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helloalycia · 3 years ago

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the new recruit [six] //wanda maximoff

summary: the aftermath of your mission with Wanda changed the dynamic between you, and you're still trying to figure out if it's for the best or not.

warning/s: mentions of suicide, terrorism and death.

author's note: first day in my new job today so super exhausted but didn’t wanna leave you guys hanging. hope you like where this is going! also, side note: Y/H/T = your hometown

Returning to the compound after Wanda and I's mission was stranger than I expected. I hadn't realised how attached I'd grown to our stupid tiny apartment and little routine we'd created, even if it was only for five and a half days.

I also didn't realise how much my feelings for the Sokovian would change just from spending time with her within close proximity. Though, I tried not to dwell too much on that last fact since admitting what I definitely didn't want to would only make things complicated. Much more complicated.

So, I revelled in our friendship instead.

When Wanda and I got back, it was about a week in when I was already getting post-mission depression and decided to look through all of the photos we took on my phone. It brought a smile to my lips immediately, seeing how much fun she was having and how excited she was to see all of the sights. And that's when I got the idea to do what I did.

Wanda had mentioned how she had sadly lost all of her family photos when her home was destroyed back in Sokovia, the physical ones that you can flick through and smile at without having to go through a phone or laptop. And that idea, though not my initial one when it came to browsing through photos, was a nice thought. So, why not do it for her with these?

Because I'm too gay for my own good and definitely very stupid, I went to get all of the photos on my phone printed and had plans to put them in a photo album to give to her. Hopefully she'd appreciate it and I wasn't being too weird. I mean, they were just photos and she'd like it, right? God, I hoped so.

One afternoon, I'd just finished collecting the rest of my prints from a store in the city and also bought the album to put it in when I was walking back to my room to sort it out. Of course it was just my luck to bump into Tony in the hallway outside my room and so I immediately tried not to draw attention to the pack of photos being held to my chest.

"There you are!" he exclaimed upon seeing me. "I've been looking for you everywhere! Where have you been?"

I swallowed hard and pointed a finger over my shoulder. "Oh, y'know. Just... errands."

He pulled a face at that. "I have employees for this very reason. Use them." I rolled my eyes and he continued, "Anyway, I wanted your opinion on my new suit. I've asked almost everyone and you're next."

I quirked a brow. "Don't you, like, pay people to love everything you do?"

He narrowed his eyes with no humour present. "Hilarious."

I smiled to myself, proud of my little joke. "Yeah, I thought so, too."

He rolled his eyes and looked to me impatiently. "Well? Is that okay? Meet me in my–"

"Your study, okay, I got it," I finished for him, before getting impatient myself. "I'll drop by later. I gotta go right now."

He squinted his eyes with suspicion, deciphering my sudden impatience, then his gaze fell to my arms. "What's that?"

I straightened up and shook my head casually. "Nothing, just some photos."

"Photos of what? Let me see."

I shook my head nonchalantly, moving away when he tried to grab them. "I'm allowed privacy, aren't I? Don't worry, it's none of your concern."

He hummed in response, not saying anything, so I took that as my chance to walk past him and to my room. But as I stepped forward, he suddenly made a move to grab the photos, making me drop my new photo album on the floor.

"Tony!" I shouted with disbelief, before moving to pick up the photo album and attempting to get my photos back.

He was already flicking through them, having removed the elastic band and grinning as he went through each one.

"Oh my god, you went sightseeing with the witch?!" he asked with surprise.

I stopped trying to get them off him, realising it was too late since he already knew our secret now.

"Yes," I admitted nervously. "Just please don't tell Steve."

He laughed and shook his head. "I won't. But why are you printing them and putting them in that old thing?"

I hugged my photo album tightly when he motioned to it.

"This old thing is new," I defended my purchase. "And no reason."

He paused, glancing at me with knowing eyes. I tried to stand my ground, having been trained in veiling what I was truly feeling, but I must have been in too deep because his eyes widened with a revelation.

"Oh my god, you did this for Wanda."

When I didn't reply, he laughed and slapped me on the shoulder, making me frown with discomfort. Out of all the people to know this, Tony was the last I wanted.

"You like her, is that it?" he asked, continuing to look through the photos. "You really think printing some photos you took is gonna show her that? C'mon, Y/L/N."

I clenched my jaw, annoyed at his unwanted opinions but also feeling a little judged at his words. "I never said I liked her."

He smirked. "Sure you didn't. But it doesn't look like that... you're seriously putting in all this effort for her? Bit lame, isn't it? What's she gonna do with a photo album? Look through it once and then lose it? C'mon."

Well, shit. Was he right? Was this actually the dumbest thing I could think of? Oh, God...

"But never mind my opinion," he started, and I was only half listening because I was still revelling in self-pity. "Let's ask the witch herself."

Again, I wasn't really listening until he suddenly started to shout Wanda's name down the hall, knowing her room was only at the end. My eyes widened and I immediately tried to get the photos out of his hands.

"Shut up, Tony!" I shouted, going to grab them, but he pushed me out the way and continued to yell for Wanda.

Panicking, I tried to slap him to shut him up, but he dodged and my hand hit the stack of photos in his hand, flinging them across the hall and to the floor in a giant mess. I glared at Tony before racing to pick them all up before anybody could see them. It was very unfortunate when Wanda finally emerged from her room and approached us, confusion written all over her expression.

"What's up?" she asked, eyes falling down to me.

I managed to scoop up the last few photographs before standing up, suddenly really embarrassed at the fact she'd almost seen them. And then Tony's words rang in my head and I felt like an idiot.

"Hey, are you okay?" she asked, eyebrows furrowing together with concern.

I turned to look at Tony, who was hiding a smile and attempting to be apologetic.

"Y/N?" Wanda asked again, resting a hand on my shoulder. "Did Tony do something?"

"Nothing, forget it," I mumbled, before leaving the scene and fleeing to my room without giving either of them reason to continue the conversation.

Humiliation was an understatement. I felt dumb, stupid, moronic and any other synonym one could think of. Photos? Seriously? What would that achieve?

"Stupid Tony," I muttered harshly as I threw the photos and album in the bin by my door.

I found the framed photo of Wanda and I that I'd already printed and threw that away, too. This whole thing was dumb. And I was adamant on sulking in my bed until I felt better.

—

It was a few nights after that incident when Wanda confronted me about it.

I'd hoped she would have forgotten as she hadn't brought it up since and neither had I, instead deciding to just ignore Tony otherwise I'd probably end up strangling him. So, when I was sulking in bed and trying to figure out if I wanted to watch TV or not, a knock sounded against my door. It was strange since it was pretty late, but I allowed it.

"Come in," I called halfheartedly whilst hugging my cushion and staring at the wall.

"Hey, it's me," Wanda's voice said as she opened the door. I didn't bother turning around as she continued, "I hope now isn't a bad time... I wanted to–"

She paused suddenly and curiosity got the better of me, so I turned around in bed and saw that she was looking in my bin with a saddened expression. Remembering what was in there, I panicked.

"Er, what are you doing?" I asked with restrained nervousness.

She bent down and pulled out the photos and album before standing up and looking to me with a hurt expression. "You threw them away?"

I sat up awkwardly, feeling both confused and embarrassed. "What– how did you know about that?"

She pursed her lips, glancing down at them again. "I saw them the other day when you dropped them."

Looking down uncomfortably, I nodded. "Oh."

"I pretended not to see because I thought it was a surprise and I didn't want to spoil it," she explained, and it didn't help that she sounded really cute right now with her accent making more of a show. Goddamn pretty girls and their cute voices.

"Yeah, it was going to be," I said, avoiding her eyes and forcing a small smile, "but I realised it was kind of stupid and changed my mind."

She set the photos down on my desk and sat beside me on the bed. "It's not stupid."

I gave her an are you serious right now? look. "It kind of is, Wanda. What exactly would you do with them?"

She smiled a little at my words. "Keep them?"

I breathed out through my nose and looked away, hoping she wasn't pitying me right now. Because that would be even worse than getting found out in front of her with Tony.

"I love it," she said gently. "It's the most thoughtful thing anybody's ever done for me since... well, since I lost my family."

Swallowing the awkwardness down, I risked glancing her way and saw she was already watching me with bright blue eyes, instantly making me nervous. I felt even more like an idiot – how was the person who I was once happy to glue to her chair now capable of rendering me into a speechless, awkward fool?

"It's not stupid?" I asked, expecting her to turn around and say otherwise.

But she didn't. She merely shook her head and smiled softly. "No. Definitely not stupid."

I nodded, unable to stop a smile from tugging at my lips as I looked away. "Well, in that case... d'you wanna maybe pretend you didn't see it so I can finish putting everything together and give it to you properly?"

A quiet laugh flew from her lips as she nodded. "Agreed."

Sighing with relief, I scratched the back of my head and suddenly realised she came in here for a reason. Turning to face her, I rose an eyebrow.

"You wanted to ask me something or tell me something," I reminded her. "What's up?"

Realisation crossed her expression as she nodded, instantly losing her smile. "Right... it's stupid. But I just– everybody's worried about Rumlow and what's happening next and, well, their thoughts are really loud. I can't really sleep..."

I frowned, feeling bad and being unable to imagine how frustrating that must have been for her. She wasn't wrong in the sense that everyone was on edge since our last mission. I knew Steve, Sam and Natasha had a particular vendetta against Rumlow because of their experience with him over a year ago, and now that they had a rough idea of where he'd be in three months, they were stricter than usual. Thoughts must have definitely been too loud for Wanda to cope with.

"Well... wanna watch TV with me?" I offered with a small smile. "I'm always down to stay up for a while."

As if this was exactly what she wanted to hear, she nodded and smiled adorably. I motioned for her to follow me and the two of us got under the duvet as I turned on the TV at the end of the bed. She pulled the duvet close to her chin and leaned on the many pillows behind her, sinking in without concern. I smiled to myself before doing the same, flicking through the channels and deciding on Howl's Moving Castle which was halfway through playing. I waited on complaint from Wanda, but she didn't say anything, so I left it on.

It was quiet as we watched, myself getting lost in the film and trying not to overthink how close Wanda was to me. If you forgot about the fact that we were in the compound and not spying on a scientist in the middle of Paris, it was almost like we were back on mission. And I didn't mind one bit.

"That looks so pretty," Wanda commented quietly, referring to the field of flowers on the TV.

I hummed in agreement. "Yeah, it really does."

She was quiet, and I thought she'd finished, but then she spoke up, barely above a whisper. "Before Sokovia was a warzone, it used to have the prettiest flower fields I'd ever seen. In photos obviously, but they always looked so beautiful. Kind of like that."

"You'd love Y/H/T then," I told her with a nostalgic smile. "It had some lovely gardens and flower fields like that."

"Really?"

"Oh, yeah, definitely," I said with a nod of certainty.

We were both looking at the TV, but it was merely background noise as I spoke to her with a comforting feeling in my chest.

"Spring was the best time to visit," I recalled. "The flowers were coming in and it was beautiful. Full of colours, like a giant bouquet just for you. There were these cute bees flying around and the sun would shine down and it was clear blue skies and–" I sighed contently, shaking my head. "Descriptions aren't enough. It's not the same unless you see it for yourself in person."

She chuckled a little. "It sounds wonderful. I wish I could."

I thought about it, the idea of Wanda seeing it for herself warming my heart. And then I remembered she had powers that gave her access to people's minds.

"You can get into people's memories with your powers, right?" I asked curiously.

She sounded confused as she said, "Yeah, but–"

I sat up with excitement, turning to look at her. "So you can see what I'm talking about! You just have to go in here–" I knocked on my head, "–and take a look for yourself."

She pushed herself into a sitting position, nervous frown on her lips. "Y/N, I'm not so sure about that. I don't like doing that unless I have to. It feels really intrusive."

I gave her a knowing look. "It's not intrusive if I'm giving permission, right?"

She scrunched her nose adorably, still unsure. Now that I thought about it, letting the girl I had a crush on roam about in my mind probably wasn't the best idea. But I trusted her to only look at what I wanted to show her and if it made her happy, even for a moment, I wanted to do it.

"C'mon, you'll love it," I said with an encouraging smile, tapping her knee.

She chewed on the inside of her cheek as she thought about it. Finally, she sighed. "Okay, I guess. Just tell me if something hurts or goes wrong or–"

"I trust you," I reassured her, finding her hand and squeezing it. "Now. I'm ready. Do whatever it is that you do."

She rolled her eyes playfully, cheeks turning pink, probably from the pressure, before she sat directly opposite me. Raising her hands, she rested her fingers on my temples and looked me in the eyes. Okay, maybe this was a little more intimidating than I thought.

"Close your eyes," she instructed gently. "Focus on the memory you want me to see."

I nodded and did as she said, trying to picture the field of flowers as I'd last seen it many years ago. I was by myself, standing in the grass with the flowers tickling my legs as they grew up to my waist. The sun was hot, I could almost feel the heat even in this dreamlike state, and shone down on me, making me squint to see. It smelt like home, just as I remembered it, and I almost didn't want to leave.

Whether Wanda could see or not, I wasn't sure. It didn't feel as intrusive as she'd made it out to be – it didn't even feel like anybody was with me at all now that I thought about – and I assumed it was because I'd openly let her in rather than her having to pry her way through.

Looking around one last time, I appreciated the view and the familiar calm it brought upon me. My hands brushed past the flowers – reds, violets, blues, yellows – and I smiled to myself, glad to have visited again, even if it was just a memory.

When I was done, I opened my eyes and was instantly met with Wanda's, turning from red and back to blue-green. She lowered her fingers and I tried to ignore the way my heart rate sped up a little at her sudden closeness.

"How did you like it?" I asked, unsure if she'd even seen it.

She cracked a smile, nodding gently. "It was just like you said it would be."

I pressed my lips together, acutely aware of her knees touching mine and the gentle rise and fall of her chest as she took breaths. She was so close that I could smell the remnants of the perfume she'd worn that day – a much better smell than the one I'd just experienced in my memory. It was definitely the wrong time, but my eyes drifted down her face, past her nose and to her lips.

Perfectly shaped, full and glossy from her lip balm. Yep, definitely should look away. But I couldn't, and a thought that had never crossed my mind before suddenly did.

I really wanted to know what it felt like to kiss her.

And she didn't seem to move away, despite our ever-growing closeness. Was she expecting me to? I couldn't tell. And I definitely didn't want to project my feelings onto her and ruin whatever friendship we had. So, with that unexpected realisation, I cleared my throat and moved back subtly, hiding my nerves with a casual smile.

"Maybe we can take an actual holiday someday," I said, getting back under the duvet to face the TV. "Maybe I could go home and take you with me. Show you the field in person."

I heard her sigh quietly, making me nervous, but she followed suit and got comfortable under the duvet again.

"I'd like that," she agreed softly.

Certain that my heart was back to its regular pace, I relaxed under the covers and focused back on the TV. "I'm sure we can plan something eventually. Maybe when all of this Rumlow business calms down."

I felt her nod beside me as she hummed in agreement, and I was glad I was out of any compromising situations with her. The last thing I needed was to think about kissing her.

But I'd be lying if I said it was gone from my mind after that moment.

—

As time got closer to the next mission which involved a handful of the Avengers going to Lagos, Nigeria to stop Rumlow from whatever he was planning, things around the compound got tenser.

I understood that it was a dangerous situation and Rumlow was a high-level target, but it was no excuse to overwork everyone, including me who wasn't even set to go on the mission. But I could handle it. What I couldn't handle was seeing Wanda deteriorate from each time I saw her to the next.

We were sat in the kitchen eating lunch together, but Wanda was leaning into the palm of her hand and her eyes were barely open. I frowned, noticing how exhausted she was looking as of late. If I didn't see her sleeping on some random piece of furniture, she was training with Steve or Nat. I couldn't actually remember the last time I'd seen her take a break.

"Wanda...?" I prompted, touching her foot with mine under the table to get her attention. "You were saying something about your powers?"

She sighed and rubbed her eyes before leaning back into her seat. "Right, yeah, sorry. I was saying how Nat has been teaching me how to manage my emotions better because my powers are linked to them. I'm getting the handle on it, but sometimes I freak out and it's not good."

My expression softened as I noticed the pressure she was putting on herself. It was obvious in her self-deprecating tone of voice.

"You'll get the hang of it, I'm sure," I said with certainty.

She winced, shaking her head. "I'm not so sure. We've been at it for a while and all it takes is one thing and I just– I snap. I could seriously hurt someone and that isn't..." She frowned, avoiding my eyes. "That isn't what I want."

"You're not going to hurt anyone, Wanda," I said, trying to find her eyes but she was focused on her untouched plate of food. "I think... I think Nat and Steve are overworking you because they want you to be okay when the time comes. But you should talk to them if it's too much, which it clearly is."

Wanda sighed, leaning into her palm and massaging her head slightly. I knew she was listening, but now clearly wasn't the time to be piling on top of her orders.

"Forget about that for now," I changed the subject, before nodding to her plate. "Try to eat."

"I'm too tired," she mumbled with her eyes closed.

"I know, but you need to have something," I said in an urgent tone. "Please, Wanda."

Reluctantly, she opened one eye and glanced at me. Probably seeing how concerned I was, she gave in and nodded before beginning to pick up her sandwich.

"Definitely tell them to take it easy on you," I said as I watched her take a small bite. "It's what's best for your health."

She hummed, finishing chewing her sandwich, and said, "I will. Thanks."

I nodded, digging into my own sandwich, but my concern never wavered. Overworking us all wouldn't get Steve and Natasha anyway. I wish they'd see that.

—

The Lagos mission approached a lot sooner than anyone wanted. With Wanda, Natasha, Steve and Sam going on it, I was left behind and kind of glad that I didn't have to suit up. Don't get me wrong, I was happy to help, but not with how much pressure Steve was putting on this whole thing.

Unfortunately, that did make me nervous to how Wanda would take things. She'd been training nonstop since we came back from our own mission three months ago, and even before that she was extremely capable so I had no doubts she couldn't handle herself. But all of the pressure couldn't have been easy and I was hoping she'd be able to handle it.

Just once I'd have liked to be proven correct.

It didn't take long for the failure of the mission to be aired on pretty much every news programme on TV. According to the headlines, the Avengers had made a mess of Lagos, particularly when Wanda attempted to contain an explosion that only ended up destroying a nearby building and killing several innocents. It was a terrible sight, as was the look of disbelief on Wanda's face when she'd realised what she'd done. I couldn't help but feel bad for everyone – all of the news anchors were blaming Wanda, calling her out as too young, too powerful, too dangerous. But it wasn't her fault.

When they all returned, they looked battered and bruised and the worst I'd seen them in a long time. The only one to explain what the hell happened back there was Sam. Despite being shaken up, he caught me up and I had no doubts he'd done the same with the others.

Turns out Rumlow was working alone and had planned this whole thing from the start. He'd known since three months ago, sewing the seeds that led us to believe he'd be in Lagos looking for a bioweapon when, in fact, he was just looking to get his revenge on the Avengers. Him committing suicide and killing innocents in the process was all he'd wanted – a final act for a cowardly terrorist. Now, everybody was shaken up and peeved, for valid reason.

After being caught up with the mission, I reluctantly brought up the topic of Wanda, hoping to get some insight to how she was feeling. Though it didn't take a genius to know.

"She's not doing too great, Y/N," Sam said regretfully. "It was hard on her. And the news isn't helping."

I frowned. "Yeah, I saw..."

"You should check on her, but be careful," he advised. "She's still shaken up about it."

"Thanks." I nodded at him one final time before leaving.

Since they'd just gotten back, I thought it would be best to give her a few hours before bombarding her with my presence. The hours felt like forever as my worry for the Sokovian only grew stronger with each passing second. Finally, when I deemed it acceptable, I headed to her room to see how she was.

"I'm not in the mood," her voice answered from her side of the door when I knocked.

Ignoring her, I let myself in and tried not to react under her harsh glare. Closing the door behind me, I lingered by her dresser as she sat on the bed and watched me.

"I said I'm not in the mood," she repeated lowly.

"I know," I said, before taking a leap and saying, "I heard what happened."

To my surprise, she stood up instantly, clenching her fists to contain her anger. "Really? Did you see it on the news like everyone else did?"

Realising she was snappy, I decided to take it slow and not get offended. "I'm sorry that it happened like that, Wanda. I really am. But it's not your–"

"Don't say it," she interrupted quickly, flinching at my unspoken words. "It is my fault. Those people, they... they died because of me. Because I didn't practice with my powers enough and I– I lost control and– and look what happened?!"

Her eyes were teary as she shouted, her anger only acting as a barrier for how guilty she felt. But the guilt was plastered all over her face now, eating away at her and leaving no room for logic.

I swallowed hard. "That's not on you. You couldn't have known."

Her eyes darted to mine, a mixture of frustration and hurt in them. "You're the one who told me to take it easy with training."

It took me a moment to realise what she was implying, and that's when I raised my brows with surprise.

"Surely you can't blame this on me," I said defensively.

She clenched her jaw. "No. But I shouldn't have listened to you. If I had kept working hard, this wouldn't have happened and those people wouldn't have–" She stopped, lips trembling as she looked the other way. "They wouldn't have died..."

I wanted to tell her that she couldn't have prevented the inevitable. That this wasn't on her, it was merely an accident. That overworking herself with training or not wouldn't have made a difference because she tried her best and it was all a horrible mistake.

But as soon as I stepped forward to try and help, she raised her hand and a red wisp of energy opened the door behind me.

"Just get out," she muttered, still not looking my way.

"Wanda, please–"

"I said get out," she repeated firmly, her accent thicker than ever as she held in her anger.

Knowing it was too soon to make any attempt at talking with her, I nodded reluctantly and turned to leave.

In hindsight, it was probably stupid of me to talk to Wanda first thing when she came back from her mission. So, I gave her some space and focused on doing the best job I could as an Avenger. Technically there were no immediate missions scheduled, so my days consisted of training, working out and trying not to get in the way of the underlying tension between everyone as an aftermath of the mission.

The only times I saw Wanda were when we'd occasionally bump into each other in communal areas or sometimes in training. But even then, it was barely a conversation as she was clearly still beating herself up about the whole incident in Lagos.

As much as I wanted to be of some help, I didn't want to piss her off any further, so I kept my distance. It was the better choice, since she came to me when she was ready. It was about a week after the mission when she found me in the gym.

I was running on the treadmill when I saw her motioning for me to take my earphones out. Being the eager beaver I was, I instantly listened and slowed down to an eventual stop before removing my earphones and wiping the sweat from my face with my sweat towel.

"Hey, is everything okay?" I asked with furrowed brows, stepping off the machine and catching my breath.

She nodded, stood uncomfortably still and rubbing her arm. "Yeah, sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt your workout."

I shook my head. "It's okay, I can get back to it. What's wrong?"

She looked up, meeting my eyes with apologetic ones. "I just– I wanted to apologise for the other day. Well it was a week ago now, but yeah. I shouldn't have snapped at you after the mission."

Up until now, I assumed we wouldn't talk about it, since it was clearly a moment of weakness for her and I knew she didn't mean it. So, I was definitely surprised.

"It's okay, don't worry about it," I assured her. "It was tough what happened and I shouldn't have got in your face like that."

"You don't need to apologise for anything," she said with a dry smile. "I shouldn't have snapped. End of. You were just trying to help... I'm just not in the best place right now. Sorry."

I nodded, still concerned but trying to dial it down for her sake. "Well, I've got your back if you need me for anything, remember? No matter what."

A small but appreciative smile appeared on her lips in response. Then her eyes fell to my wrist as I wiped my face and her smile widened.

"You're wearing the bracelet," she noticed, before raising her own wrist and showing me her matching one. "You're committed, I'll give you that."

I let out a small laugh. "Yeah, well, I've never been given a friendship bracelet before so I'll take it."

It was her turn to laugh and the sound warmed my heart. It had been a while since I'd heard it because of all the stress and pressure she'd faced lately; it was definitely worth bringing out again.

"Anyway, I'll leave you to it," she said, her smile lessening but eyes still glowing. "Thanks again."

"Anytime," I said with a nod, before watching her leave.

I could only hope things could better from here, but oh, how wrong I was.

#marvel #elizabeth olsen #wanda maximoff x reader #marvel imagine #wanda maximoff x you #mcu #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff imagine #scarlet witch imagine #scarlet witch

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ghostietea · 4 years ago

Note

I would love to hear those Akito headcanons! (Also your Akito metas are amazing :D)

Thanks!!! As requested, here's some of the Akito headcanons from my masterdoc:

-Akito slowly and intimidatingly slinks around the estate because she is a powerful and scary God certainly not because she will pass out if she stands up too fast

-at the end of Furuba Akito should have permanently ended things with Shigure and then walked around acting like a 50 year old twice divorced woman even though she's like around 20 and they weren't even formally dating. Ex: Akito, wearing a huge vintage fur coat she found in some closet over slacks and a blouse, taking a sip from a glass filled with a beverage comprised of like one drop of wine and a bunch of cranberry juice: "Just kicked my ex out for the second time. Good riddance, you see-"

-Stole an eyeliner from Kagura one time when she was like 13 and promptly stabbed herself in the eye with it on accident and blamed Kagura.

-Can't even use a microwave. Don't let her cook your kitchen will burn

-When she was a baby Ayame tried to recreate the presentation of Simba with her and dropped her on the floor

-The one time she broke a bone it was because she got pissed off and punched a wall really hard

-Didn't like lit class. Likes reading but hates things like "effort" and "critical thinking." Payed someone else to write the essays she mailed in to school.

-Lesbian but doesn't know what a gay is. Doesn't think anyone suspects anything when she's climbing all over Kureno and Shigure not just because she's generally clingy but because she doesn't know gay people exist. Someone (Hana) has to stage an intervention to inform her that she is gay years in the future after months of everyone having to listen to her talk about how pretty and neat girls are as part of what she thinks is her unlearning being a raging misogynist.

-Demigirl she/they nonbinary but doesn't figure it out for years after she stopped presenting as a man

-Gets anxious about how clumsy Tohru is because of… that incident. One time saw Tohru fall down a flight of stairs and panicked and now she links arms with her anytime they go on stairs.

-Actually sorta likes dressing androgynously when it's her choice. Chronic dressing like a gay person syndrome.

-Didn't keep her hair long. Cut it off after like a month in a moment of passion with a pair of kitchen shears and then had to reluctantly slink off to have someone make it look presentable.

-Secretly loves plushies but is too embarrassed to buy them for herself. Slowly acquires a hoard postcanon and can bury herself in a pile of them.

-She's very light and can be easily picked up and carried around by any of her friends that want to

-Googled "is hitting people bad?"

-Hana can call Akki over by pspspsps ing at her like a cat and Akki HATES it but still falls for it every time

-Doesn't get anything more than a flip phone and work laptop until postcanon. Generally REALLY sheltered, would get addicted to the first video game she got to play. Probably Animal Crossing.

-Secretly read every book of Warriors as a middleschooler but it became unsecret when she got into a fight with Haru about who could do a better human!Scourge cosplay.

-As an adult Kisa is taller than her.

-Mega lightweight with pretty much everything. Will either LOOSE IT and have an anxious breakdown or space out staring at the wall for 3 hours if she drinks coffee. Would probably be strongly affected by too much sugar. Strictly prohibited from drinking alcohol.

-As a child tried to convince the boys that the zodiac girls all had cooties

-Either can't swim or taught herself in her stupidly large tub.

-Sensory issues, does badly with bright lights, loud/annoying noises, non neutral temperatures, ect.

-Has perpetual cold icicle hands

-Crashes through several rebellious teen phases as an adult trying to find herself postcanon. Bleaches her hair and dyes it some unnatural color in the bathroom, immediately regrets it and dyes it black again. Nobody ever knows.

-One time ate a leaf because she was bored and has -10 impulse control

-Makes other people order for her at restaurants

-Postcanon she has a pencil box FULL of animal shaped squishies Tohru gave her

-Was one of those kids that got A's without studying (also canonically homeschooled and ik that crowd)

-Starts painting her nails black after she meets Hana. Likes the symbolism

-Called Hatori her brother by accident once and they both silently agreed to never speak of it

-Rin anonymously mailed her the "I'm sorry women" hat

-Realized she had almost no interests and started ping ponging between hobbies as she tried and then ditched them upon not being immediately amazing at said hobbies. Eventually is given encouragement to keep on trying instead of giving up because she believes she won't be good at it. One of the things she liked was doing stuff with flowers, but she initially ditched it after she killed all the plants she tried to take care of (@ Akki, lying flopped down on a windowsill: Why is everything I touch destroyed… @ her dead flowers: *are dead*). She goes back to it though when she realizes accidentally offing some plants is not a universal statement about her morality and eventually figures it out. Is told to get a personal creative project to work on by her therapist and she sits in the garden and makes a little journal with entries about the flowers and their symbolism complete with illustrations.

-Connected, has a weirdly large amount of flower symbolism and lore memorised postcanon because of this (@ Tohru: wow a pretty flower! @ Akito: Ah yes, the poppy, did you know it symbolizes death, dreams, an eternal sleep… though is an eternal sleep not as good as death? Are dreams a small taste of what's to come? Also did you know they contain opi-" @ Tohru, confused but likes listening to her friends talking about their interests: 😶)

-Would probably do good with a pet cat for emotional support once she gets over the Sohma biases and can be trusted to take care of an animal.

-The Sohma mansion is always out of hot water because Akito uses it all taking hour long angst baths in the giant tub.

-Uo+Hana+Akito have a sleepover were Uo and Akito are talking and are just like wow we both sure had a thing for the same dude because of varied ulterior reasons haha that certainly doesn't mean anything and Hana just sits there wanting to bang their stupid heads together like rocks

-Due to general isolation and probable lack of exposure to "memery," I believe that Akito Sohma would fall for the "updog" trap, in this essay I will-

-Akito full on doesn't remember how old she is. Someone's just like "how old r u?" and she's just like (internally) "How long have I endured existing in this wretched world? Hmm" *sweats in the passage of time doesn't seem real when you dissociate in a dark room all day*. Nobody else remembers exactly either. (That's why Shigure put an "I think" on the end of his "he's in his 20's" lol) Hatori can remember if he needs to but that's because he has her medical records. One time one of the younger juuni is like how old is he??? And they talk for 30 minutes and only come up with "has to be close-ish to but older than Yuki and Kagura. Didn't go to school. Was he born or does he just exist???

-Akki would be that one person that's always cold and has to be lent sweaters by their friends when they're out. You go into Akki's room postcanon and there's a pile of sweaters on a chair that where SUPPOSED to be washed and returned but just haven't been yet

-If Akito was an animal she'd be a cat... claws, dramatically lounging around all day, climbing all over people, attacking and then being like??? But I want love??? I did nothing wrong??? She's got the vibes.

#ask #akito sohma #hc #fruits basket #thanks for enabling me lol

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cheseyre · 4 years ago

Text

good news, sluts! my brain's no longer being completely stupid (only mostly), i've seen the new asides and...have some thought-y thot thoughts:

*deep inhale*

Okay, first things first: this art style is soooo fucking cUTE and I'm a jealous, squealing bitch. Anyone who knows who the artist is, could you link me to them, stat? I think Thomas mentioned them at the beginning of the ep, but nYeh, brain hurt, doesn't wanna do wooork-

Okay, I'll admit, I was a little...apprehensive when I first saw the thumbnail and title. Part of it's just me being a bitter Remus Stan, but also...okay, deep breaths, controversial opinion time, get ready:

I don't ship Prinxiety.

Like, at all.

I can see the appeal, and these dorks were so very, VERY cute in this particular ep, but I was honestly turned off by the ship long ago due to how overwhelmingly popular it is and how some fans characterize these two and treat this relationship as if it's the only valid one, y'know, the works—slight tangent, but that's also why I don't ship Logicality or Remile. I honestly vibe much better with ships like Roceit or Analogical, y'know?

Cutting in for another brief tangent: I'm surprisingly okay with Demus/Dukeceit/Receit/Trashnoodle/Whatever-Their-Ship-Name-Is-Oh-God-Why-Do-They-Have-So-Many-Fucking-Names; maybe it's cause they haven't actually interacted in canon and the fan content gives me such good Gay Disney Villain content, idk man im weird—).

Still, their interactions were both hilarious and sweet and like I said, I see the appeal, it's just not my cup of tea. y'all Prinxiety fans got fucking FED and I'm happy for you nerds. Enjoy ze happy boys!

I guess another factor in my...low-key hesitance when I first saw what the ep was about is that...okay, get ready, another controversial opinion, le gasp: well, I'm not a big Virgil fan. In fact, at times, he swaps places with Patton as my least favorite sides—especially with some of his recent behavior in eps like DWIT (the "prohibit your breathing comment" really triggered me, for example). Sometimes, his attitude, especially around other sides like Roman or Janus, reminds me a little too much of my sister, who I don't have...a very good relationship with. Add to that how the more...intense side of the fandom has a disturbing tendency to turn him into the 'uwu precious woobie emo baby who can do no wrong' while unnecessarily villainizing other CERTAIN sides in the process, and...I think you all see where I'm going with this little rant 😅

However, upon actually watching the ep, he wasn't...that bad? I don't think? I enjoyed watching him be a flustered, disaster-y mess and genuinely excited at the end, his interactions with Roman were nice enough, and him literally pushing Thomas to make a move with Nico despite his obvious panic attack was a nice moment of genuine character development. I like seeing that, that's the good shit right there. And him being all flustered and shit, and smiling so much at the end of the vid was just...well, adorable. This man has no fucking right to be this cute, my god

alsoooo

pURPLE EYESHADOW

PURPLE EYESHADOW HE LOOKS?? SO GOOD?? WTF?? SLAY EMO, SLAAAAAAAY FUCK, DOES THIS MEAN I HAVE TO CHANGE MY HALLOWEEN COSTUME NOW?

alsoooo

hAPPY ROMAN

YESSSSS~ MAH BOI MAH SON MAH DUMB BITCH HIMBO PRINCE MAH EXTRA MESSY CINNAMON ROLL

ITS BEEN SO LONG

AND HIS LITTLE HEART EYES THROUGHOUT THE VID, OH MY GOD-

IMMA JUST IGNORE THAT "ADDING [MISTAKE] TO THE LIST" COMMENT I AM LOOKING AWAY I DO NOT SEE IT LALALALALA

THOMATHY, SIR, YOU HAVE NO RIGHT MAKING THESE TWO GAY IDIOTS SO BAEBY

Okay, but Virgil not realizing that "cyberstalking in real life" is literally just stalking is both a big ass mood and further proof that, yes, Logan is indeed the only one holding the braincell out of this disaster of a lot. God help them all if he ducks out in the next ep.

👀

And Thomas x Trash Can is my new OTP. I dub thee ✨ "Trashmas" ✨

we sTAN TRASHMAS

Wait, does that mean Remus actually WAS in the ep? Cause, y'know, trash man?

hmmm

👀 👀

Okay, okay.

With how much Virgil and Roman were going off about Thomas constantly lying, I was (understandably) a tad bit disappointed my snek son didn't even make a fucking cameo, but y'know what? In hindsight, I'm okay with this it's fineee~

He was just off playing with shadow puppets and stealing money from us desperate, content-starved peasants with his sheer extra-ness and, honestly? Gotta respect the hustle.

Get that precious, precious coin, dapper snake! Wring us poor losers dryyyy!

*evil snek laugh*

Also, this is a breather ep and adding Janus in probably would've caused unnecessary drama with the Roceit breakup and the constant antagonism between Virgil and him. It probably would've distracted from the point of the ep (flirting with social anxiety, exactly what it says in the tin)—much like it wasn't really Virgil or Remus's place to show up during POF. Does that make sense? I think it makes sense. Sorry, brain going brr-

Still, I can't believe the "Fuck Janus Sanders" Club is actually canon now 😂

God, first Patton in a skirt and now this.

Thomas Sanders, you delight in fucking feEDING this gremlin nest of a fanbase, don’t you? You RELISH our screams of joy and pain and suffering, dON’T YOU?

What's next, actual canonical Janus and Remus interaction? Patton saying the fuck word? The Dragon Witch comes back? Janus's bowler hat gains sentience and takes over the world, Doris-style? What do you have planned, Thomas? Joan? WHAT ART THOU PLANNING, I MUST KNOW YOU HEATHENS YOU FIENDS-

And Virgil's little "would it be fair to him" comment, tho.

👀

Like, I get in the context of the ep, he was likely talking about Nico and how it wouldn’t be good for a potential relationship with Tomas to be founded on lies, but still...my anxceit heart aches, man.

Gimme that sweet, sweet angst with a side of mutual regret and possible future reconciliation and maybe something more wink wink nudge nudge on top, pls

...and fries.

Honestly, tho, that entire bathroom monologue was fucking beautiful, man. And relatable, too—i can't tell you how many times I've talked to myself in public restrooms because I just didn't know how to get the words I wanted to say out. It's...kind of embarrassing, tbh

Speaking of embarrassing, uh, crying stall guy.

Just...

Crying Stall Guy

Like, I was expecting someone to come out the bathroom stall after Thomas stopped talking, but...I honestly wasn't expecting that. God, that whole scene was so cringe worthy and fucking hilarious

Honestly, Thomas in the ep in general was a huge ass mOOD and we collective gay/bi disasters ALL related with him, and if you say you don't, you're either lying to yourself or a demon.

There is no in between

sorry I don't make the rules

Like, I get this series is literally a gay disaster talking to himself for thirty minutes or longer, but like- EMPHASIS on the 'disaster' part 😂

Like...Thomas, you're lucky you're such a goddamn bean, because GOD, I cringing so hard when he first started talking to Nico

Although, I too have apologized profusely for genuine mistakes and am a flustered bi mess around my crush sooo

😅

And god, Roman's "thirty = old man" jokes made me feel old...and I literally just turned twenty, like, come on, man!

Maybe that's because I was literally watching this ep after finishing my ACT and had been sitting with a bunch of high schoolers, with their tiny fucking desks and tiny fucking water fountains smeh

*clears throat*

Anyways, uh, we STAN Nico Pintrovert Florés in this house

He gives me such big Carlos from WTNV vibes for some reason and this makes me sooo happy

and YESS, he's a WRITER

And he's??? So sweet?? A pure bean?? Just sits on his laptop at the mall food court all day, like a god-fucking iCON?? A Nightmare Before Christmas fan?? weARS GLASSES??

my hEART

*cries*

The fandom seems torn between "Nicomas" and "Karrot Kings" as a ship name atm—personally speaking, I'm casting my vote for the latter

*crosses fingers* please dont be another janus x remus multiple ship name issue guys, please please please I can't keep track of them all-

*clears throat*

On that note, I'm guess I'm gonna go try and whoo over my crush with carrots now. If THIS disaster can do it and make it actually fucking work, god damnit, so cAN I

Meanwhile, in hell, my brain's just screaming "CANON LOVE INTEREST CANON LOVE INTEREST CANON LOVE INTEREST-"

God, I hope Nico isn't just a one-shot character, he's too pure and Thomas and him are adorable gay Disney fans and I stan

Oh, I wonder how the other sides'll react to him.

Wait.

Oh god.

This ep just unleashed a new fresh hell of potential Nico x Sides ships, hasn't it?

Welp, time to prepare for ze incoming flood of fanfics, I guess. I'll get my umbrella and rain boots.

That last shot of Virgil during the endcard was so fucking ominous oh my god mom im scared can you come pick me up-

Goddammit, Thomas and Joan, I'm NOT fucking ready to be traumatized again, fUCK

I wish I wasn't a broke ass university student so I could contribute to Thomas's gloriously extra Patreon—both so I can support my favorite content creators who make this amazing blessed content and also, to join my boi Janus in fucking destroying society by giving money to the people who actually deserve it, fuck YOU GOVERNMENT-

Okay.

New headcanon time as to why Patton, Remus, and Logan weren't in the ep: they were helping Jan film that Patreon promotional video.

Remus directed it, Logan helped with the lighting and script, and Patton was just there as the cheerleader.

The reason Janus made a dog with shadow puppets wasn't just to flaunt his deity status and prove how he is truly above us mere wretched mortals

despite that being the absolute truth and we all know it, don't lie to yourselves

No, it was really him trying to do something cute and silly for Patton, because Moceit rights, daMMIT

*inhales*

noww

guys, gals, and nonbinary pals

it’s time forr

the most wonderful time of the yearrr

WAITING FOR THE NEXT EPISODE

Step right up, folks! Hear ye, hear ye, my prediction for the next episode: Prinxiety v. Moceit! With special guest stars: Karrot Kings vibing in adorable gay and Intrulogical, bitter at being excluded aGAIN

Who will win? Who will lose?

here’s a hint: we all will because in this sick twisted game they are no winners only losers-

Place your bets, folks! ✨

Haha im not readyyy~

tl;dr

this episode has cleared my skin, watered my crops, and ended my suffering—an adorable calm before the... angsty fucking shitstorm that’s coming far too soon. Prinxiety stans, enjoy your food. Place an 'F' in the chat for me and my fellow grieving Remus stans. Trashmas is the true OTP, but Karrot Kings is cute too I guess. I've only had Nico Florés for 24 minutes, but if anything happens to him, I'll kill everyone in this room and then myself. Purple eyeshadow Virgil makes me question my sexuality aGAIN, and happy gay disney prince rights y'all. Say a big ole 'fuck you' to capitalism by giving your local dapper snake moneys. Concussion makes brain go brr and imma go buy some carrots and be gay now.

psst hey @quarantinevibes2020 you wanna join me in being disaster-y? i’ll bring my best gay stare and you bring the wine

Until next time, my lovelies! ~ Ches 🖤

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jowritesthingss · 4 years ago

Text

A (Demi)Boy and His Demon: One

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Pairing(s): LoSleep (Logic | Logan + Sleep | Remy)

Rating: Teen

Content Warning(s): lots of swearing, religion mention, demons mention, drugs mention (just once in passing), one sex joke (a la Remus)

Length: 2,584 words

Brief Summary: Sleep-deprived writer Remy accidentally summons a serious-and-seriously-fed-up demon named Logan. One. In Which Remy Does Something Even Stupider than Summoning a Demon

Fic Masterlist!

“Hello,” the person standing in front of Remy said, staring disapprovingly down at him through their glasses.

Remy looked the dude up and down once, twice. (‘Dude’? He wasn’t sure if they were a dude so nah, they’ll stick with ‘person’ moving forward.)

The person standing next to his table was a tall, thin brunette, with no-nonsense rectangular glasses and a no-nonsense expression on their face to match. They were admittedly well-equipped in the looks department—that is to say, they were most definitely hot, Remy’s bi little heart skipped a beat—even if their fashion sense was seemingly nonexistent. They had on a plain black collared shirt, jeans, and what looked like a name tag of sorts—so maybe they were a new barista at the café then? Although Emile hadn’t mentioned any new hires.

“Uh. Can I help you?” Remy asked, arching a perfectly-trimmed eyebrow.

“I believe that I should be the one asking that of you,” the person returned, and...were they glaring at Remy? As much as Remy understood the wrath foodservice workers felt towards particularly Karen-like customers, they really didn’t think the current situation warranted it.

“I’m good right now, actually,” Remy dismissed, hoping the weirdo would get the message, “but thanks for asking. I guess.” They looked back down at their writing again, shuffling the paper with the summoning circle to the side and focusing back in on their laptop.

After a few moments of typing, though, Remy became aware of the shadow that still fell over his keyboard. He glanced up to see the person still staring intently at him—only this time they were closer than ever, standing right at his left shoulder.

“Uh, babe.” Remy wasn’t feeling so nice anymore, and they let the irritation seep into their voice. Remy was on a deadline. Remy had no time for nosy strangers. “Ever heard of personal space?”

“No,” the weirdo responded, and Remy honestly couldn’t tell if they were being serious or sarcastic. It seemed they were being serious, though, when their brow wrinkled in confusion. “You are the one who summoned me, are you not?”

“I...don’t think so?” Remy wracked their brain, trying to recall if there was anything he’d done that might make a barista feel obligated to come check on him. Were they really that much of a pathetic gay? Was it really so obvious that he hadn’t slept in like two days and desperately needed yet another refill of iced coffee? “Yeah, like...I really don’t think I did.”

“And yet you are the one with my summoning circle written down,” the person insisted, gesturing down at the sheet of looseleaf paper, and—wait, what?

“I’m sorry, what?” Remy gaped.

Now that they were closer, Remy could read the name tag on the other person’s—no, the demon’s?—chest, which read “Supreme Lord of Dark Knowledge”, with Logan neatly written in parentheses beneath it.

‘Supreme Lord’ Logan picked up the piece of paper that Remy had aimlessly scribbled a summoning circle upon at random, for use as a reference in designing his own. A few faint droplets of his blood were spattered across it from the papercut. They looked Remy in the eye, and it occurred to Remy that the person’s—Logan’s—eyes were oddly maroon and almost glow-y.

“I am a demon,” Logan said, leaning in to Remy, so close they could practically kiss him, “and you are the one who summoned me. So how may I help you? What is your purpose behind summoning me?”

Remy stared.

Logan returned his gaze, obstinately inching yet closer. Eventually they were getting way too much into Remy’s personal space, rude, so he caved and let Logan win the unspoken battle of wills, yanking their head back almost violently.

Remy started to laugh.

“Oh my god,” they said, gasping for breath. “I haven’t reached the hallucination stage of sleep-deprived caffienation this quickly before.”

“—I. Uh. Pardon?” Perhaps realizing just how uncomfortably close the two were, Logan backed up a respectful distance before looking down at him, confused.

“I’ve gotta say, you’re the most realistic hallucination I’ve had since I tried LSD that one time back in high school.” Remy wiped a tear from the corner of his eye. They looked Logan up and down a bit more appreciatively, now that he knew that they were a product of his own imagination. “Damn, my mind knows how to appeal to my...well, everything. You’re pretty hot.”

“It is hot in hell, yes. So naturally my temperature runs higher.” Every time Remy thought it not possible, Logan became even more perplexed. “Excuse me—if I might request clarification for a moment here. You think that I am not real?”

Logan reached out a hand and closed it securely around Remy’s wrist where it lay on the keyboard of his laptop, his hand steadily pressing the “p” button on the forgotten word document that was chapter seventy. “I can assure you that I very much am not a product of your imagination.”

Remy swore.

“What the fuck,” he said, not caring as his voice gradually grew louder, “what the fuck.” They jerked their arm away from Logan, accidentally knocking over his precious iced coffee, and they swore again as they raced to pick up his laptop and his notes to save them from a watery death.

“Bitch,” Remy hissed at the iced coffee that now steadily inched its way across the table. They then looked up at Logan. “You made me spill my coffee,” he accused. “What the hell, man?”

The supposed demon raised an eyebrow, snapping his fingers, and Remy’s coffee slid back into his cup and righted itself again, good as new, what the fuck. “I do believe that we just established that I am in fact a demon and not a man.”

Shit, shit, yeah, right. “All right, then what are your pronouns?” Remy asked. He wanted to rip them to shreds, yeah, but all the better to not misgender them as he did so.

“Gender does not work for demons as it does for humans,” Logan informed him, “however, in your language, xe/xem/xyr pronouns are particularly...satisfactory...for me.”

“Cool.” Remy nodded. “I’m Remy, they/them and he/him.” He paused. “Okay, like, back to business—what the hell?”

“Yes, that is where I come from.” Logan nodded, and was xe serious or was xe patronizing Remy? They were pretty sure xe was patronizing him.

“Okay.” Remy glared up at xem. “Then like...can you go back already?”

Logan let out a long-suffering sigh, pushing xyr glasses up on the bridge of xyr nose. “Tell me what deal you would like to make, and then yes, I will gladly depart from this ridiculous world.”

“I’ll remind you that you’re the one who appeared in this ‘ridiculous world’ out of literal fucking nowhere,” Remy snarked, half under their breath.

“And I shall remind you that you are the one who summoned me,” Logan snapped. Xe scrutinized Remy carefully. “Although I must say, I was not expecting the likes of you to be intelligent enough to summon me at all, much less as unintentionally as it appears to have been.”

“Hey! Watch what you’re sayin—nope, never mind that.” Remy exhaled loudly, exasperated. “Just tell me how to get rid of you already.”

“Very well.” Logan pushed xyr glasses up on the bridge of xyr nose. “It is quite simple, really. In order to break our connection, all you must do is destroy the summoning circle that initially began the connection. In order to do that you must—”

“Oh, really?” Remy relaxed, shoulders lowering slightly. Nice and easy. That was good. “That’s easy.” He grabbed the paper in both hands and started to tear.

“Wait, no! No, not like that, you are going to—” Logan leapt on top of Remy, knocking them and their chair to the ground.

But it was too late. Remy had already ripped the paper—and, consequently, the summoning circle—in half.

A snapping, burning feeling coursed through Remy’s body as he crashed to the ground, hard.

The torn halves of the paper fluttered to the ground around Remy and Logan as they lay on the floor, disoriented, Logan on top of Remy, Logan’s face in Remy’s neck and Remy with their vision impaired by Logan’s hair.

Remy spat out a mouthful of Logan’s hair, shoving xem off of him. “What the fuck?” he exclaimed once more, not unlike a broken record.

“I should be asking the same of you,” Logan spat, straightening xemself up and adjusting xyr glasses, and holy hell, if Remy had thought xe was glaring before, it was about fifty times worse now. “You are supposed to burn the circle and destroy it, you half-wit. By merely breaking the circle as you did you didn’t release me, you bound me to you for life.”

“Well, like, how was I supposed to know that?” Remy shot back through clenched teeth, trying to stave back the anger and panic churning in the pit of his stomach.

“I was just about to tell you that,” Logan seethed, and shitshitshit, abort mission, maybe Remy should back off, maybe angering the supposed demon wasn’t a good idea, xyr eyes were literally shining with literal fire and xyr hair was starting to float up and that couldn’t be good—

“Hey now! What’s going on here?”

Remy and Logan looked up to see Emile standing in front of them, short and chubby and blond and arms crossed and wearing his bright purple apron and scary-calm, which was somehow even more terrifying than the literal demon, even as he was practically an angel (not literally—or at least, Remy didn’t think it was literal—god, please tell them it wasn’t literal).

“Why don’t we take whatever this is to the back?” Emile asked the two of them, only it really wasn’t a question.

Oh, yeah. They were in the middle of a busy coffee shop full of witnesses, weren’t they.

Remy shoved themself to their feet and hastily grabbed his things, while Logan righted the chair xe had knocked over when xe took Remy down. Then, meekly and not unlike scolded children, Remy and Logan followed Emile to the employee break room. And boy, Remy was not looking forward to the conversation that no doubt would ensue.

“...So you’re saying you’re a demon,” Emile said slowly, eyes wide as he stared at Logan.

“Indeed.” Logan waved xyr hand and extinguished the indigo flames that had previously been dancing across xyr palm.

“Ooh ooh ooh! Like Bill Cipher?” Emile asked excitedly.

Remy lowered their face into their hands.

“Like—ah, yes, of course,” responded Logan the actual literal fucking demon, “although I personally prefer to take a more humanesque appearance on the rare occasions that I am summoned. I find it is more calming for the humans that summon me.” Xe tilted xyr head, looking curiously at Emile. “You’ve met Cipher?”

“I—” Emile gasped, eyes practically starry, and hell, could this get any worse for Remy. “He’s real? I knew it!”

The bell jingled back out in the shop, then not two seconds later the employee door swung open, and hell, this could get worse for Remy.

Remus stepped through the door, eyes bright with mischievous delight and clad in a hideous combination of jeans, some obscure band tee, and an honest-to-god camouflage-patterned tutu. “I heard through the grapevine that some major shit is going down.”

Remy glared half-heartedly at Emile. “You did not text him.”

Emile laughed awkwardly, scratching at the back of his neck.

“Babe,” Remy groaned. “You didn’t.”

“He did!” Remus garbled out, grinning wider than the Joker. “So our dear little Remsykins has a boyfriend now?”

“Not a boy,” Logan said, while at the same time, Remy groaned, “Not my boyfriend.”

“Details.” Remus waved Remy off, although he at least had the decency to ask Logan xyr pronouns before opening his mouth to continue harassing the two of them with questions.

Remy held up a hand. “Uh, nope. I’m dealing with enough bullshit right now, babe, and I’m still mad at you for falling so far behind on art. None of your weird questions about, like, fucking demons or eternal torture or whatever, please.”

Remus’ mouth clacked shut loudly, and he looked rather put-off. Then what Remy had said fully sank in. “Wait, demons? As in, demons existing? For reals?”

Remy turned to Logan, despairing, and thankfully xe seemed to get the message, stepping in.

“Indeed they are, as you put it, ‘for reals’,” Logan affirmed. “I’ll give you...ah, I believe humans still say the ‘Spark Notes’ version of our present circumstance. In researching for their comic, Remy inadvertently copied down my summoning circle. When he got a paper-cut, blood got onto the circle, and he spoke the incantation—” Logan turned to look at Remy, “—which, by the way how on earth did you manage to accidentally say the summoning incantation?”

“I didn’t,” Remy said, furrowing his eyebrows.

“Did you say anything at all?” Logan asked.

Remy thought back. “Uh, I think I said...‘goddammit’?”

“Ah.” Logan blinked. “Yes, well, that isn’t the traditional incantation, but...it suffices.”

Remy threw up their hands, walking away from Logan, Remus, and Emile and glaring mightily at the overly cheery coffee-themed wallpaper. “What the fuck,” he said to no one in particular for the umpteenth time. It was rapidly becoming his favorite phrase.

“Incantations aside, I was summoned,” Logan continued, as if xe had never been interrupted in the first place, “whereupon your friend panicked and accidentally bound me to them for the rest of their life.”

Remus cackled, delighted. “Damn, Remsykinsies, haven’t you gotten yourself into a mess!”

“I don’t. Want. To think about it,” Remy seethed, turning back around to face him and the others again. “I’d much rather we focus on how you should really be leaving to go finish up chapter sixty-five already, thank you very much.”

“Like I’d miss out on watching you humiliate yourself?” Remus was getting the last of the giggles out of his system. “Fat chance.” He swiped a tear of mirth out of the corner of his eye before he continued to speak. “Anyhow, so you’re telling me that demons actually exist in this world, and I’m not one of them?” he asked, his tone mildly indignant. “Rude.”

“And thank god for that,” Remy muttered under their breath, collapsing onto the overstuffed pink couch in the break room. Even if Logan didn’t kill them and steal their soul or some shit, Remus simply being Remus was about to do him in. “The moment you become a demon is the moment the world burns.”

“Exactly!” Remus grinned at him, and how did his teeth look sharper than that of the actual demon in the room? Maybe Remus really wasn’t human after all.

“Eh, whatever! Moving on!” Remus rounded on Logan, expression alight with all the fires of hell, and Remy was really having a difficult time remembering who, exactly, the demon was in this scenario. “I just want to know—are you a demon in the sheets?”

Remy lowered his head into his arms and screamed.

(That night, as Remy and Logan awkwardly lay on opposing sides of Remy’s bed, resolutely refusing to face each other, Logan would ask how on earth could it be possible for xem to not be a demon in the sheets, as xe is a demon everywhere xe goes, and Remy would fall off the bed.)

Prologue || One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six

Chapter two should be up either Friday or Saturday, and if not then def by next Wednesday. Also btw if you haven’t figured it out by now, Remy’s a demiboy who uses he/they pronouns in this, and Logan uses xe/xem/xyr, although as a demon human concepts of gender don’t really apply. ^^

Want to be added onto any of my taglists? Shoot me an ask or a message here or via my other social media!

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zukofenty · 4 years ago

Text

just my luck

➜ Summary: The one where Katara whisks away her picture-perfect life the night she kisses a stranger with the worst luck in the world.

“I lost all my good luck!” Katara screams. “Everything I touch turns to shit!”

“I mean, have you considered fucking a leprechaun?”

➜ Genre: Modern!AU, Journalist!Katara, Girl group manager!Zuko, Music Producer!Zuko

AO3, @zutaraweek

“I am too pretty to be punched!” Katara yelps, ducking and clenching the holding cell’s bars until her knuckles turn white.

“And I thought I was too pretty to commit tax fraud, but here we are.” Ty Lee rolls her eyes. “That’s just how the pussy crumbles.”

“First, you need a gynecologist. Second, I think the saying goes ‘that’s how the cookie—’” Nothing in life could have prepared Katara for the tiny girl to deliver a resounding punch that has her head rattling against the jail cell.

“I lost all my good luck!” Katara screams. “Everything I touch turns to shit!”

“I mean, have you considered fucking a leprechaun?”

Katara sighs, still recovering from the intense nosebleed Ty Lee bestowed on her. “Where the fuck would I even find a leprechaun?” She promptly shoves wads of tissues up her nostrils. Of course, the next one she reaches for actually had a spider in it, and she thinks killing herself just might be easier on her soul at this point.

“Just say you like Megan Thee Stallion and all of a sudden all the men under 5’7” start giving you a 5’11” attitude. Easy peasy.”

She’d managed to limp her way back to Suki and Toph’s apartment from prison, after getting a call that her apartment had flooded, destroying everything in it. Only her apartment. She was barely holding on to her broken YSL pump in one hand and her pride in the other. Emphasis on limp , because while calling taxis to instantly stop for her was always her thing , now she was nothing but an ant (in head-to-toe Prada) on their radar. If they do stop, the taxi either gets snatched up by someone else, or the drivers tell her, not so kindly, to eat a dick.

Nevertheless, she’s still determined to have a positive day, walking and humming a Rihanna song to try and calm her nerves. But, because this day was sent by Satan himself (Jeff Bezos), she was drenched, face to booty to toes, in drain water by the seemingly hundreds of Uber Eats whizzing by, trying to get someone’s Buffalo Wild Wings order to them quickly.

“I can’t believe you guys actually think all that stuff’s real!” Suki scoffs, diligently painting her toenails a pretty pastel purple and not giving any mind to the conversation.

“Tell me, how would you explain this bitch’s life?” Toph points an accusatory finger in Katara’s way. “Katara has been living life as the main character. For fuck’s sake, you won prom queen five years in a row at Ba Sing Se High!”

“A lot of people win prom queen—”

“We went to Omashu High!” Toph adds with frustration. “You even won the year after you graduated!”

Toph and Suki could never quite wrap their heads around Katara’s life.

For as long as they knew her, she was always the luckiest girl in the world.

At seemingly every turn, the girl had all the luck in the world on her side. I mean, just the other day she was accidentally delivered Rihanna’s dry cleaning, because of course she lives in the same fucking building as Rihanna, the goddess herself. See, Katara was the type of person with the luck to manage to find an upscale apartment on their shitty salary in the city for nearly half of what Suki and Toph were paying to sleep next to inbred cockroaches.

“Bitch, you do not have the range for that.” Toph snatches the dress away before Suki or Katara could make a face and whimper a soft ‘gimmie gimmie’ that surprisingly always worked.

“I might not, but at least we could clone Rihanna now.”

Toph pauses. “Say what?”

“I’m getting the girls and gays that album, no matter what.”

Katara went to return the dress after getting in a helicopter with her date of the night, People Magazine’s Sexiest Man Alive, Haru (before the mustache). On top of all that madness, she said Rihanna, in the shimmery, Fenty Beauty Body Lava coated flesh, even complimented her makeup. Suki almost shit herself when Katara was added to the Fenty Savage PR list.

Katara would walk outside and the clouds seemed to part as if on her command. She could wear all-white in the city without a bird unloading one on her shoulder, or one of those guys on the street flicking feces in a pudding cup her way. Jammed streets or congested traffic never ceased her from being ten minutes early to every meeting, event, or even accidental movie set she walked on and got cast as an extra instantly. The lead actor, Academy Award winning Bolin, is still sending her detailed DMs about the various ways he would harvest her toenails because it reminded him of her.

And you know those Airpods or laptop scams that go around on social media you have to train your grandparents not to click on? Or those princes that email you promising to marry you after you send them your banking information? Guess which bitch manages to actually win over a prince’s heart and his inheritance?

Katara had the universe wrapped around her finger, and it didn’t seem to mind bending to her will.

Fresh out of college, after much clawing and fighting and miraculously switching coats with an editor at a restaurant, Katara managed to snag a job at Nyla magazine and secured spots for her best friends, too. They’d been reading the entertainment magazine before they could even process solid food. While they were all saddled with a mailroom job, Katara’s quote unquote irresistible charm had landed her as a scribe to record meetings when their original conveniently broke a nail.

Of fucking course, the day their entire team is stuck in a broken elevator is the day the CEO of White Lotus Records was coming into the office to discuss Nyla ’s next cover star.

Their next big thing, teen singer, Song was still hesitant to work with a magazine aimed at young adults with unhealthy coping mechanisms, compared to the J14s and Tiger Beats with the foldable poster at the back you could steal if you were quick enough at Walgreens.

“ Young lady.” Ugh, why do old men always sound so fucking condescending? You know how easy it is to push an old person? “You know how much dough I make so I can regularly spend it on drugs? Every minute of my time is worth $964.” While Piandao gets up for his assistants to put on his fur coat, Katara slams her hand on the table.

“I promise you this cover story will be worth every minute of your time. I’ll even pay you $965 at the end of my presentation if you hate it.”

And who could say no to that sweet (and scary) face?

When editor-in-chief June waddles back, glazed with sweat after someone farted their entire Del Taco Thursday three chicken soft tacos for $2.49 deal in her face , their cover story was booked. The carnival themed, masquerade party to celebrate Song’s new cover was already scheduled in Google Calendar. Soon enough, Katara was handed her own office, Tesla, and platinum corporate card to start planning the entire event.

Everything was going fine . There were acrobats doing flying yoga in the sky, a fortune teller she hired at the last minute that everyone loved. Music was playing, people were dancing without a care in the world, and everyone was having a good fucking time. She even snagged her bitchy boss a date with her hot neighbor, and her Painted Lady costume was designed by Vera Wang herself. By the end of the night, her brain was scrambled from the paperwork and yelling and pen marks all on her hand. Yet, with her luck, she still managed to kiss the cute guy who asked her to dance.

Well, at least she knew he felt and smelled like a cute guy, considering half his face was covered by a mask.

He was a bumbling thing, managing to stomp on her feet a few times even when she reassures him at the end of the day. Despite being all broad shoulders and muscles, he seemed to shrink in on himself at that moment. “I’m really, really bad at dancing.” She gave him a weird look and Zuko had to remember that he had stolen a backup dancer named Lee’s gig for the night to sneak into the event.

Katara rolls her eyes. Dancing, much like nearly everything else, always came easy to her. “So what if you gave a girl a black eye and another guy a concussion?” Her laugh is so pretty and her waist between his warm fingers just felt right.

He lets himself laugh, too. Wrapped up in the girl’s spell. Forgetting any thought of trying to win over the White Lotus CEO.

She leaned in first, and he was more than happy to reciprocate. Zuko didn’t have time for impulsive decisions, not when the universe was actively always trying to kill him. For some reason, he couldn’t help but be drawn in. Her soft lips against his felt like a plush dream, and all he didn’t want to wake up to reality. Not when in that moment, there were sparks and blood rushing to his head and soft skin peeking out of her expensive dress he wanted to discover more of.

One minute, Katara was throwing back a margarita in case she had dumb bitch breath that caused her mystery man ran off. The next, she was choking to death, only spitting out the olive on Suki’s face after Toph delivers a quick punch to her sternum, right between the titties.

“Eenie meenie miney mo, catch a stupid whore by her throat!”

“Stop choking me, June!”

“No!” June screeches. How was Katara supposed to know she accidentally set her boss up with the ‘ King Kuei ’? The FBI’s most wanted illegal animal trader by day, male prostitute by night? And who knew that would land her a night in jail?

“The universe is a stupid fucking whore!” Katara sniffs, still trying to detangle the chunk of hair embedded deep into Suki’s blow dryer. Katara managed to not only break a mirror with the blow dryer in her mere ten minutes in Suki and Toph’s place, but also rip out a section of her hair after throwing said blow dryer in their bathtub which promptly caught on fire. The icing on the dog shit cake of the day was when she managed to cause the building’s power to short circuit, shutting off everyone’s lights.

The universe, for the first time in his life, was finally on Zuko’s side.

For as long as Zuko could remember, rain clouds suddenly appeared when he walked outside, even despite what Alexa told him earlier that morning.

“Alexa, what’s the weather like today?”

“Completely sunny with a chance of naive bitch,” the smart speaker might as well have said.

Zuko was sure of four things in life.

Adderall and 7 up were never a good combination

Alexa was always watching for an opportunity to strike fear in his heart

He could never catch a fucking break

Having a waterpark poncho always on hand never hurt

He heard from his Uncle Iroh his family was perpetually cursed. Something about a fame-hungry witch with the last name Kardashian in the past life, and one of his relatives eating said witch’s ass that inflicted the present day curse on his family.

Everyone he knew was impossibly clumsy. Random flooding accidents, cars always running into you, bugs trying to get their fuck on in your ear. It was like the universe said yeet! On their good fortune.

What does he wish for every year on his birthday? For it to be easy just to be him . To be easily liked, like Adele, or Dippin Dots. He wished life could be easy enough for him to take a shit without the toilet bowl accidentally caving in, or a lightbulb somehow always falling on his good eye.

Zuko had always been relatively clumsy, worse than what Iroh’s seen before. After so many years of being shit-out-of-luck, and having literal shit on you at all times, he was used to being alone.

It stopped stinging a few years ago. Besides, he had his half-sister Kiyi to keep him company these days.

Nobody wanted to be around the guy who constantly smells like dog shit because he always manages to find a shit covered dollar bill flowing down the street. No one wanted to be associated with the guy who, without fail, splits his pants open every time he bends down. Saddling him with yet another public indecency charge.

Like clockwork, at least two times a week, he was getting his face shoved into the concrete and handcuffs slapped on him. He started investing in a mouth guard about five years ago.

It was like a safety hazard, just being him. There were so many times you could get struck by lightning before you were banned by the nation from buying umbrellas.

Predictably, he has been rejected from every job he applied to. His laptop has been hacked by so many Hentai porn bots he doesn’t even bother upgrading his Dell from 2013. He even started a conversation with the guy monitoring his keystrokes. Landlords chucked his application out the window before he could even give them his soul and a deposit, and while the doctors didn’t think he’d do it, he found out that yes you can survive being hit after someone throws a piano out their window while you leave the leasing office.

Sure, he came to the city with dreams of making it big, loving music since his mom taught him the difference between a treble and bass clef. But when he’s always accidentally setting his tsungi horn on fire? Breaking his nose open trying to put resin on his violin’s bow? Somehow getting a reed stuck in his throat and his sphincter (on the same day)? No chance in hell was anyone willing to risk their lives to let him play anything on stage.

So he stuck to writing and producing, watching YouTube tutorial after tutorial to learn mixing, because he thinks it’s safer for everyone involved.

“Zuko, someone tried shoving Nutella up their ass and shat it back over the bathroom.” He looks up from his laptop to see a plunger too close for comfort near his face.

“Why?”

“Some weird sex thing! I don’t fucking know.” Jet points to the elderly couple nearby. “You ask them why!”

Zuko takes a deep breath in. “No, I’m asking ‘why?’ because my shift doesn’t start for another two hours.”

He was a janitor at the bowling alley across the street (it was the only place that would hire him, but he thinks they felt bad for him after he ugly cried and ate out their supply of shitty, frozen curly fries).

“You know I love you, Zuko! But these!” Jet cups Zuko’s chest with two, oddly gentle, hands. “Make our alley’s world go round.” He even gives them a squeeze for emphasis.

“Let go of my man titties,” Zuko glares at Jet. “ Now .”

“You’re the breast.”

Zuko’s eye twitches.

It wasn’t all bad. After all, the alley does let him make music in his free time, and the girl group he was “managing” can perform their sets on Fridays.

“We’re firing you!” Mai pokes at his chest and has him readjusting his glasses from the force.

It was a Monday and his week was starting off better than most. He was scraping green colored poop from the walls and was already being threatened at 9 a.m. without any weapons in sight.

“You don’t pay me!” He points out, which only seems to get everyone in the room angrier. His sister and her friends formed Shooters 4 Rihanna when they were pre-teens. They wanted to be a group trying to make it big in the pop scene, and quickly signed to a record label together. The girls were promised all their years of childhood training would pay off when they would debut as young adults. That was, until their CEO was broadcast on TLC’s My Strange Addiction for his habit of collecting Mark Ruffalo’s nose hairs, and confessed to killing someone for it.

Investors weren’t too happy.

While all the girls could see was repressed childhood trauma, Zuko saw that and potential star power.

Every single member already had years of dancing and singing lessons under their belt. They could play their own instruments, write their own songs, and had the stage presence. A few Twitter DMs later (from his multiple accounts, because they thought his profile picture made him look like a fucking creep and blocked him years ago) they were dumb enough to trust him with their future. He’d been trying to get them signed for months to no avail. Somehow fucking up, or electrocuting himself in the process of showing an executive their new single.

“This was a mistake!” Jin shoveled the curly fries in her face.

While Yue was always one to stay positive, her sad ‘ I miss pickled fish ,’ had the rest of the girls wanting to leave, too. Going back home, just give up seemed sensible. Why waste your prime years on a pipe dream?

He stopped them, plunger in hand. Against all logic, and partially because they could smell the desperation, the girls gave him one week .

One masquerade party later, he managed to throw Piandao out of harm’s way, taking the brunt of the taxi running into him.

“ Are you fucking stupid !” The CEO screams. The boy had blood flowing from his scalp, but looked as alive as ever handing over Shooters 4 Rihanna’s demo CD.

“A little.” Zuko admits. He could feel his bones still intact, and judging by the blood it wasn’t anything serious. Piandao gives him a call the next day after listening to the tape.

By some miracle, or Kardashian curse lifting, the girl group and him were shuffled into the city’s upscale penthouses, and their debut single was slated to be released on the radio the next day.

While he headed for lunch at a nearby cafe (one he couldn’t afford to eat at just last week) he can’t help but notice her .

“Ma’am, I have already told you our restaurant’s motto! No eat, no shit!” The waiter glares down at her. “Either pay up or get out, broke bitch.”

Katara was caked head to toe in mud, tissues shoved yet again up her nose. Haru had invited her out to his dad’s art show the night before. After insulting the literal piece of shit art, she tripped over the clump of clay on display and landed face-first in his million dollar creation.

Of course, it would land her in prison, and of course Ty Lee would be there, too. “Move bitch, I’m gay! ” When Katara was too exhausted to budge, the girl, yet again, socked the shit out of her.

Katara just wanted a plate of steaming breakfast foods, but of course all her cards declined. And of course, she has a meltdown because she was fucking tired, hungry, and was about to throw hands.

She grabbed the salt shaker. “Look, I’m just going to try one thing before I go!”

“It’s the bath salts,” she hears one woman whisper. “Those fashion bitches are always on bath salts.”

“Just smile politely. We’re witnessing mental illness.”

She didn’t expect that throwing salt over her shoulder would land in the waiter’s eye, or cause him to collapse on the table of Mormons nearby. Or something to catch on fire, or someone to get stabbed with a fork with a pancake on it.

She certainly didn’t expect a (cute) stranger to be so gentle with her, helping her escape the madness and handing over his turkey on rye. Or him following her as she tried to save face and sit on a random bench away from any nearby birds’ tiny assholes.

“You look sad.” He’s not mocking in the slightest.

“What does that even mean?” She went from sad to affronted in just a second.

“What’s wrong?” Fuck this guy and those eyes that were so damn enchanting .

“I don’t look sad.” She says with the roll of her eyes. “I am fucking sad.” She was blackballed from every newspaper in the Four Nations, the prince she was talking to did indeed end up stealing her savings, and on top of all of that, her undereye concealer was creasing.

“You!” Katara points her finger in the fortuneteller’s face.

“Me?” Aunt Wu looks beyond irritated. “Look, I can’t predict when you’ll get a fat ass, just buy a resistance band and leave me—”

“You’re the one who told me whatever Wheel of Fortune would spin back on me! And Alex Tribek would take away my good luck or something!” Katara was crazed and running on two hours of sleep, but she had a bone to pick. “My perfect life is gone.”

“Wow, that was a lot to unpack.” Aunt Wu locks her shop’s door. “Look, can you think of anything strange that happened that night?”

“Besides someone telling me to make them toilet wine in prison, no I don’t think so!” Katara grunts out petulantly.

Aunt Wu smacks her with a stack of tarot cards. “No! Jesus! What else happened?”

“Can’t you just tell me? Childhood trauma has really fucked with my memory.”

“You kissed someone, didn’t you?” The fortuneteller scurries to her Kia Soul before Katara could retaliate. “Maybe he needed that luck more than you do!”

She tried kissing every single dancer that was working that stupid party, and came up with nothing but mono and the feeling of defeat.

“Did you know, I even fucking sharted myself today!” She smacks her forehead repeatedly. “At twenty-fucking-three! How fucking embarrassing . All I could do is run to the H&M with my cheeks out to buy a pair of sweatpants.”

“I know a job looking for someone,” he says and even when he’s staring at her with nothing but understanding, she’s still apprehensive.

“Don’t care, didn’t ask, plus you’re a colonizer.” If she had any energy she would’ve put more force into the shove. “Why are you even helping me?”

She looked like shit on a dick and he was just smiling at her. “Let’s say, I just know what it’s like to be SOL.”

“What’s the catch?” She stares at him down and pouts. He’s wearing an Armani shirt with an Off-White belt, which was already offending her senses, but on top of that he dared pair the atrocity with a pair of knock-off Converse. He couldn’t have sprung for a real pair, he just had to get the off-brand from Costco that made everyone’s ankles look like cankles.

New money . “I am not letting anyone suck my toes for money, again. Try a different girl.”

Zuko grows positively red, but at least it brings the ghost of a smile to her face. “No toe sucking. Only on Wednesdays.”

She delivers a well-aimed kick to his crotch. While she’d expect him heaving and puffing, he’s unphased. He’d put on his MMA fighter grade, groin protector out of habit, even though he’s getting kicked a lot less in the ball bags lately.

“So, you’re trying to convert me to Scientology?” Katara scoffs. “I’ll pass, Asian Tom Cruise.”

“Not that either.” He sees the defeated look in her eyes, the same one he’s seen in himself. There’s a spark there, though. A willingness to just keep going. Something he lost years ago. “Trust me.”

“No.”

“All good.” He shrugs. “Can I at least help you up?” Before she could bite back, she turned to the spot on the bench where he was pointing.

Wet paint.

He’s taking her mustard covered hands (the sandwich exploded in the foil) in his soft ones without question, and peeling her off the bench.

“Of fucking course,” she huffs.

She thinks he knows. He knows the fact that she wants him sticking around. Even with her adamant protests against it, he’s persistent.

Stopping by after long days at the studio to her shit job, handful of first aid supplies at the ready.

He’s just always there .

He’s there when she’s scraping gum from under the alley’s tables and almost swallows one that had “Live, Laugh, Love” carved into it. He quickly stops her from choking, practically an expert at the heimlich with how many times he’s almost died from drinking boba.

There when she electrocutes herself changing the alley’s light bulbs to catch her as she falls straight off the ladder. He’s not even phased, pushing a fried piece of hair sticking up the heavens and staring at her as though she squirted cupcake frosting from her nipples.

He’s there with his first-aid messenger bag, all duct taped and falling apart and it makes her want to say sorry to Alexander Wang for daring to wear it with his Spring 2019 boots after Zuko forces her to carry it around. But then he’s pulling out a tube of toothpaste from the bag while she’s cooling her burnt fingertips on a 10 year old Yerba Mate can, and she’s reminded why he’s so firm about it.

“Earth Nation trick to heal burnt skin.” He’s too concentrated on rubbing the paste into her flaming skin to notice her staring. She remembers that he included her favorite Fenty gloss in the bag after handing it off to her, and blushes.

“I don’t need your help, you know.” Katara was always the one fighting for her own dreams. She didn’t want to stick back living the life other people imagined for her. Even all the luck in the world couldn’t help her escape a sleepy town or an unsupportive family.

When they came to the city, she knew her friends let her take care of them on purpose. It was second nature, what she grew up on. She’d always been the one looking out for everyone, even if they didn’t ask, and they let her do it because they all needed a coping mechanism. Toph’s is cake cutting videos, Suki’s is practicing her crying face because she always wanted to be a pretty crier, and Katara’s is being overbearing.

She was confused. As many times as she tried drilling through his thick head that her grandma was a nurse, that she could easily wrap up every cut, bruise, and swollen toe, he never budged. For the first time in a while, someone was there, stubbornly making sure she was okay.

“I know?” He says it as though it was obvious. “I’ll make you a deal, though. Just let me help you out, just this one time?” He gently taps her fingers wrapped in Minion bandaids he got her just because he knew she hated them in public, loved them in private. “I won’t do it again.”

He’s teasing and it’s obvious he knows she’s putty in his hands. Though, his newfound look (she helped with) balancing boy-next-door with heartthrob is not working on her heart. Her pussy, sure. Not her heart, though. She swears.

“That’s what you said last time,” Katara protests, without any energy behind it.

He sends her a lopsided smile. “I know.”

Zuko wasn’t about to let any hair on her pretty head get hurt.

While Kiyi already had enough of a bad case of bad luck, considering all the Power Ranger figurines she had super glued to her face by fourth grade boys, Katara’s was just something else.

It reminded him of him . Whatever stroke of good luck he had, he knew the universe takes in ten-fold what it might give. So he’s taking advantage of every bit of luck he has for a girl without any.

While he’s been stabbed many a time walking back home at night, somehow he’s in the clear when he escorts Katara back to her apartment. Or the times he buys her Water Tribe take out because she’s still figuring out how that prince managed to spend $10,000 on Swampbender diet pills. Or when he sneaks in before her shift to do some of her tasks for the day (he still has the keys), so he doesn’t have to worry about her bruising her pubic bone with the vacuum, or breaking the ceiling with a slippery bowling ball.

He wasn’t all used to his new life. The designer shoes, the fancy parties, the attention . Girls in the past would look at him as though he wasn’t more than shit at the bottom of their Jimmy Choo, but his good luck brought this newfound female attention that was exhilarating and terrifying all at the same time. Especially when, all he wanted was to catch her eye.

She was his good luck charm and didn’t even know it.

Since he’s met her, everything just was going right . She brought Toph over with her guitar to string together a few verses the day they were in desperate need of new lyrics to go with the beat he’s spent the last few nights cranking out. The day after they released it on Apple Music, the song went #1 on Billboard. Piandao had even booked them to play the Hard Boulder Cafe for their first performance, and tickets were sold out.

Even when things just seemed to get better and better for him, the universe doubled down in its punishment for her.

He’s there when she’s walking back from work, drenched to the bone because she missed all trains for the day, a taxi said her face looked stupid, and she was just tired of it all and wanted to go home and eat processed frozen food and die.

Zuko’s there, though. Without fail.

He’s there with his fucking Tesla and personal driver and Chanel top and she couldn’t be any more embarassed.

“Get in!” He hesitates before approaching. “Also, maybe let’s put down the umbrella?” It was inverted anyways, and looked three seconds from whisking her away into the storm.

“No, I’m good!” Katara insists. She was afraid that falling for Zuko, going to bed and waking up thinking of him was messing with her brain and she didn’t know if she wanted it to stop.

“You could get hit by lightning.”

“That can’t—” She ponders it for a second. “You know what, fuck you.”

He throws his expensive jacket over her to quell the shivers, and when she protests, seeing as it was a Valentino Lacquered Nylon Jacket, he bundles her even deeper in the thing, buttoning it up until she’s complaining from the warmth.

“You’re laughing at me.” She pouts.

He’s covered completely in bubbles. Not her fault he decided to strip off his shirt to throw in the cycle with her wet clothes, and she got distracted by the abs and dumped the whole bottle of laundry detergent in the washing machine.

Zuko shoves her face into a pile of the suds. “I am, yeah.” She looks upset and he stops the mirth growing on his face. Reaching out to her, instead. “Katara, I’m sorry did I—”

She might’ve leaned out to accept his embrace, but then she’s flipping them over, pinning him down to the floor. Her warm, still soaking wet body, pressed against him and her arms coming out to pin his hands to the ground.

He gulps.

“This would be more fun if you let me peg you afterwards.”

Her laugh vibrates her whole body and he couldn’t help joining in, too.

He let her have her pick of his dress shirts, and she looked so much at home. Little strands of her bangs framing her face and growing curly with the addition of water. Her brow furrows when she mentions her leave-in conditioner washing away with the suds, and he takes advantage of the momentary distraction. Flipping her and placing two hands at the sides of her head.

She knows he’s covered in the bubbles, just so she wouldn’t feel anymore of a stupid bitch than she already does. He never seems to mind it, even when Katara was frustrated and just couldn’t figure out why all this was happening to her and dragging him into every single accident.

“What would you say to the universe, right now?” She’s curled up on his couch and he’s massaging the balls of her feet she presses in his lap.

“Welcome to your tape.”

“Katara, no.”

“That bridge off of Fourth Street? Looking really easy to jump off of right about now, universe.”

He lets her take his bed that night after he cooked up his famous komodo chicken and both Kiyi and her complain about having a food-baby.

“Hey, Katara.” He whispers while her eyes could barely open. He tucked her in those blankets all ethnic people have, the super fluffy ones with a tiger on them that are always wrapped in a plastic bag. “You’re cute.”

“Yeah?” She breathes out, crinkling her nose and blinking those long lashes and making his heart skip beats. “Hey, Zuko.”

“Yeah?”

“I think I like you.”

He pinches her cheek. “I think I like you, too.”

He was right. As soon as life blessed him with everything he’s wanted and more, it whisked it away just as fast.

He’d mustered up the courage to invite her to a studio session after everyone in Shooters 4 Rihanna insisted on meeting her. Their songs were getting a little too emotional and they wanted to meet his muse. It was going well, too well. He even catches all the lamps she knocks down. When she rights herself, she manages to knock down the table with their food. Double bagging existed for a reason, just like he warned her! But, of course, the bags holding the takeout she was supposed to surprise him with broke from the bottom. He’d go hungry, that day. But, anything for her, though.

She looked so into the session, asking him if she could play with the buttons, leaning into his chest when he hesitantly surrounds her space. His two lean arms coming out to steady her waist when she trips on herself and sends him a sheepish smile that has him hypnotized.

Katara normally felt lightheaded around him, but she felt absolutely faint as soon as Piandao walked in to finalize the details of the performance, and Zuko started talking about some lucky masquerade ball.

She couldn’t hear much else, body getting up before she even registered it.

Before he could fully get into his chair at the mixing console because just one little note in their new song “Rihanna Impregnate Me” just sounded off, she’s tugging him up.

“Can I kiss you?”

“W—what?” She’s holding him up by the collar of his shirt.

Katara smirks. “I really want to kiss you.”

“I mean, uh, yes! Definitely a ye—”

It’s everything he’s imagined, hoped, prayed for the last few months and more. She’s sweet and soft and tasted like lip gloss and the toothpaste he had stowed away in her bag. When he’s leaning in for more, ready to do things like give her his heart or do her taxes for her because he couldn’t think straight and his heart was guiding him through the motions, she’s gone.

Katara’s gone when Ty Lee somehow gets into, yet another, tax fraud case and can’t make their performance.

She’s gone when he needs her by his side because even though he’s not performing he still manages to feel fucking sick. He wants her holding his unnaturally sweaty palms and telling him it’s going to be okay, just like what she does during his late night writing sessions where she stays up and refuses to sleep until he does.

She’s gone when the band has to answer to an angry crowd, an angry CEO who already sees the articles lambasting the girl group’s unprofessionalism and was ten seconds away from pulling the plug on his dreams.

“Zuko!”

He hates his heart rushes, even when it was about to break because of her, too.

She's gotten her perfect life. She’d gotten the job back, her apartment back, Rihanna even sent her a secret song for fuck’s sake.

She must really love this fucker, because she was giving up a chance to stalk Rihanna so he could be happy.

“Maybe he needed that luck more than you do!” Was running through her head the entire week she avoided him.

“I don’t know what to do, Suki!”

“Why don’t you both fuck leprechauns?” She says between bites of string cheese.

Katara sighs. “Why are yours and Toph’s minds built like that?”

“I heard my mom tried punching her stomach every day, hoping that I wasn’t going to be a result of St. Patrick’s Day sex. That’s why my head’s lopsided.”

He felt nauseous. Not only did 3 of the girls just spew their lunch into whatever container they could get their hands on, of course Azula has gone missing. “Katara not now I—”

She comes to him flushed, extensions stuck to her hand after running too fast and accidentally grabbing someone’s hair. Her feet hurt, her heart hurt, but in this moment she knew. She knew he needed this more than her. He was soft and kind and took people in and cherished the moments with his half-sister because he missed all the ones with Azula. He worked so hard now because he was afraid she hated him, and even when he was on the verge of giving up, he still pushed through. He gave people chances, even when the universe was never as kind to him.

After she presses her lips to his, suddenly Azula presses a button from the underground room she was trapped in, appearing on stage in front of their very eyes. They have the best show the Hard Boulder Cafe’s seen in decades . Their contract is extended, and he opens a bottle of champagne to celebrate without taking his eye out.

He was the luckiest man in the world.

Though, when he turns, he realizes.

His girl’s missing.

“Katara!” She tried shuffling away, but accidentally slips on a few drug needles someone threw carelessly on the ground.

She’s still nursing the sore spot on her forehead, where the champagne cork hit. “Zuko, please just...go.” She waves him off with a bandaged hand.

“I know you’re going to be stuck here for the next three hours. Because trains never come on time for you no matter what.”

Even in the middle of the nearly dead station, he was right. Every stop flashed to delayed .

“Then you’ll be robbed by someone on the train, and then you might even get spit on by the guy with the imaginary dog who’s afraid of whoever gets too close to it, and then you’ll get an eye infection.”

Katara wipes the snot at her nose. “So?”

“So?” He laughs, tucking his hands in his pockets. “I’ve lived a whole lifetime of bad luck, and I can’t let you do that for me.”

She lets him turn her to face him, lets him gather her up in his arms and hold her like she’s delicate and irreplaceable, and not just a girl with mascara running down her face and her heart stolen by someone she couldn’t love.

“Even in a lifetime of being shit out of luck, I still got the chance to meet you.”

“Zuko, stop.” Katara wipes at her tears. “Our luck will just get switched, and I always figure things out, I always do. But, I just want you to keep this. You put it to better use than I would’ve.”

Zuko shakes his head. “I don’t want it anymore.”

“I said that to my bladder infection, and that didn’t work. What makes you think that will work now?”

“I can live without it.” He smiles. “A few bumps and bruises are the price I’m willing to pay for you in my life.”

She’s blushing, hands coming up to bring his head closer to hers, to see every little detail of him.

“You’re so fucking stupid.” She whispers, millimeters away from his lips.

The grin splits on his face without his permission. “I am, yeah.”

#Zutara #Zuko #Katara #Zutara Week 2020 #Celestial #Day 4 #atla #avatar the last airbender #Zutara Week #Zutara fanfiction

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teacupfulofstarshine · 6 years ago

Text

but for just one day let’s only think about love

(a gift for my darling wife @notveryglittery!!! you mentioned wanting more fluff, and i have delivered! i hope you enjoy it, princess!)

summary: it's the eve of their big day, and roman and patton want everything to be perfect. luckily, they've got their best friends in the world helping make sure everything goes smoothly - and who could ask for better friends? (OR: an absurdly fluffy royality wedding fic written for my lovely wife dani!)

pairings: romantic royality, background romantic analogical

word count: ~5759

(cw: the briefest anxiety in the beginning, tooth-rotting fluff)

read it on ao3!

“Why did I let you talk me into wearing a white tuxedo?!”

Roman drapes himself over Logan’s couch, knocking his best friend’s newspaper out of his hands as he flops into his lap. Logan stares at him, unimpressed.

“I did not talk you into anything. On the contrary, I attempted to tell you that wearing a white tuxedo was a terrible idea.”

“Why didn’t I listen to you?!” “I have been asking myself that question since you met me. However, the reason you gave me for your current misstep was, and I quote.” Logan presses the back of his hand to his forehead and drapes himself against the back of the couch. “I have to wear a white tuxedo!” he gasps, imitating Roman’s voice and mannerisms to a truly creepy degree. “Only a white tuxedo will offset my perfect golden tan and make me appear to glow when the sunlight strikes me just so! And since Patton always calls me his sunbeam, it seems only fitting that I should be truly radiant for our wedding day! Though not as radiant as Patton of course - ah, my lovely fiancé! How have I gone more than six whole seconds without mentioning -”

“Alright, alright, I get it!” Roman grouses, shoving at Logan’s chest to make him stop. Logan sits up, adjusts his tie, and leans over Roman to get his newspaper off the ground. Rather than reading it, however, he folds it neatly.

“What is this really about, Roman?” “I’m regretting my fashion choices, Logan! Obviously, I -”

“Roman, be honest with me. It is not the suit which troubles you, is it?”

Roman sits up, clasping his hands together and leaning forward. He looks at Logan, dark chocolate eyes hidden behind his bangs. “It’s that obvious, huh?”

“Not to the average eye, perhaps. But we have known each other since we were approximately fourteen months old, Roman. There is very little that you can hide from me.”

“Geez, Lo, don’t I have any secrets?” Roman jokes. Logan rests a hand on his knee.

“Of course you do, Roman. But your insecurities, your . . . your fears should not be something that you attempt to hide, from yourself or from me. Please do not misunderstand me - I am not attempting to pry into your life.”

Roman quirks a half-smile. “I know, Lo. I know you’re just worried.”

“Tell me, then. What is troubling you? You . . . you are not getting the proverbial ‘cold feet’ about your impending nuptials, are you?”

“No! No, no, I absolutely don’t regret accepting Pat’s proposal! I - I love him, Logan. I love him so much, he . . .” Roman twists his engagement ring around his finger. “Patton is the best and brightest thing in my life. He genuinely loves everyone and everything so much, and he’s so kind and - and -”

“I understand,” Logan says. “I did not think that was the case, but it was necessary to eliminate it from the realm of -”

“What if it’s fucked up?”

Logan blinks. “I . . . I do not understand. Could you please expand on that statement?”

“I love Patton so much, Logan. You don’t even understand, I - I could live without food, without water, without oxygen, without anything as long as I had Patton with me. He’s so important to me and - and I just - what if something goes wrong tomorrow? What if there’s a hurricane? What if Emile loses his voice? What if someone drops my suit in a vat of grape juice, what if Virgil’s shop catches on fire and Patton’s dress is destroyed, what if Virgil ends up in the hospital, what if Patton doesn’t want to marry me, what if he stands me up at the altar, what if -”

“Roman!” Logan says. He shifts his hand from Roman’s knee to holding Roman’s hands, which have begun to grip painfully at his hair. “You are engaging in cognitive distortions which are sending you into a spiralling panic attack. Look at me, Ro - it will be alright. I am going to count for you.”

Logan’s voice is quiet and measured, breaths even and steady as he counts. He looks at Roman, who does his best to maintain eye contact. “That’s it, Roman. Take deep breaths. We are optimizing your oxygen circulation in an attempt to engage your parasympathetic nervous system. The process of counting out your breaths will -”

“Thanks, nerd,” Roman rasps softly. Logan smiles, squeezing his hands.

“Of course, prep.”

“I’m not - it’s not that I don’t want to marry him, Logan. It’s the exact opposite - I want to marry him so much that I’m terrified by the prospect of the wedding being anything less than perfect.”

“Realistically, nothing can truly be perfect,” Logan says. “Much of what exists in this world is inherently flawed -”

“Thanks, Lo, that makes me feel worlds better.”

“I was not finished. Much of what exists in this world is inherently flawed, and therefore striving for perfection is unrealistic. However, this does not mean that we cannot strive for excellence. I may not be able to guarantee a perfect wedding, but I can guarantee that I will do everything in my power to make sure that it goes as smoothly as possible. You are my best friend, Roman, and I will be here to support you in every capacity that I can.”

Roman laughs, once, before lurching forward and throwing his arms around Logan’s neck. Logan, knowing Roman better than perhaps Roman himself, has already braced himself for impact, catching Roman and holding him. One hand slides up to scratch the curls at the nape of Roman’s neck while the other rubs Roman’s back in broad, firm strokes. These are the motions that have been proven to be the most soothing when Roman gets like this.

“Thank you, Lo,” Roman whispers, and his voice is so choked that if he were speaking to anyone other than Logan, he would be completely unintelligible. “This - I - you - you’re my best friend, you know that, right?”

“Yes, Roman,” Logan teases. “I had assumed that was why you asked me to be your best man.”

Roman makes an indignant squawking noise. “You are my best friend, too, you know.” He feels Roman nuzzle just a little into his neck.

“Love you, Lo.”

“I love you, too, Roman. If it will make you feel better . . . I have made an Excel spreadsheet to deal with potential outcomes.”

Roman pulls away from him, snorting in laughter. “Of course you did.”

“If you do not want it -”

Roman wipes his eyes, giggling. “Don’t be stupid, I know how many hours you must have poured into that. Let’s see it, then.”

Logan can’t help grinning as he picks up his laptop. “It’s color-coded.”

“Of course it is. I’d expect nothing less from you.”

*~*~*~*~*

“Patton, I swear to whatever deity exists out there in the great unending cosmos of the universe, if you stand up from that chair one more time, I am going to yeet my fucking pincushion under your ass.”

Patton, who’d been halfway out of his chair, promptly drops back down into it, giggling nervously. “Sorry, Virge, I just -”

“You’re nervous about this dress because it needs to go well. I know.” Virgil pokes their head out from behind the folding screen where they’re working on Patton’s wedding dress. “You do trust me to know what I’m doing, right?”

“Of course I do, Virgil! There’s a reason we’re partners in Fabricadabra!”

“I still regret letting you name it that.” Virgil ducks back behind the screen, muttering to themself. Patton can only see the vaguest shadowy outline of them moving around the mannequin on which his secret wedding dress rests.

“You’re just as good a seamster as I am, Virge, I trust you to work on all of our orders! It’s just that - that you’ve never hidden something you’ve made from me before.” Patton looks at the floor, wringing his fingers together. “I know you want it to be a surprise and all that, but I get married tomorrow!”

“I know, Pats. I’m not, like, working on the seams or anything! I’m just doing finishing touches! I don’t want you to see it before it’s completely done because I want you to have the experience, tm.”

“Did - did you just say the letters ‘TM’ out loud?” Patton giggles.

“Absolutely I did, it was for the fucking -”

“Language!”

“ - freaking emphasis. This dress is the most gorgeous thing I have ever created in my life. This dress has been labored over - SLAVED over - for months. This dress contains my blood! My sweat! My tears! My -”

“Virgil!”

“Sorry, Pat, but you get my point! This dress is the most important thing I’ve ever created. It’s my best friend’s wedding dress. I want it to be perfect when you see it for the first time. I want you to see it in all its glory - I want you to see it perfect.”

“Virge, honey, you know I’m gonna love it no matter what! It doesn’t have to be a Dior gown, it’s going to be special to me because you made it! My best friend, my partner in business and in crime, my best - human!”

Virgil pokes their head back out, arching a perfectly done eyebrow. “Did you just call me your best human?”

“Well, yeah! I didn’t wanna call you my best man, cause you’re not a man, I -”

“Bold of you to assume I’m human, Patton.”

Patton laughs. “Does ‘best enby’ work, then?”

“You are too much sometimes,” Virgil chuckles, shaking their head as they duck back behind the folding screen. “You can call me whatever your gay little heart desires as long as it’s not ‘maid of honor’, Pat. I’m really not that picky.”

Virgil falls silent for a few more minutes. Their shadow moves more rapidly around the mannequin, and they alternate between muttering to themself and humming to themself. Patton recognizes about half of the songs they’re humming, and tries to sing along where he can.

“Patton, I love you, but you are so far off key you might actually be in another one.” Patton rubs the back of his head in embarrassment, fiddling with the fraying lace hemming his skirt. “Shouldn’t be much longer, just finishing up a little bit on the sleeves and the neckline.”

“How much overtime did you pull to finish this, Virgil? Have you been sleeping properly? Eating enough? Drinking enough water?”

“I have consumed the life liquid, yes.”

“Virgil!”

Virgil’s head pokes out again. Patton squints, leaning forward to see how much makeup is covering the dark circles that normally reside beneath their eyes. “Pat, I’m not gonna lie to you. I’ve pulled a couple all-nighters. But I’ve done my best to avoid them, and I have timers set on my phone to make sure I eat and drink water on a regular basis. I’m practicing self-care.”

“I’m proud of you, kiddo,” Patton says softly.

“I know, Pat. I just hope you’re proud of my work, too.”

“Virgil, whatever this dress looks like, I promise it’s going to be wonderful. You know why?”

“Why?”

“Because you made it for me! And I know how hard you work and how detail-oriented you are and how super good at your job you are! I know you worry a lot about how good your stuff is, but I know it’s amazing!”

“Pat, stop, you’re gonna make me blush too hard for my foundation to cover.” “Why would you wanna cover up your blush, Virge?”

“I have an image to maintain! I am a cold and emotionless void!”

“You’re the cutest little gender-non-conforming void spawn I’ve ever seen!”

Virgil sticks their face out, cheeks and ears a bright rosy pink. “Patton, you are ruining my image right now.” Patton smiles unapologetically. “Come see your damn wedding dress already.”

“Language, kiddo, I - you’re serious?! It’s done, I can come see it now?!”

“Well, it’s as good as I’m gonna get it, so you might as well come look. Plus, I need you to try it on before the wedding to make sure you’re completely happy with it.” Patton almost trips over his own feet in his rush to get out of the chair as Virgil pushes the folding screen aside. All the air in Patton’s lungs leaves it in a single rush of breath.

“Well? You gotta tell me if you like it or not, Patty, I - Patton?” Patton’s eyes are brimming with tears, hands pressed over his mouth as he stares at the dress. The bodice is gold, with flowy, see-through sleeves of thin, delicate lace. There’s intricate needlepoint along the neckline and the waistline, with delicate floral embroidery on the bodice itself. The skirt is full and flowing, a gradation of blues. It’s so light it’s almost white at the waist, flowing into dark midnight blue at the hem, and the train is embroidered with stars and flowers. The layers of the skirt are varying colors of blue and white, and Patton is starstruck.

“You . . . th-this . . . Virgil, I . . . I . . .”

“Do you not like it? It’s too late to make, like, major changes, but I could theoretically change the - whoa!”

Patton throws himself at Virgil, sobbing openly and pressing soft kisses to their hair and cheek. “Oh, Virgil, it’s perfect!”

“You - r-really? You - you don’t think there’s anything wr-wrong with it?”

“The only thing wrong with it is that you think there’s something wrong with it! Virgil, it’s perfect, it’s everything I could ever want in a wedding dress! I couldn’t have done a better job if I’d designed it myself!”

“Yeah, there was no way in hell I was letting you design and make your own wedding dress, Pat. That would just be cruel.”

Patton hugs Virgil’s skinny little frame close to him, shaking with happy tears and soaking the sleeve of their hoodie. “Virgil, I could not have asked for a better wedding dress. Or a better wedding dress designer. I love it so much, I love you so much, I -”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, I love you, too,” Virgil grumbles. They still kiss the top of his head before pushing Patton away. “Come on, Pats, you gotta try on this thing so I can make last minute alterations. With any luck, you’re only gonna get married once, so let’s go!”

*~*~*~*~*

“Where did you learn to tie a tie, the sandbox?”

Roman looks helplessly at Logan, red silk tie tangled around his hands and fingers. “That - Lo, what does that even mean?” Logan laughs, leaning against the doorframe. He’s already dressed in a tailored black suit, dark blue tie knotted snugly beneath his throat, hair neatly slicked back.

“It means that you are attempting to knot your tie with the skill and grace of a five year old in a sandbox. Was that not clear?”

“No, it wasn’t, Lo,” Roman grouses, standing up. Logan takes in his appearance - half-tucked-in shirt, unbuttoned vest, tie loosely slung around his shoulders. “But I appreciate it.”

“Roman, come here. Let me help you, alright? You’re going to look great.”

Roman tucks his shirt in and buttons his vest, letting Logan straighten and smooth his suit before taking the tie in his hands and beginning to tie it. “It still amuses me that you cannot tie one of these properly, Roman.”

“Hey! For all you know, I am the god of tie knots. I just pretend I don’t know what I’m doing so that you’ll keep tying them for me because I know how happy it makes you.” Logan smirks as he knots the tie, carefully adjusting Roman’s collar to make sure it lays flat over his tie.

“I would be inclined to believe you, but I know for a fact that you spent fifteen minutes prior to my arrival here standing in front of the mirror flailing that tie around pretending to be Amethyst.”

“Rude!” Roman screeches.

“Why? I am correct, am I not?”

“You’re right, but you shouldn’t say it!”

“On the contrary,” Logan says, “I am correct, and therefore I absolutely should say it.” He pulls his hands away from Roman’s neck, smoothing the lapels of his tuxedo jacket down neatly. “You may inspect my handiwork now, although I daresay you will find no fault with my knot. And even if you do, I can rest secure in the knowledge that it is infinitely better than anything you could manage.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re the most intelligent being that has ever lived, we get it,” Roman says breathlessly, staring at himself in the mirror. “I . . . th-this is really happening, isn’t it?”

“Yes, Roman. It really is. You are going to marry Patton today, and it is all going to be perfect.”

Roman’s hair is curled, falling neatly around his face in soft waves and ringlets that perfectly frame his eyes. Despite his penchant for dramatics, his makeup today is remarkably subtle. His eyelashes are darker and slightly curled, with minimal glitter on his eyes and cheeks. The boldest thing about his face is his bright red lipstick, perfectly matching his red silk tie.

“You look amazing,” Logan says. “I am proud to stand at your side as your best man.”

“Thanks, Lo,” Roman says, tipping his head back to knock gently against Logan’s shoulder. “But you can’t do that - not yet, anyway.”

“What? Why?”

“Because you’re not wearing any makeup.”

“Roman. There is a lifetime ban on you putting any sort of products on my face. You know this. Need I bring up -”

“Lo, please? I promise I won’t do anything too dramatic, and it’s not that I think you look ugly without it I just think it would complete the look! Please, please let me do this? For my big day?”

He bats his definitely-mascara’d eyelashes, and Logan sighs. “I reserve the right to veto the look if I think it is too ‘out there’, Roman.”

“Oh, thank you thank you thank you! You won’t regret it, I promise!”

Twenty minutes later, Logan is blinking at his reflection in the mirror to clear the phosphenes from Roman furiously blotting foundation against his face. True to his word, Roman has not done anything too dramatic - Logan recognizes minimal contouring on his cheeks, shimmery silver eyeshadow, the barest trace of eyeliner. He looks . . . he looks good.

“Do you like it?” Roman worries. “I can take it off if it’s too much, I -”

“Roman, I - it is - satisfactory,” Logan cuts him off, trying not to sound choked up.

“Damn it, Lo! You’re gonna make me cry with all your compliments, and if my mascara runs I’ll kill you I swear to God.”

“With your penchant for crying at emotional situations, I’m impressed that you think you’re getting through this wedding without wearing waterproof mascara.”

*~*~*~*~*

“Patton, if you don’t stop moving I’m gonna take your eye out with the mascara wand!”

“It’s rude to threaten someone on their wedding day,” Patton giggles. “It’s not a threat!” Virgil snaps. “You’re so damn ticklish and fidgety that I’m gonna end up accidentally stabbing your eye out! And then Roman’s gonna kill me to defend your honor and Logan’s gonna help because he’s been Roman’s friend longer than he’s been my boyfriend and -”

“Virgil! Calm down!” Patton says. He gently takes their hands, careful not to let the mascara smudge on his gloves. “I’m sorry, I’ll sit stiller. More still? I’ll fidget less, I promise.”

“Do you not trust me to make you look good?” Virgil asks, in a small voice.

“Oh, sweetheart, of course I do! Just look at you!” Patton gestures to the beauty-guru level makeup on Virgil’s face, from their silvery-purple-black eyeshadow to their dark purple lipstick to the way their cheekbones shine just a little more than the rest of their face. “You’re the best makeup person I know! But don’t tell Ro I said that, okay?”

“Don’t worry, Pat, I know better than to injure Princey’s precious ego. The last time I did that he pouted around for a whole week until I apologized. Not that I meant it - I was right the first time.”

“Hey, be nice,” Patton warns. Virgil shrugs, quirking a smile.

“Sorry, Pat. I know how much Princey means to you. If it makes you feel better, I don’t hate him like I did when we first met. Him not being a dick about my pronouns helped.”

“I told you he wouldn’t have a problem.”

“I know you did, Pat. Now hold still. Emile’s gonna be here to pick us up at any minute, and you need to be ready.”

Patton lets go of Virgil’s hands and obeys, letting them work their magic on his face. He doesn’t see the point in wearing excessive makeup every day the way Virgil does; he likes having his freckles on full display, and he doesn’t mind showing the occasional acne scar or blemish. But Roman had mentioned wearing makeup on their wedding day, and he hadn’t said that Patton had to but he thinks he would feel weird if Roman had makeup on and he didn’t.

Plus, Virgil really likes doing makeup, and they’ve apparently been planning what they’d do for his wedding for years now. Patton would hate to let all that work go to waste.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be done soon,” Virgil says, gently dabbing at Patton’s face. “If Emile gets here before I’m done, he can just wait.”

“I don’t want to make him wait too long!” Patton argues. “He’s doing us a huge favor by agreeing to officiate the wedding!”

“Please, Pat, you didn’t even have to pay Emi. He just loves weddings. He’s a loser like that.”

“Don’t you like them too, Virge?”

“I will admit that over my dead body, and I am denying any candor in your statements,” Virgil says, smooth and practiced. “Now blink onto my finger, I’m almost done.”

Emile shows up right as Virgil is preparing to put Patton’s lip gloss on. “Virgie! How’s my favorite twin?”

“I am your only twin, Emile, and I hate that nickname,” they grouse.

“Oh, look at you! You look so pretty!” Emile coos. Patton is inclined to agree; Virgil is wearing a silver button-down with a black vest, and a tie the same rich purple as their flowing knee-length skirt. Tall black boots lace up to just beneath their knees, and they have flowers matching the ones in Patton’s bouquet woven into their French-braided hair.

“Thanks, Emi. You look . . . adequate.”

“Oh, Virgil! That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me!” Emile squeals, twirling around to show off the flaring of their pleated pink dress. “You’re doing such a good job with Patton’s face! Did you paint his nails, too?”

“Well, someone had to do it,” Virgil grouses, but based on their tone Patton knows that they’re pleased with their twin’s praises, smiling shyly as they focus on carefully applying his lipgloss. “Pat, smack your lips together, and then you’re just about ready to look in the mirror.”

Patton does as he’s told, looking down at his feet. His toenails are painted a bright, cheerful yellow, and he wiggles his toes where they poke out of his sandals. Virgil’s intricate wedding dress fits him perfectly, and beneath his gloves his fingernails are painted sky blue with swirling red-and-gold designs. Finally, he looks up into the mirror propped on the nearby table and sees Virgil’s makeup.

“Oh, Virgil,” he whispers, putting his glasses on and seeing his face in sharp, striking clarity. “I don’t care what you said about the dress, I’m paying you extra for this.”

“Pat, you don’t have to -”

“It’s happening, Virgil, whether you like it or not,” Patton sniffles, and then he’s hugging Virgil tightly.

“Hey - careful, Pat, your makeup hasn’t set yet! And you’re gonna wrinkle our clothes, and -”

“Shut up and take my love, Virgil.”

“Y-yeah, okay . . .”

It takes Emile another seven minutes to shepherd them out the door and into the car, but Patton catches the secret proud smile gleaming on Virgil’s face as they help him get his train into the car.

*~*~*~*~*

The church where they’re getting married is small. The wooden beams bracing the ceiling arc like the beams in the hull of a ship; when they’d first inspected the venue, Logan had gone on some sort of tangent about the historical and symbolic significance of the beams. Roman hadn’t bothered listening, too busy whispering and giggling with Patton and looking at all of the mosaics and stained glass and gilded paintings.

Now, standing at the altar, Emile at his side and Logan at his back, he tilts his head up, up, up to look at the ceiling. Dimly, he remembers Logan’s voice saying, “It is meant to represent the hull of the ark, the ship that supposedly carried two of every animal to safety during the Great Flood of the Christian mythos. The thought in designing the church to mimic this boat is that it will carry the members of its congregation safely to heaven.”

Privately, Roman hopes that this marriage will carry his and Patton’s relationship through the rest of their lives. He knows the divorce rate in America, he knows how likely it is that the average marriage won’t work out. But he refuses to let himself go down that road. He loves Patton, and Patton loves him. They’ve discussed their future a million and one times - he knows how committed he is to making this work. This is going to be the start of the rest of their lives.

His cousin Thomas is up in the choir loft, gently cracking his fingers and running them lightly over the gleaming keys of the organ. Roman can see Virgil waiting in the first pew, gazes out across the sea of faces belonging to his and Patton’s friends and families. Thomas looks down at him from the choir loft and cocks his head to the side, asking if it’s time. Roman looks down the aisle and sees two silhouettes waiting behind the opaque glass doors, glances up to Thomas, and nods. Thomas begins to play, letting a few instrumental bars pass by before he starts singing, voice rich and strong.

The door opens, and Roman loses all the breath in his lungs in one swift, silent rush.

Patton walks down the aisle slowly, timing his footfalls perfectly with the beats of the song. There’s a shimmery veil over his face, held in place by a glimmering silver tiara with sparkling gemstone flowers. Roman hasn’t even seen his face yet, and already he knows Patton is gorgeous.

The dress is stunning; he can see Virgil beaming, and he makes a mental note to slip a hundred dollars into their pocket before the night is over. He knows exactly how hard they’ve been working on this secret project, and how long they’ve been working on it, too. He’s seen Virgil’s handiwork, of course, wears their neat, precise stitches in a lot of his clothing. But that’s mostly minor tweaks - hemming pants here, fixing a torn sleeve there. This is the first time he’s seen one of Virgil’s original creations.

If this dress doesn’t get them catapulted to center stage of New York fashion week, Roman is going to sue the entire fashion industry.

The top is all delicate lace and intricate embroidery, clever flower patterns and flowy sleeves. But it’s the lower half that’s drawing gasps and exclamations from the wedding guests. There’s a pure white ribbon wrapped around Patton’s waist, tied neatly in a bow behind him. The skirt starts off pure white, but as it descends it becomes pale blue, growing deeper and darker and fuller and richer as it heads toward the floor. The train is a midnight blue, so dark it’s almost black, with shimmering stars and flowers sewn in. It’s only because Roman knows Patton asked for one that he knows what he’s looking for, but he finds it quickly - the train is detachable. Patton hadn’t wanted to change into a separate outfit for the reception, but he couldn’t very well dance with a full train behind him.

Virgil really is the cleverest designer that Roman’s ever met.

Patton reaches the altar right as the song crescendos to its climax, and Virgil carefully slips up to stand behind him. His beloved’s face is obscured by the veil, but Roman can tell that Patton’s wearing makeup. Virgil probably did that, too.

Roman owes them so much money.

“Dearly beloved,” Emile starts, practically bouncing in place, “do you how do?” His characteristic greeting draws confused murmurs and whispers from the gathered crowd. Roman can hear Virgil’s palm smack against their face without even looking at them.

The ceremony flies by like lightning, but it feels like forever until Emile is stepping back and they’re putting the rings on each other’s hands, saying their vows. Roman pulls Patton’s glove off, smiling softly to himself when he sees the designs on his nails. He takes the ring Logan offers him and carefully slides it onto Patton’s ring finger.

“Patton,” he says. “I - I wrote this whole big speech, and I even had Logan proofread it for me to make sure it was grammatically correct, but . . . but standing here now, looking you in the eyes - well, as best as I can, anyway -” Patton laughs softly, and some of Roman’s nerves dissipate.

“I agonized over the right way to do these vows for so long, and now that we’re here, now that we’re doing this I - I don’t think it matters as much. I’ll let you read the sappy speech later, but - but right now, all that matters is that we’re here, that we’re together. I love you, Patton, and I don’t care who knows it, but I also really want everyone here to know it.”

More laughter, from everyone else this time. “You are the sun in my sky, the light of my life, the reason I want to keep being the best version of myself. I don’t know if I believe in the concept of people who are fated to be together, but if I did, I know for a fact that I would be fated to be with you. And even if I wasn’t, I would choose to be with you. I - I would always choose you.”

Patton squeezes his hand, and then he’s taking a ring from Virgil’s hands and carefully sliding it onto Roman’s finger. “Roman, my sunbeam, the day that I met you used to be the best day of my life. Whenever I was feeling sad or alone, I would think back to that day and I would remember that you were out there, somewhere, even if you weren’t with me at that exact second. And I would think about the light in your eyes when you look at me, and the way you smile right before you kiss me, and the way you take those few extra seconds to make sure our fingers are perfectly laced together. Those memories always made me feel warm and happy, like I was standing in the summer sunshine. But that’s not the best day of my life anymore.”

Roman blinks in confusion, but Patton keeps talking. “The best day of my life will always be this day, when I look you in the eyes. And I’ll choose you, and you’ll choose me, and we’ll keep choosing each other for the rest of our lives. Sorry I kinda stole the last bit of your vows, honey, but what can I say? You’ve always been the creative one between us.”

There are mixed smatterings of laughter echoing in Roman’s ears, but all he can focus on is the fire in his cheeks and ears and the water in his eyes. “Pat, my makeup is gonna run,” he whispers.

“Logan didn’t make you wear waterproof mascara?” Patton asks, but Roman can tell he’s smirking beneath the veil. “Virgil made me.”

“I told him to,” Logan whispers. Roman considers kicking him, but he gets distracted by Emile’s voice. The ceremony continues on, with Roman and Patton holding each other’s hands tightly. Roman tilts their hands slightly, marvelling at the way the multicolored sunlight streaming through the stained glass glints off their wedding bands.

“You may lift the veil now,” Emile says gently. Roman squeezes Patton’s hands once before letting go and tenderly taking the lacy edges of the veil. He rubs the soft material between his thumb and index finger before carefully lifting the veil and flipping it over Patton’s head to reveal his face.

If he still had breath in his lungs, Patton’s face would steal it from him. His cheeks are glowing and rosy, and his eyes are perfectly framed with dark lashes and subtle eyeliner that brings out his irises. He has golden-red eyeshadow artfully painted on his upper lids, and his lips are a beautiful soft shiny pink. His mouth is slightly open, and Roman just wants to lean in and press kisses against it over and over and over again.

“By the power vested in me by the state of Pennsylvania, I now declare you husband and husband! You may now kiss the groom!”

Roman gently cups Patton’s face, careful not to smudge or smear Virgil’s beautiful makeup job. He gently swipes his thumbs over Patton’s cheeks, right beneath eyes that shimmer with tears. “Hello, husband,” he murmurs, leaning down to brush their noses together. Patton pushes himself up on his tip-toes and presses their mouths together, cupping Roman’s face in return. On one cheek, he feels the softness of Patton’s glove, and on the other he feels the cool metal of Patton’s wedding ring.

His arms slide down to wrap around Patton’s waist and brace his back as he dips him, keeping their lips pressed together as wedding bells begin to ring and the congregation erupts into thunderous applause. He’s kissed Patton a hundred, a thousand, a million times, but this is the first time he’s kissed his husband, and the searing fire in his lips and butterflies in his stomach are fresh as the very first time he’d ever kissed Patton.

Somehow, he prefers this kiss to the time Logan had slapped him a high-five while they kissed.

(Later, at the wedding reception, Patton turns his back to the crowd and throws his bouquet of flowers. When he and Roman turn around, Virgil is holding the bouquet, and Logan is fidgeting awkwardly.

“Would now be an inopportune time to propose?” he asks.

“YES, because this is MY WEDDING DAY!” Roman screeches, even as Virgil shakes their head and furiously pulls Logan in for a kiss.)

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#starshinewrites #royality #analogical #nonbinary virgil #notveryglittery #wife squad!#platonic moxiety #platonic logince #wedding fluff

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she-is-tim · 6 years ago

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Neighbours pt 2

Lucas is a young, exhausted musician who just tries to relax, while Eliott is the overexcited, dubstep loving artist who lives next door.

Aka Lucas confronts his annoying neighbour who turns out to be gorgeous

WARNING slight angst is incoming!

Previous chapter here

Sunday 9:35

Eliott was struggling in bed, he already kicked the blanket off of himself hours ago. It wasn’t the usual struggling though, he just couldn’t sleep much since his adorable and kind neighbour spent hours at his place yesterday. His couch still had some of his sweet smell on it, that nearly drove him crazy. He grabbed his phone and looked through instagram just to forget about it for now.

He scrolled through some nice and funny posts when something came to his mind, he decided to search for Lucas on there. Not like he wanted to stalk him, but he was really curious. It took him a while to find the profile, but there was him. Lucas der Deutscher. Eliott chuckled and looked through his posts, being really careful not to like any of them. There were some silly pictures of Lucas, pics of nice food, snacks, a theatre, but there was a lot of picture with this guy. He was tall, black, handsome, wearing a leather jacket. Basically every third post was about him which really bothered Eliott. He threw his phone on the pillows and sighed.

An hour later he crawled out of the bed, walking to the bathroom. He brushed his teeth, washed his face and decided to shave too. He looked horrible, the bags under his eyes started to make him look like his spirit animal.

After he was done, he put on some clothes, light grey jeans and a black shirt with an unzipped hoodie. He wasn’t really fan of flashy, colorful clothing, he liked his dark shirts and jackets. It was fitting his personality.

He walked to the living room, looking at the couch. He remembered how beautiful Lucas looked as he sat there, smoking with him, telling silly stories. His heart was beating faster as he looked at the wall, the barricade that separated him from that gorgeous being. He wanted to just grab a sledgehammer and destroy it, so he could see Lucas everyday. He shook his head. Stop it!

Lucas woke up early, making coffee and a light breakfast for himself. He was sitting in the kitchen, his laptop in front of him, watching a show on Netflix as he ate. His mornings were usually like this, but now he barely could concentrate on what was going on on the screen. His thoughts were circling around Eliott since last night. The way he smiled, the way he blew a smoke ring like it was an ordinary thing to do. Everything about him was so thrilling, exciting for Lucas. He hasn’t really been in a relationship since he realized that he’s gay. He had two girlfriends before Sara and Chloé. Both of them were clingy and Lucas was just scared to accept his sexuality, so he went with the moment. Thank god he managed to escape that web of lies.

His phone started buzzing, so he paused the show, he didn’t even realize that it was still going and checked his phone. It was a text from Yann, his best friend. Lucas smiled.

From Yann: Morning dude! How’s it going?

To Yann: G’morning! I have shit to tell, wanna have a video chat?

From Yann: Give me 10 minutes

To Yann: You got it!

He finished his breakfast, drank his coffee and put the plate and mug in the sink, he will wash them later. He then sat back to the table, waiting for Yann’s call. It took him a bit more than 10 minutes, but finally he recieved a video call which he immediately answered. His best friend smiled at him brightly, tho he still looked a bit sleepy, he must have just wake up. Lucas was really grateful to have a friend like him.

“Hey there! What’s up, Lulu?” Yann asked with his usual enthusiasm. He was always caring and kind with Lucas, except when they were teasing each other.

“I’m doing okay, I have some news.” he said with a big smile. He had to tell somebody about Eliott, because otherwise he would convince himself that it was just a dream, nothing else.

“I’m all ears.”

“I met a really hot guy yesterday. But like really, really hot.” he started. “He is tall, handsome, an artist and he has the most beautiful smile.” he said excitedly.

“Where did you meet him? At the coffee shop?” he asked curiously. Lucas used to talk about hot guys that came and go at his workplace from time to time.

“No, dude, listen. He is my fucking neighbour!” he said seriously. Yann was surprised, he didn’t remember ever seeing Lucas’ neighbour, while he was basically visiting his friend every week at least once.

“Your neighbour? I thought your neighbour is some kind of sick old lady who never leaves the building.” he said surprised.

“And I thought it’s some stupid punk asshole.” he shrugged. “I tried to play the piano yesterday when he started to blast dubstep so loud my head started to hurt from it. So I went out, banging on his door, ready to yell at his stupid face, then I just couldn’t talk. He was so fucking gorgeous.” he explained, shivering a little as he remembered how it struck him seeing Eliott for the first time.

Yann chuckled and leaned closer to the camera. “Is my Lulu having a crush?” he asked a bit teasingly. Lucas blushed now and looked away. “Yes, he does! Lulu has a crush! Lulu has a cruuuush!” Yann was basically singing on the other side of the call.

“Stop it, I don’t have a crush.” he said, but he could hear how that wasn’t true. He sighed and leant back on his chair. “Maybe I have a crush on him.” he admitted.

“Okay, so is there any plan? I mean you wanna ask him out? Is he into guys too?” he asked, honestly being interested in his best friends now existing love life.

“I don’t know... I mean, he invited me into his place.” he mumbled and then told Yann shortly what happened yesterday. His friend listened carefully, sometimes nodding or making a noise to let him know he’s still listening. “So yeah, he’s coming over today.” he finished it, looking at Yann now.

“Woah, that’s a lot to process, bro.” he said honestly. “But if you ask me, I think you should go with it. I mean he clearly seems to be into you and not just wanna be friends. And I am sure he will fall for you hard after you play the piano.” he added with a wide smirk, Lucas felt relieved and smiled back.

“What would I do without you?”

“Probably sleep under a bridge somewhere in Paris.” he smirked. “But I got your back, bro. Just let me now how the date went, okay?”

“It’s not a date.” he mumbled.

“Of course it’s a date. See ya later.” he said giggling and ended the call.

Lucas spent the rest of his morning cleaning and making sure Eliott won’t feel like he’s coming to a messed up musicians place. He picked up the music sheets from the floor, put away the laundry, organized his books on the shelf at least three times. He was super nervous, he couldn’t even eat lunch, so he was just standing in front of his opened wardrobe, trying to find the perfect outfit. He usually wore sweatpants and a loose shirt, but he had to impress his visitor. Yesterday was so sudden he didn’t even think of that Eliott saw his stupid grey sweatpants that had black violin keys all over it. So embarrassing.

He decided to put on nice, sky blue jeans and a dark red shirt. He tried to fix his hair to not look like he just got out of bed. It was almost 13:00 and he just got more nervous by each minute, looking at the clock on the living room wall as he walked around his coffee table. Sometimes he glanced at his piano too, then his couch that was just behind his instrument. Eliott is going to sit there, watching him play the piano. He suddenly remembered that his guest might wanna smoke, so he looked for an old ashtray he had only because Arthur and Basile used to some at his place when they had a gathering here. He put it on the coffee table and looked at the door now. He can come at any second.

Sunday 12:34

Eliott was circling around in his living room, holding a joint in his hands. He couldn’t stop thinking about Lucas and that he’s about to see him in a few minutes. He felt anxious, he couldn’t breathe properly which wasn’t a good sign. Probably the lack of sleep, the booze and weed from yesterday didn’t help him to feel better today. He sat down on the couch, leaning back, trying to normalize his breathing just as his therapist taught him. He put the joint behind his ear and grabbed his phone.

His hands were shaking so badly, he needed a few tries to type and send a message. He couldn’t let Lucas see him in this condition, what would he think of him? That couldn’t happen. It broke his heart that he can’t watch him play the piano.

To Lucille: I need you. Come over, please.

He threw the phone away, because he hated the fact, that he had to contact her again. It was inevitable, she was the only one who could handle his anxiety attacks and his depression. He needed her, even though he wanted someone else. He could never want Lucas to see this side of him, this weak, vulnerable Eliott who was wheezing on his couch, grabbing his shirt like it helps him not to fall into the pit of darkness.

“C’mon, Lucille.” he mumbled into the silence of his living room.

Sunday 13:25

Lucas was a bit worried, Eliott seemed excited yesterday to come over, but he wasn’t showing up. He decided to go and check on him, just to see if he’s okay. His chest hurt because he was truly worried about the tall boy. He exited his apartment and in that exact moment he saw a beautiful, brunette girl standing on the hallway, giving a kiss to Eliott before walking into his apartment with him.

Lucas felt betrayed and heartbroken, even though he only spent a couple hours with his neighbour, he felt like they had something, some connection that was special. But he was wrong. Eliott never really wanted anything from him, he was just a flirty person in general. Lucas felt so stupid, he should never had such high expectations from this, life has never been kind to him when it came to love. He was destined to be single.

He sat down to the piano, taking a deep breath. He started to play Debussy’s Claire de lune. He let the soft music to fill his living room, gently moving his torso to the tunes, closing his eyes as he played. He wanted to forget Eliott, forget the world and just live for the music that was always his way to escape reality. Life sucks.

#Skam France #Fanfiction #Lucas Lallemant #Eliott Demaury #AU #Elu #Eliott x Lucas #Elu Neighbours AU

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probably-writing-x · 6 years ago

Text

High Society (Chapter 2)

~A Tom Holland AU Series~

Tags: @imarypayne @sunshine112 @sleepwalkingdragon @supernatural-girl97 @vibhati123 @butithasntkilledyouyet @faefictions @carisi-sonny @trap-house-homiecide @shamelessbookaddict

Inspiration: It's interesting to see how the other half live, how their perfect lives are pieced together by secret scandals. It's beyond anything you can imagine until you're a part of it. It's High Society. (Based on the Netflix series 'Elite')

Warnings: Mentions of murder, language warning

Notes: Wow! The love for chapter 1 has been insane, thank you so much. If you'd like to be part of the tags or ask any questions about this series, please send them through

~~~Wednesday 30th January 2019~~~

"And were you good friends?" The interviewer asks from across the wooden table. The low lumination of the interview room cast an intimidating shadow across her stern expression. You were thankful she couldn't hear how your heart was racing.

"Well, I'd only been at the school since September. I knew her in school but I don't think I knew her well enough to deem us friends," You admit, hands clasped tightly to stop them shaking, "I think there was a lot that we didn't know about her,"

"So, she had a lot of secrets," The woman confirms, not once breaking her focus on you, "Do you think they would give someone enough motive to kill her?"

"I don't think we can ever be truly sure of a murderers motives unless we're the murderer, Miss," You state, taking a moment to make certain eye contact with the woman opposite you.

"And how can I be sure I'm not talking to that person now?"

~~~Friday 7th September 2018~~~

"Oh come on, you're telling me there's nobody here you think is fit?" Noah groans, flopping down into the chair beside you.

"It's not really at the top of my priorities if I'm honest," You roll your eyes, taking a moment to look up from the book in your hands, "Are you saying it's in yours?"

"Well, I don't know," He shrugs exaggeratively, his eyes diverting to where Sam and Harry were huddled around a laptop. He hoped you hadn't seen him.

"The twins?" You raise a brow, watching him blush slightly.

"Not both of them," He hisses, jabbing you in the side, "And please don't tell anyone, I haven't told anyone here that I'm gay,"

"Well, that's understandable. You've only been here for a week," You point out, pressing the bookmark into your book and pushing it to the side of the desk you shared with Noah.

"I'm not sure I'm going to say anything, like ever," He mumbles, shuffling his chair closer to the table as if he wanted to enclose your conversation.

You don't respond, knowing that it would be better for him if you let him talk about it on his own accord.

"At our old school, that's all everyone labelled me as. That was like my definition. And I had to constantly remind people to keep it quiet from my parents who could be very easy to judge about something like that," He explains, "But, here, I don't have to be that. I can come out on my own terms, and not constantly be awaiting the day when I go home to my parents questioning me about it,"

"If that's what you think will make you happier and more comfortable, then I say go for it," You assure him, "Just, don't feel like you can't be yourself because of that,"

He smiles and squeezes your shoulder in a symbol of compassion, turning back to the desk in front of him.

"Is this what you're using for wider reading?" Lily's voice sounds from in front of you, picking up the worn book from the table and flicking her fingers through the aged pages.

"It's just a book," You grumble, feeling a sting of pain in your heart at the sight of her touch on one of your most prized possessions.

"It's not even a classic," She scoffs, tossing it aside and allowing the marker to fall along the tiled floor. Don't react. Don't react.

She takes her seat near Imogen and Harrison, a spare seat beside her as she awaited Tom's arrival.

He walked in shortly after and you made every effort to stop yourself from looking at him. You even avoided it as he shuffled past your desk, leaning down right in front of you.

"This is yours?" He tilts his head, looking at the childlike bookmark that he'd picked up from the floor.

You take it from his hands and don't manage to hide the furious blush burning up your cheeks, "Thank you,"

"It's endearing, I like it," He smiles, taking a seat beside Lily and already being greeted by her monsoon of affection.

"Alright guys settle down please," Mr Fitz, as you had learnt to call him, sounds from the front of the class, "I have a project for you today, it's going to develop over the course of the next term,"

"God please don't tell me it's a group project," Z groans, dropping her head into her hands.

"And, much to your excitement, you're going to be working mostly alone," Mr Fitz grins, flicking onto the next side of his PowerPoint presentation, "Before you complain, do take note that these grades are going to count towards the points for the Jordan Cup that will be presented to our highest achieving student at the end of this year,"

"The Jordan Cup? What the fuck is that?" Noah laughs, dropping back in his seat so he was now barely even sitting up.

Lily's head snaps around, "It's the most prestigious award you can achieve at this school. Named, quite rightly, after my father because of his extensive donation toward the upkeep of this school,"

"Thank you Lily," Mr Fitz nods, "It is awarded to one of our seniors at the Winter Ball, based on the amount of points accumulated throughout the year so far."

"And how do we get such points?" You question with genuine curiosity.

"It's based on your academic attainment, attendance and extra curriculars," He explains, "Every time you attend a sports session or take a visit to one of our facilities, it is noted and then totalled at the end of the competition."

"And who knows, you might even get a thanks for taking part award," Lily smiles at you with enough of a patronising tone in her voice to make you want to rip those dyed curls from her head.

"Anyway," Mr Fitz attempts to regain control, "The main idea of this project is discovery. I want you to come back at the end of term telling us something about yourself that people don't know. And I want you to tell me something about someone else here that we don't know. You could take part in learning a new skill, understanding your family history or even developing new friendships but I want this to be something about you that makes us see you in a different light,"

"A journey of self discovery, I'm inspired," Harrison announces sarcastically with a faked applause.

"Take it seriously, I'll be placing a heavy amount of thought into where points will be awarded," Mr Fitz warns, "Uncover some secrets,"

Everyone sits in an awkward silence for just a moment, all questioning what on earth they would do for such a silly project idea. They only erupted into chatter when Mr Fitz exited.

"So, (Y/N), what skeletons are in your closet?" Imogen wiggles her brows, all of their eyes focused on you.

"Nothing you'll ever need to know about," You mutter under your breath, trying with every part of you to not feel intimidated by them.

You could hear some muttering from that direction before you watched Tom shove Harrison in the direction of you and Noah.

"I'm having a party at my place tonight and there's an invite for both of you if you want to come," Harrison sighs, clearly not the one to actually want to give this invitation.

"I'll pass," You smile fakely, turning back to the work in front of you. Why did part of you want to go?

~~~Wednesday 30th January 2019~~~

"It seems you became quite a part of their society?" The investigator continues, her pen tapping in an uncomforting rhythm against the table.

"I was nothing like them," You are quick to answer, "But it's easy to get sucked into it when you're surrounded by that. And they weren't bad people,"

"Though bad enough to kill someone?" She frowns, "One of their classmates, in fact."

"I-"

"Tell me what happened at this party, (Y/N)," She encourages, "Harrison Osterfield hosted a party on the seventh of September and you were in attendance,"

"I didn't even want to go," You shake your head, looking down to your hands, "Z kept telling me I should and I gave in, I went,"

"And it was at this party that you found yourself in an argument with none other than Lily Jordan, what was that about?" She tilts her head, taking you right back to that stupid night.

~~~Friday 7th September 2018~~~

"Seriously this isn't my thing at all," You groan, wanting nothing more than to release yourself from Zendaya's grip as she pulled you towards the door to the grand house.

"Well, you've made a goddamn effort and we're not letting it go to waste," She laughs, swinging open the door and entering the party that already appeared to be in full swing.

This house was ridiculously grand. It was filled with items you didn't even want to know the price of and furniture that looked too good to be destroyed by cheap beer. It felt so strange to see students chattering around the house with actual glasses in hand rather than red plastic cups. With actual alcohol that people would buy from a menu instead of anything available on the shelves of a supermarket.

"Z! Let me get you a drink!" Imogen grins, dragging her over to the table.

Harrison was stood near there too and he noticed you as you walked in.

"You made it," He states, matter of factly.

"You can complain to Z about that," You point out, already feeling uncomfortable and regretting your outfit choice.

"Maybe I should thank her," He raises a brow, a smirk dancing over his pursed lips, "Looking like that, you'd be wasted at any other party,"

"Would Mrs Osterfield be impressed about those comments towards the new girl?" You try to divert the slightly mysoginistic comments, "Don't act like she's not the only reason you had to invite me and Noah,"

"She's letting me throw a party full of underage drinking," He comments, leaning down to you slightly, "She wouldn't dare say no to anything I said,"

"Well, I would, so if you'll excuse me," You give him a tight smile, gripping onto the material of your pastel blue jacket just a little tighter around you.

"(Y/N)," Tom's voice calls out and you instantly relax slightly, "I didn't think you were coming,"

"Well, I guess you don't know me as well as you think," You joke, "I'm very easily persuaded,"

"I'll take note of that," He laughs, "Can I get you a drink?"

You can't help but frown slightly, "Why are you being nice to me? From what I've heard you're a bit of a King at this school,"

"I'm not saying you're wrong, but I guess you might not know me as well as you think," He copies your line but he sounds so much more sure of himself than you ever did.

"Tommy!" Lily's voice rings out, hopping over to him and wrapping her arms around his neck, "Baby can you get me a drink please?" She asks, her eyes looking up at him through her long fake lashes.

He nods and leaves you two alone. It is only then that her demeanour changes and she swivels round to face you with a harsh expression on her face.

"I don't know who the fuck you think you are," She starts, "You seem to have made quite the impression on Tom and I'm really not here for it,"

"For someone who acts like a princess around here, you're really having trouble trusting your prince aren't you?" You smirk. Somehow, she didn't faze you. Her intimidation was all an act.

She scoffs, bringing her face closer to yours, "Don't fucking talk to me like that. My Dad is paying for your scholarship to school, my boyfriend is best friends with the Principal's son, oh, and Tommy is my boyfriend."

"Back off Lily, you're making yourself look ridiculous," Z breaks a space between the two of you, "(Y/N)'s done nothing wrong. Don't be so pathetic,"

You were thankful she was there. It felt easier than dealing with Lily alone. Everyone was circling the pair now with you simply becoming one to watch now. Your eyes latched on to Tom's. His girlfriend was in the middle of an argument with another girl and he wasn't even looking; he was looking at you.

"Get out of my way!" Lily screeches, trying to get through the group that had formed so she could exit.

"Lily wait-" Imogen began, loyal enough to try to follow her.

"Fuck off Imogen!" Lily snaps, "You just stood there with the rest of them!"

The atmosphere dropped. Everyone went back to enjoying the party but the rest of you just stood there, exchanging awkward glances and becoming fearful of the tension on Monday morning.

~~~Wednesday 30th January 2019~~~

"Yeah, Zendaya stood up for me that night," You sigh, "Her and Lily clearly had problems between them but the argument was nothing serious,"

"I care more about Imogen. She was invited and didn't get involved in that,"

"No, she was there but she didn't say anything. But nobody really said anything," You shake your head. Damnit, your words were shaking now. She'd mentioned her name.

"And Lily was annoyed about that," The investigator confirms, "Do you think that started a tension between them?"

"Mayb-"

"Enough of a tension to justify killing her so-called best friend?" She tilts her head to the side, clearly thinking she'd made a breakthrough.

"From what I know, Imogen hadn't done enough wrong to justify what happened to her," You shake, feeling tears trembling in your eyes, "She was one of the good ones,"

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siriuslymoon · 6 years ago

Note

91 with thorbruce, if that's ok! 💚

Totally okay!

{91. We recently told the media we’re dating and it isn’t pretty… please don’t tell em you want to break up}

Thor wasn’t prepared for the backlash of coming clean to the press about his and Bruce’s relationship, Bruce unfortunately, was.

They hadn’t particularly wanted or felt a huge desire, to tell the media what was going on between them. But they had been photographed without their knowledge a week prior, at an avengers formal event, and wanted to be the ones to tell the story- not some money seeking pap.

They tried to do it in the best way possible, Tony had a few friends in the industry who he trusted not to spin it and so they sat down and came clean. And while the article about them was beautiful, and honest, and true- it didn’t stop people.

There was outrage about two superheroes, two avengers, being gay.

There was fear they were going to team up and try to take over the world- cause that’s realistic and of course their main priority.

Or that their breakup would cause a massive fight that would destroy half the city.

There were media stations trying to claim it was a cover up for some evil plan, saying slanderous and just ridiculously untrue comments about their relationship.. simply because they could.

Bruce ignored it, he was used to negativity surrounding him and had grown accustomed to shutting it out a long time ago- Thor however, hadn’t and was taking it hard.

He’d watch every news story on it, read every article, listen to everyone who shouted on the streets at them.

He feigned to be unaffected but Bruce could see it, It was getting too much, it was clearly beginning to distress and anger the god, and Bruce was just trying to keep his distance as to not annoy him any further.

After all he had been the one to initiate the kiss at Tony’s stupid party, the one that started all the outrage- it was technically his fault… he wondered if Thor thought that.

He was just going to get himself a coffee when he spotted Thor sat in front of the large television in the living room, hair thrown in a bun and body covered by a loose jumper.

He didn’t react to Bruce entering the room, so either he didn’t notice, or didn’t care- Bruce felt it was the latter and continued on to the kitchen.

He stood by the machine as it whirred and sputtered out his drink, leant against the Cabinet and watched Thor in the lounge.

He was never usually up this late, usually preferring an early night much to Bruce’s amusement; but then they were never normally apart in the evenings, always sat with each other despite Thor’s love of sleep- and since he was now alone and free to do his own thing Bruce didn’t think too much of it.

He went back to watching his boyfriend, now with a coffee cup between his palms and a frown on his lips.

He was shaking his head, muttering under his breath and then suddenly he was throwing something, the remote, hard and fast at the television.

Bruce startled and winced as it hit the screen and the glass broke, shock rendering him motionless.

The god was stood with his back to bruce, shoulders shaking as they rose and fell in time with his staggered breaths. His hands lay by his sides, gentle fingers curled tightly into fists.

The room was dark around him without the light of the tv and Thor made no movements, or requests to Jarvis, to make it light again.

“Thor…” Bruce managed to breathe out, still glued to the kitchen.

Thor tensed, and slowly turned to face him, surprise evident on his dimly lit features- so he hadn’t seen Bruce come in.

“Bruce!” He Forced on a smile, and went to approach him, arms wide.

“Wait!” Bruce held his hands up “Thor there’s glass everywhere, just- you’ll hurt yourself- wait there” Bruce went to go find a broom in one of the cupboards, trying to calm his breathing as he did so.

“Here,” he found the brush eventually and began sweeping the glass away from Thor, collecting it in a corner far away from his boyfriends bare feet.

Thor looked guilty now, staring at the ruins of Tony’s television and then back at Bruce’s withdrawn expression.

“Bruce..”

“Jarvis tell Tony in the morning that I had a little hulk issue and broke his tv”

Thor gasped, “But Bruce-“

Bruce held up a hand to silence him, which worked immediately.

“Certainly sir, shall I send someone for the glass?” Thor looked at his feet.

Bruce shook his head, “No we’ve got it- thanks though”

“Goodnight Dr Banner, Mr Odinson” Jarvis wished them, and then signed off, leaving them alone in the living room, only tension between them.

“Thor what are you doing?” Bruce moved closer to him, resting a hand on his shoulder and feeling the muscle tense beneath his touch.

“They were insulting you” Thor bit out, jaw set and eyes furious.

Bruce looked at the smashed tv and quickly figured out what he was watching, and who he was talking about.

“You’re taking this hard” Bruce commented, ushering them both to sit on the sofa though he kept his hand on Thor’s shoulder.

“Yes” Thor replied, as though shocked Bruce wasn’t.

“Do you want to leave me-“

“Don’t even finish that sentence Bruce” Thor looked tired but absolutely ready to fight him on it.

Bruce nodded slowly, clearing his throat.

Thor shuffled closer to Bruce before telling him, “These people, they don’t know us, but they were insulting us- what right do they posses to pass judgment?”

Bruce shrugged.

He grinned “You know what would happen on Asgard to someone taunted and disrespected my relationship?”

He reached for Bruce’s hand, playing with his fingers before wrapping his own around them. Bruce laughed despite himself, and held onto Thor’s hand tightly.

“I’m guessing it involves torture or killing”

“Indeed” he confirmed with a grin.

“We can’t do that here, baby” Bruce swept his thumb over Thor’s knuckles.

“A shame “ Bruce knew Thor couldn’t really hurt someone without too much of a reason, but the comment still made him laugh, which in turn made Thor smile harder.

“Thor-“

“We get letters here you know, to the tower- for us; Some nice, most not… I hide them from you” he confesses, staring forward but watching Bruce out of his peripheral vision.

“Why would you do that?” Bruce asked, reaching to touch his jaw and bring his eyes back to him, palm lingering on his cheeks.

“Because I love you, and it’s my job to protect you from anything that could hurt you” Thor brought his own hand to cover Bruce’s, keeping it by his cheeks and turning to kiss his palm.

Bruce scoffed.

“And you think I don’t have that same job? Thor you’ll go crazy listening to them. It’s different here, there aren’t laws or torture- people can- and will- say whatever the hell they want ”

“What am I supposed to do then?” Thor asked.

Bruce raised an eyebrow, “Just… ignore them”

“That’s what you do?” He quickly leant to kiss the corners of Bruce’s mouth, making the smaller man laugh and gently push him away.

“Yes Thor, That’s what I do- that and look at all the people who love us”

Thor beamed at him now, “people love us?”

Bruce nodded, “Peter showed me some blogs about us, people think we’re adorable Thor”

“As do I”

Bruce mumbled something about being cute and leant to give Thor a short kiss, which with a hand to his jaw, Thor made considerably longer.

He pulled away smiling, tracing Bruce lips with the tip of his finger before asking “Can I read these?”

Bruce nodded quickly, scrambling up for his laptop and returning back to Thor’s side, leaning into the warmth when Thor wrapped his arms around him.

“Sure! There was this one post about a boy who we inspired to come out and I swear I nearly crie-“

Thor found his attention drifting, and found himself staring at Bruce’s excited eyes, and his exaggerated gestures as he waited for the blogs to load on his laptop.

When he had Bruce in front of him, right beneath his fingertips and between his arms, it didn’t seem quite so hard to ignore the idiot press after all.

#Thorbruce #thunderscience #gammahammer #thruce #thulk #thor odinson #just bruce #thorbruce fic #thunderbruce

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jxwritesss · 5 years ago

Text

I’m currently writing this on wattpad as well! @jxwritess

This is a Noen Eubanks fan fiction, I’m trying to spread my book around, pls share and help, it means a lot xx, my main platform is wattpad please read it on there if you find this and enjoy it!

New York. The only place in the entire world, where robots were being developed. Robots, that looked exactly like humans, and there being only one distinctive difference, a tattoo. One that said RA-H.

An RA-H. Robotic animated humans. These androids are helping the world as much as it is destroying it. They force people out of jobs, but in doing so create even better things then humans. Thousands of different political views, millions of haters and lovers. And then there's me.

Malia Blanche, 17, I lost my father, and I was the spitting image of my late mother. I only recently moved to LA, where my life was bombarded with these new androids, I get the concept of them, although I don't truly understand it.

Well, on with the story shall we?

-Chapter One.

Sunday, the day before I start college. A new life, a new story and a new beginning. I can finally pursue my dream of being a writer, just like my mother.

My mother attended John Brown college academy , her department was romance, mine, mystery, ever since I was a child I thrive for solving mysteries, actions, you know in the movies where there's a fight scene, and it goes slow motion and they throw the punch of victory, thats what ignites my fire, the thrive for doing good, but in a dangerous way, I could always figure out who was lying in a movie, or who the murderer was. Maybe I should be a detective, but my flow comes with writing.

Although I was attending my new school in a day, I lazily decided to stay in bed until half 10, I needed to be at Realsons&Co for 11:15, to get my uniform fitted. John Brown is a very pretentious academy, and I'd worked three jobs, and poured my heart and soul into getting here. Only the best attend the Academy. I don't necessarily fit into the 'my daddy got me in here' well, obviously. I quickly slipped on my jeans and jumper, and slid into my most prised possession. Although it had been pre-owned. The Audi was my mother's, she put her heart and soul into the car, and I will respect her decision and keep the car.

I take out my GPS although I already know where my fitting shop is, as I pass it a few times on the way to my grandma's.

Carefully parking in the visitor section I leave my car, and walk up the steps, and enter the shop, the bell above my head dings and an elderly woman pops her head up and immediately smiles at me.

"Are you Malia?" The woman asks putting her newspaper down and picking up a signing book.

"Yeah, I'm not too early am I?"

"Of course not, dear. I'm Molly, my grandson Will, he's in the back, he will measure you up if you need anything readjusting or if you can't find anything your size. John Brown, Deanford and Attenwood are in the back left." She says pointing in the direction.

I thank her, and mentally thank that the place is practically empty. I don't like small talk, thanks social anxiety.

Walking through the back I spot John Brown uniform. A black blazer with red linings, a short black skirt and a white blouse and a dark red tie. Not too childish but not suitable enough for adults.

At the corner of my eye I see a tall boy sat on his phone, his eyes flicker up for a second at me, then back down to his phone.

I continue my search to look for the right size for my uniform when I feel a pair of eyes on me, it makes me feel uncomfortable and I start to guess that the pair of eyes is Molly's grandson Will, I mentally scold myself for being so awkward and pretending not to know that he's watching, when I hear his chair scrape my heart decides to do an athlete course and I pray he can't hear it from where he's standing.

I can tell he's now behind me, as I face my social fears I turn around and slam right into his chest, and in result dropping all my stuff, Will snorts, before helping me by picking up some of the clothes that dropped.

"Thanks," I say, grabbing the clothes from his hand and attempting to walk past him, but his arms stop me.

"Was that sarcastic or not?" He asked smiling. I take a second to take in his looks, he doesn't look as bad as I thought he would, but he doesn't act like a arrogant guy either.

"I'll let you figure that one out," I smile politely back, "I'm Will." He says moving his arm in a posh manner to let me through.

"I know, Molly told me," I answer, "I guess you know who I am?" "Yep, how could I ignore a pretty girl like you?" I mentally roll my eyes at the typical boy. "Mhm, well I need to get changed so excuse me" I say speed walking away from him, boys that make comments like that make me feel extremely uncomfortable.

As I turn the corner to the fitting rooms, I hear Will's voice once again, "I'm gay by the way," he says laughing, I stop in my tracks, suddenly feeling a bit stupid.

——

Checking that I haven't left any clothes behind, I pile them onto the counter, where Will is now standing, he starts to put all my clothes in an expensive looking plastic bag, he looks up at me, "Sorry about earlier, I was just messing about." "No, it's okay, I felt a bit silly when you said you were gay."

He shakes his head and laughs, "most people do, well the ones that aren't stuck up with money up their ass usually do." "Well I'm only here on a scholarship, so I'm not one of them people," I say handing him over the small fee I have to pay, as the scholarship covers most of it. "Surprisingly so am I, I got accepted for Athletics at John Brown," I never really though I would but I guess I should thank the Lord, my parents can't wait to get rid of me anyways, being gay has a price to pay, apparently."

"Well, they obviously don't see the good person that you are." I smile at him, although I wish he hadn't of brought it up, I'm not necessarily the best at giving advice.

The bell rings, and a tall, slim girl walks through.

"Tanner" she says walking through right into the back without a second glance.

"I understand what you mean by stuck up," I whisper, Will chuckles and passes me my bag, the girl walks back and stands behind me, not even two seconds later she starts tapping her foot and complaining.

"Since when do we serve nobodies, Will? That's right we don't. Now move, thanks." She says pushing right past me and throwing her uniform on the counter. Luckily it wasn't a John Brown one, otherwise I might've just about died.

I quietly wave at Will and walk out, seeing a shining white Porsche outside. Seriously where do you even get one that looks so shiny from?

I put the bag in the passenger seat, still feeling annoyed about the girl, as I reach my small flat, I lock my Audi, and read a movie poster about a girl going missing with her extremely ill dad. Making a mental note to watch the movie later, I walk up my stairs and unlock my door, I make myself a cup of tea and order some pizza, as I walk into my room, I open up my laptop, and have three new emails, one spam, but two from publishers. My heart does leaps as I open the first one.

'Telford Publishing'

- Hello Malia, we are proud to hear that you are following in your beloved mothers steps. I have read your book sample, but I would like to offer you a potential job, and a tour around the new T Pub&Co. I know how much it would mean to your mother if you accept my offer.

Many thanks, Gary.

A potential job?? Could this be my genuine big break? Hearing a knock at the door, I run over, wanting to start up a reply as soon as possible. Grabbing my purse I open my door to an RA-H

"Malia Blanche?"

"Yes, here's my ID." The robots light turns red as it examines my ID. Doing a robotical smile it's arm stretches out, grabbing the pizza I express a thank you and run back to my desk.

'T Pub&Co.'

Thank you for my sample! I will gladly accept your offer, please email with more detail about the tour and I'll get back to you as soon as possible. My mum would be so happy.

Sincerely, Malia.

As I send the email I let out a squeak of happiness with pizza in my mouth. Clicking onto my word pad, I let myself fall into the world of fiction, and let time slip through my hands.

——

And that's how it is now 3.36am on a Monday trying to start a new story, anything to take my mind off the upcoming day, and the extremely embarrassing 'Tanner' fiasco.

I push my chair back from my old, ridden desk, and flop onto my bed, snuggling into my bedsheets, this has been going on for a week, for some reason I have no flow, the biggest writers block, I have stories everywhere across my room, started, just the plot, a thesis, a blurb. But recently I haven't found anything to give me that push. I turn and toss in an unsucsessive attempt to sleep, and as I check my phone it is only 4 am.

Great, no sleep for the wicked.

——

Groggily, I turn over in my bed and look over to my clock, 6.07am. Throwing my bed covers over, I lazily get up and put on the uniform that luckily fits perfectly. Thinking about my email yesterday, there is nothing more that I want in the world then my writing to become known. Realising that I spend too much time daydreaming, and badly making pancakes, i'm late and have no time to see if I have a reply. Already. Typical Me.

Rushing out of my door, checking the contents of my bag to make sure that I have everything that I need I speed walk right into someone walking up my door, crashing everything they were holding onto the floor.

"God I'm sorry, I didn't mean too, wasnt looking where I was going." I look up and realise that, I wasn't even speaking to a human, but none other then an Android. It simply says, "No worries miss," and continues with its day. Those androids are the ones that Robert Morett himself created, word is that his son is attending John Brown. Although i'm here with a writing scholarship, I doubt he'd need any type of acceptance letter. He could just ask, he is one of the most richest people in America.

Pulling my keys out of my bag I speed walk towards my car, carefully throwing my bag in, and starting the Audi, before starting my drive I pull out my phone to the Maps app, although I used to drive past John Brown to get to school I still want to be prepared.

—

Pulling up at the academy, I notice a few eyes staring at the jet black Audi with the tinted windows, they're probably expected a drop dead gorgeous girl, or the sexiest guy

to walk out, but in all honesty I'm neither.

Turning off my car and stepping out the eyes are suddenly averted to another jet black car, most likely a gorgeous boy or girl in it.

My mind wavered at wondering whether I should stay and stare at the person in black, or be late to my lecture.

Achieving my dream comes first.

I promised my mother that I'd focus on my work, and not get distracted. I intend on keeping that promise.

#noeneubanks #lilhuddy #tiktok #eboy edit #wattpad #luvanthony

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carryonmylovelies · 6 years ago

Note

Oh my gosh first of all, happy one year! Second of all, fic request or headcanon request? I have this mad fluffy hc that they (I mean specifically baz but honestly both of them) do this ‘it was a long day so I want human contact from the one person I don’t hate’ thing. So do you agree with this hc? And like, if you wanted to obviously, would you maybe write a fic for this idea?? Much love

OHMYGOSHBAYLEEIAMSOSORRYTHISTOOKSOLONGTOANSWER seriously though you sent me this before we really started talking back iN MAY and now we’re friends and its awesome and i really hope you like it because i love you so much belly clavicle!!!!! it took me awhile to write this tho because i actually don’t have a laptop (i caved and stole my dad’s laptop to write and post this sorry dad) but i hope i’ll have a new one soon so i can start writing again! please feel free to send me more requests just know it’ll take me a little bit, yall. shoutout to @somberlysad who encouraged me and is the entire reason this was finished and @bazypitchandsimonsnow for just always being there for me. i love you, you wonderful people! enjoy guys :D (read here on ao3)

that’s gay

Simon is fourteen minutes and thirty-three seconds into seeing how long he can hang off of the couch for without passing out when the front door bangs open. The door then closes, keys are thrown down on the kitchen counter, and light footsteps enter the living room. Simon suddenly finds himself at eye-level with a gorgeous pair of legs and expensive shoes.

“Hello Baz,” Simon wheezes, his face bright red and his smile wide.

Baz takes one look at his upside-down boyfriend, messy curls spilling onto the floor, a small timer now displaying fifteen minutes and twelve seconds, and covers his face with his hands.

Baz shakes his head sadly, but soon warm laughter pours out of his mouth and fills the room. He can’t believe he’s dating a twelve-year-old.

Baz stares at Simon with fond exasperation. Who knew he would get so lucky.

And because he can’t stand it any longer, Baz lets everything he’s holding carelessly drop to the floor, pulls Simon upright, and plops himself down on Simon’s lap, his head thudding against Simon’s broad chest in one exhausted but fluid movement.

Simon dizzily wraps his arms around Baz’s slim frame as all of the blood rushes from his head, and sweetly kisses Baz’s cheek. Or maybe it was his nose; Simon couldn’t tell because the room was still spinning.

Baz sighs softly, “Hi, Simon.”

Simon’s breath hitches; he’ll never get over the way Baz says his name, his first name, like it’s something special.

“Hey,” Simon responds, a little breathlessly, but not enough for Baz to notice. “What’s up?”

Baz’s face falls and he groans dramatically.

“Work is terrible,” he mumbles into Simon’s jumper. “Everyone is stupid and no one listens to a bloody thing I say. I work harder than everyone else there, but do I get any credit? No, of course not.”

And to prove his point, Baz flings himself away from Simon, the back of his pale hand against his forehead, and he sighs.

“I’m so unappreciated.” He punches each word out in more sighs.

Git.

Simon drags Baz back into his lap and he doesn’t protest in the slightest.

“And to top it all off, Brittany is driving me up the bloody wall because no one should have that many fucking pictures of a chihuahua. It’s basically a rat with a bedazzled collar. I should just eat the damn thing. That would shut her up.”

Simon tries really hard not to laugh. Baz does not need to be encouraged.

“Baz, we’ve had this conversation. You really shouldn’t eat your coworkers pets. That won’t make them like you. The opposite, actually.”

He pouts, “But I don’t want them to like me! I hate them. I hate them all.”

Simon takes Baz’s cool face in his hands and kiss the top of his nose. Baz rolls his eyes, but a smile tugs at the corner of his lips.

“Oh come on, there must be someone you don’t hate–”

“Nope. I hate them all.”

Baz pushes his face back into Simon’s chest and Simon runs his fingers through his silky black hair.

“At least I’m home now, and I can be with the only person I don’t hate.”

Simon scoffs.“Wow, thanks. So glad that after being in a very happy and loving relationship with you for almost three years, you don’t hate me.”

Baz bursts out laughs at that. Simon scowls. “What are you laughing at, you prick?”

“‘Very happy and loving relationship.’” he says, mockingly. “That’s gay, Snow.”

Simon growls at him and shoves Baz off the couch so he falls to the floor. “You’re gay!”

But before Simon can do anything else, Baz stands up and suddenly he’s back on Simon, pushing him down and straddling Simon’s hips with his stupidly long legs. Baz is dragging his hand down Simon’s chest, the other tugging at his curls, and he leans down to press a hot, open-mouthed kiss on his neck. Simon gasps and his hands immediately find their place on Baz’s waist, his fingers splayed out and gripping Baz’s hips tightly. He’s moving tortuously slow, and by the time he’s hovering above Simon’s lips, Simon is desperate for it. But instead, Baz bites Simon’s ear and whispers, “I wouldn’t do that again, if I were you.” Then Baz sits back, admiring his handiwork and smirking as Simon tries to catch his breath.

Cocky bastard. Baz is funny if he thinks Simon isn’t going to do exactly what he said he shouldn’t do.

Simon lunges forward and pushes him off of the couch again, harder this time. Baz looks up at Simon, lying on the floor, looking all hurt and dejected, and Simon can’t help but shout with laughter. He falls into the couch face-first, laughing so hard that his stomach aches.

Simon lifts his head up from the cushions in time to see Baz sulk and flip his hair behind his shoulder, those cool grey eyes and haughty eyebrows telling Simon how much he’s going to regret that.

Baz wordlessly grabs a pillow off of the floor, raises it above his head, and neatly brings it down on Simon’s arse with practically inhuman force.

Simon shrieks like a banshee and catches Baz’s pale wrist as he makes the lame attempt to run away. Simon yanks him back and he trips, falling onto Simon in a tangle of thrashing limbs.

Simon quickly grabs Baz’s flailing arms and pins them above his head. Swinging one leg over him, Simon plops himself down on on top of Baz.

He makes an ‘oof’ sound and weakly struggles against Simon’s hold. Baz soon realizes that Simon isn’t about to let up and goes limp. But then Baz grins up at Simon, like getting Simon on top of him was his only plan for the day. What a prat.

Simon leans down and bites his lip.

“Ow,” Baz whines, but it doesn’t look like he minds that much.

“That’s for destroying my arse with a fucking pillow, you vampire brat.”

Baz shrugs and smirks at Simon cheekily. “Your arse is fine; I’ve done a lot more with a lot less and you know it.”

Simon’s face heats up and he slams his lips against Baz’s, furiously kissing him as Baz’s hands slither out from where Simon had them pinned so Baz can dig his nails into his back and rake his fingers through Simon’s hair.

They make out feverently for a while before Simon pulls back, and Baz hisses at him.

Simon presses a chaste kiss to his cheek and knocks his forehead against Baz’s.

“Sorry you had such a tough day today, but I really do think it will get better. I’m sure you can find at least one person you don’t hate. And if you can’t, I’ll just start beating people up until they’re begging to be your friend.” Simon says resolutely, a burning look of determination in his eyes.

Baz laughs quietly and looks up at Simon with one of those rare, adoring looks that absolutely floors Simon every time he sees it.

“Not only do I not hate you, Simon Snow, but I also love you. A whole fucking lot. You never fail to make my day one million times better.”

Simon smirks at him. “That’s gay.”

#you ask raegan answers!#raegan writes a story #snowbaz #simon snow #baz pitch #carrry on fanfiction #fluff #this is just snowbaz being goofy and in love what more do you need #i wish it was longer tho #and better #oh well #i just want it out of my inbox and into the world!!!#great-merlins-beard

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