#ordinarily i HATE hate hate loud parties but right now and ONLY right now i want to put a speaker into my chest i feel like im going to | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

nicknellie · 4 years

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Anonymous requested: I’d love literally anything Flarrie, but I’d really like to see some Nick/Carrie friendship as well (I feel like however she’d come out, he’d be surprised but support her 1000000% and I never see fics featuring their friendship)

Anon, I’m not even joking, you might be my favourite person literally ever. Flarrie with a side of Carrie and Nick being best friends? Sign me the fuck up. I’ve had a serious case of writer’s block, so I can’t promise this is the best thing I’ve ever written, but I still love it. Also this is the first time I’ve ever written Nick, so it might be out of character, but I think I did pretty well. Thank you so much for suggesting this!

Title is from the Masterplan by Oasis because that song fits this fic beautifully.

Say It Loud and Sing It Proud

Carrie looked herself up and down in the mirror, certain she would find something amiss. Her hair was elegantly twirled into a braided crown, her makeup was all soft pinks and subtle glitter, and her dress fit her like a glove. There was absolutely nothing wrong with her appearance, and as far as she could think of there was nothing to be worried about for the night ahead at all, which made the hammering of her heart and the watering of her eyes all the more frustrating.

She had been so excited about tonight. It was Los Feliz’s school dance and everyone had been buzzing about it for weeks. Initially Carrie hadn’t been too bothered – just another party, just another dance, she had been to plenty of those in her lifetime. But then one thing had happened and Carrie had found herself more excited about the dance than she had ever thought possible. Now that same thing had her hands shaking and her breath hitching in her throat.

“Carrie?” Nick called from her bedroom. She had almost forgotten he was there. “Are you almost ready?”

She looked up into the mirror of her ensuite again, head tilted so that she could see the reflection of her bedroom behind her, the door thrown open wide between the two rooms. Nick was lying on her bed in his suave white suit, his shoes placed neatly at the end of the bed, scrolling through his phone in boredom. She didn’t blame him – he had been waiting for her to get ready for going on two hours and there were only so many apps a person could mindlessly switch between for hours on end.

She almost envied his boredom. She would have felt exactly the same had it not been for that one perfect, terrifying thing.

Carrie shook her head, steeled herself, took a deep breath. “Yeah, just give me another minute.”

There was nothing to worry about. There was nothing to worry about. There was nothing to worry about. She repeated it in her head, a harsh mantra, one last desperate attempt to calm herself down. And with a final deep breath and glance in the mirror, she left the ensuite and perched herself primly on the end of her bed just beside Nick.

He looked up from his phone, sat up a little straighter and smiled at her. “You look great.”

Absently, Carrie remembered the days he used to say things like that in a romantic way. Compliments peppered here and there, usually followed by a kiss on the cheek or a gentle hug. She almost laughed – those days, thankfully, were far behind them and she was more happy being friends with Nick than she had ever been when they were dating.

“Thanks,” she said, trying for a smile. She wasn’t quite sure if she achieved one, but Nick made no comment so she took it as a win.

“So,” he said, sitting cross-legged in front of her. “Are you ever going to tell me who your date is for tonight?”

Carrie looked anywhere but at Nick. Ever since she had told him she had a date for the dance, he had been enthusiastically trying to guess who it was or trying to wheedle the information out of her himself. It would have been fine, a fun little bit of banter between the two of them, and eventually she would have told him – it was just that she and her date had agreed not to tell anyone until they arrived at the dance, that way they could let everyone know together. No awkward one-on-one conversations, no hurt feelings because one person knew before somebody else. It would be simpler that way.

Simple, Carrie thought, but absolutely petrifying.

“Nope,” she said brightly, forcing a giggle. “I told you, you’ll have to wait and find out.”

“Can I keep guessing then?” Nick asked.

Ah. That was the worst of it. Again, Carrie wouldn’t have minded Nick guessing. A little bit of light-hearted conversation to pass the time, an inside joke to laugh over. But there was just one problem that made Carrie endlessly uncomfortable.

All of Nick’s guesses so far had been boys.

Her date was most certainly not one of those.

It had all started about ten months ago, late August or early September, the very beginning of the school year. Carrie had turned up to her science class and had seen, to her utter dismay, a new seating plan displayed on the board. Teacher-made seating plans never worked out; Carrie would always end up sat next to someone she either hated or never spoke to. In this case, it had been the first option.

She had stalked over to her seat at the back of the classroom, already furious, and slammed her things down on the table. Sitting down, she scooted her chair as far away from the person beside her as possible, glowering all the while. The person had sighed loudly and Carrie heard shuffling as they turned to face her.

“Look,” Flynn had said, voice flat and clearly unhappy. “I’m not exactly thrilled about this either. But it’s one class and if we refuse to even try and get along with each other we’re just going to make it worse for both of us. So stop glaring at the seating plan like it killed your whole family and grow up.”

Carrie had blinked and slowly turned to look at Flynn. Her expression was as empty as her tone of voice. In a weird sort of way, it was intimidating – Carrie felt her insides squirm. There had been nothing she could have said in response (in fact she wasn’t sure she could have spoken even if she tried) so she just nodded and sat up straight primly, attention focused on their teacher.

She had never liked Flynn. There was just something about her that didn’t sit right. Maybe it was how bold and loud she was all the time, how she was so free and comfortable with herself. Maybe it was how she had become friends with Julie Molina and ever since then Carrie and Julie had drifted apart. Maybe it was how every time Carrie looked at Flynn her breath caught in her throat and her mind wandered and her heart beat faster and she wanted so desperately just to smile, which she didn’t understand at all.

Carrie had not liked Flynn, but she couldn’t deny that she was right about the seating plan. It was better to try and get on than to simply simmer in stony silence.

So they had tried. And to Carrie’s surprise, they hadn’t even had to try very hard. Their first conversations started off awkward and forced as they tried to unnaturally spark some kind of civility between them. After about a month, they had found themselves talking a lot more freely to one another, less effort needed, and silences became more comfortable.

But it wasn’t until an experiment went wrong one lesson and Carrie had ended up drenched from head to toe in water, Flynn crying with laughter like it was the funniest thing she had ever seen, that Carrie realised that maybe they had finally become friends. Ordinarily she would have been furious at Flynn (or anyone for that matter) for laughing at her when she was embarrassed, but as Flynn howled, breathless and giddy, Carrie found herself beginning to laugh too.

Since that day it had become easy. Carrie had started hanging out with Flynn’s friends more, reigniting her friendship with Julie, and soon enough Nick had joined their group as well. Carrie found herself and Flynn sharing inside jokes, texting each other all night long, meeting up on weekends just for the sake of seeing each other. Flynn even gave Carrie a nickname, only used on rare occasion – Care Bear. It was ironic, made because Carrie’s response to one too many things had been ‘I don’t care’.

For a while, they had been friends and happy that way. Every time Carrie saw Flynn, she thought her heart might burst with the giddy joy that only Flynn could instil in her. She had let herself smile that wide and bright smile she always wanted to when Flynn was around because it was allowed now. So many things were allowed now that they were friends, things Carrie had hardly even realised she wanted to do – she could hug Flynn, link arms with her, hold her hand, fall asleep on her shoulder during their sleepovers.

In fact, it was on one of those sleepovers that Carrie realised that those things she wanted to do might not have been purely friendly.

She had woken up before Flynn, sprawled on the sofa in the fort they had built (as had become a tradition for their sleepovers – who didn’t love building pillow forts?). She had stretched and rolled over, burrowing a little further into the covers, and caught sight of Flynn fast asleep on the air mattress on the floor. She looked so peaceful, wrapped in two blankets, her chest gently rising and falling as she breathed, her hair spilled over her face. Carrie had smiled and tenderly reached down to move a braid away from Flynn’s face.

Without thinking, she gently ran her thumb along Flynn’s cheek, still smiling to herself. Then she had stopped because what on Earth was she doing? And in that one moment she re-evaluated every interaction she’d ever had with Flynn, played out every moment in her head over and over again and realised in no uncertain terms that–

“I’m in love with you,” she had whispered dumbfoundedly. She didn’t think, just shook Flynn awake, more forcefully than was probably necessary. Flynn grumbled, but sat up, probably thinking there was an emergency. Carrie didn’t let her ask whatever question she probably had lined up, just repeated again so that Flynn could hear her this time, “I’m in love with you.”

Flynn’s expression had morphed from sleepy urgency to utter bewilderment to dawning realisation to pure elation.

“Really?” she had said, wide awake all of a sudden.

Carrie had just nodded – she had used up all her words.

Flynn beamed and launched herself forward, wrapping Carrie in a tight hug that she responded to as if it was the most natural thing in the world, all the both of them had been born to do.

Flynn spoke in tandem with the rising sun as its light streamed through the window and illuminated the two of them, holding onto each other, just four simple words: “I love you too.”

That had been three months ago. They had done a lot since then – officially labelled themselves girlfriends, gone on their first dates, had their first kiss. But one thing they hadn’t done was tell anyone they were together. At first it was because they had wanted to wait and see it they ‘worked’. After that, the time had never felt right, and as time went on the whole prospect had become more and more daunting.

Which was where the school dance came in. Flynn had been disappointed when Carrie had told her that she wasn’t planning on going.

“Oh, come on,” Flynn had whined, her fingers trailing through Carrie’s hair, sending shivers down her spine, “it’ll be fun! We’ll get to spend the whole night dancing and hanging out with our friends! Plus, I’m DJing for about an hour near the start so you’ve got to come and watch me.”

Carrie had remained unconvinced. “It’s just a dance. There’ll be one next year and the year after, it’s not like I’ll be missing much.”

“I want you to be there with me,” Flynn had said.

That in itself had almost been enough for Carrie – she turned to face her Flynn, whose expression was open and honest and adoring. She realised in that moment how lucky she was to have Flynn, this beautiful girl who loved and understood her and wanted her to see her doing something she was proud of. Someone who wanted to spend time with her because she couldn’t imagine anything better. Flynn was a stroke of luck, more valuable and more rare than a lottery win, and Carrie had the privilege of calling herself her girlfriend.

But nobody else knew.

“Okay,” Carrie had said, “but we’ve got to make it worthwhile.”

“It will be,” Flynn insisted, beaming. “Julie and the guys are performing as well, so that’ll be great, and I’m pretty su–”

“No,” Carrie interrupted, “I mean I have something specific in mind.”

Flynn went quiet, said nothing, nodded encouragingly.

Carrie had taken a deep breath and said, “What if we told everyone about us? Just show up and tell our friends and dance together and spend the night as Carrie-and-Flynn rather than just Carrie and Flynn?”

“Woah,” Flynn had breathed. Carrie had instantly regretted saying anything at all – was it too soon still? Did Flynn not want to move that fast? Did she not want to tell their friends at all? “Really?”

“We don’t have to,” Carrie said, turning away. She felt Flynn link their fingers together but still didn’t look back at her. “If you don’t want to then I get it.”

“I do want to,” Flynn said. Carrie turned to face her then and saw that her eyes were bright with tears. “Of course I want to. As long as you’re ready then I think we should go for it.”

Everything in Carrie had screamed at her to backtrack, to wait a little longer, that this was a mistake. But she had gripped Flynn’s hand tighter, pressed a kiss to her lips, and smiled.

“I’m ready.”

Just like that, she had gone from indifferent about the dance, to ecstatic, and now – sat on her bed beside Nick, watching him expectantly wait for her to reply – she was utterly dreading it.

“Sure,” she said now, voice thick, “you can keep guessing.”

Nick frowned and leaned back, propping himself up with his hands behind his back. “It doesn’t sound like you want me to.”

Carrie tried to look him in the eye, but just couldn’t manage it. She felt like her chest was going to burst, like her head was full of TV static. She heard Nick sigh.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “if you don’t want me to pry then I won’t.”

“It’s not that,” Carrie assured him, quiet. She took her time as she spoke, grasping for the words – all of them felt out of her reach. “I don’t mind the guessing.”

“Then what is it?”

She looked at him. She knew Nick, she’d known him practically her entire life, ever since they were toddlers. She had dated him for two years and now considered him her closest friend. His expression now was kind, gently nudging her to say what was on her mind.

Carrie and Flynn had agreed not to tell anyone at all before the dance, but if anyone could ease Carrie’s mind it was Nick, and if she didn’t calm down soon then she wouldn’t be going to the dance at all.

So she chose to tell him.

“Flynn and I are dating,” she said, looking at her duvet instead of at him, throwing the words out in one breath so she couldn’t hesitate or stop herself. “We have been for three months and we’re supposed to be telling everyone tonight, but I just feel so nervous about it and I don’t even know why. And I wasn’t meant to tell you because we said we’d tell everyone together, but at this rate I don’t even think I can make it out of this room.”

Nick was silent for a moment. All he did was reach out and take Carrie’s hand, stilling its movement – she hadn’t realised, but she had been restlessly picking at her duvet cover and had almost worn a hole in it. He held her hand softly in his and squeezed it ever so slightly, just enough to give Carrie the courage to meet his eye.

“It’s okay,” he said, smiling. “I promise you. Everything is okay.”

Somehow she believed it. She nodded mutedly.

“There’s nothing to worry about, right?” Nick continued, his thumb tracing gentle patterns on the back of her hand. The ticklish feeling was oddly grounding. “Are you and Flynn happy together?”

“Yes,” Carrie breathed.

“Does it matter what anyone else thinks of it?”

Carrie shrugged. “You. And the rest of our friends.”

“Well, I’m happy for you, so you don’t need to worry about that. And none of our friends have a problem with Alex and Willie – why would they have a problem with you and Flynn?”

She didn’t have an answer for that. A single tear slipped down her cheek and Nick pulled a fresh pack of tissues from his pocket. Gratefully, she took one and dabbed it away.

“It’s scary,” he said. “Of course it’s scary. But at the end of the day, it’s just you and the girl you care about being who you are. And that’s such a great thing. I guarantee that once you see Flynn tonight you’ll forget you were nervous at all in the first place.”

“You think so?” she asked weakly.

“I know so,” he replied, smiling.

There was a quiet pause in which Carrie wondered how she’d ever got lucky enough to have such wonderful people in her life.

“Thank you,” she breathed.

Nick playfully punched her arm, lightening the mood just like that. “Don’t even mention it. And hey – thank you for trusting me enough to tell me. I’m always here for you, you know that, right?”

She nodded. Of course she knew that.

“So,” Nick continued, “you like girls?”

Carrie giggled, still dabbing at her eyes, now more focused on not ruining her makeup than not crying. “Yes, I like girls.”

“And boys?” Nick asked hesitantly. Carrie shook her head. “Did you know that when we were dating?”

“No,” Carrie said. “I only figured it out a few months ago. Because of Flynn.”

To Carrie’s surprise, Nick beamed. She had expected him to be a little put out for reasons she couldn’t quite place, but if anything he looked happy.

“I’m glad you get to be yourself now,” he said.

Carrie pushed him playfully because her two options were joke about the situation or burst into tears, and she knew which one she would rather do.

She checked the time and realised that they definitely needed to leave sooner rather than later, so stood up and slipped her shoes on, putting the final touches to her outfit as Nick asked careful questions about her and Flynn. It was nice, finally being able to gush about her girlfriend without the fear of accidentally outing herself. As she was talking to Nick, she realised she should probably have told Flynn that Nick knew.

She sent her a quick text: I was nervous so I told Nick about us, sorry if that ruins things? Xx

To her relief, Flynn replied almost instantly with: lol it’s fine, I told Julie xx

Carrie couldn’t help but laugh to herself, mingled with a sigh of relief. At least Flynn was seemingly nervous too.

Luckily, Carrie’s house wasn’t too far away from Los Feliz. She and Nick took the short walk there, easy banter flowing between them – most of Carrie’s nerves had subsided, but there was still a nagging doubt at the back of her mind that maybe this was all a mistake. She tried to distract from it by focusing on her chat with Nick, making herself laugh a little louder than was perhaps natural, forcing smiles too wide. As they neared the entrance to the school, she couldn’t keep the act up anymore and let her smile fall.

Nick softly laid his hand on her back and Carrie took a deep breath.

“You got this,” he said encouragingly, smiling gently. “You’re Carrie Wilson – you can do anything you put your mind to.”

Hardly realising she was doing it, Carrie slipped her hand into Nick’s, some old comforting reminder of the unbreakable bond they had. It grounded her, even if it didn’t still her nerves.

Together they entered the school and made their way towards the hall where the pulsing music rocked the building’s foundations, blue and pink lights streaked into the hallway, and the vibrant cheers and chatter from the students of Los Feliz echoed like thunder. In some last-ditch grab for calm, Carrie stepped in ahead of Nick.

The hall had been decorated marvellously, but Carrie hardly saw it. The second she had walked in, her eyes had trained on the stage where Flynn was stood behind the DJ set. She looked radiant, her hair pulled away from her face with butterfly clips, her dress every shade of the sunset glowing in the fluorescent lights, her smile bright and gleeful. She looked distracted though – Carrie watched as Flynn’s eyes scanned the room, searching for something.

Or someone.

Searching for Carrie.

Her nerves were suddenly long gone. Her hand fell from Nick’s and she pushed her way through the crowd, ending up in front of the stage, directly in front of Flynn. Their eyes met, and Carrie knew that the happiness in Flynn’s eyes was mirrored in her own. Nick had been right; just seeing Flynn being her beautiful self had melted Carrie’s worries away.

“You made it!” Flynn called, moving her headphones away from her ears, yelling over the music. “How are you feeling?”

“Better now I’m with you,” Carrie called back. She was aware of how soppy the line was, how cheesy and predictable, but it was true. Seeing Flynn had made everything feel alright.

“I’ll come and catch up with you after I finish my set,” Flynn told her. “The others are sat over there, I’ll be as quick as I can!”

Waving goodbye, Carrie hurried over to where Flynn had pointed. Julie and Luke were sat close beside each other in their matching outfits, Luke talking Julie’s ear off as she watched him with a fond expression; Alex and Willie were with each other, hands clasped firmly together, heads bowed in private conversation; Nick had joined Reggie and the two were already wrapped up in an animated conversation. Carrie smiled to herself and sat down beside Julie.

Julie turned away from Luke momentarily, just long enough to give Carrie a smile that said a thousand things in just one second. There was one overwhelming message in it though: I’m happy for you both.

Carrie gave a tiny smile back, then turned to watch as Flynn wrapped up her set and left the stage empty, bounding over to the group. It was at that moment that Carrie realised they hadn’t exactly worked out how they were going to reveal to their friends that they were an item – this whole thing could turn incredibly awkward very quickly if neither of them knew what they were doing.

Thankfully, it seemed Flynn wasn’t as worried.

She reached the group, ignored their friends exclamations of, “Nice job, Flynn,” and, “You killed it,” in favour of cupping Carrie’s face in her hands and pressing a firm but loving kiss to her lips. Out of surprise, Carrie didn’t react, but Flynn pulled away quickly anyway, an ecstatic smile on her face. She pulled a chair up, sat beside Carrie, and gripped her hand tightly.

“Did you like my set?” Flynn asked, clearly knowing the answer.

“It was amazing,” Carrie gushed, fiddling with Flynn’s fingers between her own. “You were amazing.”

Flynn smiled and flicked her hair over her shoulder, proud of herself.

“Is this a thing now?”

Luke had interrupted their moment without a moment’s hesitation. He was leaned over the table past Julie (who was smirking knowingly), and it was only then that Carrie noticed she and Flynn had Alex, Willie, Reggie, and Nick’s eyes on them too. She looked in the only direction that felt safe – towards Flynn. Flynn smiled, pulled Carrie closer by her hand, and shrugged.

“Of course it’s a thing,” she said like it was obvious, like it was common knowledge.

There was no awkward pause, no judgemental looks, no hint that anyone might not have reacted positively. In fact, it was quite the opposite – Alex was out of his seat in a moment, catching Carrie in a hug and telling her in no uncertain terms that he was proud of her; Willie and Reggie reached over to Flynn and the three of them quickly performed the secret handshake they’d made a few months prior; Luke looked utterly dumbfounded, like he hadn’t seen this coming in the slightest, but he was grinning; and Julie and Nick were both watching Flynn and Carrie with private, kind smiles.

Carrie had never felt so loved.

The night flew past. It was a whirlwind of colour and smiles and laughter and dancing and food and drink and joy and love. Carrie had howled with laughter as Alex, Luke, and Reggie had attempted the lift from Dirty Dancing but failed miserably; she had danced along with Flynn, Willie, and Nick as Julie and the Phantoms performed their set; she pulled Flynn to sit in her lap when they both got too tired to carry on dancing.

Eventually, Carrie and Nick broke away from the group to get everyone drinks. While they were over at the refreshment table, Nick nudged Carrie with his shoulder.

“What?” she said.

He smiled and threw an arm around her shoulders. “I’m proud of you. And I love you.”

She rolled her eyes, supressing a smile. “Shut up.”

A moment later though, she added a quiet, “I love you too.”

The night began to draw to a close and the final songs started playing. Carrie was brimming with giddy excitement still, but it had dulled as exhaustion began to weigh her down. The room felt hazy and dizzy as everyone grew tired, but still Carrie wanted to stay there forever, beside Flynn (who somehow still looked full of energy), holding her hand and simply existing with her.

Until a slow song began to play and couples flooded the dance floor.

Julie and Luke were the first of their group to gravitate towards the gathering crowd, Alex and Willie hot on their heels. Reggie tugged Nick to the dance floor, telling him he didn’t want to be left out and they could dance together even if they weren’t a couple. So Flynn and Carrie were left together, hand in hand by the edge of the dance floor.

Flynn looked to Carrie, something sentimental and sweet in her depthless brown eyes. Carrie thought that if she looked into them for too long she’d never be able to look away – Flynn had that effect on her, always pulling her closer, drawing her in. She loved it more than words could say.

“May I have this dance?” Flynn offered, tone light and joking. It didn’t mean that Carrie missed the underlying nerves – it seemed that this was the first thing all night to really rattle Flynn. Something as simple as a slow dance.

So Carrie decided to be brave.

“You never have to ask to dance with me,” she said, beaming, and pulled Flynn onto the dance floor.

They fell into a soft rhythm naturally, in the centre of the floor, swaying in tandem with each other. Flynn’s arms were linked around Carrie’s neck, and Carrie planted her hands gently on Flynn’s waist. For a while, they simply looked at each other, the silence between them too meaningful to be broken by anything other than the slow song that played in the background. But after a while, Flynn rested her head on Carrie’s shoulder. Carrie felt Flynn’s eyes flutter shut against her skin, and pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

“I’m glad we did this,” she whispered, her own eyes falling shut as they swayed together. She wasn’t taking any notice of what she was saying, but she knew she meant every word. “This feels right. I’m so happy I get to be with you – you mean everything to me.”

“I love you,” Flynn said, her breath warm on Carrie’s neck and collarbone.

“I love you too,” she breathed.

That night, Flynn stayed at Carrie’s house because it was just that little bit closer to school than her own. By the time they arrived there, Carrie’s dad had gone to bed and the house was quiet and calm, only lit by the light of the moon, washing in through the large windows. Carrie led Flynn upstairs to her bedroom – both of them were so tired that they fell into Carrie’s bed without bothering to put their pyjamas on or get ready for bed in any way.

Carrie shuffled about, folding herself around Flynn, her face tucked into Flynn’s hair. Not for the first time, she thought about how lucky she was to have Flynn, this wonderful girl who was all hers, who loved her and was loved by her in return.

“Hey,” she whispered, half asleep already, “thank you for tonight.”

“Thank you,” Flynn yawned, eyes opening just enough to look at Carrie, a small smile on her face. “You’re the one who made it special, Care Bear. I’m proud of us.”

Carrie kissed her, just once, gently. It was the kind of soft kiss that felt like it would shatter the Earth if it ever stopped, or like Carrie’s heart would stop beating if Flynn ever stopped touching her.

“I’m proud of us too,” she whispered.

It was impossible to imagine that it was in this very room just hours before that Carrie had been dreading going to the dance. Now she was glad she had gone because it hadn’t been just another party, just another dance, and there certainly wouldn’t be another one like it for as long as she lived.

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spiltscribbles · 4 years

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Any chance you could give us some Arabic speaking Remus headcanons? Loved your latest fic ❤️ 📚

OMFG gorgeous sugarplum! I legit only just was reminded of this while scrolling through my inbox right now! But my heart is finna burst!!! Thank you SO SO much and yes I would love to give some Headcanons about this! Especially since the next long story I’m working on includes this dynamic, and I’m so excited about it!! However, common disclaimer that while I am Arab and culturally Muslim even if I don’t practice like the rest of my family lol, I am Palestinian and not Syrian. So with every identity there are different experiences and customs no matter how closely intertwined. So I apologize for any inconsistency that a Syrian may read and disagree with, and please feel free to correct me<3 <3

The FIC this HC is from

So first off some background on his mum in the story

I chose the name Vivian based off a friend of a friend who’s uncle married a woman by that name back in Palestine, so it’s definitely extremely uncommon, but a fully Arab lady was named it, so like it’s my defense bahaha. But it also means lively, and coupled with Hussein as her maiden name which means beautiful, it just fit her personality to a t!!

She was born into a pretty secular family in Syria in the late 1920s, so there was a lot going on in that time period. But her dad was pretty influential, working in the government and such. Vivian was also the youngest of four girls and three boys so she was pretty spoiled tbh

She attended a boarding school in France through out her adolescence and decided to go to university there too, so she’s fluent in both Arabic and French, with pretty great English as well. Though she wasn’t exactly white passing, even though like a bunch of Syrians/Palestinians/Lebanese folk she was somewhat fair, she had distinctly Arabian features, like the large almond shaped eyes and thick lashes and thicker brows, and a long, largeish nose, accented by full lips. So she experienced a good amount of jeers and discrimination, especially when folks found out her surname. So I think she’s able to relate to Remus in that sense of being a wolf at least, and later on when he comes out as gay.

It was 1950 when she and a few of her girlfriends went to Wales for holiday after completing university. The second Lyall first spotted her in the woods while she was trying to make it back to the cabin near the Irish Sea with her mates, it was something like love, because duh. She was a fucking knock out!! A babe and a baddy! Literally so far out of his league its ridiculous! But on Vivian’s side, she was mostly just amused and a bit enamored by this cocksure Welshman who had the most endearing of crooked smiles that their son would inherit a decade later. So obviously she didn’t make it easy on him, but eventually she let him take her out on the last night of her trip, and was pleased to find out that they had the same sort of humor and the same passion for their careers and even the same love for the outdoors too.

They had a long distance relationship for two years while she went to grad school so she could teach about classics while Lyall himself was rising the ranks in the Ministry for regulation and control of magical creatures— Unbeknownst to her, the Floo network was very helpful with the distance. Just thank God Lyall himself is a Muggle born because he really had to fake the hell out of it lol.

So just to speed things up they got married on a lovely June evening in 1955, subsequent to Vivian excepting a professorial job in Cardiff after Lyall told her about the Wizarding world. At first Vivian thought e was tripping on some subpar edibles until he proved it by transfiguring her snuff box into a lovely broach that she kept for the rest of her life, So after Vivian was convinced, she became absolutely enthralled by all of the magic so completely.

They were trying for a few years when she finally became pregnant with Remus in 1959, and they were both so over the moon (pun unintended).

So like I said above, Vivian’s family are pretty secular, so I see her mostly practicing the cultural aspects of Islam. For example, every Friday— which is the equivalent to Sundays being the holy day for Christians— she lights up the instance that she always keeps herself stocked up on after her annual trip to Syria, instead of the typical candles she ordinarily prefers. And Remus swears that for the rest of his life whenever he smells it, he’s back to being a baby, puttering around the house and watching her dusting the shelves while humming quietly an Arabic song that’ played out the gramophone by a man who’s music would soon become regarded as the song of the people. Or Remus would recall being snuggled into her lap while she read him a novel on the windowsill. Or he’d simply remember listening to his parents laughter fluttering in the air while he fell asleep by the fire, subconsciously making the flower buds closest to him bloom with his untapped magic.

Remus’s first clear memory— thanks to the endless pictures— is when he was around four years old, before the attack, and they were staying in Vivian’s home town in Damascus. While the men congregated out doors for cigars and cards and the women in the living room chatting while snacking on watermelon seeds, his older cousins— who were all girls— dragged him off to one of the bedrooms and doted on him because he was the baby of that side of the family. And he remembers walking out in a set of one of their heels and a headscarf wrapped around his head which made his Mama and Tata and Aumties laugh out loud and croon over him, and all his uncles and Sido call him Aumty Remus.

The attack by Greyback happened soon after they returned to Wales, and I’m not gonna touch on it becs I’ not finna depress myself. But it was a January morning after his first transformation and he remembers that when he woke up, he saw the cookies stuffed with dates resting on his bedside with a glass of milk that Lyall had put a cooling charm on. And they’re indulgent treats that Vivian makes for both Eids every year even though they don’t celebrate them in any other way lol. But the cookies always reminds him of family and of feeling safe in his mother’s arms, and they still work to make him feel better even after the worst thing he has ever experienced in his short life.

Remus’s love of poetry came from both sides of his parents, but it was listening to his mother recite the story of Majnun Layla in it’s original Arabic that really made him glow for the art form, and brought him to discovering his favorites like Auden and Neruda.

There’s a ornate, wooden prayer box that has been past down on the Hussein side of the family for five generations, it was originally meant to hold a Qran but for the past three it’s simply just been a beautiful piece of decoration. So when Vivian gave it to Remus when he was headed off to Hogwarts, little Remus asked McGonagall to help him with locking charms so it could become a safe place for him to keep his most cherished of nicknacks ant momentos, so obviously, she silently added a charm to keep the wood nearly unbreakable and the extension charm atop of that, like Hermione with her bag, so that he could keep as many happy memories as possible inside of it, and she prayed that there would be so many that it threatened to burst.

The last time Remus opened the box was in 1996, when he was putting away the ring Sirius gifted him as a match to his own in some feeble promise of forever only weeks before James and Lily’s own engagement.

Once during first year, he and the lads were staying up late, trading stories about how they got their most ridiculous scars— after seeing the one that scraped across Remus’s left shoulder blade— But it got to a point where they were all feeling a bit nippish, so they went down to the kitchens for some of the chocolate pudding that was served during dinner that night. And Remus idly asked the house elves if they could make him a batch of Kinafa because he was getting home sick and missed when he and his Mama would dash over to the city whenever they were feeling antsy, and she’d take him to their favorite hooka bar after buying a round of the dessert— which is basically sweetbread stuffed with cheese— from down the block. And they’d stay sitting beneath the starlight, and talking about her job and his lessons from school while she’d let him try a discrete puff or two and they’d laugh about everything and nothing at all.

The next time they stopped by the kitchens one of the younger house elves presented him with the snack gleefully, and it tasted fine, just not like how they do back home. So Remus smiled warmly at Tipsy, the house elf, and thanked her with real sincerity.

But his face must’ve betrayed him because after easter break, Sirius plops down a fresh batch of them on Remus’s bed before leaping into his own, casually mentioning that he saw how grossed out Remus looked when trying the one the house elves made, and it was from a restaurant close to Grimmauld so it’s not that big of a deal, and then he rushed to cursing at James for stealing his favorite pen and swearing that if he broke it he’s gonna have hell to pay. Remus had only blushed and chuckled with a small smile on his face when he cut himself a small piece and finished the half sheet off with the rest of their house later that night during an impromptu party that the Marauders would become infamous for in later years.

It was the summer after second year when all the marauders visited Remus back home in Wales and when they heard Vivian call him Qamar practically every other sentence, which of course lead to endless ribbing and eventually to his nickname of Moony— even though it’s so fucking obvious and Remus loves and hates it in equal parts. God his friends are so fucking stress inducing!

Remus teaches the other marauders funny Arabic curse words and they use them in class so that they can talk shit about particularly disgusting Slytherins without them being any of the wiser. (Yes I did do this with my friends, and I’d do it again! POW! POW! POW!)

It’s from Vivian that Remus has an affinity for coffee as strong as shit, but also prefers his tea weak— specifically two sugars and a dash of milk. But seriously, if you’ve ever tried Arabian coffee you’d understand, that shit is so fucking strong it’s literally a hate crime LMFAO. But yeah, this habit is definitely a point of contention between him and Sirius— who’s actually so fucking posh no matter how much he wants to be punk, and he stands by only drinking black tea— like Merlin intended— and saying bugger off to any and all coffees. “Leave that shite to the French and Americans.” And Remus would try to keep himself from making eyes at him from across the table, because God Sirius is hot when he’s all fiery and impassioned, even when it’s about the dumbest, most inconsequential shit.

Something that’s sort of funny is that Remus was the first among them to become a fucking pot head and could drink them all under the table even though Sirius himself has got two stone and three inches on him. But Remus still refuses to eat ham, purely because he never grew up eating it and doesn’t care too now. Sirius had to specifically ask Euphemia and Monty to make turkey for Christmas dinner their sixth year just because he knew that Remus’s head would probably implode with the decision between being rude and not eating it or forcing himself to gag down the unfamiliar meat.

When Remus is really, really fucking drunk he definitely spends the night only speaking in Arabic! (Don’t look at me I’m trash just because I stole this from my own life lmfao) But yeah, it’s really fucking hilarious and Sirius swears to God he’s so fucking in love with him while listening to Remus ranting in the unfamiliar language. And he’s like positive that half the time he’s actually just cursing Sirius out but he doesn’t even care because it’s SO! DAMN! CUTE! And sometimes Sirius decides to speak French at a drunk off his arse Moony, who occasionally replies back in a stiff staccato before returning back to the easy Arabic. And it’s just a mess.

Ok so sadness warning

In my head, Vivian loses her fight against breast cancer the July after the Marauders graduate from Hogwarts, and afterwords Remus gets a tattoo of her name in Arabic on his chest, and the word for soul on the nape of his neck. He locks away that battered copy of Magnun Layla in the wooden box she gave him years ago, along with a woolen scarf that smelt like her perfume.

It’s Sirius who buys a set of prayer beads to hang off her photo above the mantel in the flat he and Remus share, and when Remus sees it he literally feels like he might crack open with tears, but opts to kiss Sirius thank you instead, and they stay tangled on the sofa for the rest of the day in quiet contemplation.

One night, in late 1979, while the war was only getting worse and worse— Sirius was hit by a cutting curse to the ribs. And it was really fucking bad, but thankfully James got him to his house in time for Lily to help and heal. He slept for the most part for nearly an entire day, but remembers snippets. Like when Remus had sprinted into the room with fear painted all over his soft features, and when James put a cooling cloth to his head. But most distinctly, Sirius recalls Remus gingerly lying besides him and Sirius talking gibberish at his boyfriend while Remus plunged his entire face against his back, eyes wet with tears and body shuttering as he squeezed him softly, saying something quietly in Arabic. Sirius obviously didn’t understand like 99.9% of it, but he did catch the word “Habibi,” which he instantly remembers as an old pet name Vivian use to call Remus with so much love it made her entire countenance sparkle. It’s an endearment that means beloved, or darling, and it feels like Remus is begging Sirius to stay with him and Sirius’s throat is still raw from the screaming, so he can only reply by dragging Remus’s hand up to his mouth and kissing his knuckles tenderly. And he knows that whatever he does for the rest of his days, he loves Remus Lupin with every cell in his body.

Oof this got mad depressing…. Chow anyways, I can add a picture of the container you’re suppose to use for the instance if anyone wants that?

Thank you again dear Nonny!!!

Ask Me For Headcanons About A Story I’ve Written Or For One You Want To See Written

#WOLFSTAR #REMUS LUPIN #SIRIUS BLACK #MARAUDERS #THE HARRY POTTER SERIES #SIRIUSXREMUS #REMUSXSIRIUS #HEADCANONS #HEADCANONS BY LEN #FIC: MAMA LUPIN IS A BABE

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pixelatedrose · 5 years

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Soulbound Part Seven

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Ao3 link

Masterpost

Word Count: 2,788

Pairings: Prinxiety, Logicality, background Remile

Warnings: Uncensored swearing, nightmares, mention of implied self harm (skip from “It had been another nightmare” to the end of the paragraph.), slight self deprecation, if I missed anything at all please please tell me, and if there’s anything you’d like me to tag, don’t hesitate to ask!

Summary:

Roman Prince and Logan Rose are soulmates. They’re platonic soulmates though. They both have the same Soul mark to prove it. But they both have one other soul mark, binding them to one other person. And when they find Patton Miles, it just so happens that they’re both his soulmate. Logan being his Soulbound Soulmate, and Roman being a platonic soulmate. But something feels missing. And it feels filled, shockingly so, when they meet a certain someone a year and a half after they found each other.

Chapter 7

Logan Rose woke up with a bit of a start. He glanced around his room wildly, everything appearing fuzzy without his glasses. He calmed himself down before pulling the cord on his bedside lamp and examining his arm.

It was bare and pale as always, save for his tattoo that depicted Patton's name.

Despite everything, Logan let out a shaky breath. He knew it was illogical. And that only bothered him more.

It's just a dream, Logan. Nothing is wrong. Logan picked up a book on the ground in spite of himself and began reading. However he found- as he always did- that he was unable to read much further than a few pages.

"It's just a dream...It was nothing but amalgamated memories and images…It wasn't...It can't have been…" Logan took another deep breath to steady himself.

And once again resorted to the only method that ever seemed to work.

He flipped open a small journal and began writing down his dream with as much detail as possible.

It had been another nightmare. He had been sobbing on the floor of a foreign room before dragging himself over to an all too familiar box under the bed where he fished out a pencil sharpener blade and had-

Logan paused for a moment in his writing. He always hated writing about his nightmares. It was necessary for him to fall back asleep, but it was so hard sometimes.

Every once in a while Logan Rose had acutely vivid dreams about ordinarily mundane things that didn't seem to make sense.

Seeing people he'd never seen before at a birthday party he'd never attended.

A dark room that slowly got edgier as time wore on filled with a multitude of different events. Most of them less than savory and quite traumatic.

A kid, taller than Logan, pushing him to the ground and pulling him back up by his hair only to have someone else spit in his face.

These dreams made no sense to Logan. Dreams were supposed to be concoctions of memories, images, ideas, and emotions. Logan's brain should not be able to create such a vivid image of a house he'd never seen before. And yet Logan would have remembered if he'd ever seen the odd house with the strange yellow door that his mind so often brought up.

Logan finished writing down his nightmare in his dream journal and set it down once again, rubbing his tired eyes. He glanced over at one of his many bookcases, sighing at the vast amount of dream journals he had filled up over the years.

He had started cataloging his dreams back in fourth grade when his mother had suggested that writing about his dreams would help him remember them and even sleep better. So now Logan had nearly 6 years worth of journals filled to the brim with dream after dream after dream. Even if he could never remember what he had dreamed that night, he always wrote down that he was unable to recall any details.

Logan lay himself back down to sleep as he quietly pondered his vivid dreams and what they could possibly mean, if anything at all.

That's absolutely ludicrous. Dreams don't mean anything. They're just dreams. As he drifted off once again, Logan found himself with a ghost of doubt cast across his mind.

Just dreams…

Logan Rose fell asleep, his mind conjuring up recipes that called for memories, images, sounds, ideas, and emotions.

~~•~~

Roman woke up to his alarm which he lazily slapped, sending it snoozing. Five minutes later it started yelling again, and this time Roman reluctantly rolled himself out of bed. Quite literally in fact. He had found it always helped him wake up.

He hit the floor dramatically and lay down on the floor for a few minutes staring at his ceiling.

Roman suddenly was struck by a brilliant idea and he sat up straight and got ready for the day as quick as possible.

"Heya Ro-Bro! Sleep like a corpse?" Remus asked as Roman came down the stairs.

"Why would you phrase it like that? Like actually why??"

"Because it's interesting and you're boring so i have to be interesting for the both of us!!"

Roman watched his twin brother sprinkle poptart crumbs into the omelet he was cooking and grimaced. "Well you sure do a good job of that one…"

"Hey, Ro, have you seen the dandelions?"

Roman paused for a brief moment. "Why the fuck are you eating dandelions?"

"You absolute shitheaded moron it's for Brigit."

Roman flushed. "Oh." He had been thinking of Virgil again and his head was still mushy from sleep. "In the fridge…"

Remus turned and pulled out a small bag of dandelions before hopping over to a glass tank which contained a small tortoise. "Roman's an idiot, isn't he Brigit? Isn't he?" Remus cooed at his tortoise, dropping three of the four flowers in along with a small pile of lettuce before looking at the fourth flower and asking out loud. "Hey, dandelions are edible, right??"

And before Roman had time to violently judge his brother, Remus shoved the entire fucking flower in his mouth like the absolute heathen he was.

"Hey, not too bad." Roman's trash-man of a brother said, walking over to his slowly burning food.

"I swear to god I don't know how we're related…" Roman muttered, returning his mind to a much more savory person.

~~•~~

Roman got to school and met up with his friends. He debated skipping a few steps in his plan and looking for him right then, but decided against it. He didn't want to come off seeming like a creep.

So he waited until his third period rolled around and felt his eyes light up as they fell to the emo boy scrunched up in the back corner of the classroom. Something was definitely brighter about Virgil today. Maybe it was the new hoodie he was wearing or the fresh makeup on his face, or perhaps it was the way he looked rested or the fact that he was nodding along to his music and silently mouthing the words, but Roman was unreasonably happy to see Virgil in a good mood.

“Good morning, Hot Topic! You’re looking splendid today!” Roman bubbled, winking at the mass of emo that sat at the table.

Virgil snorted and looked up at him. “Aw, you think I’m hot!”

“On the contrary! I was talking to my reflection!”

“Ah, that makes more sense. I put too much faith in you to think you’d ever stop being self-absorbed!”

“Hey! You’ve only known me for what, two days?”

Virgil shifted in his seat, having taken out his earbuds already. “I tend to be a pretty good judge of character.”

“Is that so?”

“Yep.”

Roman took his chance to strike. “Well I bet you wouldn’t be able to judge my friend’s characters off of one glance!” Roman smiled at Virgil, missing the way the other’s shoulders relaxed when he spoke. “Want to join me with my friends at lunch?”

Roman patiently awaited the inevitable decline. It was part of his plan. He would laugh it off and be charming as ever and continue to pester him until he-

“Sure.” Virgil said casually, a hint of a smile on his face.

What.

“You seem like a cool guy, I guess. Should I meet you by the cafeteria?”

Roman’s head was a jumbled mess and where he had been planning on being charming, he had fallen end over end down the stairs of grace and was drowning in his own pool of poor planning.

“Uh, uhm, n-no I’ll just meet you outside your class!” Roman had just barely been able to save the end of that sentence. He had not expected the emo boy to accept his offer so quickly. He thought the boy was shy and reserved, didn’t like talking to people. Curiosity to know what made the emo boy trust him overtook Roman. “Would it be terribly rude of me to ask why you’d want to come and eat with a bunch of people you hardly know?”

Virgil shrugged. “I dunno. I just kinda…” He turned and pulled up his hood. “Feel like I can trust you. I also don’t really have anyone else, so I mean I don’t have many options.” he lowered his voice to the point where Roman wouldn’t have been able to hear the emo. “And if I at least look like I have friends maybe people will leave me alone this time around…”

It worked and Roman hadn’t heard his breathless whisper. “Oh! Well I’m touched! In fact I think-”

Ding!! Ding!! Ding!!

Damn that bell.

Class began and Roman didn’t get the chance to mention that he and Patton shared a class. A minor detail, but he was irrationally disappointed that he couldn’t keep talking to his newfound...Friend.

Roman thought. Friend? Am I not jumping the gun by considering us friends this early on? What would Virgil think? Would he be okay with it? Would he be disgusted? Roman’s mind filled with the image of Roman calling the boy his friend and Virgil smiling widely, happy to be his friend. Roman let himself smile too.

The period ended and Roman said his farewells to Virgil. Roman pulled out his phone between classes and brought up the group chat.

Hey I’m bringing a friend of mine to come and sit with us at lunch kk

It was just a few moments before his phone buzzed quietly in his hands.

Pat-man: OOOooooOOOooOOoo~~!!

Pat-man: A *friend* you say? *nudge nudge wink wink*

Each of his texts were signed with a series of emojis, ranging from hearts to faces.

Roman typed out a text, leaning against the wall outside his classroom.

Yes Padre, a FRIEND

Nothing more than that! I swear you rwad into things way to much

His Phone buzzed again and Roman looked at the new text.

Pocket-protector: First off, you misspelled 'Read' and second, you used the wrong 'Too'. Third, if you're speaking of the boy you have gone on about for the past two days, then-

The bell rang and Roman silently thanked it for saving him the time to read Logan's perfectly composed letter of a text filled with perfect grammar.

The hours ebbed by anguishingly slow, it seemed the more he wanted to see the pale boy the more the weights the universe attached to time's ankles.

Finally- finally- the hour struck three minutes till the bell and Roman silently excused himself knowing that the abandoned hall pass in his pocket that would free him of suspicion.

He got to Virgil’s classroom just in time for the bell to ring and for Roman to quickly lean himself up against the lockers casually.

Virgil walked out and seemed almost surprised to see Roman standing there before a ghost of a smile adorned his pale face.

“Honestly, you don’t have to skip out of class early just to wait for me.” Virgil said as he walked up to the taller boy.

“I know, but it wouldn’t be very chivalrous of me to leave my new friend wandering through the halls with no guide!” Roman smiled and the pair started walking towards the cafeteria.

“And so that would make you my knight in shining armor?” Virgil teased.

“No, I like to think of myself as more of a prince.”

Virgil snorted back his laughter. “But I thought they gave princes education! They’re doing a miserable job rearing you.”

“Ha, ha. Very funny, Jerky Mcjerk-face.”

“Ouch! Is that the best comeback you have for me, Princey?” Before, Virgil had called Roman by the theatrical nickname in a friendly manner, now his tone was mocking him, a soundless giggle twinkling in his blue eyes.

Roman hrumphed and crossed his arms. “Sometimes I’m not entirely on point with my words! I’m human! Even someone as flawless as me can make mistakes!”

Virgil barked out a short laugh. “Ha!! Flawless! I should bring you up on charges for false advertising!”

“Then maybe I should do the same with you, Surly-Temple! You’re not as shy as you seem, are you?”

“Who ever said I was shy? I just don’t like people.”

“Oh…” Roman internally cursed at his lack of words. He had jumped to conclusions. It was a simple mistake, but it reminded Roman of another thing he should try and fix. He shook it off easily. “Well in that case I’m sure you’ll have no problem introducing yourself to my friends!” He led Virgil through the thick of the now bustling and ever so loud cafeteria to a table in the back near one of the backdoors leading outside. It was a small circular table, like all the others in the room, perfect for a friend group to claim and have no one else intrude.

Patton and Logan were already sitting down and chatting about what sounded like the emotional and psychological repercussions of being torn from your dimension and being thrown into another. A very fascinating topic to say the least.

“Hey, Padre! Pocket protector!” Roman announced as they neared the table. Roman noticed out of the corner of his eye Virgil throwing up his hood. “I must introduce to you all, a one Virgil Sanders!” Roman theatrically bowed and gestured toward the purple haired boy next to him.

Patton stood up immediately and flounced over to the boy. “Hi!! My name’s Patton, but you can just call me Dad!!” He said with a wink as he held out his hand for Virgil to shake. Virgil seemed to relax as he took the sorter boy’s hand in his.

“Virgil. It’s nice to meet you, Patton.” He smiled lightly.

Logan had stood as well, letting Virgil come to him. “Logan Rose. A pleasure.” He said politely, extending his own hand. Vigil accepted it and the group started to settle in.

“You know, Virgil, I think I have the same second period as you!” Patton slipped in as they started taking their seats.

Virgil seemed to think for a brief second. “Oh, I guess so. I guess nice to re-meet you, then.” He slowly took off his hood and faced Patton who was seated across from him. “Sorry I didn’t recognize you, I tend to not pay attention to stuff like that.”

“It’s fine! I think it’s great we have a class together! It means less boring moments in the day!”

Logan was staring at Virgil and he started speaking. “You know, You look familiar to me as well...Do we not share a fifth class together? Ap English in Mr. Evan’s class, if I am correct?”

Virgil blinked. “Uh...Yeah...So I guess I have a class with each of you then...What are the odds?” Virgil gave a small laugh.

“Infinitesimal.” Logan replied before biting into his sandwich.

“Oh speaking of which, do you remember what was taught yesterday? I was trying to do my homework and sort of forgot what he’d said…”

“I remember absolutely nothing but I do remember he was wearing a pink shirt with a green belt and was disgusted, I mean I may not be one for fashion, but even I know that was a horrific choice.”

The table erupted into several different kinds of laughter. A loud booming one from Patton, a softer but clear one provided by Roman, and a light chuckle emitted by Virgil.

Lunch wore on and It seemed like Virgil really connected with everyone.

He was in a brighter mood for the rest of the day as he walked off with Logan, discussing fan theories about doctor who and Sherlock, and then happier still when he met up with Roman in the theater and got to have his older brother teach him for what seemed like the first actual time.

And as Virgil bid his farewells, Roman called out to him.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Virge!!” He yelled across the courtyard, waving happily at his new friend.

“Cya!!” Virgil called back, feeling happy and warm inside.

Virgil had never even had friends before, and for some reason, having only just met them a few hours ago, felt like these friends were ones that were going to last. He felt so right when he was with them. It felt so right when he would hear Logan talking about one subject or another, or when Patton made a dad joke or pun, or when Roman did something charmingly stupid or funny. It felt right being with them.

And for someone who’s never felt right in their life, Virgil felt as though it was all too much to actually be real.

But for once, He didn't worry about that.

Author’s note:

Oh wow! Would you look at that! I’m way early!! I legit thought I wasn’t going to get this done in time because I stopped writing for like two days cause one: I wanted to write a special valentines day mini fic (Link here!) and then two: I was away from my computer and had very tiny motivation. Anyway I hope you guys appreciate my earliness, and note that this probably won’t happen too often. Stay fresh and minty my lovelies!!

Tag list

@anxietea-and-insanitea @ghostboi-bambi @scrunchiescrunchie @badluckkaren @ambrechandra @nadja-chamack16 @athenashipsthings @slitherynchiken @crooked-harmony-student @icequeenoriginal @just-a-hufflepuff @nerd-in-space @sammys-ghostz @nutsanddults @misterteaz @sanderssidesweirdo @dragonheart905 @hitmewiththatfanart33 @iwillsithereandtrytocontribute

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sparrow-flies-south · 4 years

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Ten Things [4]

Fandom: Sanders Sides Pairings: Anxceit, Royality Intrulogical Summary: Ten Things I Hate About You AU When Roman Prince learns that Patton Foster isn’t allowed to date until his older brother, Virgil, is, Roman is crushed. Roman’s twin brother Remus, however, comes up with a plan: find someone who is willing to date Virgil. And who better to ask than Janus Verona, who according to rumours is willing to do anything for the right price? Taglist (ask to be added!) @glitchybina @imlikeaghostzombiejesus @someone-idk-is-here @anxiety-ismy-name @ellietempest Warnings: Underage drinking, description of a panic attack, implied references to sexual assault (though it's never outright stated that that's what the character is worrying about) Notes: This is one of the chapters I've been looking forward to writing since I started planning this thing, so I hope you like it!

AO3 Link - Chapter One - Chapter Two - Chapter Three - Chapter Four - Chapter Five - Chapter Six

This was a bad idea.

Scratch that, this was a terrible idea, and Virgil was clearly insane for ever agreeing to it.

They were parked outside Brad’s house, or at least, as close to it as they could get - the street was littered with cars. Virgil’s hands were still clutched tight around the steering wheel, and he was trying to keep his breathing even.

“Virgil?” Patton said. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” Virgil said.

“Crowds do heighten your anxiety,” Logan observed from the backseat. “Perhaps it would be best if you don’t come with us.”

Virgil shook his head. “I promised Dad I’d keep an eye on you.”

Patton had not asked for permission so much as told Remy that they were going, and they had Virgil with them, and surely Remy trusted Virgil to keep an eye on them. Remy had agreed to let them go with the look of a man who was trying to figure out what the hell had just happened.

“Falsehood,” Logan said. “You promised your father you’d keep an eye on Patton. You are under no such obligations to me.”

Virgil rolled his eyes fondly. Perhaps he didn’t have any official responsibility for Logan, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to look out for him. With how much time Logan and Patton spent together, Logan was practically another brother at this point.

“Let’s just get this over with,” Virgil said, getting out of the car before he could change his mind.

Inside turned out to be just as crowded and loud as Virgil had feared. Teens spilled out of rooms, holding drinks and yelling to be heard over the music that was blaring as if this was a club rather than just a house party. In short, it was Virgil’s idea of hell.

“Oh!” Patton shouted. “There’s Roman.”

Virgil tried to look in the direction Patton had indicated, but it was too crowded to make out who Patton was talking about. People were all around them at this point, boxing them in.

Patton grabbed Logan and made his way through the crowd. Virgil watched them go, unsure if he should follow them. He didn’t like the thought of Patton being off by himself somewhere like this, where anything could happen. But he also didn’t want to ruin Patton’s fun by hanging over his like an embarrassing shadow.

He began to move through the crowd, looking for somewhere he could breathe. Logan was with Patton, and Logan wouldn’t let Patton do anything stupid. Virgil would check in on them every now and again, but otherwise leave them alone.

The crush of bodies was making the air thinner. His fingertips were tingling. He spotted a door that looked like a bathroom, and pushed towards it, barely aware of his surroundings. When he reached it, he nearly fell against it in relief.

He tried the handle. Locked. He’d have to find somewhere else.

He needed to get away from the crowd. He couldn’t breathe, and his head felt like it was going to split in two. Maybe there was another bathroom upstairs. He pushed his way towards the hallway, but people were everywhere, pressing in on him, trapping him.

A hand fell on his shoulder, and Virgil swung around. His shoulder buzzed, as if even his cells were trying to escape the sudden touch.

“You made it,” Janus said, a small smile on his face.

Virgil should say something, had to say something, before Janus thought he was a weirdo, but conversation was well out of the window by now. He just stared, as if that would make the world fit back in place. Janus frowned.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

That was something he could answer. He shook his head, tears blurring his vision.

Janus placed a hand around Virgil’s wrist. “Come on.”

Janus moved through the crowd and Virgil staggered behind him. They moved easier now that Janus was leading him, the difference between wading through a swimming pool and fighting against the current of a stormy sea. Janus’ hand stayed firm on Virgil’s wrist, an anchor, stopping them from getting separated.

Cool air hit Virgil face, and the world opened up around him. They were outside, now. Janus led Virgil to a swing bench, and Virgil collapsed onto it. He pulled his knees up tight to his body and buried his face in them.

Even here, in the open air, he still couldn’t breathe.

“Virgil.” Janus’ voice was quiet but firm. “I need you to breathe with me. Is that okay?”

Virgil nodded.

“Is there a breathing exercise you normally use?”

“Four seven eight,” Virgil mumbled into his jeans.

“Okay. We’re going to breathe in for four, okay?”

Janus quietly counted out each step. He didn’t manage to hold for seven the first two times, but Janus didn’t comment, just adjusted his counting and kept going, quietly telling him he was doing well in between each step.

Slowly, the pain in his chest fell away, replaced by an uncomfortable numbness that made his fingertips buzz, and then that, too, faded.

“Fuck,” Virgil muttered.

He really couldn’t go five minutes without a panic attack. And, as if that wasn’t humiliating enough, he’d really just made the boy he liked take him outside and look after him, like he was some little kid.

“It’s okay,” Janus said.

“It’s not. I can’t believe I did that.”

“Yes, how inconsiderate of you to have a panic attack. I’m sure you just love feeling like you’re dying at the most inconvenient times.”

Virgil slowly uncurled himself. It was surprisingly quiet outside. It made the party feel like it was in another world. Virgil was in a new one now, and he and Janus were the only two people in it.

“I’m okay now,” Virgil said.

“Good.” Janus made no attempt to move.

“So you can go,” Virgil clarified. “Enjoy the party. Hope I didn’t ruin it too badly.”

“Watching a bunch of teenagers get belligerently drunk and make terrible decisions does sound like fun,” Janus mused. “But I think I’d rather stay with you.”

Virgil shook his head. “Why?”

“Again with the cynicism,” Janus sighed. “I thought we’d already covered that I want to spend time with you.”

“Ordinarily, maybe,” Virgil said, though he still wasn’t sure why. “But I’m not exactly fun to be around.”

“On the contrary, I’d say you were far better company than any of the imbeciles in there.” Janus looked Virgil in the eyes. “If you’re trying to get me to leave because you don’t want me around, then I will go. But I have a feeling that’s not the case.”

If Janus left, Virgil would be alone. He’d either have to wait outside like a weirdo, or go back inside and act like he wasn’t completely out of place. He didn’t know which option was worse.

“You can stay,” Virgil grumbled.

Janus tilted his head back so he was looking at the sky. In the light from the house, Virgil could only just make out the raised skin of the scar that covered the left side of his face. “How generous of you,” he remarked with a smile.

“I think you should stop for now,” Logan said.

Roman looked over to see that Patton had gotten hold of yet another drink, and was downing it quickly. What was that, his third? Fourth? Either way Logan was probably right.

“It’s fine, Lo!” Patton said when he came up for air. “I feel fine!”

“You’ll probably feel less fine tomorrow,” Remus remarked. Even he looked concerned, which meant that Logan was definitely right.

Roman took the cup out of Patton’s hands and held it out of his reach. Patton pouted and made grabby hands, but Roman refused to be swayed.

“How about we dance for a bit instead?” Roman offered.

The pout instantly disappeared, replaced by the kind of smile that could blind a guy from ten feet away. “Sure!”

They made their way to the living room, which had been turned into an impromptu dance floor, the furniture pushed against the wall to make more space. Patton held Roman’s hand as they went, and Roman tried his hardest to keep calm. He would not swoon just because he was holding hands with a pretty boy.

They found a slightly less crowded spot, and began moving in time with the music. Roman lifted their still joined hands in the air, and Patton spun underneath them.

Patton stumbled as he finished, almost falling into Roman’s chest. He giggled. “Oopsie.”

Roman smiled, though it seemed that dancing might not be the best activity at present, even if it did keep Patton from drinking. He looked around for Logan and Remus, but they must have stayed in the other room.

He turned back to Patton, about to suggest they get some air, only to find Patton was staring at him intently.

Before he could ask what was wrong, Patton stood on his tip-toes and leaned in to kiss him.

Roman wanted to kiss Patton. He really, really did. But he wasn’t going to have their first kiss when Patton was drunk, when he couldn’t tell if this was what Patton really wanted or just a lack of inhibitions.

He took a step back, and pressed his hand against Patton’s shoulder to stop him from closing the gap.

For a moment, Patton just looked confused, and then realisation and hurt rushed in.

“Oh,” Patton squeaked as he took a step back.

Distantly, Roman was aware that the people around them had stopped dancing and were staring. But all he could focus on was the way Patton looked like Roman had just torn his heart of his chest.

“Patton,” Roman began, unsure what to say.

“I’m sorry,” Patton said, tears filling his eyes.

Roman took a step forwards, reaching out to him, but Patton had already turned away. He plunged into the crowd, pulled away from the current.

Roman could only watch, unsure how things had gone so terrible so fast.

“Way out of his league,” someone said, and Roman glared in the direction it had come from.

A group of girls were huddled together, watching. One of them, at least, had the decency to look guilty.

Roman turned away and pushed through the crowd, leaving them behind. Arguing with them would do nothing except waste time. Right now, all that mattered was finding Patton and making it up to him.

***

“How come you were so good at that?” Virgil asked.

“I’m good at many things,” Janus replied, his lips curving into a smug smile. It would be infuriating, if Virgil didn’t secretly think it was cute. “You’ll have to be more specific.”

Virgil gestured towards himself. “That. Most people take way longer to figure out what’s going on.”

Janus turned away. “Panic attacks are awful, aren’t they?”

Virgil was about to ask what that meant, but Janus cut him off. “I will admit this isn’t going completely how I had planned.”

Virgil snorted. “You mean you didn’t plan on wasting your evening out here?”

“I don’t usually plan first dates with the intention of causing the other person to have a panic attack,” Janus clarified.

Virgil’s mouth went dry. So this was a date? He stared at his feet, humiliation hot against his ribcage. So he’d got his wish, only to ruin it so badly there wasn’t going to be another one. That was some kind of monkeys paw bullshit.

“I suppose you’ll have to choose what we do for the next one. It’s clearly one area I’m not skilled in,” Janus continued, and Virgil’s head shot back up.

“Next one?” Virgil echoed.

“First dates are traditionally followed by a second, yes,” Janus said, as if Virgil was the one not making any sense.

Virgil was about to reply when a figure stumbled out of the house and dropped to the ground. A very familiar figure.

“What the fuck,” Virgil hissed.

Janus’ eyes widened, confusion and hurt flickering across his face, but Virgil was already moving, racing across the lawn to where the figure was sat crumpled on the grass.

“Patton?” Virgil asked.

Patton looked up, tears coating his face. He was hugging his cat cardigan tight to his body. Virgil crouched down in front of him, scanning over him. Not injured, thank God, but what the hell had happened?

“Virgil?” Patton asked, voice breaking. “Can- can we go home now?”

Virgil nodded, anxiety crawling up his chest and blocking his throat. What was wrong with him? And where was Logan?

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, Pat. Come on.” He reached out a hand, and helped Patton to his feet. Patton wobbled slightly as he got up, he must be drunk, and Virgil’s mind flashed through a hundred possibilities, each one worse than the last.

Had someone done something to Patton? How was Virgil supposed to ask?

“Is everything alright?” Janus asked, coming over.

Just the sight of someone else, someone who wasn’t panicking, filled Virgil with a sense of relief.

“I- I need to take Patton home,” he said. “But first I need to find Logan. Do you know where he is?”

Patton shook his head. “He was with Remus, I think?”

Remus probably meant Remus Prince, and that just opened up a whole other load of questions.

“Okay,” Virgil said. He’d have to go back inside to look for Logan, but that would mean leaving Patton alone.

“Go,” Janus said quietly. “I’ll look after him.”

Virgil nodded, and squeezed Patton’s arm. “I’ll be right out,” he promised, and headed back into the house.

Inside that crowd pressed upon him immediately, a Virgil felt as if a static cloud was surrounding him, electrifying him. He forced himself to keep moving, keep pushing his way through the room. Why did there have to be so many people? It was just making it harder for him to get back to Patton.

He pushed into the living room, scanning for Logan. Remus Prince seemed like the kind of guy who would be at the centre of attention, but Logan was the complete opposite. Who would win out between them?

A hand grabbed his arm, and a voice shouted “Virgil!”

Virgil spun, and tore his arm away from the boy in front of him, who was dressed in a white t-shirt under a red jacket.

“Have you seen Patton?” the boy shouted. “He ran off- I can’t him.”

Virgil’s hands clenched into fists. There was only one person this boy could be, and it wasn’t someone Virgil wanted to see. “Roman Prince?”

The boy - Roman – nodded.

Virgil put one hand in the centre of the Roman’s chest and shoved, sending him staggering back, almost colliding with a group of dancers.

“I don’t know what you did and you better pray you don’t find out,” Virgil snarled, stalking forwards. Roman’s eyes widened. The dancers had turned to see what was going on, but Virgil didn’t care. There was no room for anything but anger in him now. “Stay the fuck away from my brother.”

He pushed past the stunned Roman, and the crowd parted easily. He left the living room, and entered the dining room, where the crowd became thick like molasses again. Finally, he was able to push his way into the kitchen, where it was easier to breathe.

Logan was stood next to the sink, drink in hand, talking to a boy who was perched on a counter top.

Virgil saw red. He began to march over there to rip Roman away from Logan, until his brain registered that this boy was dressed in a green and black crop top, and was wearing purple eyeshadow. Not Roman. Which meant that this must be Remus.

Remus Prince might not be much better than Roman.

“Hey,” Virgil called as he got near. Logan and Remus both looked over. “I’m taking Patton home.”

Logan frowned, his brow furrowing. “Is he alright?”

Just like that, his anger disappeared, replaced by overwhelming exhaustion. “I don’t know. He came out crying, and I’m pretty sure he’s drunk.”

“Yes, I noticed he was drinking rather quickly.” Logan’s voice sounded even, but Virgil could see the way he tugged at his collar. “I should have tried harder to stop him.”

“Hey, it’s not your fault,” Remus said, nudging Logan. “Pattycake can make his own decisions. Besides, Roman was with him.” He turned to Virgil. “What happened?”

“Why don’t you ask your brother that,” Virgil spat, and Remus reeled back.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means Roman did something to my brother!”

Remus shook his head. “Roman would never-.”

“Oh, and I’m supposed to trust you on that?”

“Enough!” Logan snapped, stepping between the two of them. “This isn’t helping. Virgil, did Patton say what happened?”

Virgil shook his head, teeth clamped tight together.

“Then there is no point in speculating. Once we know what really happened, we can figure out what to do about it.”

He was right, and Virgil knew it. He forced himself to let out a deep breath. “Fine,” he muttered.

Logan nodded. “I assume you came to let me know you were leaving?”

“Yeah. Are you coming with us?”

“That would just add an unnecessary detour to your journey. I will find my own way home.”

Virgil shot a suspicious glance at Remus. “Are you sure? I don’t like the idea of you getting a lift with someone else. Maybe I could come back and pick you up?”

“Again, it’s appreciated but unnecessary. I have a standing agreement with my mothers that should it be necessary, they will pick me up from anywhere I require.”

Remus leaned closer to Logan. “I’ll stay with you while you wait,” he offered. “By the way, has anyone ever told you you’re hot when you take charge like that?”

Logan shot him an exasperated look, but didn’t object.

That was something to overthink another time. Virgil gave a quick salute to Logan, and then hurried out of the house.

He froze in place outside of the door, because Janus and Patton were gone. There was no sign of them anywhere in the yard. The panic that flooded through him knocked his breath away, and his hands shook as pulled his phone out to call them. There was text from Patton already there; Virgil must have missed the notification.

This is Janus, it read. Patton and I are going to your car to wait for you.

Relief flooded through him, and Virgil took a shaky breath as he rushed to his car. They were fine. He’d drive Patton home, and then everything would fine. And if it wasn’t fine, then Virgil was going to murder Roman Prince.

Janus and Patton were waiting together, Janus looking rather out of place. Patton was still hugging his chest, but he’d stopped crying at least. Virgil was torn between interrogating him about what had happened right there in the street, and putting him straight to bed to sleep it off.

“Logan’s getting a lift from his mother,” Virgil told Patton. He turned to Janus. “Thank you for staying with him.”

“It was a total inconvenience and I expect to be compensated for every second of it,” Janus replied. His face was perfectly deadpan, but Virgil was pretty sure he was kidding. He held out his hand. “Give me your keys, I’ll drive you back.”

Virgil shook his head. “I’m fine, I didn’t drink anything.”

“You’re shaking,” Janus said, and Virgil lifted one hand to see it tremble. “I’ll drive.”

That would just add another way Virgil was bothering Janus. How long until Janus got fed up with him, and decided he never wanted to see him again?

But what if he did drive, and have a panic attack and not be able to control the car and roll off a cliff or something. Sure, there weren’t any cliffs in the area, but it could still happen-

Okay, yeah, maybe Virgil was panicking.

He handed his keys over, and then went to help Patton into the backseat, before getting in the car himself.

It was weird, sitting in the passenger seat of his own car. Janus pulled away from the curb, and Virgil plugged his address into his phone’s GPS. Once he was done, he twisted in his seat to look at Patton.

“You okay, Pat?”

“Dad’s going to kill me,” Patton replied miserably.

“No he’s not,” Virgil assured him. “Dad’s, like, incapable of staying mad at you. He’ll probably just kill me for not keeping an eye on you.”

“If you’re referring to Patton being drunk,” Janus said, “Then your father doesn’t have to know.”

Virgil shook his head. “We don’t lie to each other,” he said firmly.

“So you tell him everything about your life then?” Janus asked. “What are his thoughts on Mr Williams?”

Virgil glared. Remy knew that he didn’t like his English teacher, but that was it. He wasn’t going to add to his father’s worries. Besides it wasn’t like anything would come of it. Mr Williams could do what he wanted.

“That’s not the same thing,” Virgil snapped.

“Isn’t it?” Janus asked. “So long as Patton is okay, which he will be, what good does telling him do?”

“That’s not the point,” Virgil argued, crossing his arms. “Besides, what if he finds out?”

“While that is a risk,” Janus admitted, “It’s a low one. How would your father find out?”

Virgil shook his head. “Whatever,” he muttered. He glanced back at Patton in the rear-view mirror. “We’ll figure it out tomorrow, okay?”

Patton nodded, though he still looked miserable.

They drove through the twisting streets of the town in silence. Several times, Virgil wanted to speak, but each time the words died before they reached his throat. What was he supposed to say?

“Virgil?” Patton asked after a while.

“Yeah?”

“Why is Janus driving your car?”

Virgil’s cheeks inexplicably heated, and Janus laughed.

“That, Patton, is because I have taken a liking to your dear brother,” Janus said. “And so I would rather he didn’t die in a fiery wreck.”

Patton nodded, looking thoughtful. He leaned closer to Virgil’s seat.

“Virgil?” he whispered, or at least, tried to whisper. He apparently didn’t have much control over his volume, so it was more of a stage whisper.

Virgil glanced at Janus, who just looked amused. “What?” he stage whispered back.

“Is Janus the thing?”

Virgil had to be bright red now. Janus raised an eyebrow. “Thing?” he asked.

“Hey, how about some music,” Virgil said loudly, fiddling with his phone.

Janus shook his head at the music that came out through the speakers. “Why am I not surprised this is what you listen to?”

“Because I have excellent taste, duh.” Virgil said.

“Well, then I suppose I should be flattered that you spent your evening with me.”

“Correction: I have excellent taste in music,” Virgil shot back, and Janus smiled.

Virgil shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Seriously, though,” he added. “Thanks. For everything you did tonight. It was pretty cool of you.”

Janus just nodded in response, his attention focused on the road, hands tight around the steering wheel. His expression was unreadable. Had Virgil said something wrong? Had Janus just been taking pity on Virgil and was now trying to figure out a way to gently tell him he wasn’t interested?

“Virgil!” Patton shouted from the back. “You should play this with your band!”

Janus’ mouth twitched. At least now he looked amused. “Band?”

“I don’t have a band,” Virgil said quickly. “Not yet, anyway. Maybe one day.”

“Let me guess: you will be the guitar player.”

Virgil nodded. “That and write music. Not that I’m much good at either.”

This wasn’t something he talked to anyone outside of his family about. It was too embarrassing, too easy to make fun of.

But it didn’t feel embarrassing, in the car with Janus.

“What about you?” Virgil said, changing the subject before he could think too hard about what that meant. “Do you play any instruments?”

“Piano and violin when I was a child,” Janus answered. “My parent’s idea. They claimed that it would be useful for my development. The fact that it gave them another two hours each week away from me had nothing to do with it, I’m sure.”

Virgil had never heard anything about Janus’ parents. In fact, it had never really occurred to him that Janus had parents. It felt as if Janus had just appeared at school one day, fully formed and ready to blackmail people.

Virgil knew what shitty parents were like. His birth parents had been great, but he’d spent enough time in the foster system after they’d died to get the full spectrum of shittiness. He wanted to say something, to commiserate, maybe, but Janus cut him off.

“Oh, look,” he said. “I believe this is your street. Which house is yours?”

“The blue one,” Virgil answered, letting the subject drop. “Just park in the driveway.”

Janus pulled in and turned off the engine.

“Thanks,” Virgil said, unbuckling his seat belt. He paused, hand on the door handle. “Wait, how are you going to get home?”

“I left my bike at the party,” Janus said. “I’ll walk back there and get it.”

Virgil shook his head. “No way. I’ll drive you there.”

“Virgil, the whole point of me doing this was so that you wouldn’t have to drive. It’s fine, I can walk.”

“It’s the middle of the night,” Virgil protested.

“This is hardly a dangerous area.”

“Stay here.”

Janus looked incredulously at him, and Virgil felt his cheeks heat as he realised what he’d just said.

“Stay here,” he continued, forcing his voice steady. “I can drive you back tomorrow.”

“Will your father approve of you having a strange boy over?” Janus asked.

“What was that you said about him not having to know everything?”

Still, Janus looked hesitant.

“If you leave, I’ll just worry,” Virgil said, which was perhaps underhand move but it was still true.

“Fine,” Janus said at last.

Satisfied, Virgil got out of the car. He hovered close to Patton as the three of them went up the driveway, ready in case Patton stumbled.

“We’re back,” Virgil shouted as he pushed open the door.

Upstairs, floorboards creaked. Remy must be moving to greet them.

“Were going straight to bed,” Virgil added hurriedly.

“You better not have done anything I wouldn’t do,” Remy called.

Virgil glanced at Janus, standing next to a red-rimmed Patton. “No,” he called, thinking back to the many cautionary tales he’d heard about Remy’s teenage exploits.

“Alright,” Remy called back, and Virgil breathed a sigh of relief.

Upstairs, Virgil pointed Janus in the direction of his bedroom, and then took Patton to his.

Patton dropped down on the bed, looking like he was going to fall asleep right then and there. Virgil shook his head fondly.

“You need to get out of your clothes,” he said.

“Don’t wanna,” Patton mumbled.

Virgil sighed, but didn’t bother to fight. He sat down next to Patton and began to untie his laces.

“Virge?” Patton mumbled.

“Yeah?” Virgil replied, easing the first shoe off Patton’s foot.

“I tried to kiss Roman.”

Virgil’s throat tightened. “What happened?”

Patton flipped onto his stomach, and buried his face in the pillow. “He didn’t want me.”

Virgil sighed, and pushed Patton onto his side. Rejection wasn’t as bad as some of the things Virgil had imagined, but that didn’t mean Roman Prince could hurt his brother and get away with it.

“Want me to kill him for you?” Virgil offered.

Patton shook his head. “I want him to want me back,” he said, voice breaking.

Yeah, Virgil was definitely going to murder Roman Prince. “If he doesn’t want you, that’s his problem, not yours.”

“Feels like it is mine, though.” Patton covered his face with an arm. “Can today just be over?”

“Pretty sure it is by now,” Virgil commented. He rubbed his hand along Patton’s arm. “Go to sleep, Pat.”

“’Kay,” Patton mumbled, and closed his eyes.

Virgil waited a moment longer, but Patton didn’t move. He was either asleep already, or he just didn’t want to talk.

Virgil stroked Patton’s hair, just like he had that first time, only a few weeks after Virgil had joined the family, when he’d crept into Virgil’s bed after a nightmare. Virgil had felt frozen in place as Patton had curled up beside him. He’d never had a brother before. He’d had no idea what to do or say to make it better, and he’d still been terrified that if he didn’t do the right thing, he’d get kicked out.

Seven years later, and he still didn’t know what to do to make everything okay.

“Love you Pat,” he whispered, then crept to his room.

There was nothing more he could do about Patton tonight. He had a whole other problem to deal with.

The other problem was sat on Virgil’s bed, looking at the posters that covered the walls. Virgil quickly grabbed his pyjamas.

“I’m going to get changed,” he explained. “You can take the bed.”

But when he got back, Janus was lying on the floor, his jacket bundled up to use as a pillow.

“I said you could take the bed,” Virgil said.

“It’s your house,” Janus answered.

Virgil should probably try to fight it, but he was far too tired. He crawled into bed and turned out the light.

Sleep never came easily, and someone else in his room only made it worse. After what felt like hours of staring at the ceiling, he rolled onto his side to look at Janus.

Janus didn’t seem to be asleep either, though Virgil couldn’t see his eyes. He was shivering in just his t-shirt, and it couldn’t be comfortable on the floor.

His bed was a double, there was plenty of room. And it was a hell of a lot warmer than the floor.

Was he really going to this?

“It’s a big bed,” Virgil said, and then rolled onto the other side so he didn’t have to look at Janus. Yep, apparently he was doing this.

“I mean, you could stay on one side and I could stay on the other. We wouldn’t even notice the other was there.”

There was silence, and Virgil felt like he was going to combust from the awkwardness. Great, now Janus probably thought he was a weirdo or a pervert or something.

There was the rustling of covers, and Virgil shut his eyes. He hardly dared breathe, but then realised that probably made him look like even more of a creep, so he tried to adjust his breathing. What the hell was a normal amount to breathe?

He felt the mattress dip as Janus got in next to him. He forced himself not to react, as if a cute boy crawling into his bed was something that happened all the time.

The only sound was Janus’ even breathing next to him. Virgil stared at the wall and tried not to think about how close the two of them were to each other.

Yeah, there was no way he getting any sleep tonight.

#sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction #virgil sanders #janus sanders #deceit sanders #sympathetic deceit #patton sanders #roman sanders #remus sanders #logan sanders #anxceit #royality #my fic #ten things i hate about you

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madamhatter · 4 years

Note

“You’re in my world now, not your world.”

disney lyrics: villain edition (pt.1) | sentence prompts | selectively accepting

Step 4 out of The 7-Part Contingency Plan for The Heiress’s Retrieval from Operations and Extraction (THRONE): Mitigation. Calculated time spent: Two hours and 12 minutes. Estimated time of completion: Three hours and 32 minutes.

Mental notes were frequently and committedly made throughout the entirety of the Ultimate Hatter’s recline on the lush and long couch belonging in the dormitory’s living space. Her right arm was forked and resting underneath her head. Alas, how voluntary both the position and location of her leisure was, understandably, doubtful when her frame was serving as the Ultimate Princess’s comforter. Whilst being crushed by the existential weight of expectations and dread of her meaningless life, the russet-locked student wasn’t as affected by the actual physiological pressure against her person. This wasn’t an additional burden against her, it was an unspoken comfort. Though, in the confines of her obstinately private mind, such musings were suppressed and to never dare surface.

While inferior to Sonia’s height by 12 centimeters, the difference wasn’t difficult for Sophie’s management; the couch’s length contributed to how much more accommodating the position could be. Brushing the crook of Sophie’s neck had been the small huffs of breath from Sonia’s sleeping body, as the princess was more than happily adjusting herself and nestling herself against the warm contact, arms wrapped around Sophie’s vested torso. Physically affectionate as she ordinarily was, the alcohol in her body amplified her to such an umpteenth degree that Sophie, in past instances, had intervened and redirected any surprise touch from any unsuspecting parties. And, as in the aftermath of these escapades (when Sophie wasn’t as guiltily intoxicated), she found herself tangled by choice.

Though, she was finding herself falling into the habitual stage of nostalgia; her scarred fingertips weave through flaxen locks, almost like the golden threads that Rumpelstiltskin spun himself. From the crown of Novoselic royalty herself, Sonia’s undone hair (from its usual ponytail and bow combination), had always been a particular enjoyment of Sophie’s when younger. Raising two sisters by herself meant that she fitted herself as much as a mother and father to them more than she was their sister. Complicated styles, regal styles, professional styles, cutesy styles -- she spent countless nights going through books and magazines she managed to scrap at the library. It was supplementary work included with her studies delving into her seamstressing, hatmaking, financing, and other necessaries for her position. It became second nature for young Sophie to take to any hair and play with it, as well as style it, and Sonia was often her make-shift mannequin head. But, it seemed Sophie was paying her dues as the young princess’s mattress now.

Hopefully, the vest’s material uncomfortable to be sleeping against, Sophie hopes. A majority of her day and night were spent rushing between corporate meetings, fitting appointments for customers, and other duties that filled her schedule. She’d only gotten back home two hours ago, and at the sound fo the door closing behind her, she was rushed by the ever-aware and ever-active princess, who had spotted her immediately at the doorway. In the midst of shrugging off her charcoal gray jacket, assertive and greedy arms had wrapped around her chest, nestling into her vest, and was greeted by a symphony of giggles, hiccups, and slurred words.

Now, she was spending her time, still in her work clothes, with her wing-tipped shoes undone, both loosely hanging by her toes, which revealed that underneath her punctual garbs had bene mismatched blue-and-white socks. The jacket was folded and on top of a table not too far from the couch. Even if the three-piece suit wrinkled, slacks and all, it wouldn’t be too difficult to maintain -- it’d only be insulting to insinuate the seamstress was short of knowing proper clothing care!

Juxtaposing the slick yet mute palette had been the princess’s nightly wear. Sonia’s elaborate and expensive nightgown was of a lilac shade, the linen material only available for the most affluent, that much Sophie could perceive by pinching the fabric. Luxury always came easy for those who weren’t able to see the bottom of their pockets and Sonia’s wardrobe reflected that. Sophie quietly fixed the gown by its shoulders, ensuring that Sonia was properly covered, in case the temperature had been too cold for her.

Nostalgia waned in her eyes, a glimmer so rare dissipated as her mind wandered once more to despondent contemplation; a troubling habit that grew rampant as the years past, ever apparent by eyes familiar with her originally brighter self -- Hell, even Sonia commented on it, the most careful woman Sophie knew who wouldn’t risk breaking from her regally regulated character in most and any publicly visible area and situation. Yet, Sophie submits into the abyss, copper slowly glaze over with a coldness while her fingers still twirl and brush through golden hair.

( ... )

“You’re in my world now, not your world.” Arms anchored around her neck like a token of repentance as Sonia gleefully whispers such a phrase to her. Crystalline eyes, brighter than any commonly gloomy day back home for Sophie, marveled at her with, what Sophie interpreted, as an underlying message.

It hadn’t been an unusual case for the blonde to reference her royal lineage, privileges, and background whenever she was inebriated and embracing reckless abandon of all those principles. Whatever driven Sonia to take to expensive and hidden bottles must’ve been associated with a private family matter or sidelined discipline from her mother; especially if such particular details were slurred and carelessly thrown around.

“Miss Nevermind, I don’t understand,” Sophie lies. Her jacket was folded over her left forearm as her right hand found itself carefully holding the princess’s waist. With the other teetering slightly, changing her course of tilt whenever she hiccuped, Sophie would rather not risk adding ‘head trauma’ to the list of damages she’d be needing to cover up for Sonia’s sake. How would she explained to Novoselic sovereignty that their only daughter and successor to the throne succumbed to a concussion because her family drove her to drink?

“Let’s get you somewhere away from prying eyes.” The hatter gingerly tucked a loose lock behind Sonia’s ears, now using her right arm as a means to turn around Sonia. “I need to see what you’ve decided to drink tonight...”

( ... )

“May I confess how irrefutably pissed off that makes me?” Copper eyes glanced down to the slumbering Sonia, one eyebrow perked. “Not by the fact of you saying it, but by how awfully true of a statement that is; how unfair of a fact it is for the princess from the Kingdom of Novoselic endures her only life to be almost removed from freedom and personal choice that everyone should have a right for? How fucking unbe--” Sophie strains her breath, pinching the bridge of her nose. Get your shit together and maintain the temper before it overwhelms you. You aren’t fourteen anymore and childish outbursts and retaliation aren’t going to save anyone; it isn’t going to improve anything and it only hurts others. You’re 18 and the time to be a juvenile long since past, do not ruin the facade you’ve built.

“Ah’m goin’ lose it and al end up playin’ pop with yourn mam and faaver,” and slipping out was the northern accent, far too inconceivably angered to use her posh accent. “Tha end up making every’fin n’ they’d take a proper pissin’ on ya. Katered all neet ‘cause yourn mam were mithering ya. Nar then, mi mate’s ain’t roaring, but, aye, ya ain’t th’ faffin’ type.” Sophie’s head rolls back, taking a loud breath. “Ah swear down,” followed with a string of muffled expletives.

After a moment’s reprieve, the Hatter returns to her senses and glances down at Sonia. “You don’t know how much of your world I’d destroy if it meant you could do what you want, like whatever you can, be whoever you want to be, and be with whoever you want to be...” But, she easily interrupts herself, “And I know how selfish that is for me to say, but I wouldn’t ..I couldn’t.. I hate seeing you being so refined with your smiles, but you can tell the pain behind it sometimes, the carefulness in how you express, and the hesitance and denial to approach subjects and people you believe cannot be a part of your life. You deserve the full cloth of your life, you should cut it the way you want it to be cut and wear it the way you want to. No one else should’ve taken the scissors and made a mess out of it.”

Sophie turns the other cheek, her own right hand slapped over her mouth in terrified silence. None of that should’ve come out! No, no, no-- Sophie forced a gulp and felt her body shaking -- anxious eyes looking everywhere around the room as if someone could hear, as if something was recording her. She takes a startled exhale and pulls herself forward, trying to hold herself together. Yet, she pushes on in her original plan.

“Miss Nevermind,” Sophie properly announces as she untangles her fingers from her hair, now using it to push herself up against the couch. As she was seated up straight, with now blonde seated on her lap and still clinging onto her, she was carefully working around the princess. “Come on,” she murmurs, carefully rearranging the princess’s dangling legs that way they were on either side of Sophie’s outer legs, “make like a marsupial.”

“Mmm,” Sonia answered her with several grumbles, now wrapping tighter around Sophie’s neck and her legs around her waist. She fusses a bit to tuck her forearms underneath Sonia’s thighs (still covered). She, as well, slides out of her shoes to avoid future fumbling.

With a quick breath and patience, Sophie rose to her feet. Nestled and held against her chest was still Sonia, who was soundly back to sleep and, most likely, unaware that she’d been sleeping out in the living room in the first place.

“There we are,” Sophie sighs with relief, now beginning the short walk back to Sonia’s bedroom. She hums herself, though, she quietly holds the princess against her, desperate to protect her. But, she knew their futures were futile and there wasn’t anything she could do about it.

#( checkbooks inquiries and much ; answered asks )#( verse: the ultimate ᶠᵃᶦˡᵘʳᵉ hatter | school life )#morethanaprincess #[ this prompt went from childhood memory to sonia dming to now this ]#[ i hope this is alright ; rae ! and tysm for sending this in. ]#alcohol tw #alcohol #intoxication tw #intoxication

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darkmindsotome · 5 years

Text

A Case of Jealousy

Ikevamp long/short of my little OC and Arthot.

Warning: This descends into debauchery(smut). **Please read responsibly.**

tagging: @a-shout-to-the-void, @xathia-89, @umbralaperture and @jennacat84 If you want to be removed from tagging let me know :)

Darkmindsotome Masterlist

---

A case of Jealousy

Opulent was a word that only touched the peak of this 19th-century excuse for a house party. The ballroom was full of people rubber necking and brown-nosing their way around the room. If you ignored the scale of it this was nothing unusual even in the 21st century.

Keeping her back straight in her gown provided by the Comte she stood next to her escort for the evening, smiling pleasantly at the approaching well-wishers hoping that her desire to yawn was suppressed enough to not show.

“Pardon Aerion. I had hoped to provide you with a much more relaxed stay but it appears…” The Comte spoke softly just loud enough for only her to hear.

“Work intervenes? You have no need to apologise Comte. If I were back in my own time, I would still have had this kind of event to attend.” She smiled and tried to ignore the enquiring looks she felt from behind. It didn’t matter how many times she had attended things like this it seemed the locals still wished to observe her as some sort of curio in a cabinet.

“You are too kind. However, I still feel responsible for all of this. Allow me to grant you a day off tomorrow.” He returned his attention to another approaching well-wisher, his words hanging in the air as if subtitles were on pause. Elegantly he extended his hand and polite affirmation at another guest. Their conversation had continued in this fashion all evening.

“Ordinarily I might be inclined to politely refuse your suggestion but I fear my feet may have other ideas after tonight so I graciously accept on their behalf.” Aerion gave her light-hearted acceptance. There was no denying the Comte and his generosity. The gowns, shoes, accessories had all arrived at her room as if by the magic that was Sebastian. The quality of such things was unequivocal to anything she had in her time.

“Mais bien sûr. Ah, pardon. I see someone I had business with ce soir. I hate to leave you unattended.” The Comte had a pained look on his face as he spoke.

“Please I’ll be fine I’ll just get a drink and wait for you to return.” Her attempt to reassure the man was met with his apologetic expression softening. His golden eyes that sometimes seemed so expressive with unspoken emotions like deep lost pools of thought appeared warmer right now. His lips bowed into a charming smile.

“You could also enjoy some of the food.” He indicated the sublimely displayed tables of finger food set out at the far side of the room.

“In this corset?” Her quip was partly true. The food did indeed look delicious but she was acutely aware of the whale boning stitched tightly into the fabric that was compressing her insides. It did give her body a much better silhouette in the gown but that did not mean she was comfortable.

“Très bien merci Aerion.” The Comte gave a small low chuckle as he placed a brief kiss on the back of her hand and left her side, cutting his way towards his intended business of the evening.

---

His hand cramped whilst still holding his pen signally that it was time to stop. He had been writing in his room since the muse struck him at some point around lunchtime. He remembered the brief interruption from the mansion’s latest guest arriving with a glass of rouge to sate his hunger. Curious creature that she was he couldn’t deny it was exhilarating to have such back and forth with her during their conversations. She tended to broach a desire to not take part in extreme displays of idiocy but she was also not a total wet blanket.

He had found himself drawn to her when she had taken to traversing the library in search of nightly reading material. This was by no means strange, but the topics she had decided to choose from had piqued his interests. Thickly bound texts on philosophy, mythology and even more intriguing were the works of psychology she had added to her borrowed literature. He hadn’t seen someone devour a book in such a fashion outside of the study hall in school. Stretching his arms above his head the desire to go in search of coffee struck. Removing his reading glasses and placing them on top of his new manuscript Arthur rolled his head to ease the stiffness in his neck.

His short jaunt to the kitchen caused him to develop a bounce to his step as the idea that he might see the pretty little skirt there with her arms submerged in soapy suds cleaning the dishes from dinner. How would she react to him sliding up behind her and whispering a greeting in her ear? He would probably resemble a drowned rat afterwards but it would be worth it.

Aerion was a woman out of her time, displaced if you would prefer to use the term. Unlike the residents of the manor who were now not really part of time, in a mortal sense anyway. He could remember how Napoleon had attempted to hide her on her arrival and chuckled. As if you could hide such a rarity. He had spoken lightly in jest as was his habit. But somewhere along the way with all their bickering and bantering he had found himself even more aware of his eyes following the woman. Her short white hair, jauntily styled to one side of her face revealed all of her neck. She seemed oblivious to what such a sight could provoke in an establishment such as this. How the open show of vulnerability might cause the inner beast to stir.

She was quick-witted with a sharp tongue at times. Her eyes had a way to pin you to the spot that could rival the Comte if she so desired. It was certainly a thrill to have the luxury of their little daily interactions in his extended life span. His pace increased without his noticing and when he came at last to the kitchen doors he did find someone in there doing dishes as he had thought but it was the wrong human.

“Good Evening Sebastian.”

“Arthur.” Sebastian glanced over at the new arrival who sauntered into the kitchen making a beeline for the coffee-making paraphernalia. “You seem happy.”

“Tonight is a good night. I managed to put an end to that accursed tale. Only one thing could improve my mood further. Where is the enchanting Governess?” Arthur busied himself with the coffee bean grinder, cranking its handle releasing the fresh raw scent of the ground beans into the air.

“Aerion is with le Comte attending a ball.” Sebastian’s reply was matter of fact. His attention had returned to the dishes in the basin.

“Ball? Not that tediously dull one that he was talking about at dinner last week?” Arthur placed the powder into the french press waiting on the hot water to boil.

“The very same. He had made arrangements for her to attend with him, I delivered her gown myself.”

“I see. Well, well.” Arthur’s hand stilled momentarily as he poured the water allowing it to aerate with the coffee grounds enough to become the perfect brew.

He had a few pleasures left in his life. Coffee, fudge and women. The latter had become something akin to habit lately. He had found himself conversing with the pretty little things in the city only to discover his interest wanting. There was something stirring and he recognised enough of it to know it wasn’t going to change without intervention.

“I’ll be stepping out for a time Sebastian.” Arthur placed the lid on the coffee pot and turned on his heel marching out of the room.

“Very well. What about your coffee?” Sebastian arched his brow noting the sudden shift in demeanour from Arthur.

“You have it!”

---

Roughly ten minutes. That was how long it took for her to attract attention perched on a chair provided by a wall in the ballroom and rather, unfortunately, it was also how long she had been listening to a young man’s babbling as he recounted numerous anecdotes of his travelling outside of the city as he in his own words “experienced the spice of life.”

This basically meant he was a historical version of a modern era young adult who had taken a gap year and a job where ever he could find it as he dicked around the Dordogne, or whatever the 19th-century equivalent was for one of those holidays that was essentially one excuse after another to chase temptation in all its forms.

“… And then the owner of the vineyard.” The young man’s energetic delivery of the same thing repeated was becoming a source of a growing headache. She maintained eye contact with a detached non-committal smile on her face but inwardly was calculating how long it would be till the Comte came back and saved her. There was a lull in his talking indicating a required response from her.

“Fascinating. I have to say I really enjoy travelling myself. Tuscany sounds a little similar.”

“Oh! You enjoy travelling too? Perhaps I should invite you on my next trip.” The smile that flashed over his expression did little more than add to her rapidly increasing desire to just leave the party. Her eyebrow twitched as she silently cursed herself for walking right into that one.

“I wouldn’t hold your breath…” She muttered into her wine as she tilted the glass back.

“Pardon?”

“I said I was curious about the depth. The ocean looks so vast and dark when you go to the coast but I don’t think I’ve ever been close enough to answer the question.” She was certainly tired. The man in front of her was becoming more and more intoxicated either by the flow of alcohol he was guzzling or by the rarity of having someone be polite enough to fake interest in his tales of youthful debauchery.

“You are so charming. We really should find out and whilst we are discovering the answer to that question we could find the answers to other things as well no?” His hand reached out towards hers that was resting on her lap. There was no attempt to hide behind a mask about anything of the things he was considering. His body was beginning to draw closer but before she could do anything about it she felt his hand leave hers as his body was guided with force away from her.

“There you are Aerion. Wouldn’t you know this place is so large I quite lost you for a time? Careless of me.”

“Arthur?”

He was an unlikely rescuer to be sure. He wasn’t a bad guy really but compared to the rest of the men in the mansion there was just something about him that always seemed to flip that switch in her. The one that usually prevented that inner snark from tumbling from her like a waterfall.

“You two are together? I had no idea. You never said you were with someone.” The young man was flustered. His desire to shift blame was evidence of that. But that wasn’t what had caught her attention.

Arthur was being unusually threatening. She could feel the intimidation rolling off him as he smiled at the other man, placing his body as if to shield her.

“Well, now you know. Poor form dear boy to try to go after someone else’s partner.” His blue eyes reflected the ice in his voice. The nonchalant attitude he usually possessed seemed to have abandoned him completely.

“Your what now?” She couldn’t help but voice confusion. Arthur was a terrible flirt and an incorrigible tease but whatever they had had not progressed past that since her arrival. He was a decent drinking partner and conversationalist in the long evenings where she found she couldn’t sleep. But when had I become “his”?

“Pardon monsieur. I really had no idea.” The terrified young man freed himself from Arthur’s grip and scuttled away into the crowd.

“Arthur? What do you think you are doing?” Aerion enquired drawing his cold eyes from the direction of the rapidly retreating man to hers.

“That’s my line. Were you intent to let such a man lay his hands on you?” Arthur rounded on her now. It was predatory and completely different from the Arthur she knew.

“Of course, I wasn’t!”

“Really? I have to wonder. The evidence such as it is would suggest otherwise.” His face softened a fraction as he elegantly scooped up her hand that had been held by the other man. Tracing his long fingers over it, his thumb rubbing her palm in circles.

“Well, the “evidence” as you call it is wrong.” Her reassuring denial seemed to fall on deaf ears and as she attempted to retrieve her hand from the ticklish feeling of his fingers tracing her skin only to have his grip shift to clamp around her wrist.

“Ho, ho. So, we have a mystery on our hands? What jolly good luck then that you have me to help discover the truth.” He firmly pulled her arm making her rise from her chair and almost tumble into his chest.

“Arthur!”

“Come along. Unless you would prefer, I conduct my investigation systematically with an audience?” It was difficult to tell if that was another one of his little teases or not but she had no desire to test her own theory on how far Arthur would take things even in public like this. She was supposed to attend as a favour to her Host.

“The Comte…”

“Will figure out what happened. Come on now.”

---

Leading her from the ballroom in a route march Arthur had said no more to her. Even after bundling her into a coach and ordering the driver to take them back to the mansion he had barely cast a single glance in her direction. The only contact they had was his strong grip from his large hand that remained wrapped around her wrist. The heat of it rose in increments that felt like standing a little too close to a naked candle flame.

If she had thought she could escape back to her room she had been gravely mistaken. Arthur opened his bedroom door dragging her in behind him and kicked it shut with such force it made the books on the shelves in there judder.

His soft lips crashed into hers stealing her cries of confusion along with the air from her crushed lungs. Whether it was from the corset or the passionate kiss it was hard to tell what had her head spinning more. The tip of his tongue traced her lips and his teeth grazed the soft velveteen skin as they nipped at her mouth teasing it open again this time more gently. For a moment her mind turned to the old adage about still waters running deep. You really couldn’t tell one hundred per cent what someone was going to do until it happened.

Her back as pressed into the thick wood door behind her. She could feel it putting pressure against her body as Arthur pushed his body flush to hers, his hands stroking all over her gown exploring her outline. Raising her hands to press against his chest seemed to draw him back into the reality of the situation enough for him to at least allow her the chance to gasp for air.

“… Why?” Her breathy whisper tickled over his skin as he pulled back to take in the view. The usually composed, practically perfect woman reduced to a slip of a girl dyed the same shade of dusky rose as her fine silk gown.

“You insist on asking questions you already know the answers to? And you call me a tease…” His mouth was back on hers before swiftly slipping to her jaw trailing innumerable feather-light kisses along it before drawing back once more rapidly devouring her mouth again. The varying attack ranging from sweet and gentle to fiery desperation had her feeling like her knees were about ready to buckle.

“Arthur…”

His name on her lips stoked the fires consuming him from the inside out more. He could feel her body slip under his hands and adjusted her, placing his knee between her legs strengthening her stability. Fingers dancing over the embroidery of the garment found the ties behind her, with a hard tug the knot came loose and so to did a carnal growl from him as the enchanting female in his arms gained enough of an upper hand with her newfound freedom to breathe to sink her own teeth into his collar bone. His hip rolled grinding his knee hard against her centre.

“Biting a vampire? How bold you are.” His low voice trickled into her ear warm as the summer sun and sweet as honey.

“Ah… you bloody tease Arthur.” She was panting in his arms returning his embrace stroke for stroke as she too ran her hands over him, their clothes becoming increasingly more dishevelled.

“If you think this is bad however are you going to handle what comes next?” There was a devilish smirk on his face as he scooped her up practically tossing her on his leather sofa.

“Huh?!” Her pale blue eyes darkened with lust were wide at the sudden change in location. Not giving her time to adjust Arthur clambered on top of her pinning her arms above her head kissing his way along the soft pale flesh of her inner arms as he made his way back to her heaving torso.

With one hand he reached around her back, his fingers lacing into the short hair on her neck pushing her forward into a strong kiss that had his tongue wrapping around hers. His hand slipping lower down each of her exposed vertebrae discovered the slackened ties to the corset and pulled them more. As the last of the tension left the fabric he managed to free her of its confides completely, relishing the sight of her delicate ethereal form spilling forth into the open air.

“Don’t just stare.” Her protests at his lingering gaze had him chuckling.

“Why? You are a rare beauty. Just my type.” He ran a single long digit from her clavicle to her naval drawing small circles on her hot skin as he looked up into those hooded eyes. “Your body really is much more honest than you are.”

“What are you even--?” Her words were cut off by his hand as it pushed past the layers of fabric gathered at her waist as easily as if they weren’t there at all. Her back arched as he toyed with her most sensitive area.

“See how wet you are? I dare say you were feeling me long before this. What a bad girl you are.” His low methodical tone coupled with his words worked too well. It had her twitching under his masterful hands, just like every other playing piece in any one of Arthur’s games he knew how to work her to his advantage. A fact that under usual circumstances was highly irritating was not the worst conclusion at the current time.

“Ah, I’m n-not…”

“Don’t worry I love bad girls. Just be honest with me and let me love you for all you are.” He slipped his weight lower flipping what was left of the skirt of the gown higher. Exposed to the elements she could do very little but watch in stunned silence as Arthur busied himself between her thighs.

His fingers dug into the swell of her hip leading her body into a change of angle that allowed his tongue to better perform its task. Time stopped when he glanced up at her from between her legs, one hand moving to run along the length of it before he sunk his fangs into the flesh there. The sudden sharp pinprick of pain quickly faded and morphed into a mind-numbing blissful fog that had her writhing happily on a wave of ecstasy. He maintained his ministrations to her core as he drank her own particular sweet brand of rouge. His mind was equally fogged as he realised how hard it was going to be to go back to drinking anything else. Her cries of pleasure had him withdraw, gazing at her wonton face. His fingers remained scissoring inside her, alternating pace and angle driving her closer to the precipice.

“You look like you want something.” His words were only answered by the increased panting of the woman lying prone on his sofa. “Tell me. Tell me Aerion what do you want?”

“Argh! Arthur…” Her groan of protest against his teasing was like sweetened poison.

“Sorry, you’ll have to speak up. I think it's an age thing, my hearing you know?” He moved his free hand to the buckle on his trousers removing them from his body with a practised hand.

“Damn you… Arthur, I want you.”

“Such sweet words. How could I ever refuse Lady’s choice?”

Dragging her towards his lap he guided himself into her an buried his length inside. She was so warm he felt as if he was going to melt as her walls clamped around him with each rock of his hips. The leather creaked beneath them and the room filled with the lusty sighs and carnal moan from each of them as they reached a crescendo that could have rivalled a Diva’s Aria.

Languidly rubbing his hands over her bare shoulders after carrying her to bed Arthur placed a gentle kiss to her nape. Causing Aerion to wriggle in his arms her buttocks brushing against him reviving his desire from moments earlier.

“Are you quite alright?”

“Mmmm, yeah. I think so.” She turned in his arms and he could see her glowing skin. “Why?”

“I just wanted to make sure you were prepared for round two.”

---

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theresponsiblefloch · 5 years

Text

Stormy Thoughts for Stormy Weather

Parties: Javan Floch and Henri Seznec

Location: J2 Bar and Restaurant

Summary: Javan dotes on Lola while Henri updates him on the new changesin his life

@henrixseznec

The stormy weather raged outside, rain coming down in sheets, and if he was sensible, Henri would have stayed home. Unfortunately, Lola had an appointment so he took her out and rather than head for home, he bolted for J2. It was quiet as he pushed through the door, most people apparently choosing to stay home. As he peeled off Lola's jacket, she let out a loud squeal. Glancing over his shoulder, he knew why. Javan. One of Lola's favourite humans on earth. Javan could say all he wanted that he wasn't inclined to children but Lola adored him completely and had since the day she arrived. "Hello. How are you today?" Henri asked as the infant tried to squirm out of his arms reaching for the other man.

With the rain pouring down, Javan wasn't surprised to see that their place was mostly empty. A couple of the die hard regulars were here, but the majority of their tourist business had clearly decided to hole up in their hotel rooms. He looked up on reflex as the door opened and then immediately grinned. Lola was one of his favorite people in existence. Signaling for the house manager to keep an eye on things, Javan walked over and immediately plucked the baby girl from Henri's arms. "Here's my best girl! Looking a bit like a drowned rat there, Henri, so I'd say I'm doing better than you so far."

Henri finished getting out of his soaked jacket and tucked the stroller out of the way. "You know she gets excited every time we pass this place. Ridiculous." Lola was squeaking and leaned in to bite at Javan's shoulder. "Ohh shit ... sorry. She's teething. She's a little bitey."

"Not my fault she has great taste and knows the best place to hang out." Javan let out a small surprised sound as Lola bit him before chuckling. "It's all good. I've had worse bites from less cute girls before. What's the best thing for her to chew on while she's teething cause I'm sure we ahve some of it around."

Henri laughed quietly at Javan's assurance that uglier girls had bitten him. "Well in her defence, she only has one tooth right now." He murmured as he laughed. "I just need to warm up her bottle, unless you wanna feed her?" he asked with a sly look, knowing damn well that Javan was a mushball for Lola.

"See? So no problems at all." Javan offered his finger to Lola so she could nibble on that while they came up with the better solution. He looked up right as he saw Henri's look and mock glared at him. "You're lucky I have an arm full of baby. But we're slow enough right now, I can feed her if you want to dry off or run upstairs to grab a nap or something."

Lola wrapped two chubby hands around that finger and pulled it to her mouth, gnawing on it contentedly as her small feet kicked. "I'll trade a nap for a great meal .... cause I have something I wanna talk to you about."

"We can make that happen. Pick a table to sit at and I'll have Andre put you together a plate so we can talk over whatever is on your mind. You know I've always got time for you." With Lola sitting on his arm, Javan quickly moved to talk to the house manager about going on his break for awhile. Andre was already starting to put together food for Henri so Javan knew he could trust him with the rest of it before rejoining his friend.

"Thanks Javan." Henri replied with a soft sigh. He watched as Lola without so much as a concerned glance at her Papa, disappeared with Javan. He settled into his seat and didn't bother looking at the menu, whatever he got here would be delicious. That much was certain. He set out the bottle on the table, knowing some hot water would be coming for him to set it into in order to warm it up for the baby. "Thanks again Javan. I appreciate your time. I know you are usually busy." Glancing around the ordinarily packed restaurant, "Although maybe not today."

Javan gave a careless shrug as he took a closer look at Henri. The man always looked tired these days, and he supposed that was what came with raising a child full time. But there seemed something extra there. "Like I said, always got time for family. But yeah, it does help that the rain is keeping all the tourists at home and the locals don't usually decide on Tuesday nights for date night out. Do you want food first or do you want to get whatever it is off your mind first?"February 26, 2020

Henri took a breath and let it out slowly, watching as Lola continued to happily gnaw on Javan’s finger without a care in the world. The words just blurred out of him without any further preamble. “Lola’s mom is back. Just out of the blue. Showed up. No call or anything.”

Javan stilled as the words burst out of Henri. "What does she want." The words were flat, but there was a watchfulness to his eyes as he let Lola continue to soothe her gums. Lola was a Maine baby by now, and she was going to stay that way no matter what this woman had to say. The fact that she had walked away from child and father so easily and hadn't looked back for months spoke louder than any possible words she could have.February 27, 2020

"Lola. I think. I mean. At least, to be with her and know her." Henri replied softly, almost unable to take his eyes off the redheaded baby. "She says she has been in the hospital over the last few months. She just got out and came back to Vannes."

"Easy enough to check. Especially since she still walked away in the first place." Javan wasn't sure if Henri was looking for comfort, but he didn't know that he had it in him to offer it to the man. He knew all too well what it was like to have disinterested parents who only showed attention when it served their own selfish interests. He didn't want that for Lola, and he didn't want that for Henri. Not when he was such a good man and a devoted father.March 1, 2020

"Yeah ... I ... umm ... talked to Ben. He's gonna help me hire an investigator to check it out." Henri explained quietly. "I'm letting her stay at mine so I can sort of .... supervise her with Lola. Make sure she ... I don't know ... can actually take care of her, is still clean ... isn't living in some dive. I don't know. I just feel like I have to do something, you know? I want Lola to have a maman, that would be good for her, rather than just me."

"Good." At least this meant he wasn't thinking completely with his dick or whatever had dictated this insane series of decisions. He was taking some practical steps. "And what's your plan for when he walks away again? How are you going to protect Lola and yourself?"March 2, 2020

"I ... I met with a lawyer. Earlier today. She ... she recommended I get a .." The word tasted like ashes in his mouth, "A paternity test. To confirm she is mine. I mean ... she is mine but you know ... biologically." He muttered, reluctantly. He didn't like thinking about the possibility that some other man could roll up and be more tied to her than he was. Alya had the privilege of having given birth. Her relationship was set in stone. Suddenly his felt shaky and he hated it. "She also said if Alya and I came to an agreement that she could draft up something. To make sure Lola stays in Vannes, no matter where Alya goes."

Javan could see how much each sentence was hurting Henri as he talked, and it made his stomach clench. While he was relieved to hear about the lawyer and the private detective, all the steps to make sure that both members of the Maine family would be protected. Alya wasn't included in that. "That's a lot of tough conversations. No wonder you're looking pretty rough. But all of this seems like a lot of good productive steps to take right after she turned your world upside down for the third time." As he spoke, one of the waiters came over with a bowl of hot water and a plate for Henri that Andre had put together. With a nod, Javan indicated where to place each item so that Henri didn't have to worry about anything.March 3, 2020

"This is shit, Javan. Pure shit. I finally felt like I knew what I was doing. I got through it ... all the early confusions. And then this ... what .... " He fell silent when Andre approached. He put the bottle into the hot water to heat up, knowing that Javan's presence would only distract his hungry daughter for so long. He took a sip of his drink and let out a breath, "I really don't want to do the paternity test. The lawyer recommends it though. What do you think I should do?"

Javan took the time to think through his answer and make sure that he was certain in it. Obviously he didn't have any previous experience to point to, but he knew Henri. "You said she's staying with you for now and she seems to want to get to know Lola. That means she's not pushing anything yet. If you don't want to do it yet, you can hold off. Lola's paternity isn't going to change if you test it now or test it later. But. If you do decide to get it done, you know you've got your family at your back and I can go with you."March 10, 2020

It was a relief to hear someone else say it. Henri nodded, perhaps a little too eagerly, "Yeah, there is always time for that.... if things take a turn." He picked up the bottle and screwed on the nipple before giving it a shake. "She's gonna start screaming in five. Here ... she wants to eat. We're working on cereal now. Soon she'll be able to experience the wonders of your menu."

Javan took hold of the bottle and offered it to Lola, smiling more naturally at the eager way the girl started to eat. "That is a relief. I'd hate to have to start coming up with gourmet baby food right as we stop needing it." Still, the levity didn't entirely distract him from the other half of the conversation and he couldn't hide his concern. "What do you want out of this Henri? Keeping her in the house and around Lola?"March 15, 2020

Lola gave a loud grunt as she accepted the bottle. "Gourmet baby food?" Henri had to laugh. "You really do spoil her." The smile faded but he answered honestly, "I want Lola to have a mother. I want to know she is safe with her maman." Then he paused, "Alya was someone to me. I don't ... someone important ..." He was stumbling over his words. "I want to figure out if I had it all wrong or if she was the person I thought I knew. I want to know if I'm the reason she left."

"Never to early to start them learning what good food tastes like. I'm fine with contributing to her eventual food snobbery." Despite his reservations, he listened to Henri as he spoke. He didn't agree with the logic. But he'd also been excruciatingly careful to make sure he never had a child or a someone. So he couldn't tell if Henri was being logical or emotional with this, or which one would be the more right either. He couldn't entirely hide the sigh. "Just...be careful. Of you. Last time you seemed too exhausted to pay attention to the heartbreak. If she does walk again and you don't have any shields up, I'm concerned it'll be much worse this time."

"Well I have no doubt that she will have a very well-educated palate. After all, her uncles are Floches and everyone knows the Floches know what they are about." He replied, laughing quietly. His laugh faded in the face of Javan's kindness. "Thank you but .... as long as my daughter stays where she is, I'll be okay. I know that now. More than I did before. She comes first. In everything."

Javan nodded, refocusing on Lola as she started to fuss a little bit in his arms. Henri might say that now, but Javan was going to keep an eye on things anyway. Lola and Henri were too important to him to take any risks with, and he wasn’t about to start.

#Henri #Henri2

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insideabunker · 6 years

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The Games: Chapter 6

The lights had dimmed on the ice rink. Spectators had filled out and gone home, back to hotels, bars, and celebratory after parties. Weary, and anxious for respite, the players had piled onto buses that sat waiting to ferry them back to the Olympic dormitories. All save for two women who lingered in the American locker room. Half-dressed, in shin guards and hockey pants, they sat, huddled together in front of their lockers, eyes fixed on the floor, shoulders slumped in defeat.

"It's not your fault, Rae."

"I let the winning goal slip right through my legs, Clarke. It's entirely my fault."

"You were screened. Our defense should have picked that forward off in front of the net, and they didn't. You've got nothing to be ashamed of."

Clarke rubbed Raven's back and watched the crestfallen girl stare miserably at her skate-clad feet, head in her hands, elbows resting on her leg pads. Forty-five minutes after their overtime loss and her best friend was still inconsolable, convinced that she had failed her teammates and disgraced herself in front of thousands of spectators.

"Nobody expects you to stop every shot. You went two for thirty tonight Raven, that's a ninety-three percent save average. "

"Woods' was ninety-eight and she took twice as many shots."

"Forget Woods! Don't compare yourself to other people Raven."

Clarke ducked her head and gingerly took Raven's chin in her hand, forcing her friend to look at her.

"There were a lot of things we did well tonight, but we got too focused on the forecheck. We need to be stronger on D. This wasn't on you."

Raven released a shaky breath, biting her lip to hold back more of the sobs that had overtaken her the moment they'd made it back to the locker room after the game. She wiped her smoked-topaz eyes with the back of a sleeve, brushing away the tears that had welled up and collected on the ends of her long lashes, dangling precariously and threatening to spill over.

"Everyone must hate me."

"Nobody hates you."

"Are they mad?"

"No. Of course not."

"Clarke," she paused. "Your goal was amazing. We would have won if I hadn't ruined everything by letting in that last shot."

"Nothing is ruined. We could only have won if we scored in overtime, which we didn't. THIS. ISN'T. YOUR. FAULT."

Raven finally nodded. She rubbed her eyes again, sighing as she bent over and began unstrapping her leg pads. Realizing how long they'd lagged behind their teammates, she removed her remaining equipment hurriedly, stuffing it into her locker randomly.

"We should go. The bus is probably waiting on us."

Clarke nodded. "You go. I'm going to stay for a while and watch game tape."

The exhausted goalie stared at her friend apprehensively, worried that the captain was allowing the weight of her duties to wear her down, yet again.

"Clarke, are you sure? It's been a hard day for everyone. You need rest too."

Ever the unwavering leader, Clarke waved her hand, dismissing any uncertainty as to her indefatigability. "I'm fine, Rae. I just want to take some notes so that I have constructive criticism to offer during the game breakdown at our next team meeting."

"But we have three days off to..."

"Rae, I'm fine. I'll take the shuttle home."

Raven shrugged, knowing all too well that convincing Clarke Griffin that she was not invincible was, more often than not, a losing battle.

"At least promise me that you'll ice your leg." She watched as Clarke removed her right shin pad, staring at the angry red scars that ran over the length of her knee. "It looks swollen."

"It's just the scar tissue." Clarke, felt her friend gaze harden as she continued to remove her gear. "But yes, I will."

"And you'll rest it and keep it elevated, and wrap..."

"Wrap it. Yes, Raven. I know what R.I.C.E is."

Raven ran a hand through her chestnut haired, hesitant to yield to Clarke's insistence that she was alright.

"I guess I'll see you back at the room then?"

Clarke nodded, unlacing her skates. Raven stood over her, shrugging on her jacket as she studied her friend worriedly, wondering if she ought not to offer to stay behind with her.

"Not too late, promise?"

She nodded again, slipping her feet into sneakers as she smiled reassuringly at her friend. "I promise."

Confident that Clarke would insist on needing solitude to focus, the goalie finally conceded this issue, departing the locker room in spite of her reservations that Clarke was burning the candle at both ends.

Pulling on her team sweatpants, Clarke watched Raven disappear through the swinging doors. She listened to her co-captain's footsteps echoing off the concrete corridors of the rink, waiting until she heard the side door open and close. Alone, at last, Clarke allowed herself to fall apart. She slid down onto the floor, folding her arms over her legs and curling into herself as she began sobbing into her knees.

More than sad, Clarke was overwhelmed. The game had been a mix of exhilaration and heartbreak, and in its immediate aftermath, She had set aside her feelings, well aware that her obligation was to remain a reticent, clear-minded pillar of strength for her teammates. In the solitude of the empty rink, however, the storm of emotions finally broke, and just for a second, the captain allowed herself to be hysterical, torn between a sense of elation at scoring on an untouchable goalie, and her devastation over losing the game.

As quickly as the wave of overwhelming sentiment had washed over her, it began to break and roll back. The sobs subsided, the tears ceased, and her breathing started to even out. Clarke picked herself up off the floor, her ordinarily stoic countenance returning, save for the puffiness in her eyes. She dusted herself off, determined to focus on the silver linings of the evening. They had played sixty-four minutes and thirty-three seconds of mostly excellent hockey; that was a positive. They had scored on a goalie who had previously shut out every team she faced down; that was a positive. They had demonstrated excellent preparation on offense, and knew what needed to improve defensively; that was a positive.

Thwack. "Damn it!"

Clarke froze at the strange sound that intruded on the otherwise all-encompassing silence of the arena. Every muscle in her body tensed, as she listened intently for the strange noise to repeat itself.

Thwack. "Shit!"

The sound came again, carried down the hallway from some distant corner of the rink. She poked her head into the cavernous hall and strained her ear.

Thwack. "Fuck!"

Now the sound was more discernible. Echoing into the passageway from a side corridor outside the Canadian locker room, it sounded suspiciously like someone trying to break in.

Thwack. "Oh, come on!"

Cautiously, Clarke made her way down the darkened hall, her pulse racing as, inch by inch, she crept toward the sound. She dug in her sweatpants pocket, clutching her room keys desperately as she drew closer, barely noticing that she'd balled up her other fist.

Thwack.

Clarke tiptoes forward, her toes grazing the edge of the light that spilled into the hallway from the corridor. The sound was loud now; it's source just around the corner.

Thwack. Slap. "Finally!"

Clarke drew a deep breath and stepped into the corridor, drawing her keys out of her pocket defensively and raising them above her shoulder as though wielding a knife.

"HEY!"

Clad in nothing but gym shorts, and sports bra Lexa crouched, her back to the blonde, furiously practicing reaction drills against the far wall. The goalie nearly jumped out of her skin at the unexpected sound of the voice behind her. She spun, tripping over her own feet and stumbling backward. The ball she'd just caught flew off behind her as she reflexively put an arm out to stop her fall, and landed with a hard thud, impulsively grabbing her wrist.

Clarke's hand flew to her mouth, terrified that she'd caused an injury.

"Oh, my goodness! Are you alright?"

Lexa winced, clutching her wrist tightly and waiting for the sharp stab of pain to manifest. When none appeared, she shot a glare at Clarke, rising to her feet indignantly.

"What the hell is your problem, Griffin?!”

"I'm sorry! I thought..."

"What? That you'd even the odds by giving me a heart attack?"

Clarke's face fell, her concern turning to irate irritation. "Seriously? I scored on you?!" She eyed Lexa skeptically, attempting to ignore the fact that the goalie’s impressive physique was a little too on display.

Lexa rolled her eyes, glowering as she retrieved the reaction ball from the floor. "Hardly!"

She turned away, ignoring Clarke as she went back to the drill.

"That game should have been a shutout. There is no way in hell your goal should have been ruled fair. Lucky for you that you had a sympathetic referee."

Lexa launched the ball forward, cursing as it rebounded and flew past her outstretched glove hand, a second too fast to catch.

"Damn it!"

Clarke seethed, furious at having her accomplishment diminished so callously. She watched as the brunette retrieved the ball once more, whipping it toward the wall in frustrating. It rebounded sharply, flying directly at Lexa's head. Before the goaltender could even duck, Clarke snatched it from the air, catlike, leaving her companion stunned.

"If you're so confident it wasn't a fair goal, then why are you here practicing glove side saves?"

She handed the ball to the wide-eyed brunette contemptuously, her expression smug as she began walking away.

The tips of Lexa's ears burned, her embarrassment evident as she watched Clarke retreat into the hallway and debated whether or not to belabor the argument. Giving in to her lesser angels, Lexa discarded the reaction ball, taking off in pursuit of the infuriating American. She rounded the corner, yelling to Clarke as she followed her down the hall.

"A goal shall be disallowed if the puck was batted by an attacking player even if deflected into the goal by any player, his stick, skate, goalkeeper or official into the goal."

Clarke glanced back over her shoulder in annoyance, speeding up as she tried to outpace her long-legged pursuer. "What are you? A walking IIHF rulebook?"

"I might have consulted it." Lexa easily overtook the smaller woman, walking backward in front of her. "Regardless, it wasn't a fair goal."

Clarke's groaned, attempting to ignore the way Lexa's abdominal muscles flexed with each step.

"That rule refers to hand passing with an open hand. I didn't pass to anyone, and my hand was closed. The puck touched my knuckles, not my abs. PALM! MY PALM!" She clenched her jaw, her face tensing with mortification.

"Still staring I see," Lexa smirked.

Clarke fixed her eyes on the floor, determined not to look at the frustratingly attractive woman blocking her path. "Even if what you're saying is right, you still couldn't stop the puck."

Clarke surged forward, backing Lexa up against the door to the team USA locker room. Your glove hand is slow. Like I said..."

"I'm not slow!" In an instant, Lexa's face shifted from amused to hostile. "That shot was impossible to see! Who has reflexes like that?! It shouldn't even be possible!"

It was a startlingly strong reaction, and for a moment Clarke was stunned speechless. She halted in her tracks, their bodies barely an inch apart.

"What's the matter, Lexa? You worried that you're not as good as everyone thinks you are?

She leaned in, hovered close enough that she could feel the heat radiating off of Lexa's olive skin. Clarke finally allowed herself to look up at the brunette, studying her face carefully. Her brow was knit in frustration, her mouth set in in a hard line that projected only hostility, but her eyes betrayed something Clarke couldn't quite place. Whatever it was, some hidden emotion burned furiously behind irises that reminded Clarke of summer grass on the Minnesota prairie.

“Or, maybe you're just worried I might be better than you."

Clarke took a step forward, trying to enter the locker room.

"You're in my way."

Lexa didn't budge. She hung defiantly in the entryway, her forearms propped against the door frame, an immovable object to Clarke's unstoppable force.

"Move."

"Make me."

"Lexa, I'm not kidding."

Clarke attempted to squeeze by, endeavoring to force herself into the space between Lexa and the door jamb. The goalie indulged her for a few moments, allowing the determined girl to get as far as the door handle before using her considerable size to deflect her. Lexa checked Clarke playfully, knocking her back with little effort and grinning like a fool at Clarke's incensed expression. Her face burning with a competitive refusal to be denied, and Lexa reveled in how quickly she had managed to get under the blonde's skin, unable to stop herself from laughing.

"It's not funny, Lexa. Get out of my way!"

Clarke darted to the side, twisting as she tried to force her way past her tormentor, but Lexa was too powerful. She caught her around the shoulders, wrapping her strong fingers around Clarke's biceps as she pushed them away from the entrance.

Lexa held Clarke in place, chuckling at her frustration. "Come on pipsqueak. You'll have to do better than that."

Clarke's face burned with irritation. She bent her knees, surging forward as hard as she could and forcing their bodies back into the door. Lexa's back hit the wood with a hollow thump, nearly knocking the wind out of her.

"There you go, munchkin! Stronger than you look, aren't you?"

Lexa peered down at the struggling girl, suddenly unable to ignore how Clarke's tank top had shifted, hanging just low enough to expose her considerable cleavage. Unable to look away, Lexa found herself struggling to remember why they had been arguing in the first place.

"And you're dumber than you look."

Lexa realized a moment too late she'd been caught red-handed. Seeing her opportunity, Clarke used the brunette's misdirected focus to slip an arm past, grabbing the knob before Lexa could stop her. The door gave way behind Lexa, and with the wood no longer supporting her weight she went tumbling backward into the locker room, pulling Clarke with her.

The goalie hit the floor full-force, Clarke's weight crashing down on top of her, forcing the air from her chest. For a moment she lay stunned, face screwed up, lungs burning for air. A second later the shock wore off, and Lexa gasped for breath. Her eyes snapped open, gazing directly into piercing pools of ice blue that shoot daggers her way. Clarke's hair was half in her face; her nostrils flared, her brow knit in righteous indignation as she seethed down at the girl beneath her. She was furious, and Lexa had never seen anyone look quite as annoyed or quite as attractive.

"What is your problem!"

"I..." For the life of her, Lexa couldn't remember what the answer to that question was.

"You didn't even lose the game. Why can't you just admit that I scored on you, fair and square?”

"I... I..." She racked her brain, trying to remember why she'd been so annoyed, unable to form a single coherent thought.

"SAY SOMETHING!"

"You're right."

Clarke's expression turned from once of ferocity to bewildered silence, amazed that she had elicited approval of the girl pinned underneath her.

"W... What?"

"You're right. It was a good goal. I couldn't stop it."

For a moment neither woman seemed to know what to do. Lexa stared up at Clarke's shifting expression, watching it change from celebration to confusion to curiosity. The captain studied her face intently, as though weighing the consequences of some significant decision.

"Fuck it."

"Clarke, I'm..."

Her apology was cut short by the weight soft, full lips pressing against her own. An electric jolt surged through Lexa's body, overloading circuitry as though she were a blown fuse box. It took a moment for her brain to register what was happening, but when her neurons began firing again, Lexa gripped the blonde's waist determinedly, pulling their bodies flush together. She drew Clarke's pouting, blush-colored lip into her mouth, deepening the kiss. Lexa could taste vanilla chapstick. The intoxicating smells of almond skin creme and citrus shampoo, flooded her senses, allowing the last shreds of her resolve to slip away.

When they finally broke apart, Lexa gasped for breath, having forgotten she'd needed air altogether. Wide-eyed, she watched Clarke stare down at her hungrily, drunk on desire and desperate need.

"Is there anyone back at your room?"

Lexa shook her head. "They're all out celebrating."

Clarke nodded once, and with that, Lexa was being pulled out the door of the locker room and into the cold winter night.

Next Chapter ->

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nightcoremoon · 6 years

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you know what's fucking rude?

okay so I'm working the prep side of the kitchen, right? I make the bread rolls, the mashed potatoes, the salad lettuce, the croutons, the sliced meat and tomatoes and the other shit you put on your sandwiches, portion out the ribs and grilled onions and rice and everything, you catch my drift? today I come in at noon and hey the two other guys are half done, all I have to do is the bread and the vegetables. right? lmao nope, do twelve other things all alone and be yelled at constantly. but hey that's fine, I've got my music going and I'm in the back corner all alone. and yeah, you can faintly hear it from just outside of the room but everyone else either has their own earbuds in or their own speakers, and if anyone asks me "hey would you mind turning that down a bit? it's distracting" I'm always "yeah sure sorry" and I do it. not that it's really that loud anyway, considering my auditory processing issues (yaaaay autism). and I do decent work and my coworkers all appreciate that I actually ask them what they need done first and do what they ask me to do so they don't mind when I play stuff they might not like, but nearly half of it is stuff that they do love (80s thrash metal, 90s alternative rock, early 2000s pop, hip hop and gangsta rap, motown, disney soundtracks, occasional melodic metalcore and punk and electronica, stuff that's fairly inoffensive and just background noise [or super offensive to fucktrumpets]) and nobody's expressed dislike and they often sing or dance to it. not to toot my own horn but I'm fairly well liked there.

but today while in the midst of chopping onions and making rolls and cooking mashed potatoes and skewering mushrooms and portioning out fry batter with shrimp all at the same time, the servers come in and take a counter for rolling silverware. knives, forks, spoons, napkins, it's not that much. I don't mind, they need room and I can share, and I like most of them. I move some stuff together so they can do their thing. but what happened today was interesting. so I had my stuff going, right in the middle of the somg dammit by blink 182, when one of the girls sets up another speaker, and starts just straight up fucking blasting drake and cardi b and other trash tier music made by pedophiles and other horrible people. I don't mind nicki or wiz or usher or the genre in general, and I'm actually really starting to get into them. but I fucking hate drake and cardi and other trash at their caliber. I wouldn't mind if I heard it in a mix with, say, tupac and rihanna and the weeknd and jay z and kendrick and kanye and pharrell and other highlights of that field of music, but if it's literally just drake cardi drake cardi I'll just tune it out. but it was incredibly loud. so loud that I couldn't hear my own stuff. which, you know, ordinarily I share a space with a guy who listens to a lot of tech n9ne and eminem and stuff which is okay I guess but not amazing, and his is really loud but we share the airspace and have an unspoken agreement to keep the sound about even. we're friendly coworkers, you know? but this girl, without a word, just fucking plops it down and starts making as if it's a party.

now, I know what you're thinking. I'm playing stuff for eight hours straight, maybe I should let the girls listen to their stuff for the, you know, half hour at max that they're gonna be rolling silverware for. I'm being ridiculous and petty and just the world's biggest crybaby, right?

she fucking immediately leaves the room.

SHE LEAVES THE ROOM.

SHE FUCKS OFF FOR A SOLID HALF HOUR.

SHE DROWNS ME OUT AND WALKS AWAY.

I'm like. if you didn't like what I was playing, which is perfectly understandable because it's peppered with stuff like metal sang in german [yes it's rammstein] spanish [yes it's sepultura] japanese [yes it's babymetal] swedish [yes it's death metal] italian [yes it's prog metal] french [yes it's gojira] and dubstep and gothic punk and piano pieces and some other stuff like that, which I get isn't everybody's cup of tea. but it's my cup of tea, okay? and if you wanna listen to something else, you know, then fucking ask me, ESPECIALLY WHEN IM STAYING AN EXTRA TWO AND HALF HOURS BECAUSE WE RAN OUT OF CORN AND BLACK BEAN SALSA AND MASHED POTATOES AND SALAD AND ONIONS AND SEAFOOD ALL AT THE SAME TIME AND IM THE ONLY FUCKING PREP COOK HERE ANYMORE BECAUSE THE OTHERS PUT IN THEIR SIX HOURS FOR THE DAY AND LEFT BECAUSE I SAID I WAS OKAY DOING VEGETABLE SKEWERS WHILE WAITING FOR THE ROLLS TO PROOF. fucking ask me "hey do you mind if I put on something else?" and I will gladly say "knock yourself out, we've gotta share this space". I ask the others "hey do you want me to turn on something else" and they're all like "no you're fine it's not that bad- oh shit I actually love this song" and I'm like "oh cool well just let me know otherwise". I offer the use of my speakers, I'm not a dick about things, so I deserve at least basic fucking respect, right???

you don't drown out someone's music with your own AND THEN LEAVE WHILE IT STILL PLAYS. it's fucking rude.

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spiltscribbles · 5 years

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for the fic title thing : “ I’m sorry I had to leave you”

Notes: TYSM for the prompt bb!

Send Me A Prompt Or Fake Title

The first time he kisses a boy Whizzer’s sixteen and starry eyed over the baseball team captain who smiles at him with adoration and shyly brushes their hands against one another in the safety of Whizzer’s own home while they’re working on a shared Biology project—soft and questioning.

Whizzer somehow recognized the hints, thinks that people like them just find one another, that it might be some sort of means of survival. So he’s tactful when he responds with the same intent, is shocked when the other boy takes the hint and runs with it, leaning forwards and slotting their lips together, feverish and excited.

Sometimes Whizzer feels robbed of the moment— the first time he kisses someone with any meaning behind it— but other times Whizzer is perfectly content.

It was kind of rough and more than a bit desperate, but Whizzer didn’t mind. He liked the fact that this boy—All American jock with a crooked smile and pretty, blue eyes— wants him. All Whizzer could think, elated and gleeful, is that he’s not some abnormal freak for not wanting to take off Mindy Mendes’s bra last weekend in the backseat of her Dad’s Lincoln, because this epitome of American idealism is attracted to Whizzer in the same ways that Whizzer is him.

This is normal and he doesn’t have to hide his truth, it’s fine, he’s fine.

It’s a week subsequent to their first kiss when that same All American jock punches him square in the jaw when he thought one of his pinhead friends had seen them getting too close for comfort.

He tried apologizing that night, had brought Whizzer a joint to smoke and box of chocolates to share. His big blue eyes were pleading, and borderline terrified— terrified of what Whizzer knew, of what he could do. But Whizzer doesn’t bother to play out some stupid fucking tableau of being the sheltered gay kid pining for the perfect boy who thinks that coming out is akin to admitting a murder— love isn’t a fucking crime. So he just plucks the joint out of his hand, leisurely pops a toffy filled piece of chocolate into his mouth and tells’m that he won’t ever tell anyone what he knows, what they’ve done, but he also never wants to fucking see him again and he needs to get the fuck out of his driveway.

“Whizzer, please—“ He tries to argue, face scrunched and eyes shining with wetness.

“You come near me again and I’ll report that this lovely shiner was your doing, got it?”

He parts his lips again, probably another apology. Probably trying to ask if there’s somehow anyway that they could continue this tentative little flame they’ve been tending. But Whizzer doesn’t spare him another moment, just slams the door shut and pads off to the kitchen to get some snacks ready for his impending munchies.

He tells himself that he won’t ever be someone’s dirty little secret.

He has three, long term, boyfriends in the span of a decade… Before him. And a hole lot of one night stands sprinkled between.

Whizzer was sure that his first boyfriend was gonna be the one he would marry. Hemet’m at the LGBTQ club Whizzer’s sophomore year and his senior. His name was Juan and he was dorky in the most endearing of ways. He treated Whizzer like he was the most treasured part of his world, and was there for him when Whizzer came out to his parents.

Juan was everything for so long, which only made Whizzer feel even more guilty as hell when he woke up one morning leading up to their one year anniversary, and he suddenly felt nothing.

The second boy that Whizzer actually dates— and not just someone who he spends frequent, late night hookups with—is one of those in-between people. He met him his first week in New York. He was very pretty, and occasionally a bit to kind for Whizzer’s liking. He ran a non prophet that helped find homes for the homeless. He was brilliant and compassionate and they agreed on so many things, both politically and morally. And Whizzer thinks that he loved him, isn’t sure he was in love with him, but he’s always loved him for all the six months they were together.

He’s kind of ashamed to admit it, feels bad even now, but in the intersect of them growing apart, and finally calling it quits, Whizzer meets someone else.

He’s older than him by a decade or so. Dark hair beginning to pepper, and wrinkles surrounding his pale eyes. He kisses Whizzer hungrily, and buys him fancy dinner and flashy rolexes that his measly salary as a free lance journalist could’ve never afforded. But best of all he never tried holding him down. Didn’t care how or with who he spent his days as long as he was there, sitting pretty, when he needed a date to show off in front of his colleagues.

Whizzer was perfectly fine being a vapid, unattached trophy for someone he never had a chance in hell loving.

“Doesn’t it feel sleazy?” Cordelia asks with an owlish blink to her big pale eyes, in the midst of wrapping up the desserts she’s just finished baking for another bar mitzvah she’s catering. “This guy obviously doesn’t care about you.”

“I don’t care bout him either,” Whizzer shrugs, noncommittal before tossing another almond in his mouth. “I like the freedom of it Lia.”

She continues to frown, almost sympathetic.

And he knows, God does Whizzer know. He promised himself that this would never happen, that he’d never let himself fill this role. He knows that this’s the exact opposite of what he should be doing, but a part of him just doesn’t care anymore. Whizzer’s proud and loud, he’s gone to every Gay Pride Parade he’s been able to. He makes it a point to hold the hands of his dates in public, and to sneer at anyone raucously spewing slurs their way. And yeah, it’s gonna suck not being able to do that anymore, but also, this bloke likes Whizzer and buys him such wonderfully superfluous gifts and isn’t that the most important part?

When he meets Marvin everything kind of comes to a halt. Whizzer doesn’t know what it is, what it’s going to be.

It’s at Cordelia and Charlotte’s housewarming party, showing off how great their lives are, which Charlotte quite blatantly says a whole slew of times. “I get to save lives and love you.”

Cordelia had giggled and kissed her lovingly at that, and Whizzer only kinda felt wistful towards it.

Apparently Marvin’s an old college friend of Charlotte, and god damn Whizzer really should’ve been made privy to which ever university they had attended for New York’s prettiest and brightest. It might’ve inspired Whizzer enough to actually pursue higher education.

Marvin’s the one that introduces himself to him, bright eyed and deliciously athletic looking, and Whizzer doesn’t mind the fact that he spent the rest of that night lost in his orbit.

It’s around one in the morning, the party is still in full swing, but the pair of them sneak off to a spare room after Marvin had clumsily spilled. They’re laughing about something they wouldn’t be laughing at if they were teetering even slightly more on the sober end of things.

“I like your hair,” Marvin muses, carding a hand through Whizzer’s curls.

“Was born with it,” Whizzer hiccups, which makes Marvin start to laugh again, Whizzer gets the feeling that Marvin ordinarily doesn’t let himself act so uninhibited and careless.

They lean against one another, weak and bumbling. When they somehow collapse onto the bed that static passes— the one that Whizzer knows too well, has experienced literal countless times before, and only very rarely in an actual bed.

Marvin’s gazing at him, thin lips curved into a delighted smile. And God, Whizzer can’t help to liken him to the stars back then, think he’s got some of that old Hollywood swagger in him, even if it’s a trite point, but still. Marvin’s beautiful and he laughs at Whizzer’s jokes and he’s actually here in his bed. And this is like a sensory overload with Marvin’s hot wisps of breaths skirting against Whizzer’s lips and his hand still scratching his scalp, and his eyes are boring into Whizzer’s.

Marvin moves forward to kiss him full on the mouth, But Whizzer can’t help but stutter back.

“Are you even gay?”

Marvin, effortlessly cool, just shrugs one of his broad shoulders.

“I don’t like labels.”

Whizzer can’t help but snort.

“That is the douchiest thing you could’ve said, you know that right?”

“I didn’t think it was that bad,” Marvin counters.

“Oh no, no, no you beautiful, angel looking fool. It most definitely was. Hell, I would’ve even excepted you borrowing the quintessential Fuckboy mantra of not for tonight, over that crap.”

Marvin dissolves back into giggles, and Whizzer hates how endearing he finds it.

“Will you just let me kiss you, please?”

And well, it’s not as if Whizzer could ever deny that.

Whizzer dips down and kisses Marvin within an inch of his life, and it’s all the brilliant things people wax poetic about in storybooks and fairytales.

Whizzer loves New York, loves how the freedom and liberation of it can seep in your bones and make you think that life is as open and wonderful as it is here, for everyone across the globe.

Whizzer thinks of the nonconforming nature of the folks in Tribeca. Of the history in Stonewall, of how he was a pilgrim from Nebraska trying to find purpose and acceptance in this world and found it in the most beautiful city in the world. Thinks he’s so proud to have adopted this place, how he loves it so.

Begrudgingly, Whizzer likes New York even more when he gets to wake up and find Marvin— who’s never fully— mind body and soul— in one place for a very long time, besides him. When he gets to watch how the early morning light kisses the tops of his sharp cheekbones, dancing across the muscles of his bare back and making it look like he’s got on a dark halo.

He’s beautiful, he’s always been beautiful. Whizzer’s never thought otherwise even when he thought he was being borderline cruel sometimes. They were perfect for one another in that sense. Marvin’s got silver tipped words and a cynical streak that Whizzer’s known for, and makes him laugh and blush (whether out of fury or amusement) in equal measures.

He’s kind of perfect, would be if it weren’t for everything else. If it weren’t for the fact he had a wife and kid back home in Manhattan. If it weren’t for how little he thought when he spewed out cruel words in their more heated disagreements. Would be if he had just let go of his stupid little folly of having a perfect family while getting to screw who he really wants in the background, like some fucked version of family values. God if he was only as decisive as he claimed to be besotted by Whizzer.

But no, that’s unfair. Despite it all, Trina— an open faced, kind hearted woman— is his wife, and if there’s a single thing Whizzer knows about Marvin it’s that he loves his son, that he’d do anything to make sure Jason got what he needed. Even if it was playing out some tableau of a sham of a marriage.

“If I get up, will you still be mad at me?” Marvin says in a rasp, voice still groggy from just waking.

Part of Whizzer wants to make a jab at how his dick must’ve took a number on Marvin’s throat last night, most of him wants to ask Marvin where Trina thinks he is.

Whizzer does neither.

“Dunno,” he averts his gaze, still indignant. “Does it really matter if I was? ’S not like I’m your problem or anything?”

Marvin winces, but Whizzer just gets up, doesn’t want to have this conversation now. He wants everything to be light and easy and he wants them to go hiking as planned and then out to lunch with the lesbians next door and just do all the things they were suppose to. He doesn’t want to have this conversation now, and doesn’t want to hear Marvin’s excuses, doesn’t think he can handle it.

“Whizzer, he says, pleading. He doesn’t say sweetheart, that’s for soft moments between them in the middle of the night, or when he’s feeling particularly playful. This right now, this is neither.

“I’ve gotta take the dog out for a walk.”

“Whizzer, don’t be like this.” He doesn’t say it cruelly in Marvin standards, but it makes Whizzer angry all the same.

“Be like what!” He pivots around, fists clenched and scowl melted onto his features.

“You knew my prerogative from the start! I’m a father-“

“And I’m a fucking person! People get hurt when the person their in love with, the person they’ve spent literal months of their lives with! Goes ahead and belittles all they have, making it seem like we’re shit.”

Marvin’s face goes pained, he steps closer to Whizzer, hands outstretched and open, helpless looking.

Whizzer doesn’t let him apologize again, because he’s right. Whizzer knew how Marvin viewed this relationship. How Whizzer’s nothing more than a side piece to Marvin’s tight nit family. Whizzer knows it, had known it. He was perfectly fine with it because he’s never been the settling down type, never had a monogamous relationship for longer than a few weeks.

Whizzer knew all of Marvin’s hangups and he thought that he could’ve handle it. Whizzer was accustomed in having a relationship without anyone else really knowing about it. He thought he could do that with Marvin, but then he fell in love with Marvin in ways he never had been before— he gave Marvin pieces of himself that he never gave to anyone else. So yeah, it hurts like hell when Marvin says shit like he wouldn’t consider them parters.

It makes Whizzer immeasurably mad and frustrated, especially when he has the nagging suspicion that he wouldn’t be this steadfast about staying with Trina if it were a woman he was in love with over Whizzer being a gay dude.

“Sweetheart, Whizzer. Please, just tell me what I can do. I’m sorry, but I just don’t know what to do here.” Marvin sounds desperate, looks even more so as he interlaces their hands together, shaking and unsure.

“I think we should take a break.” Whizzer doesn’t know where the idea came from, but it feels right, even if it hurts him like nothing else seeing Marvin’s face crumple and the light in his pretty eyes flicker out.

It’s almost a year since their break was made official.

Whizzer’s gotten a promotion, works at a magazine where he gets to travel all over the states to take photos of different festivals and landmarks and people, while getting paid for it. He gets to sleep with men from all walks of life, and it’s fun, and it’s free and there’s no heaviness to his heart— at least, not when he’s distracting himself from thoughts of Marvin’s half grin or his well built arms. How even the most drab outfits looked glorious on his Greek god body.

He still keeps in touch with Cordelia, is ecstatic when he finds out that Charlotte had proposed. And sometimes, if she slips in little details about Marvin, Whizzer isn’t upset.

“He looks sad, sadder than usual, ever since you left,” Cordelia had told him through the line, and Whizzer can practically see her twisting her fingers through the chord.

“I’m sad too Lia,” Whizzer admits in one of his sparing moments of raw honesty.

“Then come home Whizzer, we miss you. Marvin misses you, it’s not as if he’s been taken by any other fella.”

Whizzer can practically hear his lofty voice sniffing that it’s simply pointless because he loves Whizzer, knows that they’re the endgame, even if he’s married to another.

Whenever he said that— in the all too frequent conversations they’ve actually held in the past two years— Whizzer always wanted to just scream at him for not being as confident when they were together. For not taking a fucking stand. But then again, it’s not as if they were ever not together either…

They still called one another at least once a week, exchanging stories and bouncing banter while Marvin sifted through whatever paperwork he still had to get done, and Whizzer was cooking himself a meal. The way they use to while playing chess after a particularly long day. Cordelia and Charlotte still contacted Whizzer on a daily basis, still expected him to join them for the holidays that year, of course along with Marvin. Whizzer still checked up on Marvin, made sure that he wasn’t over working himself and was keeping up a normal persons diet. Reminded him that he never had to prove anything to anyone, that he was always amazing. And if they were in the same city by circumstance, they still kissed and fucked and clung onto one another like the world depended on it.

Whizzer would’ve never been able to let go of him, if even partly.

It’s Jason’s Bar Mitzvah.

Somehow, someway, Whizzer’s here.

He knows that the real reason is because Jason had actually been quite taken with Whizzer when they were all playing the ploy that Whizzer was still only Marvin’s friend from work. But a part of Whizzer likes to think that it was also partially because Marvin missed his face.

After hours of dancing and laughing and trying his hardest to avoid Trina’s far too introspective gaze, Whizzer’s finally sitting down for a break.

“Whizzer, You made it!” Marvin crows, collecting him in his arms for a far too friendly hug, as if Marvin paid no mind to the array of spectators surrounding them and the rumors they could stir up.

“Of course,” Whizzer responded, squeezing him tight before abruptly letting go. “I love Jason, so I’m here.”

“You’re here,” Marvin beams with the same glee from before coloring his baritone.

“I’m here,” Whizzer repeats, voice thick with an emotion he can’t parse out. “Oh erm, Have Charlotte or Cordelia caught you yet? They wanted your opinion on the hors d’oeuvres.”

Marvin shakes his head, eyes glimmering with mirth, before he retorts.

“I just want to be with you if that’s alright?”

It feels like something completely wonderful is blooming deep in Whizzer’s chest, god please don’t let him make the same mistake.

“Yeah, yeah of course. That’s alright.”

For the umpteenth time in their relationship they end the night in some bedroom, with their all too eager hands padding up and down one another’s bodies, and exchanging kisses that taste like lilac skies and promises meant to be kept.

Whizzer pulls back to shed off his shirt, blushes at the unguarded, vulnerable way Marvin’s gazing at him.

“I love you.”

“Love you too,” Whizzer echoes, because that was something else they never quit during this little break of theirs. “Now you really wanna keep talking or…?”

“Whizzer, I love you,” Marvin repeats, more urgent and voice shed of all it’s familiar lilts. He grabs for Whizzer’s hand and squeezes tight. “I love you and I want everyone to know that you’re mine.”

It feels like Whizzer’s stomach falls out, and his heart contracts.

“What does that mean?”

“Exactly what I said.” Marvin tells him, determined.

“That’s not much of an answer.” Whizzer points out.

“I’ve left my wife, I’ve left for you. We’re getting a divorce.”

“What,” Whizzer marvels, but doesn’t let Marvin explain it any further. He kisses him again, and again and again.

Yeah maybe that proclamation doesn’t answer all the unknowns, but it’s enough.

They’re still both too stubborn for their own good. Marvin can be a pompous ass and Whizzer to detached. But Marvin’s here, and Whizzer loves him more than he knows what to do with most days.

That’s enough.

#Falsettos #Marvin Falsettos #Whizzer Brown #Whizzvin #Whizvin #Spilled Ink #Cordelia falsettos #charlotte falsettos #fake titles meme #SPILT INK

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babyleclerc · 7 years

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Cold December Night

Pairings: Tom Hiddleston x Reader

Style: One-Shot

Prompt?: Anon: #41. “Does that stocking have my name on it?” Where Tom Hiddleston can’t stand the reader but he’s the host of this years MCU xmas party and he wants everyone to feel loved and special, so he makes her a stocking of things he knows she’ll love and maybe, just maybe, he doesn’t hate her after all. Btw, you’re a fantastic writer! Loads of love! -V xx

Warnings: Language, but otherwise just FLUFF. Are y’all seeing a theme w this challenge yet? lmao

Word count: 1.2K

Summary: You’re attending Marvel’s annual Holiday Party rather begrudgingly, and the night seems to be a lame one until you realize that a certain Tom Hiddleston has made you a stocking with all of your favorite things inside. Small cameo by ScarJo & Chris Evans.

A/N: Phew! Day 5 of this challenge with just a minute to spare until midnight! ;) I literally wrote this in pieces throughout the day today and just fell in love with this idea. I’ll be dreaming about Tom making me a stocking for Christmas all night... Anon/V I really hope you enjoy this one, thank you for requesting it! I had a blast writing it. :) xoxo

The most wonderful time of the year, my ass. You thought to yourself for the hundredth time that night. Ordinarily, the song was right - Christmas was your most favorite time of year – the snow, the music, late night chats by the fire with good food, cocoa, and even better company. But this year, oh man, this year had been mapping out to be one of the worst and weirdest Christmases ever.

It’s not that things weren’t good for you. Things were fine, to be clear. You’d landed your first real gig in the upcoming Infinity War movie and your career was finally taking off. You’d made friends with Scar, Seb, both Chris’s, and the like… but something about L.A. just wasn’t settling well with you. Maybe it was the fact that there was no snow on the ground (not at all what you were used to around Christmastime, being from Ohio), or maybe it was the fact that it was 80 degrees yesterday, or maybe… just maybe…it was that you had to attend this year’s annual Marvel Holiday Party with a certain Englishman who hated you.

…Yeah, that was probably it.

“Hey, Y/N.” Scarlett pulled you away from your thoughts, bringing you back into the room where the party was finally starting to get some life to it. “Didn’t see you come in. Beer?” She asked, holding one out in offering.

“Hey, Scar. Nah, I’ll pass. Gotta drive home later.” You say, though in reality your refusal of the alcoholic beverage had nothing to do with the driving home aspect and more to do with the fact that your nerves were wreaking havoc on your stomach and you weren’t sure you could handle the buzz that a few beers would bring. Better to just avoid it altogether.

“You sure it’s because you have to drive home and not because of a certain someone, whose name rhymes with bomb?” Scar sees right through you and raises a brow, assessing you beneath her cool eyes.

“No comment.” You scowl as Scar smirks.

“And what are a buncha gorgeous ladies like you doin’ in a place like this?” Chris’ Bostonian accent rang loud and clear as he slung his arms sloppily around both you and Scar’s shoulders, his heavy, muscular body weighing you down just slightly.

“You a little drunk there, bud?” You ask, grinning. A drunk East Coaster, now that’s what you were used to around the holidays. Right up your alley.

“Not drunk, just merry.” Chris drawled out the word, flashing you a lopsided grin.

And the night continued like that: you joking with Chris and Seb, and Scarlett’s cold commentary hilariously sprinkled throughout. Through the night, you had happily managed to avoid the Englishman who paid no attention to you, and instead insisted on being the most gracious host known to man. Ensuring everyone had a drink in hand at all times, had enough food, was warm enough and not bored, etc. You almost admired how gracious and warm he was – that was, until he would lock eyes with you and his smile would fade slowly to a thin set line.

You sighed. You almost admired him. Leaning over to grab your coat, you almost successfully had it on and were about to head out the door before Scar stopped you, her hand gently resting on your shoulder.

“I think you’re forgetting something.” She said quietly, nodding towards the tree. You furrowed your brows, not understanding what she was saying. Scar rolled her eyes, nudging you towards it, where Tom was standing – laughing heartily at someone’s joke. His features looked radiant against the light coming from the fireplace.

You swallowed hard and did as Scar suggested – slowly walking towards the tree. Tom’s eyes flickered to yours from the movement, only momentarily, before continuing his conversation with whomever he was talking to. As you approached the tree – you saw what Scarlett was talking about. Your eyes widened as they settled on the lettering in disbelief.

“Does that stocking have my name on it?” You blurt out rather loudly, interrupting Tom’s conversation. Tom hesitated, before excusing himself from the small group and joining you by the tree.

“It isn’t polite to interrupt, you know.” He scolded, folding his arms across his chest as he towered over you. Not menacingly, just tall. You’d never noticed how tall he actually was because he always kept a solid three to five feet distance between the two of you at minimum. At all times. Now, you were well aware of how tall he was – and how good he smelled – and it was messing with your brain.

“I don’t need a lesson in manners.” You snap after a minute, bending over to pick up the stocking in question. “Is this for me?” You ask incredulously.

Tom shifted slightly and ran his hand across the back of his neck. Was he feeling uncomfortable? Tom was never uncomfortable.

“It’s just a small tradition we have within the Marvel family. The host always gives the cast their own stocking filled with a few small gifts.”

You gape at him, not believing your ears. “You mean to tell me that you filled this stocking with stuff that I actually like? Or did you just run to the dollar tree and grab anything you could find?”

“How cheap do you think I am, Y/N?” It was Tom’s turn to roll his eyes, and a small hiss of disapproval came from his mouth.

You grimaced, not meaning to offend. “Sorry, sorry. I didn’t mean it like that I’m just… surprised.”

Tom scratched the back of his neck again, and shrugged his shoulders. “Like I said earlier. It’s tradition.”

“Yeah, but, it’s not like you had to do it, you could have just not given me one.”

“That wouldn’t be fair…nor would that be very neighborly of me.” Tom counters, the corners of his mouth bending into a slight frown.

“You’re not my neighbor.” You say, though a small smile plays at your lips.

“Touché.” Tom shifted his weight awkwardly, his word just hanging in the air for a moment. “Well, er, I’ll let you open that and see you later.”

“Sure,” You say, glancing up to meet his cool blues, locking eyes with him for the first time, well… ever. “See you later.”

As he walks away, you sit down next to the fire, beginning to pull apart out item that Tom had put into the stocking for you. For being so cavalier about the situation – he sure had managed to get you everything you had sincerely loved. Things that you had discussed on set with other people, secrets you thought only your core cast of friends knew about… yet Tom had somehow managed to bottle it up into this stocking perfectly.

You snap your head up, searching for him wildly. How had he known what to get you? How had this stocking been put together so perfectly? For a man who claimed to hate you, he sure did pay a lot of attention to your likes and dislikes.

Finally spotting him across the room, he locks eyes with you, glancing from the gifts in your hand, then back up to your glowing eyes. You know he can’t hear you, so you just kind of point at them awkwardly, mouthing a “How?” with an inquisitive gesture to go with it.

Tom just smiles at you and gives a small shrug before mouthing, “Happy Christmas.”

And a happy Christmas it had turned out to be, indeed.

Fin.

Tag List: @markusstraya, @punkin-pie-mofo, @hazohazahazbro, @irishprincess9, @jedionironthrone, @aclutteredheadspace, @proud-of-being-me, @disneymarina, @dolangram, @nightcrawler0213, @thejemersoninferno, @xlemon-limex, @sadsmilesforstyles, @sleepylunarwolf, @tomssweetbouquet, @thehotstrangeryoullneverseeagain.

Please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed!

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taeguboi · 7 years

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Jimin Reaction To You Confessing While Drunk [Angst, Smut and Fluff Versions!]

Reactions masterlist

Rap Monster ¦¦ Jin ¦¦ Suga ¦¦ J-Hope ¦¦ V ¦¦ Jungkook

The Confession

It was time for a much deserved night out with Jimin and some of the others, and you agreed to meet for pre-drinks to save on cash. Plus, it had been a while for you all since you’d gone out properly like this, so it was the ideal opportunity to settle into the whole social thing...

Let’s cut to the chase and just say you got a little bit too carried away pre-drinking through all the chatting, not quite realizing just how many vodka and lemonades you’ve had over the past hour.

It gets to this one conversation about old crushes, rating people out of 10, etc, etc, and your true feelings just come out, word after word; you can’t help yourself or stop yourself to think about what you’re doing.

“I always thought Jimin was really nice...” you tell the boys, then turning to look at Jimin affectionately. “He’s got a kind personality and looks to match... Great jaw line and cheek bones by the way... I love you Jimin...”

Angst

Jimin nervously chuckles at your words, “Hahahaha we love you too, y/n,” hoping that somehow you’ve managed to become much more drunk than he or the others... Perhaps you didn’t eat before meeting?

“N-no Jiminie... I said I love you, not them...” you tell him matter-of-factly, to which Namjoon huffs ‘Charming!’ in jest, and Taehyung holds his hand to his heart, causing Seokjin to laugh like wind-screen wipers.

This is concerning Jimin as you repeat that word, ‘love’, and he really hopes it’s the drink talking and making you extra affectionate or something... Anxiously, he plays along with the boys’ joking in the background, hoping to ease the tension he’s feeling “Awh, come on y/n, you’re breaking poor Taehyungie’s heart!” he giggles, placing a hand on your shoulder.

You place one of your shaky hands over the one Jimin has placed on your shoulder, and without needing to say anything, he can confirm you’re deadly serious just by the look in your eyes. He backs away and looks up to the first person he can make eye contact with to send a signal for help.

What is he supposed to say? You’re a great person, but he’s just never seen you as anything more than as a friend. If he doesn’t say anything at all, it’s gonna hurt, but if he speaks up, he’s gonna hurt you... There’s no win in this...

Fortunately, Namjoon catches on to the awkward vibe and insists you all head out to party now. As everyone is making their way out, Jimin looks at you and simply says “Come on, let’s have some fun tonight... Save being serious for tomorrow.”

but he hopes that you don’t mean what you said, and he hopes you forget about what just happened because he doesn’t want to face that kind of angst; it feels unnecessary.

Angst-Smut

It’s a bit of a dead night in the club, you guys unable to choose an ordinarily lively night due to your schedules. The place just isn’t crowded enough to be able to dance against people and make moves without people directly hearing ...

If Jimin hates one thing when going out like this or through any endeavours at all, it’s rejection. He hates the feeling he gets when someone doesn’t find him good enough... and then just thinking about that makes him think about you confessing to him earlier.

‘Poor y/n’ he thinks, really realizing how his response must have made you feel earlier. You seem fine now, dancing silly on the floor, but he knows you’re not really. You’re laughing extra loud at Seokjin’s dad jokes, and making up silly moves to make the others laugh, as though you’re over compensating.

The thought crosses his mind: you definitely wouldn’t reject him. AS bad as it sounds, he’s gone with blue balls for way too long now with his busy life, and... Well he knows you’re attractive, and you’re just there...

No, he shouldn’t.

Just have another drink, Jimin.

The next morning, he’s almost horrified when he finds that he’s woken up in a bed that isn’t his own...

“Oh crap!” he mumbles, burying his head in the sheets.

“I know...” you reply at the door, causing him to peak behind the covers, unknowing what expression to have on his face...

But wait, why are you agreeing with him?

“...This is a mess...” you continue. “I’m so sorry, I never should have said anything last night, and I certainly never should have gone through with...”

“I just don’t want to hurt my friend” he whimpers a tad.

Your heart drops at the use of the word ‘friend’ but you try to keep up the strong appearance.

“For the record... It was really good” you mention, raising your eyebrows suggestively before walking back out to the kitchen.

And then a figment of memory comes to him; you’re laid on the bed begging for his touch as he takes forever to undo his belt... Fuck you were beautiful... He get’s hard just thinking about it, but slides bad under the covers to try and sleep it off, hoping the guilt will just go away.

I don’t want to have been that jerk that slept with the girl that confessed to him who he didn’t love back...

Fluff

‘Does she really think that about me?’ he wonders as you tell Jimin just some of the things you love about him, followed by those three words... but aish... did you really have to choose to confess in front of the others?... No wait, what if it’s just the drink making you like this... He has to know.

“Um guys, I think y/n might have had a few too many... So you guys go on without us and we’ll meet you in a while, yeah?” Although Jimin says this with a questioning tone, the boys can tell that it’s more of a demand. And why wouldn’t they give you two the space you needed? He blushes every time you so much as walk past him, and he thinks they haven’t seen him grinning like an idiot at his phone at like 90% of your texts to him, but he thinks wrong...

He gives it a few moments to be sure that the boys have definitely left and aren’t listening through the door before continuing the conversation with you.

“Um, y/n... You’ve had quite a few drinks, are you sure... Are you sure you know what you’re telling me?... No wait, I didn’t mean that to imply you don’t know your own mind, I’m just trying to say...”

Jimin can’t finish his sentence because he doesn’t even know where his words are going. You’ve made him too flustered with your confession and it’s almost unbelievable that you just told him you love him. But he manages to utter more words --

“Sorry, let me start again. Look, it’d be nice if you really did like me too, but I’m just concerned that you might not be so sure...”

“I’ve liked you for ages Jimin, as more than a friend” you admit. “How could one not fall for a guy like you?”

“That’s sweet of you to say, but...”

“See? You’re always so modest to... I...”

Jimin doesn’t know where this sudden confidence comes from, [probably the possibility of you falling for him being more definite now,] but he interrupts you “Forgive me if I’m reading this wrong.”

And he initiates your first kiss.

Fluff-Smut

You guys never catch up with the others as Jimin promised. Instead, it’s unspoken but, you want to spend time together, just the two of you, so you carry on casually drinking and talking the night away, only now more intimate with each other.

Jimin has his arm around your waist on the couch, barely able to let you out of his hold, and you’re both just generally very cosy as you recall memories, tell each other stories, and so on.

When one thing begins to lead to another, it’s not so much because either of you are just looking to fuck, but it’s the love you feel for each other that is the biggest turn on. It doesn’t matter where you are, Namjoon’s couch it just matters that you’re here together and the moment is right.

The sex with Jimin is actually really sweet; he asks you if you’re okay just to make sure you’re feeling alright, and sometimes he just stops kissing your thighs or your breasts just to go back and kiss your lips again. He worships your body and makes time for you before getting to reach his own high.

He’s so in love with you, so as lame as it might sound, he’s going to give you the best eating out he’s ever given to anyone, and he’s going to produce the most arousing sounds as he breathes heavily near your ear... he’s not trying to hard but he’s making sure the experience is equally amazing for the both of you and is the first time of a lifetime together.

Namjoon comes back to his house just as Jimin is putting his trousers back on and you’re just about fully clothed, and he walks in on the scene like “seriously guys?” but he doesn’t mind, not really. He offers for you two to just crash at his whilst you’re here and you accept, continuing to cuddle and talk the night away, and again, it doesn’t matter that neither of you actually get to sleep because you couldn’t ask for better company.

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aleatoryalarmalligator · 7 years

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Life Story Part 11

I don't think I've ever been happy for more than six months in my entire life since I was four or so. Is that normal? I don't know how to gauge that sort of thing because I really have nothing to compare it to. It seems normal to me, but that might just be because I am kind of fucked up in a way.

So back to the story. Everything that I had mentioned with my dad occasionally knocking me down to nothing was still happening. I was still getting picked on in Kendrick. I was still unpopular. I couldn't seem to manage to have a crush on any of the boys. I still drew on my papers, got sent to the offices. I remember the school lighting very well, and the creak of the boards under the school rugging.

My mother forgot my 11th birthday party three weekends in a row. Roxanne had chilled out about being mean to me at this time. She had decorated with a cake and streamers. After the third time we stopped expecting her to arrive. And when she did, she had just bought some stuff from the good will, some socks and a music box. We had moved out of the new place that we had rented, and we had taken up residence in this old house with a basement. It was a bit bigger in this place. I made the mistake one day of shaving my arms there. For some reason this memory sticks out to me. I was always told not to, that if I started I could never stop, but I wanted to see what would happen so I took that jump. The soft baby hairs were replaced by a forest of dark upright hairs. And now to this day I shave my arms.

It was disappointing and hurtful for my mother to forget my birthday so many times in a row, but it's also in a strange way relieving to know where you stand. I think my mom's absence made me more resilient when I got older and gave me a wider appreciation for nature to a degree which would be hard to explain at this juncture. Some kids with inactive parents pine and wonder if their parents care. I pretty much knew where my mother stood. Everyone was always hungover during the day, so we all had to tiptoe until four pm or so. David could wake her up sometimes. James eyes were always bloodshot and he was so high he couldn't tell what people were even saying to him half the time. He had smelled up this disgusting downstairs room up, and he him and my mom would watch a lot of 70's kung foo. I cannot imagine how gross it must have been to be them. To be drunk all the time, wasting what was left of their semi-middle age youth in that gross smelly room going nowhere being nothing and watching those dollar store movies. Spending the last of the divorce money.

Outside, there were two female cats that kept having baby kittens. I spent all my waking hours outside with those cats, until I felt like I was a cat myself. I remember growing to really understand that mother cats have a lot of depth, and they do each other solids a lot. Eventually, this one mother cat, when she was hungry or needed a break, trusted me so much with her kittens that she would do this communicative thing where she would give me this prolonged eye contact and I could read on her face that she was having me watch her kittens till she got back. I have met people who told me that cats cannot really communicate like this, but I know for a fact they do.

I also learned that male cats rape. It's one of those unfortunate elements in nature I guess. I really don't like it, and I think it might be in situations like this that give me a strong sense that there really is no god. Forget war. Why would any sensible god give male cats a barbwired dick? It seems like many animals do a somewhat voluntary exchange. But cats, an otherwise wonderful complex and naturally beautiful creature of elegance and grace, also have this fowl rape culture thing going on that is ingrained in their nature. What sense does this make? I mean, I might see it with insects or something, but why cats? I never liked it one bit. It bothered me so much that eventually I tried my best to stand guard and prevent the male cat from getting the female cats, who were already sickly from having had so many batches. And then one day, I went outside and he had one of the baby kittens bitten to the ground and he was raping this little baby. I know he probably could not help what was making him do this, but I was so infuriated. I ran up to him and I kicked him as hard as I could. I kind of considered the female cats like a family.

I eventually took one of the little female kittens home to father's with me, and I named her Pixie. I had her for a few years after that. Eventually, while my dad was on vacation when I was in 8th grade, she scratched one of my nephews. This made Roxanne's boyfriend at the time creepy angry, and he took her and dragged her to death in the back of his truck. I didn't know it had happened for a long time after that, but eventually Roxanne admitted this to me. She wasn't apart of it, and had only heard it after the fact. She had been afraid to tell me for some time. It makes me deeply sick in the stomach just thinking of that.

For a short time we had a dog as well. She was on the side of the road. Someone had dumped her because she was obviously a handful. She loved to get loose and roll in dead animal. We named her Angel. Eventually she ran away and never returned. I can only hope she found a good home.

I started going to Sunday school, since the church was a two minute walk from my house. I was never religious, but the mythology of Christianity was very interesting to me. I liked talking about the symbolic significance of every detail in the bible, and going over it in class. I also liked the fact that it was brutal, unfair, and rigid. I suppose I was supposed to like the main characters, including God, but I didn't, which made the entire thing all the more fascinating. I always felt frustrated after reading the bible texts. I don't know why people think that stuff is comforting. At best, it's profound enough to where you really have to think about what it means for modern society, and at worst, it really makes you question why anyone in their right mind is buying this stuff. I was also fascinated with the genealogical order of genesis. I used to be able to name off all the prophets from Adam down to King Solomon. I often times knew their wives, and even their handmaids.

Honestly, I was a little jealous of the bible. Here I was drawing these squeaky clean Alien girls in their late teens, dressed in pure fashion and having names like Paprika and Daffodil, and there were these gritty ugly characters who were always struggling with and and under the psychosis of a sky god lunatic who were much better. And yet it addressed human greed, order, jealousy, betrayal, forgiveness, and all those things that my alien girls completely failed to.

My mom decided to start sewing for awhile. She sewed me a decent Halloween hippie costume, perhaps to make up for missing my birthday so many times in a row. It was one of the few times in that many years time that I really spent any time with her. She taught me how to sew – kind of. I remember her telling me that she was tired of telling her I hated myself. I said I hated myself a loud every day just about. But she really could not say anything really. Everyone in the house confirmed I was annoying, weird, funny looking, and obviously forgettable enough to forget my birthday. My mom also decided that she and James were going to get married. The dresses she had in mind would be green she told me. That might have been why she got her sewing stuff out. My Halloween costume was good though, and it made a splash at school. She made things into patches, and she added flare to all my sleevings of my pants and shirt.

Overall though, I was increasingly frustrated with rage and self hatred. She made me mad one day. I don't remember the reason, but I think it was because David was spoiled, or I had been overlooked or mistreated in some way. I wish I knew why, but I don't really remember. I lost complete and total control. We had about 40 board games in the closet. I found myself screaming and crying in a way I didn't ordinarily. It felt like no matter what I did I failed and I wanted to destroy myself, but I didn't have the means or the bravery to go through with it, and I wanted to tear something apart. I took every single board game, and all their parts and I poured them all over the floor. The entire room was covered in board game pieces. It was complete madness. Naturally, this didn't make anyone happy with me in the least. Everyone was told to ignore everything I said and did to make me feel like a fool. They told me to clean it up, but I wouldn't. I didn't feel good about what I had done either. The monopoly man and the Plum dude from Candy land looked up at me accusingly. Eventually James came in and had his one little speech of things that he ever said to me for the four years I knew him. He said in this stoned hippie voice 'God man. How could you do this to your mother man?... after all your dad did to her, and now you wanna be just like him... it makes me sick... it just makes me so sick you would be so uncool. Your mother does so much for you and this is how you treat her? What's wrong with you?' and a tangent of other rhetorical nonsense.

David had grown so spoiled that I also was having troubles keeping calm in his presence. He started being very defiant and aggressive towards me and Allison and my mother. He was mean. I would find myself getting so angry, I would turn around and smack him in the face. Now, to be clear, I would not do this now. I was eleven, and this was kind of how I understood things were to be done. I was trying very hard to discipline David since he wasn't getting disciplined from my mother or father. I was so angry back then, and I didn't even have a clue on how to handle my own feelings. My mother would scream and cry and I remember she had a fight in front of the house, telling my dad over and over 'SHE'S GOING TO KILL SOMEONE DAVE!! SHE'S EVENTUALLY GOING TO KILL OUR SON!' My father didn't see me as the murdering type, and he seemed pleased that she was displeased in a postdivorce sort of way.

The most pivotal moment in this cat-house – as I have grown up calling it, though it isn't what someone might think it is by that name, was one night when I stayed up very late to watch Kiki's Delivery Service with Allison, who was four at the time. Allison had never stayed up past midnight before, and I wanted to keep her up to see what she was like. She seemed very loopy. She was babbling and talking about something or other about kitties or the movie, something a small child might talk about, and I was listening to her for fun. Suddenly, I started hearing this weird crashing noise in the other room. There was no door to that room. The windows did not open. Nobody was in that room. It was David's room theoretically, though he actually slept with my mom most of the time. I tried to ignore it, but I heard it again. It sounded like someone had picked up one of David's toys and threw it. It might have been my fear and paranoia at that point, but I felt like something in the house had gotten really wrong somehow. I didn't want to scare Allison though. If she was scared, that would make me even more frightened. She heard the noises too, but I was trying to pretend that they were not worthy of consideration so she didn't start to scream

As I sat there, what I suddenly saw blew me away and I could barely believe I was seeing it. This man figure walked through the hallway. Everything looked mostly normal, and then he just kind of moved through that part of the house, past the doorway where I could see him wandering past. He seemed to be made out of light, and I could not see his features. And then he was gone. I was beyond panicked. I was ready to start screaming and crying, but I was too afraid to even do that. I was too afraid to move. Allison seemed to have missed it. I was paralyzed for a few minutes, afraid to do anything. Nothing else strange happened, and the house seemed to return to a normal feeling, though I was still at this point so scared I was crying. Eventually I got my mother up, sure that she would see the significance. But she didn't seem to care. She was mostly annoyed that I woke her. I forced her to sleep upstairs on the couch anyway.

As an adult, and a skeptic, I can not be 100% certain what I saw was accurate. Perhaps it was my mind playing tricks on me? Allison confirmed for a fact that she heard the noises that I had heard, but she didn't see anything. It's possible, and not at all out of the realm of possibility that I might have been so scared by the initial noises that my brain made up something that wasn't there. I can never really know anything anyway now though, because the memory is a flexible unstructured thing. I generally don't go over this memory much anymore because every time you go over a memory, you change that memory. I haven't thought about a lot of these situations in years actually. I trust my memory a little better than some though. Part of the reason for this is that I have generally always written everything down, even when I was a kid. So I would memorize the words, or the story itself apart from my direct memory of it, but associated as well. Which definitely creates memory discrepancies of it's own, but at the same time it solidifies the story somewhat. All I can really do is try to be honest. And honestly, I felt with the entire fiber of my being that I had seen a ghost.

Anyway, until another sleepless night occurs.

If you want to read my life story so far, here are the previous parts.

PART 10 - http://tinyurl.com/yb734w24

PART 9 - http://tinyurl.com/yc2t6vfw

PART 8 - http://tinyurl.com/ybl37utq

PART 7 - http://tinyurl.com/ybvo283g

PART 6 - http://tinyurl.com/kbc9dwu

PART 5 - http://tinyurl.com/msnz4am

PART 4 - http://tinyurl.com/k9x8esg

PART 3 - http://tinyurl.com/mwp9atx

PART 2 - http://tinyurl.com/lbt6xq2

PART 1 - http://tinyurl.com/l8xbvg8

#text

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freuleinanna · 7 years

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In the darkness you will hide

Another thing I tried to translate. Love me some Norma(n). Any correstions/suggestions are welcome.

Norman’s four. The only thing he comprehends is that everything’s dark around him, and that his mother’s perfume can’t cover the smell of old things. His nose is itching, and he really wants to sneeze, but mother asked him to be quiet as a mouse, so Norman just buries his face in her hair a bit deeper. What he knows is that they’re hiding inside a big old closet and playing some sort of a game. Mother’s kneeling beside him, his chin is on her shoulder, and they’re holding each other. He puts his best into breathing as quietly as he can. So does she.

‘Shh, honey’ he hears her muddled tremble of a whisper at his ear. ‘Shh, honey, be quiet’.

The sound of something being loudly crushed comes from outside the doors along with muttered cursing. Norma shivers, startled. Norman presses his cheek against hers; she’s crying. That doesn’t seem to be such a nice game at all, but mother strokes his hair tenderly, and his worries come away. She whispers something else in a tired, almost begging voice. Some of the words Norman has heard many times before, but never quite understood the meaning. Fucking bastard, just go the hell away. Go away, please. God.

‘NOORMAAAA!’ a slurring drunken roar suddenly breaks through. The next moment Norman feels like the world outside explodes: the bedroom door is kicked open and smashed into the wall with an unimaginable crash, having obscured Norma’s loud gasp. The roar comes nearer, almost deafening them from right outside the closet.

‘NOOOORMAAAAA!!!’

Norman shivers, too, and puts his arms around his mother’s neck. She pulls him closer, holding her palm on his head in a protective gesture, and presses her lips against his shoulder, afraid of betraying their whereabouts with a sob or hectic breathing. They hear something break. Then come the threats to find them, then ‘I swear to God, if you don’t come out right now!..’, then… They hide, even when the bourbon-fueled roars leave the room, followed by the sound of knocked down night stands and shattered photo frames. They stay in the darkness, where nothing exists for Norman, apart from the feeling of his mother’s closeness, her perfume and her whisper, burning his ear.

‘It all gonna be good. It’s all gonna be good, honey. Shhhh.’

Norman’s ten and it’s his birthday. Better yet, Norman’s ten, it’s his birthday, and his father won’t be home. Norma’s hardly able to contain her own joy, when she sneaks into her son’s bedroom to smooch him awake and promises him a real party. Though this party, as always, has to be their secret, so shhh, not a word for now. Norman doesn’t mind. He’s quite used to hiding their happy moments from dad.

Father leaves home some time after noon, so before that Norman is forced to behave as his usual, not-laughing, not-making-loud-noises, not-drawing-attention self. He nearly goes mad, trying not to fidget and look interested in his toys. The clock hands are dead stuck to one place under his hypnotizing stare. He decides to be strong and wait, then he despairs, then mans up and sets on waiting once more only to later think how he’s the most miserable person in the whole wide world – all that within just 2-3 hours. But when mother closes the front door, her radiant smile becomes the best reward for his sufferings. The smile and her laugh, when she swings her arms around him, covering his face with generous kisses. She has an incredible laugh. It’s a pity she never laughs when father’s home.

Exhilarated by their own freedom, they decide to bake a cake. Just like that, fearlessly, knowing that at any other time the idea would have been met with a harsh ‘no’ and a snappy lecture on how they’re not millionaires to be spending money on such ‘dumb shit’. Dylan hears their lively voices and hauls out of his room: a scrawny, dark blond teenager in a rebellious leather jacket that he refuses to take off at home. He leans at the banisters, looking at his mom and little brother from above.

‘You really needn’t ‘ve bothered, you know, my birthday passed like 4 months ago’ he comments on the kitchen fuss with a sarcastic smirk, remembering his own ordinarily crappy ‘special day’. Norma shots a guilty glance at him; dawdles on an answer, cleaning the cream off the spoon with her finger and licking it.

‘Well, you keep telling me how old you are for all this,’ what was meant to be a defense sounds more like an accusation. ‘At least, for Norman it’s still important’.

The teen shakes his head and chuckles, amazed by how many excuses this woman can come up with. He knows, he feels that it’s not about age and that nothing will change as time passes.

‘Whatever, Norma’. He runs down the stairs and out to the street, not caring enough to hold the door behind him. It slams. Norma watches him go with a helpless and discouraged look on her face, thinking how everything just keeps going downhill between her and her eldest son, and Norman hates his brother for that. For stealing his mother’s thoughts. He pulls her apron for attention and doesn’t stop until she’s fully his once again.

And then they celebrate, listen to old records and dance in the living room. Dance in the living room, what an outrageous thing to do! Father would have made a scene, but he’s not there, and they’re stealing a whole evening of happiness together. Their secret.

‘I love you, Norman’. A warm smile pays off any other day when she doesn’t smile.

‘I love you too, mother’.

He likes that formal ‘mother’, because Dylan always tries to come off so independent and grown up by calling her by her name. Norman thinks it’s stupid, but then again, he’s quite content to be the only one who calls Norma ‘mother’. That’s a nice feeling. It means he doesn’t have to share her with anybody.

Norman’s almost eighteen, and his temple is pierced with a sharp pain, as if someone’s drilling into his head. It’s cold in the basement, but he’s hot with anger. Tools are quivering in his hands. The half-finished work annoys him with its half-finished-ness, and he desperately wants to stab it with blades and throw into the garbage. Norman manages to keep calm. Right until he hears her.

‘Honestly, you can be so possessive sometimes’.

Irrigated voice comes from the top of the stairs. Oh, he knows how mother just can’t leave it be until she pours it all down on him, even if he gives up answering. They’ve been teasing each other mercilessly the whole day, and both are rather wound up. The invisible drill pierces his temple once more. Norman’s grip on the scalpel toughens slowly, his knuckles whiten.

‘Why, because you’re obviously never possessive, Mother’, he knaps every word loudly, with a sarcastic smile.

He hears an angry scoff, and then Norma drums her heels down the stairs; lips are rouged and tightened, eyes glaring. She herself feels that one more word and they’re going to find themselves in the middle of yet another fight, and she doesn’t want that, but her son’s overly friendly voice gets the best of her. Truth be told, sometimes she’d just prefer raging it all out in an argument than endlessly mocking each other. At least, she’s good at screaming.

‘You know what, Norman,’ her finger points at his chest in an accusing gesture, ‘if ever I gave you shit about your girlfriends, I…’

Norman bursts into nervous, shrieking laughter so loudly, that she halts in mid-sentence and leans back a little.

‘Oh no, Mother,’ he spreads his hands and smiles tensely, still holding the sharp instrument. ‘I’m the last person to come into your consideration. It’s so much easier to drive a couple of girls away for good by yourself, isn’t it? A couple of girls who just wanted to be friendly with an idiot who moved to this godforsaken place!’

Why on earth did he remember them now? Ah, what does it matter! She treats him like a silly boy, and the way she dismisses his words with a wave of her hand just makes Norman all the more furious.

‘Oh please, Norman, I know exactly what’s going on in their heads at this age!’

The distorted smile fades completely, and Norman smashes the scalpel onto the table. Then, putting his trembling hands in pockets, he walks around it and comes up to his mother, all straightened up and tense as a stretched string.

‘Well, I know men, Mother,’ he leans down to her from his height in a somewhat confiding way, as if letting her in on a secret. ‘And I know what they’re thinking of when they look at you.’

Norma seems to shrink under his stare, feeling his words form an unpleasant clump inside her stomach. Somehow, they disturb her. She wants to snap and show him that it’s not that easy to shake her self-control, but she feels vulnerable even in her attacking pose of preference, with her fist on her hip. The sharp Well, then, enlighten me, by all means! never leaves her lips. However, the cocky comment is, perhaps, reflected on her face, as Norman holds her shoulders and looks into her eyes.

‘They look at a wonderful, clever, funny woman, but ultimately want just one thing from you,’ he’s almost pitiful. ‘I just don’t want you to get hurt’.

His words hit the nerves. Norma scans her son’s face for a while as if trying to see who gave him the right to say these harsh, truthful things, and then fights his hands off. Though, to do this last one, she has to struggle quite a bit.

‘Why, Norman? Why do you think I’ll necessarily get hurt? Why is it that you can only see disasters everywhere?’

‘Because no one will ever love you like I do, Mother.’

She’s only able to let out a helpless sigh, not even knowing what her answer could possibly be. Her lips try to form the beginning of a phrase, but the phrase itself gets lost and sounds refuse her control. She’s confused, as if for the first time realizing that simple truth that has been growing between them this whole time. She doesn’t even have energy to argue. She doesn’t want to, really. That would be pointless. Instead, she gives up a staring contest, shakes her head and fetches her phone. Norman rolls his eyes, taking it to be another one of her phenomenal and endless means to ignore reality.

‘Now, what are you doing?’

‘Cancelling the crap outta it’, goes snarky reply.

He grins sarcastically, almost with regret.

‘Don’t be so dramatic, Mother. It’s a date night! Why would you cancel?’ he asks and then meets her look. The long, the what-did-I-ever-do-to-you-that-you’re-breaking-me-like-this kind.

‘That’s why, Norman’, she vaguely points from him to herself and back at him, and repeats his words slowly. ‘That’s why, because no one will ever love me like you do, will they?’

She sighs heavily as Norman observes her. Then blurts out the rest of it, the words that she doesn’t even wanna stop anymore, she’s that tired of thinking them and never bringing it up.

‘Norman, I think-- I think we’ve been together for so long, we’ve loved each other for so long, that maybe-- I don’t know, maybe we’re both a little bit in love’.

A long pause occurs. Then Norman comes closer and wraps her in his arms, part-making, part-letting Norma rest her head at the crook of his neck and clutch at his shoulders from behind. Then he sways her a little, and hides his unsure smile in her hair.

‘Maybe we are, Mother.’

Norman’s nineteen and he’s in complete and utter darkness. His eyes are closed, but even if he opened them, he wouldn’t see a thing. He doesn’t want to, either. This darkness has such a familiar flair to it that being afraid becomes unnecessary, he remembers it from childhood. It has his mother’s arms swung around his neck, her wavy breath and her intermittent mantra. Shh, honey. Norman reaches to kiss her neck. Turns out, the perfume he loved so much as a child wasn’t perfume at all, but the scent of her skin.

He knows he’s impatient. Norma’s hand, half into his hair, tightens its grip as she tries to hold him down a bit, driving her nails at his skin. Shh, honey. Easy. He slows down obediently but then, unable to contain himself, lowers his head to kiss her collarbones and that soft, pulsating place in between, and he could swear he hears a smile in her little rhythmic gasps. Norman wants to be closer still, hold her tighter. His one arm holds the weight of his body over hers, with the other he draws her to himself, hand flat on her back. Neither can really be moved, so he traces the tip of his nose up her neck to brush locks of hair aside and kisses her right under the ear – something he just recently learned she likes so much. Norma gives out a voiced sigh. Sure, she figured out all those pleasant little tricks a long time ago, but now they turned into theirs. Their little secret, like when Norman was little.

A distant street-lamp colours the room amber. Norman opens his eyes, but still sees only broken kaleidoscopic pictures. Honey gleams in his mother’s hair. Her half-closed eyes, half-opened lips. He covers them with his – the darkness has a warm taste. Norma doesn’t really try to hold him down anymore. Quick and hungry kisses mix with attempts to gulp some air, each touch is a grip. The desire of closeness tosses and turns on the inside, expanding immensely and threatening to break the rib cage. Embraces are so tight and greedy, as if their lives depend on them.

‘I love you, Norman.’ ‘I love you too, Mother.’

Fingers, buried in hair. The scent of heated skin.

‘I love you so much.’

Norman’s twenty-three. He knows that as a manager he simply must leave the house and go down to the motel, but he doesn’t want to. Bad things happen when he leaves.

‘Don’t be silly, Norman. Who do you reckon should clean the rooms, then?’

He gives her a gloomy look from under his eyebrows and fumbles with a bunch of keys. Norma is standing by the stairs leaning at banisters, all groomed up, full of light and brooking no contradictions.

‘We don’t have any guests, Mother’ he tries to protest, but she won’t have a word of it.

‘What does it matter if we don’t? Guest’ll come, and what then is gonna come out of our reputation when we have to put them in God knows when made rooms?’

We don’t have any reputation either, Norman wants to say, because no one even knows about us, we’re so far aside from the main road. But he knows that this discussion is only going to end up with him feeling guilty about not respecting Mother’s business and trying to make up for it. Thus, he tries to get at it from another angle.

‘Mother, I really don’t want to go and leave you alone in the house.’

‘Norman, honey,’ she smiles softly, comes closer and laces her fingers with his. ‘I’m not going anywhere. I’m always gonna wait for you here, okay?’

He can’t resist her when she’s like this. He can’t resist her altogether, and, to her content, he sighs and nods. Without taking his eyes off her, as if he can’t get enough, he squeezes her hands in his.

‘I love you, Mother.’

She flashes a soft amorous smile and reaches to give him a peck of a kiss on the corner of his lips.

‘I love you too, Norman’.

He walks at the porch with a heavy heart and in a sullen mood. Doesn’t want to look back, but looks anyway: the sun is so bright that there seems to be nothing behind the door glass but the bleak darkness. Voiceless. Empty. Norman jerks his shoulders and turns his back on the door, crumpling a pile of fresh towels in hands. He hates leaving the house because outside it gets so much harder to forget that Norma is long gone. He hates the feeling of her loss. It claws at his insides like the feeling of a nightmare that you keep having but never quite remember.

Thus, making a run down the steps, Norman sets himself firmly at returning as soon as possible to the calmness of the only place where he’s not torn apart by nightmares and staying there. And he’s just as sure that this place is with his Mother.

Always with Mother.

#something i wrote #before season 5 premiere #nsfw?#bates motel #soul bates #norma bates #norman bates #norma x norman

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