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snowdice · 3 years ago

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Big Bang (Sort of) Editing Story [Day 67]

I started writing this fic while editing my Big Bang story, but am going to continue doing it for other things now that Kill Dear is out. I will write and publish 100 words of the story every time I finish doing whatever task I’m doing. If you’d like to block these proceedings, please feel free to block the tag proofread stories. I will reblog this post with the parts of the story I do today. Edited chapters are linked; everything else I’ve done so far is under the cut.

My Master Post Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25 Part 26 Part 27 Part 28 Part 29 Part 30

Got many things to do today, though I do have a meeting in a bit over an hours, so there will be a break.

Chapter 31

Logan waited for a while after Patton left to check on Virgil, but the two never resurfaced. It was odd, Patton would usually remember to come back and get Logan or at least tell them where they were. With a sigh, Logan climbed to his feet to go find them. It took him a while to weave his way through the maze of bushes to them especially because they were suspiciously quiet (Well, suspicious for Patton. Virgil was often unnervingly quiet when alone.) Luckily, he knew the bushes enough after all of these years not to get lost and managed to find the two after a few minutes.

“Ah,” he said, immediately identifying the reason for Patton disappearing.

“Logan!” Patton said, his voice excited, but also quieter than normal. “We found a kitty!”

“I can see that,” Logan responded, taking a step closer. The cat hissed at him in response. The hissing was so intense and wild that he’d suspect the thing was feral if it wasn’t happily on Virgil’s lap having had it’s head in Patton’s lap before Logan had approached.

“No,” Virgil told the animal as though it could understand words. “That’s Logan. Be nice.”

The cat still glared at him and swished it’s tail back and forth threateningly. Virgil pet the top of it’s head and it broke eye contact with Logan to purr.

Patton seemed delighted by the purring, reaching to stroke under the thing’s chin carefully. “We should give her a name!” Patton said.

Virgil frowned. “I thought her name was Ghost Kitty.”

“That is ‘Ghost Kitty’?” Logan asked skeptically. From what Patton had said about that cat, it was terrified of people and no one could ever get near it, even him. Now it was in Virgil’s lap?

“But that was a temporary name,” Patton said, “for before we officially met her. Now we have to give her a real name.”

“Do not give it a name,” Logan said. “You will get attached.”

“How do you name a cat?” Virgil asked.

“Do not name it,” Logan said.

“You give them names based on their personalities, how they look, or even just because it’s a cute name,” Patton explained. “Like, remember Mittens? I named her Mittens because she has white fur and black paws!”

Virgil looked at the cat. “She’s completely black,” he said.

Patton hummed. “So, we could give her a name based on that like Midnight or Shadow.”

“Those are fine,” Virgil said.

“No, no,” Patton said. “I’m just giving you examples. You get to name her yourself.”

“This is a bad idea,” Logan said.

“Just throw out some names,” Patton said. “Anything you can think of.”

“Uh,” Virgil said. “Knife.”

“…Just Knife?” Patton asked.

“Nightmare.” Virgil seemed to think about it. “No, that’s mean.”

“How about things you like?” Patton suggested.

“Alfredo?”

Oh no, Logan thought, he was worse than Patton at cat naming.

“Good start,” Patton said. “Logan, do you have any suggestions.”

“Cat,” Logan said.

“Real suggestions,” Patton scolded.

Logan sighed and thought for a moment. “Aphrodite.”

“Catphrodite!”

Logan glared at him. “Helena.”

“Helenpaw.”

“Claudia.”

“Clawdia.”

“Persephone.”

Patton smiled at him, cheerfully.

“…Damnit!”

Patton turned to Virgil again. “Like that! They don’t even have to be serious. Like, uh, you could name her Madam Fluffywuffykins the Great!”

“Do not name her that,” Logan said, scrunching up his nose.

Logan sat on the ground, the cat eyeing him, but no longer hissing. Logan gently guided them towards more sensible names despite Patton trying his hardest to drag them into stupidity.

Virgil still didn’t quite get it. He mostly tried to name it after foodstuff, and often not even appropriate foodstuff such as “Corn” and “Acorn Squash” and “Sandwich” and occasionally would drop in semi violent ones such as “Razor,” “Nightshade” and “Void.” Patton suggested names like “Fluffers,” “Bobette” and “Darling” as well as some that were puns. Logan tried to direct them towards more sensible ones like “Salem” and even went so low as to suggest the contrary “Snowball.”

It quickly seemed to become less about actually naming the cat and more of a game. Patton had taught Virgil about playing with cats and had even gotten out a ball of yarn he cared around for his crafts. Both Virgil and the cat seemed to find endless entertainment with that. Logan hoped Patton had another ball of yarn that color because, he was never going to get that ball back.

The barrage of names fizzled out into naming things around them like “Leaf” and “Bush” until they stopped suggesting names altogether. Patton and Logan sat back and watched Virgil play with the cat.

Logan watched as they stopped playing suddenly and Virgil and the cat squinted at each other. “Marisol,” Virgil said, pulling the name out of nowhere. “That’s her name.” He said it with a certainty that was surprising considering how he’d treated the naming process with confusion and caution earlier. If Logan did not know better, his tone of voice would indicate that the cat, or Marisol he guessed, had gotten bored of them coming up with stupid names and decided to tell him her actual name herself.

The cat made a sound and batted at Virgil’s face without claws to grab back his attention.

He turned back to it and bopped its face with a finger in kind. It attacked his finger, but in a clearly playful matter as it still did not extend it’s claws and its teeth did not draw blood.

“That’s a great name, Virgil,” Patton said.

“Much more pleasant than any that Patton suggested all afternoon,” Logan said. He received an elbow to the side for his quip.

“A pretty name for a pretty kitty,” Patton said, scooting over to where Virgil was sat and attempting to pet Marisol’s head. Marisol, however, was too keyed up and batted at the hand.

“I love you too!” Patton said.

Logan rolled his eyes, but he had long since resigned himself to watching the two of them play with and coo over the cat for the rest of the day.

Eventually, though, it started to get darker. Even after Logan pointed this out, it still took over an hour for them to relent and leave the bush maze to go to the door. The problem was of course, that the cat had managed to grow very attached to Virgil in the last few hours and she followed them all the way to the door with manipulatively heart breaking mews.

“You’ve got to stay out here,” Virgil said, when they got to the castle door. He pet her ear softly and she shoved her head into his hand. “I’m sorry. I don’t have anywhere to put you.” He sounded horribly sad about that fact and Logan felt himself shift uncomfortably. “I basically live in a closet and Logan doesn’t like cats in his room anyway.”

Logan immediately felt unreasonably guilty, probably more so because Logan did not think Virgil was trying to make him feel guilty. “…Bring the dammed thing inside.”

Virgil blinked up at him. “What?”

“It will get cold soon anyway,” Logan said.

He frowned at Logan from where he was crouched. “But you don’t like fur in your room…”

“I will have to find a potion that works,” he said with a sigh, “and we’ll have to say it’s mine to the guards and Father since it will be staying in my room, but it is yours in every other way. That means you are going to feed it, clean it, and clean up after it.”

Virgil nodded immediately and swooped Marisol up in his arms. The cat went without complaint. “Thank you!” he said. “I love her.”

“I know you do,” Logan said, already regretting it already. Yet, he couldn’t bring himself to even consider recanting the offer considering how happy Virgil seemed to be. They had a cat now, he guessed.

Chapter 32

“What are you doing?” Helen asked a few minutes after her son walked into the kitchen and started looking around as though he were trying to find something. It was a few hours into the afternoon, and she and a few workers were already prepping for dinner.

“Uh,” Patton said. “Have you seen Virgil?”

“No,” Helen said. “Why.”

“Er… Logan and I sorta, lost him,” Patton said. He was wringing his hands anxiously. Helen put down the knife in her hand.

“What do you mean you lost him?” she asked.

“Well, see, we were trying to teach him how to play hide and seek, um, but then we didn’t think to tell him that he eventually had to come out if we didn’t find him, and now we haven’t seen him since breakfast.”

“He didn’t know what tag is?” she asked. That was just one more thing to add to the list of why Helen worried about Virgil and where he came from. Every morsel of information she’d managed to wring from Patton despite his evasions made her lists of concerns grow larger, even little things like him not knowing about simple childhood games. Actually, thinking of concerning things having to do with Virgil. “Wait, so he hasn’t eaten lunch.”

“Um, we don’t know that,” Patton’s mouth said while his eyes said ‘no.’

“He needs to be on a consistent diet, especially when he’s still taking the malnutrition potion,” she scolded.

“I know, Mama, I know,” Patton said. “I’m trying to find him. I’d kinda hoped he’d gotten hungry and snuck down here. He probably wouldn’t want to risk being caught stealing food though.”

Helen grimaced. Yet another concerning thing.

“Wait! I have an idea, I’ll be right back.” Patton turned and ran out of the room. Helen frowned at the space he’d been and finished chopping the carrot on the cutting board in front of her. If it had been any other person in the castle missing, Helen wouldn’t have worried, but she had literally never seen Virgil without Patton and/or Logan by his side. Even when he’d gone to help Jeff can some fruit, Logan had reportedly hung around to read a book.

Considering that Logan had never exactly been clingy even with Patton, she imagined that either Virgil asked, or Logan thought he should stay with him for his comfort. So, she was surprised that he was apparently hidden away somewhere in the castle where neither of the other kids could find him.

Still thinking about this, she walked over to the entrance to the cellar below the kitchen where they stored most of the vegetables, planning to grab some more carrots. She was confused for a moment when she heard movement from deeper in the pantry. She reached over and touched the panel near the door that controlled the magic lights.

The newly illuminated figure startled as the lights came on, whipping around to stare at her with wide eyes.

“Virgil?” she asked.

“Sorry,” he said immediately, taking a step back.

“It’s fine,” she said immediately, “but what are you doing here?”

He considered her for a long moment, but apparently, she passed some sort of mental test, because he relaxed, at least as much as he’d ever relaxed in her presence. “Where are we?” he asked.

Her brow knit together. “The cellar under the kitchen,” she said, “You don’t know that?”

He shook his head.

“The only entrance is from the kitchen.” Now that she thought about it, she hadn’t seen him go through the kitchen at any point.

“No, it’s not,” Virgil said. “There’s a tunnel.”

“A-a tunnel?” she asked. Actually, taking a closer look at him, he seemed a bit grimy. He had dust all over his front and dirt on his nose. She thought he might even have a couple of cobwebs in his hair.

“Yep,” he said.

“Where’s the tunnel?” she asked.

“It’s right over here,” he said. He took a couple of steps and pointed to the ground. There was an open square hole there that clearly had been made a long time ago but which she had never noticed in all of her time working here.

“How did you find this?” she asked.

“We were playing hide and seek,” Virgil explained. “Logan said I could hide anywhere inside the castle. I hid on top of a dresser upstairs in some unused sitting room. There was a hole in the wall above it, so I climbed into it. Then, I crawled a little bit and it let out into a hidden passage in the walls. I wandered around in it until I found another hole in one of the walls. I thought it was a way out, so I squeezed into it, but it took me to a different hallway where I found an old room. There was a different hole in that room that had probably been covered by something because it was in the floor but whatever it was had rotted away. I crawled though it into a tunnel and came out here.”

She couldn’t help but laugh a bit at his explanation. “Well, it sounds like you went on an adventure,” she said, “but Patton and Logan have been trying to find you. You missed lunch.”

He tilted his head at her. “I know. I was supposed to hide.”

“Yes,” she explained, “but you are supposed to come out at some point if they can’t find you for things like food.”

“Oh,” he said.

“They probably should have explained,” she said. “For now, why don’t we get you something to eat? You must be hungry.”

Virgil frowned. “But I missed lunch.”

“You can still eat even though it’s not in normal hours,” she said. “You could even if you had made it to lunch.”

“Really?” he asked, he looked tragically confused by this offer.

“Of course, sweetie,” she said. “In fact, I insist you get something good to eat right now. How about I made you a grilled ham and cheese sandwich? Maybe some cookies too!”

Virgil titled his head. “You are Patton’s mother,” he stated.

Helen laughed softly. “He gets its all from me,” she said. “We should probably go find him and tell him you’re okay. He was worried.”

“I didn’t mean to worry him,” Virgil said with a frown.

“I know,” Helen said. “It’s okay. He’ll probably laugh when he figures out where you’ve been, and Logan will interrogate you all about the secret passageways.” He seemed happy about the prospect of seeing his friends. “Come on, let’s go upstairs for a bit,” she said.

Chapter 33

Patton’s mom had already made Virgil sit down at the small table in the corner of the kitchen and had handed him a sandwich by the time Patton barreled into the kitchen, Logan coming after him at a more sedate pace.

“Virgil!” he said, sounding surprised and relieved.

“Patton,” Patton’s mom scolded. “No cats in the kitchen.” Patton had brought Marisol in with him and had let her go as soon as he’d seen Virgil. She immediately plodded over to him and hoped onto the table to sniff at his face in greeting.

“But she’s the princess!” Patton argued.

“No,” Logan said.

“Yes, she is!” Patton said.

“The stupid cat is not a princess.”

“Don’t be mean to your little sister, Logan.”

“I regret every life decision that has led me to this point.”

While Logan and Patton were distracted squabbling and Patton’s mom was distracted watching them squabble, Virgil tore off a bit of the ham in his sandwich and offered it to Marisol. Marisol gracefully took it from his grip and ate it.

“So, this is Logan’s new cat I’ve been hearing about?” Patton’s mom asked.

“Indeed,” Logan said, his lips thinned. He and Marisol were mostly amicable when alone with just them and Virgil, but Patton had a habit of cooing over the kitten and needling Logan into being irritated.

“Mmm, yeah,” Patton’s mom said. She glanced over at Virgil right as Marisol basically slammed her face into his chin in a bid to get pets. “Your cat.” She shook her head. “But Princess Kitten or not, I do not want fur in dinner,” she said.

“Sorry,” Patton said, honestly not sounding sorry at all. Virgil was always a bit surprised when the insolent shrug garnered nothing more that a scowl that did not reach Patton’s mom’s eyes. “I thought she could help me find Virgil, but you already found him.” He turned to Virgil. “Where have you been all day?”

“Found a tunnel,” Virgil said. He had to use one hand to hold Marisol back from his sandwich as he took another bite, but then gave her a bite of cheese.

“You found what?” Logan asked.

“There’s a tunnel under the cellar,” Virgil said. “It goes to an old closed up room and also to a set of secret passageways.” It was a bit of a security risk honestly, though clearly no one had used it in years by how dirty it was. He did plan to go back into it and make sure the sprawling tunnels didn’t go to anywhere more dangerous like the royal wing.

“A closed-up room?” Logan said. He could see a bit of curiosity already building in his eyes.

“Yeah,” Virgil said. “Where the door used to be seemed like it had been bricked over.”

“Really? Can you show me.”

“Sure,” Virgil answered.

“Ah, perhaps we should be a bit more cautious about climbing through random tunnels we don’t know the stability of,” Patton’s mom said.

Logan’s frown edged on a pout.

“Talk to your father,” she said. “I’m sure he can get someone who understands these things so you can safely investigate.”

“It was safe enough for Virgil,” Logan pointed out.

“No, Logan.”

He sighed but seemed to concede. That was another strange thing about living here. By all rights Logan didn’t have to obey anyone except the king, but he often listened to those around him, not just the adults but Patton as well. It was interesting though it sometimes made the hierarchy hard to figure out. Virgil did sometimes stress out about the hypothetical situation where he got conflicting orders from two people, and he wouldn’t know which one to obey. So far it hadn’t been a problem luckily. They always seemed to work it out amongst themselves in some give and take social interaction that was a bit too complex for him to understand.

Patton walked over to where Virgil was sitting. “I’m glad your safe,” he said. “We should probably put a time limit on hide and seek in the future, so you know when to come out.”

“Did I win?” Virgil asked. He’d honestly forgotten they’d been playing a game until Patton’s mom had asked how he’d found his way into the cellar.

Patton laughed. “I’d say so, yeah,” he replied. He leaned over to kiss Virgil’s forehead, but drew back immediately with a pinched expression. “You are… very dirty,” he said, rubbing his mouth.

Virgil nodded. “Your mom made me sit on a tablecloth,” he said gesturing to the fabric she’d laid over the chair.

Patton snorted out a laugh. “We’ll get you into the bath when you’re done eating and you can tell us all about your little adventure.”

“I would also like to hear about your discoveries,” Logan said. “Though you are not allowed to sit on the bed until you do not have spider webs in your hair.”

Patton’s eyes widened and he jumped away from Virgil, startling both Virgil and Marisol. The latter hopped from the table onto Virgil’s lap. “Spiders?!”

Virgil tilted his head at him in confusion.

“He isn’t a fan of spiders,” Logan informed him, his voice amused at Patton’s reaction.

Apparently deciding that she was no longer startled, but more confused by the noises Patton had just made, Marisol jumped out of Virgil’s lap to investigate, wrapping her way around Patton’s legs. He bent down to pat her back, though he still looked a bit startled.

“Your cat, huh?” Patton’s mom asked Logan once again. Virgil studied her. She had apparently missed Logan mentioning that he allowed Virgil on the bed. Or perhaps Logan was correct in his insistence that it wasn’t actually that big of a deal here. Virgil would rather not test that assumption, however, so was glad that it had been distracted from by Patton’s outburst.

“Creepy, crawly death dealers,” Patton mumbled into Marisol’s fur, having picked her back up. Virgil made a note to not inform Patton of all of the different types of spiders he’d seen skittering around in the castle walls today. Maybe he’d talk about them with Logan once Patton left. He’d probably be interested. Virgil had seen some he’d never seen before! Logan probably could even help him figure out what their names were. “You’ll protect me, won’t you kitty?” Patton asked Marisol.

She made a little ‘burrrr’ sound in response, which Patton seemed to take a confirmation.

“Aw thank you, baby! Such a good baby.”

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Virgil popped the rest of the sandwich into his mouth. Patton’s mom turned away and grabbed a plate stacked with cookies. She handed it to Logan. “Take these, and please get the health hazards out of my kitchen,” she requested.

Logan took them without complaint. “Come on, Virgil,” he said. “Let’s go get you clean.”

“We’re going to need so much soap,” Patton said.

Virgil looked down at himself. “I can go outside and get most of it off if you get me a bucket of water,” he offered.

“Virgil, it’s below freezing,” Logan said as though that had a baring on what he’d just said. Logan sighed. “No. Bathtub.” Virgil shrugged. “Honestly,” Logan said. He turned with the plate of cookies in his hand, clearly expecting to be followed. “You’re not going to catch your death pouring a bucket of water over yourself in the cold when there are literally over a hundred perfectly good bathtubs in this castle. For goodness sakes.” And well, Virgil wasn’t going to complain.

Chapter 34

Patton, to be completely honest, was not all that interested in the room that Virgil had found. Beyond just the fact that it would definitely have creepy crawly death dealers in it, he really did not understand the intrigue. If it had just been him, he probably would have just let a castle worker deal with it, but it was not just him. Logan was ecstatic with the prospect of investigating a secret in the castle. People who didn’t know him well may not believe it considering he spent most of his time with his nose in a book, but he was an adventurer at heart.

Thomas had been easily swayed into finding someone to help tear down part of the wall into the secret tunnel near the room (so no one would have to crawl through the kitchen cellar like Virgil). It had taken a few days, however, and Logan was practically bouncing off the walls waiting. Virgil, despite having already seen the room before, also seemed excited, though if that was because of his own curiosity or because he was just excited that Logan seemed so exited remained to be seen.

“They are silly, aren’t they,” Patton asked Princess Marisol. He was laying on his stomach on Logan’s bed and Princess Marisol had just put her little paw on his nose.

“Yes, I agree,” he said. “Don’t they know that we’re literally going to be 2 feet away from the normal hallway?”

“It is not silly,” Logan defended himself. “Any number of things could go wrong.” He sounded far too excited about the prospect of something going terribly wrong. “The tunnels could cave in and block off the exit or there could be some unknown pathogen in the air.”

Patton did not ruin his fun by mentioning that Logan’s dad had definitely basically baby proofed the tunnels for them ahead of time. Instead, he just said, “Don’t let Virgil hear you say that sort of thing. It will just stress him out.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” he said, waving off Patton’s concerns as he mulled over two different weird green planty things (potion ingredients, Patton assumed) before setting one aside and sticking the other in his bag.

“So silly,” Patton cooed at the cat. Logan let out a huff but did not choose to say anything about it this time.

Speaking of silly, Virgil came back from Logan’s bathroom then, and Patton tried not to giggle. “Is this right?” Virgil asked, sounding and looking confused. Logan, in his overexcitement about adventure had commissioned Virgil an outfit that actually fit. Said outfit, however, very much made it look more like Virgil was going on a safari instead of a two-foot detour from the normal castle hallway.

“Almost,” Logan said, “Here, let me.” Logan started straightening everything out and flattening the collar, reminding Patton of an overbearing parent on picture day. Virgil accepted the fussing without protest. It was adorable. Well, the outfit was ridiculous, but still, adorable. “There,” Logan said. “I think we’re ready to go now.”

It was about time. Patton was sure people were already waiting for them downstairs. Patton got up and patted Princess Marisol on the head. She looked up at them with interest.

“You can stay here, sweetie,” Patton told here. She seemed to consider it and then hopped down from the bed to go rub up against Virgil.

Patton guessed she was coming. It didn’t matter too much since Logan had given her a magical collar that allowed her to open most doors in the castle and everyone knew she was the royal cat now, so if she decided she wanted to come back to the room and nap, she could. (She was very aware of the power she held.)

She pranced happily by Virgil’s side all the way down the steps to the first floor of the castle. She was such a good kitty.

Well, she did hiss angrily at everyone who came too close to them, but still, a very good kitty.

Patton did lean down and pick her up so they could actually talk to the man waiting for them at the large hole in the wall. Logan went to talk to the castle worker while Virgil half hid behind Patton. He was clearly listening very intently to the conversation however, at least more intently than Patton was. Patton was busy shaking his head fondly.

“Yes, yes, Princess,” he said to the cat. “I know we do not trust the strangers, but I promise this stranger is perfectly safe.”

“How do you know?” Virgil asked.

“His name is Chester and I’ve known him since I was 9.”

This seemed to slightly alleviate Virgil’s suspicion, but Princess Marisol still seemed antsy. Patton really needed to start slowly introducing the both of them to more people.

Logan finished talking with Chester after a few moments and it was time to climb through the hole in the wall. He wished he saw in the tunnel whatever Logan with his excited eyes and bounce to his step obviously saw. Or even that was more comfortable in the dark closed in space as Virgil obviously was. As it was, Patton’s nose scrunched up at the thought off all of the spiders that could be living everywhere in the secret tunnel, but he pushed through.

The entrance to the tunnel had been made only a little bit from the room Virgil had mentioned and Chester had led them through it after only a couple of seconds. As Patton had suspected, the room was already lit up and probably cleaned a little bit by the people who had cut into the wall, not that he was complaining.

Virgil was still clinging a bit to Patton’s shirt, though it seemed to be less out of anxiety at this point and more out of a desire to stick close. He was peering around curiously at the lit-up space. He probably hadn’t seen much of it in the dark when he’d been here before.

Yet, his curiosity was nothing compared to how excited Logan seemed to be. Now Patton may have not been interested in the room itself, but he was entertained by how interested Logan was and was happy to encourage that.

“What do you think this place is?” he asked Logan.

Logan hummed contemplatively, eyes looking around. “Well,” he said. “It’s a bedroom clearly, and old. Considering the location it is in in the castle, the size, the decorations, and it’s likely age, I’d imagine it was a bedroom of a royal family member. This used to be the royal wing three royal lines ago.”

“Bearing that in mind, there are a couple of likely possibilities for the origin of the room as well as the reason it was sealed up, but we will need to investigate more in order to come to an actual conclusion.” He had already placed the bag he’d brought on the ground and was going through it, pulling out things that Patton did not recognize. He also got a piece of paper and sat on the floor to start to sketch.

“What are you doing?” Virgil asked.

“I’m sketching the floorplan of the room,” Logan said. “I will then put a grid on it so we can investigate while being sure that we aren’t missing anything.”

Virgil seemed uninterested in this part of the adventure, instead electing to go poking around by himself. Princess Marisol squirmed out of Patton’s arms to go follow him. Patton swore that he only looked away from those two for 5 seconds, but the next thing he knew he heard metal clicking against metal.

“Oh,” Patton said, eyes wide when he saw what Virgil was fiddling with. “Honey, you probably shouldn’t touch…”

The old but fancy looking chest that had been at the end of the remains of the bed creaked open. Virgil sneezed as a cloud of dust puffed out of it. “Huh,” he said studying the contents. “There’s a skull in here.”

“Oh, I don’t like this adventure anymore,” Patton commented.

Logan was on his feet within moments. “Let me see,” he said eagerly.

“What if it’s cursed?” Patton pointed out.

“Then I’ll just break the curse,” Logan waved him off. “Oh, it’s just a horse skull,” Logan said, sounding disappointed. “And also what seemed to be potion ingredients. Though they seem very fresh considering the state of the room.”

“Maybe we should get someone else to…”

Logan already had both arms inside the chest and was pulling things out of it. “This chest must have some sort of stasis effect to it.”

He started pulling things out to look at them before setting them on the floor with no caution. “Well,” he said, “that answers the question of what this room is.”

“It does?” Patton asked.

“Ah, yes, between the horse skull and the potion ingredients, this is obviously the bedroom of Princess Marianne Elicia. She was the third child of King Simon IV and was quite the fan of horses.”

“…So she kept a horse skull in a stasis chest in her bedroom?” Patton asked.

“Of course,” Logan said. “Back when her family was in power, magic was outlawed and had quite the stigma against it, but she ended up learning magic and become quite proficient.”

“It’s debated what exactly happened when her father found out about her activities. Some sources say that she was executed silently by her father, but others say she managed to escape with the head of the stables but not before putting a curse on the country of Prijaznia. That is until she or one of her bloodline sits on the throne, every royal line will end in madness and blood by the 5th seated monarch before an heir is born.”

“Isn’t that something you should be worried about?” Virgil asked.

Logan shrugged. “It’s just a myth,” he said. “Besides I’m 6th in the line, so there really isn’t any concern.”

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“There are a lot of interesting things in here,” Logan said, still focused on the chest. “Not to mention the books. We’ll have to be careful with those though since they don’t appear to be in stasis.”

Logan pulled the horse skull out and set it on the floor making Patton wince.

“Marisol no!” he said as Princess Marisol immediately went to go sniff at it. He swooped her up in his arms. “How long are we staying in this creepy room?” Patton asked.

“Patton, we just got here,” Logan said.

“We just got here and already found a skull!”

“Yes! Exactly!”

Patton groaned into Princess Marisol’s fur even as she tried wiggle away to go back and investigate the skull. This was going to be a long day.

Chapter 35

Logan was surprised when he woke up alone in bed. He’d grown to anticipate waking to a smaller body unrelentingly clinging to his in the past couple of weeks. Confused he sat up and peered around his bedroom. He wouldn’t have seen Virgil with the way he melted into the darkness if it he hadn’t heard the sound of purring coming from near the window. He could just barely make out a dark blob shifting up and down at the cat kneaded at a different blob sitting mostly hidden behind the thick curtain.

“Virgil?” Logan questioned. “What are you doing?”

“It’s snowing,” was the answer.

“That is not an answer,” Logan grumbled at the ceiling. With a sigh, he pulled himself out of bed. It was a bit chilly in here, he thought. The temperature must have dipped suddenly and intensely enough that the runes keeping the castle at a warm enough temperature hadn’t caught up yet. He pulled one of the blankets off of the top of his bed to wrap around his shoulders as he approached the window. There wasn’t much light outside, the stars and moon covered by clouds, but there were some lanterns lit for the night guard who patrolled the outside. “Oh,” he said in surprise. “It’s really snowing.”

It had been colder but not quite cold enough for snow to stick the day before, so it came as a surprise when he saw snow was piling up quite high to the point where familiar paths outside his window had disappeared.

“I don’t like it,” Virgil informed him.

“Why not?” Logan asked.

“It’s cold,” Virgil answered. It was clear in his tone that in Virgil’s opinion ‘cold’ was a horrible insult to the concept of snow. Logan quirked a half smile and his attention was drawn to the fact that it was quite cold right here close to the window.

Frowning, he pulled at the blanket around his shoulder so he could wrap it and his arm around the lump that was Virgil. He brushed the boy’s hand when he did so and found it was like ice.

“You’re freezing!” Logan said. “How long have you been by the window?”

“I dunno,” he replied.

Logan was already tugging at him. “You need to get back in bed,” he said.

Virgil obeyed the pulling at his arms even as he frowned. “I’ve been colder than this before,” he said.

“That actually doesn’t make me feel better,” Logan replied dryly as he shooed him towards the bed.

He took the thicker blanket that usually stayed folded at the end of the bed and pulled it up over Virgil before climbing into bed beside him.

“There,” Logan said, rubbing Virgil’s arms through the fabric of the sweater he wore to bed. He was glad he wasn’t wearing a t-shirt at least. “The runes for heating the castle should catch up within a few hours, but until then this should do. Assuming we don’t sit by the freezing window for an undetermined amount of time.”

“I don’t like the cold,” Virgil told him.

Logan sighed. “Then why did you sit by the window?”

Virgil shrugged and ducked his head a bit. Logan reached out to grab his hands to help him warm more but was surprised when one of the hands was much warmer than the other. He found his fingers were clutching a crescent shaped stone: the protection charm they’d made. Logan knew that he kept it in his pocket most of the time, but he didn’t normally see him holding it like this. It was warm to the touch, of course, indicating the safety of the room around them.

Logan looked over his face. “Are you…” he said. “Scared of the snow?”

“I don’t like the cold,” he said once again.

“You’re scared of the winter,” Logan concluded. He looked at Virgil who was far too small for his age and seemed surprised at every casual act of kindness. It was clear that his basic needs were far from being met before he came here. Logan had to wonder what winter usually meant for him. His experiences were doubtlessly very different from Logan’s own. “That makes sense,” he acknowledged, “but you don’t need to be scared of it here. The castle is always perfectly warm and safe in the winter and Mr. Deknis and Ms. Heart work hard during the other seasons to make sure we have plenty of food. There is nothing to fear here.”

He did not seem convinced.

“You don’t even have to go outside if you don’t want to,” Logan promised. “The castle is plenty big if you’d like to stay inside all winter long. It was made for the winter even without the magic devices that keep it warm. We have fireplaces and well insulated rooms even if those that ends up failing.” Logan pulled open the hand that had the protection charm just to transfer it to his other hand to warm it. “Though, while no one would force you to go outside, the snow isn’t always bad.”

“Yes it is,” Virgil said, his voice sure.

“Not all the time,” Logan insisted. “Some people love the snow.”

“They’re stupid.”

Logan laughed. “It can be fun for a while with the right equipment if you have someplace to get warm again afterwards. Royal duties slow down during the winter and Patton tends to come up with all sorts of games for both the inside and the outside to pass the time. He’s particularly proficient at snowball fights, at least against me.”

“What’s that?” he asked.

“Play fighting,” Logan answered. “Like pillow fights, but snow.”

“I’ll stick with the pillows,” he replied.

“And then there’s a hill to sled down on the western side of the castle, and people like to build snowmen along the path.”

“What are snowmen?” Virgil asked.

They’re temporary statues made out of packed snow,” Logan explained. “Typically, they’re made of three different sized balls of snow: the largest being the base and the smallest the ‘head’ though there are some variations. After building them one typically decorates them with different articles of clothing and objects found lying around. It’s usually sticks and rocks for the face and then things like extra hats and scarfs for decoration.” He smiled softly. “When my Pa was alive, we used to steal my Dad’s crown and fanciest robes. Sometimes Pa would steal it right off of Dad’s head and we’d run away. We’d find a secluded area of the castle yards and build the biggest snowman we could as quickly as we could before we got caught. He’d usually end up letting us keep the robes, but we’d have to give the crown back since some of the metals in it would rust when wet.”

“That sounds…” Virgil’s nose twitched. “fun if you take away the touching snow part.”

Logan laughed. “It is fun,” he said. “Even with the touching snow part. Though, I admit that some of the ability for it to be entertaining does come from the fact that we could warm up afterwards with ease. You’ll enjoy Patton’s mother’s constant offering of hot chocolate during the season even if you never go outside, I’m sure.”

“Hot chocolate?” Virgil asked intrigued. His dark eyes shone brightly in the little light coming through the window. It was clear he could guess something about the drink just by the name and enjoyed the implications.

Logan smiled fondly. “It is a hot drink,” he explained. “It’s a warm drink made out of milk and chocolate. I can get you some to try in the morning.”

Virgil nodded, eyes still wide with interest.

“For now, we should sleep though,” Logan said. “Are you warm enough? I can get more blankets.”

“I’m fine,” he said.

“Good,” Logan said, reaching up and adjusting the blanket over them once more, tucking it around Virgil a little bit for good measure. “Goodnight Virgil,” he said.

“Goodnight,” he replied softly. Logan reached under the blankets to grab the hand that was still slightly chilly from the window between his own. Virgil’s eyes slipped closed after a moment as he nuzzle his face into the pillow. At some point they both drifted off to sleep.

Chapter 36

Thomas had already been well aware that winter was on the way, but he and the rest of the castle occupants had been surprised at how intensely and suddenly it had come on. Most things were ready for the winter, but not all of them had been initiated. The fireplaces that took some pressure off the castle heating runes were cleaned out and ready, but they hadn’t been started yet. The stables for different animals on the grounds had been checked over and staff assignments had been made, but most were still in far out fields. Staff that went home for the winter months had been dismissed, but there were a few stragglers that would have to be helped home before things got worse.

He’d gone out to the main stable to talk to the three workers that were the heads of different areas of animal husbandry to make sure a plan to get everything to where it needed to be soon was in place. It took a while to figure out considering that they’d expected a little more time before the first major snowfall. Thomas also asked them to make sure all of the workers’ homes were in good enough condition for the weather. Ranch hands typically had homes on castle grounds but not in the castle themselves since they needed to be close to the animals. Thomas knew at least half a dozen of those who spent most of their times out in the fields were the type to forgot to maintain their homes because they preferred camping amongst the animals in the summer months and then would be in for a bad time when snow began to fall.

There should be enough extra rooms in the castle if they needed a place to stay until repairs could be done.

Those conversations took a good couple of hours, before Thomas was satisfied. Before trudging back to the castle through the still falling snow, he made a point to stop at one specific horse stall in the main stable. The horse turned his head to see Thomas when he stopped in front of his stall and puffed out a rather disaffected snort before sticking his head over the gate so Thomas could pat his nose. “Hello, Mr. Apples,” Thomas said.

The horse seemed to conclude he’d tolerated Thomas’s petting enough and ducked his head to nudge at his torso. Thomas rolled his eyes. “Yes, yes,” he said. “I brought you an apple. Some things never change.” He reached into his pocket to grab the red apple he’d brought the white Arabian. “At least you don’t bite me anymore.” He paused, apple slice in hand and eyed the horse’s nose suspiciously. “Do not bite me,” he said even though he hadn’t felt the animal’s teeth in a decade. It would be just like Mr. Apples to wait until his guard was down.

After a bit of scrutiny, he offered an apple slice. It was snatched out of his hand and there was a loud crunch as it was bit into.

“It’s snowing out,” he told the horse. The horse seemed to roll his eyes at the statement of the obvious. “I’ll remind again that if you run out in a snowstorm, I’m not running after you, so you’d be out of luck.”

Mr. Apples snorted.

“You’re old now. You’d probably not survive long enough for people to find you. Besides, you blend in with that white fur of yours. They’d probably walk right past you a few times.”

He went back to nosing for treats as soon as he finished his first and Thomas sighed, pulling out another apple slice. “What are they not feeding you enough?” The gusto with which the horse snatched the apple slice was a very clear answer. “Well, we both know that’s not true.” Thomas fed the horse a third slice of apple when he was done with his second. “I have to get back to the castle now. Don’t be a devil horse.”

Mr. Apples threw his head a bit, splattering apple smelling foamy spittle all over Thomas’s front.

“Understood. Have a nice afternoon.”

He left Mr. Apples in his stall then, knowing he’d be well cared for no matter how ill-tempered he could be at times. He’d been a king’s horse once, after all, no matter that said king had been dead for more than a decade now.

Winters were hard.

Winters were the times when things always slowed down at the castle, where royal duties were often thin. There were a lot of memories in winter.

The trip back to the castle was not particularly long, but it was also not particularly pleasant. The snow had not been cleared away considering it was still snowing which meant his feet and legs were wet and cold by the time he made it to the nearest castle door.

He wasn’t sure if, when he entered, the castle heating runes had started to work in earnest or if he’d just been so cold that any measure of warmth was appreciated, but he was relieved to be out of the snow either way.

He decided to check up on the progress of the castle staff lighting the fireplaces. With any luck, they’d be lit already, and he could warm up even more. That in mind, he headed towards the main foyer where the largest fireplace in the castle sat to take off the chill brought in by the large front doors.

The main foyer was bustling with activity when he snuck in along the sides, giving the guards stationed around nods as he passed. The main fire in the room was burning brightly, though only one of the two smaller ones near the side exits from the room was lit. The other one was still being set up with safety mechanisms. It was good progress and assuming other areas of the castle were being set up as efficiently, he assumed they’d all be set up by nightfall.

He’d need to go check around to be sure, but for now, he walked up to the main fireplace to warm his hands.

He’d gotten into the habit when he was younger to every so often glance upwards. There had been a certain stable boy who had a propensity for climbing trees. These days, he usually found nothing when he did so, often not even consciously noticing that he’d turned his gaze momentarily skywards. Yet, today, he was startled out of his own idleness by dark brown eyes looking back at him from a small ledge in the shadows high above him.

He froze as he met the young boy’s gaze. Virgil seemed as surprised to be caught as Thomas was to have caught him.

Slowly Thomas raised one hand and waved to the boy. He slunk back into the shadows at the acknowledgment. If Thomas peered hard enough, he could see a shadow stretch up towards the third-floor balcony in the darkness and disappear over the railing.

Interesting boy.

Thomas found himself smiling despite the oddity. They still had not found out much about Virgil. He would speak to Jeffers about many things apparently, but often could not be redirected to invasive topics and he was still a bit skittish around Helen. He hadn’t willingly existed in a room with Thomas. Thomas hoped that changed at some point. There was something about him that made Thomas like him.

Chapter 37

Virgil had not spent a lot of time out of Logan’s room. What little time he had spent outside of it was either with Patton and/or Logan or tucked away in secret corridors he found in the walls where no one would stumble upon him. Yet, here he was willingly in a, well, not public by any means place, but one that was still more exposed than he was used to being in. Somehow, he was managing to not care at all.

It was helped by the fact that both Logan and Patton had been in the room at the start, but they had gone off to go… somewhere. Food sounded like it might have been the reason.

He liked food, and usually he would have been all for going to get some, but between them promising to bring him back some and the fact that he was never going to move ever again, he’d decided to stay.

Princess Marisol seemed to be the only other rational being in the whole castle because she had also not moved since discovering the contents of this room. She was currently laying on his chest purring happily.

The fireplace was a wonderful invention. Now, Virgil had, of course, warmed up by a fire before when it was cold, but this was much different. There was a grate that blocked off the fire a bit keeping it from burning the person in front of it and there was a plush rug right by it, perfect for laying down on. Someone had known what they were doing when designing this room.

He didn’t even care that the king had access to this sitting room as well as Logan.

…

Okay, so he did care a little bit, but he was ignoring that. He was probably busy this time of day anyway, right?

…

He really didn’t want to run into him after being caught watching the castle workers set up the bigger fireplaces. Kings probably didn’t like people sneaking around watching things from the shadows even when they didn’t know that the person sneaking around was literally sent to kill them.

Princess Marisol must have had a sixth sense for his anxieties (or he’d just started breathing faster and disturbed her) because she stirred a bit.

#proofread stories #not writing

35 notes · View notes

simpmeon · 4 years ago

Text

Red: Sunlight

Pairing: Any Demon Brother x Gender Neutral MC, Diavolo x Gender Neutral MC

Genre: Angst/ Smut

Word Count: 4k

Rating: R

Warnings: Cursing// // Blood // Violence

A/N: SO SORRY ABOUT THE LONG AWAITED SECOND TO LAST CHAPTER OF THIS SERIES! I APPRECIATE ALL THE LOVE AND SUPPORT!!!! I was having a lot of mental health issues and between working two jobs and falling out of Obey Me for a hot minute, I just never found the time or motivation to continue the story. BUT!!!! I FINALLY DID!!! (I kinda speeded through writing it so it may not be the best in actual writing but plot? A+) ENJOY!!!!

You loved him. Since the minute your feet hit the smooth stones of the RAD Student Council Room, you were lovestruck. He was the ray of sun that shone brightly against the never-ending night of Devildom.

Maybe dying was the best thing to ever happen to you. Because without the darkness, you would have never found your sunlight.

The Fall // Rebirth // Betrayal // Companions // Revenge // Sunlight

Dying is something that should not be familiar. You should not be familiar with the sensation of your soul slipping through the living world’s veil and the now cold darkness of death. Can you die twice? Where will you even go? You felt like you were swimming in syrup, darkness covering your senses. You could see your wings lifted high above either side of your head, your arms swaying lazily through the darkness. You could hear your name being said over and over, but you could never make out who or why it was being said. Your body was cold. Everything waes cold. Through your stupor you can see the familiar white glow of life casting a soft shine on your face. You can see the light start to fade slowly into the darkness of the void around you, almost as slowly as you descended further and further into the substance that enveloped you. You closed your eyes, trying to except the fact that this is the best option for everyone. Maybe your death should be a permanent fixture.

After all you disgraced the great prince, and will probably disgrace the great king. You’re a monster. Nothing more and nothing less.

Monster...

The word felt like a whisper. You do not even know if your mind said it or not.

N...not.....

You could see light hitting your eyelids, turning your vision red. Sweet death has you wrapped around their hand once more.

Not a monster....

The voice was clearer than before, as if the person who was speaking to you was closer to you. You slowly opened your eyes, and saw the bright white light illuminating your feathers. You could barely make out the shape of a face in the light, but there was one there.

Y/N please....you’re not a monster....you were never a monster.

You suddenly got s shot of adrenaline as the face became clearer and you could see his face. Diavolo’s face, laced with concern, tears falling down his cheeks. You knew he was never an angel, but surrounded by the halo of light, he looked like one. He was in his demon form, the horns twisting in the shadow of the light. You could feel the warmth of his hands on your cold body, a hand cradling your head, another wrapped around your lower back between your lower wings.

You struggled against the sticky substance that kept you bound to your descent, trying to force an arm free to touch him. You struggled so much and so hard you broke a sweat and tears stung your cheek. You felt an arm break through the substance, as if you were breaking through the top layer of water in an ocean. The air was cold around your arm as you continued to drive yourself through the liquid, chasing the light and the man who made you feel whole again. Perhaps you were another Icarus foolishly chasing after the sunlight, refusing to accept your death shall you actually touch the light. Your head breached from the liquid, your wings following. They were twisted and mangled, but they knew where to carry you. You clumsily spread them and twisted them against the strong wind of the void, tears streaming as your clawed your way through the air streams, nothing but the warmth of Diavolo keeping you strong.

No you can’t die. Not yet. You had a beautiful prince to marry, a kick ass demon form...a chosen family who loves you more than anything in this world. The light was becoming blinding to you now as you went deeper and deeper into the warmth. A smile spread across your face as his face got closer and closer to your arms.

You could feel your wings stretch out as you picked up speed to hurtle yourself into Diavolo. He was sunlight in the darkness of the ocean. His love for you is like sunlight when all hope is lost. Your wings gave a triumphant flick, as if they shed an old skin and are new. The void around you disappeared as your vision was covered in light all around you. You felt warm again. You felt alive again. You closed your eyes as you flew at top speed towards the man you will have a forever with.

Y/N .....please come back to me...

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There was sharp intake of breath as you shot awake, the crisp Devildom air burning your lungs and esophagus. Your arms acted without your command and wrapped themselves around Diavolo, your sobs drowning out anything he could say. All he did really was gingerly wrap his arms back around you, his gentle fingers toying with the feathers of your wings.

“Y/N....” He whispered into your hair as the sobs started dying down. “Please tell me this is not some cruel joke....”

“Diavolo.....it’s me.” You pulled back from his arms to get a good look at his face and the state he was in was heartbreaking. His auburn hair was tossed about, scratchy hairs have sprouted on his chin, and the dark circles under his eyes highlighted his amber eyes, making them almost glow against the darkness. He looked so withered down and exhausted. He breathed a sigh of relief, some of his own tears falling as he brought you into his arms again. His skin was warm to the touch, and after the bitter cold you were just suffering in, to have him wrapped around you like this was comforting. The silence between you two was comforting and suffocating. So much needed to be said, but both of you were too tired to say anything, more interested in tracing patterns in between each other’s shoulder blades.

“How long has it been....” You finally asked, your cheek against his chest. He sighed again and kissed the top of your head, playing with your hair.

“Almost a month. You know it would have been a month tomorrow on the dot but now I’m left to suffer at the thought of you being in a coma for 30 days, you couldn’t have waited until tomorrow to make it a nice even number?” He jested, but the joke had a somewhat hollow tone to it.

“A month?” You whispered. You could not believe that almost a month has passed since you were last wrapped up in his arms. That’s when you took to notice the scenery around you and you felt a wave of shock rush through you as you saw the familiar tree and the canopy bed. You looked over at your desk that has remained untouched since you left Devildom as a human, only to return as a demon. You were in the House of Lamentation, but the walls seemed too quiet for your liking.

“Where is everyone?” You asked Diavolo, trying to lift yourself from the mountain of covers, a panic swelling in your chest before Diavolo stopped you with a soft, yet curt push back down into the bed.

“They’re at RAD right now, no need to worry.” Diavolo responded, kissing your cheek. Your cheek felt warm from where his lips connected to your skin. Comforting in your state of shock. “They’ll be back soon enough, and I’m sure each one of them will do their checks on you.”

“Checks?” You asked, looking at his tired eyes.

“Yes my love, one of them comes in for about fifteen minutes at the top of the hour. Just to check your vitals or if it’s Lucifer, he usually takes about forty five minutes debriefing me on any new news in Devildom while also checking on you.” He explained, smoothing the hair out of your face. His fingers were feather light against your skin.

“And where were you during all this?” You asked curiously, already knowing the answer. How can you not, with the state he was in. He let out a small chuckle before placing his lips to yours softly.

“Praying for you to wake up. Imagine that. The future King of Hell...praying. I swear Lucifer almost wet himself when he walked in on me doing so. Thought I was going to burst in flames.” He chuckled, your noses rubbing together gingerly. “The damage done to your body was so severe I was surprised you even managed to breathe.”

You stared at him, puzzled. You felt okay now, certainly not the greatest, but you have been through much worse in terms of pain.

“What do you mean-” You asked, trying to sit up again, but Diavolo pushing you down again.

“Well after you broke a certain brother’s arm into over a thousand pieces, you just started clawing at yourself and then shot straight into the air. Of course there’s a glass ceiling in the royal ballroom so there was quite a bit of damage from the glass, and with the cold air I’m pretty sure that did not help matters. Of course I immediately followed you, the brothers could take care of the party with Barbatos and Simeon. You’re flight pattern was super erratic and I could barely keep up with you. You started yanking out your feathers by the fistful and that’s when you suddenly dropped. You were far higher and farther away than I was, so I pushed myself to get to you in time, but unfortunately you already made impact with the ground. I still don’t understand how you survived the fall, the crater that you caused was at least sixty feet in length and twenty feet deep. With my heightened senses I could hear that you were very uh.....broken to say the least." Diavolo explained, slowly climbing in bed with you gingerly. All his movements seemed to be calculated as if he were afraid that one slight dink to your body will crumble you again. He hasn't been this careful since you were a human.

"How broken?" You asked, now understanding your overall throbbing pain. Even though you heal exceptionally faster as a demon, the damage done must've been severe for you to take a month to heal.

"Um....your back took most of the damage so aside from your wings being rendered virtually useless, you also completely shattered most of your spinal column. Your ribs were also cracked in various places as well. Same with your legs and arms. Also there was damage to your skull. So let's just say that the answer to that is extremely broken. I've never seen a demon take so much impact before and survive..." He said, facing you under the covers. He sweetly kissed your lips, the exhaustion finally catching up to him with every sleepy blink he took. "You really are one in a million."

He slowly wrapped his arms around your body, being super careful of everything, bringing you closer to his chest. Words can't describe how much you missed him. His heartbeat quickly synced to yours and within seconds he was fast asleep. You slowly drew patterns on his back and hummed a tune, kissing his forehead every now and then to remind him that you were still there.

The only thing that broke the tranquility of it all was when you heard a soft knock at the door. Diavolo started to stir slightly, but you hushed him to sleep.

"Come in." You responded. At the sound of your voice the door damn near fell of its hinges as your ex lover entered the room. You hissed at the man and motioned towards Diavolo, who was still wrapped up in your arms. The brother gave you an apologetic look and softly closed the door behind him, leaving nothing but the three of you in a suffocating silence. Diavolo mentioned that some brothers take longer than others, but that they rotate every hour to make sure that you're okay. He coughed to try to break apart the silence in the room but you genuinely had no idea what to say. Luckily, you didn't have to say anything as he slowly made his way over to your nightstand to lay the ring on the string next to your desk.

"Oh?" You asked, suspicions rising with the action. He glanced at you for a moment and swallowed hard.

"I knew you were here when I found this in the hallway. You always wore it around your neck because you were worried that you would lose the ring somewhere...." He explained, shuffling from one foot to the other. Despite the obvious tension in the air, he managed a soft smile. "I remember making fun of you for it-"

"Save the nostalgia." You growled, making him recoil for a second. He blinked in surprise at your words, but deep down your hatred with him was deserved.

"I'm sorry..." He whispered, turning his back to you. You know better than anyone that tears were forming in his eyes and thats why he turned around. "I'm the reason you're down here."

"Yep." You replied, not even regarding his emotions. He flinched at your words, but you did not care. Why should you? Clearly he had no regard for yours.

"Im sorry Y/N I just got lonely-"

"Do you think I wasn't? I had everyone lining down the damn block to get in my pants in the human world and I still remained loyal to you and only you. I didn't slip up once. I put in the effort. I put in the time to try to make this work between us. But you decided to not only completely ignore me but also cheat on me with a new bitch every year?!-"

"Its not my fault you didn't want to marry me."

Now you were pissed. Had Diavolo not been sleeping peacefully in your arms you would have slapped the ever living hell out of the man before you. He realized he struck a nerve when your aura started taking shape. The air around the room became significantly hotter and if looks could kill, this man would die a million times over.

"I- I'm sor-"

"You always fucking say I'm sorry, but I'm starting to doubt you even mean it. You know why I didn't want to marry you? Because I wanted to think things over. Make sure you were who I truly wanted and desired. I'm now glad, elated even that I didn't have to become your partner." You spat the last sentence out with so much acid you could feel the hole they made in his heart. He was livid now.

"What the fuck did you have to think over? You would have been happy here. We all could have been a big happy family, so tell me Y/N what did you have to think over? You know its really funny to me how you preached about unfaithfulness when you yourself were in love with another when dating me."

"I loved you."

"No you didnt!" He yelled, throwing your books off the shelves, leaving claw marks on the stone, tears flowing freely now. "You never did! It was always Diavolo that you were madly in love with since the beginning!"

"You don't know that!" You yelled back, standing up from the bed, demon form out. It hurt. Your own form seemed to be rejecting your body, but you will not back down. He let out a low laugh, shoving you back down onto the bed with force. You hissed in pain with just his hand making contact with your chest.

"Diavolo......" You whispered hoping to stir him slightly. The brother was sauntering over to you, clearly enraged now.

"Diavolo-" You said louder, shaking him slightly.

"Everyone did. You really played me like a fool , I admire your acting skills for that. You played everyone. You even played yourself as a lovestruck idiot for me, but we all really know who all the kisses, all the sweet nothings, all the breathy moans into the night were really for." He hissed, his demon form shuddering into view. He placed a claw into your arm and dug deep, making you yelp. Blood started trickling down your arm at the contact. "Now say his name."

"DIAVOLO!" You screamed out, and in a flash the brothers body was hurtled through the walls of the House of Lamentation. Diavolo stood in front of your body, arms out protectively. The brother stumbled to his feet , anger rising within him.

"I don't want to hurt you. You know that more than anyone. I would sooner forfeit all my abilities than harm you or your brothers. However...lay a finger on them again and I will not hesitate to hurt you." He stated, eerily calm. The brother growled in defiance, but refrained from charging the room again. His other brothers held his arms back, but there was an energy that radiated through the two rooms. It was as if an invisible line had been drawn in the sand, and you were trapped on one end.

Did you love Diavolo since you met him? Yes.

Did you also fall for the brother and his family? Yes.

You did the only possible thing you could think of at that moment which was stand up, shifting out of your demon form and resorting back to the broken and bruised form that you had before. You put Diavolo's arm down and before he could sputter out a protest, you gave him a look that could silence God himself. You slowly inched your way around the rubble, pulling your blanket tighter to your body with each step.

You felt like a toddler walking around for the first time. One of the brothers sensed your general unsteadiness after not walking for a month and gently guided you to the brother who was being held back. He merely glared at you, but his demon form also subsided. Even though four years have passed since you had an actually good look of his face, and weren’t trying to break it, the two of you can still almost read each others thoughts. Communicating with minute changes in expression always made the brothers not notice what you were conversing, and even now they're just as clueless. Even more so now that he puts his hand behind your back to steady you as you two made yourself over to his bedroom.

You shut the door behind you, the last time you did so was because you two were about to pleasure each other until one of the brothers would barge in and threaten to whip him for a thousand years, even though you're the one who initiated it most of the time. You slowly let go of the door handle, swallowing the pride you had and facing him. He spread out on his bed, his eyes never leaving you. The tension in the air is palpable at this point. You both continued to have your silent argument, until you slammed your fist against the door, causing the door to splinter underneath you. He flinched at the sound.

"For once in your goddamn life can you admit that you were wrong?!” You whispered sternly. You wanted to scream it out, but you also didn’t want to attract Diavolo and the rest of his family. “I vowed on that day to love you until the end of time did I not?”

He scoffed in response, crossing his arms. You walked over to him, squaring up to match his height as best as you could.

“Did. I. Not?” You emphasized each word, never breaking eye contact. He let out a growl, but one look from you silenced it.

“I might recall you saying that.” He admitted, although forcefully.

“I loved you. I really did. I was committed to you and only you.” You said, grabbing his hands in yours. They felt the same as they did four years ago. “So why? Why did you not do the same?”

He shoved his hands out of yours, crossing his arms again and crashing on the bed beneath him, but he wasn’t doing so out of annoyance this time. He was trying to keep himself from crumpling.

“Because....I was trying to fill a void. I fell in love with a human of all creatures and I loved every second of it. But....around here. It’s more acceptable to fuck multiple humans than to settle down with one. At least....that’s what I told myself. I thought by not talking to you, you would get mad at me. I hoped that every call you made would be the last one. I screwed around with the other exchange students, but....Alex is different.” He explained. You quirked an eyebrow at him. He sighed and ran his hand through his locks before continuing. “The redheaded exchange student. They’re different. They feel different than the others.....”

“Good different?” You asked, taking a seat next to him, relaxing now that he’s talking to you again. You saw a fond smile on his lips, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes.

“Yes. They’re the closest thing to filling that void. That’s why I completely ignored you....I thought you would just forget about me. So you didn’t have to be hurt by my actions. I wanted you to have a better life....one where you weren’t trapped in a relationship with me.” He admitted softly, wrapping his arms tighter against his body. You felt him shudder next to you, followed by a sniff. You looked over and saw that he was crying. “Guess I fucked that one up too.”

“Hey.” You said, making him look at you with his teary eyes. You didn’t even hesitate, you just slowly wrapped your arms around him and held him there. He tensed up at your touch at first, but slowly sand back into it. You slowly rubbed circles into his back. You weren’t going to forgive him so easily, but right now he just needs the comforting touch. “What you did was shitty as fuck. Seriously. But....I’m glad you found someone.”

He simply nodded, the two of you attached to each other. Moments like this would usually be so calming to both of you, but now the feeling was foreign. Not exactly bad, but not quite the same.

“I guess I’m glad you didn’t end up with some rotten human....” He whispered. You nodded your head and pulled away from him. “If anything....Diavolo is a great guy...I hope he treats you better than I did.”

“Thank you...” You said with a small smile. “...I’m sorry for what I said at the party and five minutes ago....”

“No no no. I’m sorry for what I said.” He responded.

“No what I said was far worse.” You challenged with a slight smirk.

“Did that fall cause brain damage? I- oh wait I know what you’re doing.” He started to counter, but realized immediately what you were trying to do. Just like old times. You both let out a laugh, finally feeling better now that the tension is gone, and a more comfortable silence replaced it.

“So... are you going to marry Alex?” You asked, looking back at the brother. He seemed to ponder the question for a while, fidgeting with his fingers.

“I was planning on asking them tonight....” He responded awkwardly, coughing into his hand. Your eyebrows shot up in shock. “They’re currently at Purgatory Hall, seeing as you took over their bed.”

“It was my bed first anyway.” You snubbed. He chuckled at that.

“What about you and Diavolo?” He asked. You blinked and looked at him.

“What about us?” You asked. He looked at you like you were a complete idiot, another laugh escaping.

“Are you two getting married?” He asked again, a small smile on his lips. You parted your mouth to say something, but the doors to the bedroom swung open dramatically and in strutted Diavolo.

“I-”

“If you think I’m going to sit here and propose to you in front of your ex boyfriend, you’re dead wrong.” He responded, outstretching a hand to you, a smile as big as could be stretching his face out. You let out a genuine laugh, grasping his hand gently as he slowly pushed you into his arms. Not the typical proposal you would assume Diavolo would do, but there was something so entrancing and comforting about him that you couldn’t say no. You loved him. Since the minute your feet hit the smooth stones of the RAD Student Council Room, you were lovestruck. He was the ray of sun that shone brightly against the never-ending night of Devildom.

Maybe dying was the best thing to ever happen to you. Because without the darkness, you would have never found your sunlight.

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cotncandyboifics · 4 years ago

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1989 [High School AU]: Chapter 9

AO3 Link

Masterpost

Chapter 1 ~ Chapter 2 ~ Chapter 3 ~ Chapter 4 ~ Chapter 5 ~ Chapter 6 ~ Chapter 7 ~ Chapter 8 ~

Pairings: slight Logince, eventual Prinxiety & Logicality

Word count: 2,043

Story summary: Roman Prince is your stereotypical Jock, with everyone swooning after him. Every day a crowd of people follow him around, only to disperse at his personal whim. In reality, he's lucky to have such good acting skills that help him cover up the disdain he has for his life. He only wishes he could use his skills properly.

Patton Whitelock's always there to lend a helping hand, no matter who you are. If you need a favor or just need someone to talk to, go to him. In reality, he's been taught from a young age that kindness should be held above all else. No one suspects that he took it the wrong way.

Logan Montgomery is the smartest boy in the Senior class. He's stern, and most people are too intimidated to speak to him. In reality, he despises most all of his fellow students. He sticks to his studies and doesn't stray, for fear of being stuck in his father's shadow his whole life.

Virgil Black is the most emo kid in school, let alone 12th grade; everyone knows to leave him be. In reality, he's very fortunate. He has two parents who love him dearly. But everything beyond his life, everything within his mind, is utter chaos and turmoil.

what will happen when they're assigned a biology project together?

General CW: food, swearing, implied s-lf h-rm, non-graphic descriptions of s-lf h-rm scars, graphic and non-graphic descriptions of anxiety attacks and panic attacks, drug abuse, minor character intoxicated on heroin, non-graphic drug overdose description, sickness/description of sickness, blood, non-graphic descriptions of needles, (will be added to as I write more)

Chapter CW: swearing, food/meal mention, (let me know if i missed anything please!)

Author notes: the massive amounts of gay panic. this chapter was fun to write

...

Roman returned to find his room far less lively. The tall nerd and the short puffball have seemingly disappeared! Of course Roman knew they'd likely just gone home, but what fun is life without a little exciting drama?

The only one left was Virgil, who was curled in on himself on Roman's bed, a pillow in his lap and phone in his hands yet again. Roman sighed dramatically, sprawling out beside his darkly dressed counterpart.

"Is this what they meant when they said 'get a room?'" He commented after a long boring silence, waggling his eyebrows when Virgil looked at him with wide eyes.

"Oh shut up," Virgil looked away, slamming his pillow into Roman's face in a fit of deja-vu.

"Oh come on! Look up the word joke in the dictionary, Jack Smellington!" Roman said exasperatedly. Virgil shook out his luminescent hair, which was now out of his hood and proudly on display. Roman couldn't convince himself to look away.

"As much as I appreciate being compared to one of my favorite Disney characters, that was a bit- what?" Virgil looked at him confusedly, and that's what finally got Roman to look away.

"Nothing." He said shortly. He considered apologizing, but he figured that would make him look worse. Virgil just laughed lightly, not awkwardly. Mostly to himself about Roman's dorkiness. Roman felt his face heat up, and hated himself for it.

"Well, I should probably get home..." Virgil flopped back onto Roman's bed, stretching his arms out above his head. his shirt lifted slightly to follow, and Roman caught a glimpse of his navel, as well as some impressively sharp hip bones, and the very gentle start of a V-line. He forced himself to look away that time. Getting caught looking at someone's hair is one thing, but... but that, was something else entirely. Roman was already in dangerous waters, and he knew it.

"Ehem, well, I know you denied me last time," Roman began, flopping down beside Virgil and looking up at his pride flag, "but the offer of a ride is still up for grabs. Unless you'd rather be stuck on the bus at night for half an hour." Roman crossed his arms over his chest, and Virgil sat up to lean over him. He nearly opted to retort and deny the offer more snarkily than last time's failed attempt, but...

Roman's eyes. He'd never been close enough and calm enough simultaneously to really look at them; they were a deep melted milk chocolate brown, and held nearly imperceptible flecks of shining red. Virgil's eyebrows knit together, and he leaned closer to look into Roman's eyes more properly.

He didn't realize what he'd done until he'd started to reach down, almost putting his hand on Roman's cheek, and Roman made a small squealing noise to go with his completely tomatoed face. Virgil gasped slightly louder than he'd meant to and immediately recoiled.

"Shit, sorry, I just..." he considered shutting his ridiculous mouth and trying to move on, but he figured he couldn't leave that one without some kind of excuse. "I just haven't really looked at your eyes before. Not like, really, I mean. They're... nice. I like the little red bits." His voice grew much quieter as he spoke. He was facing away from Roman, and thank god, because if Roman could see his face he'd see peach-colored cheeks and a childish smile. And how very uncharacteristic of Virgil that would be.

"Thanks," Roman finally managed to huff. He stood slowly, trying to gather himself, and walked over to his desk, grabbing his car keys. He jangled them in his fingers, raising his eyebrows and silently asking Virgil if he'd take him up on the ride offer. Virgil, who had barely managed to discipline his face before Roman turned to him, just smiled very slightly and nodded.

Virgil grabbed his backpack, and Roman led the way from his room and out the front door to his ridiculous shiny-red mustang, which happened to have white racer stripes. Virgil thought this was pretty funny, but kept a sarcastic tease to himself for once in his life.

Virgil texted Roman his address from the passenger seat. While the bus ride to Virgil's house from Roman's was about 20-30 minutes, the car ride was less than 10. Roman considered putting on some music, but decided against it, considering what happened the last time they were alone with just music and each other. What the heckity heck is happening here? When I imagine... love... this is what comes to mind. He cringed at himself, surprised and disgusted that he was admitting that. This doesn't feel the same as it does with Logan though... so then, maybe I truly love Logan, and Virgil just inexplicably makes my heart flutter? Of course, the only other possibility is so much worse-

Roman's thoughts were interrupted by Virgil shouting "RED LIGHT!!!" very suddenly, and Roman slammed the breaks.

"Jesus Princey, are you trying to kill me!? Is that why you were so hell-bent on driving me home??" Virgil's voice was mostly panic, but laced with some half-hearted sarcasm. He clearly had more panic and less sarcasm in it than he'd meant to. He was holding onto his seat and the door beside him for dear life, looking at Roman with wide eyes, his chest heaving comically. Roman was too dazed to laugh.

"Shit, I'm sorry," He looked up at the street light, which was in fact red. "I got lost in thought for a minute. I won't let it happen again while I'm responsible for you. My deepest apologies." Roman would have normally faux bowed and reached out for Virgil's hand to kiss his knuckles, but unfortunately Virgil was making him feel... well, bitterly jittery and not very glittery. Or maybe, too glittery. He didn't know anymore; all he knew is he had to leave his thoughts for when he got Virgil and then himself home safe.

"Lost in thought?" Virgil let that little comment slip sooner than he could corral himself, and almost brought his hand to cover his mouth, but far too late. Roman just looked at him anxiously, sighing.

"Yeah. I guess so." Roman wasn't normally this dismissive, and Virgil knew far better at this point than to press.

Before they were even on Virgil's street, he broke their awkward silence with an extremely unexpected "thanks for driving me home, Ro. You didn't have to, and I really appreciate it."

Roman was shaken to the core, partially by Virgil's sincerity and partially by the nickname. "Oh, uh, well, no need to thank me now. I nearly killed you once, and you aren't safe and sound at your destination just yet." He smiled softly over at the taller emo. Virgil just returned the smile.

A few moments later came a quiet "really though." Virgil's capacity for sincerity wasn't very extensive, and if anyone knew that it was Roman. He felt a blush creeping up his neck, and couldn't think of a good response.

Finally Roman turned onto Virgil's street, adhering to the 10 mph speed limit. He cruised to a stop in front of... what was apparently Virgil's house.

It wasn't what Roman was expecting at all. Not that his... notion, that Virgil's house looked something like Gru's house from Despicable Me, was something he thought was realistic. He just hadn't known how else to imagine it. Instead of anything close to dark and sinister, the outer walls were made of some gentle tan planks all stacked horizontally. There was a light turquoise front door with a rounded top, and to its left a large window covered most of the street-facing wall. In the window, Roman could see a round inviting table with a mother, a father and a young boy sharing dinner, all smiling and seemingly caught up in their nightly banter. They were all laughing and seemed so... happy. The house itself seemed to emanate a calm happiness.

"Is this...?" Roman gestured vaguely toward the house with the address Virgil had given him.

"Yep. There's my parents, and my brother. I guess I just missed the start of dinner." Virgil reached down between his ankles to grab his bag.

"Talk about clashing aesthetics." Roman smiled mischievously at Virgil, hoping to lighten the mood without sounding like a complete jerk, at least.

Virgil caught onto this, looking over and offering him a breathy laugh. "I know. It's almost a crime for me to live here."

Roman giggled, and they found themselves stuck looking into each other's eyes once again.

"W-well, I'd better-" Virgil turned and made to open his door, but something possessed Roman to lean over to Virgil and grab his shirt, accidentally pulling him far too close to his face. They both yelped simultaneously at the close proximity, and Virgil leapt back as far as his seat would allow him, grabbing it similarly to how he'd done when Roman had nearly driven through the red light earlier.

Virgil almost said something, but some noise outside stopped him. He turned to seek its source, giving Roman a view past him as well.

"Virgil, honey, is that you?" his mom called from the doorstep. She held Atticus on her hip, and Virgil's dad towered behind them in the doorway. all of them were waving. Virgil waved back deftly, and opened the car door. He turned to Roman once again, who looked as though someone had just stomped on his heart and twisted their foot viciously.

Virgil couldn't bring himself to smile at him, but offered instead something he hoped sounded kind. "See you in class tomorrow. And... thanks again for the ride."

With that, Virgil got out and shut the door behind him, and Roman watched as he reunited with his picture perfect family, unable to move for some god forsaken reason.

"Is that one of your friends from that biology project, Virgil? He's so cute!" Roman could hear Virgil's mom squeal at her approaching son.

"Mom, leave it be, will you? he's-" Virgil's voice was cut off as their front door was shut. Roman eventually managed to take a single deep breath.

He twisted in his seat to face forward again, gripping the steering wheel with whitening knuckles and staring blankly at the mustang logo in the wheel's center. What. Was. That.

...

Roman's ride home was fast. At least, it felt much faster than the ride to Virgil's house. He didn't come close to running any more red lights, and before he knew it he was twisting the keys out of the ignition and then stepping through his front door.

He couldn't shake the daze that was clouding all of his senses. He wasn't intercepted by either of his parents on his route from the front door to his bedroom, so there was nothing to distract him from his... distractedness. He flopped onto his bed, laying on his back the same way he'd done less than half an hour ago when Virgil had almost...

That's when the haziness suddenly sped up, and the fog in Roman's brain rapidly became a hurricane. He was so confused by his own feelings that he had to squeeze his eyes shut to will away a sob. He didn't know what he was doing anymore. He pushed the palms of his hands against his closed eyelids, trying to distract himself with the aching pain and sparkling stars they brought to his eyes.

Meanwhile, Virgil had eaten dinner, thankfully and willingly accepting the pleasant distraction of his family's company. His mom was an excellent cook, and Atticus was extra animated about the stories of his adventures at school that day. He and his best friend had apparently played by the creek during recess, and found a tadpole to poke and prod. Virgil found his brother very endearing when he told his stories.

However, as all things are, his distraction was only temporary. Soon he found himself having finished the washing up after dinner and slowly trudging his way up the stairs to his room. The moment he shut his door behind him, all of the feelings that had been kept down since he'd gotten out of Roman's car crashed into him like a 20 foot wave. He leaned back against the shut door, sinking down to sit on the floor and hold his knees.

Roman and Virgil, clueless of each other, had the exact same thought at the exact same time.

Fuck. Why do I feel this way?

#ts patton #patton sanders #logan sanders #roman sanders #ts roman #ts virgil #ts logan #virgil sanders #prinxiety #virgil x roman #patton x logan #logicality #sanders sides #thomas sanders #sanders sides fanfiction #slow burn #high school au

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grapefruitsketches · 5 years ago

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Untamed Spring Fest 2020 - Days 24-30: Chapter 1, Gentle (Day 24)

Part of my Songxiao post-canon fix-it fic series:

Also available AO3: link

1,994 Words, Post-Canon, Songxiao, Wangxian, hurt/comfort, angst, recovery

Chapter 1: Song Lan and Xiao Xingchen are alive, healthy, and most importantly, together. But they still have a long way to go. Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji understand this better than anyone

“I must return something to you,” Hanguang-Jun’s voice rung out like a shout to Xingchen’s sensitive ears.

They were in a guest room in Cloud Recesses, kneeling by a table, having just finished their first meal (breakfast? Dinner? Xingchen didn’t know) since Xingchen had awoken in his body for the first time in seven years. The Gusu Lan Sect food had been bland, but Xingchen had been grateful for that. Any warmth burned, any spice stung, any sweetness was sickly. His taste buds were used to dust and stale air. The scent of freshly cleaned linens and sandalwood was sharp to his nose. He felt full, but was unused to a body that could feel empty. His arms were weak. Zichen had taken the spoon from his hand after his shaky grip spilled nearly half the soup he had picked up back into the bowl. He was delicate, feeling more solid than he had in a long time, but he had also never felt so vulnerable. He was glad to be indoors, since he felt that right now, even a gentle breeze, so tied to his reputation (or previous reputation) in the cultivation world, would seem threatening to him.

“I kept it safe,” Lan Wangji continued to read aloud from the hastily scrawled words as Song Lan reached towards Xiao Xingchen, Shuanghua laid out across his palms.

Xiao Xingchen felt Song Lan’s shaking but warm hands fall into his, slowly sharing, then passing the weight of the sword back to its true master.

Xingchen flinched. He had been expecting the sword’s usual coolness, but the metal seared his skin with a cold he had been unprepared for, a jolt through his palms as the weight of the familiar sword hit his hands, and the backs of his hands hit the table, unable to hold the sword unsupported with the atrophied body he had returned to. He was not sure he wanted to carry the sword anyway.

It thrust forward. He felt the impact. “Is that you?” he had asked, not knowing that his question should have been directed at Shuanghua’s victim, not his seeming companion.

“Zichen? Zichen? Is that you?” he had said, this time directing the question to the right person, but far too late. The realization. The sharp kiss of the blade against his throat… no more until… until…

He swallowed, hands clenching tight on the sheathed blade. A touch on his shoulder, Zichen’s gentle hand, stabilizing his shuddering form as he held Shuanghua in his hands again. The blade that had done such damage. That he had trusted to such devastating effects. It made sense that his body, so unused to feeling, to touch, would be particularly repulsed by the blade that had destroyed first the innocent, then his heart, before finally turning on himself.

Though he was sure the others could see the hot, iron-scented tears he felt running down his face, he forced his mouth into a soft smile. The weight was his to bear. He was not at fault, he understood that now, after all these years of reflection, of slowly putting his soul back together. But it had been the pair of them, his hand and his sword, who had been the instrument of all this hardship, who had trusted each other and those around them too readily. And that would be his burden as the one who bore this hand, this sword, for his life to come.

He breathed, “Thank you, Zichen,” he said, managing to keep a quiver out of his voice as he leaned into the hand. Xiao Xingchen rose to one knee, then a foot as he stood up, unused muscles thrumming back to life as he used them to draw the sword for the first time since it had taken his own life.

Lan Wangji, meanwhile, watched Song Lan’s face. The soft frown, his brows laced with caution. The not so subtle glances from Xiao Xingchen’s face to Shuanghua, gleaming dangerously, no less sharp than it had been all those years ago, trusting the holder, but unable to forget the power of the weapon. Song Lan was a mirror of everything Lan Wangji had felt coursing through him four years earlier in Guanyin Temple, watching Wei Ying easily catch Chenqing and draw it to his lips, memories of quiet nights in the midst of the Sunshot Campaign, a flute and a guqin singing together through the night, overwhelmed and tainted by flashes of tears, blood, pain, Chenqing falling off the cliff first, and, as always, calling its master to follow its descent down… down…

Lan Wangji hoped Song Lan would write something, that it would be made clear that he was still meant to be here. The two rogue cultivators were silent and still, but for the slow circles Song Lan’s hand drew on Xingchen’s back and Xiao Xingchen’s fingers slowly travelling over every inch of the sword, as though looking for some physical defect to confirm its scarred history. Red tears streamed down Xiao Xingchen’s face. Song Lan reached for a still damp cloth from the tray where the now empty spirit pouch lay, reaching to catch the tears before they had a chance to reach white robes. Lan Wangji looked away. This felt like a private moment, but he could neither leave without a word, in case Song Lan wanted to say something, nor did he feel like he could interrupt to excuse himself. But the two, for the moment, seemed to recognize little else but each other.

He tried to clear his mind, closing his eyes and senses to the world around, blurring out the sound of Xiao Xingchen’s gentle whispers of thanks, of reassurance that he was ok, turning away from the tender but hesitant look and touch with which Song Lan refamiliarized himself with his beloved. Lan Wangji longed for a more concrete distraction from the scene before him, both out of courtesy and also because this reunion served as a painful reminder of the long years of separation leading to his own.

He was considering the merits of playing his guqin to remind the couple that he was still there, when Wei Ying, as always, came just in time to save him.

He entered the guest room with a handful of loquats. He grinned openly at Lan Wangji, whose reflexive response was a relieved if still restrained smile. Wei Ying tossed him a piece of fruit. Only after he confirmed that Lan Wangji, having easily caught the loquat, would actually eat it did Wei Ying turn to the guests, then back to his husband, who was still carefully avoiding any glance to that side of the room.

Wei Wuxian let out a quiet laugh, understanding Lan Zhan’s dilemma at once.

“Xiao-xiong! Song-xiong!” Wei Wuxian called. The two cultivators’ faces snapped towards the door, Song Lan blinking as though coming out of a dream, “I’m just going to grab Lan Zhan for a little bit if that’s ok? We’ll be by the warren if you need anything.”

Xiao Xingchen smiled, bowing his head mildly, seeming much less disoriented, or at least better at masking it, than his partner, “Of course, Wei-gongzi. We will come find you if anything comes up.”

“Thank you,” Wei Wuxian bowed quickly, then beamed, grabbing Lan Zhan’s wrist, “Let’s go, Lan Zhan!”

The two left the guest room, making their way to the rabbit colony. Wei Wuxian noticed that Lan Zhan’s hand, which had crept its way up to take his wrist’s place in Wei Wuxian’s hand, held his own more tightly than usual.

“What’s wrong?” Wei Wuxian asked, earning himself only a slow, barely audible breath from his husband in response.

Wei Wuxian was not deterred. He had spent years decoding, studying, now practicing the subtle language of Lan Zhan’s expressions. He prided himself in its mastery, revelled in the looks of surprise whenever he correctly guessed even the most well-hidden of worries, (celebrated the rarity of the fearful, tearful, frustrated expressions that had often marked his previous life’s study of a face that should never bear anything but a smile).

While Lan Zhan might not be so forthcoming in the public, well-travelled areas of the Cloud Recesses, the bunnies’ warren provided just the privacy and comfort they needed.

They sat amongst the sea of fluffy snowballs, both silent, enjoying the quiet and the sun. Wei Wuxian felt a tickle on his hand, which was pressed into the ground as he leaned back. He looked down to see a small rabbit sniffing curiously at it.

Wei Wuxian smiled and picked the bunny up, stroking its ears gently, “Little rabbit, little rabbit, can you get my silly husband to tell me what thoughts are going through his head?” he asked, before turning to lay the bunny in Lan Zhan’s lap, “Let’s see if you have any luck.”

Lan Zhan’s eyes widened as though it was still a surprise that such a small creature would settle so cozily against his form. His mouth curved into the smallest smile as he lifted the bunny to his face. Wei Wuxian’s eyes crinkled as he grinned at his husband, who seemed unaware both that Wei Wuxian was watching him, and at the fact that his eyes crossed gently as they followed the bunny closer to his face.

Wei Wuxian settled back. He still wanted to talk to Lan Zhan about his conflicted expression in the guest room. He guessed it might be related to the bittersweet memories of their own reunion that their guests, one smiling, one silent, that had been brought to the front of his own mind since Xiao Xingchen had awoken. But Lan Zhan seemed to need some distance from the cause before he could discuss the effects. He knew Lan Zhan would talk to him once he had had the chance to regain his usual calm.

Closing his eyes to the warmth of the sun, the wind carrying a gentle floral scent towards them from somewhere upstream, he remembered a time when Lan Zhan was not simply quiet, peaceful as he was now, but closed off. He remembered the moments he had broken through that wall, first provoking anger, then concern, and finally, the first smile at a bunny on a lantern before they had made the pledge that would define so much of what followed.

He remembered having to slowly ease open the various gates and doors keeping others away from where Lan Zhan was most vulnerable. Admit to pain, to grief, to love. He remembered the simultaneous feeling that Lan Zhan was doing the same to him, tearing down barriers he hadn’t even known he had. The sheer intensity of the initial exposure of long hidden parts of himself to another, of uncovering wounds long concealed, many reopening before they could heal. He remembered a gradual climb, travelling apart, together, building and rebuilding parts of themselves that finally had the space to fall apart. Eventually able to settle into the synchronicity, the stability, the love that had now come to define their every day life together.

The looks on Song Lan and Xiao Xingchen’s faces reminded him of the them of before, shortly after Wei Wuxian’s return, the awkward reversal of grief, of guilt examined, forgiveness denied due to a refusal to blame. It drew them both to a time before so much healing, so much growth.

Wei Wuxian kept his eyes closed and felt sideways blindly until he found the hand he was looking for and squeezed. Lan Zhan, silently squeezed back. Not a word was spoken, no glance exchanged, but everything that needed to be said was understood.

He was glad that Song Lan and Xiao Xingchen were now able to start their long journey forward together. He and Lan Zhan would help however they could. He was though, perhaps selfishly, glad that this new beginning was theirs and nothing but a distant memory for him and Lan Zhan.

Next: Chapter 2, Harmony: Song Lan asks Lan Wangji for some help.

#untamed spring fest #the untamed #mdzs #cql #songxiao #wangxian #xiao xingchen #song lan #wei wuxian #lan wangji #I meant to write more of this today but it turns out I don't have the energy after all mypapers #so I guess for me the spring fest will continue about a week into May with this as the grand finale!#my writing #songxiao fix it series

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embklitzke · 4 years ago

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July 2020 Camp NaNoWriMo - The Magic Crystal Justice Squad (Chapter 1)

So this project that I'm doing for July 2020's Camp NaNoWriMo kind of snuck up on me. I'd originally intended to start a re-draft of UNSETIC Files: Pawns for this go-around, but plans changed when lightning kind of struck my brain.

There's a meme floating around about magical girls who were supposed to be retired but have to pick it back up again when they're around 30--and have real lives, real jobs, responsibilities, etc. that would definitely be impacted by their side gigs saving the world. When I first saw it, I laughed about it and wondered if it maybe wouldn't be a fun project to try out--someday.

Someday happens to be, quite unexpectedly, right now.

The Magic Crystal Justice Squad is something completely off-the-wall and very different for me, but definitely brings back fond memories of much younger years when I rushed home every damn day from school to watch Sailor Moon and the hours spent over the years watching Power Rangers and similar fare. It also lets me stretch my writing muscles in some new and interesting ways, since it feels a lot more tongue-in-cheek than many of my other projects. It's something fresh and new and has been fun so far.

We'll see how long that lasts.

Until then, enjoy joining me on this little bit of a ride.

One

Shots rang out and I pressed my back against the brick wall, sucking in a pair of ragged breaths. Steady. Steady.

Maybe if I told myself that I could still do this, I’d actually be able to.

God, everything hurt so much more at twenty-nine than it had at seventeen.

There’s something they don’t tell you when you sign up for this whole magical girl gig. Of course, that assumes you’ve got the choice when the whole thing comes up—from the looks of things, most don’t, at least not when you read about them or watch them on TV. I’ll tell you what: Sailor Moon it’s not, that’s for sure. It’s not Magic Knight Rayearth or any of the others, either. It’s not all sunshine and rainbows and personal growth.

And unlike in Power Rangers or any of that craziness, there’s no handing over your powers to someone else. There’s no retirement plan.

There sure as hell isn’t a happily ever after.

I’ve spent twelve years trying to convince myself otherwise and the only thing I’ve learned is that fate is a cruel bitch and the business of saving the world sure as hell isn’t all it’s cracked up to be on TV.

I risked a glance around the corner. Not immediately seeing my pursuit, I allowed myself a second to breathe, squeezing my eyes shut and trying to listen past the sound of my own heartbeat pounding in my ears. They couldn’t be far. Their pursuit had been dogged across rooftops and down through the cavernous alleyways. I’d be paying for my rappelling trick for days.

Austin would’ve told me that it was an impressive move, but probably an unnecessary stress on my body, a waste of economy. As usual, he’d have probably been right about it, too.

But Austin wasn’t here.

Austin was why I was here.

Sirens wailed in the distance, growing closer. Someone must have called the cops, as if they’d be of any help in this situation. For all I knew, they were working for the enemy.

It would not have been the first time something like that had ever happened.

Just breathe, damn you. It took every ounce of wherewithal not to snarl at myself. Panicking wouldn’t do me any good, not now—not that it ever had. All it’d ever done had gotten me was into more trouble or yelled at by my former teammates.

Former.

If there was nothing else that slammed home how alone I was in this, it was that single word.

With Austin gone, too, I was well and truly on my own for the first time in twelve years.

I opened my eyes and stared at the wall ahead of me, then reached up to tap my tiara where it rested against my temple. A crystal visor materialized a second later, numbers and figures scrolling in front of my right eye, almost too quickly for me to understand what they were telling me.

That had always been a problem, but it was one that I didn’t have the patience to fix and probably wouldn’t until the next time it almost got me killed.

Three of them closing in. I can dodge them or I can fight.

My hands curled into fists. As stupid as it was, I wanted their blood. I wanted to put them out of my misery.

It would be three less foot soldiers for the enemy to throw at me in the future.

Hell, they might have been the ones who took my brother, which meant that I owed them more than a little payback.

I should have listened sooner. If I’d listened sooner, none of this would have happened. None of this would have started again. We could have stopped it.

Dammit, we could have stopped it before it started all over again.

Too late now.

I watched the scroll for a few more seconds. My breathing calmed and I counted my heartbeats, listening as the sirens grew closer. The sirens—and the three men who thought that I couldn’t hear them coming.

They brought this on themselves.

Hands tightening into fists, I took one last, slow breath.

“Fuck with the Crystal Princess and see what you get,” I breathed, then pivoted out of my hiding place and into the open. Leveling my wand—twelve inches of iridescent, crystallized silver—at them, I growled words that only felt even more ridiculous every time I said them. “Quicksilver Crystal Blade Spread!”

In the split second between the men realizing what I’d said and the blast hitting, the look on their faces was nothing short of priceless—they thought I was the most ridiculous thing walking.

They weren’t far from wrong.

Even ridiculous, however, I was still deadlier than they were.

The magic started as a brief flare of gray-white light, almost too faint to see. It grew exponentially in a matter of seconds, gaining form and substance as crystalline daggers that flew in an arc in front of me. Dozens of them found their mark, blasting the center most of my pursuers clear off his feet, sending him flying backwards a dozen yards. His companions had a split second to look at each other, their mocking and amusement melting into something close to fear.

One of them had the temerity to shoot at me.

He missed, though not by much. It helped that I was already moving.

If I’d learned anything over the years, it was to keep moving before they got your measure and your number came up once and for all.

The other thing I’d learned was to come at the enemy with all you’ve got because you never know which encounter’s going to be the last.

Catching the one on my right in the chest with my foot, I pushed off him to tackle the one on the left, the one that had managed to get a shot off. As his companion went careening into the wall, I bore the shooter to the ground, using momentum to make up for my lack of girth. The gun clattered from his hand, went spinning away, out of reach of both of them.

They were already bleeding from the dagger spread.

Monsters, after all, bleed just like everyone else.

Whipping my wand toward his jaw like a baton as I bore him to the ground, the shooter’s head bounced off the concrete as we landed, me on top of him. His eyes rolled up into his head for a second, then he snarled. I could only see the whites of his eyes as he lunged upward at me, fingers hooked into claws.

Oh no, you did not just pull that shit with me. Throwing up one arm to catch his hands, I drove the heel of my free hand into his nose.

The sound he made was the stuff of nightmares—half a scream, half a growl. It soured my stomach and sent bile creeping into my throat, touching a primal fear built into all of us.

Unlike most, I’ve figured out over the years how to shunt that fear aside and keep on fighting.

I risked a look away from him to check on my other assailants. The one that had taken the brunt of the daggers wasn’t moving—he was probably out, though I wasn’t sure. The other, though—

Yeah. I should have been a little more vigilant about him.

A booted foot sent me sprawling, knocking me from my perch on the shooter’s chest. The other man stalked after me, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth and a few places where the daggers had caught him, too.

“You should have stayed out of it,” he growled, his voice guttural, somehow human and inhuman all at once. A shiver shot down my spine.

Just in case I needed more confirmation that something was rotten in the state of Denmark...

Well, I had it now, not that I’d needed it.

“Fat chance,” I said, brandishing my wand. He laughed at me.

“What are you going to do with that, Princess? It’s a sparkly stick with magic. You don’t have too many charges left, now do you? Bet you’re spent after that last-ditch effort to shake us off.”

“Oh,” I said quietly. “You’d be surprised.”

They were working from outdated information. That was good to know.

While being older meant that I’d pay a heavier price for any sort of physical feats of magical-girl prowess, having become a magical woman had apparently translated to a deeper fount of magic.

“Quicksilver Mist Arise.”

His eyes widened as the air around him thickened. I crawled back, stumbled to my feet, watching as a silver mist coalesced around him and his fallen companion. Their faces changed as the fog swirled around them, growing heavier, thicker.

There it was. The demonic-looking visages I’d expected, the ones I’d sensed but not seen.

They were getting better and better at hiding in plain sight.

Still, they hadn’t quite gotten good enough to fool me—not most of the time, anyway.

The mist choked off even their screams as it stole their breath.

Carefully, I stepped around the mist and headed toward their fallen companion, crouching to check for a pulse. I found none. His face had taken on the same demonic cast in death that illusion shrouded in life. My lips thinned as I started to search him, hoping to find something some clue to what they’d been up to—other than hunting me.

Behind me, the mist faded away, leaving the bodies of his companions lying in the alleyway. Muttering a curse as I came up empty in my initial search, I headed for the other two and repeated my search.

Nothing.

Maybe they were getting smarter after all.

I straightened and shook my head, staring at them for a few seconds, throat tightening at the shameful waste of it all. It didn’t have to be this way.

But they’d chosen this war, and the war, in turn, had chosen me.

If I wanted to save my brother, I didn’t have any choice. I had to keep fighting. No one else would.

There’s no handing your power to someone else when you end up where I’m at. No new reincarnation crops up to pick up where you left off, to take your wand and skirt that you thought you’d hung up and fight the good fight.

There’s only you and the demons that still stalk your days and your nights—both the ones that come from outside and the ones that come from your soul.

We thought the war was over.

How wrong we were.

#camp nano 2020 #Camp NaNoWriMo 2020 #Magical girl fiction #fiction #The Magic Crystal Justice Squad #writing #amwriting #urban fantasy #trope subversion #MCJS

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moon-caramel · 5 years ago

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Roses & Thorns | K.N.J | part.2

❣ Chapter 2: “here we start”

→ Pairing: Kim Namjoon | ft. Kim Taehyung

→ Gendre: College au. / BTS as a frat house

→ Summary: a past history with Taehyun leave so broken you separated of any social interaction, Namjoon shows up he won’t leave, to heal your broken heart and put that beautiful smile back in your face

→ Warnings / ch.: slight anxiety, slight smut, y/n call Namjoon a bad writer (sorry, please wait for the story to development 😅)

→ Word count: 2.8 k

❣ Now

The reception office was covered by the smell of coffee and paper, with the sound of keyboards pressed and small talk of strangers, you were waiting to register to this workshop your professor talk to you about, although you thought of the world for him, you hated the fact you had to take another class, but you couldn’t say no to him, he talked to you about this because he believes in you, and you don’t want to fail him.

Still waiting, where the hell was the person in charge here, it was past lunch hours, and your patience was getting shorter, you start to hit the wooden surface with your fingers, unil a young man with dark hair in blue shirt and glasses came to you

“alright you can stop that already, I’m here” he sit down and moving some papers to leave a space “what can I do for you?”

“I want to sign on to a new class workshop”

“do you have the name or number of it?”

You look to the paper where you write the information your professor gave you, name and number.

“How are you writing today?, B2910”

The guy laugh quietly, it was a silly name, but a cute one as well.

“and your name?”

“___, ___”

“okay all done, here is your schedule”

He give you a paper with your schedule, the same old classes plus one more, How are you writing today? tuesday from 9:00 to 10:30, seriously? tuesday morning ? as if your life was no more pitiful, you save the paper in your bag, craving for something to eat on your way to the dorms you pass by a convenience store, your basic buy cheetos, instant noodles, and some gummy bears.Your dorm is empty your roommate is probably with her boyfriend, it happens a lot since they became a couple, which you are happy about specialty because it give you the comfy cute espace you love.pouring the hot water in the noodle container you wait for the five minutes. You started to think about Jungkook, you couldn’t help, he was the first friend you made here, and he always has the best recipe for instant noodles, you always thought about him making noodles. you tried to change that, trying to avoid any hook that guide you to Tae— the one who should not be name, but it only break your heart to push away Jungkook, like if ignoring his calls and turning around every time you see him the hallways wasn’t enough, you won’t do it your thoughts.

❣ Then

You felt the pain in your head grow, trying to understand math problems that were according to your teacher basic, what a bitch, you felt someone hugging you, pulling his weight on you, you were ready to give this someone a piece of his mind when you turn around and saw Jungkook being this person.

“Of course is you” you laugh

“well of yea, no one is brave enough to come close to you”

“shut up, I’m surprised to see you here”

“where?”

“here, in the library”

“hey i’m a good student”

Hard for you to say, the first time you say him was in a guidance course, he was sitting next to you, he had fall asleep half of the time and the other he whispered dumb jokes that made you giggle, being the start of your friendship.

“why are you here?”

“I’m trying to do this math problem”

“I hate math” he groans.

“so do I.. why are you here?”

“Nothing special, I saw you from the window and came to say hi”

●

Time fly faster than you could imagine, weeks of classes parties hookups with Tae that you keep a secret from your friends, after you spend the nights with him you leave early before anyone could see you, he always complains about that but you need to remind him you both are nothing special “still we should be more loving between us” he said.

He was right, but being this your first time doing just a ‘hookup relationship’ you didn’t want to get to attach.

It was a another party night in the house, celebrating the guys entrance to the fraternity, Jungkook call you his guest of honor, and you could be more happy to go, you were in your third drink, the music loud enough you barely hear yourself, and you were crushing in it the dance floor with Jimin, you needed a break so you leave to find a quiet space.

Between the many people you crossed you catch the image of Tae dancing with a girl, gorgeous girl you couldn’t deny that, she has a red strapless dress that marked his curves, she was hot, no one is college is that stupidly hot, she was dancing in his back moving his hips against Tae’s pelvis, he had her firm by her thighs and waist, when resting his head in her shoulder he finds you looking, before he could think of this would turn into a jealousy scene he find you smiling at him, you wave at him and leave the two of them to go to the kitchen.

You were sitting in the counter drinking what could only be water, you see Taehyung coming to make a drink, you just smiled him, you didn’t want to make the hottie girl for him, but he didn’t mind apparently when he lean next to you.

“Why is it that I only can catch you in quiet spaces?”

“Uhmm.. maybe cuz is the only way” It was true, rather than get flirty in a crowded place where your friends can see you, you prefer flirt with him in private, a place where you feel like yourself.

“Is that water?” he pointed at your red cup.

“Yes, I already reach my alcohol limit” you excuse yourself

“that’s boring”

“hey you said it was cute” you tap him on the shoulder

“No, I said you were cute” he paused to give a look, his dark eyes were like a trap, occasionally you found yourself looking at them for too much, and he enjoys seeing your eyes going deep on them, like if your trying to find something.

“And you need to break your rules a little”

“I don’t, and you know you can call me cute”

“Well you haven’t prove the contrary” he smirked and you tap his shoulder again, more like punch it making him whine dramatically.

“You should go take care of your hottie, before I rip your arm”

“Hottie?, you mean the girl”

You nodded “yeah, she was gorgeous”

“Nah, I’m okay with you”

“Seriously?” He looked confused “If I was you I will be taken to upstair now”

He laughed “please do”

“Oh no, I wouldn’t know what to do”

“I can join, I’ll teach you” He rub your thigh, smirking again, was he serious? who knows

You laughed nervously “Oh no, she’s all yours tiger”

“It will be more fun with you”

“No”

“It will make you less cute”

“No, you go have fun”

“____, I really want you, we could be just us”

“Don’t worry about me, we’re friends right?”

“Yeah” he looked confused, turning his head to the front nodding “we are”

“Are you okay?”

“I just… think you’re going to miss a lot a fun” he straightened up and drink all what was left of his plastic cup, facing back at you “I really think you should break your rules a little” he said before he could leave

You snort “just because i don’t want to have a trheesome?”

“No, because I know why you follow them so much”

❣ Now

You had to set three different alarms to wake up, but you manage to get up early on tuesday morning with plenty of time to make you a coffee, in front of the white wooden door, you start to wonder if is worthed to wake up early for this, but then again you don’t want to disappoint your teacher, so after a heavy sigh you pull the door.

No more than five people were sitting waiting, you saw the teacher wasn’t here yet.

“___!”

Someone call you on your back, before you could turn around you’re hugged by someone, strong arms around your shoulder, and you recognise the smell of black vanilla, and soft flowers.

“Jungkook..” you were still under his arms, not giving a chance to move. “Jungkook, I can’t breathe”

He loose his hug a little but without free you, enough for you to look at him.

“I’m sorry, but it’s being such a long time since I see you, and when I do you always turn around, so this time I won’t let you”

you could feel guilt, you spend so much time running away from everyone, you were sure they either forget you or resent you, but Jungkook didn’t seem neither of those, he look at you with the same warms eyes.

“Jungkook I…”

“If I let you go?, you promise you won’t escape”

words couldn’t get out of your mouth, if you could you wouldn’t know what to say, you wanted to ask him what was he doing here?, say that you were sorry for ignoring him all this time, you star to thinking if you could leave this place with an excuse that wouldn’t break Jungkook heart, you just nod.

Jungkook let you go, still in front of you smiling like a sweet child, like he always do, once he noted that you were still there and you did not escape, he was sure you wouldn’t leave, and if you were he won’t make it easy.

“Are you in this class too?” you nod again

“That great, we haven’t been together in a class a long time, let’s grab some seats”

He grabs you by the wrist moving to two free seat together, it takes you a time to finally seat, your heart it’s beating like crazy, and you still can’t manage to understand the situation, Jungkook looks so relaxed compared to you, it’s like nothing has changed, but it did.

“So what’s new”

“w.. what?”

“I haven’t see you in so long, your hair its longer, you look good”

“Thank you” your word manage to come out slow and dry, it’s not your intention but you’re still in shock.

He knows, he understand why you are actic like this, why you moved away from the guys, your friends and you avoided him, but he figured that if he acted like things were like before it would be easy, and he knew you would run away if he bombard you with question.

“It’s okay ____”

He place his hand on yours, trying to reduce any conflict there might be in your head, it felt like that for a moment, the warm of his hand and the comfort in his eyes were more than enough to give make you smile, you missed Jungkook so much, we was like a brother (a very energetic little brother) and you wished to throw your arms around him, say how much you missed him, but there was a reason, he became so close to Taehyung, you once thought that you can hang out with him like you always did, but Tae was always with him, they were close, so much that Tae came to your mind when you were with Jungkook.

It was so painful you avoid him, your best friend, you started to wonder why was he here, and if Tae… is he in this class too? no, no no no… you look around with fear, please don’t be here.

“____, hey!”

Jungkook pressed your hand to focus on him, he saw your teary eyes, hard breathing and he could feel your heartbeat in your hand.

“It’s okay” he whisper to you “He’s not here”

It’s was a come back to reality, there was care in Jungkook eyes and you didn’t notice you were holding his hand back.

❣ Then

You could feel the sweat in your skin, you were on top of Tae moving your hips up and down while he handed some help with the grips on each side of yours waist, his growls had some effect that made you move faster, wanting him deeper inside of you.

You were feeling greed and no shame, you wanted all of him for you, maybe it’s the fact you were busy this days and you heard he’s being very attentive with others, after answer your text telling you to come over you didn’t waste time and make sure you’re still in his mind, after you both came, he got comfortable wearing just a sweatpants and gave you one of his t-shirt.

“you can stay tonight”

“don’t worry, it’s still early” you did stayed sometimes, but you didn’t feel the need of it this time.

“please ____” he sigh, at first he looked tired, maybe something annoyed.

“It’s okay, you look tired, so rest”

“so do you, please ____ I want you to stay”

You can feel this heavy air around not sure how to describe it, there’s something you both need to say, but you’re not sure what is, Tae came to your back to hug you, hiding his face in your shoulder.

“why?”

“Uh?

“why do you want me to stay”

“I just do, I know you want to too”

It was true, you had this need to be closer to him, your feelings were getting stronger, something you didn’t want to as this wasn’t that kind of relation.

“I should leave”

“I like you” He said faster than you could move “I really like you, and I know you like me too”

“Tae” this wasn’t in your plan

“tell me it’s not true”

“I do like you.. ”

“We could be together, I will be yours, and you mine”

He whisper close to your ear you felt like melting inside, It could be, you weren’t planning this, this would be just a have fun relation, no compromise, but you did start to feel jealous in some point, and you wanted you call him yours and only yours, so why not ?

“okay” you turn around “I want that”

The slight smile in The had your heart running, he kiss you like many time before, but more intimate you could feel his tender lips better this time.

❣ Now

“I’m sorry Jungkook”

“You don’t need to say that” Jungkook hand was still on yours, he won’t let it go until he’s sure you are okay

You felt embarrassed, you can handle this better but the presence of Jungkook only bring back the thought of Taehyung and made it worse

“Is this the first time it happen?”

“no”

“Is this because of… him?” he didn’t know if it was save to say his name

You didn’t know what to say, at first it was, because of the fear you could see him, but then it turned a general fear, like you got used to a disease that spread to your mind.

“I don’t know”

“we don’t need to talk about it” he smile kind and you nodded

Seeing him was unexpected, you were so shocked and scared, but happy, happy you could see his bunny smile again, that he could hold your hand for comfort. The best you could do is show how happy you are to see him.

“tell me what are you doing here?” he ask

“Uhm.. My teacher told me about it, he thinks it could help me”

“Well you are a good writer, I’m just here because Namjoon said it will be fun"

“Namjoon?” as the same Namjoon I know?

“He’s gonna teach this class”

You were the definition of dumb face in the moment.

“I still remember the time you got drunk and talk bad about his writing"

“I did what!?” you never got that drunk, did you? FUCK

“Hi everyone” a deep voice call your attention to the front of the class, Namjoon walking in a grey sweater “Sorry I’m late my alarm didn’t go on in the morning”

You never had a deep friendship with Namjoon, he was easy to talk and funny in child way, but he was also a berry occupied student so you didn’t saw him often, and finding out you talk bad about him as writer… you just wanted to die in a hole

“But I’m here now and…” He soon realized your in this class, thanks to Jungkook, he probably will be annoyed with your presence but when you see him he smile to you.

“now we can start”

↤ previous // next ↦

→ a/n: so for next chapter we would know what Tae did ⊙_⊙’’ and it will be the last one to involve flashbacks //

as always please let me know what do thing of the chapter or the story in general, because it’s a mayor support thank you ♡!

And please keep yourself safe, inside your home and wash your hands 😘

→ Tag list: @krystle19990 @hodginss

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olicitysecretsanta · 5 years ago

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Convergence

For @swiftletinthecloud

Hello! We have never met or spoken before, but I am so happy to have you as my giftee because now we have! I was so happy about your response to my anon ask about what kinds of fic you like, because so many of your interests are also mine. It was actually a problem because I had too many interesting ideas for fic that were inspired by your suggestions. Now I just have more fic to write, I guess.

Anyway, I decided to write this idea for you because it was the SHORTEST of all the ideas I had. You can see how well that turned out. What is below is 2 out of 3 total chapters. The last chapter still needs editing, so your gift will be fully complete when I post this to AO3. Until then, please enjoy these first two chapters of season 1 alternate canon!

Much love, @allimariexf

Title: Convergence

Warnings: No warnings apply

Relationship: Oliver Queen/Felicity Smoak

Tags: Arrow season 1, alternate canon AU, episode tag 1x21 (The Undertaking)

Chapter 1

Oliver Queen moved like a panther through the underground casino, a sleek and beautiful predator at home among the understated opulence. His eyes strayed around the room, a careless smirk masking his close assessment of the security.

Two pit bosses, a floorman, and six armed guards, two of which flanked a hallway that must lead to Dominic Alonzo’s office. If he was going to get in there, he needed to come up with a distraction.

His mind went back to the document he’d found saved on his computer. Like all the previous messages he’d gotten over the past seven months, it took the form of a simple text file, saved prominently on the desktop of his computer in the foundry.

December 12, 2012: Harold Backman deposits $2 million to Cayman Fidelity on behalf of Dominic Alonzo, known kidnapper.

Also December 12: Walter Steele goes missing.

Coincidence? I don’t think so.

I know I normally don’t agree with your “shoot first, ask questions later” policy, but I’m willing to give you a pass on Alonzo. He seems like just the kind of low-life someone would pay to kidnap Mr. Steele. How many arrows do you think you’d need to put in Alonzo before he gave up Mr. Steele’s location - probably a lot, right?

Never mind, forget I said that. Alonzo’s private records are offline - likely stored in his office in his base of operations, an underground casino with basically its own private army. Not the best odds, even for you. But I have a plan that doesn’t involve arrows or any other pointy objects, so sit tight and I’ll contact you tomorrow.

The corners of his lips lifted at the memory. The anonymous hacker who’d been helping him certainly had a way with words, and in their months together she’d often surprised him with her uncannily insightful observations. But if she honestly thought he’d sit back and wait when they finally had a solid lead on finding Walter, maybe she didn’t know him as well as he sometimes suspected. Not when Walter had been missing for almost five months and the likelihood of him being found alive decreased every day. Not with the recorded evidence John Diggle had collected that seemed to confirm his mother had something to do with Walter’s disappearance - and that it was all connected to the List.

Oliver was tired of waiting for answers. This was something he could do. It just so happened that this time, he needed a bespoke suit of Italian wool, rather than green leather in order to do it.

Eyes tracking the movement of the guards, Oliver positioned himself at a well-situated roulette table. Several wealthy patrons crowded around the dealer, including an elegant brunette who instantly met his gaze.

“You’re Oliver Queen,” she purred, reaching out with graceful fingers to draw him toward her. Slipping easily into the role, he let his eyes travel down her body as she trailed her hand down his arm.

Choosing not to answer with words, he winked and held out his dice for her to blow on. It was enough to maintain the part he was playing, and in another life he would have taken her up on the unspoken invitation written in every line of her body. But as his eyes slid down her lithe frame, he barely saw her. Instead, he was seeking something else, some spark of her.

Huli jing.

His anonymous hacker ally.

His thoughts turned to her, as they had increasingly done over the past several months. Who was she, in her normal life? Where was she, what was she doing? When he mingled among the residents of Starling City by day, could she be right next to him, without either of them realizing it? Like always, the possibility sent a thrill of excitement through him.

Part of him was acutely aware that it was futile, even ridiculous, to entertain those thoughts, but as long as they only existed on the fringes of his mind, he indulged them. His life was his mission, and there was no room for anything else, but there was no harm in letting his mind play with the idea of her in his downtime. Not when there was no chance they could ever meet. So when he put in his appearances at Verdant, when he met up with Thea at her favorite cafe, when he picked up his mom from Queen consolidated, he allowed himself to wonder. And if his eyes caught on long red hair, a charming smile, or a long length of exposed thigh, he’d mentally compare the woman in front of him with his mental picture of her. But none of them ever had her unique, undefinable spark. And somehow, by comparison, every woman he saw seemed somehow less because they were not her.

She had contacted him for the first time seven months ago, though “contacted” hardly felt like the right term. He’d arrived at the foundry and booted up his computer one night only to find the entire system had been upgraded, and simple text document saved to the desktop:

I’m truly stunned that no one managed to trace the redistribution of Adam Hunt’s funds back to you. No one else, I mean.

Now that I mention it, I’m even more surprised you managed to steal that $40 million in the first place. Your system looks like it’s from the 80s.

(And not the good part of the 80s, like Madonna and legwarmers, to be clear.) I maybe spruced things up a little bit while I was in there. Seeing a network that poorly set up hurts me in my soul. Seriously it was like you left a crying infant on my doorstep, except it was like a 30 year old baby and it wasn’t my doorstep, because I was the one who kind of broke into your house. But my point is, you have a severely neglected computer setup, and I guess my maternal instinct kicked in. So to speak.

Oliver had barely finished reading the note before he’d ransacked the bunker, searching for evidence of a breach. When he found none, he read the note several more times, seeking hidden clues as to what the infiltrator knew, what they wanted. The program he used to take Adam Hunt’s money was something he’d taken from ARGUS, and no one should have been able to track it. Deeply alarmed, he read the note again and again. Not until the sixth time did he finally consider the playful tone of the note might be sincere, and only then did it occur to him that there might not be a threat buried in the message at all.

He remained on heightened alert for several days after that, but only on principle. The improvements she’d made (and she was a she, he was sure) to his system made his ARGUS programs run faster, and while using compromised equipment was normally a risk he would never take, his gut told him there was no danger. For reasons he didn’t examine, he found himself rereading the note, until he had it memorized word for word.

When he didn’t hear from her for three weeks, he told himself the sense of disappointment he felt was only because lingering questions felt too much like unfinished business. Not because he was intrigued by the hacker. Not because her note had made him smile the way no one had since he’d returned from the island.

He was starting to think of the incident as an amusing, but ultimately harmless one-time stunt when one night, after an afternoon of failing to get data off of Floyd Lawton’s computer and an evening taking his frustration out on a slum lord, he returned to the foundry and discovered a large data dump open on his computer - along with another note.

Blueprints to the Exchange Building, where the Unidac Industries auction is scheduled to take place. Gonna be a pretty target-rich environment. For the person who is trying to eliminate bidders in the auction via assassination, I mean. Which, to be clear, someone IS trying to do, according to the SCPD’s unreleased records. Anyway, do with this information as you wish. (Not “as you wish,” as in code for “I love you.” Obviously, I don’t even know you. Though from the captured video footage of you, I can say with confidence that you can really wear a pair of leather pants. Anyway, speaking of Westley, the papers are calling you “the vigilante” or “the hood,” but maybe you should consider adopting Dread Pirate Roberts. A name that inspires fear, so that you don’t have to do so much arrowing in order to get your point across. You should consider it. Good luck with the auction.

Oliver huffed out his nose, struck by her abrupt topic changes and her particular, rambly way of putting things before it even occurred to him to wonder how she’d managed to pull any information off Lawton’s damaged laptop. Or question whether she had any ulterior motive in doing so.

It was unusual for him to trust anyone so quickly, especially someone he knew virtually nothing about. But somehow, he did, and when her tip about Lawton proved sound, he found he wasn’t surprised at all.

After that he began to seek out her help, adopting her habit of communicating via text document saved to his computer. With each tip she left him, she proved herself invaluable to bringing down another of the city’s worst offenders. He could tell that she was brave, fearless even, and before he knew it, they had developed a rapport. And while it wasn’t exactly a partnership, it worked.

If I’m the the Dread Pirate Roberts, who are you? He asked finally, against the advice of the inner voice that cautioned him that the more he knew about her, the harder it would be to one day give her up.

But in answer, all she said was, You can call me Huli jing.

The Dark Archer, Ted Gaynor, Count Vertigo, Ken Williams, and the list went on. The notes came more frequently, and Oliver found himself looking forward to them, the first thing he’d check for every night. Even having never been there, she filled the dark, dank foundry basement with a bright presence that was just as tangible as John Diggle’s reliable support.

What do you think keeps these bad guys up at night? Probably not worrying about that one time they accidentally stared at a man for two full minutes while they were busy trying to figure out what the Cylons’ plan really was. They said they had “a Plan,” like capital P PLAN, you know? Anyway, despite what that guy probably thought, I was NOT creeping on him. But to my point, now that I think of it these criminals probably just close their eyes and get a full 8 hours every night. Sometimes it really sucks to have a conscience.

As the months wore on, he learned that she wielded a formidable intelligence, a sharp sense of humor, an unerring sense of justice, and, somehow, an unshakeable confidence in his mission. In him. She became a voice in his head that he couldn’t tune out. And he found, more and more, that he didn’t want to.

Anyway, while I’m at it, did you ever think about not killing some of these thugs? Look, I get it - they’re taking shots at you and you’re just trying to stay alive, but on the other hand, they’re just hired guns and you’re…you know. You. All I’m saying is, with your aim - which I have seen evidence of, so please don’t start with the false modesty - you could just as easily be shooting these guys in the hand or leg or something, you know? Anyway. Just a thought.

Before he realized it, she had come to haunt his thoughts. When he was wrestling with a problem, he found himself playing out imaginary conversations with her, unerringly channeling her firm conviction and steady support.

He didn’t even know what she looked like, but he couldn’t get her out of his head. Sometimes he thought he was half in love with her. No; that was ridiculous. It was the fantasy, the not knowing, that fascinated him. The idea that she could be anyone. He told himself didn’t want to know who she really was, because there was no way the reality could live up to the fantasy he’d built up in his mind.

A rough voice, intentionally pitched to grab his attention, cut into his reverie. “Is that Oliver Queen?”

“No, couldn’t be,” came a loud, theatrical reply, drawing closer toward him.

“Why not?” the first voice asked from somewhere right behind him. Oliver turned his head to present the speakers with a careless smirk.

“Because Oliver Queen wouldn’t be caught dead in a place like this,” the second man sneered, pressing a gun against his back.

The gun cocked. “Well then I guess he has a death wish.”

So much for blending in, he thought as they dragged him toward the back hallway.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Felicity stilled her frantic movements to free herself from the ties that were cutting into her wrists as the door abruptly opened and a man was pushed inside. She tried not to gape as her captor stepped in behind him and roughly zip-tied his hands behind his back, exactly as he had done to Felicity not ten minutes before.

Despite her situation, she couldn’t stop the flow of words that spilled out of her mouth when she saw who had joined her. “Oh, great. It’s you.” The newcomer whipped his head up and she locked gazes with a pair of striking blue eyes.

Strangely, the first thought that crossed her mind was that if she had known her curiosity about the hood was going to lead to crossing paths with Oliver Queen, she would never have tried to solve the mystery of Adam Hunt’s $40 million in the first place.

Though to be fair, her interest in the Hood pre-dated the article that mentioned Hunt’s missing money, so she couldn’t entirely blame her entanglement with the vigilante on her compulsive need to unravel knotty mysteries. And it wasn’t just the allure of a dark and brooding man who could pull off leather, either. Something about his single-minded dedication and passion, at the risk to his own freedom and safety, was simply irresistible.

It was curiosity that first led her to him. Maybe boredom. Her job was monotonous and unchallenging, something she’d sought out after her brief brush with hacktivism had backfired so spectacularly. When she first read about the Hood, she dismissed him as some whacko loose canon. But she followed the story - and the police reports - for lack of anything better to do. But when she read that Adam Hunt claimed the Hood had stolen $40 million, Felicity was intrigued. A crazy person couldn’t - wouldn’t - pull something like that off. So she hacked into Hunt’s accounts, following the trail back to a program that emptied the money and redistributed it to Hunt’s victims. It was shockingly easy, like following a flashing neon sign, and she was legitimately stunned that the police hadn’t managed to do the same. They also had no idea that the missing money had been returned to its rightful owners. On impulse, she erased the digital evidence.

She could have left it at that, but the mystery was too compelling. She told herself she just wanted to make sure she hadn’t just enabled a psycho or terrorist to do even more psychotic and terrifying things, but the truth was, the fact that he’d quietly returned Hunt’s victims’ money to them cast him in an entirely unexpected light. She needed to know more.

She found that his system was alarmingly, disturbingly unprotected. And primitive. Really, it wasn’t even tolerable for the tiny amount of poking around and passive monitoring that she planned to do. Which is why she discreetly updated speed and capacity as much as she could without added hardware, then added a few dozen security protocols, because anything less was begging the police to come find him.

Then she established several monitoring programs and alerts, and waited. Just a few weeks later, she got an alert that an unprotected device had been plugged in - a quick remote in revealed that it was one of those Tuff laptops, with a damaged system. It was clear that the Hood hadn’t been able to access the drive, but Felicity was curious, so she remotely cloned the data and opened it on her own system. When she discovered the blueprints of the Exchange Building on the drive, she remembered that the Unidac auction was shortly going to be held there, which naturally reminded her of recent news that one of bidders, James Holder of Holder Group, had recently been murdered. Which naturally then led to a little bit of unsanctioned poking around the SCPD’s internal files, and before she knew it the she found herself composing a message to the Hood before she’d even consciously decided to get involved.

After all, she didn’t actually want to be involved. She was just an IT girl, and she intended to keep a low profile. But the possibility that she could help prevent another murder weighed on her conscience, so she left a message pointing him in the right direction, hoping her suspicions were false.

When she heard about the shooting at the auction, she poured herself a glass of wine - well, a bottle, really - and gave herself a talk. It wasn’t that she wasn’t glad she’d helped prevent an even greater catastrophe, because she was. It was just that the reality of the situation finally hit her, and she was faced with a choice.

Get involved, take a stance, use her powers in the real world again? She’d been down this road, she’d seen what her interference was capable of. She’d played with fire and hadn’t just gotten burned; she’d burned down her entire world - and Cooper’s.

But the Hood wasn’t Cooper. He wasn’t innocent. He wasn’t naive to the forces he was playing with. She wasn’t sure what he was. He’d killed, and he would kill again, she was sure.

But as much as she couldn’t condone the killing, she also couldn’t ignore the good that he’d done, and she realized she already didn’t have a choice. Something was happening in her city, the signs were all around her, and choosing to do nothing would only make her complicit.

From then on, she kept tabs on the Hood’s activities, always leaving documents on his desktop explaining, briefly, what he needed to know. It wasn’t long until he began leaving notes of his own.

Through unspoken agreement, they never asked each other personal questions, but between the lines, she gained a sense of the man he was. Compassionate. Loyal. Selfless.

When Oliver Queen was arrested as the suspected Hood, Felicity instantly dismissed the idea. She knew about the arresting officer’s personal grudge against Oliver Queen, which explained why he pursued him like a dog with a bone. But Felicity knew it was impossible; she knew what kind of person Oliver Queen was, and there was no overlap with the kind of person the vigilante was.

Aside from that, she purposely avoided speculating about who the Hood could be. If she had wanted to know, she could have found out easily enough, but she didn’t want to know. She told herself it didn’t matter; that the work he was doing was what was important. She didn’t want to put a face to the hood, because then she would begin to worry about him.

More than she already did, that is. Despite not knowing his name, she felt a connection with him that sometimes felt stronger for their mutual anonymity. His notes were always brief, especially compared to hers, but she learned to read what he didn’t say. And when he was repeatedly crucified in the media while his quietly heroic actions went unnoticed, he never complained, never faltered in his mission. He never even acknowledged the subtle tones of praise layered into her notes. She would almost suspect him of being a robot if it weren’t for the clear passion that underscored every action.

So when Walter Steele gave her the notebook that turned out to be filled with names that correlated with the criminals the vigilante was confronting, she didn’t say anything. There was too much she still didn’t know about the notebook to risk jeopardizing their relationship over it. Because if there was one thing she did know, it was that she trusted him.

When Mr. Steele went missing, however, she had to break her silence. Without giving away details that could expose her own identity, she presented him with digital evidence of Moira Queen’s involvement of the events that likely got her husband kidnapped, and asked him for help.

Which was how she now found herself in this hideously decorated criminal lair staring into the supremely beautiful face of Oliver Queen.

Chapter 2

“Oh great. It’s you.”

Oliver looked up at the sarcastic words being spoken by a stunning blonde. Even as he was roughly manhandled, his hands being zip-tied behind his back, he couldn’t help but be a little offended at her tone. “Excuse me?” Beautiful women treating him like some kind of disease was something he’d never experienced before, and while he wasn’t the same person he used to be, he had to admit his ego took a hit.

She stared at him silently, eyes flashing with undisguised contempt, until after Dominic Alonzo’s minion had left the room.

“Oliver Queen?” she finally answered distastefully, tilting her head at him in an exaggerated motion, as if his name was explanation enough. “Entitled billionaire and general asshole?”

Her stomach swooped as his eyes searched her face. Disturbingly, and contrary to the cool attitude she was projecting, Felicity found his presence a little overwhelming, not quite matching the plastic and glossy picture presented by the tabloids. Rather than being some kind of smarmy Trust Fund Ken, in person he was exquisitely human. Felicity had always suspected she was immune to the appeal of a man in a suit, but on him, the tapered line from broad shoulder to narrow waist suggested an essential masculinity that awoke a deeply primal response she’d never experienced before. In contrast to the brutal strength of his body, his eyes were startlingly expressive; his chiseled jaw was complemented by soft, sensual lips. In short, he was utterly, unfairly beautiful in a way that affected her immediately, physically, and urgently.

“Wow, okay,” Oliver scoffed, unaware of her internal struggle. “Most people lead with ‘Are you okay, Mr. Queen?’ ‘How did you survive all those years alone, Mr. Queen?’ ‘What does it feel like to be the only survivor in an accident that killed your father, Mr. Queen?’” He spoke harshly, wielding the crude words like a club. While he usually found the subject too intrusive to mention to anyone, let alone complete strangers, something about this woman’s fiery disdain was really getting under his skin, and extreme measures were called for.

Felicity smiled insincerely, holding on to her irritation like a shield from the confusing wave of sympathy that, along with his sheer attractiveness, threatened to undo her. This man slept with his girlfriend’s sister, she firmly reminded herself. “Well, I’m sorry, but my concern didn’t really seem necessary, given the fact that you seem utterly unaffected by what you went through. I caught your appearance at the opening of Queen Consolidated’s Applied Sciences building,” she added witheringly. “You seemed perfectly okay. Or at least as okay as you ever were.”

Oliver crossed his arms, bothered by her words even though the image she described was the exact public persona he’d been purposefully crafting. For reasons he couldn’t explain, he couldn’t stand the idea that this woman found him so completely and vehemently offensive. Shaking his head, he tried a different tack. “Have we met before? Have I done something to offend you?” There was something compelling and almost familiar about her, but he was pretty sure he would remember if they’d met.

She scoffed dismissively. “No, definitely not.”

“Well, you sure have a lot of opinions about me for someone who doesn’t know me.” His eyes ran over her again, trying to figure out why she seemed so familiar. She was undeniably beautiful, with delicate features animated by a streak of passion that was not characteristic of the type of woman he’d have gone for before the island.

“Oh, I know all about you, Oliver Queen. If it’s on the internet, I can find it. Not -” her eyes flew to the ceiling as she turned pink, “not that I’ve looked into you!” Her sudden lack of composure was completely unexpected and disarming, and Oliver was intrigued and charmed by the new side of Felicity it revealed. And, if he was being honest, gratified by the suggestion that maybe she was not as immune to him as he originally thought. “It’s just that I work for your company,” she continued, straightening her shoulders and meeting his eyes again as sarcasm crept back into her tone, “and it’s a little hard to avoid hearing about all your little…adventures and mishaps.”

“Hmm,” he answered, covering the dismay he felt at hearing her refer to his past actions when he suddenly, illogically, wanted her to know that he wasn’t that person anymore. “You work for Queen Consolidated?”

“Yeah, I do.” She pinned him with a fierce look. “But don’t go getting any weird ideas. I don’t work for you.”

Felicity rolled her eyes to illustrate how distasteful she found that idea, and to cover up the effect his nearness was having on her. This was Oliver Queen, Frat Boy Extraordinaire, Professional Heartbreaker. She should not be flattered by any interest he showed to her. Anyway, he was probably just talking to her because there was no one else to talk to, as they were both literally imprisoned together. Speaking of, she needed to stop being distracted by Oliver Queen’s whole overwhelmingness, and start figuring out a way out of her handcuffs so she could carry out her plan to infiltrate Dominic Alonzo’s computer. She was lucky that when they caught her counting cards they brought her here, at least. Though she would have preferred that she hadn’t gotten caught at all, so she could have found her way here without the zip-tie cuffs, as she had planned. But dammit, she was new to this. She didn’t know anything about going undercover in an underground casino. As evidenced by the very great misfortune of finding herself trapped with Oliver Queen, of all people. Well, at least his presence solved one problem. “So anyway, how is it that Oliver Queen ends up handcuffed in the back of an underground casino?” she asked, deliberately toning down her attitude in the hopes that he’d prove cooperative.

“I could ask you the same thing, Miss…” he trailed off in question, a clear indication that she should fill in her name, as he tried to figure out how to respond.

The truth was certainly not an option. Even if he could trust her with his secret - and for some inexplicable reason, he did feel generally inclined to trust her - doing so would put her at risk. He couldn’t even tell her a half-truth. Sure, the whole city at this point knew that his step-father was missing, possibly kidnapped, probably dead, but there was no good reason why Oliver Queen would be investigating that. Or that he should have figured out that Alonzo was the person who had him kidnapped.

Felicity met his eyes warily, aware that she didn’t have an acceptable explanation for being there either, and they came to a silent agreement not to press each other for information. For now. “Felicity Smoak,” she supplied.

He smiled. She stared back, refusing to be charmed, even though she detected a hint of dimple.

Needing to get him to stop smiling at her, because she was much more susceptible than she wanted him to know, she hastened on, “It’s good that you’re here, actually, because you can help me.”

Oliver raised his eyebrows. “Help you?” Help her do what? He didn’t expect his co-hostage to have any sort of plan; rather, he was busy trying to figure out how he could convince her to stay calm, and possibly hide in a closet, while he dislocated his thumb, got out of the zip-ties, searched through the office, and then called the police to come rescue them.

It wasn’t an ideal plan; he considered all the variables, all the things that could go wrong. Getting made definitely hadn’t been part of his plan. He’d hoped to sneak in the back without being noticed, not get thrown there with the attention of Alonzo and his thugs. And Felicity proved an even bigger problem. While he could easily hold himself back and take a beating if necessary, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to do the same if they threatened her; and if it came to a fight, he wasn’t sure how he was going to preserve his secret.

“Help me get out of these zip-ties,” Felicity answered, taking a deliberate step toward Oliver. Her heart was pounding at what she was about to suggest, but she schooled her expression to appear nonchalant, annoyed by the necessity, even. Not flustered. And definitely, definitely not turned on by the prospect. She took a deep breath. “I need you to get the knife out of my bra.”

Oliver blinked. No words could have been more unexpected coming from her mouth. “What?”

She rolled her eyes to distract from the fact that she was blushing. Eyes firmly locked on the ceiling, she elaborated, “There is a pocketknife in my bra and we can use it to cut our binds.”

Oliver stared at her in wonder, steadfastly ignoring the primal thrill that ran through him at her suggestion. It seemed he had severely underestimated Felicity Smoak. His mind was racing with questions, but the one that he blurted out was “Why do you have a pocketknife in your bra?”

“Mr. Queen!” she flared, exasperated nerves causing her to meet his gaze. “Do you want to get out of here or not?”

Oliver’s mind was suddenly reeling with images of what she was proposing. In an instinctual stalling tactic, he said the first words that came to him. “Mr. Queen was my father.”

Felicity gaped at him.

Oliver shook his head at himself, saying nothing as he attempted to get his head on straight. He considered her plan rationally. Aside from the question of why it was so important to Felicity that she get out of her cuffs, and the mystery of what she planned to do once she was free of them, the fact of the matter was that going along with her plan would free him to search the office without having to dislocate his thumb. Deciding to continue their no-questions truce, he nodded. “Okay. But…,” he trailed off, throat dry as he looked looking down into unexpectedly near wide blue eyes.

Felicity was pretty sure they were both imagining what he was about to do. “Yeah,” she exhaled, suddenly very aware of the cadence of his breaths, his intoxicatingly masculine scent. Throughout the course of their discussion, he had moved closer to her, and now his expressive eyes fixed on her, waiting. “You won’t be able to see what you’re doing, but if you’re standing, I can kneel behind you and you can kind of…feel around.”

Oliver’s eyes widened as she spoke, her matter-of-fact words making the situation more real. More shocking. It wasn’t that he hadn’t done more with women he’d known for less time in much less dire circumstances, but something about touching Felicity in these circumstances felt wrong, like a violation, and he suddenly, irrationally found himself wanting to get to know her first, and to tell her about himself, about the real him. He briefly reconsidered his original plan of dislocating his thumb.

Mortified by Oliver’s reaction to her words, Felicity tried to cut the tension. “I mean, I know it’s not ideal, but I figure it’s gotta be better than the alternative.”

Caught up, Oliver automatically asked, “What’s the alternative?”

Her eyes dropped involuntarily to his lips and she swayed a little toward him as she whispered, “Using your mouth.” But when her eyes flicked up to meet his, neither of them were laughing.

Oliver’s mouth fell open in surprise, his gaze dropping to the deep vee of her bodice, before dragging back up to her face. The action pulled him even closer toward her, and a rush of heat washed over him as he fully took her in for the first time. The red chiffon dress clung to her curves, outlining a deeply feminine, lush body. She was a study in contradictions, watching him through darkly-lashed eyes that were somehow both innocent and knowing; her face lightly dusted with freckles that contrasted alluringly with a sinfully soft mouth. She watched him with dilated pupils and parted lips, and his cock twitched in response.

But then reality crashed back in on him as she interrupted, “Not that I’m suggesting anything! I’m not coming on to you or anything.”

Oliver blinked, trying to regain control by reminding himself where they were and why. Catching her gaze, he nodded in an attempt to reassure her. Hoping that she didn’t pick up on just how affected he himself was.

Felicity took a deep, centering breath. It didn’t make any sense that Oliver Queen was having this effect on her. He was just some shallow billionaire, a douchebag womanizer. None of it made any sense. When he looked at her, it was like he saw her. And as much as she told herself it was impossible, it looked as if he wanted her. No. She had to be projecting. And she didn’t want him to want her, anyway. Sure, he was gorgeous. So, so masculine and touchable he smelled so good, with an essential manliness that was softened by those eyes…but no. He was still Oliver Queen, and the fact that she was so attracted to him only explained why so many women had given in to his appeal, despite the long list of reasons to avoid him. She might have judged those women in the past, but now she could not.

She squared her shoulders, trying to clear the attraction from her mind and prepare for what had to happen next. “So, okay?” She chanced a look in his direction, not quite meeting his eyes.

Oliver nodded, and Felicity took refuge in remembering her mission. After all, she was here to help the Hood, and she could not have her sudden weakness to very handsome men - or rather, one specific very handsome man - getting in the way of that.

“All right, just turn a little to your right,” she directed hoarsely, nodding encouragingly as he complied. “Okay, stop there. I’ll position myself so you should be able to locate the knife relatively easily.” She lowered herself to the ground behind him as she was speaking, her voice only slightly wavering with the awareness that Oliver Queen was about to feel her up. “It’s on the left side,” she rambled, masking her response to the feeling of his surprisingly rough fingers dipping below her bodice, carrying on as if this were normal, as if she were directing someone to the library, as if Oliver Queen’s very large hands weren’t currently sliding along the sides of her breasts…her words tapered off and she bit her bottom lip, concentrating on not moaning out loud because oh god, his fingers brushed against her nipple and her body responded as if he was tugging on a string tied directly to her thrumming core.

Oliver squeezed his eyes shut, trying to be quick, methodical, and clinical, but he had felt enough breasts in his life to know that Felicity Smoak’s were a rarity. As much as he tried to stay on task,he found himself getting distracted, unable to stop the picture that drifted through his mind. Perfect breasts, not large, but extremely full; firm but very soft, with tight nipples that his fingertips couldn’t help brushing over repeatedly as he wedged his large hand into the tight space of her bodice. Tight, very sensitive nipples, he corrected unhelpfully, judging by the way she gasped softly in response to his inadvertent touches. As her voice trailed off, he remained aware of the soft catching of her breath, and even with his back to her, he he felt completely in tune with her, much more intimately than if they had only been having sex. Finally, his fingers touched upon warm metal, and even though the entire encounter lasted less than fifteen seconds, he was out of breath as he withdrew the pocketknife and turned to meet her eyes. His dick was rock hard, and the look she returned him said she was equally affected.

She was staring up at him, speechless, so he took the lead, flipping open the knife and directing her in a soft voice, “Turn around. I’ll cut your ties.”

Felicity nodded silently, turning so that they were back to back and trusting that he wouldn’t cut her as he twisted around to line her zip-ties up with the blade. “Okay,” he told her when the knife was in position, “try an up and down sawing motion,” and they easily and wordlessly fell into a rhythm that quickly parted the plastic around her wrists.

“Oh thank god,” she exhaled as her hands came free. She instantly started rubbing her wrists, then silently turned to take the knife.

Oliver felt her warm hand close around his wrists, steadying him as she positioned the blade against his ties. He took a steadying breath as she freed him. “I probably shouldn’t do this,” she commented, “since my plan is to maintain the illusion that we’re still tied up and that would be easier to do if you actually were still tied up, but I have to admit that I’ll feel safer if your hands are free.” With a final tug, the plastic came apart, but she didn’t release his hands immediately. Inexplicably, her words inflated him with a disproportionate sense of pride and purpose. He liked that she felt safe with him, that even without knowing his alternate identity, and despite her pre-existing opinion of Oliver Queen, she somehow trusted him. He was struck with an acute desire to be worthy of that trust, and a deep yearning to prove to her that it was not misplaced.

After a long moment, Felicity dropped his hands, taking large step backward in a move designed to decrease the tension. Truthfully, she was a little impressed by Oliver Queen. He was a lot more gentle, sensitive, and thoughtful than she would have thought. She had expected him to be obnoxious, entitled, and immature, the type of person who, finding himself in this situation, would either panic or make a joke of the whole thing. Either way, she’d have expected him to be throwing his money around trying to save himself, not quietly and calmly following her lead. And no way would she have predicted he was capable of being so respectful of her body. Probably more respectful of her body than she was being of his. Not that she had forced him to feel her up…but she’d be lying if she said she hadn’t enjoyed it. Fleetingly, she wondered if it counted as sexual harassment to get turned on when a man was merely trying to locate a knife in your bra so you could escape a kidnapping situation.

For his part, Oliver’s admiration for Felicity was growing exponentially. She was much more resourceful and level headed than he would have expected anyone to be in her situation. From the moment she opened her mouth, she’d already proven herself smarter and more sensible than most people in his experience - she had a cautious, strategic manner that he was unused to in other people.

“So now what?” he asked, caught up in the intelligence in her eyes, the mystery of her presence. Even though he was the one with a plan and she was technically just an inconvenience, he momentarily set that aside because he just wanted to know. He wanted to know what she was planning to do. He wanted to know her. “You mentioned you have a plan, one that requires your hands be free,” he prodded, hoping she would fill in some pieces of the puzzle.

“That’s for me to know,” she countered playfully, holding his gaze as she reached into her bra, pulling something else out, “and you to find out.”

His eyes widened and dropped to her chest before snapping back up, unsure if she meant anything by it. Again, it was the last thing he expected. And again, it set his heart racing.

“Or, I mean, not to find out. There will be no finding out, from you. Just stay there and look pretty.” Her eyes grew rounder. “Not that you’re pretty, it’s just an expression. Just sit there.” She backed away until she ran into the desk, and then she dropped to the ground and started feeling around underneath it.

He watched her with amused eyes, interested in her actions and utterly captivated by her. “I’m not pretty?” he pressed, curious to know how she would react.

Her head popped up from the other side of the desk, sending him an exasperated look. “No! I mean, yes! Very pretty like, really very attractive, objectively speaking I mean, I’m not coming on to you. It’s science; you’re scientifically pretty.” Her head disappeared again beneath the desk.

Oliver stood up, drawn to her, until he was leaning over the desk looking down at her ass protruding from under the desk. “Scientifically pretty?”

Felicity visibly startled, then took a deep breath, then carefully, and with as much dignity as possible, crawled backwards and rose out from under the desk, smoothing down her hair. She arched her brow at him. “Don’t tell me you’re one of these anti-science climate change denier people.”

Oliver guffawed, unable to come up with a fitting response. She was unlike anyone he’d ever come across. Instead of answering, he watched as she sat herself at the desk and instantly penetrated the password protection, diving with singular focus directly into the files on Alonzo’s computer. “What are you doing?” he asked after a moment, fascinated by her actions. He knew time was precious, that he should be taking the opportunity to riffle through drawers, search filing cabinets, etc., but rather than pursue his mission, he couldn’t help but pull at the loose thread that was Felicity Smoak.

She lifted distracted eyes to him, giving the distinct impression that he had yanked her out of a very deep concentration, despite the fact that it had only been twenty seconds since she’d sat down. He expected her to crack another joke, but instead she blinked and said seriously, “It’s better you don’t know,” before returning her attention to the computer.

Surprised, Oliver slipped off the desk he’d been casually leaning against, the hair raising on the back of his neck; her words were like a warning, almost ominous. Who was she? Why was she here? What was she involved in? Habits shaped over the past five years forced him to question her motives: honest people rarely found themselves involved with guys like Dominic Alonzo; he had to consider that Felicity might not be as innocent as she seemed; he had to wonder if she might even be on the list. But as soon as the thought surfaced, he dismissed it. His five years away had also taught him to trust his instincts, and every single part of him was shouting at him to trust her.

“Okay,” she announced a few seconds later, “I need you to come here and keep an eye on this feed.”

Oliver stepped up beside her to where she was pointing at CCTV footage in a corner of the computer monitor. “What is that?”

“Security feed, showing the corridor just outside. This way we can know ahead of time if anyone’s coming.” Her eyes returned to the screen, where she was still methodically searching through the computer’s files.

“Felicity,” Oliver said firmly, coming to a decision even as his eyes obediently remained glued on the feed.

“Hmm?”

Oliver took a deep breath, his racing mind rapidly drawing conclusions that he couldn’t quite believe were true. But every objection he came up with was easily disproved; rather, every detail about her only seemed to confirm the picture that was forming in his mind.

Huli jing.

“Felicity,” he repeated, and this time the name felt familiar on his tongue, like he had been saying it his whole life, like he had been born to say it. “You need to tell me why you’re here.”

He knew. There was no denying it; when she spoke, it was with the voice he’d been hearing in his head for seven months. When she smiled, it was with the unique humor that had amused him like nothing else had been able to do since returning from the island. And when she looked at him, it was with eyes that perceived all the things he didn’t say. It was her. But he needed to hear her say it.

“Oliver, look,” she began, unexpectedly turning to meet his eyes. He was nearly flattened by the look of sincere regret and conviction in her eyes. “I’m sorry about before, what I said.”

His eyebrows draw together in confusion.

“When I said you hadn’t changed. I was wrong. The person the tabloids make you out to be - that’s not who you are. And I’m sorry I misjudged you.”

Oliver’s lips parted in surprise. “That’s not -”

“No, it is necessary,” she pressed, misunderstanding what he was going to say. “I made assumptions, and they were completely unfair.” Over his protests, she continued, “I don’t know what you did out there to piss off the casino bosses, but I’m really sorry you’re caught up in this. Please,” she emphasized, “just believe me when I tell you that the less you know, the safer you’ll be.” She reached out a hand but started to pull it back before it made contact with his chest, and he caught it between his own before she could fully withdraw.

“Felicity.” He fixed her with a steady, knowing look, and he heard her breath catch, and felt her pulse pick up under his fingers. “I need to ask you something.”

Felicity’s eyes widened at his sudden, inexplicable intensity and focus. She had no idea Oliver Queen was capable of such depth and sincerity. His large hands were cradling her, his thumb soothing over her wrist, and she had long ago surrendered to that penetrating look in his eyes. “What?” she breathed, not knowing what Oliver Queen could tell her that required so much intensity and passion, but suddenly very much wanting to find out.

His words were the last thing she expected to hear. “Are you here because of the Hood?”

Her stomach dropped. “What?”

Before he could respond, he caught sight of someone on the security feed walking up the hallway. “Someone’s coming!”

She turned to the feed, then instantly went to the computer and, with a blur of hands on the keyboard, logged off and put the monitor to sleep. There was no time for anything else, so without thinking any further, Oliver reached around her body, pressing her wrists together behind her in an approximation of being handcuffed, secured his own hands behind his back, then pressed his mouth to hers in an urgent kiss.

Felicity gasped in surprise, and he instinctively used the opportunity to deepen the kiss, coaxing her lips open, his tongue seeking hers. After a stunned moment, she responded with ardor, the passion exploding like a match to dry tinder.

Kissing her was like putting the last piece of the puzzle in place.

For seven months, he had been drawn to the woman with intriguingly contradictory parts: a dizzyingly sharp partner who amused and irritated and charmed and inspired him.

For seven months, the more space he allowed her in his mission, the wider the empty hole that only she could fill had become in his life. He hadn’t allowed himself to acknowledge it, but meeting her face to face meant he could no longer deny how he felt about her. He had been drawn to her since he saw her, his body seeking any excuse to touch hers. Everything about her provoked and challenged and called to him; her passion, her intelligence, her humor, her bravery, and the glimpses of vulnerability.

She was the woman he’d been waiting for, and if the way she was responding to him was any indication, she’d been waiting for him too.

He bore down on her, covering her with his body, and it was everything he could do to keep his hands behind his back. The need to touch her is like electricity in his veins, and he forgot everything but the urgent need to be close to her.

“What’s going on?” The voice broke into the moment like a bucket of cold water.

Oliver’s lips released Felicity’s reluctantly, and she met his eyes as she pulled back. Her pupils were nearly black, her lips parted and swollen, and the sight sent a jolt through his body to his already throbbing dick.

“Oliver Queen, you really can’t control yourself, can you?” asked Dominic Alonzo, striding into the room. “I’d almost be impressed if you weren’t such a pain in my ass.”

Oliver glanced once more at Felicity, and the last thought he had before turning his attention to Alonzo was that she looked utterly shell-shocked.

…to be continued…

#arrow #olicity #olicity secret santa #goodbye olicity #submission

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paganinpurple · 5 years ago

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A Feline’s Family - MariChat May 2019

This is literally the longest it’s ever taken me to do MariChat May before. Sorry. I had a slipped disc in my back which caused me severe sciatica and I was just in so much pain for such a long, long time that writing was just never going to be feasible to focus on. I slowly tried to start writing again when my disc issue resolved and it reduced to my normal levels of pain again about a month ago, but it’s still slow going because I’m out of practise now. I’m not abandoning this story though.

Buy Me A Coffee?

AO3

Chapters (If there’s no link, it’s not written yet)

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10

11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20

21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31

Day 19 – Flowers

Sabine would not have been surprised if her daughter had actually flown through the bakery, considering the speed she was moving at. She watched with barely concealed amusement as the girl dashed straight past her to the door at the back of the bakery before deciding to speak, “He’s not here, dear.”

Marinette froze, one hand still resting upon the handle and turned to face her mother with a confused and mildly irritated expression. “He hasn’t come back yet?” she asked, moving back to the counter to join Sabine.

“Oh, he came back,” she said as she finished serving one of the regular customers, who –to Marinette’s increasing annoyance– seemed far too interested in her conversation with her mother to go anywhere yet, “But he had to leave again right away. His first appointment with the new doctor is today, remember?”

“Oh.” She had remembered, honest, but Marinette’s brain was feeling a little burnt out and it must have slipped her mind momentarily. “Did…did he say how things went?”

“He mentioned some things,” Sabine continued, maintaining uncomfortable eye contact with the woman in front of her while a menacing, yet somehow sweet smile challenged her nosey nature. Marinette knew the look well and remained silent until the woman left, unnerved by the opposition to her earned eavesdropping rights as a daily visitor to the bakery.

Although Adrien had always been pulled out of classes for as long as he had gone to school, it had always been for photoshoots and other business relating to Gabriel’s brand. Things he was no longer required or expected to do, given the man’s lack of control over his life these days.

So, when the Principal had knocked on the classroom door and asked that Adrien be excused for the afternoon, her attention had immediately switched to the people standing behind him.

Police officers.

Clearly, they had questions that couldn’t wait and had managed to clear it with her parents and his advocacy worker. That didn’t mean she couldn’t worry about him and the fifteen unanswered text messages she had sent.

Sabine waited until the solitary echo of the bell above the door had died out before she turned to face her daughter. “They asked him a lot of questions about Nathalie,” she said, softly “and he’s quite shaken. He almost cancelled his appointment because he didn’t feel up to it.”

“But you made him go anyway, didn’t you?” Marinette asked with a sad smile.

Her mother mirrored her, and her eyes betrayed the sympathy she felt. “He needs to talk to someone who isn’t as close to all of this as we are. I didn’t make him do anything, but I did suggest he go, even if it’s just to get to know the woman. And he’s a good boy; he listens.”

Marinette frowned a little, biting her bottom lip as she glanced back towards the door that led to their apartment. “I guess I’ll have to wait till he gets home to see how he’s doing.”

Sabine’s expression morphed from compassionate worry to something much more mischievous and Marinette couldn’t help but feel that the look would be better suited to a much younger person than her mother. Or maybe Plagg. She regarded her suspiciously.

“It didn’t look like he came straight home though, honey. He brought something in and left it for you upstairs before he headed back out.”

Marinette tried to enquire further, she really did, but Sabine was determined not to give away anything that might cushion the reaction her daughter would have to finding her gift herself.

Shooing the girl away as a couple entered the bakery to steal her attention once again, she watched as a pair of pigtails swept through the door, catching sight of the girl taking the stairs two at a time in her hurry to find out what waited for her upstairs.

***

Marinette burst into the main room of the apartment upstairs, giving it a cursory glance to ensure her present -whatever it was- wasn’t there before she exploded into the room above. She was barely in the room when she found she was irresistibly drawn to the large pot sitting by the computer on her desk.

She found herself gently touching the large leafy plant before she was even aware that she had moved towards the desk. Her fingertips electrified where they brushed the soft, fuzzy texture of the long catkin flowers, warmth spreading along her hand as she was reminded of little Trash Bag and his cosy, soft fur.

The long and thin downy flowers were so oddly shaped and stained such a bright shade of red, that Marinette immediately compared them to chilli peppers in her mind. Of course, their resemblance to spicy food brought with it an accompanying heat, which drew forward a blush to her cheeks. Or, at least, that’s what Marinette told herself as she stroked the plant with a fond smile adorning her expression.

Tucked in amongst the leaves she spotted a small plastic stake, the kind with the name of the plant and the care instructions printed on it. She reached for it and for the folded slip of paper secured to it with an elastic band, a frown marring her features.

The stake informed her the plant was known as an Acalypha hispida, a fact she quickly forgot as she flattened out the creases of the note Adrien appeared to have left her.

“Hey Buginette.”

It started innocently, Marinette’s guard slipping down a little, leaving her heart vulnerable to the impact of his following words.

“I felt my phone buzz about a million times this afternoon and I haven’t had time to read all my texts yet, because I’m kind of on a time limit here. But from what I skimmed on route home, you've been worried about me.

I probably shouldn’t like that, because I don’t want to worry you. But it makes me feel warm and happy when you do. Almost like you’re still right there with me when I’m trying to deal with some of this crazy stuff without you.

You’re amazing.

So, here's some Cat's Tail for the hero of this cat's tale.”

Marinette’s next breath froze and lodged in her throat, icy shock hitting before the inside of her chest burst into flame at the way he had signed the note.

“Love,

Your partner, in every and any way you’ll have me.”

Marinette reread the last line several times. The words, ‘every' and ‘any' had been written over several times with the dark pen, the ink leaving smudges and dirty marks where his hand had rubbed over them in his repetition. It was an odd thing to see on a note from him, considering his usual stance that the appearance of what he had to say was important. She sniffed, biting her lip in an attempt to stifle the dampness gathering on her lower lashes.

“Marinette? Are you okay?” Tikki asked, flying up to her young charge's shoulder, simultaneously watching her expression for a sign of what was wrong and avoiding the sudden teardrops falling down her face. Drawing a blank, the kwami turned to read the note in Marinette's hand for herself.

Reading Adrien's casual words, she sighed heavily, rolling her eyes in fondness for both children. Only her current Ladybug could forget how little thought it required for her Chat Noir to speak of how much she meant to him and how highly he held her opinion of him. Given that Adrien was fully aware of his feelings for both sides of the girl before they were shown to be one and the same, it made sense for him to be so open with her in a less pressured way.

And since this was written and he wasn’t present, there was literally no pressure on Marinette to acknowledge it at all if she chose not to. So Tikki would have to be more encouraging in the next hour or so to try and convince her not to ignore it out of her utter fear of the unknown.

Buy Me A Coffee?

#PIP writes #MariChat May 2019 #A Feline's Family #MariChat May #MariChat

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arigatouiris · 5 years ago

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out of my league // t.h — 05

Pairing: Tom Holland x Critic! Reader [I use female pronouns]

Warnings: swearing; eventual fluff; angst; hurt/comfort; pining; a little bit of cliche because come on.

A/N: I’m going along with the Mark Hamill thing, just for gags idk. Anyway, as for Aditi; I’m from India and I really don’t see a lot of representation on here, so I decided to add her as a side character. Hope ya’ll like this chapter~ Also, if you want me to add you to the series taglist, just drop a note or comment! ^^

Word count: 3171

Series Masterlist

04 | 05 | 06

It came as a surprise to everyone a day after that when (y/n) decided to stick to the desk. Susannah even offered her another break (but, she was hesitant while doing so and blamed herself as the reason for which (y/n) declined), but (y/n) had made up her mind.

“But why desk? I thought you hated the desk!” Susannah exclaimed, confused out of her mind.

“Takes my mind off things. This is a vacation when compared to what I have to do otherwise.” (y/n) said, sheepishly.

“You love reviewing though.” Bruce mumbled, but no one really paid heed to what he was saying.

“Ever since Tom Holland made it easier for everyone around here to breathe, you should take that as a sign that you can get back to your normal life, (y/n). Maybe, even send him a thank you—”

“I’m not sending him any thank you notes, he’s the reason everything began! He can’t create a problem and take credit for solving it.” (y/n) didn’t think she was being harsh.

Not doing this, she reminded herself. Turning on her heel, she headed to the desk she was appointed a few days ago and opened her mail. An exasperated sigh exited her lips when she noticed the odd number of mails, each containing a document for her to copy edit and review.

She’d be lying if she said she didn’t at all feel thankful that Tom solved the issue with that one Instagram story. First, it took him that long to make it (which meant he went against what his manager said again, and who knows what trouble he got into for doing that?) What trouble can he get into? He’s an actor! (y/n) rolled her eyes as she continued her thoughts. Second, this was all his fault in the first place—considering how Jean Marcel is doing quite well writing crappy scripts for smaller TV shows at the moment. And third, (y/n) had had enough of an actor trying to win her over with his charm. Of course, some part of Tom Holland wanted to say sorry and thought it would work because he’s an actor. And an actor appearing on your doorstep is a big deal, as well! And some part of (y/n) wanted to accept such an apology only because Tom was a celebrity, and this didn’t sit well with her.

I’m out of his league, it had become a mantra now. I will never accept his apology. In the past, (y/n) was known to be someone who used the word ‘never’ a tad bit too much. Whether this aspect of her personality died down with age didn’t phase her at the moment. This was Tom Holland, an actor by profession, and a man who had screwed up otherwise.

“So, are ya gonna thank the woman who showed you lovely Tom’s story yesterday?” Aditi’s voice appeared out of nowhere.

Rolling her eyes, (y/n) looked up from her desk to see a grinning Indian woman, her shades still on and her smile, rather annoying. Aditi was the personification of sass.

“He’s not lovely Tom.”

“That’s all you’re going to correct from that sentence? Wow, (y/n), you’re going soft on me.”

“Aditi, what’s up?”

Taking her shades off, Aditi grumbled something before turning to her friend, “How’re you holding up?”

“I’m better now.”

“Like Post Malone?”

(y/n) turned to her computer, ignoring her statement, thus inevitably shooing her annoying friend away. Aditi laughed as she walked away, talking about Tom Holland being a savior. No one sees it, (y/n) thought to herself, feeling her ears turn pink. Everything that I had to go through, all those mails I had to read! If they knew even half of it, they’d know that Tom Holland isn’t to thank for here. I can’t believe that it has to be explained to them, she shut her eyes for a moment before taking a deep breath. I won’t be doing the explaining. I’ve had it. I don’t want to ever associate myself with Tom Holland ever again.

While it was surprising to everyone that (y/n) decided to stay back at the desk for the moment, it wasn’t as surprising as it was for (y/n) herself. She has always hated the desk for as long as she could remember; her first week at the job and she dreaded it and wanted out. Her confidence levels were booming then, she was an enthusiastic cutlet of pure passion, she wouldn’t let the desk mar her confidence in anyway from achieving what she truly wanted. However, now, especially after the internet fiasco, (y/n) had come close to giving up.

Mental exhaustion hit her harder than it ever did before; she never knew people were capable of such hate, such anger over something they didn’t clearly understand. If (y/n) wasn’t being existential, she was being cautious. People were a force of nature, and angering a crowd proved drastic for her. She always considered her job like surfing, it’s never a safe sport. However, even a surfer tends to take a break after almost drowning. But the breath of fresh air had hit her lungs, she had found her release and everything was slowly going back to their place—Tom was leaving her alone, and she could return to critiquing.

(y/n) should be happy, but she felt nothing of the sort. She felt absolutely nothing. She felt nothing a lot these days, ever since the scandal; she’s cried a few times, but she mostly found herself feeling nothing, being nothing. She felt empty—as if whatever makes her feel and hurt has been surgically removed, leaving her hollowed out like a shell.

The mere mention of Tom did something to her; she would feel agitated, an uncontrolled force of ire would fill her veins. She didn’t know if this was for the actor, or the person or the entire ordeal that had taken place. She didn’t know if she was wrong in blaming only him, or being mad at only him—but from her shoes, he was all she could see.

It was as if someone could draw lines pointing toward what caused all these problems and all lines met at Tom Holland. In a way, she admired his strength. Just a few weeks of internet hate turned her into a hollow shell of who she used to be; Tom does this every single day. He couldn’t be who he wanted to be because he was a celebrity; all his shows and interviews were interviewing Tom Holland, the actor who played Spiderman and Lionel, and not Tom Holland, the person whose face turns red because of the weather.

However, she was not in any position to be empathetic to the perpetrator of her sorrow. Whether he wanted to or not, he had impacted her mental health more than adulthood had; and he had done it in a span of a few weeks. Less than what adulthood itself took. While comparing her sudden outbreak to adulthood, (y/n) understood that this pain was given the right credit. That the hurt she had been inflicted with demanded her response.

She, therefore, could not forgive Tom Holland, the actor, the person, the phenomenon.

Even Tom Holland had his phone fall flat on his nose as he held it to his face in the dark as he was lying down. It didn’t matter to the phone that he was Tom Holland, gravity worked even if you’re attractive.

Grumbling in pain, Tom immediately checked for any signs of blood spilling from his nostrils, and sighed in relief when there was none. Letting out a couple of coughs, and pushing one leg out of the corner of the blanket that was covering him, Tom was finally comfortable again. It was close to 2:30 a.m., but he couldn’t sleep. Tom always had trouble falling asleep, but he normally never let it embrace him like he did that night.

His eyes scrolled through Google search, his tongue popping out in instinct, and his eyes landed on what he wanted to look for.

Birds of a Feather — Review by (y/n) (l/n) | London Daily

He licked his lips instinctively before clicking on the link. He scrolled to her profile in the bottom and clicked on it (since he had already read the review multiple times since then). Tom was reading the script for a new advert he was sent electronically, till it was around 1 a.m., and it was after that when he tried sleeping. When he couldn’t, he browsed through Instagram for a bit, laughed at a few funny videos on cats and dogs, but all of this he was trying to do to avoid thinking of her.

But, once he thought of her, she stuck around. He shut his eyes and breathed, recalling her face as she smiled at him, sitting across from him in the coffeeshop. He’d pictured over ten times on how that conversation would have gone if those girls hadn’t interrupted them. He’d wondered if she’d tell him more about herself, and he wondered if he could ask her why she didn’t follow him on Instagram (taking a careful moment there, because he didn’t want to seem creepy). He wondered if she’d smile at him often the way she normally smiled, and he wondered if she’d reserve a special smile only for him.

It was almost as if he was resisting all these thoughts by not thinking of her and thinking of everything else; but all else seemed mundane in front of her.

He recalled every single detail about her from that day in the coffeeshop. Her Emilia Clarke smile when he was surprised she drank her coffee black. Her laugh—oh goodness—her laugh. When he thought about the way she laughed, as though she owned the air around her, Tom’s heart thundered inside his chest, a symphony on its own.

He looked at all the reviews she had written, over a 100 of them, and scrolled to the very first one. He could feel his heart beating as he was scrolling through her pages, almost as if he was doing something so secretive that he couldn’t let the world know yet. Tom wasn’t thinking and perhaps, a crush can do that to a person; where their body knows what the mind wants, and was working on finding out more and more and more about the person in question.

He found her Star Wars reviews, all of them stacked together. He slowly began reading each and every single one—some were not longer than 900 words, some critiques were over 2000. He absorbed the way she thought in some of the movies he’s also seen, and he wanted more.

He searched for her name on Facebook after that and found her in one go, chuckling when he discovered that she hadn’t actually deactivated her Facebook account. He stalked her innocently, careful not to like anything, careful not to make it seem like he had tread on a path he wasn’t allowed. Tom almost felt like he was trespassing, but this didn’t harm anyone.

She likes Star Wars, he thought before adorning a smile. He took a look at one of her status updates about Mark Hamill. If Mark Hamill ever replied to a tweet I made, I’d die. I’d just cry and die right then. Tom laughed, before scrolling past and seeing more of her. Here was a whole person, whose life was intertwined with an Instagram story he had put up.

“I’ve met Mark Hamill, you know,” Tom said to absolutely no one. “He’s such a nice guy.”

And Tom fantasized all night over introducing her to Hamill, seeing her melt, or cry and die like she had written. Tom knew this was incredibly foolish of him to be thinking the way he was about someone he knew nothing about (of course, knowing she likes Mark Hamill didn’t count). Oh, but he wanted to. He wanted to know her. He wanted to ease things and not have this radio silence with her. He’s an actor, and there would be so many people he’d never ever meet, who desperately wanted to meet him. But this was perhaps the first time, where Tom desperately wanted to meet someone, and being an actor didn’t help.

It was as if the tables were turned here. To him, (y/n) was now the celebrity, far out of his reach, pristine and wonderful, hardworking and gorgeous, close to ideal even—but one fact remained. Tom shut his phone and put it aside, noticing the time was close to 4 in the morning. She’s out of my league, Tom chuckled, before hoping to dream about her.

(y/n) woke up to her phone buzzing. It was several minutes before her alarm could wake her, but she was not complaining. She blinked a couple of times before checking her phone, and noticing that the message was from an unknown number. Sitting up, she held the phone in her hands and read through the message.

I hope everything is alright now. I sincerely hope you don’t have any more mails coming your way, bad ones. I’m sorry I can’t tell you this in person, for screwing up last time. Have a good day, (y/n). :)

There’s a smiley in the end, she thought before frowning. She knew who it was from. She didn’t want to wake up with this being the first thing she saw. Sighing, she closed the messages app before getting on with her day. If he was expecting a reply, then her behavior was a clear giveaway. She was ghosting him.

It took her close to an hour to get ready, have breakfast and begin her journey to the office that morning. She liked how London was sunny that morning, and not gloomy like it was almost every other day. Just as she reached office, greeting people she knew with a nice smile, she spotted Aditi already waiting by her desk. Cocking an eyebrow at her friend, she hopping toward her to ask her what happened.

“You won’t believe who called me to ask for your number,” Aditi said, smirking. “You most definitely won’t like who it is, but I’m warning you, be nice. You need to be. May the Force be with you.”

(y/n) rolls her eyes before whispering, “Was it Tom Holland?”

Aditi blinks like she heard her friend say the most idiotic thing possible. She scoffed and shook her head at (y/n)’s imprudence.

“Oh, please! Why in the world would Tom Holland call a beat reporter? No, it was someone else that you don’t like and you’re going to need to be at your best—”

Almost as if on cue, (y/n)’s phone started to ring. Blinking at Aditi, she moved aside a bit, placing her bag on her desk and picked up the call.

“Hello?”

“(y/n)?” The voice sounded bored, almost as if she didn’t even want to be talking.

(y/n) felt all the energy leave her body when she identified the caller.

“Jenny. What a pleasant surprise.” Robotic and not genuine.

“Alright, so I don’t know what the whole deal is with you and Tom, but he sent me a rather sharp mail talking about how disappointed he was with the content I broadcasted on my show, and that I had to call you and apologize for slandering your name.”

“He did?” (y/n) was confused.

“Yes,” There was a sigh, “He did. And he was demanding so I had to call you. Why else would I call you?” Jenny didn’t have to explicitly state that she hated (y/n), all Jenny had to do was talk.

“Thanks for calling, Jen. Keep up with the great work!” (y/n) faked enthusiasm, and heard Jenny groan before ending the call.

“Jennifer fucking Campbell. I can’t believe it.” (y/n) breathed, letting out a laugh.

“But, why did she want to call you?” Aditi asked.

(y/n) sighed. She didn’t want to talk about it. She didn’t want to tell Aditi that Tom had asked Jenny to call. Aditi’s response was already in order. She’d ask her friend to send Tom a thank you note or a bouquet or whatever it was that they’d send with thank you notes. (y/n) shrugged before dropping the topic and getting to her desk. She had decided to ghost Tom, and even a rather hilarious apology from Jenny wouldn’t do.

An hour later, (y/n)’s phone beeped. Taking a breather, she checked her phone to find she had a new follow request. Blinking, she clicked on the Instagram notification and groaned. A ‘tomholland2013’ had sent her a new request. What is he doing? She thought before declining it, and refreshing the page. A second later, there was another request. From Tom.

I am not doing this right now, she thought before ignoring the request; she felt her cheeks burn up, and a ghost of a smile was threatening to make its way up to her lips. She wouldn’t cave. No, she scolded herself before straightening her reaction. I am not doing this!

A moment later, she let out a squeak and covered her face with her hands. She could control her reactions, but her face was still quite warm. As much as she loved her ability to ignore unwanted people in her life, ignoring Tom Holland was a challenge.

“What’s gotten into you?” Haz asked, petting Tessa on the head.

“What do you mean?” Tom said, looking up from his phone, a smile still on his face.

Harrison pointed to Tom’s eerie smile, disgusted, “That. You’re smiling like a horse.”

Tom scoffed before muttering a ‘sod off’ and getting back to his phone. Haz blinked before looking at Harry and Sam, who were coming into the living room. Pointing to his friend, Harrison waited for Harry or Sam to respond on their own.

“He’s been like this since last night.” Sam said, bored.

“He’s been readin’, can you believe it? I even peeped into what he was looking at so intensely, but they were just words.” Harry said, shrugging.

Haz looked at Tom, who was ignoring the whole thing.

“Could be smut.” Sam suggested.

Haz rolled his eyes, “He’s not reading porn, Sam.”

“Whatever he’s readin’s sure making him smile like a fucking creep, that’s for sure.” Harry said, letting out a laugh.

Harrison let out a sigh. He looked at his friend and wondered. The only other time that Tom was out of wits was back in BRIT when he was obsessed with this other girl in class. The crush didn’t last very long, but similar signs were present back then—now grown in intensity. Haz nodded to himself once before minding his own business. The answers would come to him, as they always did.

It’s Tom. And he was Haz. It was meant to happen.

series taglist:

@strangemaximoff, @aestheticgaybish, @noobmaster63, @why-are-all-the-teens-gay, @wonders-of-the-multiverse, @boushalaivre, @jackiehollanderr, @nerdypisces160, @yourwonderbelle, @quackson606, @stickyqueenbouquetsstuff, @fandoms-stuff, @danicarosaline

#tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland fic #tom holland x you #tom holland imagine #tom hollander #tom x reader #tom holland fanfic

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rational-mastermind · 5 years ago

Text

King’s Cafe Ch 1

HELL YES we’re starting this year off with a shit ton of writing!!

Now fair warning to the five others in this fandom and what few read my writing for the sheer sake of it: I’m not intending on making this a serious fanfic. Trilby won’t save the day or have any sort of epic quest to save the coffee shop. Just...more like glorified head canons than anything. How they meet. What others do with their modern-day life. A few consistencies, but nothing major. No over arcing plots. Hell no real plot at all. Just slice-of-life shit. That being said, enjoy.

Chapter 1 - Introductions

On the corner, at the intersection between Bronwyn road and Kings street, sat a small cafe which was aptly named King’s Cafe. It was small and quaint and obviously trying its best. Nothing too fancy or special. A modest little coffee shop that got by on the average. It had its share of regulars and made decent enough sales to keep the employees paid.

And one employee in particular, Siobhan O’Malley, was running late.

She hurried into the store and closed the door behind her. She sighed disappointed and frustrated, knowing she’s likely to hear about her tardiness from the manager, Cabadath. But now wasn’t a time for self-pity. Now was a time for work. She came over to the door to the worker’s back room, grabbed her apron, punched in, heard the snide remark from Cabadath about being a few minutes late, and came out, ready to start her day.

First she headed to the back to check on their resident baker, John DeFoe.

John was an unusual lad. He was tall, pale as a ghost, and lanky, practically skin and bones. He had a gaunt face and hollowed eyes, but he wasn’t really as spooky as he appeared. He was actually very timid and sweet, but a hard worker as well.

He always arrived first, bright and early, to get started on the cakes and doughnuts and pastries. It would’ve been a surprise that the cafe’s management even allowed him to have so much free reign, but it was no secret that his baking was what really brought in customers. Between his sweet treats and the way his twin brother, Matthew, would ice and decorate and customize each and every cookie, it was a wonder you could call it a cafe at all and not just a bakery.

Siobhan peeked into the kitchen to check on him, the sweet warm smell of spices, yeast, and fresh brewed coffee already wafting about the air.

“Morning!” she greeted cheerfully.

John was in the middle of stirring up dough and looking at a recipe on the company’s laptop. He jumped, slightly startled, before his gaze became expressionless once more, as it normally was, and he fixed it on her. He gave a curt nod.

John was a mute. He could hear, and he often used sign-language as a means to communicate, though it was really only something Matthew understood. In all truth, it always made Siobhan uneasy and constantly in the dark of the lad’s real thoughts or intentions. She hoped the nod was meant well and she gave a thumbs-up in return, feeling momentarily stupid for doing so.

“Morning, Ms. Siobhan!” Matthew’s sweet and excited voice rang out as he came in, from the pantry behind the kitchen, carrying a large tray full of different colored icing.

Siobhan immediately started to lighten up and feel better. Matthew’s sunny disposition and youthful energy easily filled any room. A complimentary yang to John’s yin.

“Hey Matt.” Siobhan smiled back. “How we looking today?”

“Doing great! Same as always!” Matt replied easily.

“Awesome.”

Siobhan came back out to the main room and looked up at the chalkboard. She noticed Cabadath had already scribbled in specials for the day and the cake display was already polished and gleaming. She got started on brewing a few of the coffees, and, when ready, made herself a Caretaker. A personal favorite of the unusually named coffees they served.

Siobhan then went about the cafe, setting chairs to tables, setting out the old magazines no one looks at, and setting pillows up on the couches, where they belonged.

“S’cuse me, Siobhan.”

She turned and saw Theo standing behind her with a broom and dustpan. An expectant and rather bored look on his face.

“Oh! Yeah, sorry.” she stepped out of the way and Dacabe began sweeping under the couch. “When’d you come in?”

“Same time as you. I came in right behind you.”

“Oh..” Siobhan gave a weak grin. “Ah.. Sorry, I didn’t see you.”

“No one ever does.”

She rolled her eyes and walked away. Theo was always a bit of a crybaby. He was the janitor though, so not only was it easy to overlook him, it wasn’t exactly like he had the hardest job. Not in Siobhan’s opinion at least.

Siobhan came to the front and pulled away the blinds and turned around the open sign. She came back to the counter.

‘5….

‘4….

‘3….

‘2….

‘1….’

“Morning!” Claire’s voice rang out, out of breath but still perky. She hurried to the door to the back office and soon reappeared, dressed for work. “Hey! Sorry! Sorry I’m late!”

“You’re right on time, Claire.” Siobhan grinned.

Claire hurried around the counter, said good morning to the boys, and came back to the counter and began helping set things up for the morning.

“So, how’s it going?” Claire asked.

“Same old, same old.” Siobhan sighed with a patient smile.

Claire worked the counters with Siobhan. She was a sweet, short, bespectacled woman. The type who loved to collect cat figurines and make movie references. She was bubbly and kind and claims to be psychic. Some believe her, some don’t. It didn’t really matter to Siobhan either way. Working with Claire was always a delight.

They got the store ready and opened. After helping a few early morning patrons, Siobhan looked up at the clock. 9:30.

She heard the door jingle and looked over in time to see Dr. Somerset walk in.

“Morning, Somerset!” she called out with a smile.

“Morning.” he greeted with a small nod.

“You ordering anything this time?”

“Maybe in a bit.” he walked over to the same corner he always sat at, in the arm chair underneath the space poster, and pulled out his laptop from his bag.

Siobhan rolled her eyes. Somerset was nice enough, but being a psychologist, trying to get into the field, he was almost always jobless. As such, he hardly ever actually ordered coffee. Instead he sat on his laptop, scrolling through the internet, busy with job hunting.

Not 3 minutes later did the door jingle for another regular.

“Siobhan!” Prof. Abed Chahal called out, as soon as he came in. He was a good man, a history professor for the nearby university. He always came in on the weekend, carrying a suitcase.

Siobhan waved, smiling.

“Morning, Abed! What’ll it be?”

“Ah.. I’m feeling adventurous today.” Abed thought for a moment, looking at the menu. “I think I’ll have a Guide.”

“Got it. Anything else?”

“Do the boys have any pastries ready?” he glanced over at the glass display of cakes and tarts.

“They’ve already been baking. Whatcha need?”

“Mmm.. What would you recommend?”

“Hm. I think I saw Johnny put in a sheet of cookies!”

“Well that sounds perfect. I’ll have one of those when they’re finished.”

“Alright then.” Siobhan jotted down the order and rang him up.

Abed walked over to a booth to wait. He sat down his suitcase, opened it up, and began setting up the chess board he always brought with him. Siobhan chuckled and watched him set up all the pieces.

“Who are you gonna play today?” she asked.

“Not sure, yet. But I’m sure I’ll find someone. Perhaps Johnny will entertain me on his break.”

“Hm. Maybe.” though Siobhan was sure he wouldn’t.

Johnny almost always liked to keep to himself and stay in the back. Abed was likely confusing him for Matthew.

Time went by, she made the coffee, got the cookie, came out to the counter.

“Abed, you’re coffee’s ready!” she immediately turned to find Chris Quinn, just as he was about to attempt shouting and scaring her. “Morning Chris.”

“Aw- what?!” Chris’ face fell in disappointment. “Bullshit, how’d you know I was here?”

“Because you do it almost every morning.” Siobhan chuckled. “And I heard Claire take your order.”

“She’s a sharp one, Chris.” Abed was chuckling as he took his coffee.

Chris blew a raspberry and proceeded to act like he was deflating and drape himself over the counter.

“You’re no fun, Siobhan.”

“And you’re still a child.” she chuckled.

“Here’s your coffee, Chris!”, Claire nudged past Siobhan and handed him a cup. “One Arrogant Joe.”

“Hell yes. Thank you!” he grinned and quickly bounced over to the couch beside Somerset and sat down to bug him instead.

Chris Quinn was an odd one. A man who supposedly wrote for a living. He was childish, excited, exuberant, and eccentric. He would’ve looked like a psychopathic horror, with the dark bags under his wide eyes and the long black trench coat that had red splatter paint on it.

He was a type of person Claire would describe as “bright”, but not in the traditional sense of being intelligent. “Bright” as in the way a 1000 watt lightbulb would be bright. He was friendly with everyone, had a horrible caffeine and sugar addiction, and was only ever kicked out once when he made everyone uncomfortable after downing 5 lattes on a dare and began talking about talking dog heads and zombies. He was mostly harmless, but has warned most of his slight schizophrenic tendencies.

After a while, the doorbell rang once more and the last regular of this cafe’s dysfunctional family arrived; Jim Fowler.

Jim was less common compared to others, being generally busy with school himself, but often stopped by on the weekends. He was a good, sensible lad who was on good terms with the DeFoe Twins, despite being a year younger. They go to the same school and on weekends, like today, Jim sometimes hangs around the shop and studies.

“Morning, Jim. What’ll it be?”

“Morning, Ms. O’Malley. Um..” Jim looked over the menu, thinking a moment before finally snapping his fingers with an answer. “Y’know? I think I’ll have the Bridgekeeper.”

“Got it.”

“Any of John’s cakes?”

“Plenty!” Matt came around, setting up another baked good for the display. “Whatcha need?”

“What was that one..? You guys were talking about it the other day. With the caramel?”

“Ooh! Yeah, the Salty Bears! We just finished those!”

Matt quickly disappeared into the back to retrieve his dish. Siobhan chuckled and rang him up.

“Jimmy! Why don’t you sit down and play a round with me?” Abed asked, looking up from his board.

“Wish I could, Abed, but I got studies!” Jim gave an apologetic grin.

“Nonsense! It’s just one round!”

“Mm. He should really study.” Claire chimed in, closing her eyes. “Big test coming up.”

“You’re telling me..” Jim rolled his eyes. “My dad’s gonna be all over me if I don’t pass.”

He hurried to another table and sat down, sitting his backpack beside him and started pulling out his textbooks.

“Welp, everyone’s here today.” Siobhan said to Claire.

“Yup. Another day in the King’s Cafe.” Claire sighed contently.

Jim soon got his coffee and pastry, and then it was just another, slow, typical day in the cafe.

Abed managed to convince Matthew to play with him on his next break.

A few randos came in and went out.

Simone Taylor droned on in the background on a small TV mounted to the wall in the back.

Chris decided he was done bugging Somerset and struck up a conversation with Siobhan while waiting for his next cup.

“So, can I ask a serious question, Siobhan?” Chris was asking.

“But you’re never serious.” Siobhan chuckled, pouring the milk into his latte, practicing her foam art.

“No, come on. Really.”

“Okay, fine, what?”

“When are we gonna stop playing these silly games with each other?” he grinned suggestively.

Siobhan laughed. It wasn’t the first time Chris was a flirt, let alone flirted with her. But as opposed to most guys, Siobhan didn’t think it wise to have even a casual fling with a man like Chris. She shook her head.

“Chris, I still don’t know what game you’re talking about? But if you’re looking for a date Friday, the answer is still no.”

“Aw, come on!”

The door jingled and rang. Siobhan handed him his coffee.

“Just take your drink, would...ya…” Siobhan’s thought slowed as she took in the recent customer.

He was tall.

He was handsome.

He was well dressed.

He was soaked to the bone.

His long black hair clung damply to his pale face.

He took off a small gray hat, a complementary part to the three piece grey pinstripe suit he wore, and shook the excess water off.

He looked up and smiled at Siobhan, politely.

“Good afternoon.” he said in a soft, posh, baritone voice.

“Um..” Siobhan quickly shook her head and smiled readily. “Welcome to the King’s Cafe, sir. What can I get you?”

“Well let’s see um…” the man frowned, reading the menu. “I’m...afraid I don’t quite understand what some of your options are.”

“Oh! Right! Uh, the King’s Cafe has a few specials, and ergo a fun and special lingo for the customers.” Siobhan chuckled. “It’s a little silly really, but I’ll do my best to explain anything that catches your attention.”

“Well.. What’s the Guide?”

“The Guide is basically a Mead Raf.” Siobhan explained. “Espresso with a shot of honey and topped with heavy cream. Bitter, strong, but a hint of something sweet.”

“Actually that already sounds lovely. I think I’ll try that.”

“Coming right up, sir. Do you like cakes?”

“Not often...” he said, looking at his watch, frowning thoughtfully. “...Perhaps another time.”

“Alright then. I’ll get that coffee ready.”

She rung him up and he paid, but was so distracted he left to a table and sat down immediately. He was carrying a leather messenger bag and quickly sat up in a corner booth, pulling out several notebooks and a laptop. He immediately got to work on whatever and it took Siobhan an embarrassing amount of time to realize she hadn’t asked his name.

“Uh, sir? Sir?” but it was too late.

The man was already too engrossed in whatever it was he was doing to hear her. Siobhan simply sighed and looked at the cup. She shrugged and drew a trilby on it. And that was when she realized the newcomer had caught everyone’s attention. Even Somerset and the DeFoe twins were all looking over, trying to get a look at the strange man.

“...Alright, come on you guys, there’s nothing to see. He’s just another customer.” Siobhan rolled her eyes and got to work.

“He is kinda cute though.” Claire grinned, leaning over the counter to look better.

“Claire.” Siobhan said disapprovingly.

“Hell maybe he’ll wanna go out this Friday.” Chris grinned.

“Chris, you’re not even gay.” Siobhan looked at him, confused.

“So?” Chris immediately went over to introduce himself.

Siobhan internally cringed. She hated when Chris did this with other customers. The one time it was funny because a guy named Philip clocked him in the face, but aside from that, it was usually just embarrassing and frustrating.

“Hey!” Chris greeted, taking a seat opposite of the man. “So what’s your name?”

The man didn’t skip a beat, and continued to type away on his keyboard, slowing only to reach over with one hand and hold up a notebook he was looking at. One hand still typing away while he read.

Chris sat there for a moment before leaning over a little closer, looking over the notebook.

“Whatcha working on there?” he reached to move the notebook down a little.

“Your demise if you so much as touch this notebook.” was the sharp and quiet answer.

Chris immediately retreated. The man continued on, unphased.

“I’ve no time for idle chit-chat, thank you.” the man said politely. “I’ve a very important deadline.”

“Then maybe another time? ‘Nother place?”

“Here and now is plenty for me to worry about. I’ve no interest in any further plans.”

Siobhan chuckled at how utterly rejected Chris looked. Eventually she finished the order and looked over at him. She wasn’t sure at first how to address him, but figured if she had to, she’ll go over and tap him on the shoulder.

“Um.. Sir? W-with the trilby?” she leaned over the counter a little.

At that, as if by magic, the man’s head popped up from his work

“Hm? Me? Oh, yes.”

He came over and grabbed the coffee.

“Thank you very much, miss.” he smiled politely.

“Wait, what’s your-?” He already turned and retreated back to his corner.

“Maybe his name’s Trilby?” Claire suggested.

“What kind of name is that?” Siobhan scoffed.

“Hm, judging by his laptop and notebooks, it could be a pseudonym.” Somerset commented thoughtfully. “Likely an author or writer of some sort.”

“You think he’s here to stay?” Chris asked.

“Whatcha mean?” Claire asked.

“Well I mean.. Look at us.” Siobhan shrugged. “Normally we’re all here at some point or another. Sometimes with Philip or Janine.”

“Oh.. So you think maybe he’s gonna…” Claire looked back and Chris helpfully finished the sentence.

“Stick around.”

Everyone was looking at him curiously now, lost in their own thoughts and assumptions.

Siobhan watched him for a while, serious and busy hammering away at his laptop. He occasionally paused only to look over his notes once more or to sigh, rub his chin, and soon enough get back to typing. Perfectly content and oblivious to the world around him. She smiled.

“...Maybe he will.”

#Chzo Mythos #trilby somerset #siobhan o'malley #jim fowler #defoe twins #john defoe #matthew defoe #johnathon somerset #chris quinn #quinnby #trilbhan #simone taylor #abed chahal #philip harty #theodore dacabe

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letterboxd · 5 years ago

Photo

How I Letterboxd #1: Lise

In this first instalment of a new feature, long-time member Lise, of Canada, answers our questions about how she uses Letterboxd, and why you should join her March Around the World challenge.

Hi Lise! How long have you been on Letterboxd? Lise: TV was still in black and white.

What do you mainly use Letterboxd for? Just a diary? Long reviews or shorter takes? Hilarious lists, or very f—king serious director rankings don’t @ me? I use the whole shebang: diary, reviews, ratings, watchlist, comments and lists, lots of lists. But mostly I use Letterboxd to keep track of when Jonathan is out to lunch (shameless plug for my He Says She Says list).

Do you rate films? Absolutely. I rely on ratings to add stuff to my watchlist, and I rate to let others know if I liked the film. I don’t read reviews for films I haven’t seen, so without user ratings I’d be snookered.

Tell us about your March Around The World challenge, in which Letterboxd members sign up to watch and review 30 films from 30 different countries during the month of March. How did it come about, and what’s involved? I took over the challenge from Berken, who created it and hosted it for the first year. I thought it was a brilliant way to explore the world on the cheap. The review component is important because it expands Letterboxd’s database, especially for under-seen films. It’s been a great success. Many participants like to create lists, and if they can’t watch them all in March they go at it for the rest of the year, which is great. The most important rule about the challenge is to forget the rules and watch international films during the month.

Still from Djibril Diop Mambéty’s ‘Touki Bouki’ (1973).

What are some of the interesting statistics you’ve noticed from your Marches Around the World? I consolidated all of the spreadsheets I’ve created for each challenge, and there were some surprises. The most viewed film is Touki-Bouki from Senegal (average rating of 3.7). Less surprising is that our most-viewed director is Ingmar Bergman (although I was happy to see Aki Kaurismäki from Finland in second place). The most-viewed countries are France, Japan and South Korea. Another surprise, the best decade is the 1920s (with the 1950s in a close second).

How has March Around the World enhanced your life? I’m not the sentimental type but when we get a new participant in the challenge I get the warm and fuzzies. If the genie were out of the bottle I would request that all overcome the ‘one-inch barrier’ (subtitles). Watching films ‘from away’, as our East Coasters would say, is one of the simplest ways to combat fears and/or prejudices about other peoples/nations/ways of life that we often don’t realize we have. Every time we identify or root for someone who is ‘other’ it chips away at the walls, and as Maya Angelou has said so eloquently, we discover that “We are more alike, my friends, than we are unalike”.

What are the responsibilities involved in hosting a Letterboxd challenge? It doesn’t have to be complicated. A challenge can be as simple as “watch ten films from your watchlist this month”. It’s all about tags. Define a tag, have people add it to their films and their lists, and then you can easily search for and filter those tags. Easy peasy. Mine is a bit more challenging because it has so many requirements, but thanks to some fantastic Letterboxders who volunteer to help with my spreadsheet (you know who you are), it all gets done in a timely manner.

How do you find the time to watch all those films in a single month?! Jonathan and I have never completed the challenge! Our best year was around 26. That year we got up earlier in the morning and watched the films with coffee, before going to work. That was the best. Nice and fresh and open to anything. Bonus is that we got to think about the film all day and the review-writing in the evening was easier. If it were up to me that’s the way I would watch films all the time.

What other challenges have you taken part in, and how have they enhanced your experience of watching films? Back in the day everyone was making a list tagged with List of Shame that you filled with all those “You seriously haven’t seen that yet?!” films. I’m still chipping away at it, but of course for every film you watch there are ten more you have to see. To help with the List of Shame I participated in Mr Dulac’s 5×5 series, where you selected five films from five directors and watched them at your leisure. It was a great way to complete filmographies. I still go to that list when selecting a film to watch.

Wong Kar-Wai’s ‘In The Mood for Love’ (2000).

What are your four favorites on your Letterboxd profile, and why? In the Mood for Love, because forbidden love is the saddest thing ever, and I could watch Tony Leung and Maggie Cheung go up and down those noodle-shop stairs all day long. The Thin Red Line, because it provides a great sense of place and it’s about the soldiers, not the war. Whispering Star because it is so quiet and touching.

I keep my fourth slot open for a rotating new favorite film that I want everyone to see. I could change these for a different set, but, oh, who am I kidding. I always feel terrible at the thought of ‘demoting’ a film.

What is your favorite or most useful feature? The watchlist, filtered by service. It is my dream-come-true feature. I sort by genre, hide short films, select ‘Stream only’ and ta-da! A list of films I’ve been meaning to see that are available to stream. (Now if only I could do the same for films that I own!) [Editor’s note: filtering by your own personal set of streaming services is a Pro feature.]

What’s a movie you’ve done a 180 on because of other Letterboxd members’ opinions? Great question. Memories of Murder is one of them for sure. I couldn’t figure out what the big deal was when I first saw it, but so many of my friends gave it five stars that I watched it again and understood. And just this week, Moaning_Slug posted an interesting comment on my review of Buñuel’s Viridiana that actually makes me want to take another look.

What’s a movie you’ve really had to dig in on your feelings about, despite what everyone else on Letterboxd thinks? I am not easily bothered by or influenced by others when it comes to the films I love or despise. I seriously disliked Her and Boyhood and pretty much anything by Wes Anderson and all the high ratings have zero effect on me. The technical prowess of a film would never be something that could change my mind (here’s looking at you John Wick: Chapter 2 and 3). What would make me take a second look is if someone were able to point out that I missed something about what the film was saying. I’ve yet to review Jojo Rabbit because while I think poking fun at someone who aspires to dictatorship might actually prevent it from happening, I don’t know what to make of it when it’s making light of a historical or current [aspiring dictator]. Reading reviews about this could definitely influence my take on the film.

Colin Firth in ‘Pride and Prejudice’ (1995).

What’s your go-to comfort movie? The one with Colin Firth as Mr. Darcy, the one with Chris Pratt and the talking ‘rat’, and the one with Tony Leung as badge No. 663 starring the Mamas and the Papas.

If and when you go to the cinema, where do you prefer to sit? Behind the shortest person in the room, near the back (I hate looking up—it’s a neck thing).

You’re Canadian. What’s the best Canadian film of all time? South of Wawa, about a donut-shop waitress who receives tickets to a Dan Hill concert in Toronto for her 35th birthday. Okay, so it’s not the “greatest film of all time” but it is my favorite, and it’s got the best last line ever!

These are the Canadian films I’ve seen in order of preference, this is a substantial list of Quebec films and [Letterboxd member] puffin has an extensive Canadian films list (stops at 2018). And I must mention these NFB short classics: The Cat Came Back, The Sweater and one of the most beautifully animated shorts, The Man Who Planted Trees.

When Parasite won Best Picture, what was the reaction in your household? We tested the bounce on our floor boards at Best Director. We tested the bounce on the ceiling boards at Best Picture.

Please recommend three other Letterboxd members we should follow. I can’t count, so here goes. I think everyone should follow Punq for the sheer number of films he watches and reviews, but mostly because I don’t think there is a film made before the 60s that he hasn’t seen. Graham Williamson is a good bet as well. His tastes are eclectic and his reviews are always packed with good observations and information. And I also have to recommend fellow Canuck puffin. I don’t know how he manages to watch so many films and review them. I always enjoy reading Melissa Tamminga, who asks questions and is very thoughtful in her reviews, and I have a soft spot for Peter H, who again personalizes his reviews. Nepotism be damned, Jonathan White always writes honest, interesting and personal reviews.

You also round up Letterboxd members who attend TIFF each year—what’s been a good thing about meeting Letterboxd people in real life? It’s great! Without naming names, I discovered that I could drink a 6'2" Norwegian under the table; a particular New Yorker is so stingy with his ratings that when he gives anything beyond three and a half stars you just have to watch the film; and a New Zealander personally knows anyone who is anyone in the industry over there and can give you all the dirt! Whenever we consider not doing TIFF we are always reminded that it would involve missing our Wednesday meet-up (as well as most other nights where we undoubtedly meet up for beer and film-related arguments), and we easily change our minds.

P.S. In the spirit of connecting Letterboxders… before the TIFF list I thought it would be good idea to create a ‘Letterboxd in [insert City]’ list, Toronto being the first one. It took off, and many users from different parts of the world created lists for their cities; the tag is letterboxdcity.

The March Around the World challenge starts 1 March 2020. Tag your list with ‘30 countries 2020’ and it’ll be added here.

#letterboxd #how i letterboxd #letterboxd tips #letterboxd member #cinephile #film lover #canadian cinema #how to use letterboxd #how to get started on letterboxd #film diary #film watchlist #film reviewer #film reviews #female film reviewer #female film critic

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snowdice · 3 years ago

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Big Bang (Sort of) Editing Story [Day 68]

Had an early doctor’s appointment today so I’m tired, and the tests done made things feel worse, so idk how long this is going to go, but I want to get at least a bit of my work done. Also brain is not running at full capacity... so if I just disappear it means I forgot I was doing something, laid down, and fell asleep and/or zoned out.