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ficsyoumayhavemissed · 3 years ago

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it’s only for the brave — sunflower_lwt / @hometothecanyonmoon

2.247 words / Liam x Tom Daley

My love, all I want is to protect you. I gave my heart to you a long time ago and I never got it back. I love you, I adore you, I love who I am when I’m with you.

Always in my heart, Tom Daley.

Yours sincerely,

Liam Payne.

This fic somehow manages to be a journey of emotion in so few words. There’s so much fear and angst over a love possibly lost, a future left uncertain, and a past full of regret. But the author leaves the story open-ended, closing off with a little room for hope.

i’ll meet you anytime you want (in our italian restaurant) — alwaysgolden / @hsmp3

3.239 words / Harry x Louis

harry and louis reunite after ten years in their favorite restaurant, reminiscing about the past and revisiting old feelings.

This absolutely adorable fic is the author’s first published work (thankfully, they have posted more since!) and while it’s fairly short, it’s an absolute treasure. The shyness and nostalgia between the two friends blend into a perfect atmosphere that’s sure to keep you smiling the entire time you read. (Warnings: mentions of death)

It's Poutine Bitch! — @haztobegood

3.950 words / @harryandmenfest / Harry x Mitch Rowland

“What is that?”

“This?” Harry pointed his fork at the plate. “It’s poutine.”

The man gazed longingly at the heaped plate. “Looks good.”

"Go ahead and take one, bitch.”

Everything about this fic is absolutely hilarious! From the title over the narration to the dialogue – it’s absolutely wonderful. Go ahead and read this feel-good-fic if you need something to cheer you up, a bit of a laugh, and a story that will make you feel warm.

baby I'll never leave (if you keep holding me this way) — we_are_the_same / @so-why-let-your-voice-be-tamed

6.438 words / @1dclicheficfest / Harry x Louis

His fingers curl around the first thing he can find that would be suitable as a weapon, an umbrella that has a rather impressive looking metal pin at the end. He holds it in front of him the way he imagines people hold a sword, tiptoeing through his living room until he can find whoever’s in his kitchen. He briefly considers calling 999, figures that if someone’s trying to burgle him, he should probably not be a hero and actually rely on professionals to arrest them, but he’s never been the type to sit back and wait, and -- is that singing?

It is singing. Whoever is trying to rob him is in his kitchen, singing an eighties pop song under their breath.

And they made cookies?

All about this fic is beautiful. The author has made a wonderful impression of the character development – plus it’s hilarious and cute. It portrays a ray of hope for everyone struggling with the current worldwide situation bringing an ‘everything’s gonna be fine’ message to the reader. Give it a chance!

It’s Probably Because I’ve Got a Big Lesbian Crush on You — yeah_alright / @uhoh-but-yeah-alright

6.614 words / @wordplayfics / Harry x Louis

Harry's never really concerned herself with being part of the popular crowd. But as the new girl in school the second semester of her junior year, she finds herself unwittingly competing for Queen Bee status against high school royalty Louis Tomlinson. Maybe there's more to their rivalry than it seems.

A not-quite-Mean Girls AU

Are you in need of a sweet, interesting, and funny Girl!Direction fic that you won’t be able to put down? Look no further: This fic has it all! Just the essence of Mean Girls with the perfect amount of the author’s own twists and turns that will leave you smiling all the way through!

sweet music playing in the dark — solvetheminourdreams / @solvetheminourdreams

12.753 words / Harry x Louis

“Just get in.”

“I don’t even know you,” Louis continues lightly, hand already inching toward the door.

Harry laughs, shaking his head. “No, but I’m willing to take the risk if you are.”

Or the one where Harry wants nothing more than to hear From Eden live and Louis just needs to pay off some parking tickets.

This fic is a great mixture of humorous and sweet! Louis’ characterization is just great, and the chaos of the plot is very fun. A must read for those days you need something a little unexpected to make you smile.

light somewhere, in the distance — wordsnnotes / @quelsentiment

26.011 words / Zayn x Liam x Louis

“You’ll be paired up with one partner in each place.”

Zayn frowns.

“A partner?”

“Yes, that’s the way it goes,” the angel nods. “Everyone gets a partner. Sometimes it’s people from your previous life, if you used to be together or could have been together if death hadn’t separated you. But most times, it’s not someone you know. In any case, we’re always very careful about pairing up people who are compatible together.”

Or: a Zouiam love triangle set in the afterlife. Loosely based on The Good Place

This fic is so intense in the best way: it gives you the chance to shed a few tears on a bad day while giving you the warmest hug at the end to make sure you’re alright. The worldbuilding in The Good Place fashion is done fantastically and it matches the relationship developments so well. It’s definitely worth a read.

—-

As always, support the authors by leaving kudos and comments! Happy reading!

If you love a fic that has gotten less love than you think it deserves, submit it to us so we can check it out and add it to one of our recs! We would love to be able to spread more love to underappreciated fics! — FYMHM xx

#hlcreators #tracksintheam #trackinghome #trackinghappily #hljournal #hlsource #fic rec #fymhm #september 2021

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quietrainfan · 3 years ago

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Hey! Anyone want some heavy platonic Loceit angsty headcanons I've extracted from the new episode? Well, too bad because it's happening regardless. :)

Yes, also some Unsympathetic Patton. You know what blog you're on. (This interpretation/headcanon shall not die. Not here.)

(Also, this is going to combine my observations and thoughts as well, so sorry in advance if this post turns out as a bit of a mess.)

Alright, so! Orange Side confirmation. How we feelin', Sanders Sides fandom, how we feelin'?

Honestly, the Orange Side theory wasn't something I was really all that into. It was a 'meh, could be cool' headcanon for me personally. But I have to say the way the reveal was handled made me jump in my seat with pure joy. No joke, I audibly gasped when Logan's eyes flashed orange.

It was all downhill from there, I was excited. Anyone who knows me will tell you I'm a sucker for character's eyes glowing when they've reached their limit or are displaying a power they've never shown before, combine that with an unexpected reveal and I'm sold.

Plus, glowing eyes have been a common theme with Unsympathetic content and Dark Side headcanons so you could imagine how the first peak into the Orange Side's existence (or, rather confirmation. we all saw the 'hello' hint, Orange, you cheeky little munchkin.) was his color in Logan's eyes made me feel. It was so cool!!! Ah!

Then Thomas had to tease us again at the end card with our boy Orange's eyes popping up in the darkness, waiting for his chance to be too loud to ignore. Like, the audacity. Who do you think you are, Thomas?! (That was a joke. Sorry, I'm just really pumped.)

Also, Remus got quite a few laughs out of me. Ah, I missed him.

Okay, headcanon time! We're going to do Logan first, then Janus, then combine the two. Sound good? Alright, here we go (Trigger Warning for discussions of alcoholism, please if anything I write here sounds insensitive or inaccurate, let me know and I will edit. Also, no need to read if you don't want to. Stay safe.) :

Logan

Logan knew where to grab for that alcohol bottle.

I mean, I guess that makes sense since he lives there and is naturally the most observant Side. But...that bottle's placement was a little too convenient.

Sure it was played up as a joke and it was funny.

But something about the way Logan threw his coffee into the sink and quickly replaced it with the wine stuck out to me.

I've joked about Logan and/or Janus having to "drink to cope" due to sharing the single brain cell Thomas has amongst all the chaos. But seeing that in an actual episode, even as a gag, is kind of...different.

Let me explain.

This may be a common thing for Logan that he struggles with.

He wakes up early to be the first one to help Thomas start the day, naturally. Logan goes to make his cup of coffee and there's always the lingering urge to take a sip of wine before anyone can see because he just...can't face everyone without needing just a little bit of it to cloud out all the gross, petty, negative feelings he experiences every day around them.

He's logic. He can't be drinking and risk any more harm to Thomas's function.

So, it's a constant battle with coffee vs wine, coffee vs wine, coffee vs wine-

Most of the time Logan is able to resist and go with the coffee.

It doesn't make him feel good in the slightest. If anything it makes him feel even worse knowing he'll be more alert that day.

Logan hates that was even a thought at all. He needs to be alert. Otherwise everything will fall apart. He is the rock in the system and without him everything will crumble.

Such a selfish mindset. He needed to focus.

Other days Logan just doesn't have it in him to discard the wine regardless of how much he wants to.

He knows what the day holds for him. It was all so repetitive at this point. Logan knew when he wasn't able to get through it despite it all.

That didn't stop him from shaming himself for caving. He should be able to handle this. He's made so much progress with resisting it up to this point but today he through it away again because he just had to, right?

Sometimes Logan finds himself "cheating" by hiding a couple drops of wine into his coffee on days when he chose the coffee but later felt particularly bad about...a lot of things, into his second cup.

Logan more often times chooses neither. The temptation for clouding out the others was just too strong and was a waste of time.

Logan is beyond tired of the others.

Every single action they have agitates him now. No matter how minor it is.

Roman's loud voice and constant references makes Logan's toes unconsciously curl beneath his shoes. Even a silent warm smile and wave from the prince fills Logan with an unpleasant tingle in his knuckles.

Virgil's neverending foreboding and unnecessary nasty remarks that he doesn't even bother to filter provokes Logan's new habit of biting his tongue. Any kindness he ever gives him makes his stomach twist.

Patton's nicknames, poking for for a laugh, his "sweet" way of shoving away any objection he may have, how casually he behaves as if he isn't part of any problems- how quickly he's prepared to "bounce back". Logan feels like every word, action from him something steps on a guitar cord in the back of his mind that makes the ugliest, loud, screeching sound. He feels this strange warm fuzzy ache he can't define. All he hears is that cord playing faster and faster the longer he stays in their presence. Logan no longer trusts himself alone with Patton.

Logan thinks if he just separates from the others long enough, the ugly strumming noise will go away.

But he's so wrong.

Logan can hear it even when he's all alone. When it's finally silent, he still can't get rid of it.

It's loudest when Logan is alone in his room. Logan has lost count of how many nights he's spent clenching his head, quietly sobbing, and praying for it to just go away already.

Logan often feels like he's losing it.

On nights where the sounds are particularly louder than usual, he swears he can see orange shadows creeping around him, lights of the color flashing on and off, he sometimes even sees it seeping in and out of the cracks of his door like a thick fog. At times he'll even wake to it glowing absurdly bright through his window.

It's just the sunrise. Logan tells himself. He has to believe that. Everything else looked normal, after all.

What's worse is Logan doesn't know how long he's been hearing this sound or seeing the strange lights.

Patton knows about Logan's late night and early morning struggles.

But surprise, surprise, he pretends as if he's nonthewiser.

If either Virgil or Roman asks about Logan, Patton will answer: "Oh, that silly billy's probably got his head in one of his astronomy books again! I wouldn't bother him right now."

Knowing full well he's having an emotional breakdown in his room that gets worse every day.

Knowing about the little sneaks of alcohol in his hot morning beverage. Might even speak about yummy drink combinations when they hang out in the living room, while Logan is present, specifically and even only on the days Patton knows he's cheating with his bad habit, while he's still drinking it.

The further Logan is to the edge, the better. Patton is still bitter about the events of Redux ending in his favor, after all. He needs leverage from somewhere.

When Thomas left to see Nico, Logan heard the cord again. His chest tightened and though he could feel the tears welling up, he kept them down.

Thomas hasn't been very happy lately. He had to let him have this.

No matter how loud those cords get.

Janus

I noticed that Janus was either unseen by the others or unacknowledged by them.

Janus was near all of them but far enough that he was separated.

He could've just popped up at the end without them noticing but...that's less angsty therefore less fun so-

Janus has been the instigator for bringing Sides that have been hidden away to be brought to light for a long time. If the assumption that Janus let Remus out is true.

He's always been hinting at upcoming events that are sure to come if Thomas continues to ignore certain aspects of himself.

He knows. He knows our Orange boy is getting worse and soon will be too loud to ignore. Janus wants to protect Thomas but that's becoming harder every day. Thomas is making it harder.

Janus will reveal the Orange Side eventually. And very soon. Hell, that's looking like less and less of a choice considering Logan's...outburst.

I think Janus has this painful awareness that he can be seriously hated for doing his job. After all, he's always the one who's forced them to acknowledge uncomfortable truths about Thomas.

He's the one giving them all of those hard pills to swallow and especially after Remus, it is definitely overwhelming and exhausting to be met with.

They question their roles more and more because of how used they are to the fixed mindset Thomas has had for such a long time.

That can't feel good.

Janus knows that his job may cause more hatred to fester the more that's revealed.

Janus is being kept at arms length and he knows that won't stop any time soon.

But he's a clever snake. That won't keep him from keeping an eye on Patton.

(Find it real suspicious that Patton was all mushy with Janus in that end card but still is at a big distance from him.)

Loceit

Janus will sometimes find Logan in the common room with his head in his arms, sprawled out against the coffee table. His glasses being discarded from half his face, unmistakable tears lazily dripping out of his lifeless eyes.

Janus would wordlessly go to the sink and grab a glass, filling it with water.

Janus goes over to Logan, giving him a gentle rub on the back. He urges him to sit up. It takes Logan a few minutes but eventually does.

Janus hands Logan the water, supporting the back of his neck as struggles to get it down, reminding him to take his time.

Janus takes his glasses and gently sets them on the table. He hands Logan some tissues.

Logan lifelessly takes them and tries to clean his face. But he always ends up crying into them.

Janus moves Logan unkempt bangs from his face before moving his head to his shoulder. Janus manifests a warm blanket over Logan and uses a bit of his abilities to soothe the shorter man's pain, tenderly putting pressure on his neck.

Janus and Logan have a talk. Logan always asks why he bothers to stop and comfort him.

"You've helped me through a lot, Logan. Not returning the favor is out of the question."

That was always his answer.

Janus and Logan do this often.

Janus opens up about sometimes needing a bit of a drink himself from time to time. Though mostly that consists of tea more often than not, he sometimes has a glass of wine or two to relax on days when it's particularly hard.

He feels ashamed of it. Janus has to be the strongest out of everyone, especially the Dark Sides. Allowing things to faze him was the worst case scenario. At least, to that degree.

But Janus understands that isn't his fault and urges Logan not to blame himself, either. While he hated that weakness he occasionally submitted to, he wasn't going to let the rare slip up to define the worth of his role.

Logan thinks that Janus really is the strongest out of all of them just for saying things like that and he's being too hard on himself.

On nights when things become too much Janus will sit with Logan and share a drink. They try to have as many conversations without wine as possible but sometimes Janus says "screw it" and sits with Logan with one or two drinks.

Just having Janus there helps Logan choose his coffee in the mornings and feel as if he's being heard even a little bit.

Now if only those cords could actually quiet down, that'd be even better.

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justmypartner · 4 years ago

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Make it Work: Chapter 1

Summary: When offered a permanent position with the FBI, Hailey agrees to take it under one condition: Jay comes too. As their personal lives and work lives begin to change, the two partners find it increasingly difficult to navigate their complex relationship and manage their feelings for one another. *Picks up at the 8x03 bar scene.

Writer’s Note: I’m so excited to share my first multi-chapter fic. I really enjoyed Hailey’s FBI episode and how seamlessly she was able to adapt to that world, so I thought it would be fun to explore how Jay might fit into that world and how different the adjustment may be for him. When writing the first chapter I was really inspired by the song (what i wish just one person would say to me) by Lany, because I felt like it fit Jay’s perspective perfectly. As much as our guy loves Hailey, he was always going to put her wishes above his own. That’s what the song is all about, so you can see a few lines inspired by the song sprinkled throughout the chapter (the title is also taken from the song). Please enjoy Chapter 1 of Make it Work!

Read on AO3 or below

“Alright. Let’s do this, rip the bandaid off. What did the FBI offer you?” Jay said straightly, trying to hide the worry that coursed throughout his entire body.

Earlier that day he had discovered the FBI had Hailey on their radar, and he hadn’t stopped thinking about it since. After what went down with his last partner, simply hearing someone say “FBI” left a bad taste in his mouth. He wouldn’t openly admit it, but he was worried about Hailey taking the offer. Ever since she had returned from New York, she had been fairly quiet about how it went. Her feelings seemed indifferent, but part of him had to wonder why she would hide the fact that they were sending her job offers. He hated the idea of being left alone again, but ultimately he just wanted what was best for her, even if that meant moving thousands of miles away.

Jay had been seeing Hailey differently for a while. He couldn’t pinpoint exactly when his feelings shifted, but he knew things were different. If anyone asked, she was his partner and his best friend, but he knew deep down that she was more than that. There were even a handful of moments when he almost told her how he felt but Jay, never a man of openly expressing his feelings, failed to get a single word out every time. He had fought those feelings for so long, keeping them hidden deep in the depths of his closed-off heart, but her time away in New York proved this impossible. He had picked her up from the airport when she got back in Chicago, and the second he saw her he couldn’t deny the way she set his heart aflame. So, hearing that the FBI was trying to steal her away permanently was messing with his head. He had sat on his concern all day, but his patience was running thin.

“Mm okay. Joint level task-force, with the HIG, all interrogations, all high-level targets,” she told him, a slight smirk on her face as she awaited his reaction.

“Sure.. Sure, sure, sure, yeah, that sounds awesome,” he said sarcastically as she chuckled. “Is it good pay?” He asked her, a sense of defeat in his voice.

“Great pay. Honestly made me a little embarrassed about what we get paid,” she said with a smile. This was not what he was hoping for, but he pressed forward.

“Well, you’d probably be really good at it,” he responded, feigning support as the words killed him inside. He knew she would be good at it, there was no doubt in his mind. The job sounded perfect for her, but he just hated where it was and what it could mean for them.

“Yeah,” she muttered, pausing briefly and looking out the window as if her next words were lingering somewhere outside and she was trying to find them. “Yeah, I hope so because I told them I would take it,” she finally said, her eyes slowly traveling back to his. The smile on her face was replaced by a look of sincerity. He felt his heart drop into his stomach as he clenched his jaw, trying to conceal the myriad of emotions consuming him.

“Well, I.. I’m happy for you,” he said unconvincingly before bringing his glass back to his mouth, taking a large swig of his drink. He couldn’t look her in the eye because he knew she’d be able to read right through him. So, he focused on the bottom of his glass, fingers fidgeting with the rim waiting for her to say something.

“Yeah, well I should be saying the same to you,” she told him. With this, he raised his eyes back up to meet hers and returned her words with a raised brow, sending a questioning look her way.

“I told them I wasn’t going anywhere without my partner, so they took a look at your file and they were very impressed by your background. They said if you’re good enough for me to bargain with, you must be worth having on their team,” she paused briefly and he watched her swallow hard before her next words. “Jay the offer is extended to the both of us.. that is if it is something you’re interested in,” she said, tilting her head to the side as she tried to read his reaction.

A moment of what felt like his world falling apart was now being strung back together with a sliver of hope for the two of them. Being a fed was never in any of Jay’s plans. In fact, he always found himself carrying an unwarranted detestation for them that made those government positions sound completely unappealing. He never imagined he’d be willing to give up Chicago, let alone his position in Intelligence, especially for a job with the feds, but if it meant being with Hailey he was going to consider it. Romantically or not he knew he needed her in his life and as he told her not too long ago, he would follow her anywhere.

“I- wha- I-“ he stuttered out, not being able to form a coherent word.

“Look, I know it is a lot to ask of you. I know it may not seem fair of me to offer you up like that without asking first, but the way I figured it, we’re good at our jobs and we’re good together. I mean new job, new city, it all sounded so crazy to me at first. I’ve never pictured myself anywhere outside of CPD, but then I took a step back and realized what it could mean big picture. My time in New York, the cases I was working, they showed me just how big and bad this world can be. I mean I was chasing after dudes that make guys like Darius Walker look like frickin saints. The whole time I just kept thinking, I could really see myself doing this every day. I felt fulfilled in a way I hadn’t in years, but every night I’d go home, especially after the bad ones, and I felt like something was missing. Then one night after a really bad one I was sitting in my hotel room, wallowing in the heaviness of that day and my phone rang. It was you calling to check up because you had a bad case too and you needed whatever this thing is between us that always seems to work. That’s when I realized what it was that was missing. It was you,” she shrugged, the corners of her mouth curling up in a shameful smile.

“Hailey..” Jay said as his eyes glossed over with tears. He sat there silently, looking into the endless depth of her eyes and hoping the right words would come to him. His thoughts were jumbled and he was having trouble grounding himself in reality. The whiplash of thinking he was losing the most important person in his life to hearing her tell him her life wasn’t complete without him left him in a state of disorient. He was relieved when she continued on before he had the chance to stumble over words once more.

“Look Jay, I don’t expect you to have an answer now. I just needed to tell you where I’m coming from so you’d have a full perspective to guide your decision. I know leaving Chicago, leaving our family at the 21st wouldn’t be easy, but I feel like this opportunity is something worth pursuing. I also think it’s something that would be made easier if we did it together,” she admitted, finishing her piece.

Her words echoed in his head as he seriously thought through the opportunity. Jay was wired to be a cop, to right wrongs, help victims find justice, and chase the highs of dangerous cases. He found his life’s purpose doing just that, starting in the Rangers and leading to his spot in Intelligence. He appreciated the fulfillment his work in Intelligence brought him, but what if he could do that on a much larger scale - with her by his side no less. All of a sudden he was picturing a life in New York and working at the FBI. He felt like it could make sense and it caught him by surprise, but it seemed clear.

“Do you remember when the unit was under siege and we thought it was the end of Intelligence? We had just gotten back from that major bust and we were talking about what would happen if we got shut down.. where we would go. Do you remember what I said to you?” He asked her, his newfound clarity allowed him to string a coherent thought together. She nodded in response.

“You told me you’re going where I go and that it’s hard to find a good partner,” she said softly, her eyes staying locked with his.

“I meant it then, and I mean it now. I’ve spent my whole life fighting to help people, and I like to think we’ve done some really great things in Intelligence. You were right when you said we’re good together, and if this job means we can make an even bigger difference than the one we do now, I’m all in,” he said, causing a big smile to form across her face.

“Yeah?”

“Hell yeah. I mean I’d like to know more about the position and everything, but if you say it’s worth it, then I trust you.. we’ll make it work. Plus, our thing just isn’t the same over the phone. You’d be lost without me,” he told her with a cheeky smile, eliciting an eye roll from her.

“Yeah, you mean you’d be lost without me,” she responded, standing from her chair to grab her coat. Jay laughed and took the check before rising to put his coat on as well. As they made their way to the door, Jay turned to face Hailey as a concerned look overcame his face.

“Wait- have you planned on how we’re going to tell Voight about this?” He asked. She returned his question with an expression matching his.

“Uh ah, I didn’t get that far. I didn’t think you would actually agree to be honest.”

“Come on, we’ve built a pretty strong partnership here, at least part of you had to think there was a chance I’d say yes,” he told her.

“Yeah, no I wasn’t thinking about that. I was thinking the fact that it’s a job with the feds and the idea of having to wear a suit everyday would have left no room for consideration,” she said with a chuckle. She pushed her body against the door, grimacing at the sudden sensation of the cold Chicago wind against her face, leaving a suspended Jay stood in the doorway.

“Suit.. everyday.. I-“ he said upon realizing that part of the job he hadn’t considered.

“Woah, woah, woah, you already said yes, no turning back now,” she teased. He groaned and dragged his feet out the door to join her in the cold. They walked shoulder to shoulder down the street in a comfortable silence.

“That doesn’t sound so bad you know,” she said, breaking through the silence as they reached their cars. She turned to face him, her eyes carrying a glimmer he hadn’t noticed before.

“Oh yeah, what’s that?”

“Getting to see you in a suit every day,” she said confidently before realizing the coy nature of the statement and bashfully looking away. Jay could feel the heat rush to his face despite the chilling wind blowing against him. He smiled down at his feet, hoping if she could notice the redness of his cheeks, she accounted it to the cold. There was a long pause before he brought his eyes back up to hers once again.

“See you tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” she said, placing a hand on his chest lightly before passing him to get into her car.

Jay wasn’t sure where their future was going or what direction it would take them, but he knew as long as she was in his life, he was set. His eyes followed her as she got in her car and started the engine. She gave him a small wave before pulling out into the street. Yet again there he was suppressing his feelings for his partner, but this time it felt worth it. A lot in their lives was about to change, he didn’t need to add the heaviness of his feelings to the mix. He was anxious about what was to come, but he ultimately felt content with his decision.

#upstead #jay x hailey #hailey x jay #jay halstead #hailey upton #chicago pd #upstead fic

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ticklikeabomb · 4 years ago

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One-shot : Baila Baila Baila

Pairing : Johnny ‘Coco’ Cruz x Plus Size FemReader

Warnings : Language, Slight Angst, Fluff

Word Count : 2.4k

Disclaimer : I do not own the characters, nor the universe where they were created and interact in. This series/fiction is only for entertainment purposes.

Saying that you were close to explode was a euphemism. You were currently on the phone with the manager of the clothing store you ordered the dress of your dreams for the dance competition that is supposed to take place in less than a week, who was calmly informing you that the delivery wouldn’t make it on time.

“Let me get this one more time. You are telling me that the dress that I ordered, that was supposed be here a week ago is not gonna make it on time and you only tell me this now?! Is this a joke? Because if it is, it’s a horrible one”, you declared frustrated. “I’m really sorry Miss but the there was an incident with the delivery man and their truck caught on fire. The best we could do is lend you the yellow that you tried on.” You sighed, closing your eyes to keep your tears from spilling. “The yellow? The one that makes me look like a life-sized Tweety? Thank you but I’ll pass.” You breathed out heavily, “I’m sorry for my tone but this dress was for a really important event that I’ve been looking for a long time now.”

“I can tell Miss and we’re deeply sorry about it”, declared the manager on the other line. You exchanged for a few more seconds before hanging up and discharged your phone at the other end of the couch. Grabbing a pillow, you plastered it against your face and screamed. A momentarily sense of relieve filled your body and you stood up, grabbed your phone and car keys and made your way to the mall, at the research for another last-minute dress.

Two days before the contest

You arrived early at one of Santo Padre’s local gym and greeted the owner, a long-time friend of yours, who let you train in an isolated room with your dance partner. You made yourself at home, took off your jacket and started to stretch yourself on the floor, like you always did before the start of rehearsals. From the mirror, you saw Frank, your dance partner entering the room and greeted him with a smile. A smile that quickly evaporated once seeing his facial expression. “Hey, is everything ok?”, you asked concerned. “Hi Y/N, yeah I’m fine. Can we sit?”, he motions you but your body tenses. “I’d like to stay up if that’s ok”, you replied to which he nods. “Look Y/N, I know that what I’m gonna do is awful and I feel like an asshole but I can’t dance with you on the competition.” You felt your heart stop and beat frantically at the same time. “What? Why? Do you have an emergency or something?”

He scratches behind his head and says, “No but Tracy and I reconnected and she would like to try again and asked me to be her partner for the contest. You know, we’re professional dancers and this is a lifetime chance to get recruiters to notice us.” You couldn’t believe what was happening and looked at him, open mouth. “Y/N?”, he whispers. You scoff, finally coming back to your senses. “You must be fucking kidding me”, you exclaim, pacing around the room, your hands on your waist. You shook your head violently, not believing it: first the delivery incident, where your custom-made dress burned down like a marshmallow and now your so-called partner leaving you behind for someone else.

You grabbed your things and turned at him, “You know what Franck, you shouldn’t feel like you’re an asshole. You are an asshole!”, before leaving the room.

You spent the rest of day sulking at home, unable to stop crying. You felt awful and decided to pass by the Mayans clubhouse, not in the mood to stay at home. You weren’t really looking for conversations but you wanted animation surround you without taking part of it. You wanted to flee the isolation so badly that you didn’t even take time to eat something first. You arrived at the clubhouse and saw a party blasting inside. Taking advantage of the filled-up place, you sneaked over to the bar and managed to get EZ’s attention. “Hey Y/N, how are you?”, he smiled at you. “How are your teeth so white and perfect?”, you ask him. You knew how observant he was and how easily it would be for him to notice that something was off. Your remark made him smile wider, revealing his perfect dentition even more. You shook your head jokingly, mumbling “Shame” with fake outrage.

EZ’s laugh at your comment caught Coco’s attention and came across you drowning your second shot before taking a gulp of your beer. He immediately noticed that you weren’t ok. The way your shoulders were tense, the way your eyes lost its sparkle, how your wrinkles didn’t retract at the corner of your eyes from genuinely smiling were enough to alarm him. It wasn’t a secret, except for you, that Coco harbored a huge crush on you and got to know you like the palm of his hand. A crush that his friends would tease him about for not asking you out officially. He kept analyzing you before standing up and making his way to you.

You catch Coco’s sight weave out of the bodies in the room and make his way to where you were standing. He plasters himself next to you, his body leaning against the wall, tension float above you. You feel his eyes on your side and turn your head to him. “What?”, you ask him. “You tell me?” He sees your jaw clench and your eyes wetting. You turn your head back upfront, drinking your beer, trying to regain control of your emotions. His fingers grace your hand and the next thing you know is that he’s leading you outside the clubhouse for fresh air. He lets go of your hand and your heart compresses from the deprive of his warmness. He lights up a cigarette and waits until you’re ready to talk. You look around and notice Gilly and Angel’s nosy attention at you and Coco, looking elsewhere when your eyes land on them.

“I’m not doing the contest after all”, you finally break the silence. You didn’t need to look at him to know the frowning and confused expression on his features. “What do you mean you’re not doing the contest? Did they cancel the event?”, he replies. “Nope.”

“Then what?”, he asks. “Franck stood me up for Tracy, so I don’t have a dance partner which means that I can’t compete in it.” You hear him swear under his breath, exhaling the smoke from his nostrils. “What an asshole”, he comments. You chuckle weakly, “Exactly my last words to him.” He shakes his head disgusted. “It is what it is”, you tell him, the sadness painted on your face. “It’s not. You’ve train over a year for this. It can’t just end like this.” You squeezed Coco’s shoulder and shook your head in defeat, “It’s over Coco. I can’t dance alone. Maybe next year.” You turn around ready to leave when his words glue you to the spot. “I’ll dance with you!”

You turn around, furrowed brows, “What?” “I know the dance. I’ve assisted on most of your rehearsals with that douche”, he declared. He saw a spark light your eyes. “Are you for real?”, you ask him. “Let me be your dance partner”, he tries to say it the most nonchalant way possible but his voice flinches the slightest, knowing his words meant more than just be your dance partner. You can’t believe he would actually do this for you. You consider the fact that he did for whatever reason assisted on a large amount of your rehearsals, protesting it was Creeper, your best friend, that asked him to keep an eye on you.

You close the gap between each other and engulf him in your arms, “Thank you so much Coco. You have no idea how important this is for me.” He pats your hair and replies, “I do querida and I want to be part of that moment.” You thank him once more and you both plan on rehearsing the next day.

Later that night, Coco asked Bishop for the next three days to which the president agreed. Saying that the guys didn’t tease him even more was an understatement. “I can’t wait to see our little Coco here swaying his hips to the ritmo del amor”, joked Gilly. “Fuuuuck off”, his brother replied making the other men laugh out loud. “Let’s hope that will give him enough courage to finally ask Y/N out or I will”, commented Angel, smiling wickedly once seeing Coco’s angry gaze on him.

You and Coco spend the following two days practicing non-stop, going over the passages that he still had trouble with. You were stunned at how good he danced, loving discovering that unknown side of him. Your compliments boosted his pride and confidence, catching you by surprise and lifting your leg to his waist at a moment in the song. You squealed a little surprised at his gesture, your breath mixing with his, your faces inches apart. You cleared your throat before gulping. A smirk graces his face content with the effect he has on you. “Ehm wow, eh good. That was great, we should keep it in the routine”, you mumble while disengaging. You kept going on until the day of the contest.

You managed to find a dress that you changed to match with the routine. You were beyond stressed, your heart pumping faster than the Black Eyed Peas could say ‘Pump it’. You get a call which you answered without seeing the name on it. “Yo where are you?”, Coco asks. “I’m on the restroom trying to regain my calm.” As soon as you finish your sentence, he hangs up. You look at the phone and whisper ‘rude’. You were checking if you tied the straps of you heels correctly, when you felt a hand on your bare back.

Lifting up, Coco was standing in front of you. “Coco what are you doing here”, you tell him but he seems lost. You waved a hand in front of him, “Coco? You there?” Submerged by you in that dress, the aura emanating from you, he simply whispered “Wow.” A smile crept his way to your face. “You’re gorgeous”, he tells you more confidently, his eyes on yours. “Thank you. You look very handsome yourself”, you reply and adjust the collar of his shirt.

You both leave the restroom and make your way to the main hall, spotting the Mayans. You greet them and thank them for coming and support you. “Our pleasure”, the men chant. They then turned to Coco and nodded at his color matching suit. “Look at this Lady killer. You’re gonna still all of their hearts”, commented Tranq. “Nah just that one”, added Angel smugly. Coco leave his brothers behind, joining you at the side of the stage’s entrance.

You try to shake off your nervousness by gesticulating your fingers and deep breathing. “I feel like a glowing disco ball with so much highlighter on my face,” you reply making Coco laugh. “Nah Ma, you’re glowing because you’re a diamond.” You gasp, your heart beating harshly, not expecting hearing such a sweet comment from Coco and before you could reply, the host called your number to perform next. “Ready?”, he whispers in your ear. You take a deep breath and smile confidently while approving. “You?” He nods, his smile matching yours. He takes your hand and you both take the pose on the stage.

Your routine begins as soon as the first music notes of Ozuna’s Baila Baila Baila (Remix) with Daddy Yankee’s song are heard. The second the song plays and your eyes land on Coco, the stress and your environment evaporate. The only person counting for you being Coco and vice versa. Your hands circling around your bodies sensually, your steps in sync with the rhythm, your smiles illuminating the room. Everyone could see how much fun you were having. Your energy and the flawlessly executed routine echoed through the room, making the people cheering loudly.

When the song ended and you came back to reality, you and Coco hugged tightly, proud of your performance. Grabbing your hand, he led you to your family and your friends who congratulated you. You felt a tap on your shoulder and turned around, revealing Franck and Tracy in front of you. “I just came by congratulating you. You made it to the contest after all”, exclaimed Franck. You felt Coco slide beside you. “Thanks, I couldn’t have done it without the best partner anyone could ask for”, you replied, your eyes locked on Coco.

“Beat it”, whispered Angel to Franck who got the clue.

The host called the contestants for the verdict. You and Coco didn’t win the prize but you didn’t care. “I’m sorry it wasn’t enough”, he tells you once outside, taking a smoke. “What? You kidding? It was an amazing experience and I’m really happy I could share it with you. Besides we nailed that dance. Not our fault that those old asses can’t see awesomeness in front of them”, you half-joked. You both laughed until a silence settled down between you. “Coco?”, you whisper. “Yeah?” “Would you like to go on a date with me?”, you free jumped head first, feeling a shiver cross your body. “Only if you go on one with me first”, he replies. Your smile makes his wide and your bodies automatically inch closer one to another. Reducing the gap between you, your lips meet shyly, then sensually, pouring the hidden love that you both shared in a kiss.

“Fucking finally”, you heard one of the Mayans behind you. Coco breaks the kiss, sighing heavily at his brothers’ shenanigans. You both turn to them, their smug faces on display and shake your heads. “I guess I don’t have a shot with Y/N now”, joked Angel to which you frowned. “Keep dreaming”, replied Coco before stealing your breath away in a deep kiss.

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lillytalons · 4 years ago

Text

And the Stars Settled Inside

The lovely @cacodaemonia has an amazing reconstruction corps au that this was inspired by, specifically the art titled And the Stars Whirled Overhead

read on Ao3

“Well I suppose it’s a good time to set up camp. Where would you like us to set up Wooley?” Obi-wan shrugged off the pack he was carrying, looking around at the well ordered camp Cody and he had come into that day. The clones had already been searching the abandoned planet, but called in the help of a Jedi to see if they could use the force to locate any important sites.

Cody had been invited along as often happened with the two of them. Obi-wan would comment on it, except that that could imply he wasn’t happy with how often it happened. There was no reason to give all of their acquaintances that idea.

Wooley looked around the camp and the landscape surrounding them. “Actually sirs, it’s a really quiet planet, we haven’t seen any large wildlife, and there are no sentients here. You are welcome to join the camp, or go farther out. Some of men are going out away from the main camp. Getting away from the main fire makes the stars much brighter.” Wooley grinned, “Or they’re hoping for some peace and quiet.”

“Will they?” Obi-wan raised an amused eyebrow.

“If they think they are going to sleep in, they underestimate some of the brothers.” A couple of brothers behind Wooley tackled a third men and started wrestling amid yells from everyone involved, and several people not involved egging them on.

Wooley looked behind him at the commotion, and rolled his eyes while laughing. “Exhibit A.” A kicked foot took out a tent pole, causing another yell from the poor man inside the tent. Wooley gave a quick salute and wandered over to the chaos to do some damage control.

Obi-wan smiled at the antics and looked at Cody. “Where would you like to set up, my dear?”

Cody looked around, watched Wooley try to wrangle his brothers, and looked over at the bluffs nearby.

“Well we might as well try to get to sleep in.” Cody nodded his head towards the west of the camp and Obi-wan pulled his bag back up on his shoulders.

As they walked through the camp Cody pulled aside one of the men and got their allotted tent and bed rolls. The man came back with the base supplies plus some extra ration packs.

They made their way to a flat area to set up camp and split to do their usual tasks before they lost the sunlight. As they finished preparing, the sun finally set, light streaking across the sky. Obi-wan felt contentment as he sat on their blankets in the soft sand.

Obi-wan watched as Cody poked the logs a couple more times to make sure that the air flow was correct. He had spread out their bed rolls while Cody set up the fire. They had both decided to forgo the tent tonight. The desert air was clean and crisp, with little moisture in the air that would warn of rain.

Cody finally sat back and after another moment to make sure that the fire wouldn’t need any help for a while, he joined Obi-wan on the blankets. Obi-wan passed him some of their camp rations and he felt some of the tension drain from both of them. They didn’t need constant conversation, living and working together for over 4 years meant that silence was just as comfortable as interaction.

Obi-wan finished his rations quickly, at least they weren’t nearly as bad as rations had been at the end of the war when there was no funding, constant missions, and Obi-wan swore the rations recipe got worse despite the fact that they shouldn’t have been able to get worse.

Cody collected the wrappers from him and tucked them away in his pack, to be dealt with later. He leaned against his shoulder when he sat back upright and Obi-wan curled his arm around his waist.

They stared into the fire and it seemed as if contentment radiated out of the fire, enveloping them.

After a while, Obi-wan felt Cody hide a slight shiver and he smiled. His robes greatly protected him from the rapidly dropping temperature of the desert, but Cody preferred to wear lighter shirts when possible, and what worked well in the day was much less useful at night.

“We have plenty of blankets Cody, no need to be cold.”

“I’m fine. Don’t want to mess up your hard work, and the blanket won’t really reach from here if I leave it tucked into the others.”

“Yes I’m sure it would break my heart if you ruined the bed roll that took me minutes to set up.” He raised an eyebrow and Cody just huffed. Obi-wan hid a smile-unsuccessfully-and continued, “Or you could lay down.”

Cody stared at him like he was deciding if he was going to keep being cold (something he hated) and sass Obi-wan (something he enjoyed), or comply. He huffed again and tugged off his shoes. He lifted the top blanket and slid in as carefully as he could so there would be minimal sand in the bed roll.

Obi-wan grabbed the edges to help him, and gently tucked the blanket around him as Cody settled his head on his lap. “There, that wasn’t so hard was it, my dear?”

“Watch your tone, I can let you get cold tonight.” Cody tried to look tough, and Obi-wan decided not to bring up the fact that Cody would latch onto him the second he fell asleep anyway.

Obi-wan found a hand easily tangling in Cody’s curls which were slightly longer now that they had been in the war. He found the physical touch soothing, and Cody did as well. Cody hummed softly and stared past Obi-wan to the night sky. The light from the sunset had completely faded, leaving the inky blue sky covered in millions of stars.

Obi-wan fell back on one hand to look up as well. His favorite part of uninhabited planets were how many stars you could see. The core worlds were often too polluted and bright to have many stars, but out in the middle of nowhere, it felt like you could see the whole galaxy. The constellations were mostly unfamiliar, but that had never really mattered to him. The pictures in the sky mattered less than feelings the the sky as a whole brought. In places like this, the force swirled in time with the movement of the heavens.

Obi-wan felt intense calm melt from Cody, the way emotions only did when Cody was pushing them to him. Obi-wan let out a deep breath and looked down at Cody again.

The way the firelight warmed his face but the stars reflected in his eyes was something very intoxicating, and Obi-wan might be in tight control of himself, but even he couldn’t resist that. He leaned over and gently kissed Cody.

Cody allowed the kiss for a minute before pushing up on one elbow. He managed to keep their lips in contact but Obi-wan’s back was grateful that he didn’t have to lean over quite so much. Obi-wan’s hand moved from his hair to supporting his neck while they kissed.

It wasn’t hurried or anxious, it wasn’t frantic like their kisses sometimes were. It was slow, and soft, and sweet. Obi-wan felt himself sinking into the force around him, into the feeling of Cody.

Cody was always grounded and steady, and now after the war he was content too. He slowed Obi-wan down in a way no one else really could. Maybe because he saw the frantic pace Obi-wan kept himself at during any mission or crisis. Even when Obi-wan had his tea and a moment of peace, he was still high strung, ready for any surprise that came (and many did). The older he had gotten the worse it was because since his padawan days he was sent into increasingly dangerous situations with increasingly less time to relax. He didn’t know how to anymore.

Until Cody.

Cody dropped his shields as he pressed upwards. He allowed Obi-wan to release the last of the tightness held in his center as he felt the present swirling around them. The cool desert air that was rapidly getting colder. The warm fire heating his legs and face, also heating Cody’s face and shoulder. The heat that warmed Obi-wan just from Cody keeping contact with him. The ground of soft sand and softer blankets, the slightly rough blanket pressed between them that kept the warmth in Cody’s cocoon. The gentle desert insects that gave the night it’s chorus, and the men in the distant camp who bled their joy into the force as they told campfire stories in voices too indistinct to make out. He could feel the weight of the blanket on Cody as well as he could feel the weight of his own robes. And most of all he could feel Cody’s mouth on his, anchoring him to this moment.

They may not have frequent truly silent moments, but Obi-wan smiled into Cody’s mouth as he remembered again, as he often did, that they will have the chance for many, many more. And if kissing Cody in the desert made him like the desert much more than he ever did, well. That’s his business.

#obi wan kenobi #my writing #commander Cody #sw #fanfic #au

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when-they-write-stuff · 4 years ago

Text

To Derek, it felt like falling.

He’d fallen so much over the years, he felt like he should be an expert by now. It was one thing after another; the blue-eyes, the blonde-haired hunter, the body in the woods. And now that was falling, wasn’t it? He’d heard the term ‘rock bottom’ before but had come to realize long ago that it couldn’t be a real thing. Because wouldn’t he have hit it by now?

Except, this was different. This felt so different.

Fucking Stiles Stilinski.

Derek didn’t know if there was more than one way to fall. If anything, he thought he might have felt it with Paige. Or Kate. That stupid thing Laura would tease him about when she’d bring up girls and he’d roll his eyes, trying to cover up his crush on the cello player, or the blonde-haired substitute teacher that had been so scary but so exciting.

And he was pretty sure that’s what falling should have felt like. Maybe. Probably. Right?

But then he’d lost his entire family, and wasn’t that what it actually was? Laura driving them through the entire night with white knuckles around the steering wheel, taking refuge in an old apartment in New York that smelled like decay. The one they ended up staying in for years, even though she’d promised they’d be gone by morning.

To Derek, that had felt like falling. It had all felt like falling.

But so did any interaction with Stiles Stilinski.

He thought he could ignore it at first. Except somewhere in between meeting the idiot in the middle of the woods and going on the run as an alleged murderer, Derek realized Stiles had gotten underneath his skin unlike anyone he’d ever met before. And it bothered him.

Stiles bothered him.

Then there was the instance of two hours in the pool followed by the word ‘abomination’, and Derek came to terms with the fact that it was because Stiles was familiar. Stiles was familiar like the fall; in a way that Derek had long since tried to forget.

Except the boy wasn’t that easy to shake. No matter how hard Derek tried, no matter where he turned, the idiot was always there .

In the beginning, he’d hoped buying his own loft would be different. But he had been wrong before.

“So,” Stiles said, wandering into the kitchen with an empty bowl of cereal in one hand and his phone in the other. “What’s the plan for the rogue omega, Sourwolf?”

Two seconds ago, Derek’s attention had been fully on his cup of coffee— which was exactly what he blamed for the fact that he hadn’t recognized Stiles’s scent earlier. Yeah, that was totally it. Now, though, he stared at the boy, trying to process how exactly Stiles had gotten into the loft without a key and Derek had just woken up twenty minutes ago, hadn’t he?

“Uh, Stiles said, lowering his phone and raising an eyebrow. “Sourwolf? Are you okay?”

“How the hell did you get in here?”

“Dude,” Stiles said, scoffing. “If you have to ask that, then I’m seriously worried about your status of being our Alpha.”

Derek blinked and Stiles dropped onto the stool opposite him, sticking his spoon in his mouth and grinning around it.

“So, Sourwolf. Rogue omega?”

“I didn’t tell Scott about that,” Derek said, still processing. Stiles rolled his eyes.

“Of course, you didn’t,” the boy said. “But I’m clearly the responsible one in our friendship, so I’ve been in contact with your betas. Plus, we all know Scotty goes running around the woods at night to meet up with Allison, and either of them getting turned into rogue werewolf chow would be unfortunate.”

Derek continued to stare. Catching his expression, Stiles blinked.

“Or, maybe you didn’t know that. But now you do! And it’s all thanks to the token human— you’re very welcome.”

Derek looked at him for another long moment. Then, picking up his coffee, he moved around the counter and started past the teenager, ignoring Stiles’s spluttering at his back. Because honestly? It was far too early to even be trying to comprehend Stiles’s presence in his loft. And now Derek had his betas to chew out.

Yeah, his week was already starting out just great.

See, the thing about Stiles Stilinski was that once he latched on, he didn’t let go. Originally, Derek had thought if he snapped and growled enough, Stiles would eventually get the message and back off. But that never ended up happening. From the kid he’d met in the woods the first night— all buzz cut and gangly limbs— to whatever the hell Stiles had become now, Derek couldn’t seem to shake him.

He was there. He was always there.

Months passed and Derek still wasn’t sure how Stiles managed to get into his loft. He decidedly didn’t like it.

“I just think the betas could do with some more freedom,” Stiles said one day, lounging on the couch with his laptop propped up on his knees. Derek glared at him from his own spot across the room, but the boy wasn’t even looking in his direction. “They aren’t children, you know. Or at least, Boyd isn’t.”

“I still don’t know what you’re doing here.”

Surprise entering his previously bored scent, Stiles finally glanced up. And then he looked around the room, as if realizing for the first time how quiet and dark it had gotten. Derek still wasn’t sure that was possible— the idiot had spent the entire day on his couch, after all, only getting up to raid his fridge a few hours ago.

“Oh damn,” Stiles said, whistling. “I thought Erica was going to be here to back me up in this argument.”

“You... what?”

“Erica,” Stiles said, glancing back over. “She thinks she and the others should have a later curfew and be allowed to scare the shit out of people with their beta forms whenever the situation calls for it.”

Derek still stared. Stiles grinned crookedly, readjusting himself on the couch.

“I didn’t think she’d get that last one, honestly, but I promised to be here for support. ‘Cause I’m a good friend, you know, dude?”

“Don’t call me dude.”

“Okay, Sourpuss,” Stiles said, rolling his eyes and turning his attention back to his computer screen. “Just tell her I came by, would you? If I’m gone by the time she gets back, at least.”

Derek still didn’t know what the teen was doing in his loft. But Stiles’s attention was fully locked on his screen by now and Derek knew there was no chance he was getting his attention again. Glaring at the boy for another long second, he stayed sitting until it felt stupid, growling and shoving himself up.

He didn’t think Stiles even noticed as he stalked into the next room. And for some reason, that bothered him too.

But see, Derek wasn’t sure what about Stiles Stilinski bothered him. Maybe it was the idiot’s annoying sarcasm or his never-ending jokes, or the way he only stopped talking when his mouth was otherwise occupied. Or maybe it was his stupid smile, his stupid face, or those stupid moles that Derek sometimes wanted to trace where they disappeared underneath his shirt.

No… wait, not that. Definitely not that.

Though it could still be a lot of things, Derek figured. The real fact was Stiles was stupid as a whole.

And the idiot bothered him.

Yeah, that’s what it was.

It took an unfortunate incident with a wendigo for Derek to realize that wasn’t really what it was.

The rest of the pack must have realized how pissed off he was, because they all filtered out of the loft the moment Derek growled that they could go. Everyone except for Stiles, of course, who lingered by the door with an uncertain look on his face.

Derek glared at him from where he sat on the edge of his bed, the gash across his back still taking its time stitching itself back together. Because he was tired, dammit. He was tired, he was in pain, and he really just wanted to be left alone.

But Stiles didn’t leave him alone. Instead, the boy moved further into the room.

“Uh, hey, dude—”

“Don’t, Stiles,” Derek growled. “I told you to go home.”

The boy paused and a defiant light flashed through his amber eyes. Derek knew he was doomed the moment Stiles set his jaw, striding into the kitchen and coming out a few moments later with a first aid kit and a damp cloth.

Derek rolled his eyes, shifting so his back was turned toward the boy. Which probably didn’t help his case much.

“Holy shit, Sourwolf,” Stiles breathed, freezing a few inches away. “That’s disgusting.”

“Thanks,” Derek snapped. “You can leave the kit and leave.”

Stiles’s scent soured with anger for a moment. But the emotion didn’t last long before the teen was settling on the bed behind him, cold fingertips touching Derek’s shoulder and making him jerk. In a second, Stiles was mumbling apologies, drawing his hand back.

“I said you can go,” Derek said again, trying to ignore the strange mourning at that loss of touch. He heard Stiles sigh.

“I swear to god, dude, you could make this a lot less difficult.”

“Don’t call me dude.”

“I could call you a lot worse,” Stiles muttered. Derek clenched his jaw, glaring at the opposite wall, and he jerked again when Stiles touched his shoulder once more, this time starting to pull away mangled t-shirt from blood crusted skin.

“Stiles,” Derek said, hating his voice for sounding strangled. He was torn between pulling away and staying stock-still, as if not moving would make sure Stiles didn’t stop. Still, the boy hesitated.

“Is this okay?”

Derek clenched his jaw, glaring harder at nothing. Stiles pulled away even more.

“Because I can call Boyd to help instead, or—”

“Don’t,” Derek said, cutting him off. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and then opened them again. “Please don’t go.”

Stiles’s scent turned surprised. The boy didn’t move for a moment and Derek wondered for a moment if that was wrong. If everything he’d just said was wrong. He didn’t like to… ask people for things. He hadn’t for a long time.

But this was different. Wasn’t it?

This was Stiles.

“Yeah, big guy,” Stiles finally said, and Derek was pretty sure that rush he felt wasn’t relief. Or maybe it was. The boy settled behind him again, fingers tracing over Derek’s shoulder again, and he found his eyes closing once more. “Yeah,” Stiles said again. “I’m here.”

And he always was.

But that’s what bothered Derek so much, wasn’t it? Stiles Stilinski was always there. In his loft, in his whole damn life. It wasn’t like Derek looked for him when he called a pack meeting or found himself a little more at ease when Stiles’s scent greeted him in the morning, but… but…

This was different. This felt like falling.

“You could use a shower,” Stiles said, breaking the silence with that soft, teasing voice of his. The stupid way he always needed to break the silence with jokes— that Derek totally hated. “Once this is healed and all, dude. Like, I’d say the blood isn’t totally gross, but it really is. And I can’t really tell when there wound starts and finishes, but it’s no longer so disgusting anymore. If that helps.”

Derek rolled his eyes, unable to help himself. Glancing over his shoulder, he was met with dancing amber eyes and a stupid shit-eating grin on Stiles’s face.

“Other than that, though,” Stiles said. “You’re still looking good, Sourwolf. Worry not, your sexy werewolf looks are still intact.”

Derek raised an eyebrow. Stiles’s face turned bright red and his scent flushed with embarrassment.

“Coming from a completely disinterested perspective, of course.”

“Of course,” Derek said. Stiles ducked his head, picking up the damp cloth at his side and turning his attention to the gash across Derek’s back again.

“You don’t like the rest of the pack seeing you hurt, do you, dude?”

Derek tensed, then grunted. He heard Stiles sigh.

“They can help too, you know. It’s not a bad thing, Sourwolf. Asking for help every once in a while.”

“I don’t need their help,” Derek said. And once more, Stiles’s ministrations stopped for a moment. Derek internally winced, already hating himself for continuing to snap at everything the boy said. But Stiles still didn’t pull back, starting again with the washcloth after a few more seconds. Derek could practically hear the gears in his head turning.

“But you need mine.”

Derek didn’t answer that. Because he didn’t, did he? Stiles was just stubborn, that’s why he was still here. The words don’t go totally hadn’t come from Derek’s mouth— or maybe it was just the pain. It was the pain and the darkness and… and maybe Derek didn’t want to be alone right now. Maybe he didn’t want to be alone if Stiles was the one staying at his side.

“So,” Stiles said softly. “Not them. But what about us?”

The very question made Derek freeze.

Because the way he saw it, Derek could send Stiles away right now. One harsh word, or maybe even just a few more minutes of complete silence. Stiles was stubborn, yes, but Derek could be too. He could send Stiles fuming from the loft with as little as a few more grunts and growls.

He didn’t do any of those things. Instead, shifting away from Stiles’s touch, he turned around and met the boy’s gaze. Those amber eyes that seemed to glow brightly even in the darkness, a quiet expression of nervousness on Stiles’s face. As if the teen knew exactly what was going through Derek’s mind.

What about us?

And it had been so many years. From the moment Derek had come across two teenagers in the middle of the preserve and Stiles had given him that stupid open-mouthed look that made Derek’s blood boil right from the beginning for some reason. It had been so many years and one thing after another.

Stiles was here. Stiles was always here. In his lift, in his life. And it was strange. It was bothersome.

It wasn’t.

Because silently, in the darkness of the empty loft, Derek thought maybe this was it— this was the secret behind falling. The one where maybe taking that leap off the edge wasn’t so bad. Somehow, fucking Stiles Stilinski was his secret behind falling and Derek didn’t think he could send the boy away even if he wanted to.

He didn’t want to.

“Derek?”

Stiles’s scent was sharp with anxiety and concern now, his face pale in the dim light. Derek swallowed hard, a million responses on his tongue. What about us? Because that meant there was a them. There was an us.

To Derek, it felt like falling.

All responses died when he leaned forward and kissed the boy instead of saying another word.

Tagging @flamingbisexual08 for the amazing prompt that comes with this fic. Gosh, it took me forever, but here we are! I hope you enjoyed, lovely <3

(if you enjoy my writing, consider sending a coffee? You can also request a prompt if you’d like!). https://ko-fi.com/rh27writer

#sterek #teen wolf #stiles stilinski #derek hale #stiles x derek #teen wolf moodboard #sterek moodboard #sterek au #ficlet #prompts #flamingbisexual08

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alexanderwesker · 4 years ago

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My analysis of the character of Jeremiah Valeska (pre-Insanity Spray)

I've finally come around to actually write that analysis, I promised you guys some days ago. I actually tried to read up on how to do a character analysis, for this. But decided to just go with the flow of my though so sorry if this turns out to be too rambly. This whole analysis is also based on the impression I got from Jeremiah the first time he was presented in 4x17 "Mandatory Brunch Meeting". And that impression was that Jeremiah Valeska was (well I don't wanna use medical terms because they bore me and because they have been thrown at me too often so I'm gonna put it in layman terms) a man with paranoiac tendencies and low empathy, and he had also some kind form of obsessive/intrusive thoughts. From this basis we can start the actual analysis (plus some congectures of the twins childhood, because that did shape them to be the men they became): Between the twins Jeremiah was, probably, the quiet one, but not out of some sort of shyness or anything similar, but just because he didn't know how to interact with people... normally. In the sense that when he spoke up he'd probably be kind of unsettling for how cold and emotionless he appeared to be as he wasn't yet that apt in picking up social clues and read the minute instances of body language, and as such could fake any kind of emotional responce that wasn't particulary obvious, and so usually let Jerome do the talking, so that he could learn, and imitate. So that he could become the perfect one between them. For his sake, for his need to learn how to 'fake being normal' he probably pushed and pushed Jerome as far as he could, to get any sort of reaction that he could learn from. (Jerome let him because he didn't know how harmful it was enabling that behaviour; Jerome let him because Jeremiah was his twin and he'd never hurt him.) He, also, probably started 'manipulating' Lila very early on, as soon as he understood that he could get people to do what he wanted if he acted like they wanted him to act. (That was probably the first wedge between the brothers). Lila wanted a little Mr. Perfect that was studious and clever, and silent and polite, so Jeremiah gave her what she wanted so to make his life easier. And since he started so early on, he probably has problems in discern the difference between who he really is and what he is so used to show others. (Jerome is the only one who knows the difference, the only one who can see behind the facade that Jeremiah presents to the world, and has always being able too). Of course as time passed, say the twins were nine or ten, Jeremiah felt like he needed to get out of there that that wasn't the life for him, so he used all of what he had learned. He lied and he created evidence to support his lies, even if that meant hurting himself, why? Because his goal was more important, because it was self-preservation after all. And with that he managed to escape the circus. Went to St. Ignacious, created a new identity for himself and lived it, and because he was yet to young to lie and not being affected by it, slowly he started believing his own lies. That Jerome had tried to kill him, that he would find him and hurt him. He also wasn't adopted probably, people don't tend to like children that are too disconcerning (and trust me I know how much people don't like people like me), but he was a genius and got to emancipate himself, started working as an engineer as soon as he was able too. Somewhere during that time he met Ecco that basically took Jerome's place as Jeremiah's anchor, but as she wasn't Jerome, as she probably was more suscettible more malleable, he changed her instead of letting her change him. He made her what he needed: a protector, someone who'd be his voice and eyes in the outside world as he shut himself in further and further away, letting his fear turned obsession for Jerome, Jerome finding him, Jerome killing him, Jerome hurting him. (And even though he knew that was a lie, he was already too lost in his own web of lies to actually rationalize that he didn't need to do any of that.) There was probably some period of his life, either before or after he worked for Thomas Wayne in which he felt like he didn't have control on anything, not even having Ecco at his beck and call was enough. And that was what made him create the labyrinth, his perfect home. A place where he'd be the one with all the power, and anyone else would be just like a fly trapped in a spider's web. Which bring us to the Jeremiah we see in "Mandatory Brunch Meeting". That Jeremiah has long passed that period of his life in which he didn't have control. In fact he was in perfect control, he probably even made possible for Jerome to find Ecco, because if they had to actually met, he'd want that to happen by circumstances he created. He is so sure, like a tarantula in its nest calm and quiet till bothered, that he even let the police in his maze. He doesn't fear them, he doesn't have any reason to (his only fear locked up tightly in a place where, he thought, he could never escape from), and that we can see in the scene where Jim and Harvey met him. Jeremiah isn't allarmed, he isn't even scared when they point their guns at him, why? Because he knows that he isn't in danger, they are in his den, they are the one who are in the wrong place, they don't know how to leave the maze. If he'd so liked he could have leave them to die forever trapped, of course that's not what he wants, no, what he wants is for them to leave him alone. So he puts up the old mask of vulnerability and tells them the old lies he told, he tells them that Jerome threatened him, that Jerome was violent, that Jerome was the broken one. He? He's always been the poor, poor victim, he's always been the one who was born right. (Is that true, no and yes. If he had had actual support? He'd probably be as normal as someone as me can be, but he didn't have support so he just... worked around that in a way that made sense to him). Then Jim discovers his trick, he discovers that Jerome is there trapped in his maze, and Jeremiah starts desperately grasping at that control that he knows is starting to fade away. He has still enough to keep his mask up, though it’s cracked as he shows less concern for others than he knows it’s normal. He doesn’t pretend to care about what’s happened to Ecco, or to be worried about the detectives lives, he cares only about himself, his own self-preservation once again. But then he loses control again completely; Jerome is freed, two maniacs enter in his perfect, perfect maze. He loses even Ecco, who gets hypnotized, and even though he doesn’t care about her as much as he pretends to, it does somewhat hurt to be betrayed like that. And you can see that, that lost of control from his part. You can see that in the way he confronts Jerome, scared and angry, in the way he acts at the words that Jeromes spews at him. Because Jeremiah doesn't have masks in that moment, beside the pretending to care for his mother. And that reality is that Jeremiah is afraid of the conseguences of his actions, because he knows that now Jerome is a real threat, that he beat the rabid dog that one time too much, and he is angry because he's lost control again, because of Jerome, and he doesn't know how to gain it back. Then everything just spirals down from there. Once he has lost his foothold, he doesn't have time to regain it. Then the events of "That's Entertainment" happen, and he never actually has the chance to ever regain it. He loses everything that's important: his control, that part of him that actually cares enough for himself to actually force him to try and act like a 'normal' person. He just stops caring, or well in reality he just stops pretending to care. But this analysis isn't on Post-Insanity Spray!Jeremiah so I'll stop here. Sorry if it's rambly or nonsensical but I feel a lot for him, or well not feel exactly, I just liked to see someone like myself on screen. For that little he was there as himself and not that... being he became after. Though I guess, people will always see people as myself as monsters so... was Jeremiah's end really a surprise?... Not really.

#jeremiah valeska #jerome valeska #gotham #gotham analysis #character analysis #gotham character analysis #Oof this came out more rambly than I wanted...#and much more bitter #:( sorry #i tried #tell me what you think #again sorry for the rambliness and bitter tone of this analysis #It's just that Jeremiah Pre-Spray was basically the first time I saw somebody like me on TV and wasn't evil #then they of course had to Spray him and make him go insane...#(I like Post-Spray!Jeremiah though don't take this as me hating him because I don't)

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strwberrytae · 4 years ago

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So Long, Farewell, and Goodbye For Now -

“I don’t know how you are so familiar to me—or why it feels less like I am getting to know you and more as though I am remembering who you are. How every smile, every whisper brings me closer to the impossible conclusion that I have known you before, I have loved you before—in another time, a different place, some other existence.” - Lang Leav

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Hello, You ♡ Yes, You. You ethereal, beautiful being. I am writing to you with bittersweet yet wonderful news - depending on the perspective. I am writing this post to inform all of you that I will no longer be writing for this blog for the foreseeable future. What I mean by that is that I am not giving up writing forever, no. But my life has changed so much over the last two years, I do not see myself writing again for quite some time. But don’t worry! I will be back!

Below the Read More section, I have poured my heart and soul into the real reasons why I’ve made this decision. I warn you, it’s lengthy but it’s everything that has led up to this over the years. So, if you fancy, have a read. If not, I bid you farewell and wish you all the happiness in the world. Thank you for supporting me so far. I truly appreciate it and love you all very dearly. Now, if you wish to read it at a later time, I will have a link available on my page at all times for anyone who is curious. It’s a hell of a story if you ask me ~

Edit: Made by Me - also, a surprise photo at the end Warnings/Triggers: Talks of emotional abuse, depression, and suicide but also happiness and love -

When I first started this blog, it was 2016. I had been on Tumblr for over a decade now but BTS led me to writing passionately for 2 years. I was incredibly active and utterly consumed by this website. Not just for the writing, but I was so obsessed because of my friends and mutuals that I made along the way. Can I just say that I’ve met some incredible people on this platform - including my best friend and soulmate? Truthfully, the absolute best friend I have ever had. But more importantly, Tumblr was my greatest escape. I mean this website truly has been my saving grace through very dark times.

In that part of my life, I was in an extremely toxic relationship; by then, it was 6 years I was with him. He was emotionally abusive, had such a short-fuse temper, hated everyone I knew which led me never really seeing any of my friends after college, knew I was anorexic and did nothing to stop me, knew I had depression since we started dating and always argued it as if it wasn’t real, crushed my dreams and ambitions, mocked potential suicide attempts, expected me to just abandon all hope to ever leave home to explore someplace new or get a job that I actually love. He was...just the worst. Never hit me though, so I’m grateful for that. But sometimes I wish he would so it would have given me the voice I needed to get out of that relationship much sooner than I did. But regardless, because of him plus having a soul-sucking job that wore me down to the core, Tumblr was my escape. BTS was my escape.

I fell hard and I fell deep. I created a fantasy world within this world. All of my dreams, fantasies, desires, and hopes were poured into my writing. My imagination was running wild. My activity was through the roof because I was always on here day in and out, just pretending like the outside world didn’t exist. It consumed me...but I needed it. Looking back, it was pretty excessive. At the time, I seemed perfectly normal because everyone else was just as active and saying the same things and doing the same things. I felt a belonging, like I fit in.

But I hated the person I became. It took me getting yelled at, mocked, ridiculed, and belittled by my ex to snap me out of that illusion I built and back into reality. That was the roughest night that we had filled with lots of screaming on his end and crying on my part. He thought my obsession was sick. He thought it was disgusting. It all started because he found fake texts I had made with Jimin and Tae. Don’t recall the story it was a part of but he thought they were texts with the actual members… In my eyes, I should get credit for making them look so legit but he didn’t see it that way. He thought fangirling over men was essentially cheating. No matter how hard I tried to explain, he didn’t understand. But a part of his view was right. I learned that I was a bit too much into it and I really needed to take a step back from Tumblr for a while. So I did. I deactivated my account and disappeared for months. Also because he made me and threatened our relationship if I didn’t. Should have taken the out but ah well.

Just two months prior to this incident, I attempted suicide. Well, contemplated. Everything was planned out. Bought a hotel room for Thanksgiving night as I was working a super late shift until about 1-2am. My commute home was an hour long and I still had to come back to work at 7am. So I got a room. Brought a large amount of pills with me and I was going to call it. No notes written to friends, family, or loved ones. Nothing. I was done. Didn’t think anyone would miss me. I just figured the world would keep turning without me. I had thought about doing this several times before but this was my first time making plans for it. It was my lowest of the low. But then I met someone that night that changed my life entirely just in a 10 minute interaction of talking - nothing special. We’ll get to that later. But this person just gave me hope and to this day, I still can’t explain it. It was euphoric. I felt clarity. It was in that night that I thought I might hold out just a little bit longer.

And thus @strwberrytae was born - but it was far from the same. At first, I restarted the blog in secret. Why would I do this? Why would a 25 year old open a blog in secret? Well, two months after the awful fight, my ex proposed to me and I said yes. I know. Believe me, I know. I was scared. My depression was getting worse again. I no longer had an escape except for books. All I did was read so I had some sort of reality to be in besides my own. But returning to a brand new blog did not give the same satisfaction as returning to an old blog.

I worked so hard on my first blog and this redo, I tried to consider it as a gift. Perhaps this was a chance to start anew and rebrand myself. This optimism kept up for quite some time. Slowly, I added my favorite past works then added some new chapters. If you’ve been here with me since 2017, you would know that my appearance on Tumblr was still not the same. Then I got married in October.

An empty, loveless marriage that I regret to this day. Needless to say, my writing and activity on Tumblr was still practically non-existent as I was still too scared of getting caught. Even though he finally gave me permission to use it again because he could tell how miserable it was making me. Yes, gave me permission. Thankfully, it all ended after a year. I finally went to a therapist even though I hated them so much and all past therapists I had. She was pretty great. Within five sessions, I summoned the courage to break up with this guy. I was finally set free. Nearly 9 years together and I finally felt like I could breathe.

Unfortunately, although I was free, I had to live with the guy for about 5 months after the breakup. Which was beyond rough, believe me. Imagine someone writhing in pain and bawling their eyes out and venting non-stop about all of their faults and wrongdoings every single day. At the end of the day, as shitty as he was to me, he was my best friend too. We went through a lot of shit together and he did have some good sides to him too. So witnessing this was horrendous. Needless to say, I wasn’t getting much privacy either. Writing was not my top priority. Now it’s 2019 and things changed drastically for the better - and worst.

Remember the person I met in 2016 on Thanksgiving night? Well, that person is someone I crushed on every since that night. For 2 years. People, I’m telling you. He did absolutely nothing special that night. He didn’t flirt with me. He didn’t check me out. He didn’t do anything remotely to make a girl swoon but I was so drawn to him. The only word that could describe it was “cosmic” - beautifully cosmic.

Well in January 2019, 2 months following my break up, he came into my store one day. And my god did he look incredible. He was dressed head to toe in black - a fitted black suit at that. He even wore this long, designer jacket to match. Hair shaved on the sides with beautiful, thick dark hair on top. So tall - 182cm. A smile that could kill; quite literally. The canines are on point. He looked like a five course meal. That day, he definitely flirted with me. By the end of the week, we had our first date. Sadly, I also lost my job in the same week and was unemployed for a year because no one would hire me. I was laid off and one of my seniors took my job. Of course, they needed to keep me around for the holidays and then give me the boot. I was devastated. I hated that job so much as it only aided in fueling my depression but losing it was definitely an amazing thing. And! I survived on my savings and definitely didn’t spend my time writing. I had life to sort out last year - like from the ground up. No worries though. I got a job in February 2020 and I love it, so it’s all good, baby. Now I’m in the health field and feel like I’m actually helping people, which I love.

Now, here we are 2 years later and I’m engaged to the man. Someone who makes me smile everyday, believes in me, encourages me, let’s me be 100% myself, travels with me, taught me how to love myself, taught me to accept my body, gets me on a level that only my best friend could, and someone who goes above and beyond every single day to show me how much he loves me. Bonus, he welcomes my love for BTS with open arms, reads my writing, AND has even been sucked in himself to the fandom. Jungkook and Jimin, look out. You got another fanboy. I thought true love was impossible for me but I was very, very wrong.

He has shown me that I can be happy and I have finally experienced true happiness. When people ask how I’m doing, I don’t cringe and lie through my teeth. I smile and say that I am doing well because by George, I am. Everyone around me has seen me over the last two years and made the comment, “you look so much happier”. They meet him and swoon just as much as I do. Is he perfect? No, he’s not. He has flaws just like everyone else but he actually grows and learns from his mistakes to better himself. That’s what amazes me the most. Even if we argue, which is seldom, he refuses to let it go without resolution so we can always fix whatever the issue is. As we like to call it, we’re in-sync. In everything, we’re always so in-sync. I’m wildly in love, my dudes.

So, why am I not writing anymore? To put it simply, I’m happy and don’t really feel the desire to write anymore - at least not fanfiction. Even when I was super young, like elementary school, I used writing as an outlet for my dark escape. I wrote poetry primarily and by middle school, it turned to fanfiction for Supernatural, Simple Plan, and Panic! At The Disco. Along with a very long list of other bands and shows but anyways. I’ve been severely depressed since I was 15 and fanfiction put me in this hole that I couldn’t get out of. I relied on this method to help me get through all the bad shit I was dealing with. It was my coping mechanism.

Now? While depression never truly goes away as the lovely disease that it is, I am genuinely happy. Because of this, when I opened all of my past works and works in progress, I felt nothing but guilt. Guilt for not keeping up with my chapters or keeping my account active. I felt dread to have to escape in this world that I had created. I felt no joy or excitement. It was the strangest feeling that happened all in a matter of seconds. Thus leading to my final decision to take a step away from writing. Do I still love it? Absolutely. But now I think I’m going to re-route and focus my writing on what I love - reality. I’m going to get back into journaling and write essays about love and beauty as I’ve always loved to do. But for escaping into a fantasy world? I don’t know when I’ll be back.

Now I know what you’re thinking. “But you can write and be happy!” Nah fam. Writing has been my aid through dark times and now I mostly associate it with those dark times. And for once in my life, I feel this desire to enjoy reality and remain in it - with the exception of journaling here and there. Even daydreaming is difficult. It’s strange. I love my reality. This sounds like gloating now but it’s truly a remarkable feeling. When you’ve been battling depression for 15 years, it feels really freaking nice to say that I’m happy.

So that’s why I’m taking a break - in a very long, drawn out way. But my hope was that after this long story, you might understand truly why I am doing this. It would have been easier to just say that writing doesn’t bring me joy anymore but I feel that I owe more than that; especially because I really don’t know if I’ll write for this blog ever again. The last time I took a break, I disappeared without being able to explain myself and I wanted to do so now that I have the chance.

Ultimately, thank you to everyone who has stuck by me over the years. It’s truly been one hell of a rollercoaster. The friends I’ve made on here have seen me at my lowest of the lows. But hey! I’ll still be around. I just won’t be publishing or continuing any of my works anywhere in the near future. Seriously though. Thank you from the bottom of my heart. This website has helped me tremendously and I’ll never forget it. Besides, there’s lots of other exciting things happening in my life now so you’ll certainly see me pop in here and there to talk about it ♡

If you wish, you can message me for questions or anything you want to know. I’m an open book - at least about most things hehe. And don’t worry. I still very much love Taehyung and still wildly obsessing over how marvelous he is. Umf.

(here’s some recent photos of me as i rarely take selfies anymore haha. and a derp photo of me and the man i love >_< why is the cutest photo of him with the worst photo of me? still cute though hehe)

#me #personal #goodbye for now #no longer writing #bts writer

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chrisevansgoodgirl · 5 years ago

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do you want more of this? isn't it glorious?

summary: requested: Imagine the victory sex after Andy wins a case. It’s a mix between the softest and most harried sex you’ve ever had, bc he’s so excited but he also wants to slow things down and just revel in the moment. also he feels guilty about working so late all the time and ignoring you for this case, so he of course has to make it up to you somehow

warnings: just smut. a lotta smut. pretty vanilla smut tho. it’s cute smut.

word count: around 5,000

pairing: andy barber x reader

a/n: so okay, if you’re upset with me that i haven’t been writing. i am guilty, definitely, but the real culprit is this story! (okay, it was technically me for being an idiot and editing a post ON tumblr instead of the word doc, but) i just got really attached to this writing and when i lost some of it, it was actually really sad and i could not make myself finish this request until literally two days ago even though i started working on it at the start of june. and plus also, i really am about to have to find a new song, running out of lyrics l o l

Andy wasn’t anything close to optimistic when he left that morning. He was exhausted because he’d crawled into bed at three in the morning. He was scattered, his keys in his office, his phone upstairs and uncharged, the files he’d been looking at the entire night either in the kitchen, living room, or his office. He was nervous, something you only knew because he asked you to tie his tie.

But Andy wasn’t some overly emotional man who needed your support to win a case. He relied on himself first, you second—and that was okay, that was what you signed up for. Andy loved taking care of you and there were some lines that that meant you weren’t able to cross.

You wanted to tell him that you knew he would do the best he could, you wanted to claim that that was all that mattered. It was bigger, though. It wasn’t him that had failed, it wasn’t even the evidence or the police. It was about politics, he had explained when you asked a few days prior. It was about a case that he had known was always going to be a long shot at best, and well, impossible otherwise.

So, you simply knotted the tie, smoothed your hand down it, and told him you loved him in gray. He scoffed. How could you not be tired of seeing him in gray at this point? Instead of giving him an answer that would make him blush, you kissed him.

He asked you about work and you told him it was just another day. Actually, you would be skipping work, not much to do anyway, and you knew that this case was important. You didn’t want to chance getting caught up in anything and making it home after him. You wished him luck on his way out and he kissed the top of your head and thanked you.

Nothing major, of course. Because he didn’t want you to know that he was worried about this. When you were just dating Andy, picking up on these signs was almost impossible. As soon as you were living together, he was completely and unintentionally transparent.

Sometimes, he would come home and it felt like he had a raincloud with him. Sometimes, he would just lay with you, hold you in his arms for hours, just wanting to hear you talk. Sometimes, he was too disappointed in himself and holed up in his office until you forced him out.

Other times, he was sunshine and full of happiness and pride. He would hold you all the same, but he would kiss you and tell you how much he loved you. He would want to celebrate, go out for dinner, plan a small vacation. You loved him always, wholly, but when he won, that was when you were happiest.

As mentioned, there wasn’t much you could do. Andy was big on little gestures. He didn’t need you to be some cheerleader waiting at his side and telling him that he was doing everything right. He needed to do this alone, win or lose on his own, and then come to you with the results. He wasn’t too keen on letting you be involved in the cases anyway, he didn’t want you worrying or hearing about those terrible details that had made him cancel the newspaper a long time ago.

So, it was a Friday, and if he lost or won, that meant that you would have the rest of the day, Saturday, and Sunday to react to it. You guys could stay home and eat terrible food, watch movies, and just be with one another. He’d told you several times that being with you was the only thing that could make him feel better after a loss.

You were baking cookies, his favorite. Oatmeal chocolate chip. You didn’t bake much, and cooking was fairly equal, so this was definitely a “special occasion” type of thing. He’d informed you of this preference on your first date. Then explained that if he had one chance to go back in time, it would be used to find the person who thought up oatmeal raisin cookies and help imprison them for the rest of their life.

It was one of those moments that you realized you would be just as crazy to let him go as you would be to keep him. If only because you knew you were going to fall so deeply in love with him. Clearly, you were right since your third anniversary was approaching.

It was four when he got home and you rushed out of the kitchen. Early. Too early. That normally wasn’t a good sign. He wasn’t smiling but he wasn’t frowning. When he looked at you, you were even more confused. There was something in his eyes, but you weren’t sure if you’d ever seen it.

You set your oven mitt on the counter. “Baby?”

He walked up to you, just watching. His eyes never left yours as he tossed his jacket onto the floor, loosened his tie, then unbuttoned the sleeves of his button-up.

“Andy?”

He took your shoulders, turning you away from him. “The wall, walk to it.”

“What?”

He kissed the top of your head, then whispered, “Come on, baby, be a good girl and do as I say.”

You turned up to him curiously. It was one of those days, you were not allowed to argue. You would say yes, and he would make it worth your while. Currently, he was trying to call your bluff, he wanted you to say no almost as much as he wanted you to just say yes.

Andy liked it when you fought a little. Sometimes. To an extent. But never when he lost, and you were too scared of that possibility. Maybe the trial was extended and the stress was getting to him. He could use you for the relief, it was one of the most flattering compliments you’d ever received. Besides, he offered you the same when you had a rough day at work.

You looked forward and made your way to the wall. Was it wrong that you were already wet? There was something about Andy. Something irresistible when he spoke to you this way, when he was in one of these moods. Something so sexy when he let you have no room to breathe, to compromise, to pull away from him at all. You were his completely and he was reminding you.

“Take your shirt off.”

You did so, attempting to hide that you were shaking. You weren’t scared, but the things you were anticipating were terrible. The way you wanted him to fuck you until you were incapable of thinking or speaking.

“Touch yourself?”

Your hands immediately went to your breasts, uncaring of how cold your skin was. Your wedding ring, especially, something that never failed to make you smile whenever it brushed your skin. You pulled on your nipples hard, letting your head fall back as you moaned.

It was a few minutes of nothing but the whimpers that came from you, before he said, “Your shorts.”

Again, you obliged. Only, this time you did so with less haste because you weren’t wearing any underwear. You expected sex, that was always a given regardless of win or loss, but you hadn’t thought it would work out so perfectly.

You hadn’t heard him move closer so when he grabbed your ass, you startled. You reached back for him, but he took your wrists in his hands and set them back to your sides.

“Keep them there. Understand?”

“Yes.”

“I love you, okay?”

“I know,” you promised. “I always know.”

“I know sometimes I don’t take care of you like I should…I get lost in a case because I believe that’s the only way I will win. But I want you to know that nothing is more important to me than you. I could win a million cases, but it doesn’t mean a thing if I can’t come home to you after every single one.”

“Andy, there’s never been a second that I’ve ever doubted it. And I love you. You know that? I don’t care about the cases, I don’t care that sometimes you come to bed late or sometimes you’re distracted, you’re the best man I know and you’re just trying to help people.”

“I know you do, baby.” His arms wrapped around your waist and he set his chin to your shoulder. “I was thinking about you the entire time today.”

You smiled. “What were you thinking?”

“How badly I wanted to be inside you.”

“Because last night wasn’t enough?” It had to be quick, it had to be a lot of things. It wasn’t disappointing, he never was, but it seemed like it only left both of you wanting so much more. Sometimes, you had to wonder if he did that as encouragement to speed up whatever he was doing.

“I will never get enough of you, my love. You know, I have this awful fantasy… Wanna hear about it?”

“Yes.”

“It’s whenever I feel like I’m losing…like I’ve just made a mistake, and all I want is you laid out on the table before me. I want to watch you fuck your fingers until you can’t move, until you’re shaking and crying, begging me to get you off because you can’t do it anymore.”

“You want them all to watch?” you wondered.

“Yeah, maybe… Maybe I want them to hear the way you scream my name, the way you beg me to fuck you harder, when you ask me to choke you. I want them to see how wet I can get your pussy without even touching it.”

“Then what?”

“Then I want to fill you up and watch my cum drip out of you.”

You sighed longingly. That was your favorite part of Saturday mornings. Most of them were spent fucking and he loved coming inside you, loved making you stand up so he could see it trail down your thighs, or getting you down to your knees so he could see it on the floor after he finished in your mouth.

“Like the sound of that?”

You nodded.

“Then I’ll make you clean it off the table with your tongue.”

You tried not to blush, clearing your throat quietly. “The end?”

“Of that one,” he confirmed.

You turned up to him, a pleading look on your face. Andy rarely ever told you about the weird shit he thought of. It was always a relaxed progression and sometimes, you felt like he was holding back.

He smirked. “If you’re a good girl, I’ll tell you some more.”

“I’ll be good,” you promised.

“I know,” he assured. “You always are.”

You nodded. “Always.”

“Okay, ‘always’ was an exaggeration,” he scoffed.

“No, always.”

He kissed the pout off your face and took your chin in his hand to face you forward again. His palm trailed up your cheekbone and into your hair. As he pressed you into the wall, he angled your face so that your cheek was pinned there.

You shuddered when you felt the first smack across your ass. It was very light, more noise than anything else, but it was enough for you.

“This is another one,” he informed. “The idea of people watching you get so needy to be spanked. The things you say, the way your body moves because you need it so bad, how you cry because you want more. I want to bend you over that table and spank you for hours until your entire ass is red.”

You made a small pleading noise, pressing your hips back more. He understood immediately and repeated the hit on the opposite side. “Andy,” you whimpered. “Please.”

You weren’t sure what you were asking for. You needed relief, you needed an answer. You had to know if he won or lost because you needed to act accordingly. You figured him not telling you in a straightforward way was just another way of either regaining or maintaining control.

You reached back without his permission, which you knew was pushing it, but you couldn’t stop yourself. Your hands found the button of his pants and you indelicately tore them open. You pressed your palm up and down the length of his cock.

It took him a moment to recover but he swatted your hands away and yanked his pants down. His hands closed around your upper arms and he pulled them back, propping your chest up as he used his own body to press you completely into the wall. It was cold enough that you tried to squirm away, but he gave you no room to move.

“Andy,” you whimpered. “Please, I need you inside me.”

He slipped his arm between both of yours and your back, you couldn’t move and that was exactly what he wanted. He used his other hand to tease you with the head of his cock. He slid up and down your soaking cunt several times and when he finally pressed in, even though it was just a little, you shuddered.

“Ask for it, baby.”

“Please,” you choked out. “Please, please fuck me. Andy, please, I need you.”

He pushed in the rest of the way and you both moaned. It was humiliating how badly you needed this. Though, last night was different. He was stressed, you spent most of the time on his lap until he couldn’t take not being in control anymore and threw you down on the coffee table.

He let you adjust around him, all the while kissing your shoulders and the back of your neck. When you turned your head back slightly, he kissed your cheek and nudged your attention back to the wall with his nose. He placed one hand on the wall for some balance, set his chin on your shoulder, and slowly pulled out.

You let your forehead rest against the wall. “Fuck, Andy.”

His hips bucked forward and yours slammed into the wall. Perhaps this was potentially dangerous, perhaps not the best investment for your hips in the far future, but fuck, this was too good to suggest that he be gentler. Last thing you wanted.

As he found a steady pace, pulling out almost completely, and pushing back in as deep as he could, you couldn’t stop moaning. He had found that spot inside you and didn’t shy away from it. There would be no teasing tonight, just him fucking you until you couldn’t stand.

His hand on the wall slid down, catching your attention. You were sure he was about to reach for your neck, but instead, he placed it over your mouth to stifle your screams.

“I want them all to hear this, too,” he muttered in your ear. “How absolutely wet your pussy is for my cock.” You had never heard anything more obscene than when he would thrust back in, to the point where his body was flush against yours, the wet sound echoed and your cheeks burned but Andy truly seemed to love it. “And this sound,” he pulled his hips back at an agonizingly slow pace, “when your pussy is desperately trying to lock me inside because you know there’s no better feeling than my cock.”

You felt as though you currently had no control over your body. It always did what it pleased in reaction to Andy, but when he decided to take advantage of the desire you felt for him, that was enough to make even you blush. It wasn’t like being married to Andy left any room for modesty or even tradition. He was a creative and demanding man who wanted to explore you in every way he could imagine.

He kept you as quiet as he could, all while grunting in your ear. Normally, you were much louder than him and you could barely hear the sounds he made, now it was all you could hear. And you had been under the impression you couldn’t get wetter, but those deep sounds that you felt from his chest where he was pressed against you and his hot breath against your skin did something to you that you couldn’t explain.

He chanted your name when he was close and it was enough to give you a completely numbing orgasm. You knew Andy loved you, but sometimes you got so lost in your own pleasure that you weren’t sure where he stood. Andy had the complex job of reassuring you that he physically wanted you just as badly as you wanted him, he didn’t seem to mind having to do so. Actually, it seemed he enjoyed the creativity that was required.

You were shaking as he continued to pound into you at this agonizingly slow pace. He was never slow because he simply couldn’t make himself hold back, but that was no longer the case. You felt the tension in his body, you could feel his muscles moving, struggling to hold onto that admirable restraint that first attracted you to him. He let his hand move to your jaw and you instantly began blurting out his name, how much you loved him, how you just needed him to keep going, and pleaded for him to fill you with his cum.

When he did, he pressed his body flat over yours. You paid no mind to how uncomfortable your arms felt trapped between your bodies or how some of your bones were digging into the wall, you simply reveled in the feeling of him finishing inside you and the moans that poured from his open mouth.

His breaths were short and his chest was moving quickly. He stayed inside you while he was coming down, chin still laid on your shoulder, head now angled to rest against your hair. He continued to hold your arms back and your jaw in his hand, and now his thumb and fingers were moving, rubbing these delicate shapes into your cheeks. “Tell me you love me.”

“I love you,” you echoed. It always gave you butterflies when he requested that. It was so simple, so sweet, so little. But his voice always told you that was all he needed. Andy was not a high maintenance husband, he just wanted to be loved wholeheartedly and unconditionally.

He pulled you from the wall and his hands roamed over every inch of your skin. He started with your hips, working up to your breasts where he grabbed them hard and pinched your nipples. He moved down your stomach to your pussy, spreading you with one hand when his other hand traced a soft, careful circle around your clit.

You rested back against him, sighing. “I love you.”

“Mhm,” he hummed in encouragement. He kept you against him even as he began to walk back from the wall.

“I love you,” you repeated. “I love you.”

He turned you both around, moving toward the table while you continued to say it. It was awkward trying to walk with him still inside you and would have been impossible if not for his impressive length.

You had assumed he was going to bend you over and fuck you. That he would pull your hair, spank you, make you tell him how bad you wanted it. Nope, he wasn’t feeling predictable. It wasn’t like you ever minded Andy’s predictability, he still made your toes curl. In fact, you liked the stability of how he made love to you. You liked that he made the world outside just disappear with his insistence on taking care of you and letting you take care of him. However, that didn’t mean you would turn down anything else. You were always humiliatingly eager for whatever Andy wanted you to have.

He pulled out and took your arms once more, turning you to face him before he pushed you back onto the table. “Lie down.”

You were careful as you obliged, trying to keep the cum from dripping out of you. You gasped when he took your waist and yanked you down to the edge of the table.

He angled your hips up and you set your calves on top of his shoulders. He pushed in and then pulled out inch by inch, watching the entire time. His cock was covered in cum that he would have much preferred to see on you, so he took himself in his hand and spread what he could over your pussy and your thighs.

“Andy,” you said quietly.

His eyes flit up for a moment before his hand pressed down between your legs and his gaze followed.

“Andrew,” you huffed.

He lifted an eyebrow at you. “Y/N?”

“What happened? With the case?” After what he just did, you would spend the rest of the night on your knees with your mouth around him if he wanted it. Normally, when he lost, he did.

“Number one rule, baby. We don’t talk about work here.”

“The table?”

“Well, we said the bedroom—”

“You said the bedroom—”

“But I’m fucking you here, so it still counts.” Before you could protest, he leaned over and kissed the center of your stomach.

You snorted, rolling your eyes. “What are you doing?”

He didn’t respond verbally, he merely kissed up the middle of your torso, between your breasts before veering off to the side. He gently kissed around your nipple, then swiped his tongue over it.

Your eyes fluttered shut and your hand came up to tangle in his hair.

He repeated the same on the opposite breast before trailing up to your mouth. You loved kissing Andy. Sometimes, you would both spend the entire morning in bed just kissing. Hours. Just pressed against each other. Smiling. Laughing. Whispering against the other’s lips. It was also Andy’s favorite recovery activity. The quickest way to get him hard again.

He was resting on his forearm, opposite hand touching your face as his lips moved with yours. His kisses were long and breath-taking, just like the first time he kissed you and how he had been kissing you ever since. Sure, there were the chaste goodbye kisses, the moments when a kiss like this would result in both of you not wanting to separate even if the world was ending so you would have to keep them short and innocent, but most of the time, Andy acted like his job was to pour as much love into every kiss he gave you.

He broke away to touch his lips to your cheek, your jaw, your forehead, your nose. That was always how he liked to end it as he was stroking himself until he was ready to fuck you again.

He stood as he pressed into your asshole, eyes fixed on where your bodies connected.

Your back arched as your arms shot out to grab to the edges of the table. He was slow about it, you would even say cruel. He watched you with unconcealed smugness, a truly animalistic part of Andy enjoyed how much you enjoyed him fucking your ass. It was the noises you made, the tears that would fill your eyes because it was so good, the way you would press your body back further, wordlessly pleading for more. When he wouldn’t give in, you became impatient and bratty, and he loved having to put you back in your place.

He wouldn’t do it this time, however. He could tell you were too tired, too focused on him and the case. His hand found your center again where he rubbed your clit with just the tips of his fingers.

You were whimpering, your hips jumped, your legs pulled him in closer where they were still draped over his shoulders, you clawed at the table, possibly left some marks. This was always his goal, to get you so mindless and dependent on the things only he could make you feel, and it was an exhausting process, but you wouldn’t want anything else.

He grabbed one of your hands and brought it to your clit. “Don’t stop unless I tell you to.”

With two fingers pressed flat, you began tracing sloppy circles over your pussy. You didn’t have the muscle control to focus on one small area at this point, but you caught your clit enough times to get yourself close.

He leaned over you, hands pressing down on either side of you as his hips picked up speed. His eyes were locked on yours, desperate to see that overly loving look you gave him every time he made you orgasm.

You let your legs fall from his shoulders, wrapping them around his torso. He couldn’t be slow anymore or even remotely controlled. His hands pushed you up the table as he crawled onto it as well. He practically collapsed on top of you, his hips driving into you so hard the table was starting to move just a little.

You pulled your hand away even though he didn’t tell you that you could and grabbed his shoulders. He pressed his body flat against yours so that his pelvis would rub against your clit with every thrust.

It had been so long since you left scratches on his back. He liked them, but you were sure they had to hurt, so you attempted to find other coping mechanisms. But then, it had been so long since he was this uncontrolled, and as your nails dragged down his skin, that only encouraged him.

The table squeaked against the hardwood floor, skin slapped skin, and moans and curses fell from his mouth. You were breathless, a scream caught in your throat while he coaxed you closer to a finish. Anywhere you touched him, you could feel his muscles moving, his back, his ass, his thighs.

He fucked you without his usual concern of possibly being too rough, he simply did not care in that moment. He grabbed a handful of your hair and yanked your head back. He kissed and bit over the parts of your breasts he could reach. His hands moved along your sides, fingers digging into your hips or pressing your thighs up further to open your body even more for him.

When you informed him you were close, he leveled himself to see your face. His brow was furrowed and it was fascinating to see the way the blue of his eyes moved. Not to sound like such a cliché, but it reminded you of waves in the ocean.

“Come on,” he panted, “I want to hear you begging.”

“Please, please, please.” You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, pulling yourself just a little closer to him. “Please, I want to feel you come inside me.”

“Yeah?” he cooed. “In your ass?”

You nodded frantically. “Please. Please come in my ass.”

His head dropped to the bend of your neck where he bit down rather hard to drown out the sound that followed his orgasm. You didn’t mind even though you knew there would be a mark, even though you knew your coworkers would eye you. No one was surprised anymore, they had this image of your husband as the sex-crazed lawyer, and in reality, were they wrong? Not exactly.

You were just seconds after him, wrapping yourself around him as tight as you could. You sobbed his name and about a million other incoherent things while he kissed around that tender spot that his teeth had just been, whispering how much he loved you and how good you were.

He pulled out and kissed you after you whimpered. He rolled over, lying flat on the table and bringing you up to his side. His fingers brushed through your hair and you both attempted to get your breathing back to normal.

You were silent, reveling in the feeling of his cum slipping from your ass down the back of your thighs. Your skin was sticky and you were sweating, your hair was sticking to your forehead and your back. You couldn’t have looked beautiful, but Andy still kissed the top of your head and claimed otherwise.

You turned your head up to him after you had both settled. “Did you lose?”

He scoffed. “You have such faith in me.”

“You’re the only person I have faith in. The jury? Well, any time you lose, they’re morons.”

He smiled. “I guess they were smart this time.”

You lifted yourself onto your forearms. “You won? Baby, you should have told me! I baked a billion cookies, but…we should celebrate! I can make a reservation, we could go—”

He took a handful of your hair and pulled your mouth against his for a slow kiss. He was the one who broke away, just to see that dumb look on your face whenever he surprised you with a kiss. “We did just celebrate.”

“No, I want to do something special for you.”

He arched an eyebrow. “Well, I have a few ideas.”

You realized exactly where his mind was going, the last place you had suspected. Really, you should know better by now. “What other boxes do you want to check? You’ve tied me up. You’ve bent me over a Paris balcony. You’ve fucked me everywhere in this house. You’ve fucked me in the car. My childhood bedroom in my parent’s house.”

“I have a long list of all the things I still want to do to you.”

“So, tell me what you want.”

He leaned up and kissed your nose. “Let’s clean up and order some food, I’ll think about it.”

You rolled your eyes as you watched him get off the table. “And was ‘list’, like, a figure of speech? Or do you have a physical list?”

He hesitated a moment before glancing back at you.

It was totally an existing list that he had hidden somewhere and suddenly, you wanted it more than anything else in the world. “I will burn this house to the ground if that’s what I need to do to find that list, Andrew.”

He snorted. “Well, good luck because you will never find it.”

#andy barber x reader #always accepting andy requests just fyi #my writing

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englandsgray · 4 years ago

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Sherlolly Self-Interviews 2020

Well hi 👋

Ignoring the internal image of Gilderoy Lockheart smiling smugly while flashbulbs pop and saying ‘In my autobiography, Magical Me...’ 🙈😆 I shall take the opportunity of this lovely event to introduce myself as a writer of Sherlolly fanfiction on AO3...

I am English and somewhere over 30. I watched the show as it aired, and lost my heart as quickly to Molly Hooper as to Sherlock Holmes. The kiss is British television history. Series 4 is my favourite. Moriarty on the beach is life. The Holmes brothers break my heart every time.

I am extremely lucky to have been provided some questions to answer here by @ohaine and @mybrainrots - huge, huge love and thanks to these two lovelies, and not just for this. I admire you both so much as writers, and your support means the world to me ❤️ Thanks too, to @sherlollyappreciationweek!

Where did you begin to write, and have you written for other fandoms? I wrote my first fanfic when I was eleven years old - a 100 page ramble about The Monkees. Oh yes. Then in 2018, I fell for the characters of the Disney Pixar film Cars and began writing and publishing. So far so random! Writing in this fandom sprang from binge-watching all four series of Sherlock during lockdown. I remembered reading Louise Brealey talking about being disappointed Molly didn’t get chance to ‘roundly kick Sherlock’s arse’ and agreeing with her wholeheartedly. That, over a few weeks, turned into my first fic - Who You Really Are.

You’re a recent (and welcome!) arrival to the Sherlolly ship, and I was wondering if writing in an established, less active than it used to be fandom has been a challenge? Thank you, firstly. My experience of this fandom has been incredibly positive - the sense of welcome has been wonderful. I will admit I was terrified posting the first fic - there are hundreds of times more stories posted daily in the Sherlock fandom as in the one I had some experience of. But I needn’t have worried, it’s been a blast. I will also admit, that it’s no small thing to be surrounded by such brilliant writing and the long-standing passion which goes with it. But I find that inspiring in itself, and I’m very glad to be here - how supportive the fandom are makes me feel like I always have been!

What’s your favourite place and way to write? My aesthetic is Lin-Manuel Miranda in his in-law’s laundry room 🤣 I wrote my first ten-thousand words on the notes app on my phone before my other half told me to stop being ridiculous! I switch between the laptop, my phone and longhand (I’m a sucker for a nice notepad and a Uni-Ball Eye) and, more often than not, not sat up properly at a table.

Since you’ve (done something I’ve never managed successfully and) written a novella length fic... how did you organise/keep track of all the details and where you wanted the story to go? Did you outline/plot in advance? First of all - I would love to see a novella length fic from you @mybrainrots! The final scene of Who You Really Are came to me very early on and I knew I wanted the fic to fit within TFP - a lot of it takes place in the timeframe of the final montage. At first, it was going to be much more about Sherlock’s relationship with the ideas of sentiment and love (the phrase ‘I’m not sentimental about you, I love you,’ haunted me for a while) and I spent some time researching the psychology and playing with scenes from throughout the series - one of my favourites I didn’t go on to use was inspired by the final scene of THoB. Using scenes from the canon gave an automatic structure, and I was always aiming for the final one I wrote early on - the two of them on the beach (everything is about the beach, with me!) As I went along and started, inevitably, to slow down, I mapped out the chapters with a short note of what I wanted to be in each, then would add notes or phrases as they came to me - often emailed from my phone! I had to force myself through a tricky section set in Baker Street at one point, but it came together in the end. I did plot The Pathologist’s Skeletons on paper first, as I found with a casefic which remains a WIP, that I can get confused and lose focus when it comes to details and how to reveal them in a way which stays paced and interesting. I’ll certainly do that from now on with longer stories and cases. How did you keep up enthusiasm for the work? I want to write an original novel, so I am forcing myself to work through the knotty bits and blocks as a learning experience. Not everything is destined to be finished or finessed, of course, but I’m finding this process is building my confidence that I can overcome problems and slow periods. I also find I know when I need some external inspiration - some of my favourite scenes have come to me while out walking the dog or sitting on the beach. I’ve also been inspired by books or other series or things going on in the world, as we all are, and sometimes that’s pushed me on. Plus, of course, I’m a newbie - I’m very much in the honeymoon period of my writing, even though I’ve loved Sherlock for ten years! (Ten years! Bonkers.)

You’ve got a knack for writing Sherlock’s thoughts and capturing his voice. That said, which character do you find easiest to write? Which is the hardest? Thank you so much. I absolutely love writing Sherlock and Mycroft, and I’m sure that’s because they suit my somewhat over-the-top writing style! I find Molly and her POV really difficult. I want the scenes I write from her perspective to sound completely different to Sherlock, but that means writing in a style which doesn’t come as naturally to me. I’m a long way off happy with that at the moment, but I’m enjoying the challenge.

Is there a scene or character that specifically inspired you to start writing Sherlolly? The whole of TFP, but especially from the moment Sherlock arrives at Musgrave onwards. I am desperate to see what a Sherlock Holmes who has been reacquainted with his own heart would look like. I find his emotionality in those final scenes hugely compelling (Mycroft’s office is one of my favourite moments from across all four series) and, as I have always believed in him and Molly, I practically jumped up back in May after watching it and said ‘right, where’s my notebook?!’.

There’s a lovely peaceful, quiet feeling to your fic ‘We’re All Right At The Moment’. Can you tell us what inspired it and if you’ve thought of doing the backstory that goes with it? Thank you! Like everyone, I would go back to January of this year and start again in a heartbeat, but I am hugely fortunate to be able to say that I have a lot to be grateful to the UK lockdowns for. I might never have begun writing in this fandom otherwise, for one, and I have had a brilliant time so far and met some lovely people. Honestly, I don’t feel able to do any sort of justice in my writing to what has happened in the world in any broader sense than drawing on my own experiences of staying at home and enjoying my family. This particular super-short fic sees Molly cutting Sherlock’s hair at home in Baker Street. I wrote it in the evening after I had cut my other half’s hair and had been reminding myself that despite how horribly worried I was - and still am - about everything, we were all right in that moment, and to focus on that as much as possible. I wanted to try to capture that, if for no reason other than to look back on this entire experience and remember something lovely, so I am so pleased to hear you felt the fic did that. It was only after I finished it and reread it, that I realised it is ambiguous as to whether Molly is worried about Sherlock contracting the virus, or whether she is remembering him being treated for it... As I say, I don’t think I could write more about these extraordinary circumstances - perhaps it’s just too close at the moment - so I don’t plan on extending it. But you know how it is, the plot bunnies hop where they will...

Do you have a Sherlolly music playlist? What are your top five favs from the list? Here’s a run down of (6 🙊) songs I have been getting emotional over in the last little while, leading my brain to assign their significance to my favourite couple...

Kissing You - Des’Ree - It’s so 90′s, it’s a bit cheesy, it’s oddly disturbing. It helped me write A Request, Made Properly, and that gave me an excuse to have Sherlock kiss Molly in the snow.

How Long Will I Love You? - Ellie Goulding - part of the playlist, but also in remembrance of a friend who passed away recently. Life is very short, love is forever.

High and Dry - Jamie Cullum - It’s made me emotional for a very long time. The original is my partner’s version of choice, this is mine.

Think About You - Delta Goodrem - Okay, this one isn’t emotional, and it’s not my usual vibe! Blame the zoom exercise class I do! But oh my goodness, it’s Molly. Bless her.

Blinded By Your Grace (P.T.2. F.T. MNEK) - Stormzy - One of the best ever, I reckon. Spent an awful lot of time thinking about angels and demons, grace and what it takes to save someone, while writing my latest - The Pathologist’s Skeletons. This has been in my head most of the (blimmin’) time!

Love Me Like You Do - Ellie Goulding - I didn’t know I was a fan of Ellie until I wrote this list... I don’t subscribe to the theory that the love Molly wants or that which Sherlock has to offer is any lesser because it isn’t ‘normal’ or expected. I don’t think romantic entanglement would come easy to either of them. But it’s still love and it would be beautiful.

Thank you so much for reading. Thanks and love to @ohaine and @mybrainrots. And thank you @sherlollyappreciationweek for the event and for everything you do ❤️

Feel like I should sign off with a quote from the show...

“You’re not a puzzle-solver, you never have been. You’re a drama queen!” Dr John Watson (Moffat & Gatiss) 2014 😜

A fav fic of mine by @mybrainrots

https://archiveofourown.org/works/7563193

A fav fic of mine by @ohaine

https://archiveofourown.org/works/10562904

My stuff:

https://archiveofourown.org/users/EnglandsGray/works

#sherlolly #sherlollyselfinterview20 #sherlock #sherlockbbc #writing #fanfic #ao3 #ao3 author #read on ao3

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randomoranges · 4 years ago

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so this is the 3rd lyric from the song, but i’m trying to keep up with the fic-thing-whatever and ill get to the other parts later. the momentum is going and im trying to match it and such

lamao this reminds me of 2010 and when i wrote a chapter of a fic to match all of canadas medals. good times. that was - hard and a rush

also i made this into snippets of moments in the same day. to - make it shorter. even though it turned into an 8 page tiny monster lamao.

ANYWAYS

DO YOU LIKE SPORTS. DO YOU LIKE FEELS. DO YOU LIKE NEUROTIC SPORTS SUPERSTITIONS

well, you will be served

Rouge comme le sang qui nous coule à travers

July 5th 2021

When Edward woke up that morning, he expected to find Étienne curled up by his side and to splurge and indulge in some good morning cuddles. Instead, the spot besides him was empty and cold. He sighed to himself and after waiting for a bit, in case his boyfriend made a reappearance, he shuffled his way to the kitchen, where he might find him.

Truth to form, Étienne was there, already more or less dressed, drinking what couldn’t possibly be his first cup of coffee in the morning out of one of many Habs cups Edward had spotted in the last twenty or so hours.

“Morning!” Étienne sounded a tad too cheerful, but Edward ignored it and made his way to his boyfriend where he could properly snuggle and feel that blessed beard against his skin for a moment. Thankfully, Étienne was never one to deny any sort of physical touch and wrapped his arms around him, before pressing a kiss to his cheek.

There was a reason as to why Edward had chosen this particular time to visit. For starters, he absolutely did not want to miss out on the beard and with the playoffs wrapping up shortly, he knew that his time was counted. On top of that, Edward knew how the people of Montréal took to the Habs losing this far into the playoff run and the down Étienne would feel if that happened.

It wasn’t that Étienne’s mood solely depended and fluctuated because of the hockey, but with so many people being emotionally vested in the team, their winning or losing would ultimately have an impact on Étienne. Now if they won, well, Edward wanted to live vicariously through it. Plus, there was something quite wonderful in an Étienne who was that jubilant and ecstatic. However, if the Habs lost, Edward wanted to be there for emotional support and also to make sure that the slump wouldn’t eventually tie in with one of Étienne’s own spectacular, unrelated to hockey, depressive episodes.

“Plans for the day?” He asked, perfectly comfortable in the crook of Étienne’s neck.

“Well, funny you should ask,” Étienne started and Edward had visions of intense biking up the mountain in the oppressive humidity or something as ridiculously insane, “I – have an errand to run, but I don’t want to impose on you.” For some reason, Étienne sounded a little nervous about this errand and Edward didn’t understand why.

“So? Go run your errand. I can come with you if you need help.” So long as it didn’t involve standing in the scorching heat, he was fine.

“No, no it’s fine! I appreciate you wanting to help – but, I don’t want to bother you, really.”

Edward stepped back and took a good look at his boyfriend’s face. Something was up.

It took him a moment, but then it clicked.

It had to be one of his ridiculous pre-game rituals he had completely forgotten about. He almost groaned. Étienne was anal about his rituals to bring the Habs good luck. Downright neurotic, really and Edward had been victim to many séances of Étienne doing the most ridiculous of things that he swore would help his team win. (To be honest, Edward did wonder, deep down, if maybe Étienne wasn’t on to something, considering the fact that the Habs had won 24 cups in their history, but he wasn’t about to say any of that out loud.)

“Do I want to know what crazy task you’re going to do?” He asked.

Étienne gave him another nervous smile and tugged on his beard, “It’s not that crazy, really...” He murmured and Edward feared for the worst.

“What is it this time? Putting your left sock on before you’re right one? Talking to your posters? Building a puck pyramid? Prepare a specific meal?”

“Please, that was last night and this morning. I need to go to the Oratory.”

Edward’s face blanched. Of course Étienne would go to the Oratory. He had forgotten all about it.

“You’re kidding.”

Étienne scoffed, “I am not kidding, Édouard. This is very serious. I need to make my pilgrimage to the Oratory, climb the steps on my knees and then light up a candle for the Habs’ victory tonight.”

Edward remained silent. He knew better than to argue or say anything about it. Étienne took his rituals very seriously.

“My issue is that you flew all the way to spend time with me and I don’t want you to think I’m just abandoning you.”

“Don’t worry about me,” Edward said with a chuckle, as he finally decided to grab a mug that didn’t have a Habs banner, a players number or Youppi’s face on it, and poured himself some coffee, “You go do whatever it is you need to do and I’ll acquaint myself with your glorious pool.”

“Are you sure?” Étienne twirled the hem of his shirt around his thumb and followed after Edward when he headed for the table.

“More than sure. I don’t want to be held responsible for your team losing if you don’t complete your set of rituals. Plus, I’ll be fine here and I can spend more time with Mercury.”

“Sure?” Étienne asked again.

“Yes. I promise.” It wasn’t as if Étienne would be out for the entire day anyways.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you! You’re the best!” Étienne was careful not to topple the coffee out of his hands, but still wrapped Edward in a tight hug.

In all honesty, Edward was a little overwhelmed to be sitting in the Bell Centre. There were so many people and so many lights that it was quite dizzying. After over a year of leading a quiet life at home, this felt like too much too soon, but at the same time, the energy was electrifying.

“Can you believe that the last time I was here for a final, you were also here?” Étienne said excitedly as they settled into their seats. It was crazy to think that Étienne looked tame in comparison to some other fans in the arena, even if he was wearing one of his many Habs jerseys, his Habs pants, his Habs shoes and most likely other articles of clothing he couldn’t see.

“Really?” Edward thought about it for a moment, “Shit, you’re right – so does that make me a lucky charm?” He joked, “Do you need to rub my head for good luck?” He laughed, but then when he saw the serious look on his boyfriend’s face he stopped. Étienne looked at him and seemed to be debating this for a moment. He had definitely shot himself in the foot with that idea.

“Better off not taking any chances,” Étienne said as he rubbed Edward’s head for good measure, much to Edward’s chagrin.

“Are you happy now?” He asked, when Étienne was done.

“Maybe. I would’ve been happier if you would have let me dress you for the occasion. You’ve got to be the only person here who’s not wearing something Habs on them.” He pouted.

Étienne had offered to lend him anything from a tank top to a signed jersey, with everything in between, but Edward had refused. For as much as he enjoyed being at the arena, there were still team loyalties he had to respect and that would be going too far.

“No I’m not, look, there’s a few people wearing Tampa jerseys.” He pointed out.

Étienne didn’t seem to think he was very funny, “That’s not the point, Édouard!”

“Fine, but look, I wore a white shirt – this is as far as I’ll go.” It was a neutral colour and – well, both of their teams had white somewhere in their jerseys.

“Tampa is playing in white.”

There was no winning this one.

“My jeans are blue and my blood is red?” He tried and he only got a death glare in response.

The one thing Edward had always loved about watching a game with Étienne, regardless of whether it was a season or playoff game, was that Étienne knew a lot about hockey – more precisely the Habs and he loved to share his knowledge – especially when he was stressed. (Not that Étienne ever admitted to being stressed about a game.) It was endearing the way he would blabber on and all Edward had to do was listen.

“This has been such a crazy playoff run,” He started, “Like – no one expected them to come this far and it’s been such a boost to the morale of the city. For as much as hockey has its issues, it also brings people together, and I wish there was more of that. Walking around the city these past few weeks has been something else. You meet people and hear their stories – about how they got into the game – where they’re coming from, who they’re here with. It’s beautiful. Kids who are living their first real playoff run. Older people who remember 93, 86 and the runs in the 60s and 70s. It’s been surreal! I’m just – I love these people – my people and the way they’ve just run with this as well. Hoisting orange cones as Cups and living the magic.”

“I know it might end tonight, but whatever happens – it’s been such a great run. I mean, obviously, it would be really great not to get swept. That would just – no. Do you know that the last time the Habs were swept in the final was in 1952? I don’t think the people would be able to handle that. You don’t make it to the final to get swept. Tampa can go and win at home, but to be swept?! No thanks.”

Edward knew all too well about being swept. At least the Habs had – avenged the Oilers. He supposed.

“And, also, on that note, do you know that the Habs only ever lost the cup once at home?”

“Did they now?” Out of their twenty-four that was quite the feat, really.

“Yes! And you’ll never believe what team did it!”

For some reason, Edward felt like he did know, yet the answer escaped him at the moment.

“The friggin Flames! I had to sit and watch Calvin’s stupid face light up like a goddamned Christmas tree when they won. I never thought I was going to live that one down!”

Now he remembered.

To be honest, he’d tried to forget.

It had been the most awkward of times, really.

For starters, Étienne had invited him to come watch the game with him. He’d agreed. If it meant spending more time with Étienne, he would’ve gone anywhere. Had gone to many places.

He’d just – forgotten one minor detail.

Calvin.

This was the second time, really, that the Habs and the Flames had met for the final. The first time had been awkward as well. In its own way. It wasn’t even with the fact that he was – involved with Étienne and Calvin was his friend and could not know about his involvement with Étienne.

It had – more to do with the fact that – the Flames had – impeded Gretzky and the Oilers from getting their third cup. He’d been – resentful to say the least.

Yet, Étienne had hesitated going out to Calgary to see them team, but then Calvin had asked him to convince Étienne to go. As a power move? To show off? He’d never bothered finding out. But, Edward had spun the idea to Étienne, telling him that wouldn’t it be nice to see the Habs extinguish the insufferable Flames at home?

Étienne had agreed.

They’d gone.

The Habs had won.

And Calvin – hadn’t even really cared.

His victory had been in beating the Oilers.

The bastard.

1989, however...

Shortly after Étienne had invited him, Calvin had reached out, saying that wouldn’t it be nice to go out and watch the game in Montreal. He had seats with the execs in their special section and they could make a whole trip out of it! Heck, the Flames might even win the cup! And – wouldn’t that be something! The Cup back in Alberta!

It had been very hard for Edward to tell Calvin that he already had Other Plans. Yet, without missing a beat, Calvin had told him that he should totally tell Étienne to come watch with them and that Edward didn’t need to worry about lodging, as they could share the hotel suite together.

He forgot exactly what he’d ended up telling both Calvin and Étienne, but somehow or other, the three of them had found themselves sitting in Calvin’s section, while Étienne had grumbled all along about having better seats than whatever this garbage was.

It only went from bad to worse as the Flames won and Calvin all but gloated, while Étienne threatened to set the city on fire. It wasn’t that Étienne had accused him of throwing him off, but Étienne had reminded him, more than once, that clearly, because he hadn’t been able to sit at his usual seat, the Habs had lost.

(Again, Étienne was anal about his superstitions and rituals.)

“Well, here’s hoping they don’t lose at home and get swept. Good vibes only,” Edward told his boyfriend before Étienne could get in a tizzy.

“Yes, you’re right. Anyways, it’s sort of thanks to the before last game against the Oilers we’re here anyways. Habs needed one point to assure their spot and that tie brought them to the playoffs, even if they lost in overtime. It made sure the Flames couldn’t sneak in, so, thanks? I guess?”

Edward chuckled remembering that particular video call.

“See, I told you, good luck charm.”

For good measure, Étienne rubbed his head again.

It was hard not to get wrapped up in the game, regardless of who was playing, even if it wasn’t his team. This was a playoff final game and both teams were trying their best to win. Even though the first ten minutes or so made it seem as though Tampa was going to finish this off without mercy, the Habs, somehow, managed to take the lead twice. Étienne kept on saying that some of the ghosts had clearly finally arrived and that some miracle had been cast on them by the three legends watching from the box.

Regardless of what it was that had brought the score to 2-2 with few minutes left, Étienne was clutching his arm like a lifeline and Edward was convinced there would be marks there when his boyfriend would let go.

“Please, please, please, please, PLEASE,” He chanted as the puck went one way and then the other. He clutched Edward’s arm even tighter whenever Tampa got close to scoring and whenever the Habs missed a shot.

It finally seemed as though the Cinderella run would come to the end with that last double penalty, which continued in over-time, yet somehow or other, the Habs managed to kill it and then, by another miracle, or maybe a clever game of pass-the-puck, managed to score in over-time.

Considering the fact that there were only three-thousand-five-hundred people in the Bell Centre, the resulting collective scream made it feel as though the place was packed to the brims.

Edward got swept up in the momentum of it all and found himself standing with all the other Habs fanatics, yelling and screaming.

When he turned to look at Étienne, his boyfriend looked jubilant and ecstatic. It was such a good look on him and it made Edward’s insides warm at the sight. Étienne deserved to feel this happy all the time, really. If there were a few tears at the corner of Étienne’s eyes, it only made him look lovelier and Edward did his best to school his face in the most platonic of smiles.

“They live!” Étienne yelled over the continued shouting, “They did it!” He said, even giddier as he kept on jumping up and down, waving his playoff flag with all the other people in the Bell Centre.

It was magical, really – living a playoff run like this one. He was glad he could be part of it – somehow, even if it was only for the last stretch of it.

“You know, no matter what happens next, I’m at peace. They fought and they’ve kept fighting from day one and – of course I want them to win. God, I want it so bad, but I’m just – really glad they brought it to game 5. And – I like to believe that – that they’ll be back. For game six. I’m just – I’m happy.” Étienne said, voice thick with emotions as they finally managed to step out of the Bell Centre. Some of the earlier euphoria and adrenaline had tempered down and Étienne was a little calmer by now.

“If any team can do it at this point, it’s certainly yours.”

Étienne beamed at him as they walked down the street, away from the crowds still chanting and yelling and celebrating, off the beaten path for a longer way home, if only for some fresh air and a quieter moment to re-center themselves.

“Yeah – you’re right,” He trailed off with a small smile. Étienne made to grab his hand, but knowing that there were still so many people out, he let their fingers brush against each other instead. “Everyone’s so happy – so proud of the city... I hope the feeling lasts.”

Edward made a quick grab for his hand and gave it a squeeze, before letting go. He wanted to tell him that the hockey didn’t matter. That this city was more than just a glorious hockey history. That he was proud of him. Of what he’d done. Everything he’d worked for outside of hockey. For himself. For the city as well. And that he had more worth than he realised. To him. To others. But – that was a talk for later. Right now, it was time to enjoy the moment – bask in it. Celebrate the victory.

“Let’s go home, yeah? I want to celebrate with you.”

Edward nodded and kept step with him as they made their way back to Étienne’s place, where once safely behind closed doors, they could properly celebrate together.

FIN

#pc: montreal #pc: edmonton #edward murphy #étienne maisonneuve #projocanondoko #fic #shoutout to allbeendonebefore for giving me intel on how 86 and 89 woulda played out lamao #the things u realise yrs later once u have a stronger timeline ha ha ha ha

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nobodyfamousposts · 5 years ago

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Miraculous Ladybug/DC - Adoption AU

There seems to be a lot of Miraculous/DC crossover ideas, often with Adrien and/or Marinette getting adopted into the Batfamily.

Here is my take:

So it turns out that apparently Gabriel had family he tries to avoid and altogether pretends don’t exist.

And it turns out the family in question he’s particularly wanting to keep out of his life and away from his family is Harley Quinn.

To be fair, they weren’t close to begin with. Then there was the whole thing with Joker and her stint as a villain. After that, Gabriel cut off all contact and moved to Paris.

Harley gets why. She doesn’t like it, but she gets it. She’s made mistakes and is trying to do better. She understands if Gabriel isn’t feeling all that forgiving or willing to reconnect. And she is fine with that, really.

What she is NOT fine with is discovering Mr. No-fun lost his wife in mysterious circumstances and has responded by not only isolating himself, but his son as well. His son who is a genuinely sweet and wonderful kid, and deserves so much better than being kept trapped in a quiet and lonely old mansion every day.

So she does what any good aunt would do if they’re a psychologist who used to be an underling and abuse victim for a psychotic clown whom she’s recently escaped from, found herself a girlfriend, and is past the point of having kids of her own.

She steals Adrien.

Well, from the mansion at least. Only from there. Not wanting to take him away from what little social life he’s managed to make so far despite Gabriel’s best efforts, Harley has them all stay in Paris. She even buys a nice house in a good district with money that was totally not stolen from Gabriel on her way out *coughcough*. Once set up in the new home, she proceeds to take Adrien there where she can dote on him like proper family and give him some of that affection he’s been so desperate for.

The wax figure of Adrien has been left in his place in the mansion.

Gabriel has yet to notice.

As has anyone else. (They’ve had at least 3 photoshoots so far with just the wax figure.)

Ivy finds the whole thing questionable but comes to see that Adrien is a sweet boy with a desire to do good even if he doesn’t necessarily know how or the best way to do so. She decides she can “raise him right” and mold him into a proper young man who uses his resources to help the environment. So she starts having him do gardening with her.

Adrien is...actually okay with this whole setup. Plus he went from no mom to TWO moms! Who spend time with him! And are involved in his life! And let him see his friends! And he actually gets to leave the house without a bodyguard tailing his every move—which turns out to be because Ivy is able to use her plants to keep an eye on him in a much less obtrusive manner, but eh...details. He’s essentially not-so-reluctantly kidnapped. He COULD escape at any point. He’s Chat Noir after all. But even if he wasn’t, it wasn’t like Ivy and Harley were going out of their way to keep him locked up or anything. The worst they did was give him a curfew—which when comparing a few hours of free time with an expectation to return by a set time vs a set schedule with only one hour of free time maybe worked in somewhere, was hardly something he was going to fight.

The fact is that he’s doing well under their care. Harley shares his sense of humor. Pamela nurtures his creativity. He gets support and encouragement to be more assertive. They actually WANT to talk to him and hear about his day. They WANT to be affectionate with him and have dinners together. And he just soaks up their attention and affection like a sponge and responds in kind.

Under their care, Adrien changes a bit. He speaks out more and makes it known when he’s unhappy or uncomfortable with something. He does not let people just touch him when he’s uncomfortable. If anything, he’s doing more touching and initiating conversations without fear of appearances. Nino gets bro hugs. Kim gets bro hugs. All the guys in class get bro hugs. Marinette also gets bro hugs—though he doesn’t hug her for too long since she seems to overheat easily.

Adrien is really enjoying this.

Even better, his moms somehow get jobs in the area.

Pamela either becomes a biology teacher at the school or opens a nursery. If she does open a nursery, Marinette becomes a regular customer on principle. She and Ivy bond. They trade gardening tips. Marinette is surprisingly helpful in keeping pests away from her plants for reasons Ivy doesn’t quite know. All around, Paris suddenly starts becoming a bit more green…and without the eco-terrorism. It helps that Adrien’s social media starts featuring him planting trees and taking care of plants, which is encouraging other people to follow suit.

Harleen becomes a school counselor. At Adrien’s school. Where she takes full advantage of the opportunity to embarrass him in full “overly affectionate mom” mode. Adrien is too happy to be embarrassed. Anyone who actually ends up laughing at him comes to regret it when Harley picks apart their psychological issues.

The new moms evaluate his friends.

Nino passes. Flat out. He got akumatized trying to throw their boy a birthday party? He also arranged an impromptu house party for Adrien the one chance he got? YES. THIS is someone he needs in his life!

Alya gives them concern given her Lois Lane levels of getting into trouble mixed with sheer lack of self preservation. Her tendency to jump into matters and reveal things or trust things without thinking also has them concerned.

Chloe has potential, but needs a good few months of therapy as far as they’re concerned.

Lila is banned from coming within ten feet of Adrien. It would have been fifty, but Adrien refused to take a killer plant that big and risk anyone thinking it’s an akuma.

Marinette passes after they have a sit down talk with her to get to know her better. Harley notes her anxiety issues and helps her to be able to avoid panicking. Ivy likes Marinette’s energy, and her garden is impressive. She gives her approval of Marinette courting their son.

Marinette: Wait—what?

And because they’re actually good moms, they figure out fairly quickly that their new son is the leather-suited catboy running around protecting Paris.

Harley: HOW DO PEOPLE NOT KNOW THIS?!

Adrien: Magic?

They have a bit of difficulty for the next few fights with the rather overprotective mothers trying to interfere in akuma fights, causing more confusion than anything until Adrien asks them to stop. They don’t, of course, but they at least let him try to handle things.

All in all, they make for a nice little family.

But there’s only so much two moms can do. And with Gabriel pretty much not involved, they’re limited in options. So after a while, they decide that Adrien needs a good father figure.

Adrien: But I have a father...

Harley: I said a GOOD father figure.

But who to choose?

Bats? “Oh god, no! Why would you inflict that level of broodiness in our child?”

Joker? “Sure! The best way to teach him important life skills is to have someone to test them on as an example. Like the best weak points! And the effects of blood loss! And how to hide a body!” “We could just use Gabriel for that and save on travel time!”

Superman? “The world isn’t ready.”

They finally come to a decision.

Which is how Nightwing finds himself tied up and dragged off to Paris to be made part of this weird little makeshift family.

Pamela: Why him?

Harley: He got the killer Robin from ‘murdery’ to some semblance of being an actual semi-healthy child with only some violent tendencies. He’d make a good father figure!

Pamela: But wasn’t that an alternate timeline—

Harley: A GOOD father figure.

Pamela: ...fine.

Nightwing: Wait—what?

Naturally, he’s confused. He tries to contact Batman to let him know what’s going on and what Ivy and Harley are up to because they’re in Paris for some odd reason and they have a kid he’s pretty sure isn’t theirs. Batman, on the other hand, is more concerned with all the crazy magic shenanigans in Paris that the League somehow doesn't know about and can’t get any accurate information on. So he pretty much tells Nightwing to stay with them since he’s already there and they have room for him anyway so it’ll be easier.

Nightwing: I'm telling you, they've captured me, dragged me off to Paris, and they have this little house with a kid—

Batman: Good, then you have a place to stay while you investigate the anomalies in Paris.

Nightwing: Bruce, I don't think you're hearing me...

Adrien: (Just pats him on the arm sympathetically)

Harley: (Hugs Nightwing) Looks like we've got Batdaddy's approval! You're part of the family now!

Nightwing: I will do whatever you want. Just don't call him that again.

To be fair, it is Batman, so he probably knows Harley and Ivy aren’t an issue at this point, but still!

…At least he gets his own room…

Nightwing isn’t sure what to think. On the one hand, he knows he shouldn’t be encouraging this. On the other hand, Harley and Ivy aren’t actually doing anything bad. And if anything, taking care of the kid has been good for them. Plus the kid seems happy with them, at least. It’s...weird, certainly, but he goes along with it. (Read: He folds to the kitten eyes.)

Then he finds out said kid is a superhero in a city regularly attacked by a supervillain who transforms and controls people by manipulating their emotions—which the League somehow has not been aware of despite it happening in PARIS.

Needless to say, he isn’t pleased.

I'm just imaging Dick Grayson interacting with other adult figures in Paris. And really, just Dick's response to everything in Paris and how things are being handled.

"So...you're telling me no one has tried to track down where the magic butterflies are coming from?"

"Um..."

"The governmental body hasn't initiated any policies to try to prevent akumas?"

"Well..."

"Set up an alert and evacuation system so people know where to go or not go?"

“…”

“Do I want to know what you people actually do in case of an emergency?”

“Probably not.”

Much like Ivy and Harley, he gets a day job to help out. There are two potential options for him.

He becomes a teacher at the school and takes over running gym class, which he uses to keep the kids in shape, teach them self defense, and help them work out some of their tension and emotions through physical activities and a good listening ear. His interactions with the kids would be something to see. Even better for his interactions with Damocles and Bustier. Because no, the events of the Ladybug episode would NOT have happened if he was there.

Lila: (Sobs) Ow! Ow! The pain! How could Marinette do this to me?

Dick: I’m not seeing any injuries.

Lila: I don’t bruise easily. They just haven’t appeared yet.

Dick: Even so, there are no abrasions. No swelling. No indications of a broken bone or sprain. Not even any marks to show where you fell.

Lila: It’s internal!

Dick: Then you need to go to a hospital to be checked out and have the extent of your injuries noted.

Lila: I wouldn’t go that far—

Dick: And your mother will be contacted and told to meet us there.

Lila: Well—

Dick: And of course we’ll be holding off on any punishment until we have a list of your injuries and a thorough investigation is completed.

Lila: But—

Dick: And just to keep you safe, I’ll be staying with you the whole time. We wouldn’t want anymore “accidents”.

Lila: ….Dammit.

He joins the police force. Just for shenanigans in his interactions with Roger. Maybe helping the force to be more effective so they can actually HELP during akuma fights instead of simply serving as a temporary distraction.

Either way, he’s a positive role model for Adrien. The three of them working together help Adrien to maintain a positive and altogether healthier state. They give him more jokes and puns to work with—because that has long since been Nightwing’s area of expertise. They give him advice in wooing his lady love. They address the “just a friend” issue. They teach him self defense and helpful fighting techniques. They curb the “self-sacrificing” tendency he’s developed. They encourage him in his goals and self discovery now that he has the freedom to actually try.

Despite the weirdness of the situation, Adrien is actually happier than he has been in a long while.

Which is made ever more clear at a particular moment when he’s leaving for school one morning.

“Bye, Mom! Bye, Mom! Bye, Dad!”

Harley sniffles and wipes a tear with a tissue she pulled out of her sleeve. “It feels like just yesterday that I stole him away from the mansion.”

“Then what does that make your kidnapping me?” Dick asked, sardonically. “This morning?”

“Don’t act like you’re not proud.” Ivy snarked.

Oh, he was. Immensely so. But of course he wasn’t going to admit it and give them the satisfaction.

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dropintomanga · 5 years ago

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A Look at “I Sold My Life for 10K Yen Per Year”

We all have kinds of taboo topics that reinforce what’s appropriate to talk about. Religion, money, politics, sex, etc. While these are reasonable topics to avoid addressing in many cases, there’s one taboo topic that really affects everyone. It’s death. In modern urban society, we all avoid any mention of it with good reason. Yet we live our lives to a point where we may feel that death is an appropriate way to escape.

What if you felt that way? What if you realized that life is mostly meaningless and then try to get rid of your future? A manga adaptation of a well-known Japanese novel takes a look at that possibility and how it can lead to an unexpected and profound experience for the better.

This manga, “I Sold My Life for 10,000 Yen Per Year” by Shoichi Taguchi, made me wonder about how much people matter in living a life well lived.

The series, based off a novel called “3 Days of Happiness” by Sugaru Miaki, is about a 30-year man named Kusunoki, whose life hasn’t turned out the way it expected for him. While he was an ace student in his younger days, Kusunoki has no direction in life. He spends his days living off of part-time work. One day, while selling old books and DVDs to a secondhand shop, the owner of the shop tells Kusunoki about a place that buys your lifespan for a set price depending on how much value your life has accumulated. Kusunoki finds the place, gets a quota and sells off the 30 years of his life for 300,000 yen. He only has 3 months to live. Kusunoki is assigned an observer, a girl by the name of Miyagi, whose job is to chronicle the rest of his existence. The two would find a connection through shared experiences and the story becomes a sad and beautiful story about love in the face of certain death.

Death is scary to talk about and it makes us feel alive. When confronted with their own mortality, people tend to live life differently. They may focus more on helping other people as they want to be remembered well by those that love them. Of course, there’s a flip side where people aware of their death start to become more protective of themselves and lash out at anyone different from them. A big key to this is anxiety without any sense of reflection. The more anxious you are, the less reflective you become. Self-reflection isn’t something that’s taught very well to many people (and arguably a major reason why therapy exists).

Kusunoki starts to develop a sense of self-reflection when it comes to his past relationships. A big theme of this manga is relationships and how easy it is to lose them.

In the first chapter, there’s a flashback of Kusunoki and a girl he liked named Himeno. Both got along with each other during elementary school as they were smart and disliked by their classmates. They made a promise to get together as a couple after their ‘20s if they couldn’t find a partner by then. One of Kusunoki’s bucket list wishes was to reunite with Himeno, which Miyagi protests. Kusunoki wants to tell Himeno how he feels and goes through a makeover. The two do reunite out of chance, but their reunion turned out to be sour. It’s later revealed that Himeno was planning to kill herself in front of Kusunoki as she wrote him a letter back in high school asking for his help, but he never responded. This ties to how Kusunoki felt about life after school. He never kept in touch with his friends from those days due to him looking down on others.

However, Kusunoki’s connection to Miyagi becomes something more than observer and subject. They both fall in love with each other. Kusunoki wanted someone to acknowledge him even if the person may not always agree with his way of thinking. Miyagi later reveals that she lost a childhood friend like Kusunoki. She empathizes with Kusunoki because of their desire for closure involving their childhood friends. Plus Miyagi loved that Kusunoki made her feel important by dragging her around to do his activities with him.

When people talk about what it means to live, they think about factors involving only the self. Get a high-paying job, getting a nice house, buying a fancy car, etc. There’s no emphasis on helping someone in need, donating money to a good cause, having an enlightening conversation, and/or making someone’s day better. Stuff that involves being around other human beings that feel insecure as much as you do.

Speaking of human beings, Kusunoki’s connection with Miyagi makes him frowned upon by his local community members. That’s because Miyagi is literally invisible to other people. When he talks to her, other people see him as talking to air. They start to think he’s insane and/or delusional. Kusunoki doesn’t care since he’s accepted his circumstances. The fun part is near the end of the series is that his neighbors start to accept Miyagi is there with him. They start to feel more optimistic and happy because they see how happy Kusunoki is. He’s enjoying life more than they are.

It made me think about someone with a serious mental illness and has delusions. They are avoided because no one understands them. More often than not, they’re labeled as dangerous to talk to. But once you’re able to talk to them and not feed too much into their delusions, you start to find how lonely they are. You realize that they’re trying to live their lives as much as you are. You realize they want some kind of connection (there’s a movie about this which covers how the mentally ill may need some kind of community acceptance to manage life). I see this with Kusunoki finally getting love from his neighbors as he deep down wanted some kind of connection that makes his life meaningful after seeing how hollow he became without the lack of emotional support.

Kusunoki’s desire for meaningful connection can be reflective of how hard it is for adults to make friends/relationships of any kind as they get older. Asking someone to be friends feels “childish” as it doesn’t always lead to external outcomes that mark “success.” I read an article from someone who believes wanting friends in contexts outside of socializing is considered shameful. Kusunoki feels like an all-too-real example of someone who was taught that you can wing it with relationships since materialism will solve all your emotional needs.

The ending to the manga (and the original novel) isn’t exactly a happy one and it teaches some great lessons. Death comes for everyone at some point and all we can do is live life in a way that matters. However, we need acceptance of one another in order to do so. When you see how the relationship between Kusunoki and Miyagi blossomed until the end, it will make you wonder if what we really need in life is someone who’s willing to embrace our emotional vulnerabilities and continue to love us despite them. It may not be the ultimate solution, but it’s an important one to consider as there’s still am alarming amount of people who want to die because no one truly hears them.

If the world realizes how having an accepting person/community can lead to better outcomes, maybe we can go beyond just a few days of happiness into a lifetime of joy.

#Jumyou wo Kaitotte Moratta. Ichinen ni Tsuki Ichimanen de #Miyagi #Kusunoki #psychology of mortality #mental health #death #manga #I Sold My Lifespan for Ten Thousand Yen per Year #community #loneliness #friendship

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