#love it when I get a chain of hyperfixations that grab on and don’t let go bc then I just fucking go HAM and draw

[paper-lilypie]

the cool girl and the geek and their happy ending

[maybeimamuppet]

the pursuit of a name

hello everyone!! 

i might as well reintroduce myself here since i’ll likely get some new readers! i’m ezzy and i’m 21, i usually write for mean girls the musical but i’ve recently watched the new matilda movie and hohoooo the hyperfixation resurgence was just. WOW so anyway! here i am lol

there’ll be more information for you towards the end but i don’t want to take up too much space at the beginning. 

tw for 

mentioned/implied abuse 

and please let me know if i miss any warnings so i can add them in!!

enjoy!!

—————

“I’m back,” Matilda says as she opens and closes the door to their place. 

“Hi, darling,” Miss Honey greets. “Is Mrs. Phelps well?”

“Oh, yes,” Matilda says as she comes to join her in the kitchen. “She gave me this for you.”

“Oh,” Miss Honey says as Matilda rests a well-loved copy of An Honest Thief on the table. “I’ve been wanting to read this again.”

“I know,” Matilda says with an impish smile. “Oh, she gave me extra lemonade for you, too.” 

“How nice of her, thank you,” Miss Honey says as Matilda puts the tin thermos on the table as well. 

“What are you doing?” 

“I’m working on a few papers to finalize your adoption,” Miss Honey sighs. 

“Oh.” Matilda says. 

“Oh?” Miss Honey questions, peeking at her over the tops of her reading glasses. “Are you upset about it?” 

“Aren’t you?” Matilda asks softly. “You look stressed.” 

“No, darling, no,” Miss Honey says immediately. “The forms have been… a challenge, just because we have no way of getting in touch with your biological parents. Some information I need, I can’t get. But there’s ways around the lot of that for circumstances like ours.”

“Oh.” Matilda says again. “What information?”

“Nothing I think you’d know, brilliant as you are,” Miss Honey sighs, removing her glasses and leaving them to hang by the chain around her neck. “Oh, but your middle name, what is that?” 

“I haven’t got one,” Matilda says quietly. “My parents said I was lucky I got a name at all.” 

Miss Honey sighs and gently tips up Matilda’s chin. “They were lucky that they got a Matilda.” 

Matilda gives her a small grin, but there’s a sadness behind it that makes Miss Honey frown. 

“We have the opportunity to change your name when your adoption goes through. Would you like to?” 

“I’m not sure,” Matilda says. “I… I am Matilda. I like my name.”

“We don’t have to change your first name if you don’t want to. Matilda is a perfectly suitable and lovely name for you,” Miss Honey says. “But if you’d like to pick a middle name for yourself, we could do that.” 

Matilda mulls this over. “Can I think about it?”

“Of course,” Miss Honey says comfortingly. “Take all the time you need. A name is a big decision.” 

Matilda nods. “I’m going to go put these in my bedroom.”

“Alright,” Miss Honey says as Matilda stands and grabs her large stack of new books. “Oh, that reminds me!”

Matilda pauses on the staircase and turns to see her. 

“We still need to decorate. Would you like to head to the shops today and see what we can find?” 

Matilda’s face splits into a wide smile and she nods eagerly. Miss Honey grins back and motions her up the stairs. Matilda heads up a few more before she pauses again. “Miss Honey?”

“Yes?” 

“Will I be a Honey too?” Matilda asks. “When I’m adopted?” 

“If… if you’d like to be,” Miss Honey says, trying to hide her excitement. “Is that what you’d want?” 

Matilda nods. “Matilda Honey sounds much nicer than Matilda Wormwood.” 

“Then you’ll be Matilda Honey,” Miss Honey confirms. Matilda smiles again and rushes up the stairs. 

—-

“What sort of theme do you think you’d like your room to have?” Miss Honey asks as they peruse the aisles of the home decor shop. 

“I don’t know,” Matilda says softly, holding her hand as she looks at all the different options. Dinosaurs, flowers, the circus, dogs, different cartoon characters… it’s overwhelming.

“That’s alright,” Miss Honey says comfortingly. “We can take our time with it. How about we start with a color, to simplify things? Do you have a favorite color, Matilda?” 

“Blue,” Matilda responds. “Would a blue bedroom be too terribly depressing?” 

“I don’t think so,” Miss Honey replies. “Blue is a very relaxing color, I think that would be a fine color to paint your room.”

“Do you like blue, Miss Honey?” Matilda asks, looking up at her. 

“I do,” Miss Honey says. “I think it’s a wonderful color. So many lovely things are blue.” 

“Like the sky,” Matilda says. 

“And bluebells,” Miss Honey says. 

“And the sea.”

“And your eyes,” Miss Honey says, gently tapping the end of Matilda’s nose. Matilda blinks in shock before she giggles faintly. “Let’s go pick some paint.” 

Matilda follows her to the paint aisle and looks around at all the different swatch cards. Miss Honey picks a few blue ones and starts perusing the different shade names. 

“These colors have very strange names,” Matilda says as she grabs a few too. 

“They do, don’t they?” Miss Honey chuckles. “Look here, this one’s called Lost at Sea.” 

Matilda giggles as she holds up one of the cards. “I’ve got one called English Channel.”

Miss Honey chuckles as she reads the one Matilda holds up. “How funny. It’s a lovely shade, though.” 

“It is,” Matilda agrees with a nod. “But I like this one.” 

“Light Sky,” Miss Honey reads through the glasses perched on the tip of her nose. “It’s quite peaceful.”

“Yes,” Matilda says. “Whenever I got overwhelmed before I could do my telekinesis, I used to imagine myself floating in the sky with the clouds. On a hot air balloon, or something. And I was so high up nothing could bother me anymore.” 

“That sounds lovely,” Miss Honey murmurs softly. “Would you like to do that in your room? We could paint the walls this color if you’d like, and add clouds.”

“Could we?” 

Miss Honey crouches down to her eye level. “We can do whatever we’d like.” 

Matilda beams and tackles her in a hug. Miss Honey squeezes her close and gently strokes through the soft ends of Matilda’s hair. They stay that way for a moment, both of them relishing in having someone dear they can hold close, before Miss Honey grabs the swatch card and heads to find someone to mix it up for them. Matilda follows, tightly holding her hand. 

—-

They start painting the next day. They were both quite exhausted after their shopping day, but Matilda is so eager to get started that Miss Honey can’t find it in herself to push it back any further. 

They don some tattered old things of Miss Honey’s that can stand to get covered in paint. Matilda giggles when she sees her in the ill-fitting and informal sweatshirt and jeans. Miss Honey laughs right back seeing Matilda swimming in an old button-down blouse with holes in the elbows and some shorts tied to fit around her waist. 

“Miss Honey?” Matilda asks as she takes a small brush to outline the electrical outlets. 

“Yes, Matilda?” Miss Honey replies as she rolls the blue over a section of the first wall. 

“What’s your middle name?” 

“My middle name is Faith,” Miss Honey says. “My father said that it took so much faith for he and my mother to have me that they hardly even had to think about it.” 

“Jennifer Faith Honey,” Matilda recites to herself. “It’s pretty.”

“Thank you,” Miss Honey says. 

“Is it very common to take someone else’s middle name?” Matilda asks as she outlines the light switch. 

“Not very common, I would think,” Miss Honey says. 

“Oh,” Matilda replies. Miss Honey smiles sadly. 

“Were you hoping to share a name?” 

“Not really,” Matilda shrugs. “I’m just looking for inspiration.” 

“I think you’ll know when you find the proper one for you,” Miss Honey says, finishing the first wall. 

“Matilda Faith sounds nice, but I don’t think it’s right for me,” Matilda replies. 

“And that’s perfectly alright. We’ll get your name sorted out whenever you find the right one for you,” Miss Honey says. She takes a step back to admire her work. “What do you think?”

“It’s brilliant,” Matilda says, unable to keep a smile off her face. 

“Good,” Miss Honey says, panting a bit for breath. “Hard work, isn’t it?” 

Matilda rests her brush on the tray and nods, coming to hug her. “Thank you.” 

“Of course, my little firefly,” Miss Honey murmurs, kissing the top of her head. “You’ve got paint in your hair.” 

“You smell of it.” 

“I think we’ll both need a bath after we finish here,” Miss Honey chuckles. 

They continue chatting as they paint the other three walls. Matilda eventually finishes all her outlets and joins in using the rollers. With the both of them working it goes much more quickly, though Matilda can only reach about three quarters of the way up the wall with hers and has to leave Miss Honey to do the rest. 

By the time they finish the last, the first wall has dried. Miss Honey cracks open the can of white paint they purchased and takes a sponge. Matilda watches curiously as she dabs it in seemingly random spots on the wall in front of her, until she pulls back and reveals a quaint little cloud. 

“What do you think?” 

“It’s fantastic,” Matilda beams. Miss Honey smiles back and holds out the sponge. 

“Why don’t you do a few?” 

Matilda takes the sponge from her hand and dips it into the paint. She picks a spot on the wall and stares at it, unmoving.

“Matilda?” 

“What if I ruin it?” Matilda asks worriedly. Miss Honey gently rests a hand on her shoulder and leans in to look from Matilda’s eye level. 

“Have you ever seen a perfect cloud?” she asks softly. Matilda thinks before she shakes her head. “Then how could you ruin it?” 

She gently slides her hand down Matilda’s arm and guides the sponge to the wall. Once it’s squished against the surface and the first splotch of white is there, Matilda’s fear dissipates the slightest bit. She pulls it away and dabs it around in a few more spots before she takes a step back to see what she’s done. 

A delightful, fluffy looking cloud sits before her. 

“Beautiful,” Miss Honey says. “Do a few more.” 

“What are you going to do?” Matilda asks. Her eyes widen as Miss Honey suddenly pulls out several tiny pots of various colored paints. 

“Skies with just clouds are boring, don’t you think?” 

Matilda smiles and nods. Miss Honey grabs a step stool and heads to the corner of the wall closest to Matilda’s window. 

Matilda sponges on another cloud as Miss Honey outlines a hot air balloon in a rainbow of colors. 

Miss Honey is beautiful when she’s concentrating on something. Matilda likes watching her read, or cook, or clean, or do paperwork. Anything, really. Her eyes aren’t angry the way her parents’ used to be. They simply look… excited. Welcoming to whatever this project she’s working on might bring her. 

Her hair is unkempt today, since they’ve been working so hard. Matilda observes the frizzy strands framing her face, illuminated from behind by the afternoon sun streaming in through the window. She looks like the angels in all those paintings in the books about art Matilda has read. Matilda doesn’t believe in angels in the biblical sense, but if there ever was a real one, it would be Miss Honey.

The silence between them is peaceful as they continue working on the accent wall. Matilda’s old house was always loud; whether due to her parents shouting at each other or just the ever-on television. It’s quiet, here, but in a comforting sort of way. Miss Honey doesn’t feel a need to speak all the time. Matilda appreciates that. 

Miss Honey starts humming a tune to herself as she works. She sings and hums a lot. Her voice is soft, and sweet. She almost never notices she’s doing it. Matilda often just sits and listens to the comforting, dulcet tones of her voice. She doesn’t dare mention the humming or the singing to Miss Honey’s face, lest she become self conscious and stop it altogether. 

Their home is quiet, but not silent. And Matilda is perfectly happy with that. 

-

The sun is beginning to set by the time they finish with their respective tasks. Miss Honey has painted the most beautiful hot air balloon Matilda could’ve possibly imagined, with stripes in every color of the rainbow holding up the little basket. 

“I think we need one last finishing touch,” Miss Honey says as they admire their handiwork from the other side of the room, hands resting pensively on their chins. 

“Finishing touch?” 

Miss Honey grabs the yellow paint and pours some into an empty tray. Matilda approaches in confusion, which only grows when Miss Honey sticks her hands into it. 

“Miss Honey!” 

“I think…” Miss Honey says pensively, looking at every little place on the wall. She reaches up high and places one hand on the wall. “Here.” 

“What are you doing?” Matilda giggles. Miss Honey lines up her other hand against the first handprint so it’s facing the other way and repeats the motion. 

“Come on,” Miss Honey coaxes, motioning to the paint with a smile. Matilda hesitates for a second before sticking her little hands into the gloopy yellow paint. Miss Honey comes up behind her and hoists her into the air. “Put one handprint there.” 

Matilda does, lining up her hand so it’s perpendicular to Miss Honey’s handprints and squishing it against the wall. She squeals slightly as the paint oozes and gets between her fingers. 

“And there,” Miss Honey coaches. Matilda puts handprints everywhere Miss Honey points to, and smiles as she’s rested gently back on the ground. 

“The sun,” she says when she sees what their handprints have made. 

“I think that’s the best sun I’ve ever made,” Miss Honey says proudly. 

“Our thumbprints made a love heart,” Matilda giggles, standing on her tippy toes to show the part where their thumbs overlapped. “There.” 

“I think that’s fitting,” Miss Honey says quietly. Matilda smiles up at her. Miss Honey smiles back. “Now, I think it’s time we leave this to dry and go wash up for dinner.” 

Matilda nods. Impishly, when Miss Honey turns, she presses a still-yellow hand against her backside. Miss Honey yelps and whirls around. 

“Oh, you little gremlin!” she says. Unlike all the previous times Matilda has heard those words, there’s not a hint of malice behind it. She squeals as Miss Honey lunges for her and leaves a print on her shoulder. Matilda grabs a brush and some of the unused paint in other colors and swipes some over her sleeve. 

Miss Honey grabs some purple and swipes some onto Matilda’s nose. Matilda gasps, going a bit cross-eyed as she stares at her purple nose. Miss Honey bites her lip as she tries in vain to hold back a laugh, like she herself can’t believe she just did that. 

It turns to a shriek as Matilda suddenly charges, armed with some green that she swipes all over Miss Honey’s jeans. Miss Honey retaliates by grabbing her and spinning her around in a circle, leaving Matilda laughing harder than she thinks she’s ever laughed in her life and completely unable to do anything other than sink to the plastic-covered ground in exhaustion when she lets her go.

Miss Honey laughs as she lies next to her, staring up at the as-yet undecorated ceiling. “Oh, you make me laugh, Matilda.” 

“You make me laugh too, Miss Honey,” Matilda says quietly. Unthinkingly, she reaches for and squeezes her hand. Miss Honey squeezes her back. 

—————-

“Mrs. Phelps?” Matilda asks the next week during one of her daily visits to the book bus. 

“Yes, Matilda?” Mrs. Phelps replies, her turbaned head popping out from behind a shelf.

“What’s your name?” 

“My name?”

“I’ve only ever known you as Mrs. Phelps. What’s your first name, your middle name?” Matilda asks. 

“Why do you want to know so suddenly?” Mrs. Phelps asks, sitting in her chair and pouring a glass of lemonade. 

“I just think a person’s name is a good thing to know,” Matilda explains. Mrs. Phelps doesn’t seem to notice her dodging the question. 

“My first name is Praveena,” she says. “And my middle name is Dawn.” 

“Praveena Dawn Phelps,” Matilda says. Mrs. Phelps nods. “I like your names.”

“Thank you. I like yours too,” Mrs. Phelps replies. Matilda sips thoughtfully at her lemonade. 

“Do you have any books about names?”

“I must, somewhere” Mrs. Phelps tuts. “Remind me to organize my sections.” 

“I remind you every time I visit, Mrs. Phelps.”

“You do,” Mrs. Phelps acknowledges. “Fat lot of good it does, eh?”

“Miss Honey and I could help you do it sometime,” Matilda says as they both scan the shelves for anything to do with names. “She’s been wanting to visit you more.”

“Has she?” Mrs. Phelps says, a bit louder than she needs to since she’s a slight distance away. “She’s always welcome.” 

“I’ll let her know. We’ll clear a day,” Matilda says. 

“Ah! Here we are,” Mrs. Phelps calls. Matilda rushes over as she pulls out a small stack of dust-covered baby naming books. “I’ll keep an eye out for others, but this should be enough to get you started.”

“Oh, yes, this is perfect!” Matilda says. “May I borrow these?”

“Of course, Matilda,” Mrs. Phelps says. “What are you up to? Trying to name a character in a story of yours?”

“You could say that,” Matilda replies softly, staring at the books in her hands. “Thank you Mrs. Phelps! I’ll see you tomorrow!”

“By the windmill!” Mrs. Phelps calls as she goes rushing out the door. 

“Windmill!” Matilda yells to acknowledge she heard. Mrs. Phelps shakes her head affectionately and starts packing up for the day. 

—————

“Your new room is brilliant,” Lavender says upon seeing it for the first time. It’s come a good ways since the painting of the walls. Every day they add a little something. Matilda has a proper, massive, cozy bed with fluffy white sheets and pillows and blankets like a cloud. 

She has a huge bookshelf, large enough to practically take up the whole wall. Miss Honey has been taking her to bookstores as well as her visits to Mrs. Phelps at the library, so it’s filling up quite quickly. She has her own desk for schoolwork and a place to read. And Miss Honey even put together a special reading nook in the corner, with a plush carpet and rainbow-colored cushions to sit on, and a tulle rainbow curtain hanging from the ceiling like a tent. It’s everything a little girl could want from a bedroom. “Thank you.”

“What are you reading this time?” Lavender asks around a mouthful of bubblegum, lying on her stomach on Matilda’s new bed. 

“A book of baby names,” Matilda replies. 

“Baby names? What baby?” Lavender asks. She gasps suddenly. “Is Miss Honey-”

“No, she’s not,” Matilda interrupts. “I’m trying to pick my middle name.”

“You don’t have one?”

“No,” Matilda replies. “And I can’t find one for myself, either.” 

“My mum says picking my middle names was harder than my first,” Lavender agrees. 

“What’s yours?” 

“I’ve got three,” Lavender replies.

“Three?!” Matilda asks in shock. 

“My whole family kind of does. In the Philippines a lot of people have got two first names, and their mum’s old last name usually becomes a middle name,” Lavender says. “My parents gave me two first names and two middle names. But I count the second first one as a middle one.”

“That’s lucky,” Matilda says. “What are they?”

“My first name is Lavender-Maria,” Lavender says. “And my middle names are Elizabeth and Santos.”

“Lavender-Maria Elizabeth Santos Torres,” Matilda says. 

“In the flesh,” Lavender says with a nod. 

“How did your mother pick your middle name? The Elizabeth one, I mean?” Matilda asks, closing her book and gently putting it aside. 

“I dunno,” Lavender says with a small shrug. “She said she thought about names she’d seen and that she liked. In stories, and stuff. And she picked one from that. But she picked my brother’s because his middle name is our dad’s dad’s dad’s name.” 

“Stories…” Matilda mumbles to herself. She shifts so she’s lying flat on her back, looking up at her ceiling. Miss Honey hung twinkly lights all over it that look like stars when the lights are off. The lights aren’t on right now, since it’s daytime, but they’re one of Matilda’s favorite bits of her new bedroom. “What do you think my middle name should be?” 

“Lavender?” she suggests with a chortle. 

“I wouldn’t want to steal your name,” Matilda replies in complete seriousness. “But it is a lovely name.” 

“What are some of your favorite book characters? Just pick one of them,” Lavender says. 

“Ophelia,” Matilda says. She wrinkles her nose. “Matilda Ophelia sounds like a medical condition.” 

Lavender laughs harder than is probably appropriate. “Yeah.” 

“Sherlock Holmes,” Matilda says.

“He’s a boy.” 

“Yeah,” Matilda sighs. “Casy?” 

“Casy’s not bad,” Lavender says. 

“It still just… doesn’t feel like me,” Matilda grumbles. “How about… Josephine? Miss Honey’s been reading me Little Women before bed this week. She says Jo reminds her of me.”

“Matilda Josephine is just a mouthful,” Lavender says, blunt as always. Matilda nods with a sad sigh. Lavender clocks it, because she sits up and rests a friendly hand on Matilda’s shoulder. “You’ll think of something. You think of everything.” 

Matilda giggles at that. “Thanks, Lavender.” 

“What are best friends for?” Lavender says. 

—————

It takes another month of thinking, and another four name books Mrs. Phelps orders specially for her. Matilda spends practically all of her free time poring over what her middle name should be. She’s had a few that sound nice, but none of them have quite given her that… aha moment. That just right feeling, like the kind you get when a story has the perfect ending. 

She’s about to call off the hunt for a middle name altogether and stick to just being plain Matilda, when something Lavender said comes back to her. 

“But she picked my brother’s because his middle name is our dad’s dad’s dad’s name.”

A family name. 

Matilda never met her own grandparents. They never visited or called. She wonders if her parents even bothered to tell them she existed or not. She doesn’t know their names, or what they look like. Neither of her parents have siblings, so there’s no aunts or uncles to pick from either. She most definitely isn’t interested in naming herself after her parents.

She doesn’t have any family names to pick from. 

She fidgets sadly with a loose thread on Miss Honey’s duvet, thinking about everything and nothing at the same time. Miss Honey is working on something for the school at her big wooden desk against the wall. Matilda listens to the sound of her pen scritching quietly across the paper in perfect, even strokes. 

Miss Honey says all the time that Matilda doesn’t have to ask for hugs when she needs one. And Matilda needs one now. 

She stands and pads over to the desk, wrapping her small arms around Miss Honey’s shoulders and resting her chin to peek over the left one. 

“Hello, darling,” Miss Honey says, resting a warm hand against Matilda’s cheek. 

“Hello,” Matilda replies quietly. 

“You alright?” Miss Honey asks. Matilda nods, so Miss Honey gives her a gentle pat and returns to her work. 

Matilda’s eyes wander over the desk. Everything stays in roughly the same place on Miss Honey’s desk. A snow globe that had been a gift from one of her students, a paperweight in the shape of a swan from another. Matilda’s eyes suddenly lock onto the photos of Miss Honey’s parents. 

“Miss Honey?”

“Yes, Matilda?” the woman replies. 

“What was your mother’s name?” Matilda asks quietly. The story that eventually led them both here told Matilda that her father’s name was Magnus, but Matilda never learned Miss Honey’s mother’s name. 

“My mother?” Miss Honey asks. Matilda can feel her smile as she reaches for the photograph. Mrs. Honey was a very beautiful woman. She gave Miss Honey her eyes, and she had dimples too. Matilda never met her, but even looking at the picture just fills her with a sense of love. “Her name was Katherine. But everyone called her Kate.” 

“Kate,” Matilda says. “Would… do you… do you think she’d mind if that became my middle name?” 

Miss Honey turns her chair around and gently takes Matilda’s little hands into her own warm ones, squeezing her palms. 

“I think she would be so honored,” she says. “That a little girl as amazing as you would want to be named after her.” 

“Really?” Matilda asks. Miss Honey has tears brimming in her eyes as she nods. 

“Really. From everything my father told me about her… she would have loved you so much, Matilda. You two would’ve been the best of friends,” she says, her voice trembling the slightest bit. 

“She sounds like I would’ve loved her too,” Matilda says, drying Miss Honey’s tears with little fingers. “As long as she liked to read.” 

“Where do you think I got it from?” Miss Honey asks with a chuckle, pulling Matilda into her lap. Matilda rests against her shoulder as they both look at the photo one more time. 

“Matilda Kate Honey,” Matilda says, more to herself than anything else. The words just feel… right, in her mouth. In her mind. She’s a Honey. And her middle name is Kate. Just like her grandmother. She does have a family name after all. “I love you, Miss Honey.” 

“I love you too, Matilda Kate.”

—————

thank you for reading!!

now to the boring stuff lol

i post on wednesdays!! not every single one, but when i do post things it will be on a wednesday so if you’d like to see more from me that is the day to keep an eye out! 

please feel free to leave requests, whether for these two or not and i will do what i can to make them happen :) 

i am, unfortunately for everyone involved, american, so i apologize for any inaccuracies in their britishness or for any differences in british systems and american systems that i’m not aware of. please bear with me!! 

with the exception of lavender (and likely a few other more ‘background’ characters) i’m going to do my best to leave them as physically vague as possible. for stories like these i think it’s more important that you as the reader be able to imagine whoever you want as these characters; whether that’s yourself, your favorite actor, or something else :) 

going along with that i did as much research as i could about how filipino people handle names but i am not filipino so i apologize sincerely again if anything with lavender wasn’t accurate.

i’m on wattpad and ao3 at the same handle so please feel free to pop in and say hello there if you’d like to!

i think that’s everything!! thank you so much for reading!! i hope you enjoyed and that you have a lovely day! 

[cranehusbands]

for a charming guy, you suck at date nights

mirage | elliott witt/octane | octavio silva; established relationship; fluff; movie nights; adhd headcanons; 1388 words

a/n: 3 FOR 3! these just keep getting posted later and later, im so sorry about that, but i was trying out crossplay on apex today (!!!) and having a blast, i forgot how much fun this game can be with friends, hehe

anyways, day 3 for @apex-rarepairweek, movie night! featuring my very specific octane hcs about his hyperfixations where i am (we irritating) we Projecting. thank you again for these prompts guys, these were super fun!

likes < reblogs, any comments in the tags are appreciated

ao3 mirror in the reblogs!

Preview: “Uh, knock knock, comin’ through.” Octavio looked up, only just realising how badly he was chewing at his fingers as he saw Elliott struggling into the room, two drinks in hand and a bowl under his arm. “Oh, shit- sorry, didn’t hear you askin’ for help.” “You’re fine, babe, but thanks.” He gave a small smile of relief as the runner took the bowl from him, only for that to turn into a light scowl as he watched him scoop a handful of popcorn into his mouth. “C’mon, at least save it.” “S’good.” “Too hot?” Octavio didn’t reply, only slightly winced and turned away to put the bowl on the coffee table, and that was enough for the trickster to soften again, joining him on the loveseat (fitting, for a date night) as he slid the soda over to Octavio’s side, and kept the coffee for himself.

“You can sit down, you know that, right?”

The voice from the kitchen made Octavio look up from his shoes, kicking at the linoleum of the apartment’s entrance. He’d been standing there since Elliott had let him in a few minutes before, before he’d left to go make them drinks. “Uh, sí, just… waiting for you.”

“You, the Octane? Waiting? Thought hell’d freeze over before that happened.”

Though the legend scowled momentarily, hearing his boyfriend chuckle to himself from a distance was enough for him to relax the shoulders he didn’t know he was tensing, pulling his hands out of the pockets of his jacket to wring his hands. So he was a little nervous, sure. And he wasn’t coping well with it, yeah. But it was Elliott - just Elliott, not charming funny guy Mirage - and him here… though even that seemed like it was going to be a little too much.

 Like a lost and bewildered dog, he wandered into the living room, putting his bag down by the side of the sofa tossing his leather jacket across the back of it, fiddling with his gloves as he looked around. He’d been in this front room many times before, especially since they’d gotten together, though more often than not it had just been a segway to go out on a date, or further into the apartment, either option leading to a great time… but not tonight. Elliott wanted to stay in, do something cute (‘like normal couples do’ he’d said, as if they were anything close to normal), and had suggested watching a movie together. “You have a lot of those.” he’d chipped in, but he didn’t even know the half of it. 

 For a long time, Octavio had wasted his money on any old earth horror movie he could find. He had enough of it, seeing how as soon as he burned a hole in his pocket he earned back almost twice as much, but it made him happy - almost as happy as risking his life. He was sure Ajay was happy with the alternative, though impulsive spending was hardly an improvement. But for Octavio, the rush of happiness that came with another order or just watching the same movie over and over again was what he always needed, a tie over until the game the next day, or the stunt live on stream in the afternoon. 

 Maybe that’s why he was so wound up - he was baring his heart out here, and that wasn’t something he liked to do. He was the kind of guy to keep his cards close to his chest, and locked behind threads of chains, and the persona of a man who didn’t care what people thought of him, but still had no interests outside of what he did. And though, yes, the adrenaline rush and the cheer of the crowds was enough for him… movies like these kept him company on lonely nights with a nanny he didn’t care for, when his father had his nose too deep in work or another set of divorce papers.

 “Uh, knock knock, comin’ through.”

Octavio looked up, only just realising how badly he was chewing at his fingers as he saw Elliott struggling into the room, two drinks in hand and a bowl under his arm. “Oh, shit- sorry, didn’t hear you askin’ for help.”

“You’re fine, babe, but thanks.” He gave a small smile of relief as the runner took the bowl from him, only for that to turn into a light scowl as he watched him scoop a handful of popcorn into his mouth. “C’mon, at least save it.”

“S’good.”

“Too hot?”

Octavio didn’t reply, only slightly winced and turned away to put the bowl on the coffee table, and that was enough for the trickster to soften again, joining him on the loveseat (fitting, for a date night) as he slid the soda over to Octavio’s side, and kept the coffee for himself.

“So, you wanted to be in charge of picking, right?”

“Uh, heh… yeah.” He twiddled his thumbs a little, before reaching over the side of the arm to grab his backpack, self-branded and decorated with merchandise of himself and his fellow legends, zipping it open and showing the contents, almost entirely packed with old DVDs.

“Oh, uh… woah.”

“I… couldn’t decide.”

“Yeah, clearly.” Elliott chuckled a little, looking up at Octavio’s slight frown, which really didn’t sit right on his face. “N-not that that’s bad, it’s just very… fitting, for you. Well, let’s see ‘em and then come to a decm- decrom- ...we can pick together.”

 He did as he was told, slowly giving a basic synopsis of each movie he found, recalling odd details and memories he associated with each one, almost forgetting that when it came to these things, he always revealed his full hand and heart in his excitement.

“Oh, this one is a three-parter, kinda like Saw in that it got criticised a lot for being ‘torture porn’ - it’s not… actually porn, it’s just a term for movies with a lot of graphic violence - b-but the endorsement of the first one from this director dude really carried it to cult status with some people. Oh, this one’s a Wes Craven classic- he did, uh-”

“Uhhhh, Elm Street, and Scream, yeah?”

“Sí, sí! This one kinda flopped, though. I still think it’s neat. Little boring sometimes.” He shuffled in his seat a little, carrying on digging through his bag. “Ah, this is a good one! Aliens in the school faculty tryin’ to kill everyone. Oh, oh, and this one’s got alien’s too, but it’s like… British, so there’s that - think it was important back then, ‘cos of stereotypes and- ah, shit, I brought Saw 6 but not Saw 7, I didn’t bring ‘em all ‘cos the first one is boring-”

“Tav, Tav, relax, buddy. Catch a breath.” Elliott laughed, watching Octavio’s expression shift to one of embarrassment as he deflated a little, movies still in his hands, leg bouncing.

“...Sorry, mi amor, you probably don’t-”

“Hey, of course I care. C’mere.” He wrapped his arms around the runner before he could finish, leaning in to pepper his cheek with kisses, making the man giggle a little, though still somewhat sheepish from his unhinged ramblings. “You’re so cute when you get excited, you know that, right?”

“You remind me every day, amigo.”

“I better. Just look at you.” Giving Octavio a playful cheek pinch, Elliott only laughed when the gesture was returned in kind by a soft shove. “Listen, we have all the time in the world. Just you and me tonight, remember? Pick your favourite, and let’s go from there, for as long as we can go. Sound good?”

Octavio slowly nodded, leaning into his boyfriend’s touch, the tension in his body relaxing a little at the comfort, sifting through the rest of the DVDs that he could barely fit into his backpack before he pulled one out from the back, a small grin on his face, showing the pumpkin on the cover to Elliott. “This one?”

“Gotta love the classics. You know where the player is.”

He practically shot off the sofa, almost dragging Elliott with him with the force as he launched himself towards the TV cabinet, pulling open the glass door where the old DVD player sat and prying open the case, barely able to contain himself as he put the disc inside and watched the machine eat it up. He’d seen this movie thousands of times before, he practically knew it by heart at this point, and his impression of the final girl was top-notch, but somehow, he knew watching it with Elliott would be so much better.

 Octavio crawled his way back onto the trickster’s arms, resting himself against his chest with his knees curled up, brought closer by an arm around his shoulder. He felt a gentle kiss on the top of his head and grinned to himself, focused on the moving image on the screen, any worries he had before seeming to drain away. Elliott has that effect, it seemed - enough that in the fourth movie in, they fell asleep in each other’s arms, even the sounds of snuff film murder and screams down the phone not enough to wake them from a lover’s embrace.

[ofieugogyshz]

Booth: Boogiepop Tarot

“I'm not sure I understand why you couldn't wear what you normally wear...”

“It's for the aesthetics, Mr. Champion. I'd expect you of all people to understand the importance of presentation!”

This exchange happened at one very visually appealing stall, between two people who were at work, setting it up in the hours before the festival opened to the public. The stall had a quaint, yet mystical atmosphere to it, a subtle otherworldliness to it. There were no skulls or symbols implicating something demonic or magical in nature. But the black, wine red, and purple color scheme, the layabout crystals and candles, the stars that hung from the tent poles which glittered in the day and glowed in the dark; fairy lights that would be visible at night, but during the day were hidden in the rafters, covered by flower chains and vines; the occasional witch's ladder hung in various spots, ending with bottles of herbs, powder, or glitter as a means to catch a wavering eye... All this had been an assortment of things that appealed to the one running the booth. They had desired something that gave a very mystical, almost magical vibe, but didn't buy directly into a gothic vibe or skirted the spring theme that they had to work with. Perhaps it had been a bit overdone, but it all added up to an intriguing and unusual display.

The person running the booth was a non-binary individual signed up under the name of “Boogiepop”. Naturally, this wasn't the actual Boogiepop. But the tarot reader who had set about organizing the booth certainly had taken it upon themselves to look the part.

They wore a long cloak that covered their entire body, hiding their heavyset form under shapeless navy blue. When visible, the inside of the cloak was lined with a nebulae pattern in a reddish hue. A long, stove-pipe shaped hat adorned their head. What looked like miniature knobs and trinkets littered the front of the hat, as it was held down by a chain across the crown. Brown hair was tucked under the hat, except for two strands that framed their face. From their ears dangled gold stars along gold chains of varying length; they wore a large wire ear cuff that had stars on it, beautiful and simple. This Boogiepop wore black lipstick that glittered in a mysterious way, adding to the intrigue that the individual hoped to bring.

Across their shoulders was a rather long belt that ended in a large yin-yang symbol in the middle, seeming to hold it up. It had a black and white zigzag pattern. Shorter belts, in a plain brown color, seemed to be worn as bracelets and anklets, though these were only visible when the cloak was thrown open, or a hand was reaching across to turn a card or position a crystal. Solid black nail polish coated their fingertips, a stark contrast to the shimmer and shine of the booth itself, and the rest of the adornments that the reader had added to their costume.

There was a certain image that this person had in mind for their stall's display, and they definitely strove to bring it to life.

“Besides,” they continued, as they reached into a box and pulled out various crystals and gems to adorn their tables and display, “I'm not always about pink and sparkly cheer! I mean, sure, this would have been the perfect opportunity to go ham on that with whatever I've got in my closet, but I don't have to!! There's nothing wrong with a little black now and then; spring sprouts from the dead of winter, the end of a beginning! Oh, don't give me that look,” they said, cutting themselves off in a huff as their husband stifled a laugh at their words while he helped make sure that the poles for the stall's covering were secure.

He stopped where he was working, covering his mouth with his fist as he chuckled at the overanalyzing ramble his wife went on, the attempt to make an excuse to wear that particular costume, but they had already noticed it and puffed out their cheeks in a pout.

“I'm sorry; you're just so cute when you ramble on like that.”

Their cheeks flushed red and they turned away sharply, quickly busying themselves with putting decorations down at another table.

Nearby, a Pikachu helped decorate. A small, traditional-styled witch's hat was on the Pikachu's head, as her long ears poked through the brim of the hat so as to keep it in place. The reader glanced up from their work to look at their Pikachu's progress. She ran across the front crying about happily as she helped place flowers and crystals down.

“Ahh! Pika, try not to put too many flowers down. I know it's a spring festival, but I want the gemstones to be noticeable, too...” The trainer watched as their Pikachu nodded, and sprinted away with a mouthful of the flowers it had just sat down, placing them gently back in a small bucket that housed many other flowers that were being used to decorate. The festival had supplied these, so as to help encourage the spring vibes for each of the people who had signed up for a stall.

When this stall's “Boogiepop” had heard about the festival, they had hurriedly signed themselves up as a vendor, completely ignoring the fact that part of the importance of the festival was for families and couples. ...Which was part of the reason why they had initially been drawn to the Spring Festival. But when they saw their niche interest listed among one of the potential booths that one could hold, their mind instantly changed gears as hyperfixation took hold. What went from a planned, simple date outing with their spouse instantly became a frenzied, excited need to make up a huge display and share something that they rarely got to share publicly. And now, they had roped their husband into helping them set up and keep them company between patrons.

But that was not an issue at all. The two did not get nearly enough time together recently, so any excuse would have sufficed. “Boogiepop” looked over at their husband, smiling as they remembered this.

When everything had been laid out, the last thing they did was put out the divination decks. Carefully, they set down five deck boxes of varying sizes on a table along the side of their reading table. They were spaced out a certain amount, as though to give each deck room for themselves. Three more decks were placed down on the much larger center table, which would be the working space for any potential clients. A large reading cloth covered the circular, center table. It showcased constellations across the night sky, naming each one that appeared. There was the casual adjustment of a nearby crystal, or some other trinket that added to the visual, aesthetic appeal of the whole booth.

Their husband watched as his wife picked up each deck individually, closing their eyes for a moment, whispering a few words before they put it back down and picked up the next deck. They had done this for each of the eight decks that they had brought. Though he didn't understand much about how tarot reading worked, or why his wife felt such a pull towards it, it didn't matter. He loved watching them focused on something. He loved the excitement that they got as everything started to come together during the time they had spent setting up together. He loved watching them.

Incense was lit as the festival attendees had begun their stroll inside the festival park. It was a very earthy, grounding blend that helped gave a sense of calm to any passersby that smelled it.

The tarot reader finally sat down at their center table. Tarot cards had been kept in their boxes for the time being, though the reader themselves longed to begin shuffling. Maybe just a single card, to get their mind focused and at ease...?

“You know, your costume doesn't seem very spring-like at all,” commented their husband, breaking the silence immediately.

They let out a sigh. It was much better to let their hyperfixation rest for the time being, so they wouldn't burn out early. They'd hate to have spent all this time and energy setting up, only to be unable to focus on a reading after an hour or two.

“Yeah, well,” they started, turning to look at their husband. “I'm surprised that you didn't come in uniform for once,” they said, pursing their lips in a mock-pout. They rested their elbow on the table as they spoke, putting their chin in their hand.

It was true. Their husband was normally seen in much more dramatic clothing, usually accompanied by a cape. Today, however, he had gone for something more simple. A black turtleneck shirt  with long sleeves, and khaki pants. “Boogiepop” had half expected their spouse to look no less jarring amongst festival goers than they did themselves in costume, as his typical outfit was iconic of his position, and only felt slightly dismayed that they were now the one overdressed. They scanned him up and down, from his spiked red hair all the way down to the shoes he wore, and back up, meeting his blue eyes.

“Are you cold-blooded or something?” they asked suddenly, a critical eye on his outfit. “It's the beginning of May. Aren't you hot in that?”

There was only a brief pause as their husband considered his response, looking down at what he wore.

“Well. If we were to ask your 'twelve-year-old self', apparently the answer would be yes.” He gave them a teasing grin, earning a huge eye roll and sputtering fluster from his wife.

“Oh. my. Fucking. God. – I can't. I can't even with you right now. – No, no. You know what?” they said, grabbing a deck like they were brandishing a weapon. They quickly rifled through the cards. When they found what they were looking for, they slammed the deck back down on the table, and held out the card to their lover.

“Just for that--! The Tower! Everything falls to ruins, because you just ruined it,” they declared, cheeks still flushed hot red from embarrassment.

--

Had the reader's booth caught the eye of any passersby, maybe they had heard part of this conversation. Perhaps they even watched as it occurred. Or maybe it was the playful teasing, the banter and fluster, that caught one's interest, and the surrounding booth, with all its decor, finished drawing them in.

Regardless of how one approached, there would be a Pikachu in a witchy hat to greet you cheerfully, running alongside you as it tried to bring you in. And the tarot reader and their husband would look up from whatever they were doing when they heard that Pikachu.

“Welcome,” began the tarot reader, as they gave their best monotone impression. “If it interests you, you may ask me any question you seek to know. You may find yourself learning information about yourselves that does not please; or perhaps it was information you already knew? Do you wish to go back to the beginning, to find the root of all causes? Or do you simply wish to watch the here and now? Feel free to seek, but do not be afraid of the answer--” and there was a pause, as though they were forgetting their lines.

“Ahh, forget it. I'm doing single card readings if you're interested. What do you wanna know? Please make sure to mind the rules posted by the entrance. Oh, and don't mind the husband, he's just here because he loves me,” they will say, as the two will look at each other and smile. “Tell me your question, because I know the cards will have a lot more to say to you if you don't.”