,” she shrugs indifferently, but she turns her back to Sidney as she busies herself with rearranging the shelfs. “It’s alright. That’s what Skype is for, right? Besides, I have to watch the store.”

He thinks about Geno, who’s probably headed to Florida soon to escape the onslaught of winter chill that he absolutely abhors, no matter how much he loves the city. He could Skype Geno, or Facetime him. Except Geno would always have the angle wrong, and Sidney’s sure he’d just get an on-brand mugshot of Geno’s nostril from the bottom up for the whole conversation.

He did ask Sidney if he wanted to go to Florida, except the way he had asked had felt like a given tagged with a question mark at the end (Florida w me this year?). Nonetheless, Sidney had been tempted.

But he also wonders if he’d feel even more homesick when Geno is physically standing in front of him again, all tall and loud and too big, too much, too many years of his unrequited love staring at him and making Sidney think that he has a chance. He doesn’t want to go to Florida to watch Geno pick up strangers at a club.

“I’m not going anywhere, either,” he tells her.

She looks over, finally, pursing her lips like she’s trying to hold back her smile.

@DeesBakeryandCafe

Season’s greetings and a happy New Year to our wonderful customers and families here in Cardwell Point. Hope everyone is spending time with their loved ones this holiday season.

Winter refuses to go. The clouds hang over the streets stubbornly, and each days trudges on like it’s dragging its feet.

He misses skating.

He misses Geno. Especially as it gets closer to February and teenagers and adults alike start coming to the shop in twos, their gloved hands clasped together as they squeeze through Dee’s tiny corridor when it’s really much easier to be in a single-file line.

He’s not jealous. He is not.

But he is lonely. And really fucking cold.

He serves up at least thirty slices of The Jack, which is apparently the most popular item these days thanks to Instagram. Deidre switches up the decoration, so the cherry-glazed design in the middle forms a big, gaudy heart. The Internet completely eats up. Sidney doesn’t understand it.

“It’s like a Titanic reference, right?” a customer asks, as he picks up the cake for his wife. “Like, an ‘I’ll never let you go,’ kind of thing. Jack and Rose?”

“Sure,” Sidney says. It’s really for his first childhood crush, but he can work with the Titanic.

The moment Deidre fills her last custom order of The Jack (and there had been plenty of those, for anniversaries to birthdays to just becauses), she tells Sidney that she’s figured out how to make her mother’s cheesecake.

“Finally worked out how to stop the goddamn filling from clotting,” she says, cutting him a slice. The cake has a brownie bottom, and the inside is perfectly creamy and smooth and dotted with dark chocolate chips. “What do you think?”

“I’m biased,” Sidney says, trying to not scarf down the whole thing like an animal. “I love cheesecakes. This one is my favorite so far.”

“Good,” she tells him. “You can name this one, then.”

His fork stops mid-air. “Weren’t you going to call it ‘The Lily’?”

She pats his arm affectionately, not unlike the day she did when Sidney told her why he ended up at Cardwell Point. “I figured she wouldn’t mind. This can be our second February special. God, I’m sick of The Jack.”

The next week, Sidney carefully slides The Geno in its display cabinet.

(Deidre doesn’t ask about the peculiar name. She never does, and Sidney is grateful.)

After over a decade in the NHL, he’s well aware of what he can and can’t have. But lately he’s been feeling selfish. He snaps a photo of the cheesecake and sends it to Deidre.

It’s a good photo.

“I got invited to a neighborhood potluck yesterday,” Sidney mumbles into the receiver, when Flower asks him how retirement is treating him. “I don’t know what to bring. Maybe I’ll bring something from the bakery.”

“Do you officially work at the bakery or are you just there because the owner is blackmailing you? Does she know who you are?”

“I just help out when I can. And no, I told you, it’s not a hockey town. They do have competitive knitting here. It’s a thing.” Sidney doesn’t have much to do these days, aside from working out and catching up on reading, which means that he does end up doing most of the latter in the café. Maybe he should take up competitive knitting. “I started an Instagram for her shop. We just hit 200 followers.”

“You know how to do that?” Flower asks, because he’s a little shit. “I’m kidding, I know you’re not actually a senior citizen.”

Sidney rolls his eyes. “I haven’t checked it in a while though. I let Deidre handle the posting now. It’s her shop, anyways.”

“What’s the handle?”

He tells him. Flower is quiet for a bit as he searches through the page. “Pretty cool, eh?”

“Yeah,” Flower says, his voice slightly off. “Yeah, it’s—it’s good. Looks like the real deal.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? Of course it’s the real deal.”

Flower makes a noncommittal noise. “Nothing. Cheesecake looks good. Does Geno know?”

“No,” Sidney says. “I mentioned the bakery once or twice. He didn’t ask. Not, uh—not after I told him about Jeremy.”

“Secret napkin man?” Flower remembers. “You didn’t go on that date?”

“No, I didn’t go on a date with ‘secret napkin man,’” he mimics. “I don’t think he’d care.”

“I think he’d care.�� Flower always sounds so sure when he wants to be serious, and it’s one of the things Sidney missed most when he left for Vegas—there’d been a metaphorical hollow within the team for a good few months following his departure, and that void never quite got replaced no matter what.

“Maybe.”

Sidney can only hope. But he’s a little too old for hoping these days.

Foot traffic is slower when they hit March, but Deidre promises that it’ll pick up when Cardwell Point’s 11th Annual Theater Festival starts in the middle of the month, because that’s apparently the other big thing aside from the 4th of July Carnival Bash. Sidney has just packed up another dozen of red velvet cupcakes for Samantha the PTA Queen when the front bell jingles.

“Hello? I’m look for—”

Sidney heart leaps to his throat.

“Sid,” Geno says softly. He looks like the wind knocked him in (it probably had), mismatched Frakenshirts and all. “Hi, Sid.”

Samantha may as well not have even walked into the store at all.

“How are—“ He must be imagining things. But Geno takes another step, until he’s right in front of the counter and Sidney can reach out and touch just how real he is. He hasn’t changed much--still the same eyes, the same nose and lips, and maybe his hair is a bit thinner but he still makes Sidney’s chest feel too small and too big all at once. “Where did you—how are you here?”

“Fly,” Geno says sheepishly. “Wanted to see you.”

“What about—”

“No games until Friday.” He’s staring at Sidney like he’s looking his fill and he can’t get enough. “I—I see your post, and I just—buy ticket.”

“What post?”

Geno pulls out his phone and flips through it until he lands at a familiar Instagram account. He passes it over to Sidney, his hands warm as it brushes against Sidney’s fingers.

@DeesBakeryCafe

‘I love you’ tastes a lot like our chocolate chip cheesecake, The Geno.

“Oh,” Sidney breathes. “Oh.”

#retirement fic #sidgeno #okay!!! getting closer to the final part #probably wont be any posting during the weekday because need to do Real Job things #but hope you guys enjoy #wish i knew graphic so i can like...make a graphic header

240 notes · View notes

the-blind-assassin-12 · 6 years ago

Text

Passing Through

Part One: Looks Like Snow

A/N: Well. Here I am attempting to write for Ryan Brenner. This started out as a cute little one shot for @banditthewriter ‘s trope challenge, with the prompt of “spilling coffee on a stranger” and then one thing let to another and a whole plot line the length of my arm unfurled and here we are. So. Without further ado, I invite you along on this mile high musical adventure.

Word Count: 3,862

Warnings: none. it’s fluff. all fluff and nothin but the fluff so help me fluff.

You’d been awake already when the first few rays of sunlight filtered through the vertical shades, reaching for you like fingers to tangle in your hair. With a sigh and a stretch you tossed the sheets aside and sat up, pinching the bridge of your nose. You’d pulled a double shift down at Jake’s yesterday, trading with Missy so you’d have off today, and you hadn’t gotten in until after 2am. As tired as you were, you knew you wouldn’t be sleeping, not through the night anyway. Too many memories running on a loop, too many songs playing in your head. It’s how it always was on this day. It’s how you knew it always would be. Absently, you ran the overstretched, frayed collar of the old tie dye tee you wore between your thumb and fingers, the soft, threadbare fabric bringing you comfort like it always did.

She’d been something of a hippie, your mom, and while you were growing up you didn’t understand why she couldn’t just make cupcakes for school bake sales or volunteer as your Girl Scout leader, why a carpool had to include sing-a-longs to songs your friends didn’t know, or why she’d show up to parent teacher meetings in ripped denim and layers of long necklaces, hair down and free and wild. But as you’d gotten older, into your college years, you started to understand her better. You appreciated her free spirit, and her encouragement of your own. Yeah sure, from time to time you’d open the fridge and there’d be nothing but a head of lettuce or some obscure ingredients she’d meant to use in a recipe she’d gotten from her friend who’d just returned from India. Sometimes you’d come home to find her cross legged out on the back porch with a ukulele or guitar, strumming while rusty brown oak leaves fluttered down to stick in her hair, not realizing how chilly it’d gotten until you were draping a crocheted blanket around her shoulders. You’d sit on the edge of the lawn chair, thumping your thigh along with the last bars of whatever tune she was playing, and if you knew the words you’d join in, her teeth flashing in a wide smile as she sang. She was unconventional, creative and carefree. Sometimes that made things difficult, but she’d taught you far more than she’d held you back in any way, taught you far more important lessons than how to make lasagna or what setting on the dryer wouldn’t shrink your sweaters. She’d taught you how to laugh things off and when to say “fuck it”. You missed her every single day. But today you ached a little more. You raked a hand through your long unruly hair- her hair, on your head- and stood from the bed.

By 8:30am you were dressed and had slogged down a cup of coffee. It was late February, but the winter weather in Colorado was as wild and unpredictable as the landscape or the sky. “Yeah, we have all four seasons- sometimes in one day.” You’d heard some form of that phrase since you’d moved out this way. The weather, 300 days of sunshine, had been a draw for Kevin, and part of the reason he’d chosen the destination. But he was gone and you were here and even though the sun was warm, the air was brisk, and despite the lack of clouds in the cerulean sky, you knew there was always a strong likelihood of snow. You shoved your feet into ankle high brown leather boots before lacing them up over your jeans, grabbed a chartreuse knit hat and stuffed your curls beneath it, and slung your cross-body bag over your your shoulder.

The day was yours, to spend with your thoughts and your memories, and you weren’t going to stay caged inside these empty walls. You cast your eyes over your living room; carpet slightly faded in the spot where the sofa had lived for the last four years, black wrought iron fireplace tools standing at attention next to a hearth that hadn’t been lit in ages, the hook for your keys the only thing that remained hung. You grabbed them, the little pewter elephant charm slipping between your fingers, cold from the draft that came through the front door. This hasn’t been home for a while, you thought, if it ever was at all. Strangely, the thought didn’t bother you. What bothered you was that you didn’t know where home was anymore. Pushing that thought to the back of your mind to unpack another day, you sniffed and adjusted your hat with one fingerless-gloved hand, and headed out.

You took the trail behind your apartment that ran along the South Platte River, a mile or so to the light-rail station in town. You were only one town over from the Denver city-limits, but Littleton felt as small and secluded as any tiny mountain village, and it was one of the things that you both loved and hated about where you were staying- it was too easy to get stuck here. The trail gave way to the town’s main street and you passed Jake’s Brew Bar where Missy would be opening up for you in a few hours, and inTea, the boutique tea shop, and Penzy’s the bulk spice marketplace. Nothing was open yet, storefronts all darkened and sleepy. You walked toward the rail station, the rising sun behind you throwing light at the mountains, shining in their purple majesty. It was a beautiful morning to honor the beautiful memory of your mother, and you would do so by partaking in one of her favorite hobbies- making free music for strangers and expressing your soul in the process. You boarded the light rail and rode it the 5 or so stops to the Denver Convention Center, passing beneath the giant blue bear statue, and turned toward Blake Street, heading for the 16th Street Mall and that painted piano that awaited you- after stopping in at Caribou for an obligatory second cup of java.

You got in line behind two men, one in a sleek charcoal gray suit with a thick, black wool pea coat, cell phone clutched tightly in high- end gloves, the other carrying a guitar on his back and wearing dark, broken in denim pants and a light brown canvas coat that looked like it had seen more winters than the man who wore it. You smiled as the more casual of the two ordered his drink- a small, black coffee to go. His voice was warm, like cinnamon, and it played into the melody of his surroundings; the hiss of the espresso machine, porcelain mugs clinking together as a twenty-something with headphones on emptied the dishwasher, the bell above the door as another couple of patrons came chattering in from the bright morning. You heard the man’s charming twang as he thanked the barista with a tip of his hat and the jingling sound of a few coins dropping into the jar on the counter. He stepped over to the side of the shop where there was a station set up for milks, sweeteners and other toppings and add-ins, and you heard him humming to himself as he tore open a sugar packet and shook its contents into his coffee.

The suit was barking his order to the girl behind the counter, making sure that she knew that the last time he came to Caribou Coffeehouse, his order was wrong and that if it happened again he wouldn’t be back and he’d make a formal complaint on the corporate website because how hard can it be to follow an order and make a drink? You rolled your eyes and scoffed to yourself. As a bartender, you knew the type. Six figure salary, needs to wear at least four of those figures at all times so that everyone knows where they stand around them, and equates everyone around them to their job title because that’s how they feel about themselves. The contrast between this boardroom bozo and the kind natured music man stirring sugar into his coffee could not have been more stark. You couldn’t be sure, but you thought you caught a smirk from under the hat and behind the patchy beard of the canvas clad stranger as you showed your distaste for the rudeness the suit was showing the barista.

You were up next, the bozo back on the phone as he waited next to you for his complicated order to be filled. You ordered a simple medium coffee with room for milk, and gave the girl a wink of solidarity as you tucked a couple singles into her tip cup. She smiled appreciatively at you and punched your frequent buyers card three extra times so that your next one would be free. You told her to have a nice day, and turned towards the milk station, removing the lid from your cup. But the suit had just been handed his beverage, and he stepped in front of you cutting you off. You tried to catch yourself but you were already in motion, and you collided with the man, spilling most of your coffee on the back of his coat. You gasped and jumped back, trying to keep more of the dark brown liquid from escaping your cup, but it was too late; the damage had been done, and the man stiffened his shoulders before turning around with a scowl. “Are you kidding me?” He spat the words at you, his face going red with anger.

You immediately grabbed a fist full of napkins from the dispenser and thrust them in the direction of the man’s wildly gesturing hands. “I am so sorry, sir,” you said sincerely. He may be a rude asshole but you honestly didn’t mean to throw your coffee at him.

“You can’t watch where you’re going?” he ignored your apology, ignored your offering of white paper napkins, and continued to sneer down at you.

The barista glanced nervously over from where she was helping the two customers who had come in behind you, clearly observing that the encounter was escalating past her paygrade. You waved her off indicating that you were okay and her relieved sigh could be heard over the drip of the new pot she was brewing. “Sir, really, I am sorry. Trust me, I’m just as upset as you are,” you tried to joke with him like you might with a customer at Jake’s. “I needed that coffee a lot more than your coat did.”

“Do you even know what this coat costs?” he asked coldly, removing the jacket to inspect the spill. “More than you make in a month I’d wager.”

“Look, it’s a nice coat. I spilled coffee on it. I’m really sorry. If you’ll let me I’ll pay for the dry cleaning. Here, let me give you my number and-” you were really trying your hardest not to curse the man out, calling on your mom’s ability to kill with kindness. You’d never mastered it like she had, though, and it was taking everything in you.

He scoffed. “Even that would probably be more than you could afford,” he looked you up and down: yesterday’s jeans, mud caked boots, two cable knit sweaters layered over one another and a handmade, multicolored scarf wrapped three times around your neck that matched neither your hat nor your gloves. He wasn’t interested in an apology or an offer to amend things. He only wanted to remind you of how much higher than you he had climbed. You let out a frustrated huff and were about to try one more time, when another pair of mud caked boots appeared in your line of sight.

“S’cuse me sir, but the lady said she was sorry,” he took a step closer to the suit, closing the lid on his cup. He brought his thumb to his lips to suck a drop of coffee from it and shrugged. “Accidents happen, y’know?” You watched his hand fall back to his side, noticing the inked lines of small tattoos on the digits between knuckles. You gave him a grateful half smile for stepping in, as the two patrons behind you took the long way around the three of you to get to the milk station.

The suit turned to the other man and directed his venom at him. “Mind your business,” he barked.

The other man’s warm spiced eyes narrowed and darkened just a touch, and your breath caught as you watched his tongue dart out of his mouth and back between his lips before he responded. “Pardon me sir, but I’m makin’ this my business. Now, she apologized, so either let her pay for your cleanin’ or move along so these nice people can get their coffee.” He wasn’t aggressive, not by any means, nor did he seem threatening. He was simply sincere, and that sincerity seemed to unsettle the suit. The bozo grumbled under his breath about how he wished his company would move to the other side of the city, away from the bums of the 16th Street Mall, but, throwing one last disgusted look at you and the sincere stranger in front of you, he left the coffeehouse and brought his negativity with him.

The barista passed you another cup of coffee, on the house, and held out a handwritten ticket for a free small coffee to the hero who rid Caribou of that obnoxious asshole, which he accepted with a shy smile, tucking it into an inner pocket of his coat. “Thank you, ma’am, I’ll be back another mornin’ then,” he nodded and the girl smiled brightly before turning back to the line of patrons, all of which had just witnessed the scene and none of whom were sympathetic to bozo’s coffee covered pea coat. He turned back to the small table that he’d been walking towards before getting involved, and you saw a small black plastic flip phone plugged into the wall behind the table. He picked it up and opened it, checking to see how much the battery had charged.

You finished pouring almond milk into your coffee, stirring it with a thin wooden stick before dropping it into the trash and turning towards where the man stood holding his phone. “Hey,” you said with a small grin. He blinked and gave you his attention as soon as the word left your lips, and you were struck by the silence in his soft eyes, by the way that they shone against his slightly tanned, slightly windburnt skin. Oh, wow. You cleared your throat and let out a little laugh. “Hey, um, thanks. That guy was a jerk,” you rolled your eyes and he nodded, smile climbing up one side of his warm face. “You didn’t have to do that. Most people wouldn’t.”

“Don’t mention it,” he answered. “And I did have to do that…” he shook his head. “People like that, they forget,” he closed the phone in his hand with a snap and reached down to unplug the cord, winding it and tucking both items into another inner pocket of his coat.

“Forget what?” you asked, unable to tear your eyes from him.

He looked back up at you as if amazed that you were still there talking to him. His mouth dropped open just a bit before his came back together in a smile. “Forget that they’re no better’n the rest of us.” He dried the spilled coffee on his hands by brushing them off on his pants. “Well,” he adjusted the straps of his guitar case on his shoulders. “You have a nice day, ma’am.”

You spoke your name without realizing it, suddenly overcome with a want to share it with him. He looked at you, eyes shining again as his top lip twitched upwards. “Ryan,” he said, extending his hand. You took it, immediately feeling the callouses and little cuts on his fingers from the abuse of the strings. “Pleasure to meet you.” He dropped your hand too soon and you squeezed it closed, trying to hold onto the feeling of his well-used fingers wrapped around yours.

“Likewise,” you didn’t usually make small talk with people you just bumped into, but something compelled you to keep opening your mouth. Your eyes fell on the neck of the guitar case sticking up over his shoulder. “So, you got a gig somewhere today?” You raised your coffee laden hand to indicate his instrument.

If his eyes shone before they sparkled now and he cast them downward, grin growing as he lifted them back to your face. “Nah, not in so many words,” he looked toward the window, out at the bright blue sky that was just visible over the tops of trees and buildings, at the way the morning light caught the flecks of silicon and metal in the sidewalk, sparkling with the magic of the mundane as people walked over it without noticing. “Just gonna go out there’n play.”

You shook your head and let out a surprised little breath. “What?” he asked, genuine curiosity in his tone.

“It’s just,” you laughed again at the serendipity of it all and heard your mom’s voice as she gushed about how much she loved that word- the stars don’t just align every day, Junebug, she’d say, using her nickname for you, her summer child, so when they do you better take note. “Just... that’s what I came down here to do today, too.” You took a sip of your coffee, the nutty aroma filling your nostrils as the piping hot liquid slid down your throat, warming you from the inside out.

“Yeah?” he asked, beaming at you. “You play?” his eyes darted around as though looking for a guitar or banjo or something that he’d missed. “What do you play?”

You winked. “Piano.”

His smile widened and his curiosity grew. “Piano? You got one in your pocket or somethin’?” He pointed in the general direction of your pockets and you laughed.

“Nah, left my pocket piano at home today,” you answered, patting down your jeans with your free hand as though looking for something that you had misplaced. He chuckled and it was one of the most joyous sounds you’d ever heard. You knew nothing about this man, but you could tell that everything he said, whatever he felt and the things he expressed, all of it was completely genuine, 100% authentic. He seemed incapable of faking a reaction or an emotion, and it was one of the most refreshing interactions you’d ever had in your life.

“Then, where…” he tilted his head and wrinkled his nose to show his confusion.

“Follow me, if you’re curious,” you headed towards the door and he followed, arm coming from behind you to hold it open for you as you stepped outside. You thanked him and he fell into step beside you. You noticed that he kept his eyes up and that they were always flitting from one thing to the next- he’d hear a bird or the beep of a horn and he’d turn in the direction of the sound, always alert and present and eager to absorb what was happening around him, a true artist. “So, you ever play on 16th Street before?” you asked, making conversation as you walked the 4 or so streets down to the garden block.

“Can’t say that I have. It’s my first time in Denver, just got in this mornin’. Heard it was a good spot for music, though.”

“It is,” you answered with an emphatic nod, and he smiled, happy that the information he’d been given had been confirmed. “So you’re not from around here then if this is your first time in Denver,” you stated.

“Nah, just passin’ through,” he said with a shrug. When he lifted his shoulders the light hit his brown hair where it was sticking out from under his cap at the right angle, showing off some golden tones that you knew came from spending so much time under the sun. “How ‘bout you, you from here?”

You thought back to your empty apartment and how you couldn’t call it home. “No,” you said, slightly distracted. “No, I guess you could say I’m passing through, too.” You were thankful to have reached the garden block, a small fenced area with concrete flower boxes that overflowed with color in the spring and summer, metal cafe tables and chairs with chess boards painted on them, and your favorite thing about 16th Street- a shabby, beaten up old upright piano that was painted with different colors and patterns every time you made it down this way. Today it was a deep red with purple swirls and black lettering that read “Denver Makes Music Happen”. You spread your arms wide as you stepped to the side so Ryan could see the piano. “Ta-da,” you announced.

He ran his hand over the top of it, feeling the layers upon layers of paint before attending to the keys. It needed tuning, like it always did, but you smiled as his fingers danced over the ivory. “So you play piano, too, huh?” you asked with a smirk. He looked over to you and nodded, and again you were dumbstruck by his eyes and the quiet calm that seemed to come from them. “Some people get all the talent,” you joked, sitting down at the piano and cracking your knuckles.

He dipped his head as he shrugged the guitar case from his back, sitting on one of the concrete flower boxes and setting the case down by his feet. “I can play the piano,” he said, unbuckling the snaps, “but this is my first love,” he opened the case and the way his eyes lit up with they fell on the shiny wooden guitar made it clear that there was nothing in the world that he loved more. He picked it up gingerly, setting it on his knee, strumming over the strings as you warmed up on the piano. “You…” he removed his hat to run a hand over his hair anxiously before pulling it back over his head. “You wanna play together for a while? I always like meetin’ musicians wherever I go… I like playin’ with people from all different places.” It was an earnest invitation, and you were eager to accept.

You looked up at the sky- still clear and empty- and then turned West, looking down the 16th Street Mall towards the mountains in the distance. Over the jagged tops of the Rockies hung a heavy shelf of cloud that made the sky look closer than it was and meant snow was undoubtedly going to make an appearance at some point, despite the warm sunshine that made you shed one of your two sweaters as you answered him. “Sure,” you started playing a folk song, one your mom used to force on you and your friends growing up that you’d learned to love. “We can play until the weather turns.” You cocked your head towards the snow cloud shelf. “Looks like snow soon.”

. . . . . . . .

@something-tofightfor @my-little-dumpster-fire @suchatinyinfinity @lexxierave @benbarnestongue @banditthewriter

please let me know if you want on or off this train (ha ha)

#bandit writing challenge #bandit trope challenge #ryan brenner #ryan brenner x reader #ryan brenner x you #spilling coffee on a stranger #rocky mountains #downtown denver #16th street mall #passing through

52 notes · View notes

comicgeekscomicgeek · 6 years ago

Text

Their Hero Academia: Chapter 13

Raw and unedited (especially until I get Chapters 14-16 written to upload along with it), but I finished the 1st draft tonight and I’m pretty happy with how it turned out. Especially with switching to some new protagonists. Chapters 0-12 can be found here:

Their Hero Academia – Chapter 13: Takuma Sero Makes a Show of It

If there was one thing Takuma Sero liked about living in the dorms, it was the sense of privacy. Sure, there were fifteen other people living in the dorms, three others on his floor, but compared to his home, that was nothing. Between his parents, his three younger brothers, and baby sister, there was always somebody trying to butt into whatever he was doing. At least on his floor, all he had was his best bro Kenta Sato. Daisuke Shoji simply kept his head down and Takiyo Aoyama had made it clear early on he had no interest in “whatever nonsense you two are getting up to.”

As if trying to become the next internet sensations was nonsense.

Which reminded him… he really ought to check their hit counter. With Kirishima-Bakugo out of the cafeteria yesterday, he’d actually been free to host a new round of “Will Sato Eat It?” without fear of being exploded or having her tear his arms off. He was actually pretty certain she wouldn’t do the last part. Their parents had been friends for decades and he was on reasonably good terms with her most of the time. But yesterday had been pretty impressive as far as the game went. Kenta had eaten a soup bowl, a baseball, a rock, and a tire that someone had somehow managed to get into the cafeteria.

Kenta’s dad had broken it up after that, with a threat to report their antics to Aizawa if they kept doing it. And Kenta had gotten a talking to from his dad later on about irresponsible Quirk use and making a spectacle of himself. At least the elder Sato had learned the futility of trying to rat them out to Takuma’s parents. His mom was one of the most Instagram-famous Pro-Heroes in the business. She actively encouraged his aspirations. His dad was just vaguely puzzled by the whole thing and just let his mom take the lead.

Checking the video upload, he found that the hit counter was already in the thousands. Wisely, he opted not to look at the comments. It was like his mom always said, “Never read the comments.” Sure, you got a validation high from some of it, but there were way too many trolls and mudslingers to make it worth it.

Takuma broke into a grin. “Yeah, we’re gonna be famous. Just you see. Heroes and entertainment sensations.”

He checked the time and found he still had nearly an hour before class. Plenty of time to finish getting ready. There was also the matter of homework he hadn’t quite completed, but he could probably copy the answers from somebody, at least enough to squeak by. Math was going to be the death of him. He understood numbers well enough, but once you started getting letters involved with numbers, his brain just refused to track any of it. It had nearly sunk his entrance exam score, but he’d managed to just barely pass that. A good practical exam score had done wonders for making up the difference.

Twenty minutes later, he was out of his room and ready to go. He did not have the world’s most developed fashion sense (much to the regret of Kimiko Ojiro, his other best friend, who had declared him “the worst gay best friend ever”), but he had an entertainer’s sense for showmanship in his appearance. He spotted Kenta coming out of his room and gave him a double finger guns.

“Sixty-five hundred hits in less than twenty-four hours, my man!”

“All right!” Kenta said, giving him a fist bump. “That’s twice as many as the last video!” He let out a burp and clutched his stomach.

“You okay, man?” Takuma asked.

Kenta shook his head and burped again. “Heartburn and indigestion. Dad says just because I can get anything doesn’t mean I should.” He grinned, thick lips pulling back to reveal his perfectly white teeth. “But I say it’s a small price to pay for being famous.”

“More famous in your case,” Takuma told him. Kenta was already a good bit famous from all the times he appeared in pictures and his stories on his father’s “Food and Family” blog. According to his mom, it was crazy popular with single moms.

Kenta waved it off. “That’s really Dad’s thing. This is ours!”

Takuma was about to begin discussions of the plans for their next video when he was distracted by the sight of Daisuke Shoji walking back to his rooms, clearly having come from the showers. The six-armed boy was only wearing a towel wrapped around his waist, his silver hair still damp, and a small about of moisture still visible on the muscles of his arms and abs. He nodded politely to Takuma and Kenta on his way back to his room. Takuma kept watching until Shoji’s door closed.

His trace was broken by Kenta giving him a small shove. “You okay there, bud? Kind of went away for a little while?”

He sighed. “Why are the hot ones always straight?”

Kenta gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “Hey, there’s lots of other guys at U.A. You’ll find somebody. Or you could always try online dating?”

Takuma made a face. “I’m not that desperate.”

Anything further was interrupted by his and Kenta’s phones buzzing. Both checked and he saw they had identical texts from the school’s emergency alert system.

Homeroom has been cancelled. All first-year students should report to the Gran Torino Memorial Auditorium at 0800.

Kenta gave him a curious look.

“Don’t look at me, man,” he said quickly. “I haven’t broken any rules that would cause a grade level assembly.”

“This school year,” Kenta said. “I still can’t believe the time you…”

“Don’t remind me. I’m still barely out of being grounded for that.”

“I think that was the first time I ever actually saw your parents punish you.”

“Oh, would you look at the time, we should really be getting to the Auditorium!”

***

“Any idea what this is about, Takuma?” Kimiko asked. He assumed she was looking at him, but honestly, even after having known her all his life, it was hard to tell.

He shook his head. “Beats the heck out of me.”

All around, the other seats in the Auditorium were filling up with the first year students. There were the three Heroics classes, three General Ed classes, three Support classes, and three Business and Management classes. Sixteen students each in the Heroics, twenty in each of the others, for one hundred eight students total left the auditorium about half full.

Down on the stage, he could see the majority of the teaching staff. There were the three Heroics Homeroom teachers, Aizawa, Super Ball, and Battle Fist. There was Power Loader, the aging director of the Support courses. Word around campus was that he was considering retirement after experiencing the Iida Twins. And there was FireFox, their math teacher; Hawkeye, their English teacher; Figure Sk8, the dark-haired daughter of the Twins and Izumi’s uncle and aunt, who taught their Science classes; Palette, the paint-themed Art History teacher; and Hopper, Tokoyami’s uncle and their Literature teacher. There Hound Dog, the school counselor, Vice-Principal Midnight, and even Kenta’s dad. He also spotted Doctor Izumi sitting with her husband, Kota, the Rescue Hero and Rescue Instructor called Water Spout (or, at his mom embarrassingly always referred to him, “the first man to see me naked”) There was also All Might, and several teachers he didn’t know, who he presumed taught some of the classes taken by the other courses. Whatever this was about, they were taking it very seriously.

And slowly approaching the podium, leaning heavily on his cane, was Principal Nezu. Takuma wasn’t sure if he was a rat or a bear or possibly some kind of creature from Australia (or was it Austria? Whichever one had the kangaroos. Those were real, right?), but he understood that the old animal was crazy smart. He’d guided U.A. through some of its roughest years and managed to still come out on top.

“I am sorry to interrupt your usual class schedule,” Nezu began. “I know your studies are of great importance to you all. But after the events of the last few days, both here at our school and elsewhere, we have been made aware of events which you all deserve to know. The Center for Quirk Research is expected to make a statement later this morning, but we thought it might be best if comes from us.”

He took in a breath and continued. “The CQR has discovered, working in conjunction with several Pro-Heroes, the existence of a virus which causes the victim to lose control of their Quirk. It appears the Quirk is… man made.”

Any side conversations that had been going on were immediately silenced.

Nezu went on. “After an as yet unknown incubation period, it causes a power-flare up during which time the user’s Quirk will activate out of their control. This lack of control appears to last an indefinite amount of time, but appears to be a onetime flare up. Unfortunately, even as the number of cases are growing, information is scarce. There appear to be no obvious early symptoms and we are unsure how the virus is being transmitted. At this time, it appears that only Emitter and Transformation type Quirks are effected.”

A ripple went through the crowd as the full impact of the Principal’s statement took effect. Anything that could do that is dangerous indeed. From the time they were young, they’d always been taught about the importance of controlling their Quirks. And now something could just take that away…

“That’s… that’s not good,” Takuma said. Absently, he rubbed the patches on his right hand where his Acid Tape came from. His Quirk was technically a Mutation type, since he had slightly different physical structures to allow for it. But his mom was an Emitter type, so were many of his friends. So were a lot of people out there in the world. And there were lots of people out there with really powerful Quirks. What if somebody like Ground Zero or Deku caught this thing?

“We’re… we’re okay,” he heard Kimiko say. “Not… not like I can get more invisible.”

“Hey,” Kenta said, “it’s gonna be okay. People’re smart. They’ll get this figured out.” Kenta’s dad was an Emitter type too, he recalled, even if Kenta’s own Quirk was a very minor Mutant type.

Nezu continued, “We are able to run tests for the virus and will be doing screening following this assembly. However, as there are no tell-tale symptoms prior to manifestation, we urge you to talk to your teachers or Doctor Izumi should you have any concerns. We will be doing everything we can to protect you, which includes providing you as with much of your usual structure as possible. Classes, including Heroics courses, will continue as normal. Rest assured, everyone is doing everything they can to get to the bottom of this. But at this point, cases are isolated and sporadic. We advise caution, but there is no need to panic.”

Takuma made it a point to never take life seriously. But for once, that didn’t seem like such a good idea.

***

“You heard what the Principal said,” Aizawa said, after they had returned to the classroom. “The moment you feel anything out of the ordinary or even suspect that something might be wrong, I expect you to tell me or another teacher. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Mister Aizawa,” the class said, nearly as one.

“Good,” Aizawa said. “Now, we are going to proceed as normally as possible. Which means we have a little bit of business to settle. Choose a class representative. I don’t care how.” He zipped himself into his sleeping bag and disappeared behind his desk.

“Well,” Midoriya said, “I think we should probably vote on it?”

“I vote Toshi!” Shota Shinso cried out.

“Toshi,” Asuka Tokoyami agreed.

“I’ve got to go with Midoriya too,” Isamu Haimawari said.

“Toshi has my vote as well,” Izumi Todoroki added.

“Guys… Shouldn’t this be a secret ballot?” Midoriya asked quickly.

“Too late now,” Takuma said. “Besides, I think we all know you’re gonna win it.”

As much as he loved the spotlight, he loathed responsibility. Better Midoriya than him any day. Besides, it would take away from his own pursuits. And Midoriya really was good at taking charge and helping people who needed it. Guy wanted to help the whole world, even more than the average Hero-in-Training.

“Personally, I think moi would be best,” Takiyo Aoyama said.

“Oh, give it up, Frenchie,” Mika Mineta told him. “Midoriya’s definitely the best shot at this.”

“I fear I must agree with the rest,” Akaya Koda told Aoyama. She really seemed to be one of the few people who could stand the arrogant blond for more than a few minutes. She must have had the patience of a saint.

“Going with Midoriya here too,” Kenta said.

“Yep, me too,” Chihiro Kaminari added. “And Tokoyami for vice-rep while we’re at it.”

“I like those ideas!” Kimiko said. “Both of them!”

“Makes sense to me,” Shoji said.

“This is highly against protocol,” Tensei Iida said. “But I cannot argue with the consensus either.”

“My younger brother is correct,” Sora Iida said. “I agree with the conclusions drawn.”

“You really must stop using that qualifier! I am only younger by three minutes!”

“It is scientifically accurate! Do you dispute this?”

“It is needlessly semantic, and yet I cannot argue with the precision!”

“If I agree, will it shut them up?” Katsumi Kirishima-Bakugo asked.

Motion was carried. Midoriya and Tokoyami were their class reps.

Takuma belatedly realized that probably gave them some kind of power of his and Kenta’s antics, but that was their problem, not his. Besides, it was worth it to see Aoyama pout.

***

“Hua-whah!” Even though Takuma had practiced swinging from building to building by using his Acid Tape many times with his dad, doing it always made him feel like his stomach was going to flop out of his mouth. It didn’t help that his Quirk was more complicated than his dad’s. The elder Sero only had to think about shooting out his Tape until it hit something. Takuma’s Acid Tape meant that he had to be continually concentrating both on dispensing more tape and on maintaining the properties. Since he could make it anything from slick to sticky to acidic, that meant he had to do a lot more concentrating. And doing that while ten stories up made it all the more problematic.

Even if it was supposed to be a simple Heroics exercise in cityscape navigation. All they had to do was make it from one end of the faux-cityscape as quickly as they could. For quite a few, like Kimiko, Kenta, or Koda, there wasn’t much more they could do than run as fast as they could. Others were doing a much more impressive job. Midoriya was bouncing with leaps that were easily carrying him, the Iida Twins were blasting through the air, and Haimawari was zipping through the streets. And somehow, Kirishima-Bakugo had gotten herself up on the rooftops and was parkouring herself through the course.

Takuma let himself go flying through the air for a moment, before shooting out another strand of Acid Tape. It stuck to the fire escape and as he began to swing, he could feel something go wrong. With a sickening sound of tearing metal, the piece of the fire escape he had snagged with his tape snapped and broke, sending him falling!

He shot out another strand of Acid Tape, trying to save himself, but instead of snagging a lower portion of the fire escape, it melted right through it. He’d made it too acidic! He was gonna die! He was never gonna reach a million followers! Involuntarily, he felt his eyes close.

And just as suddenly, powerful arms caught him and he was rising. So he was dead then, and the angels were carrying him away. Good-bye world, he only regretted that he not let more of you gaze upon his awesomeness…

“Are you all right, Sero?” a voice asked. “I was afraid I would not be able to match your falling speed without causing you injury, but I believe I was able to calculate something close enough…”

An angel who apparently sounded just like Tensei Iida. He chanced opening his eyes and the first thing he saw was himself, reflected in the chest plate of Iida’s costume. Looking up, he saw a silver helmet. Definitely Iida. Which meant he wasn’t dead? He was alive! He could still get that million followers!

“Sero?” Iida repeated. “Are you all right?” He slowly started reducing power in his jets, letting them drift downward.

Oh, right. He needed to answer his rescuing angel’s questions. “Oh, ah, yeah, I’m fine,” he said, finding himself stumbling over his words. “You really saved my ass, there, Iida. Thanks.”

“Of course,” Iida said. “As your friend and classmate, not to mention as an aspiring Hero, it is my duty.”

“Well, right now, you’re my hero, Iida.”

Inwardly, he groaned. Was he really saying something that stupid? Apparently, he was. At least Kimiko and Kenta weren’t there to hear it. They’d never let him hear the end of it.

***

The Iida Twins could be found in the Common Room, pouring over blueprints. Usually, the Twins spent whatever free time they had in the Support Workshop, but according to Sora, Power Loader had kicked them out under out under threat of unspecified punishment, all because they had “accidentally used too much power and caused a few small explosions and fires.” So the two had returned to the dorms instead to work on what they could.

Takuma, Kenta, and Kimiko peered from around the corner at them.

“This is a really dumb idea,” Takuma said. “And I know all about dumb ideas.”

“If you were doing this for me,” Kenta said, “you’d be making your “good idea” face. The one that always means it’s something that’s going to get us in trouble.”

“Besides,” Kimiko said, “this is for romance! We’ve got to! You’re cute, he’s hot, you’re pink, he’s got pink hair, I’m gonna call you Pinky-Squared!”

“We don’t even know if he likes guys! He could be into girls! Or machines! I’m gonna make a fool of myself!”

Kimiko slapped him upside the head. “That’s loser talk!”

“You want us to film it?” Kenta asked. “You’re good in front of a camera.”

Takuma went a paler shade of pink. “…No. Definitely not. I do not need this preserved for posterity if it all goes south.”

“Look, this is the most romantic thing to happen since school started,” Kimiko told him. “So you are not chickening out now! Kenta and I are going to get Sora out of the room and you are going to ask Tensei out! Do you understand!?”

How someone whose face he couldn’t see could have such an intense glare, he didn’t know, but her tone suggested that there was no arguing with her.

“Yes,” he said. “Let’s do this!”

***

I can’t do this!

With Sora out of the room (he was so stressed he literally could not remember what excuse Kenta and Kimiko had used to get her out of there and he had seen it literally seconds ago), Takuma was free to make his move. His smooth move. His ever so smooth move. He was the king of smooth.

He was not smooth.

As casually as he could, he approached the table where Tensei was still working. “Oh, ah, hey, Iida,” he said. “Ah, thanks again for saving me like that. Pretty sure I was on my way to being a pile of pink goo.”

“The fall was not nearly enough to reduce you to goo,” Iida said, looking up from his blueprints. “But it would have been very messy all the same. I am happy I was able to prevent that.”

He rubbed the back of his head. “Yeah, well, either way, I appreciate it.” He frowned, trying to think of how best to proceed. “So, uh, what are you working on?”

A very crazed (and very attractive) grin spread its way across Tensei’s face. “Modifications to Sora’s and my Hero costumes. After training yesterday, we came up with several potential ideas to improve performance and work with our Quirks, such as a more adjustable wing system and potential storage for emergency supplies of apple and grape juice.”

“And that exploded?”

“Oh, no,” Iida said. “That was the idea for a capture-weapon to add as an additional support item. We may have made the propulsion element a little too strong. Power Loader apparently believed that we would benefit from some time away. But I do not see how we can improve our designs to their fullest without practical, hands on work. And we cannot do that if we are banned from the workshop for a week.”

“That sucks, man,” Takuma agreed. It’d be like someone telling him he couldn’t upload stuff to the ‘net. A guy had to have a passion, after all. “But, ah, I guess that means you’re gonna have some free time?”

Iida frowned. “Unfortunately, yes. There is only so much we can do without the space to put theory into practice.”

Okay, it was now or never. He could be brave! He had this!

…He didn’t have this!

He had this!

He didn’t have this!

He had this!

“So, um…,” he said, “if you’re gonna have the free time… maybe you’dlikespendingsomeofitwithmesomewhere?”

Iida blinked. “I… don’t think I caught that, Sero.”

He took a deep breath. “I was thinking, if you were gonna have free time anyway… maybe you’d want to spend some of it with me? Somewhere? Like a date?”

Iida’s eyes widened in surprise and for once, it looked like he was at a loss for words. “I… I would like that very much, Sero.”

He had this!

#their hero academia #my hero academia #fan fic #My writing #fan fiction

1 note · View note