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talesofstyles · 4 years

Text

Drs Styles

paediatric heart surgeon harry, husband harry and dad harry. honestly the holy trinity.

warning: they did it in the car. bloody animals.

Harry

“Move your car, please!”

“What are you going to do? Write me a ticket?”

“This is in the interests of safety for the children!”

I look at the time in the car. I’ve still got about twenty to twenty-five minutes to watch this drama unfold at the school gate. I just wish we had popcorn because drop-off and parking situations at the school gates are always more entertaining than Good Morning Britain.

The school gate is a strange social scene, and honestly, I don’t blame my wife for trying to avoid it like a plague. Sometimes, you don’t even have to talk to these people to know everything about their lives and more. I swear there are more gossips in the class WhatsApp group and daily playground chattering than in the copies of The Sun and Daily Mail combined. You know who’s married, who’s getting a divorce, whose husband shagged the au pair again, whose party you haven’t been invited to, even who’s looking for a builder.

I see the school caretaker chuckling to himself as he sweeps the autumn leaves off the pathway, no doubt also enjoying our morning entertainment.

“Why is Mrs Chambers screaming like that?” Alma, our eldest daughter, asks from the back of the car.

“Because that man parks his car in a drop-off zone,” I reply, still watching him as he removes a child from his car seat. “Do you know who that is?”

“I think the boy is your classmate,” Alma turns to her sister.

Fiona, our youngest, peers over to inspect. “Oh yeah, that’s Rufus and his dad.”

“Do we like Rufus?”

“Not unless we like boys who pee down the slides,” Fiona scrunches her nose up. “He stood at the top and peed down like a waterfall. I haven’t gone down the slide ever since.”

I shake my head and let out a chuckle. “M’sure they’ve cleaned it up since, button.”

Did you know that choosing a school for your child after nursery can be a head-throbbing, stomach-twisting, heart-pounding experience? Well, it can. How is one supposed to choose a school anyway? According to the proximity? Leavers Results? Adorable uniforms? Parents’ agendas?

After many, many discussions and visits through more schools than I can count, we ended up with Thomas’s Kensington. It’s a great school, and only ten minutes away from our home, making school runs easier. The downside of this school is the fact that it costs us an arm and a leg and that they’re always trying to rip us off any chance they get. Also, they only take the kids until 11, so after that, we’ll have to look for other schools again. But since our girls are only seven and five, we can worry about that later.

There’s a strange mix of parents at this place. I went to school up in the North and the school gate scene is nothing like this. Here there are more au pairs, fancy cars, nicer clothes and people coming with impressive tans from their last weekend break in Antibes. The kids here are suited up too: the PE kit is the size of a small weekender bag, and we put them in uniforms that make them look smart, hoping that will increase the size of their brains. A child walks past our car with a cello case, another with a hockey stick. It’s a different land here. One that my socialist in-laws constantly tease us about and one which my mum was hysterical about because she was scared her grandbabies would be little Tories. I promised her I’d keep them grounded by only giving them plain hobnobs. None of those luxury chocolate covered ones.

Jokes aside, my girls are happy here. They’re thriving. They learn French and Spanish and Mandarin, even if they share a class with kids who have ridiculous names like Kitty and Archibald.

A knock at my window calls me to attention. I wind it down.

“Are you Fiona’s dad?” A mum asks me.

“I am.”

“It’s about Ophelia’s riding party this Saturday at the riding stables.”

Like I said, it’s a different land here.

“I thought we RSVPed to that?” I look at her in confusion.

“Yes, you did, but we have to change the food options as one of the partygoers is allergic to nuts. I’m making everyone aware and we need to let the guests know that they can’t bring any nuts on the day.”

A dirty joke is right there on the tip of my tongue and I’m trying my hardest to keep it in. My wife would definitely find it funny though, I’ve got to remember this and tell her later.

“Noted,” I mean, I wasn’t going to send my daughter to a party with a packet of cashews anyway but I nod politely.

“And just gift vouchers for gifts please. Smiggle, if you can.”

Again, I nod, biting my tongue at the presumptuousness. But then I suddenly panic, because we haven’t entered the realms of pony riding just yet. Do I have to buy jods and boots? If I don’t, will my daughter be the odd one out? But Ophelia’s mum saunters off before I’ve got the chance to ask.

“Do I have to go to that party, daddy?” Fiona asks.

“Well, we’ve already replied, poppet,” I tell her. “Did you not want to go?”

“I’ll go if I have to.”

I don’t answer because I get distracted by a vacant space. I edge the car forward so my girls can hop off.

“I love you both. Have a good day, make good choices.”

“Bye daddy! We’ll see you after work!”

***

Evelina London Children’s Hospital is our second home. Of course, as a children’s hospital, we try to make the place as fun as possible as not to freak those little patients out at being ill. It is bright and primary coloured, and each ward is decorated according to its own theme with different colours and lovely artworks. There are televisions and toys almost in every corner. We have a giant slide on the ground floor, and even the bins are shaped like red London buses. The aim was to help the children to forget that they’re in a hospital and take their minds off their sickness.

Since my wife and I are in the same department, our offices are next to each other, both overlooking the Thames. It’s nice up here. Would’ve been nicer if we could sneak in a quickie, but that’s practically impossible with our shared secretary’s desk sitting literally in front of our doors.

Speak of the devil.

“Good morning. Here’s your tea,” my secretary follows me into my office with a cup of tea and a tiny plate with a couple of rich tea fingers. “Clinic until 3 pm, scheduled PDA ligation in the laboratory for 4 pm and then evening rounds on the wards.”

“Mornin’ Rhonda, you look lovely today,” I greet her cheerily. She’s a stern-looking woman who definitely likes her tea as strong as tits and who has probably never cried in her life. With such severity, she runs a tight ship, but she secretly has this affectionate side in her too. Not only is she a great secretary, but she also takes care of us in a way as a grandma does. She makes us tea, feeds us in between surgeries with biscuits or nice baby cheeses and crackers just so we wouldn’t starve.

See that sofa over there in the corner of my office? Rhonda got me that. It was around the time when I had just become a new father with the sweetest, most gorgeous little baby who did not sleep. Alma wasn’t a fussy baby though. For some reason, she just wouldn’t go back to sleep after her midnight feed for months. Believe me, I tried everything. I changed her nappy, I swayed and jiggled and rocked and sung her to sleep. Odd nonsensical songs like, ‘Alma darling go to sleeep. Sleepy sleep sleep. Pleeeeease. I’m so tirrrred. My eyeballs may actually exploooode. I don’t want you to see thaaat.’ And she would just look at me all wide-eyed like I’d lost the plot. Those were song lyrics? That was rubbish. Please don’t give up your day job. Also, it’s not sleeping time. I’m awake. I’m ready for life. Come on, entertain me, old man. Isn’t this nice, just you and me? Tell me everything you know. EVERYTHING.

Except of course she didn’t say all that. She would just stare at me and I had no idea what was going on in her little head.

I took over my wife’s patients at the hospital during her maternity leave, so I had longer hours at the hospital. One day Rhonda found me napping on the floor between surgeries, so she sweet-talked some porters into looking for any old sofas on the go and paid to have this one reupholstered. She even bought me a fleece throw for it too. We really don’t deserve her.

“You hittin’ on me?” She deadpans. “Yer wife not doing it for you these days?”

“It’s the blazer. I’m a sucker for a blazer.”

“If I’d known, I would’ve worn it more often,” she replies. “Did my nice dress yesterday not give you the fanny flutters?”

“It’s schlong shiver for me,” I roar with laughter. “And it’s the tartan, makes you look well old.”

“YN, yer husband’s a bloody git, did I ever tell you that?” Rhonda says loud enough for my wife to hear, and I can hear my wife’s laughter from her office next door. “Drink your tea. Your first clinic appointment is in twenty.”

“Yes ma’am,” I salute her.

***

The Arctic ward in the Evelina is home to many of our imaging, heart and kidney services. The name is probably giving it away, but everything is decorated in blue and white to go with the theme. We have several zones, and since paediatric cardiology clinics are held in the Walrus zone, I spend a great deal of time each day looking at walrus and snowflake decals.

“Doctor Styles!” I hear a little voice shouts in excitement as I walk towards the waiting room in the outpatient ward. I smile, because I recognise that voice even before I see the little person.

The waiting room is very open here compared to other hospitals. There’s a sea of noise, snacks, tiny juice boxes and colouring pages. There’s also always a look of expectation, judgement on the faces of parents and guardians every time I walk in. They want to see if their doctor is old or qualified enough to see their children. There’s always one child who has the whole gang with them; parents, two sets of grandparents and even several aunts and uncles, and there’s also at least one child running around in circles out of boredom.

This little lad bounces off his chair and hurls himself at me in a way like a little puppy would when its owner comes home from work. I put an arm out, hoping that he’ll apply the brakes but no such luck and he bundles himself into my arms. “Nice to see you, mate.”

His parents smile as they watch their son’s antics, who then runs off as I shake their hands. I turn around to see what caught his attention, and I can’t help but chuckle when I realise it’s my wife.

“Doctor pretty Styles!” He exclaims excitedly as he bundles himself into her arms. She gets a mouthful of curls in the process.

“Hi Rory,” she greets him as she runs her fingers through his curly mop.

“Oi,” I pout as I walk towards them. “You don’t think I’m pretty?”

“Your wife is prettier,” he says with a shrug, his tone matter-of-fact.

She laughs and gives him a high-five. “Rory, you are officially my favourite patient.”

She is right. Rory is one of our special patients for sure. We’ve both known him for about six years now, ever since Rory’s mum gave birth to this tiny human next door at St Thomas and his heart was literally broken. I remember watching proudly from the theatre when my wife replaced two of his valves when he was born. It was in our early years of training. Long time patients like Rory almost always feel like family. We’ve seen all their parents’ tears and watched over their children throughout the years. They send us cards and wine every Christmas and despite all attempts to keep a professional distance, their kids do feel like our own.

Rory shrugs off his dinosaur rucksack and unzips it, pulling out a drawing of a blue whale and an opened packet of KitKat. I like that the whale wears a top hat and appears to also don a moustache.

“I drew you both a picture. Only one though, because I figure you can share,” he says with a big toothy grin and hands the packet of KitKat to my wife. “And I’ve got half a KitKat here. Do you want it?”

“I’m good for now. Keep that KitKat for later on the tube,” she smiles and waves at Rory as she begins to walk away towards the fetal cardiology ward just down the hall. “Bye Rory, thanks for the picture.”

“Bye doctor pretty Styles,” Rory replies, making my wife laugh as she walks away. I give her a wave and a wink.

“Hey Rory, did you know a blue whale has a heart the size of a small car?” I ask him and his eyes widen.

“No way! That’s mega!” He exclaims. “Do you think you could operate on a whale heart?”

“I would need a very big ladder,” I tell him. “And a wetsuit. I’d give it a go though.”

A senior nurse from the outpatient ward, Florence approaches us with a junior nurse trailing behind her. “Dr Styles, always a pleasure.”

I smile at her. “Florence. How are we today?”

“Busy as usual,” she replies. “We’re about twenty minutes behind I’m afraid. We had Dr Goodridge in this morning and you know he likes to talk.”

“He always runs over,” I chuckle. “Well, don’t worry. I’ll skip lunch and get us back up to speed.”

“I’ll make sure to send some snacks for you. Here’s your chart, your files are already in your office. And this is Alice, your nurse today. She’s newly qualified so might need some instructions.”

The new nurse looks terrified so I smile at her to try and calm her fears. I totally get that. When you work in medicine, unfortunately, you’ll realise that there are a lot of rude self-important wankers.

I look down at my chart and find Rory’s name on the top of the list. “Well, look who’s coming with me to the exam room.”

Rory reaches out to hold my hand and we walk towards the examination room. His parents follow us closely, carrying the usual coats and devices that people do when they know they’re bound for a hospital waiting room. I see them inside and sit behind the desk.

“So, young man, I hear we’ve had a touch of drama with you. Can you tell me what happened?”

I’ve actually already got the information in the file, but I like the way this kid tells a story. He reminds me of my youngest.

“So… I was at school and we were doing PE and I wasn’t really feeling it because it was cold and really we should have been inside but Mr Witter makes us go outside because he used to be in the Army apparently and he says we should get used to the cold but that’s what they do in prisons.”

I smile. “Go on.”

“And then my heart started running.”

“You mean racing?”

He nods firmly. Racing isn’t even the word. It sprinted to the finish like Bolt at 252 beats per minute, three times the speed it should.

“It felt like bubbles in my chest and then the school went crazy panicky and they called the ambulance and they brought me to the hospital but not this one, it was another one and it wasn’t as good because you weren’t there and they had really bad biscuit.”

His mum adds. “And they gave him some drugs to bring it back to a steady rhythm; they were close to shocking him.” Her voice trails off and both parents’ faces look drawn and pale remembering the incident.

Rory looks absolutely unbothered by this. To be fair, we have put this little man through everything. We’ve cut his chest open more times than is necessary for someone so small, we hook him up to machines and put him on treadmills. His resilience and character amaze me, and I really can’t imagine what it feels like to see your child so vulnerable and helpless, to be paralysed and weighed down with such worry.

“Alright then, little man, we need to make sure that your heart is working as it should. This is Alice, and she is going to take you over for an ECG and we just need to make sure your tick-tock is in good shape.”

Rory nods and jumps off the chair. His dad offers him a piggyback, and his mum smiles at them. I can hear Rory offering that half KitKat to Alice as they leave the room.

His mother turns to me as the door is closed, her shoulders relaxing, allowing herself to breathe. “And how are you?” I ask her.

“You just think it’s done and then something like that comes along to scare you,” she says with a sigh.

“Let’s have these tests and then see if it’s anything major to worry about,” I try to calm her. “Episodes of rapid heartbeat is quite common in Rory’s case, and we can look into drugs to remedy that if necessary.”

She smiles, nodding.

“Did you have any other questions for me?”

She studies my face for a moment too long. “I… well, it will show up in Rory’s records soon, but my husband I are… I mean we’re getting a divorce.”

I pause for a moment. Of course, I know these things happen in life, but I’ve known this couple for years. I’ve seen them at their lowest ebb, bound by friendship and their love for that boy. I really do feel sorry for them.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I mumble.

“We just… we’re terrified about telling Rory.”

“He doesn’t know?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “We’re scared of breaking him. I mean, look at him. All of this stuff he’s been through and he carries on like nothing has happened. We don’t want to upset him.”

“It took a team of us the best part of six years to build Rory’s heart. There's a warranty on that workmanship,” I reassure her. “Have that chat with him. He’ll be fine.”

***

“Have we got time for dinner first?” I turn to my wife as we walk out of the hospital. We don’t normally have the luxury of ending our shift at the same time, but today is exceptional. We have parents’ evening at the girls’ school so Rhonda made sure to clear up our schedule after our evening rounds at the ward.

“No, but we can raid M&S and eat in the car?”

I’m starving and I almost cry with relief at the suggestion. “Always knew I married the right woman.”

She chuckles. “Damn right you did.”

We leave the car at the hospital and she drags me along the walkways to Waterloo, the breeze biting at our cheeks. I pull her into M&S, dodging the marching commuters and grab a basket.

“I’ll look for some wine,” she says before she saunters off. “Oh and I want sushi. None of that crap with the mayonnaise please.”

“Alright.”

I skipped lunch today so the whole place calls to me. I start taking very random things off the shelves: a packet of raspberry iced buns. That’ll do. I also take some hummus for my wife because she bloody loves hummus. I’m not even joking, I’ve seen her down a whole pot of it. Then I take some sushi as requested, some coleslaw, a family bag of mature cheddar and red onion crisps and a trifle. I hope I don’t bump into Rhonda. Next are cheese twists, noodle salad and cocktail sausages.

It takes me a while to notice that there is a man right next to me with a roll of yellow stickers in their back pocket. Hello there, you are one of my favourite people tonight. Have I managed to find that sacred hour when all the food is being marked down? He labels some prawns with dip and even though I get a little squeamish about eating fish near its expiry date, I put it in my basket. I then follow him around the corner. Now, this is dinner. I put all sorts of random food in my basket and smile at the thought.

Ooh, knockdown pizzas. I should get a pizza. That’s tomorrow’s tea sorted, the girls will love it. Although I can’t help but wonder, what’s the limit for us to feed our daughters frozen pizza in a week before they get taken away from us? But eh, we might be able to get away with it if we give them frozen peas on the side.

“Look at you,” says my wife, depositing two bottles of red in the basket.

“Yes, it’s me. I’m the yellow sticker bitch.”

She snickers as we turn to head for the tills. “Excellent work.”

***

“Mr and Mrs Styles, welcome.”

“Mrs Ebner, always a pleasure,” I shake the headmistress’ hand who’s standing at the door.

“Busy evening?” My wife asks her as she shakes her hand next.

“Always,” the headmistress replies with a smile, then proceeds to speak like she’s reading out of brochures. “But such a wonderful opportunity to connect with our parents and build on the special relationships we have with our school community.”

Two uniformed minions appear.

“Lewis, Maggie, could you please show Mr and Mrs Styles through to the drinks reception?”

They both nod in unison. The boy holds his arms out like a waiter showing us to our table. We follow them through the school’s grand corridors to the main hall. It’s the one thing I like about this place. It’s very Hogwarts-like with hefty engraved name boards and sepia photos of successful sports teams. In the hall, a throng of parents mill around waiting to see respective teachers. It’s the same every year. We all dodge the people from the PTA trying to sell us quiz tickets, and the bowls of crisps out of hygiene concerns.

“Red or white?” Asks a lady in an apron.

This right here is the very reason we get through parents’ evening. From the look of the bottle, it’s decent wine too. I think that’s where a good proportion of our fees is going.

“Red, please.”

We both take our glasses and walk to the corner of the hall. It’s essentially a holding area without the background music. The idea is that all the parents will get on and create a party vibe but it just becomes a strange family gathering. As terrible as it sounds, it’s sorted into cliques: parents who know each other via NCT groups, the international expat brigades who keep to themselves, the parents who’ve ostracised themselves by gossip, the ones who you know regularly brunch and ski together.

The boy from earlier suddenly appears in front of us. “Mrs Hughes is ready for you.”

I put my hand on the small of my wife’s back as we walk towards the classroom. Fiona’s teacher first and then Alma’s straight after. Right, we can do this.

“Mrs Hughes, we meet again,” I shake her hand. I’ve got no qualms about Mrs Hughes. She’s a seasoned teacher who likes a slack and sensible moccasin and we’re familiar with her since she taught Alma two years previously. When we enter the classroom, Lewis bows in reverence, taking his leave and I wonder whether to tip him.

“It’s always lovely to have another Styles girl in my classroom. Fiona is a particular delight.”

My wife and I smile proudly. I’m sure Mrs Hughes says this to every parent here about their child, but that’s always nice to hear.

“She talks a lot about you,” my wife says. “She seems to have settled in well.”

Mrs Hughes opens up a couple of books and it’s classic Fiona. Alma is ordered and neat—if she makes a mistake then she erases it completely and she underlines things with a ruler and listens to instruction carefully. She gets that from her mum. Fiona though, on the other hand, she’s all me. She has more wild abandon about her; no rulers, no rubbers. She puts giant crosses through things that don’t work and likes her bubble writing decorated with doodles of many, many cats.

I glance around the classroom as Mrs Hughes talks to us about standardised scores. The theme of the school is to show you how smart and educated these children are. Look at the copperplate handwriting, their reproductions of Van Gogh and our languages corner where they’ve all had a go at telling us what they like in French. I spy a contribution from my girl. J’adore les chats et le gâteau au chocolat.

I’ve lost track of the conversation so I try to catch up.

“So to push Fiona into those top scores, perhaps we can look into tutoring? For maths, in particular, so she can grasp some of the concepts a little more tightly,” says Mrs Hughes.

My wife and I look at each other confused. “Uh, I don’t think there’s a need, right? She’s only five.”

“It’s never too early,” replies Mrs Hughes. “We run an after-school tutoring club on Tuesdays that would help.”

Back when I was a youngster, clubs were fun endeavours that involved matching baseballs caps or were a chocolate biscuit that you had in your lunchbox. Maths tutoring session was not a club.

I ask her. “Is it free?”

“It’s fifteen pounds per session.”

See? My point being this should be a parents’ evening, not a sales session.

“Well, then it’s something to think about,” says my wife. “It could be that Fiona catches up with people throughout the year.”

“Possibly,” Mrs Hughes nods. Still, though, she proceeds to go into her folder and passes me a form. Sneaky. “Fiona has also shown great interest in languages and art. Her pictures have been a joy.”

Mrs Hughes goes to a file and pulls one of Fiona’s drawings. I glance down at it. It’s a standard child piece of art. The grass and sky are strips of colour to the top and bottom. It’s a family portrait, and we are as tall as the broccoli style trees. Wait, hang on a second. I count the number of people in the picture again. Is that-

“And Mrs Styles, I gather congratulations are in order,” she says with a smile. “Such lovely news.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Fiona told me it’s a boy,” she adds, and the sheer terror on my wife’s face at the realisation is priceless. “You must be very thrilled.”

I study the picture. There’s a house in the middle, and standing in a line in front of the house is our family. The one slightly taller than the broccoli tree is me. I’ve got my white lab coat, and I look like a serial killer because I’m holding a scalpel with the size of a butcher’s knife. Next to me is my wife, also with a white lab coat, but instead of a scalpel, she’s holding a very chunky baby who rather looks like a basketball with a head.

“Oh dear,” I chuckle. “Guess now we know what she’ll ask for Christmas.”

“Yeah,” my wife shakes her head. “We’re not expecting.”

“Oh, I apologise,” Mrs Hughes says with a sheepish smile.

“No worries, Mrs Hughes,” I tell her. “So, what else has our girl been up to here? Besides gossiping of course.”

Mrs Hughes laughs under her breath. “Well, in class, Fiona is attentive, bright and very helpful. She is a credit to you both.”

***

“I swear your daughter, Styles.”

We’re sitting in the car now. Finally done with parents’ evening, still laughing at the slightly creepy, chunky basketball baby in Fiona’s picture and the fact that three people, including Mrs Hughes, have congratulated us for the ‘baby’.

“You haven’t called me Styles in years,“ I turn to her with a grin. “Not since medical school.”

I can’t help but flashback to the good ol’ days when we had matching university hoodies and we’d test each other on the parts of a kidney whilst walking into lectures, sitting next to each other, sharing pens and cans of Lilt.

“Well, after that I became a Styles too,” she chuckles. “Would be confusing then, wouldn’t it?”

“True,” I laugh under my breath, then I grab her hand and pull it to my mouth so I can kiss her knuckles. “Thank you.”

“What for?”

“For being a Styles.”

“Aw, aren’t we soppy tonight?” She smirks. “Alright, stop the car.”

“What?”

“There,” she points to a dark empty spot and I oblige.

Then, before I can even ask her why, she reaches over and grabs me by the collar. Pulling me close to her and gives me a kiss. I kiss her back, and I smile when she bites gently on my bottom lip.

“Oi, oi. Something’s got you randy.”

The next thing I know, she undoes her seatbelt and then rolls her trousers down her legs along with her knickers, fumbling and giggling at the awkward movement. I push my seat back and pull my trousers down.

“Don’t fall on gearstick now,” I joke as she climbs over to straddle me. “Well, unless you want to, of course…”

She laughs as she lowers herself over my lap. I really can’t believe what’s happening here.

“Mrs Styles, we’re about to have sex in a car. Around the corner from our daughters’ school.”

“I know,” she says with a smile before she runs her tongue along my neck. “Not our first rodeo though.”

“Oh right, we did it in our Volvo years ago, didn’t we? Thought the suspension couldn’t take it.”

“And it turned out fine. Told you that you needed to have more faith in the Swedes, they’re a reliable breed.”

“I love it when you talk about Sweden.”

“Ikea.”

“Fuck.”

“Meatballs.”

“Billy Bookcase.”

She throws her head back in laughter and I take this as an opportunity to run my tongue along her collar bone. She gasps. I reach down to lift her before I slowly lower her over my cock. We both sigh as I enter her, a long exhalation with our lips barely touching.

“Viggo Mortensen.”

“Isn’t he Danish?”

“Tomato, Tomahto.”

I smile at my wife and push my hips up, silently telling her that we don’t need to talk about Swedish people anymore. She grabs onto the car seat and levers herself up and down. I look at her in the eye, a goofy smile still plastered across my face.

But then I squint. Light. Bollocks, what’s that? Where’s that light coming from? Crap, that’s bright. Shit. I see the flash of a hi-vis jacket, a knock at the window and someone shaking their head.

Oh sodding fucking bollocking shit wank.

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apocalypticgargoyle · 3 years

Note

Hii!! I was wondering if you can write a dream imagine where like you guys are secretly dating and you sometimes post you and dream holding hands but you never tag him so like people know that you are dating someone but no one really knows who and one day you and the guys were talking and you say something like “oh yeah my boyfriend gave me this this and this” and everyone else is all like omg that’s cute but sapnap is over here like “dude dream literally had that here yesterday” but like sapnap doesn’t say anything to you guys he just tells the rest of the guys that he thinks you guys are dating but has zero evidence so the next few weeks they are just trying to catch you guys and one day when they suspect that dream is cheating (when he was actually like asking your mom for your hand in marriage or something) the boys are all like “dude we caught dream talking with someone else I’m so sorry to tell you this” and like you and dream start laughing so hard bc it was your mom and you guys are like “yeah We’ve been dating for like a year now did we not tell you guys?” Or something like “oh yeah did we not make it obvious?” Idk if it made sense 😭😂

I'm ✍️✍️✍️✍️

𝐌𝐎𝐌'𝐒 𝐅𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄. ♘ 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

warnings: one or two swear words

You leaned back in your chair, listening to the conversation unfolding before you. You turned the volume up slightly as Sapnap began to tease you about your gaming techniques. You giggled as others began to weigh in, joking about this and that. George’s voice came in above the others. “Guys shut up, her boyfriend works for Microsoft and can get you banned,” he mocked, making you snort.

The image of Dream trying to figure out how to boil water flashed into your mind. “Yeah, he’s terrifying,” you chided.

Sapnap was the next to pipe up. “You can tell us you don’t have a boyfriend, you know. No one will care.”

“No yeah, I do. He bought me this shirt,” you defended, lifting the hem of your hoodie to show the group of them, earning a chorus of sarcastic cooing. Sapnap’s eyebrows furrowed slightly as if he’d seen it before.

George smugly grinned at you. “Oh, yeah? Does he go to another school?”

You snickered. “Shut up,” you mumbled, the chat switching to a new subject. Little did you know, Sapnap was texting George and the rest of them about his suspicions that this mysterious boyfriend of yours was actually Dream, knowing full well that he’d seen Dream buy that exact shirt a few weeks prior.

You’d been dating him for nearly a year, choosing to blatantly disregard any questions about who he was and vice versa. Most of your photos on Instagram involving him were vague and gave your audience more confusion than understanding. Comments about searching for your OnlyFans to see if they could recognize his voice began to circulate and your friends even fueled that fire.

You weren’t sure what Dream had told Sapnap all those months of secrecy, but somehow it seemed like the t-shirt was the first hint at your relationship. After he’d addressed his suspicions with the rest of your group, it was like a hunt to find out if it really was Dream or if Sapnap was just a few marbles short of sanity from one too many late nights.

In the midst of this wild goose chase, Dream was focused on getting your mom to warm up to him. She was a difficult woman to impress, but he was just as (if not more) stubborn than she was. It wasn’t that she didn’t like him, but he’d rather have her favor him over your past boyfriend and there was one she was determined to prefer over him until the end of time. You often joked about him getting close to you only for him to date your mother, which drove him absolutely sideways.

When she visited, he made dinner for all of you and―after studying for a week prior―discussed various books and authors she loved. It wasn’t until he exhaustedly brought up The Crown that the two of them finally clicked. He’d found her “g-spot,” you’d often tease.

After that, they were practically inseparable and he was the one that took her to lunch and sightseeing when she was in town until you got out of school. It was on one of these visits that Sapnap had spotted the two. She was talking Dream’s ear off about something, touching his arm to articulate her points and mockingly appraising him for opening doors for her without being asked.

At this point, Sapnap and the group were certain the two of you were together, therefore when Dream’s voice picked up on his radar and he saw him schmoozing an older woman, his stomach sank. He watched the two of them for a bit, not seeing much change in the way they communicated, but through the glass of the front of the restaurant, he was shocked that Dream was going behind your back in such a way.

That night the group was rather quiet, only a few mumbles from the others would pitch in as you and Dream basically had a conversation amongst yourselves. “So what’s the news. Why is everyone suddenly so mellow?” You joked, making a few of them chuckle awkwardly.

George cleared his throat. “Uh, we have to tell you something…” he muttered. “Dream’s talking to someone else…”

Your eyebrows perked slightly. “What do you mean?” You queried, Dream sending a silent what into the air.

Sapnap sighed. “I saw him with someone else earlier today. They looked like they were on a date or something…”

Dream laughed into his microphone, wheezing as he went about. “You bitch! I knew you were hooking up with my mom!” You joked, biting back your own giggles. You could hear the physical embodiment of a question mark ricocheting through the chat. “Dream and my mom are absolute besties. I wouldn’t be surprised-”

Dream drew in a sharp breath, his laugh making his voice barely audible as he cut you off. “STOP don’t encourage them!” He bellowed, struggling to breathe through his chuckles.

“What’s Dream doing with your mom?” George asked, tilting his head with a probing expression.

You wet your lips. “Since we’ve started dating, he’s been obsessed with being her favorite,” you jested.

“Since you’ve started dating?” Sapnap repeated to the group as if proving he’d been right the whole time.

Dream sighed, catching his breath. “Yeah, I’m at her place right now,” he spoke. “Hold on, I’ll prove it.” You let out a small chuckle as you heard him set his headphones down, followed by his footsteps thundering up your stairs before he was standing behind you. He briefly pressed his lips against yours in a greeting before leaning toward your microphone and sending a “hello from the otherside” to the group.

He leaned his arm against the back of your chair, you switching on your camera mainly because it was just the group of you. “I thought we were pretty obvious like you guys were just making fun of me because you knew it was him,” you stated.

Sapnap looked over his shoulder slightly as if he were listening for movement in his own home. “Wait, when did you leave?”

Dream scoffed. “I’ve been here all day. I literally woke you up to tell you where I was going.” Sapnap furrowed his brows in disbelief at this.

George was clicking away at his computer. “See, I knew I recognized your hands in the Instagram photos,” he mumbled. “I hate it here.”

You smirked slightly. “That being said, my boyfriend does own your guys’ server so he will ban you if you make fun of me.”

#mcyt x reader #dream x reader #dream fluff #dream imagine #dreamwastaken fluff #dreamwastaken dsmp #dreamwastaken fanfic #dreamwastaken imagine #dreamwastaken x reader

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dem-obscure-imagines · 4 years

Text

Try

Warren Worthington III x Reader

Fandom: Marvel/X-Men

Summary: Warren has been through hell and then some, but will meeting his soulmate turn that around?

Note: That’s right, it’s ya girl, back on my BS. I watched Apocalypse again and BIG SURPRISE, I’m in love with Warren and Kurt all over again. Still hyperfixating on Pietro also, so…expect more fics for him as well. Anyway, I’m a ho for soulmate aus and I haven’t written one for birb boi in literal years, so here ya go.

Reader is: Gender Neutral

Warnings: swears, mentions of alcohol

Word Count: 2.8k

Warren knew one thing beyond a shadow of a doubt: he didn’t deserve a soulmate. He didn’t. There was no question in his mind. Anyone who was destined to end up with his winged, alcoholic ass had been fucked over by the universe. No one deserved to be stuck with him for the rest of their lives. And yet, these thoughts didn’t seem to erase the words written on his forearm:

Hey, um, you’re Warren, right? The Professor wanted me to talk to you.

Professor. He scoffed. He was never going to college. If his parents had gotten their way, their son “cured” of his wings, he would have ended up at Harvard or Yale or somewhere similar. But it was far too late for that. Sitting in a cage in the back room of an illegal underground mutant fighting club in Berlin…it was far too late for that. He’d probably die before he met his soulmate anyway, rendering the prophecy on his wrist—and theirs, for that matter—useless. A waste of space.

That was all he was anyway.

He spiraled. His dependence on vodka got worse. The fights got harder. He wasn’t making it out unscathed anymore, winding up with burns and scrapes and cuts, depending on what kind of mutant he was up against. One night, one of his cuts had gotten dangerously close to the writing on his wrist. He stared at it for a long time, tears burning his eyeballs until they escaped and dripped down his cheeks, angry and hot.

He hated it, but even after everything, he still had hope. He still had hope that things would get better; that he could be better, even if it seemed impossible.

And then it got…worse.

Apocalypse had come, turned his wings to metal, tuned into his anger, his rage at the world, turned him into a monster, complete with knives for feathers and winding tattoos framing his face. He wished he could blame it on mind control or something, but Apocalypse hadn’t brainwashed him, only used his anger against him. Turned him into a weapon.

And then everything went black.

When he woke up after the battle, he was in an unfamiliar room, large and white and sterile; it smelled like hand sanitizer. He heard the steady beeping of a heart monitor and when he sat up, he noticed how sore he was. His whole body hurt. His head spun. But he was alive. And when he looked down at his tattoo, the words were still there. Wherever his soulmate was, they were fine. His stupidity in joining Apocalypse hadn’t caused anything to happen to them.

For the first time in what felt like years, he breathed.

“You’re awake.” A voice said as a tall man with brown hair entered his room. “I’ll let the Professor know.”

“Where…” his deep voice rasped and the man pointed to a glass of water sitting on the table adjacent to the cot he was situated in. He picked it up and took a few long, greedy sips, not realizing just how thirsty he was until the cool drink hit his tongue. “Where am I? What is this place?”

“This is the infirmary at Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters.” The man told him, pushing his glasses further up the bridge of his nose. “You’re safe here.”

Warren nodded hesitantly, but didn’t say anything else. Safe. The word was almost a myth to him at this point. But at least he felt like he could rest for a little while.

***

It had been a few weeks since Apocalypse and his horsemen had almost ended the world. Erik had decided to stick around, and two of the younger horsemen, Storm and “the Angel of Death,” respectively, had been absorbed into the school’s student body. You didn’t know the Angel’s name. No one really talked to him, not even Ororo, Storm, who had been quickly adopted by your friend group.

Supposedly, Peter had tried to talk to the Angel guy, but he didn’t say anything to him. Ororo theorized he probably felt guilty about the whole thing. She did. But you all knew she didn’t know what Apocalypse was really trying to do. He probably hadn’t either, but that didn’t seem to keep the grim expression off of his face.

It was on a nice, sunny day that Xavier called you into his office, and you went down without complaint, knocking on the door a few times before he called you inside. You sat in the chair across from his desk.

“Hi, Professor. What’s going on?” You asked.

“Ah, yes. Just the empath and healer I wanted to see.” He smiled brightly. “(Y/N), if you don’t mind it too terribly, I have a small job for you.”

“Of course! What do you need?”

“I’m sure you’ve seen our newest pupil, Warren, around.”

You thought for a moment. “The, uh, guy with the wings? The big metal ones?”

“Precisely.” He nodded. “Warren…he’s been having quite a hard time adjusting.”

“I’ve noticed.”

“He came to me yesterday discussing…well, quite simply, he was wondering if any of our mutants here would be capable of…reverting him to his previous state. His wings, before Apocalypse, were made of feathers. They’ve been serving as quite a reminder to him and it’s been weighing pretty heavily on him, both literally and emotionally.”

“Yeah, I’ve, uh, caught his vibes from across campus.” You nodded. “It’s like there’s always a rain cloud hanging over his head.”

“Yes,” Xavier agreed. “It doesn’t have to be right away, but at your nearest convenience, if you see him around, would you talk to him? Tell him I sent you?”

“Yeah, of course. I’ll see what I can do.” You promised him.

As an empath and a healer, your first priority was helping others. And even if he was known to be a bit intimidating, you wanted to help him if you could.

So, you walked out of Xavier’s office, attended your final class of the day, and when it was over, you wandered out into the courtyard where, because of the nice weather, students were everywhere. And luckily for you, just as you suspected he might be, Warren was sitting under a tree, still sporting his leather jacket despite the warm weather.

You shielded your eyes from the sun and walked over towards him, your heart racing as you built up the courage to talk to him. So, you took a breath and said, “Hey, um, you’re Warren, right? The Professor wanted me to talk to you.”

He stared up at you for a long moment, his green eyes wide in shock. He took a breath, blinked a few times, glanced down at his wrist, and then back up at you. You could have sworn you saw tears beginning to form along his waterline, and you didn’t realize why until he said, “You’re my…No…Oh my God…I’m…I’m so sorry.”

You froze, your knees going weak. You glanced down at your bare forearm and read over the words he’d just said, exactly the way he’d just said them.

You’re my…No…Oh my God…I’m…I’m so sorry.

“Why are you sorry?” You whispered, lowering yourself onto the grass beside him, not trusting your legs to support your weight for much longer. Now you were the one with tears in your eyes. “Don’t be sorry.”

“You deserve so much more than me.” He insisted, his eyes locked on his boots, unwilling and unable to meet your gaze. “I can’t drag you into…this. Me.”

His emotions were heavy, a bleak blue and gray haze and you felt it radiate off of him in waves. His pain, his everything. And you felt it, deep within his chest. He thought you wouldn’t want him anyway.

“Warren…” You shook your head. “Why…Why would you think I don’t want you?”

He was shocked into silence for a few seconds, thinking over his words carefully, his jaw tense and hands shaking. “You’re a telepath?”

“Empath.” You corrected quietly. “And…a healer. Which is why Xavier sent me.”

“Oh. Right.” He swallowed thickly, nodding. “Did he…tell you why?”

“He did.” You smiled softly. “And I’m willing to try if you are.”

Finally, his eyes met yours and he could tell that you meant more than just the healing when you said it. The weak little voice in the back of his head was screaming for him to push you away like he pushed away everyone else, but looking into your eyes, a genuine and warm smile on your face, he just…couldn’t lose you.

He couldn’t lose anyone else.

***

Today was the day. Warren was sitting on a stool in the infirmary. Hank had run his vitals and the two of them were in the room waiting for you to come down after your class was over.

“(Y/N) is the one who saved you, you know.” Hank told Warren while he jotted down some notes.

“What?” Warren asked, snapping out of whatever daydream he had been caught up in. “What do you mean?”

“(Y/N) found you in the rubble. We didn’t think you would make it, but…they healed you. They insisted we bring you back here. Give you a chance.”

Warren was quiet for a long time, thinking about what that meant. Part of him wondered if (Y/N) had known back then that he was their soulmate, but he decided that would have been impossible with just their tattoos alone. Especially without context. They hadn’t known and yet, they’d still wanted the best for him.

“Didn’t know that.” Warren said, his voice soft and deep. He stared at the words on his wrist for a little longer, a hint of warmth swirling around in his stomach. Was this happiness? Was that what happiness felt like? He barely remembered anymore. But he knew there must have been a reason that when you walked through the door, his heart started beating a little bit faster.

“Sorry I’m so late. Professor Leaf kept us a little later than she was supposed to. Are you ready?” You asked taking off your backpack and setting it against the wall. As soon as you looked up at Warren, you felt the way his heart rate was increased and you didn’t miss the warmth swirled with the anxiousness. The anxiousness, you had expected. Even you didn’t know if you could pull off what you were going to attempt to do, but the warmth…it was a pleasant surprise.

“Don’t worry about it.” He told you, shaking his head. Was he…was he smiling? It was a small smile, sure, but you didn’t think you had ever seen him smile before. It looked good on him. “I’m ready when you are.”

“Alright.” You nodded, walking over towards him. Underneath where he was situated on a stool, Hank had laid out some pads from the training room, you assumed, to catch his metal feathers if they fell out rather than transforming back to his normal…feather feathers. None of you really knew how this would unfold. “Again, I’m not sure this will work. I don’t want to get your hopes up in case it doesn’t.”

“I’m not expecting it to.” Warren assured you, but it wasn’t in a rude way. “If it does, I’ll be pleasantly surprised. Cross my heart.” What he didn’t say was: You could never disappoint me. Not even if you tried.

“Okay.” You nodded, taking a few steps closer until you were standing right in front of him. He looked up at you and for the first time, you didn’t feel any negative emotions from him. Only anticipation and that lingering warmth. “Here goes nothing.”

You focused on the warmth in your own chest, the tingling yellow healing power that constantly swirled around your heart, and you forced it into your palms. You reached forward for his hands and he took the hint, his larger hands wrapping around yours.

Immediately, he gasped at the sensation, warm tingles running up his arms, down his spine. It stopped in the center of his back, right where his wings intersected with his body. At first, he didn’t feel anything. And then, he felt everything. The pleasant warmth flooded his metal wings, and one by one, the knife-like feathers fell out, each one landing with a thud against the mat situated underneath him.

Hank’s pencil jotted against his notebook as he took notes. He knew you were powerful, but he’d had no idea you were capable of something like this.

Neither had you.

Once the metal wings were gone, Warren felt a new sensation: another pair of wings, this one soft and familiar, slowly emerging from him. Part of him expected the process to be painful, like the one Apocalypse had forced upon him was, but it wasn’t. Warren chuckled to himself. Of course you would never hurt him. Not even unintentionally.

After a few minutes, the feathery wings had fully emerged, stretched out to his full former wingspan and he stared up at you in awe. You stopped your flow of power to him, but he held onto your hands, squeezing them to keep them in his grasp.

He looked back at his new wings, flexed them and moved them. They felt familiar, like they had always belonged to him.

“Thank you.” He said, giving your hands another squeeze, the warmth in his chest brighter and bolder than it had been before. “Thank you so much.”

“Of course.” You told him, squeezing his hands right back in a way that caused his heart to lurch. “I’m glad I could help.”

“I don’t mean to interrupt, but do you mind if I keep some of these for research?” Hank asked.

“Keep all of them, if you want. I don’t want them.” Warren told him, standing up from his stool, his hands still in yours. “So, um…do you want to go grab dinner or something?”

“Sure.” You nodded, smiling up at him. “See you later, Hank.”

“Bye, guys, have a nice night.” Hank said as you and Warren walked out of his lab. He couldn’t help but notice the way one of your hands remained in one of his as the two of you left.

***

Later that night, after dinner and after you and Warren had split for the evening, you were walking back to your room from Jean and Jubilee’s and you found Warren, lingering in his doorway, his toothbrush sticking out of his mouth. His eyes widened when he spotted you and he held up a finger, indicating you should wait for him, so you did while he went into his bathroom and rinsed out his mouth, returning a few moments later.

“Hey.” He said, the word casual as it fell from his pink lips.

“Hey yourself.” You chuckled, feeling ridiculously underdressed in your pajamas. But then again, he was wearing his pajamas, too, a large black Metallica shirt and a pair of plaid pants.

“How…how are you? Feeling?” He stumbled over his words, chuckling as he rubbed the back of his neck. You felt a wave of nervousness rush through him. “Hank said sometimes you get tired after, uh, bigger healing jobs?”

“I’m fine.” You nodded. “For whatever reason, I never get tired when I’m healing you.” You chuckled, your cheeks heating up the slightest bit. “Well…I think I know why…”

“Heh, yeah.” He nodded, mulling over his next words very carefully. “Did you, um…I don’t know how to ask this. Did you mean what you said about…trying? About us trying…this. Trying us.”

“Of course I did.” You nodded and took a few steps closer to him. “You’re my soulmate.” You reached for his hand and he gave it to you, letting you play with his fingers. You felt the way his heart fluttered when you did. “Of course I want to try.”

“I’m broken.” He told you. “I’ve never done this before. I’m…I’m a lot, and I know that.”

“Well it’s a good thing I’m a healer, huh?” You tilted your head. “And if we’re being honest, I’ve never done this before either. So how about we teach each other? Learn together?”

He smiled softly, nodding. “Yeah. Yeah, let’s do that.”

You let go of his hand and instead took the last few steps between the two of you, wrapping your arms around his torso. He froze for a few seconds, unsure of what to do. It had been…a long time since anyone had hugged him. But after a few moments, his arms got the hint and wrapped around you, pulling you to his chest. He rested his head atop yours and exhaled a long, long breath. And for the first time since you’d met him, you felt a wave of peace wash over him, encasing him entirely as his wings gently cocooned you in their warmth.

You felt his lips brush against your temple, pressing a soft kiss there. You looked up at him and his eyes met yours before fluttering shut as he leaned in to press his lips to yours.

#warren worthington iii #warren worthington x reader #warren worthington imagine #angel #xmen angel #angel x reader #angel imagine #archangel x reader #archangel imagine #xmen imagine #marvel imagine

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mikalara-dracula · 3 years

Note

Hii :3 i love your blog, can i have headcanons of ayato, Subaru and shuu having a big crush on a girl but the girl doesnt like them back :3 thanks

When their crush doesn’t like them back

ft. Ayato, Subaru, and Shu

Hi there, Anon!

Aw, thank you, I appreciate that. Thank you so much for requesting as well! Tbh, I think I may have overdone it with how much I wrote here, but I was just so inspired lol. Hope you enjoy reading it. Feel free to request again anytime. :))

Parallel post: When their crush doesn't like them back (ft. Reiji, Laito, and Kanato)

Ayato:

Oh boy, he’s not going to take this lightly--oh no, not at all.

Ayato was literally raised to think that he’s the best out of his brothers and anyone else.

So, you not liking him back is not something he’s not going to accept . . . at least, not easily anyways.

However, before we get to the negative, let’s begin with how all of this started.

Ayato first noticed you at cheerleading practice.

(Okay, so I’m not sure if their school in DL necessarily has a cheerleading team, but considering the students play sports, there’s a chance that there might be, but let’s just imagine that there is one for this scenario.)

Anyways tho, you were busy practicing the cheer choreography for the next basketball game, and with Ayato being on the school’s basketball team, he noticed you practicing from far away as he was practicing on the court with his team.

He grew interested quite quickly to know who you were; the way your uniform displayed itself against your body, the gleam that sparkled in your eyes as you cheered with the rest of your team. From that point on, he was determined to get to know you and make you his girl.

Since he likes to make a grand entrance, how he met you was staged with a few of his guy friends since he wants to leave an impression.

You were standing in the crowded hall with your group of friends, just talking about the most random of things whilst you held your textbooks for next period until a guy with a hoodie ran past you and knocked you over, making you lose your balance as you started to fall.

To your luck though, someone swooped in and caught you before you could hit the ground, his red locks falling into his face as he held you securely in his arms, pulling you upward to help you stand on your feet again.

You were shocked. Not being able to hold back gratitude for saving you from such a fall, you’d thank, “Thank you for-,”

“No need to thank me, babe . . . . The name’s Ayato by the way.” He’d smirk, walking off to join his group of friends that were waiting for him at the end of the hall, soon cheering him on as they rounded into the next hall knowing that it had all gone according to plan.

Through witnessing everything that happened, everyone was whispering and gossiping about it in the halls. This would lead one of your friends to comment whilst giggling with the other girls in your group, “Wow Y/N, he’s quite the keeper.”

“He just saved me from falling, not death--honestly.” You’d remark, finding this to be blown out of proportion as the girl gang simply laughed at your reluctance to overreact like everyone else was--you just weren’t that type of person.

Now that you knew who he was, the game was definitely on.

He tries to impress you in lots of ways.

Such as with his basketball skills when he’s practicing with his team or during an actual game since you’re cheering for his team.

He’ll literally point to you from a distance every time he makes a shot, leaving you to blush while you’re standing at the side with your cheer team.

With him being quite cocky, he definitely tries to make you laugh.

During school hours, if you’re busy in the halls getting ready for next period, he tries to get your attention from afar--even if it’s from the other end of the hall--with the rest of his guy friends, a smirk on his face as he blows a kiss to you from a distance, leaving you to blush.

Eventually through him trying to impress and talk to you so much, he takes the opportunity to ask you out.

And of course, with you not having feelings for him, you’d say no.

He was expecting that you’d say yes, so getting rejected was really strange to him, but of course, he wasn’t going to give up that easily.

Since he has a major crush on you, he’s going to be insistent about going out with you.

Like, he’s not taking no for an answer.

He’d constantly harass you in the halls or in class about this, saying to stop playing hard to get when you’re making it perfectly clear that you have interest in him at all.

He’ll even pass you notes in class asking about the same thing or try to get your attention in class by whispering your name while everyone is busy and mouth ‘you look hot today’, leaving you to turn around in your seat and frown as this was getting annoying, his arrogance being a turn-off.

With being desperate, Ayato will even go as to steal your cheerleading uniform from your locker and hold it for ransom.

There was one time where you were walking to the girl’s locker room to get ready for cheer practice, which meant changing into your uniform. You were already late due to talking with a teacher after class, so you knew the locker room was empty since it was after school and most students had already gone home, and that your team was already practicing without you.

You went inside and opened your locker to find that the uniform was gone. Instantly, you questioned where it could have gone since you had just washed it yesterday and had placed it in there this morning before school had started, but a familiar, yet annoying voice soon rattled your thoughts.

“Hey babe, looking for this?”

You’d turn to see Ayato walking toward you, the uniform in his hands as a smirk displayed itself on his lips. You literally almost screamed knowing he was in the girl's locker room as this was not a place for him to be, your privacy feeling disturbed.

“Ayato, give it back.” You’d say, trying to take it from him, but he would be quick to hold it up high and out of your reach as you gave your best attempts to jump and grab it.

“Not so fast, sweetheart. You’ll get this back on one condition.”

“Fine.” You’d retort, feeling tired from all your attempts. “What is it?”

“Go out with me.”

“Ayato, how many times am I going to tell you that it’s not going to happen?”

“You can try to deny me all you want, but a girl has never said no to yours truly.”

“Well this one has.” You’d hiss, jumping up high enough this time as you finally grabbed hold of it and yanked it away from him. “I don’t know what it’s gonna take to make you understand that I’m not interested.”

There was an awkward silence between the two of you and you thought he would just leave. You were going to walk away and change, but you noticed he just continued to stand there. Being fed up with this, you’d hiss, “What?”

“You’re already late for practice. You’ll get there a lot faster if you let yours truly help you with your uniform.” He’d grin.

“Get out!” You’d scream, pushing him in the direction of the door.

It took an endless amount of attempts, but he’d eventually get the message that you just weren’t into him.

Once Ayato came to terms with himself and that you had no feelings for him, he basically ignores you at all costs.

For example, if he sees you in the hall, he’ll look or walk away and pretend he doesn’t see you--you’re basically erased to him.

Even if you tried to pull him aside to talk to him to work things out and just be friends, he’d simply brush you aside, hands in his pockets as he’d mutter ‘tch’ before walking away.

“Tch! How can she not like yours truly? . . . . Whatever. It’s her loss. She’ll never find another guy like me.”

Subaru:

Oh my, for him to like someone is quite difficult since he’s not even a fan of himself.

However, there was something captivating about you that caused this vampire’s undead heart to throb.

He hated the fact that he had feelings for you since he doesn’t want to feel weak for anyone, but you made him feel things in ways he couldn’t explain.

Every day at school was the same to him until he saw you. You were new to his school and the teacher introduced you to everyone and this was when he took note of your existence.

Since Subaru is a loner, you really had no idea who he was or that he even existed at first.

Just like everyone else, you would walk right past him in the halls, but it’s not because you were rude, you just didn’t know him and it would be strange to just start talking to someone you didn’t know without a reason.

He on the other hand noticed everything about you--your every movement, the way your smile would gleam, the way your style bewitched him along with how your intelligence astonished him during class discussions.

How you noticed him though was quite the opposite of ordinary.

You were once walking through the crowded halls at school and witnessed a physical fight taking place in the middle of the hall with two male students, Subaru being one of them as everyone huddled around to watch.

You saw the way his fist collided with the other male’s face as he sent him to the ground, several teachers soon arriving as they broke up the fight and sent both of them to the principal’s office.

At that point, you knew who he was and everyone was talking about that fight for weeks. Due to this, you heard rumors about him as well--about how getting in trouble was common for him due to him getting in fights with students in the past and that he was quite brash in general, but you weren’t one to judge.

Now, returning to him having a crush on you.

When in class with you, he will stare at you but will look away quickly since he doesn’t want to take any chances on being noticed by you or anyone else. The last thing he wants is for someone to suspect that he has a crush on you.

You were once assigned to be his partner in class and let’s say he was a nervous wreck about it all.

He was a lot meaner than usual, mostly because it’s a defense mechanism he uses to demonstrate his tough exterior so no one can take advantage or hurt him.

But deep down, we all know that this bby car is a total softy :’)).

Since you both had a project to complete together, you both met up in the library to prepare for it. You were both looking at the textbook to find the information you needed when your hand accidentally brushed against his. He instantly withdrew it, muttered ‘tch’ as he walked away to hide the blush that bloomed on his cheeks. This left you confused, but you decided not to question it since he was quite the enigma.

I’ve cannoned this in the past with @liannelara-dracula that he likes to corner you when you’re alone, especially during break, so he can have a small conversation with you.

He may say something slightly perverted to flirt tho ;)).

Through knowing each other, you like waving to him in the halls as you’re walking to class with your friends, your endearing smile dawning on him quite incandescently.

He’d never wave back at first, always muttering his infamous ‘tch’, and was usually just annoyed by your kindness, but with you not withdrawing your gentle nature, he soon started to grow a bit more comfortable with this.

When he reached this stage, he’s always taken back by you saying hi to him casually like that. He doesn’t really know what to do, a minor blush appearing on his cheeks as he'd slightly, but very awkwardly, lift and wave his hand, quickly looking away from you to avoid eye contact.

Your friends, however, would take note of you saying hi to him and would constantly be asking you as to why since he’s bad news and isn’t very approachable.

“Guys, he’s just misunderstood. It’s not like we really know him and we can’t just judge by what’s on the surface.” You'd say.

He really isn’t the type to just confess due to fear of rejection and his feelings grew more and more as he got to know you.

You really brought a lot of fun and joy to him, something he isn’t too familiar with due to his upbringing, in fact, he even started to smile a little bit each time he saw you.

Even his brothers took notice of his new behavior, a certain fedora-wearing vampire wanting to know more than what was on the surface when they were all riding home together once.

“Fufu~, what’s with the new attitude, Subaru? Why the smile? Is it about a girl?”

“Tch! Shut up!” He’d retort, looking away from all of them as a minor blush appeared on his cheeks, leaving them all to laugh at him.

Later on though, Subaru caught on to the idea of you not liking him back due to seeing you kissing your boyfriend in the halls one day.

He was crushed in all honesty and ended up recoiling back into his old life of being lonesome.

He rarely talks to you now. Since he knows you have someone else, he doesn’t want to bother with getting to know you any further since it would just hurt him more.

He’d also be a lot meaner and irritated than usual. In fact, it wouldn’t be surprising if he’d get into more physical fights due to his anger towards this situation.

He hates the idea of you not liking him back . . . but to be honest, he kind of expected it because he thought it was something that was too good to be true.

“It only makes sense that someone like her is already taken . . . . Tch! Like she’d ever date a piece of shit like me.”

Shu:

Considering his childhood trauma, for him to take an interest in someone is quite rare and almost unexpected.

Especially since he believes that if anyone associates themselves with him, they either end up dead or are left in a really bad situation they can’t get out of.

It took him a while to realize his feelings for you. He honestly just kept denying them for the longest time, but he accepted them later on since you were always on his mind.

However, even though he's realized them, bear in mind that he is an ass about his feelings since he always tries to push them away. This is mostly due to his experience with Edgar since it left quite a mark on his childhood.

Anyways, Shu first took notice of you during homeroom--which he actually bothered to attend for once xDD--and noticed you sitting in the far corner writing some things down in your notebook whilst your ears remained attentive to what the teacher was saying, your beauty being captivating to him.

By him not going to class a lot of the time, he wasn’t too familiar with a lot of his classmates. But with you being in homeroom hour, he actually started to attend it a lot more because he found you interesting—the way you focused throughout the period as you listened to instructions and paid no attention to the other boys who sought your attention when the teacher was either too busy teaching or doing something else.

By seeing you a lot in homeroom, he’d notice you in the halls whenever you were either conversing with your friends or going to your locker to grab the stuff you needed for your next class.

The way your hair would whip every time you turned, the sound of your laughter echoing in his ears every time you and your friends joked about something.

It was all so amusing to him, something he wouldn’t typically see.

With you piquing his interest, he wanted to make himself known to you. In other words, he wanted you to talk to him in some way, so he staged an opportunity.

You were running late to class one day. Since it was on the second floor you had to use the stairs, but you soon stopped when you saw someone occupying one of the steps that prevented you from ascending, his figure asleep as you recognized it to be Shu.

You had heard of Shu before due to his family name and because he was so popular with the girls, along with the fact that he always skipped class, but you never paid him much thought since you had your own clique of wholesome friends.

Since you were already running late and that was the only way to get to class, you’d politely approach him and ask him to move, but of course, he didn’t give a response or budge.

You supposed he was in a deep sleep, so you reached out to tap his shoulder, his eyes snapping open as he’d quickly grab your wrist, preventing you from giving him a nudge.

“Huh, touching a man you don’t even know. That’s quite lewd of you.” He’d smirk.

His remark caused you to slightly blush, “That- that’s not- I wasn’t doing anything like that.”

“Huh, surely doesn’t seem like it.”

You grew pretty annoyed as you’d send him a frown. “Look, can you move? I have to get to class. I’m already late and you’re making me get there even later.”

“You being late isn’t my problem. If you wanna pass, just pass.”

You’d sigh taking his suggestion, taking a step forward as you attempted to skip over the step he occupied. As you stepped over, he lifted a leg causing you to trip and land on the landing, pain traveling through your body as you shot him a glare knowing that what he did was on purpose.

“Hey! What the hell?! You did that on purpose, you jerk!”

“You’re imagining things. First you trip and then you wanna blame your clumsiness on me.”

He was so lying, and you knew that for sure. You didn’t just imagine it. You literally saw him do it.

“But you-,” You’d sigh, knowing it was going to be pointless to continue arguing with him, plus, you had a class to get to. “Whatever, I don’t have time for this. I have to get to class.”

As you’d leave, he would make a perverted remark about your skirt, a blush rushing up to your cheeks as you’d walk away and up the next flight of stairs to get to your class.

After class, your friends had asked why you were so late and you had told them about your encounter with Shu. They were in awe at the story and even teased you about it.

With that incident, things only escalated, especially with his endless flirting. He honestly gets a kick out of it.

Since he skips class a lot of the time, if you happen to pass him in the empty halls as you walk to class or elsewhere, he’s going to say something to you for sure.

This can range from him making more perverted remarks about your skirt, or your panties if he’s laying down; even going to the point of teasing you about being perverted when you’re not.

That motha.

He even accuses you of bothering him when he’s the one who started the conversation.

Says that you ‘walk too loud’ and that you’re spoiling his music because of that reason.

You’d grow fed up with this and with being so distraught about it, your friends would be bound to ask what was bothering you. You’d mention why, but they would only find it amusing considering who he is. After all, Shu isn’t really known to give much of his attention to anyone.

“Y’know, if he’s talking to you in the halls for no reason, that says something. He only talks to girls he has an interest in.” One of your friends would say.

“Interested my ass!” You’d retort, rolling your eyes. “He’s such an ass. He’s just some spoiled rich kid that’s probably never worked a day in his life.”

Honestly, Reiji would love you on account of this xDD.

I’ve also cannoned this with @liannelara-dracula that even though he’s lazy, he would take the time to get to know your schedule and show up everywhere you’d typically go.

And then, he’d accuse you of stalking him since you’re always running into him.

Since he’s pretty perceptive, Shu eventually noticed that you didn’t like him through one incident that he took note of in the hall one day. You were walking and you ran into your crush, your heart racing as he stopped to talk and say hi to you. You were pretty good friends with him and he was just the sweetest guy ever. You always felt butterflies in your stomach whenever you were around him and deep down, you hoped that things would change between you two eventually.

To Shu, it was plain as day that you liked someone else. He’s centuries-old and definitely knows how this stuff works, he’s not stupid. Plus, the asshole he was also listening to your heartbeat when you spoke to your crush, making it far more evident to himself that you had an interest in someone else.

By knowing about your crush, he does use it to piss you off. He’ll act like an even bigger ass now because he knows you don’t like him.

“Y’know, it’s never going to happen.” He’d tease, his infamous smirk being evident.

“A girl can dream.” You’d retort. “You seem to do it all day, so why can’t I?”

Based on his fear of someone getting hurt because of being involved with him, he’d never tell you that he liked you.

Is actually pretty accepting of the fact that you don’t like him, and to be honest, he thinks it’s better off this way due to his fear of destroying something he would later on cherish, but yet, he still carries on with being an ass towards you since it amuses him.

“You’re better off without me. Dream all you want about that guy, but I know he’d never satisfy you the way I could.”

#diabolik lovers #diabolik lovers heacanons #ayato sakamaki #subaru sakamaki #shu sakamaki

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bibbawrites · 4 years

Text

Family Ties - Charlie Gillespie x Reader (16+)

Request: Can you please do one where either Charlie is meeting your family or you’re meeting his and he keeps trying to be touchy/wanting to have sex but you/him don’t want to get caught xx

Word Count: 1721 words

Summary: your annual family trip gets a little bit more hands on when your boyfriend Charlie and his family join you

Warnings: heavy makeout, touching, a little bit of grinding, swearing, mentioned and implied sex

A/N: sorry if this editing is shit my brain is not working lol hopefully y’all like this one, ive been debating on rewriting it for what feels like years but fuck it i dont have that motivation lol also idk if theres beaches in canada like what we have here in aus but if there isnt oh well in this fictional version of canada they have aussie beaches anyways, enjoy!

Tag List: @happinessinthedarkesttimes @littlemissaddict @vicesvsvirtuesfanfic @headheartbellarke @lovesanimals @bartok-the-magnificent @juliefromaustralia @multi-universe21 @rangerelik @kaitieskidmore1 @katrina765 @fandomxreaders @ifilwtmfc

It had all started when you had jokingly suggested that you should invite your boyfriend Charlie and his family along on your annual family trip to the beach. Your mother had agreed, and before you knew it she was on the phone to Charlie’s mother working the whole plan out.

Your family lives in Quebec, and Charlie’s in Dieppe, so your mum’s quickly decided that your family would drive to his house, and then the two families would continue the rest of the way together.

So that’s how you ended up in your dad’s old truck, pulling into the driveway of the Gillespie house at 6am in the morning after almost 8 hours of driving.

You jumped out quickly, wanting to get away from your brother’s annoying rap music and your sister’s constant whining about being bored as quickly as you could. The front door of Charlie’s house swung open and within a few seconds you were being pulled into the arms of your boyfriend, inhaling his familiar scent.

“God I missed you.” He murmured into your shoulder and you grinned.

“I missed you more handsome.” You replied, exchanging a soft kiss.

Charlie’s family joined him outside and after a few quick introductions, you were on your way to the beach, this time tucked away in the passenger’s seat of Charlie’s car.

Once you arrived your families spent the day at the beach, and Charlie couldn’t keep his hands off of you. By the time you finally headed off to bed you were certain that every other person in the house was sick of his touchy behaviour.

You made yourself comfortable on the bed, watching Charlie as he entered the room, shutting the door behind him.

“I don’t think your dad likes me that much.” He said with a giggle, flopping down onto the bed. You rolled over to look at him.

“He’d like you a lot more if you stopped looking at me and touching me like you want to fuck me at every free moment you have.” You stated, and a light blush appeared on Charlie’s cheeks.

“You think he noticed that?” He asked, pressing his nose against yours.

“I can’t imagine he wouldn’t. You haven’t been subtle at all. We’ve only been here for the day and you’ve tried to jump me three times and that’s not even counting the shower sex.” He grinned cheekily at your words.

“I can’t help it, you’re just so hot.” He whined, and you rolled your eyes.

“But we’re on a holiday with both of our families. You gotta tone down the horny.” You said. He sighed dramatically.

“Fine, I’ll try to be better tomorrow. But for now, we’re all alone... and it’s our first night...” He trailed off, pouting, his eyes dark with lust. You nodded once and that was all the consent he needed, crashing his lips against yours and making quick work of climbing on top of you and sliding his tongue into your mouth.

You moaned, your fingers scraping down his back as he grinded his hips into yours.

“Fuck.” You mumbled against his lips, your hands finding a place in his hair. You tugged lightly on his hair causing him to moan into your mouth.

“Hey Y/N?” Your mum’s voice called.

“Shit.” You exclaimed, pushing Charlie off you. Not expecting the reaction, he jumped slightly, falling off the edge of the bed with a thud.

You giggled as your mum opened the door, frowning as she took in the sight.

“Charlie, why are you on the floor?” She questioned. You laughed harder.

“Fell.” He replied simply, rolling over to stand up, climbing back onto the bed.

“What’s up Mum?” You asked, hoping that you didn’t look like you had been making out with your boyfriend only moments ago.

“Did you remember to grab the bag of board games? We were going to play Monopoly.” She said, leaning against the door. You nodded.

“I put it in the little den room.” You told her and she smiled.

“Thanks Hon, you two are welcome to join us if you’d like.” She invited. Charlie shook his head.

“We’re good thanks Mrs Y/L/N. My mum is scary good at Monopoly so I’d rather not lose to her again.” He grinned and your mum returned the smile.

“Well the offer is there if you want it.” She said, before leaving the room. You let out a sigh of relief.

“That was a close one.” You mumbled. Charlie nodded, leaning in to kiss you again. You pulled back, giving him an incredulous look.

“Really? You’re still horny after being interrupted by my mum and monopoly?” You asked. Charlie pouted.

“A bit.” He admitted. You rolled your eyes at him, pushing him away. He whined but gave in, curling up next to you instead.

“Tomorrow night.” You said, flicking the tv on. Charlie snuggled his face into your upper back.

“You promise?” He mumbled against your skin. You nodded.

“I promise. But only if you’re good during the day.” You bargained. He thought for a moment before humming in agreement.

“Deal.”

“This is not being good.” You whispered to Charlie as his hand crawled up your thigh at lunch the next day.

It was tradition for your family to get lunch at your favourite restaurant on the second day, and you had barely been there twenty minutes when Charlie started to get fidgety.

“I’m not doing anything.” He lied, giving you an innocent smile.

“Bullshit.” You muttered in reply, and Charlie shook his head, making a disapproving sound.

“Language.” He faked disappointment.

“Fuck you.” You rolled your eyes. He gave you a flirty smile.

“Oh I wish you would.” He teased, his voice deepening slightly.

“Charles.” You warned, and he sighed, sitting back up again, his hand returning to your knee.

“Remember our deal?” You said quietly, and he nodded.

“How could I forget, I’m so sexually frustrated I might explode.” He admitted. You stared at him in disbelief.

“We literally had sex yesterday evening.” You whispered, your voice hushed. Charlie nodded, eyes wide.

“Exactly! It’s almost been a whole 24 hours.” He sighed.

“A whole 24 hours since what?” Meghan questioned, and you choked on a mouthful of fish, grabbing your glass of Coke quickly to wash it down.

“None of your business.” Charlie retorted. “Stop eavesdropping.”

“Don’t have private conversations around other people then.” Meghan bit back, but dropped the conversation anyway. Charlie gave you a relieved look.

“That was close.” You muttered.

“You’re telling me. Almost enough to get rid of the semi in my pants.” He winked and you hit his arm.

“Charles. Stop it.” You reprimanded. He grinned cheekily.

“You love me.” He sung, placing a wet kiss on your cheek. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes.

“I’m reconsidering.”

“So what were you and Charlie discussing at lunch that was so private?” Meghan questioned, once you, her and your sister Isabella were alone sunbathing later that afternoon. You cringed slightly.

“You don’t want to know.” You replied.

“Oh god was it a sex thing?” Isabella gasped, and Meghan’s eyes widened in fear. You blushed.

“I told you that you didn’t want to know.” You said simply, and they both squealed in disgust.

“Do mum and dad know that you’re sleeping with Charlie?” Isabella asked after a pause. You rolled your eyes.

“I’m a fully grown adult Bel, I don’t need parental permission to have sex with my boyfriend.” You told her. Meghan fake gagged.

“Can we not talk about this? I do not want to think about my brother having sex.” She begged. You grinned slightly.

“You were the one who brought it up.” You said. Meghan sighed.

“If I’d known it was a sex thing I would have never.” She replied.

“With Charlie it’s always a sex thing.” You answered.

Meghan and Isabella groaned in unison as you giggled, flopping back into your chair.

You really needed to get some girl friends who weren’t your sister and your boyfriend’s sister.

“Was I good today?” Charlie questioned, jumping onto the bed next to you as you scrolled through Instagram that night.

You put you phone down, pretending to think.

“Well, you tried to tease me at lunch and then tried to discuss it, which then led to me having a very awkward conversation with our sisters about our sex life. So I’m gonna go with no.” You said. Charlie’s eyes widened.

“Y/N!” He gasped. “You can’t do that to me.”

“Why not? I told you to be good and you weren’t so that’s on you.” You replied, returning to scrolling on your phone. Charlie placed his head on your chest, pouting.

“But...” He trailed off. You raised an eyebrow.

“But what?” You questioned. He sighed loudly.

“But I’m so horny.” He complained. You rolled your eyes.

“That sounds like a you problem.” You replied.

“Baby.” Charlie whined, dragging out the ‘y’. “I’m gonna get blue balls, do you want that?”

“You’ve got hands. And I know you know how to use them.” You said. He sat up, giving you his infamous puppy eyes.

“Please?” He asked. You stared at him, not wiling to budge.

“Your sex drive is frankly disturbing Gillespie.” You told him.

“I know.” He agreed, batting his eyes at you. “Please?”

You groaned.

“Fine.” You said. His eyes widened.

“Really?” He questioned, a grin appearing on his face.

“Yes. Quickly, before I change my mind.” You nodded. Charlie moved forward but paused.

“Wait.” He said. You frowned.

“What now?” You questioned, your tone clearly showing your exasperation.

“You want to do this, right? I’m not making you do anything you don’t want to be doing?” He asked, suddenly serious, and your frown fell as your heart filled with love for the boy in front of you and the fact that he was still asking for consent despite how desperately horny he claimed to be. You lent in, kissing him gently.

“I promise you’re not forcing me to do anything I don’t want to do.” You said softly.

“You’re sure?” He checked. You nodded.

“Positive.” You reassured him. He grinned.

“I love you.” He whispered, leaning closer.

“I love you too.” You replied.

And with that Charlie pulled you towards him, ready to show you just how much he really loved you.

#charlie gillespie #charlie gillespie x reader #reader insert #charlie gillespie smut #charlie

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olivia-anderson-fanfic · 3 years

Text

Canary, Part 5

First

Tim tipped his head to the side as he considered the woman in front of him.

She had a slightly nervous smile as she pulled one of her earbuds out of her ears. “Hi.”

Her eyes flicked past him and, after quickly glancing back to make sure no one was about to attack him, he realized she was feeling cornered.

… probably because she was currently being cornered.

He hesitantly took a few steps to the side until he could lean against the wall. “I’m not here to hurt you or anything, I just want to talk,” he promised.

Her hand slipped out of her pocket. He was willing to bet that she had some kind of weapon in there.

Which was good, honestly. Gotham was a dangerous place for newcomers like her.

“... so, what’re you here for?” She asked when he didn’t say anything for a while.

He bit his lip as he considered her.

Marinette Dupain-Cheng, 27.

The first time they’d spotted her following them around, they’d assumed she was just another alias of Canary… but the fourteen aliases they had found for Canary so far had always had one thing in common: despite how far back it may have gone or how many connections she may have had, there was never anyone alive to corroborate her story.

She would have definitely done that this time since there was a 100% chance that the bats would notice her. Canary would have made sure that, no matter what, they couldn’t pop on over to anyone’s house and ask about her.

But Marinette had two parents. They were back in Paris, of course, but they still existed. Babs had spotted them walking to the grocery store just yesterday. They had a consistent call history with them dating back years.

He had entertained the idea that they could be paid actors… but Canary worked alone. She had informants and sponsors, sure, but partners? No. It had been nine years, if she was going to start working with people she probably would have done that already.

Marinette checked out.

… or, at least, she checked out in all ways but two.

“How did you get here?” Asked Tim.

Marinette frowned a little. “... plane?”

He shook his head. “We have footage of you at Roissy Airport, but you never arrived in Gotham.”

Her skin paled. “Must be a glitch.”

Okay. That’s definitely not suspicious at all, no way.

He raised his eyebrows. “I don’t think so, no.”

“Maybe you missed me.”

“With our facial recognition scanners? And three people checking it over?”

Her hand was back in her pocket and her eyes were flicking to the exit nervously.

“I’m not going to deport you or anything,” he added quickly. “Lots of people here aren’t documented and that’s totally fine, the immigration system is totally messed up… I’ll shut up about that now, that’s not helping... I just… want to know. Curious.”

“Paranoid,” she corrected with a hesitant grin.

“... cautious,” he said after a few seconds.

“Sure, if that’s what you want to call it.”

“It’s much nicer than paranoid, that’s for sure,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest.

She rolled her eyes and he smiled as some of the tension in her shoulders disappeared.

“The horse miraculous,” she said after a few seconds. “That’s how I got here.”

He sighed internally. Metas in Gotham. Not good. There was a reason that rule was in place. If metas -- even good ones -- started coming then there was nothing stopping the huge, otherworldly threats from following them over. They’d stick with their overdramatic fucks that need therapy, thanks, their gadgets didn’t exactly hold up against literal gods.

And then Marinette giggled. “You don’t need to look so scared. The weird old guy who holds onto all the miraculous… he doesn’t really use them, he just keeps them locked in a weird box thing. I just…” She shrugged. “I had something on him and he was more than happy to get rid of me.”

… well, that’s a little concerning, thought Tim.

Not exactly unexpected, though. She’d very publicly gotten a restraining order by Chat Noir around ten years prior and, while none of the other miraculous holders had come out against her, many of the ones that had revealed themselves as holders had already denounced her. Tim wouldn’t have been surprised if she had stalked more of them -- hell, she was stalking him and his family, clearly she hadn’t limited herself to Chat Noir.

But this raised his second question: “Why now?”

She cringed. “Well, I’d thought about moving a long time ago. No place in France was going to hire me with the whole ‘stalking one of their beloved superheroes’ thing… but I decided to stay for a while. I didn’t want it to seem like I was running away, y’know?”

He nodded his understanding slowly. That made sense. It wasn’t a decision based on logic, but not all decisions are.

She smiled awkwardly, rubbing the back of her neck. “Also, I kind of missed having superheroes, to be honest.”

Tim raised his eyebrows. He wasn’t going to correct her use of the word ‘superheroes’ instead of ‘vigilantes’, English was at least her second language and that would be rude, so he went down a different route: “I thought they still had their miraculous. It’d be stupid if they didn’t. Mayura is still out there and all.”

“As far as I know, everyone but Ladybug and Chat Noir gave up their miraculous. Everyone knows Mayura is just Adrien Agreste even if we can’t prove it. Nothing else makes sense,” she said with a shrug.

He bit his lip. “I thought that the secretary disappeared that day, though. Wasn’t it her?”

“Nathalie Sancoeur? I heard she moved to America,” Marinette said with a shrug. “But America hasn’t had any attacks, so no one in Paris thinks it was her. Adrien is probably just waiting until the miraculous holders drop their guards.”

He nodded slowly. He didn’t realize he was going to be gossiping and discussing conspiracy theories with a person who stalked heroes but, he had to admit, it was kind of fun. Reminded him of the good old days when he was just a kid who followed the bats around for fun.

… but that wasn’t how things were anymore. He had responsibilities now. Which he was currently not doing. Oops.

“I should get back to work.”

“I should get back to watching you work,” she half-joked.

He hesitated. “Is there any way I can convince you not to do that? Gotham isn’t Paris, it’s dangerous here.”

She grinned. “I stalked a guy who had a literal god at his beck and call. I can handle a few odd goons,” she said.

He bit his lip but nodded. “Call for help if you ever need it.”

“Fine. Fine.”

He got the distinct feeling that she wasn’t going to but he was going to give her the benefit of the doubt just for now.

He pulled his grapple gun from his belt and hooked it around the rooftop.

“See you later.”

“Well, you will see me later, I’ll --,” she began, only to cut herself off with a gasp: “NO!”

He quickly checked over his shoulder but he didn’t see anything. He turned back to her, questioning look on his face, only to see her devastated expression.

“Cedric died,” she said sadly, pointing at the ear with the earbud still in it.

…?

Marinette sat in a coffee shop, sipping at a drink as she worked on her computer.

Tim Drake had five coffee shops that he enjoyed. The tiny tweet she’d sent out a little over a week ago ensured that he wasn’t going to be allowed coffee at his place of work. So, he was likely to go and get coffee somewhere else. She was currently sitting at the one closest to WE.

… it was very expensive. She needed to drink her coffee slower.

She squinted at her resume with a frown.

She was pretty sure it was good enough to get in, but…

Marinette sighed lightly and let her head hit the table. Fuck. She hated this stupid job so much.

She heard the chair across from her scrape against the wooden floors and slowly lifted her head. She squinted at the guy in front of her for a minute.

“Hello,” she said carefully.

The brown-haired man smiled at her.

She glanced him up and down. He was clean in a slimy kind of way. He was too nice. His hair was coiffed perfectly, his suit neatly pressed, his face clean-shaven. People who had the guts to dress like that in Gotham were always the worst of the worst.

“Hi!” he said cheerfully.

She sighed. “You weren’t even going to ask if you could sit here?”

“You’ve been alone for a while. Figured it was safe to assume you didn’t have anyone.”

Cool. Cool cool cool. Her hand slipped to the dagger hidden in her hoodie pocket. She may not know what kind of bad he was, but he was definitely bad news.

“No, actually, I was just waiting for my friend to get off work so they could join me.”

“Oh! I’ll keep you company until they show up!”

Damn. She hated when people called her bluff.

She forced her most pleasant smile to her face. “No thanks. I have work to do, actually.”

“Applying for jobs, right?”

She paled.

“Sorry, but I was curious so I just peeked over your shoulder a little bit. I actually had a couple of openings at my job, and you seem like a good candidate, if you’d like --.”

“No!” She said quickly.

His smile didn’t waver, but his eyes narrowed just a little. “I was just offering you a job.”

“I don’t want to get a job this way. I prefer the formal interview process and everything,” she lied.

“Oh, well, my company is having interviews tomorrow and there should be an open spot around --.”

A hand came to rest on the man’s shoulder.

“Hey, bud, she said no.”

~~~

TheBetterCanary: @/BrucieWayne give me a hundred million dollars and ill stop doing crime

BrucieWayne: Done.

TheBetterCanary: i take it back five hundred million

BrucieWayne: Sure.

TheBetterCanary: a billion

BrucieWayne: Alright.

TheBetterCanary: what the fuck

~~~~~

Perma taglist: @nathleigh @peachmuses

Canary taglist: @jayjayspixiepop @unoriginalmess @miraculousfanfic127 @probably-a-hologram

#my little cousin stole my phone #:( havent seen it in days #its lost to the void #helpppppp #canary #maribat #timinette #timari #shutterbug #timmari #marinette dupain cheng #ladybug #tim drake #red robin

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sebstanseabass · 3 years

Text

Afterglow (A Bucky Barnes AU fan fiction) - Chapter 17

Afterglow chapters

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

One of the advantages of being a photographer — or a self-taught photographer in your case — is having the ability to acquire an eidetic memory. You remembered the hat that the little bitch (a four-year old) was wearing when she pushed you off the swings in daycare, or the little stain on your father's doctor's lab coat when your family had to rush him to the hospital, or what Peter was wearing the day you guys first met (some oversized flannel he borrowed from Bucky), or the look on your ex-boyfriend's face when you punched him in the face for cheating on you.

The attention to every pretty little detail is, and always will be, a must, and so not remembering where you had seen Bucky before killed you, or rather, was killing you.

It was a normal morning, well, better than your normal mornings to say the least, with Bucky spending the night in your bed. This time, you woke up first, all wrapped in nothing but sheets and Bucky's arms just like yesterday. You rolled over to his side and admired him in his sleep. Then, sudden flashes of Bucky's face from before flooded your memory. You didn't know when exactly was before. It felt like a kind of a deja vu moment.

While eating Bucky's homemade breakfast, in your mind, you listed all the possible places where you could've seen him before: a café, a bar you once went to in college, a bookstore, a museum, a convivial gathering, a convenience store, and any other places you could've bumped into him.

The morning grew unusually quiet and clouded, eliciting concern from Bucky.

"You seem awfully quiet this morning." He observed. "Are you alright, doll?"

"Y-yes, I am."

"Uh-oh, was the sex not great last night?" He joked, nudging his elbow against yours.

You shook your head, trying to smile a little. Thankful that Bucky was trying to keep everything light. "No, no, it was great. You were great. It's just... I'm just quite anxious for today."

Today, you were going to Sam's office and to his store on Fifth Street, to discuss the details about the project. It wasn't what you had in your mind this morning but as you told Bucky about it, you realized you really were getting a bit nervous about the meeting. It was a big deal, after all.

Sam's business, The Falcons, was getting more recognition than you thought. He was now in near competition with Nike and Adidas, especially with the rumors of him releasing brand-new footwear, that could — and you quote one of the articles you read while on break — “overthrow the big leagues.” That alone, already put you in the spotlight. So, whatever you put out there should only be a success, and not a flop; because if it were a failure, you wouldn't only be humiliating yourself, but Bucky as well.

"You're gonna do great!" He assured you. "Plus, it's just a meeting. You two already seem to have a grasp on the project, anyway."

"Yeah." You sighed. "You're right."

You wanted to ask Bucky if you had ever, ever, met each other before — perhaps during a party where you’ve rescued Peter before? — but you bit your tongue to stop yourself. You already did when you met, anyway. And everything was going great between the two of you — whatever the hell this was; besides, labels are overrated nowadays — and you didn't want to say anything or do anything that could potentially ruin it. You were beyond happy in your little bubble, and you could tell Bucky was, too.

You brushed all those thoughts at the back of your mind as you and Bucky strolled through Sam's building's hallways, ironically telling yourself it was all just in your head, that you were just quite edgy about this damn meeting, that you were just thinking about Bucky all the damn time; and the more you told these things to yourself, the more you believed it, and the more you hoped you would never have these thoughts again.

Today, you wore something a bit different than what you usually wore down at the bar. A blazer and pants set, adorned with black and white stripes, a tube top inside, and a white belt that kept the blazer on your sides. You got the set when you and Bucky were out shopping on Monday, of course, Bucky paid for it no matter how many times you refused. Your hair was let down, all the ends flowing down your shoulders until the bottom of your breasts. Lips painted bright red (which Bucky really, really liked). A bit of shimmer on your eyelids as well.

Today was a huge deal and you wanted to look your best.

Bucky kept his hand on the small of your back the whole time you walked, giving a sense of comfort and familiarity you now learned to be fond of. He told the story of how he met Sam (at a bar, where else?), how he had seen him grow in the industry (all the ups and downs), and also how they've always supported each other — the three of them.

"Wait, the three of you?" You asked. "There's another one?"

Bucky almost wanted to stop in his tracks but decided against it. He avoided your gaze, his eyes straight down the hallway. "Yes, but we've fallen apart." He said. "He has his own thing now. Anyway, let's not talk about it. We have more important things to deal with today."

Before you could even ask what the name of this third friend was, Sam appeared at the end of the hallway, with his arms wide open, like a king opening his arms to his heir. Bucky, without leaving your side, proceeded to hug Sam only using his free arm, "Hey, man," he said, and retreated back afterwards.

On the other hand, you shook Sam's hand and gave him a smile.

"Hi, Sam." You greeted. "Nice to see you again."

"You too... y/n." Sam replied, hiding a smirk you knew he was itching to show, hiding the fact that he wanted to mock Bucky by calling you "babydoll."

"You guys made it in time." He said. "Come with me to the conference hall."

Sam led you to his right where a white long table stood in the middle with a bunch of vacant office chairs around. A projector sat on the center of the table, a series of displays of sports apparel lying around, perfectly organized by color. A blonde woman had her back on you, flipping papers on a clipboard. Once she heard you come in, she swiveled around and put the clipboard on the table.

"Y/n, this is Sharon Carter, my assistant and the project manager assigned for this new release." Sam spoke. "She knows everything there is to know about how my business works, all the ins and outs. And if in any case I won't be around, you can always rely on her."

"Hi, nice to meet you." You said.

Sharon Carter, instead of answering verbally, just offered you a smile and a small nod. Her gaze shifted towards Bucky, and then Sam. "Mr. Wilson, does he need to be here?"

"Always a pleasure to see you, Sharon." Bucky chuckled.

Sharon ignored him and continued to talk to Sam; well, tried to. "All the details in today's meeting are confidential and he — "

"He's good, Sharon." Sam cut her off. "I doubt he'll be interested in this, anyway. He's just here for his... doll." Sam chortled and Bucky winked and clicked his tongue in response. "Besides, he's the one who introduced me to y/n."

Sharon sighed in defeat and tried to smile at her boss. "Very well then."

"Please, take a seat." Sam offered, leading you towards the vacant chairs.

While walking towards the chairs, Bucky bent over on your side and whispered: "Don't worry, she's usually like that" which gave you relief.

"Good," you whispered back, "for a moment there, I thought she hated my guts."

"To be fair, she usually hates everyone's guts. Especially mine." Then, he placed a small kiss on your temple before pulling out a chair for you. "You'll do great, doll."

"Alright," Sharon started, glaring at Bucky, "shall we begin?"

The meeting lasted longer than you had liked it to be, and for a little while, it suddenly became an understanding of the difference between working with small, independent businesses and big businesses such as Sam's. Usually, you had a lot of artistic upper hand when it came to the small ones, seeing as they were still starting — and it was also where your college degree came in handy. You would talk to them about advertising, and marketing strategies through product photography. And that was that. But Sam's business already had something to start with.

Something already big.

In the middle of the presentation, Bucky reached for your hand under the table (which took you by surprise), hooking his pinky into yours.

"Just hold my pinky like this if this is too overwhelming for you." He whispered.

"Why the pinky?"

He just shrugged in response, a smile playing on his lips.

Sharon walked you all the way through it, careful not to miss any kind of detail, small or big: from the moment the business started (Sam working in retail, then reselling clothes, then making streetwear designs of his own until he landed on sporting apparels), and to what made the business grow what it is right now.

"Inclusivity." She continued, clicking on the next slide, "This is what The Falcons is going to be all about. Plus-size workout clothes, a huge array of colors suited for every skin tone — literally any color you can think of. We also have workout clothes and streetwear in one which means new designs and new materials. And of course, the new footwear. Bringing the light in speed, bringing new comfort, a new aesthetic, footwear for all. Again, inclusivity. Right in front of you," she pointed to all the sports apparel lying on the table, "are the new designs. We just received the first batch yesterday and we're expecting the second and last one hopefully this weekend just in time for the photoshoots any day next week."

"Me and the marketing team haven't actually discussed the photoshoot details, but they've had that with Sharon, seeing as she's the project head. All I have to do is approve it," Sam said, looking at you, "with you here, of course."

You nodded in agreement, then looked at Sharon. "Will we discuss, perhaps, half of it today?"

"Oh, I can discuss all of it." Sharon smugly replied. "I have a very promising proposal right here." She clicked the next slide, showing photos of various known models. "Let's start with the models. The new faces of the Falcons — "

"Hi, sorry. Can I weigh in on this one?" You interrupted as you scanned the faces of the models in front.

"I haven't finished yet."

You looked at Sam, who had his finger on his chin (assessing the situation), pleading with him with your eyes. "Go ahead, y/n." He said, nodding.

"Thank you, Sam." You replied then went back to the screen. "If I'm not mistaken, that's Kendall Jenner."

"Yes, it is."

"That's not exactly a new face." You argued. "And isn't she already an ambassador for Adidas?"

"It is a new face of The Falcons." She answered. "And she's actually ending her contract with Adidas. Something about breach of contract or some sort that I cannot legally discuss with outsiders."

"Where are the plus-size models?" You asked.

"I was actually getting to it." She clicked the next slide.

"Ashley Graham?"

"Yes, her. She's the perfect candidate."

You bit your lip, leaning forward on the table and unhooking your pinky with Bucky's. "Look, all of these models are gorgeous and handsome and good models but they're faces you see every single day on billboards — "

"Exactly. They're faces you see every single day." She repeated. "That means that these faces sell. And that's what we want for this release."

"I thought what you wanted was inclusivity." You frowned. "We should get people who are real athletes and models from different races, colors, and sizes. Real people, not these people you see every day on your phone or everywhere you go. These models are overrated, anyways." You faced Sam, who was listening intently. "Let's not get faces but stories instead. I believe that's what will separate The Falcons from these huge brands. It's a new release, right? Might as well make everything new."

Your words hung in the air, rendering the whole conference room quiet. Until Sharon broke it off. "Business doesn't work that way. I went to business school. I know how the system works."

You chuckled. "I majored in business and finance. Trust me, I know everything there is to know about business, not just you."

She was dumbfounded but tried to hide it, anyway. "But this is my proposal. You don't have a say on who we should get. You don't work for The Falcons."

"I know." You sighed. "But I'm working with you, and I have a say in this as much as you do." You glanced at Sam who was deep in thought. "But of course, Sam will always have the last say."

You leaned back in your chair, your chest heaving. With your eyes straight ahead, you grabbed Bucky's hand and hooked your pinky with his.

"Sharon," Sam started, "that was an excellent presentation and I humbly appreciate it but y/n does have a point. I wouldn't want these people representing The Falcons. I want people like me, people with stories to tell. Inclusivity isn't a marketing strategy, or a statement. It's what I believe in. And you," he swiveled his chair in your direction, "made a good case out of it."

You broke out in a smile, glancing at Bucky who also did the same. He now intertwined his fingers with yours, squeezing your hand three times.

"Sharon, find new models and athletes and have their profiles by next week. Let's think of it like... Kind of like a casting call." Sam said, standing up. "Now, let's dismiss this meeting 'cause I am starving."

"You have got to get a new assistant, Sam." Bucky groaned as you got inside Bucky's limo. You had lunch at some fancy restaurant in Manhattan before Sam showed you around the main store down Fifth Street.

You laughed, greeting Howard who gave you a smile through the rearview mirror. "She's the best assistant I could ever get."

"Please." Bucky said. "You could have better. She's just, ugh, I don't know, what's the word for someone who thinks she's better than everyone else in the room? Who hates practically everyone but goes to great, great lengths just to kiss your ass — "

"Alright, alright!" Sam cut him off, laughing. "I get it, man. But y'know I can't afford to lose her. It took me months to get a loyal and honest assistant."

"Ugh, fine."

"You just want her out because you're protecting your little babydoll."

"Jesus, Sam." Bucky said. "Stop calling her that."

"Yeah, stop calling me that." You frowned, leaning on Bucky's side and wrapping your hand around his muscular arm. "Only he gets to call me that."

"You guys make me sick." Sam joked.

You turned towards Bucky who had the end of his eyes, crinkled, and nose, scrunched. "Hey," you said, grabbing his attention, "did you get a text from Parker last night?"

His expression became relaxed, and looked at you. "Yes, actually. Something about a kid named Schmidt."

You chuckled. "Yeah, he's kind of a bully. Remind me to beat his ass when he comes to the bar. You won't miss him. He's got way too much gel in his hair, and too much of a know-it-all, kind of like, Ross Geller."

"Oh, I'd like to watch you beat someone up." Sam nodded, smirking. "You know what, I'd pay you to punch Parker."

"Oh come on, Sam." Bucky laughed.

"Nah, I'm kidding. I love that little kid. Speaking of Peter," Sam cleared his throat, "what are you guys gonna do when he gets back?"

You and Bucky fell silent, hooking your pinky with his once more. "We, uh," you glanced at Bucky who had his eyes on his shoes, "we haven't talked about it yet. But we will tell him, that's for sure. Right, James?"

His eyes shot up to yours, then at Sam. "Yes, yes, of course. I mean it's Peter. Of course, we'll tell him. Just not right away."

"What do you mean not right away?" You frowned.

"Well, we can't flat out tell the guy we're dating the moment he comes back. I don't want him to have a heart attack." Then, he bent down a little, leveling his mouth on your ear. "We are dating, right?"

"Well, we haven't talked about it and we're certainly not talking about it in front of Sam." You replied, glancing at Sam who was just staring at the both of you.

"We're here, Mr. Barnes." The partition pulled open, revealing Howard's voice. The three of you got out of the limo, the bar right just right in front. Before we even got to enter the bar, Sam tapped your shoulder and called out to Bucky.

"Do you mind if I borrow your girl for a moment? I'll just have to discuss something work-related."

Bucky turned around and glanced at the both of us. "Yes, sure." He pecked you on the lips then turned around to enter the bar.

"This is actually about Bucky." Sam said.

"Oh." You said. "Okay. What about Bucky?"

"I have to say, I haven't seen him that happy."

"Uh, isn't that supposed to be a good thing?"

"It is, it is! And I'm glad he has you."

"But?"

He sighed. "But just be careful with him. Look, y/n, he's a good guy and all; we're practically brothers... But he's a child. I've known him since we were teenagers. He's almost forty and not once has he had a serious relationship."

"What are you trying to say, Sam?"

"You've only known him for, what, a couple of weeks? Don't you think this is going a little too fast?"

"I like Bucky." You replied. "I genuinely do and what we do or how we do is honestly none of your business. It doesn't matter how long I've known him. I appreciate you looking out for Bucky, but Bucky's an adult. We're all adults here. We can handle ourselves."

"Just promise me one thing."

"Sure."

"Don't hurt my friend." He said. "He may act like this rich bitch just parading around town, getting by with his manly looks and shit, but he's a child. He doesn't know what he wants. If you hurt him, you'll also end up hurting yourself. So, be careful, alright? Think this through, and talk with him."

Silence.

"Promise me, y/n."

You nodded. "Yeah, I promise."

"Good. Now let's head in there, I need a drink."

"Wait, Sam." You said, making Sam stop in his tracks. "Do you think Bucky likes me as much as I do?"

"I can't say for sure." Sam replied before walking inside.

You leaned your back against the brick wall, hitting the back of your head. You closed your eyes, letting all your thoughts rush in.

Still feeling a little bit light-headed, you went inside (which was still empty except for Nat, Sam, and Bucky) and as soon as Nat's eyes landed on your figure, she whistled. "Oh wow, Mrs. Fancypants!"

You chuckled, removing your blazer, revealing the tight black tube top as it was getting a bit hot. "Shut up, Nat."

"Woah, somebody call the fire department 'cause it's getting hoooot in here!" Nat continued then tilted her head towards Bucky. "Hey big guy, if you're not gonna hit that, I will."

You rolled your eyes, chucking the blazer to her face. You turned to Bucky who was sitting in the usual booth with Sam. "She said the same thing to me about you."

"Don't expose me like that, y/n. Not. Cool."

You giggled, sliding in the booth and greeting Bucky with a kiss on the cheek. "Hey, you."

"Hey, doll." He smiled, placing his hand on your thigh and pulling you closer. "We were just talking about you."

You glanced at Sam, who was smiling at you. "Oh, really?"

"Yeah." Sam nodded. "Don't worry, it's all good. And, y/n... That thing we talked about earlier."

"What about it?" You asked.

"We're good." He answered. "And to answer that last question, he does."

You beamed. "Really? He does?" You asked, as if Bucky wasn't even in the room.

"Yes, he really does."

"Hey, what are you guys talking about?" Bucky asked out of curiosity.

You glanced at Sam, smiling, "Oh, just this model I want for the shoot," and then you looked back at Bucky, "I was kind of having doubts for a hot minute over there about him, but, everything's fine. Everything's good."

"Good." He kissed your temple softly, making your heart flutter. "It should be."

#bucky barnes story #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fan fiction #bucky #James Buchanan Barnes #Bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky fic #bucky fanfic #bucky story #marvel #bucky x female reader

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incarnateirony · 4 years

Text

An anti dressed up as a shipper, an idiot, and a terf all walk into the same bar.

It’s the same picture person.

A lesson.

Warning: if the title doesn’t give it away, queerphobic content comes up in this from the other party being documented.

So, some of you may have watched a twitter exercise yesterday.

It started simple: concern trolling white knight “for the writers” comes in to angrily declare fans doing something tagged in support of them about Destiel was “out of line.” She claimed things like “Misha was gaslit into supporting Destiel”, and pulled all kinds of stunts.

She immediately got on a soap box yelling “I HAVE A LIT CRIT DEGREE, I KNOW AUTHOR INTENT” of course implying she knew better than EVERYONE around her how to read text. She then pulled, of all things, @chill-legilimens ‘ article about the network gods gutting the show out of the internet, and somehow misread it SO FUCKING BADLY -- SO FUCKING BADLY -- she thought it aligned with HER. She argued that fans influenced the writers, essentially, and basically pulled the exact opposite of the very clearly delivered message there out. When it was pointed out we know this author and even sometimes help edit their pieces, and she was, flat out misreading it while bragging about how good she is at deciphering text, it turned into a SHITSHOW.

I had watched her give a large group of queer people 2 days of runaround, while they tried to be polite, and similarly tried to prove everything while she proved nothing. Just preached. After 2 days of them exhausting themselves on her, I came in doing my blunt & savage thing, because fuck civility culture when it’s used by oppressors. Of course, she immediately started tone policing, while herself being an arrogant shitbrick the whole way.

She continued to preach author intent and talk down about “headcanons.” You see, she knew the authors very well. Berens’ name was mentioned in passing, and she came back with. “Who’s Berens? Is that the author of the article?” after Deirdre’s name had been directly cited in associated with it about 15 times.

(credit: @judgehangman )

But it gets better. She started pulling the “authors have said Dean is straight.” line. Now, at this point, we had already sourced her at least four pieces of information (quite formally too: SPN Official DVD Collection Season 8 episode 13 creative commentary, Edlund and Sgriccia; Dissent Magazine The Attack Queers Bob Berens review; the books in the office with screenshots, and more.) So we issued one simple request: Okay. Source.

For the next-- I shit you not-- 10 hours she bricked the thread to death, finding any and EVERY rabbit hole she could try to venture down. For the first hour or two a few of us tried to actually debate her newly raised points, but still gave reminder that we were waiting for her source. Every tweet was an opportunity for her to drop a 15 tweet thread trying to derail onto a new topic, and often clarifying she had no idea about any of it (Edlund, Sgriccia, Berens, Dabb--who she couldn’t spell the name of--and Deirdre all became an amorpheous blob in her retelling that she swore she looked at sources and wasn’t convinced, while she crossed all the data and comments about the sources). She tried to challenge that anyone could know all the writers and episodes just because she proved she couldn’t, even when multiple people expressed it to her extremely rapidly with not just author and director listings, but cross references on when they overlapped and major elements (like the 15.20 shot 19 tree being the Kim Manners memorial tree). She randomly babbled about Kripke once. Lied her way through and claimed those sources were vague. Etc.

But at some point, I decided, we’re not playing this distraction game. You wanted a debate, you claim you have a lit crit degree, and thus know the entire art is Argumentation. A source, if you’re declaring knowing author intent. One source. Any time she dropped a distraction tweet, I replied to her thread with things like a list of our sources vs her lack of any and a reminder. I installed a counter ticker. How many times had she been asked to either recant her point or give a single source?

Someone made a list of the logical fallacies she used in the argument. It was two tweets long and still missed several obvious ones. That didn’t stop her. Neither did the dozens of requests for a source or a recant. Onwards, she marched, derailing time and again. She brought in a buddy to try to distract, but he fell out real quick when he realized “the burden of proof lies on the arguer” shot him and her both in the feet in record time and he ducked out.

Other greatest hits came out like “Dubs (Dabb’s) fanfic books”, and calling the ability to list authors and episodes “headcanons.”

Over time, the dialogue shifted: see, she came in trying the snide “enjoy your headcanons” downtalk, but as time and time again she was pulverized on every point about the show, or the authors, or anything else while STILL never even giving a single source to even her FIRST POINT and running distractions, it became a reality-- she was told, “We’ll enjoy our canon and author intent. You can enjoy your headcanon of... Dabb’s fanfic books and Lord Barons and the writers being collective hallucinations and whatever else in your hot takes about the show content itself” and she FLIPPED SHIT.

As the ticker for sources approached 100, she started becoming flustered. Before that, even, she started repetitively misgendering Ezra (no tumblr to link in), and Ezra screenshot their bio of they/them and asked them to adjust. Ignored. Ezra linked this request and asked it to be addressed again, and again, and again. 13 times. Ezra linked it 13 times. She even replied to several of them. No avail. No change. Not until literally any and every tweet in her vicinity either had “source?” or “address gender?” for her to reply to did she flee there, and write some giant write-around of “oh, I didn’t see this, sorry” but still refused to actually use it. Or “I’ll use the right one now.” No, just completely strickened pronouns from her vocabulary with Ezra moving forward, after not one mistake, not two, not five, but 13 answers.

At this point, I notice a trend: throughout the entire conversation, she had flip flopped on my pronouns, clearly confused as to what to call me. As I generally don’t care (honestly I prefer he but meh), it didn’t ping me as something to react to while she switched religiously between “he” and “she”. But I realized now, despite all of that confusion: she never once thought to use “they.” Also earlier we found tweets of hers that, while now declaring herself bisexual, she used troublesome wording in the past to blur the line on if she was an ally or, as she phrased it “maybe less than 100% straight in the bell curve” in other conversations.

I mutter about this on the side to Ezra and some friends, but continue on towards the 100 ticker that was the goal to show people in this digital terrarium how disingenuous most people you argue with are -- an exhibit for the class. They know they’re lying and have been caught, but will not cede to admit “oops, I guess I was wrong.” but rather stick, unironically, to their own headcanons about things. After all, they vaguely sorta apologized even if suddenly just refusing to use any pronouns at all on Ezra after that. And she’s so quick to disappear into 15 tweet bombs of distraction trying to play victim for being held accountable at this point, we just didn’t jump to a conclusion on that, alarming as it is.

So. You know. Source.

At this point, she RANDOMLY starts evoking the fact that like, How Dare, She Watched Gay Men Die To AIDS, She Is A Great Philanthropist How Dare How Dare.

I’m sorry, did you just evoke the blood of our dead to run away from the most basic scrap of accountability in what is literally the first wave of a lit debate because for the last 10 hours you have refused to take the necessary steps to move on to the next point? Did you... just... evoke the ghosts of gay men that were genocided to, essentially, pull up a smokescreen and run away from being party to queer erasure? Or even just? Giving a source? or admitting you were wrong on one point in a debate? Wow, you really just did that.

Naturally, people involved got pissed. Her Sources ticker hit 100, but at this point, all that haunted her was how completely fucking vile and inappropriate that was in this discussion.

She got blocked. She then tried to glom onto anyone that hadn’t blocked or muted her and run the same argumentation points she had earlier been decimated in the argument with, while yelling “I ship Destiel too! I wanted them to have sex too! Why does this make me the bad guy?” around the block and hoping nobody actually read the thread. She tried to pitch the “headcanons” point of view again, hoping a new audience would lick her boots. She was, largely, ignored; given a few more comments about her leaving the conversation losing all points and only covered in the blood of our dead she was so proud of; blocked by a few more. (unsurprisingly, if you check her actual tweet history, she seems more invested in Megstiel but)

This is when CommaSameleon -- a professor with two lit degrees and a primary focus in teaching the art of Argumentation -- literally -- stepped in. She initially tried to engage the fact that, well, this woman not only can’t argue out of a paper sack but wasn’t even arguing, she was just running in circles and distracting from all the points and hadn’t addressed a single lit point directly while preaching down at people. But Sam, also, noticed something. This woman kept changing things like “queerphobia” to “homophobia.” Sam mentioned this kinda puts off TERF vibes (I think Sam picked up on the gendering thing herself too.)

Her response? Which she deleted since? But Discord’s embed helpfully saved?

Her inacted non-apologies remain weak, especially in any form of debate be it lit or now queer topics.

Oh I’m sorry, let’s recap her viewpoints: TERF is a slur. “They” is made up and should be avoided at all costs. The blood of dead gay men are a token to use in a lit debate you’re avoiding responsibility in. After this, “authors are headcanons” is suddenly not your worst take, but fascinating that you 13 times didn’t even read the blatant ass screenshot. And I mean, these weren’t subtle or easy to miss these 13 times.

100. She had 100 chances, literally, on a timer, to give a source or shut up with her platforming until she had one. Instead, she chose every rabbit hole she could manifest to disappear into, only to be met by another request for a source, and not moving on until we address the first points. We’ve given ours, now you give yours. Instead, you choose this. This is the hill you choose to die on, rather than admitting, “Sorry, I guess I was wrong” or “I guess I heard that somewhere, my bad.” 100 chances. 13 direct QT requests to address gender which she replied to but didn’t reply to until cornered (and still didn’t, truly, reply to), and “TERF is a slur.” Oh, and after waving around the dead men’s blood she also suddenly Can’t Be A Terf Because She Adopted Two Trans Kids. Lord help those children. Or, you know, the more realistic thing is she’s just manifesting all kinds of bullshit at this point to save face, which is probably why she deleted all the related tweets that show she’s a giant-ass TERF.

So anyway, this is very much a lesson on:

Paying attention to how people manipulate conversation to erase genuine discussion and debate.

Paying attention to WHY they do it. Motivation on methods and tactics will clear up a lot.

Figuring out HOW they try to sound woke about shit and when it’s entirely fucking vile and inappropriate to pull

And by all above points, figuring out that these people are among us, and how NOT to let them influence your conversations.

I don’t care if it’s about a discussion on a ship or show or anything else. People do this. A lot. Extremely dedicatedly, if the 100 asks doesn’t make that clear.

Stop letting people railroad your conversations with disingenuous bullshit.

So anyway in honor of this I made everyone a gif

Use at will. It’s tagged anti-terf if you want to use the search feature on it.

UPDATE:

Just went and checked. She went and deleted literally her entire side of the conversation, hundreds if not thousands of tweets. Luckily, Ezra mentioned repeatedly -- and I do trust them inherently -- that they were saving the entire conversation, so that zip file exists somewhere. How fascinating, after she accused us that we would want to delete tweets. Someone realized they had a bad look and giant failure all around.

Also, a related anon that links to an earlier part of this conversation I didn’t even document where she was crying about “cis erasure” [x] This shit went on so long I legit forgot about that.

#supernatural #spn #destiel #anti-terf #debate

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