#ugh this is just summary not really analysis WHATEVER | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

holly-fixation · 3 years ago

Text

An Astral Myth: Chapter 1

Summary: Cloud Strife is an engineering student at Midgar U, who decided to take art history as an elective because it was the only good option left. But when an assignment on an “obscure god” (nothing Shiva or he gets stabbed with an ice pick) causes repeated dreams of swirling pink clouds in a blue sky, Cloud has to find out what it means. And the best place to start: seeing the statue for himself.

Inspired by this art by @hueyoart and the concept by @ehrenyu on Twitter.

Please Enjoy!

Junior year. Third year. Whatever it was called, Cloud could not believe he made it this far. Three years at Midgar University. Well, two and a half. He really thought he would fail by now, yet here he is, two years away from a degree in engineering design. This was a dream almost come true. He always loved to design all sorts of things. As a kid, he had this insane idea to build a sword made of smaller swords that fit together like Lego pieces. Of course, all of his attempts didn’t go well but his mother refuses to get rid of his only somewhat successful attempt made of cardboard, card stock, duct tape, and hot glue. Nowadays he designed more practical objects and helped out his various other friends in similar majors. Although Barret almost broke his arm after seeing how fantastical he made the simplest concepts. You need to chill the hell out, blondie! It’s the modern day, not the renaissance, man! Then Barret made him redesign all of his concepts for the team’s sanity. Oof, that was a bad day.

But now he’s more than halfway there, just a few more engineering classes and...electives. Ugh. He hated electives. When they were related to his major, he cared and he tried. But these other, unrelated, useless to the real world electives...he rolled his eyes. What a waste of money. He tried, gods did he try, to take the easiest, most pointlessly simple class he could to fill the slot. And then they all got taken by the seniors, and the only class he could get into with ‘okay’ ratings was Art History: Analysis of Mythology. He was kind of interested in mythology. Who wasn’t? If it was all based off of things that aren’t real, it should be easy right?

Wrong.

The class only had two assignments, which decided the entirety of the grade. If he failed one, he failed the class. Fairly high stakes, but it didn’t seem that bad, compared to his major classes which required multiple six-hour-assignments completed per week, until tonight.

It was 11:45 PM, and he was smacked with the sudden realization he needed to submit his topic for the first paper. Hell, he suddenly remembered he was in this class. Gods forbid he got any rest tonight, gods forbid he hung out with his friends until 11:30 on a Sunday. Cracking his eyes open, he pulled his laptop into his lap and sat up in his bed, immediately clicking the class page. Maybe he was lucky, and this was one of the professors that made assignments due before lecture began?

Nope. Due date: Today, 11:59 PM. Fourteen minutes until submission closed.

Okay, the essay must be a research paper into an obscure or uncommonly studied god or goddess. “If any single one of you picks Ifrit for this assignment, I will fail you immediately.” His professor’s voice suddenly rang in his ears, spoken in lecture when assigning this a month ago. For extra credit, he could take a selfie with the statue of this god. Yeah right, not unless he’s desperate. Then he realized he forgot about this class, and that extra credit may keep his GPA up to standards. He sighed. So none of the Six. Got it. Maybe he’d get lucky if he checked archeology websites. He couldn’t care what this god was, as long as it was obscure enough.

Maybe some god really was on his side.

A month ago, archeologists discovered a shrine to a god named “Sephiroth”, supposedly some God of the Stars. Please have enough information publicly available, Cloud begged internally.

Though the statue was recently discovered, many texts have been unearthed and translated throughout the last few years. Using a language similar to the Cetra, most of the legend of “Sephiroth and his Sacrifice” has been translated. This legend is available at this link. However, for all the information, most photos of the shrine itself were corrupted during digital rendering, and the current museum housing the main statue refuses to allow professional photos.

Perfect, good enough. Cloud immediately wrote a response for the assignment, making sure to “paraphrase, not plagiarize, and quotes are for newspapers, not essays!” a five sentence backstory. Well, the two facts he could learn in two seconds with some nonsense about why he was interested. And now...submitted. 11:56 PM. He knocked the back of his head against the wall with a sigh of relief.

...Shoot. Now he’s awake. The panic from his sudden realization forced his heart to race. So screw it. He decided to start his research tonight, collecting links for sources and taking sections of lore that seemed important, though he was barely skimming the passages and absorbing almost none of the words. His document was filling quickly, about a solid page and a half by the time he felt tired again. He glanced at the clock: 12:30 AM. He had his early class tomorrow. How the hell did he get stuck with an 8 AM in his junior year?

He closed his laptop and placed it back on his desk before lifting up the covers and attempting an early sleep, tossing and turning until his subconscious finally took over.

He felt his eyes open, as if waking up from a peaceful dream, to the sight of swirling pink clouds, separated at the center and turning like the eye of a slow hurricane.

Was he standing? Or floating?

He could almost feel a surface beneath his feet, but when he looked, there was no ground, just the ever present stirring of the pink puffs.

Was he looking up? Or forward?

He found himself staring at the blue opening of sky, mesmerized, hypnotized, and...controlled.

Had he made a single decision? Or was he pulled by invisible strings?

By a red thread of fate? Or the clear strings of a puppet at every joint?

His thoughts quickly vanished, his attention captured. A tiny gold and white light shone in the center blue, tiny, like the stars in the night sky. But as he watched, it grew. It couldn’t be a star, it was too unbalanced, too many points of the spikey nature emitted from the bottom half. Then it got bigger. Grander and brighter, all consuming like the sun. Blocking out the sky and obscuring the shape. Capturing the clouds in its reaching rays.

White. Blinding white devoured his sight.

Suddenly he surged in pain, the seering of a blade ripping through his chest, through his back, deeper, and deeper, and Deeper, and Deeper.

Cloud jumped awake with a gasp and held his head and his heart, his breathing out of control and cold sweat dripping down the sides of his face. What the hell was that? It felt so real. He felt that blade tear through his body. What kind of nightmare was that?! He quickly grabbed at his phone and opened the screen. 4 AM. Maybe reading lore on some random god right before bed was a bad idea. Noted. Would not happen again.

Well, he was awake, so he might as well check his messages before he passed out again. He opened his email app, deleted a few spam notifications, and saw an email from his professor. Alright, the god he picked was approved, so there was no going back now. He decided to officially start this essay tomorrow, and checked his various entertainment apps until he was tired enough to fall back asleep.

* * *

“You forgot you were in a class?” Barret almost slapped him in the back of the head for his stupidity. “How do you forget about an in person class?!”

Cloud scratched the back of his head and looked away as they both walked to their next class. “It only has a few deadlines, nothing popped up on the course page before the weekend, so I thought I was good,” He tried to defend.

“You still go every week, right?!” He didn’t necessarily yell at the blonde, he was only loudly confused.

“Yeah yeah, I do.” He adjusted his bag. “But he didn’t mention anything about it last week.”

Barret sighed, deciding to cool down the almost fatherly tone. “Look, Spiky, just don't overwork yourself. We still have a project milestone to finish!” Cloud let out a soft groan before Barret continued. “Just start it early. Twenty minutes a night should at least get you interested in this god essay.”

He sighed. “Gods I hope so. I’ll try it.”

“But you better be at the meeting tonight.”

“Of course I’ll be at the meeting tonight,” Cloud countered. “Haven't missed one yet.”

So, that was exactly what Cloud did: went to his lectures, got multiple hours of homework completed, and finished the night off with the team meeting before finally arriving back at his apartment. Once he was settled in and ate somewhat of a dinner, he was back at his desk to try to enjoy the small remainder of his night (if he planned on having a slightly okay sleep schedule). Then he remembered his conversation with Barret. Crap.

He groaned to himself. Twenty minutes less of ‘him time’ wasted for this stupid essay. Maybe paraphrasing what he copied last night would be a good place to start. He opened his laptop with a pout, angrily opening the links he collected from the previous night and his current document. He took a breath before actively reading the text.

Sephiroth is an ancient God of the Stars, whose worshipers are currently unknown. Though, from carvings and surviving text, they clearly spoke a language similar to the Cetra. He is the son of Jenova, Goddess of the Cosmos, and is one of the few gods who remained completely loyal to their patronage. However, his father is still unknown.

So they’re space gods. Got it. He’d moogle if there was a specific difference between the cosmos and the stars later, and he noted that in his document before he continued.

Ironically, despite their nature, there is no current mention of any constellation bearing either name.

According to legend, Jenova came to our planet, Gaia, on a meteor dating back about 66 million years.

Oh come on, everyone knows that’s the meteor that killed the dinosaurs. And are they really claiming humans were around back then? He groaned again. He did not care about this useless parent, but every article on this god explained her origins. He guessed he didn’t have a choice.

Translations and transcriptions differ greatly on the reason she came to Gaia. Some claim it was curiosity, stating we are one of the few planets with life in the cosmos. Others say she landed by accident, and our people accepted her as a new God, worshiping and praising as she wished. Though no written text agreed completely, they all claim she was strikingly beautiful and impossible to look away from, almost like the night sky.

Were they really pretending humans were around to know that back then? 66 million years ago?

But Jenova’s presence or aura, carrying the weight of the cosmos, was too much for the planet to handle. Both the Lifestream and the oceans gravitated toward her like the moon. All types of plants, animals, fish, insects, and fungi suffered or completely died off as a result, even though she was not on the planet for long.

The people of the planet, though we are unsure if they were human or some other species at the top of the food chain, asked the goddess to leave for the sake of their world. This is where conflict of translation and various sources comes up. This angered or some even just said annoyed her. She agreed to leave the planet after seven of our days.

It’s claimed her retaliation for the disrespect were calculated diseases and mutations to plague the inhabitants, similar to how overexposure of mako happens extremely rare today.

Good to know Shinra’s bribing them to keep things quiet. Cloud gave a quick shake of his head to remove the conspiracy theory going through his mind and return to the page before he had to re-read the entire section due to lack of focus.

Yet other sources claim the effects were a result of her anger directly, even some claim she did not know she caused it at all.*

*This is where the language similarity to the Cetra gets difficult to translate, as we are still learning most Cetra scripts and these legend scripts are not completely identical to the Cetra language. We provide as many of the accepted translations as possible, but the most accurate translation has yet to be determined.

Fantastic, so he either needed to copy every attempt at a translation or pick one and defend why he believed it was the most accurate, something he was not at all qualified to do.

Her reign was too large to maintain such minimal functions intentionally, her anger rarely ignited by any being to know how to handle the unconscious response.

What was she, a robot? ‘Minimal functions’?

Every planet she visited was affected differently, so the people were not asking her to leave out of fear, but for the sake of their world. Seven days was too long. Their world was falling to her in only three.

Then Gaia, the Goddess of our Planet, spoke to the other goddess and explained the results of her presence. Intentionally or not, Jenova was killing Gaia (both the planet and the goddess). The Planet made a deal with The Cosmos: to feed her curiosity, let her heal and then send a proxy when it was time. This proxy would be taught all the knowledge of herself and the creatures that called her being their home. Her people would be informed when the time came, and they would prepare for the proxy. Jenova agreed, on two conditions: Gaia must accept any proxy of her choice, and the people must obey her proxy unquestionably.

Gaia agreed.

What could possibly go wrong?

With honor of their agreement, Jenova left the planet, and her virus stopped. Millenia of millenia passed before Gaia informed her people of the messenger’s title and coming arrival, with some reports dating back only 2,000 years ago.

Oh for gods sake. Really? Were they honestly claiming this? Were humans walking around and completely ignoring this new god? Comparatively, compared to 66 million years, it was not that long ago. Oh come on.

Not once in Gaia’s billions of years of existence did she expect the cosmos to send the most cherished son: Sephiroth, God of the Stars, as the proxy of the cosmos.

Alright, that’s enough for today. He’d finish this lore some other night. He wanted to enjoy the rest of his time, playing some games or watching some shows, or doing anything that wasn’t an assignment for once. Just to reach the page minimum faster, he looked for this statue that made this god known. He scrolled through this article: nothing. The next one: nothing. The third, fourth, and fifth: nothing. Why were there no photos? Even if the professional shots were only available through a museum pay wall, there should at least be some pictures and selfies on social media, right?

Report: Is the new statue cursed?

It sounded like clickbait and looked like a blog, but no other article explained this specific phenomenon, so he read on.

The original photos from the exposition were corrupted within the day, before printing or digital upload was possible. This was odd, but technically possible. However, even photos taken in the Midgar Museum of Natural History, where the statues are currently on display, are immediately ruined. Whether it’s a flash from some ancient technology or some kind of spell, every photo taken results in a bright shine from the halo, the same effect as taking a picture of the sun.

Halo?

We should probably explain what the statue looks like.

That would be very helpful.

The most interesting and popular statue, “Reunion”, depicts Sephiroth and his Sacrifice, and is based off of one of the final scenes of the legend. Sephiroth’s upper torso and face resemble a human’s, but his legs are six perfect angel wings, and his right arm is a deformed wing holding a sword. He has two halos emitting from his center like a throne, and his long hair flows up through them. Many observers state the beauty of the statue, especially Sephiroth himself. As for his sacrifice, he’s pulled up and impaled by the sword, straight through the heart. Yet his face shows no pain, almost like sleep or acceptance. “Reunion” is supposed to refer to the promise Sephiroth made with humanity, but there are too many mistranslations for us to count so we’ll spare you the details.

Wow. Did Cloud really manage to pick the only god on the planet who cannot be photographed? There goes the extra credit. Maybe he’d look for artwork later. He wanted to enjoy his last few hours of night before it was back to the grind. He bookmarked each open tab, then closed the browser before finally enjoying part of his night.

* * *

He woke up to the same panic, the same strings, the same searing pain through his body, for four days. Something was wrong. He never had the same dream twice, but this was identical four times in a row. The same light, the same sky, the same clouds, the same sword. Sword? Yeah, probably a sword, through his chest. And now he had a headache. Again. Wonderful. He hadn’t touched the assignment since Monday. How was this still happening?

He should tell someone about this. Who, though? It was too soon to tell Tifa, and he didn’t want to seem like a wimp around her. Barret may actually hit him in the head in an attempt to knock some sense into him. Zack… Zack’s a good plan B, but it requires, absolutely requires, playful fighting that always ends with Cloud in a headlock. Maybe Aerith?

Yeah. Aerith was good for situations like this. She always knew what to say to make people feel better. Her minor in psychology completely reflected that, even though her major was environmental science. Without thinking, he grabbed his phone and texted her.

Cloud: Hey Aerith, is there any way we can meet up tomorrow? No big deal, just need to destress.

Then send. Oh Gods he hit send. What time was it?!

Sent: 4:38 AM.

She might actually kill him. He didn’t know how late it was. He didn’t mean to text this late. Oh gods she’s gonna be- His phone dinged.

Aerith: Sure, Cloud! I usually eat lunch alone on Thursdays, so come to the Chocobo Student Center at 11. I’ll be there.

Okay, maybe he wasn’t a complete jerk or he absolutely just woke her up and she was hiding it.

Cloud: Works for me. Thanks, Aerith. I’ll see you there.

* * *

Even on a Thursday morning, these restaurants were buzzing with students, everyone looking for something to eat that wasn’t the slowly degrading dining hall food. The large windows gave an effect of calm by actually allowing students to see sunlight, unlike his usual study spot, which had just the right mix of orderly chaos from tables nearby but came at the cost of no natural light.

He scanned the square tables for his friend with the pink bow. She always wore that bow. She told him once it was because the bow reminded her of home.

“Cloud!” He heard her yell from the exact opposite direction than he was looking. He turned and saw her waving at a table she had already begun eating at with a smile.

“Over here!”

Cloud waved awkwardly before approaching and dropping his bag in one of the open seats. “Hey. How’s it going?”

“Pretty good for now,” She answered casually. “And you?”

He shrugged as he sat. “Hangin’ in there. You know how it is with STEM majors.”

She gave him a point in agreement. “You got me there.” Then she smacked a hand to the table in order, like a judge does during court. “Why don’t you tell me what’s wrong while I eat? And next time, try to text me a little later. A girl’s gotta sleep, you know.”

Cloud rubbed the back of his neck and avoided her eyes. She saw right through his message to the truth. “Sorry. I didn’t know what time it was.”

She kindly waved him off. “No worries. Just imagine what would happen if you texted Tifa that late.”

His cheeks heated as he considered what their friend would think. She’d probably assume it was a drunk text, march over, question him for the truth, and kick his ass if he was really drunk.

She gave a soft giggle. “I’m kidding! But come on, tell me what happened.”

Cloud took a breath before dropping the hand from his neck so he could cross his arms lightly. Then he explained the project of the god, the lore he could remember, the weird photo corruption, and the repeated dream that haunted his mind.

“It happene four times, I feel stupid-”

“You’re not stupid for asking for help.” That was the first time she talked during his explanation.

His eyes dropped straight to the table at her nearly scolding tone.

“You can’t find any pictures of the statue?” Aerith asked for confirmation, and he nodded. “Why don’t you go to the museum? Maybe if you actually see it, you’ll stop worrying about it so much?” She tilted her head softly. “It’ll at least put a face to the name.”

He pouted and mumbled under his breath, “Would that be better, or more nightmare fuel?”

She shrugged with a genuinely caring expression on her face. “There’s only one way to tell. And it’s only a few blocks away, so it won’t kill your day to go over there.”

He stared down and paused. “Is there any way I can convince you to come with me?”

To his dismay, she shook her head. “Sorry. Zack gets off work at five, and I’m stuck in classes until then.”

He sighed, but nodded. His classes got out at 4:50, but it wouldn’t be fair to Zack to take his girlfriend on a field trip just because of some weird dreams. “I understand. Thanks, Aerith.”

“Of course!” She smiled at him, attempting to raise his spirits a little. “If you need me, call me. And if for some reason I don’t answer, leave a message and text me.”

He nodded again before standing up and grabbing his bag. “Thank you. I will. But I hope I won’t need to.”

* * *

Well, here he was, on the marble stairs, following Aerith’s advice. He stared and read the sign on above the stone columns of the massive structure.

Migar Museum of Natural History

He inhaled. He exhaled. Let’s do this. He adjusted his jacket, then his bag, and marched up to the entrance. He bought a ticket, security checked his bag, and finally he was off into the building of unearthed knowledge. Next step: he needed to find the exhibit. It was a new discovery, so it might be closer to the entrance. Luckily, there were QR codes on nearly every corner, which were scannable to get a pdf of the map on phones. Convenient.

Oh of course they put it in the back so you waste more time here. He shook his head to rid himself of the negative attitude, because it certainly wasn’t helping him through this. Cloud steeled himself once again and walked through the many decorated hallways, past dozens of displays and exhibits in search of his target. Though he would be lying if he claimed he was not distracted every once in a while by a particularly interesting piece, most of which were swords or various other bladed weapons. That tiny, childish part of him still cried out in joy whenever he saw a new or interesting design, too ingrained in him to keep his heart at a steady rate, the small excitement inevitable in his chest.

Finally, he made it to the new exhibition hall, which was far less crowded than he expected. It was a Thursday, yes, but this was a completely new discovery, correct? At least fairly new? The ceilings in the hall were three stories high, and he saw a second level balcony wrapping around the room with bronze trim. As he looked higher, he noticed a circular skylight, simulating rays of the sun which cascaded down to the largest and most detailed statue in the exhibit. The light through the window was blinding, and his only option was to move closer to see the statue at all.

He should not have come here.

The descriptions online were accurate, the piece was stunning. “Reunion” was stunning. The god occupied most of the marble in ways that didn’t seem physically possible, like a simple gust of wind would crack the piece in two. Yet it remained strong, fighting in majesty. But he couldn’t focus on the magnificent god, because the sacrifice the god was holding was Him.

The sacrifice. Was him. To a T. The body, the face, the hair, every detail visible on this statue was Him, like looking into a mirror.

It’s me. It’s me.

His body froze as his eyes analyzed every detail of the statue subconsciously. Every feather, every engraving, every point, every cloth, every cloud, every body, every strand of hair. Something grabbed at his chest, some kind of glow consuming him, eerie and familiar, like being wrapped in a warm blanket of feathers, with a low underlining of dread.

He ran, no, sprinted out of the museum, not caring for anyone he rushed passed or bumped against on his way out. It was him. It was him. It was him. Down to the sword through his chest. His breath defected to panting from the exertion. Was he having a panic attack? His whole body was tight, wound like a music box, like a timer ready to blow. He was barely thinking as he pushed the doors open and barreled down the stairs, his mind racing as fast as his body for three blocks, ignoring every bystander around him.

Aerith. He has to call Aerith, she always helped, always. He stumbled as he whipped out his phone to slow himself down. She said to call her first, so he tapped the icon and held the phone to his ear. But only after the first ring did his body seize, and he instinctively canceled the call, his phone still held to his ear.

Across the street, there was absolutely no mistaking it, was the god from the statue, who looked like a normal man to anyone else. Long silver hair in a ponytail that stopped at his mid thigh instead of defying gravity, and the exact same face and upper body. Though this man was dressed in a formal black suit, with a button down shirt with a little too buttons attached than socially acceptable, almost like a stereotypical businessman from a movie. He stared down at his watch and took a sip of his coffee as his purposeful walk continued through the sidewalk.

“I don’t care what it takes,” Cloud heard him in perfect clarity despite their distance, as if he was only inches away, the deep voice weaving its way through him like cold water on a summer day. “I need that report on my desk by tomorrow. Understood? …Good.” Then this walking god tapped the center of his ear, probably to stop the call and move on.

It took everything Cloud had not to scream. His panic surged back in full force, he sprinted all the way back to his apartment. This isn’t possible. This isn’t possible. This isn’t possible.

* * *

Damn it, he’s asleep again, because he’s back in the clouds.

But this time was different. He knew it was a dream. He knew what was happening.

Though the sky looked exactly the same, and the star still appeared in the distance, it didn’t brighten as it got closer. Cloud could finally see what this star really was.

It was the god. His six wings moved like the fins in perfect symmetry, yet his right arm was completely black, a deformed wing that grew on the side of his shoulder, the curve of the dark wing that held the sword in the statue.

He came closer and closer and Closer. So close Cloud could see his eyes. Snake-like, mako blue. Mako?

“Are you real…?” Cloud questioned softly, barely audible in the ever swirling sky, the first time he ever dared to speak in this place.

It was silent for what felt like an eternity as the god seemed to scan him.

“The time is now.”

The god spoke to him, and it was the same voice as the businessmen across the street..

But immediately after, he shot awake without a stabbing pain in his chest for the first time in four days, the warm feeling from the museum returned. Yet he was at his desk, and the only pain he felt was the crick in his neck from the terrible angle and lack of support. As his sight returned, he saw his open laptop with dozens of open tabs, every one of them about the god he just talked to. There were so many different translations and interpretations of this god’s legends that Cloud was ready to bash his head through a wall. Every theory he derived was too illogical to be true, even when compared to every attempted translation on the internet. He slowly glanced at the clock in the corner of his screen. 12:03 AM. He did not eat dinner. He had not showered yet. Maybe those two tasks should be accomplished before Cloud attempted more research or passed out again.

First he grabbed his phone and opened it subconsciously. Oh no. The call he canceled with Aerith earlier went through, and his phone was still on silent for lectures.

He missed three texts and two calls from Aerith, and one of each from Zack.

He’s a terrible friend. And he’s surprised they didn’t break his door down looking for him. Should he respond? Aerith was probably asleep by now. He decided a text would be better and sent it to both of them, hoping neither would respond.

Cloud: Sorry about the call. I’m okay. I’ll try to explain tomorrow.

He sighed as he sent the message, then flipped his phone screen face down. Don’t look, he told himself. Just let them sleep.

* * *

No more pain in the morning. No more dreams in those clouds either. But it came at a cost. Cloud looked up at the sky through the window in his room, and he could see a white streak, like a comet, hovering in the sky. Though the tail burned and fizzled, it was stationary in the blue mass. The timing was too perfect. He checked his phone for any reports, unconsciously ignoring the messages from Zack and Aerith, but the news showed nothing of the phenomenon, anywhere. Taking a picture, he sent the scenario to his entire friend group through a group chat and asked if they saw anything.

They all claimed the sky was perfectly normal, and talked about how good the weather was looking today.

What the hell was going on?

Thanks for reading!

Author’s Notes: Well, this is my second attempt at a full au. I hope you enjoyed it! I’m totally willing to continue it if people are interested. Let me know what you think and thank you for reading! (Check the tags for more notes)

Update: Will be continuing. Hope you're ready!

#ff7 #final fantasy vii #cloud strife #sephiroth #zack fair #jenova #ffvii #final fantasy 7 #tifa lockhart #aerith gainsborough #barret wallace #the document was so long #editing was difficult and loading times were obnoxious. I also absolutely projected my college experience onto everyone in the AU for my ow #i have so much of the lore of the gods completed #i spent more time on that than the actual art this is based on #woops #still had a lot of fun #thanks for reading! hope you enjoy!

64 notes · View notes

reidamancy · 4 years ago

Text

a little different || bau

summary: You are on your way to meet the BAU, who are just... a little different than what you’re used to. (reader & bau)

category: fluff

warnings: none

word count: 1k

a/n: hi guys!!! sorry i haven’t posted in forever!!! school has just been so busy :P anyways, this is ‘a little different’ (haha!) from what i usually write, but i hope you enjoy this short and sweet little fic! plz be kind i’m nervous >.<

MASTERLIST

The sun shined softly through the crisp, white curtains, signaling the start of a new day. Birds chirped happily outside the window; and the house was an eery quiet; maybe today could be a good day after all.

I let out a sigh and got up, passing the mirror on the way to the bathroom. My long, golden locks cascaded perfectly down my back even though I just woke up. I’m just that perfect. My blue/green/gray orbs stared back at me in the mirror. I let out a sigh and put my hair into a messy bun; I could not deal with it today.

As I was getting ready, I heard my mom yell, “Y/N!! Get down here NOW!”

Ugh, I hated her.

I made my way downstairs to see what she wanted, but there was a man standing in our kitchen.

“Um, who is this?” I asked.

“He is your new owner.” My mom replied.

“Owner?!”

He stepped forward and introduced himself, “Aaron Hotchner, FBI.” He extended his hand for a handshake but I looked at it with disgust.

My mom scowled at me, “Be nice to Agent Hotchner, Y/N, I just sold you to the BAU.”

“You sold me?!”

“Uh, yeah, I just said that.” She waved her hand, “Take her out of my sight.”

Agent Hotchner nodded and said, “Follow me,” as he passed by me.

Wow, I could not believe this.

He led me to his car and told me he was going to introduce me to the rest of the BAU.

“What is a BAU?” I asked.

“The Behavioral Analysis Unit. Your new owners.”

I scoffed.

“Just so you know, we are... a little different. But we own you now so there’s no escape from us.”

I rolled my eyes, and plugged my earbuds into my iPod and looked out the window the rest of the ride.

When we arrived at the FBI building, I followed Agent Hotchner to a small room with six other people sitting at a table. Their eyes followed me as I slowly sat down in the empty seat.

“Y/N, meet the BAU.” Agent Hotchner said. “This is Rossi,” he gestured towards an older Italian man.

“I have the money and power to kill you and make it look like an accident. But I won’t, even though I should, because it won’t be good for the plot.” Rossi said.

That’s a bit weird, but I’m just gonna go along with it.

“He’s a mafia boss,” Agent Hotchner clarified.

Rossi nodded, “And I’ve infiltrated the FBI, which means all these agents,” he gestured around, “work for me.”

“Okay then.” I nodded, like it was the most normal thing in the world.

“And this,” Hotch moved on, “is Agent Morgan. He’s supernatural.”

“...What do you mean supernatural?” I asked.

Morgan leaned forward and slyly said, “You know, vampire. Werewolf. Ghost. Fairy. Warlock. All of the above.”

“Wow. That’s hot.” I said. Omg, did I say that out loud?!

He smirked at me, and I knew that even though he was much more powerful than me and could probably kill me, that didn’t stop my heart from fluttering when he looked at me. I could feel this weird supernatural bond with him, and I had this trust in him, that he would never hurt me, even if it’s in his nature to. But in the end, he’d probably turn me into whatever creature he is so we can live peacefully together forever. But I swear, we could be happy as human and supernatural <3

Agent Hotchner then pointed to the woman sitting next to Morgan. “This is Agent Prentiss.”

She frowned at me, and I rolled my eyes back at her. It was obvious she hated me but she was so hot. The tension between us was so thick and we couldn’t stand to be in the same room together. Maybe there will be an incident one day where we reveal the most vulnerable parts of ourselves and she will be the only one I come to trust </3 I knew in time she would warm up to me and even though she hates me right now, perhaps later we will be... lovers?

“Next to her is JJ,” Hotch announced.

A blonde woman came over and hugged me, “Hi, sweetie, I’m your mom!”

“Um, no you’re not.” I said. My mom literally sold me to her.

“In an alternate universe I am, silly!” She booped my nose.

An awkward silence filled the air.

“You know, in another alternate universe you could have been sold to, I don’t know, One Direction or something.” JJ laughed.

I laughed with her. Wow, she’s so crazy.

Hotch cleared his throat. “And this, is-” I turned to where he was pointing and gasped.

“Spencer?!”

“Y/N, hi.” He quietly said.

I walked over and gave my childhood friend a hug. “I haven’t seen you in so long!” I exclaimed. After giving him a tight squeeze, I released him, only to see his cheeks tinged a bright pink. He only blushed like that when he had a crush. Could we become childhood friends... to lovers?

“And lastly,” Hotch said. “This is Penelope Garcia, your-”

“Soulmate!” She finished for him. “See our matching tattoos! And I can hear your thoughts! And you can hear mine! And if we write on our skin, the other person can see it! And we can feel each other’s pain! Isn’t that so cool!”

Yeah!! I thought.

“I know right!!” She responded out loud.

Omg she really is my soulmate.

I smiled at her and gave her a hug.

Most people would probably think it’s really weird to be sitting at a table with a mafia boss, a werewolf/vampire/whatever, an enemy, a childhood friend, a mom from an alternate universe, and soulmate, but I am NOT like other girls so I was completely okay with it. I’m also okay with the fact that my actual mom sold me to the FBI. Because I hate her.

I looked up at Hotch. “So what are you?”

"Me? I’m just your normal FBI boss. And we’ve got a case.”

“A case?? I’m not trained for the FBI!”

“You will be. Wheels up in 30.”

...

APRIL FOOL’S!!

haha, if you couldn’t tell by now, this entire “fic” was my little april fool’s joke :’) i tried to squeeze every wattpad trope in to this monstrosity of a fanfiction and i wish i could say i hated writing it but it was honestly pretty funny... even tho it’s so, so painful to read. anyways, sorry if you were expecting an actual fic, i am trying my best to work on my wips but until then check out my masterlist (with writing that is much better than this)! <3

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds imagine #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #reader insert #spencer reid x y/n #bau x reader #bau x y/n #aaron hotchner #david rossi #derek morgan #emily prentiss #jennifer jareau #penelope garcia #bau fluff #criminal minds fanfic

104 notes · View notes

darthkruge · 4 years ago

Note

hey could you do a jess mariano x reader where the reader has dyslexia but loves to read. someone at school makes a comment about her being dumb and she gets insecure but jess is super reassuring to the reader about how intelligent she is. also they can either be already dating or have mutual crushes. whatever you think fits better. <3

Jess Mariano x Dyslexic!Reader ~ All of You

Summary: Someone at school insults the dyslexic reader and their boyfriend, Jess, provides reassurance.

Warnings: Bullying, language, insecurities, I think that’s it?

Words: 2.1k

A/N: Hey!! I’m so, so sorry this took me so long to get to! I hope you don’t mind, I didn’t mean to keep you in the ask box void. I really enjoyed writing this, so thank you for requesting! I decided to make them already be dating because that’s where my brain went hehe. I hope you like it :)

You walked to school hand-in-hand with your boyfriend, as always. Even though it took him about 15-20 minutes out of the way, Jess never missed walking with you. He hated the thought of you starting your day by yourself and never wanted you to feel forgotten about or lonely. Thus, the tradition began and it has stayed the way you start your day, everyday, for the last few months that you’ve been dating.

Jess pulled you behind the science building, pressing his lips to yours. Your hands instinctively wove into his hair and his arms wound around your waist, pulling your bodies together. He smiled into the kiss before pulling away from your lips and gently moving his kisses down the side of your neck. You hummed in content before moving to meet his face again, once again pressing your lips to his.

These stolen moments were what you lived for. You’d never felt too confident in yourself, at least as far as relationships went, and you weren’t used to this kind of affection. Even so, you loved every moment of it. Everything with Jess felt so natural. No matter what, you came first to him and he never failed to show it.

You both pulled away and he softly kissed your forehead.

“See you after second period?”

“Of course”

“Okay, love. Text me if you need me. Or if you’re bored. Or if you miss me”

“Oh, yes! That Jess Mariano charm. I’m not sure how I’ll endure two classes without it!”

“I’m sure it’ll prove quite e difficult,” Jess said, laughing. The bell rang and he gave you one last smile before you parted.

You walked into your English class with a smile on your face, giddy after the experience with him. He made you feel alive. It was the kind of feeling you didn’t know you needed, but once you felt it you couldn’t imagine losing it.

You sat down in your seat, waiting for the teacher to start class.

“Okay, everyone. Today we’re just going to be doing some silent reading for the first half of class and then I’ll put you in small groups to work on a new project”

Fuck. Group projects were the fucking worst. Unless you got one of your friends, people were normally assholes and impossible to work with.

Even though you were upset with the new development, you were excited to have time to read. You pulled out your copy of The Great Gatsby that Jess had lent you and picked up where you last left off. Because you read so much and generally did well or at least half-decent in school, people never assumed you had dyslexia. Lots of people had this false narrative that if you have dyslexia, you must hate reading. It was something you were used to, the stupid comments and assumptions. You tried to not let it get to you but you sometimes felt frustrated. You’d run into loads of ignorant people in your life and while you weren’t ashamed to have dyslexia, you hated having to explain it to every new teacher, every new friend in your life. You never knew how’d they’d react.

Even so, reading was one of your greatest joys in life. Losing yourself in the work, in the story, it was enthralling. You loved to find characters that you connected with. Their emotions were palpable and made you feel validated and less alone. Reading was one of the main things that brought you and Jess together. He knew you had dyslexia and, thankfully, never treated you like you were any less. You were afraid he would break up with you once you told him, but, of course, he didn’t. You were still you, and that’s all he cared about.

He loved trading books with you and hearing your thoughts on them. In doing so, he felt the two of you were brought closer together. Discussing literature was an almost intimate experience in your relationship. Learning which characters and themes resonated with a person was truly illuminating about their personality and mind. Right now, as you read Gatsby, Jess was reading Pride and Prejudice. You loved Jane Austen, as did Jess, and you completely enjoyed discussing her work.

After a few moments lost in thought, your teacher’s voice pulled you back to the present. “Alright! Okay so for the group project you will be analyzing the short story “The Lottery” by Shirley Jackson. Please read it together today and discuss what you think the most pertinent theme is. I’ve already assigned the groups and I’ll display them on the board right now.”

Your teacher stepped back and turned on the projector so you could see the groups. Scanning for your name, you internally groaned when you saw who you were with. Sarah, Justin, and Alex. They were all close and their friend group didn’t exactly have the best reputation. You grabbed your bag, walked over to them, and sat down.

“So, y’all just wanna read it? Then just talk about it, I guess. We’re looking for themes, right?” Sarah asked.

Everyone nodded, opening up the copies of the short story placed on your desks. You jumped in and immediately felt yourself pulled into the writing. After a few minutes, your eyes glued to the story, you heard the rest of your group closing their packets.

“Alright, everyone done?” Justin asked.

“Yeah, you?” Alex said

Sarah nodded in agreement.

You, on the other hand, felt your cheeks flush. You were only about 70% through the story. “Sorry, I just need a bit more time, is that okay?”

“Ugh, fine, whatever. Just hurry up,” Sarah groaned.

Your face burning, you went back to the reading. It wasn’t like you weren’t trying, you were! They just wouldn’t understand it. You couldn’t count the amount of times people had told you to just “focus more”. It made your blood boil, honestly. It was so dismissive and you couldn't believe people still thought that way. You always focused and it wasn’t your fault, and, yet, morons like these three persisted. After a few more minutes, you heard Alex again.

“Come on! You can’t possibly still be reading?”

“I’m sorry, just-” You sighed, running your hands through your hair. “Please, just a few more minutes?”

“God, you’re so fucking stupid. No wonder no one wants to work with you. All you do is hold people up, you’re a goddamn idiot” Alex said.

Your eyes burned and unshed tears started to push their way up but you fought them down. You wouldn’t let yourself cry in front of them. They didn’t deserve to see how they’d affected you.

Finally, the bell went off and you were able to leave. Your group glared at you and you realized you hadn’t discussed the themes.

“It’s, um, the story’s about the juxtaposition of peace and violence. Even though the people are in a calm, controlled setting, they resort to violence every year. It’s an outdated tradition they keep up and, thus, it highlights the difference between their actions and how they want to be perceived.” You said quickly, voice wavering.

Your group scoffed before walking off. That didn’t bother you too much. You knew your analysis was accurate and probably far better than anything they could have come up with, even if they’d spent the last 15 minutes of class discussing it. Despite this, you still felt deflated. The shit they’d said, the way they’d treated you? You couldn’t deny it, it got to you.

You walked over to your locker and put your stuff away. After that, you decided you were just going to go home. You could call the school later and say you were feeling sick or something. Honestly, you couldn’t bring yourself to care. You were just so drained, you needed to get away from this place and the people in it.

However, you didn’t want Jess to worry. You sent him a quick text saying you weren’t feeling well and put on your headphones before walking out of the school.

What you didn’t expect was Jess to come flying out of nowhere, appearing by your side as if you’d summoned him.

“Jess! What are you doing? Don’t you have class!”

He shrugged. “You weren’t feeling well. Did you honestly expect I’d leave you by yourself? And, seriously, Y/N, you know I hate this place. You’re the only thing that makes it bearable so if you wouldn’t be here, why should I?”

You nodded and kept walking forward. Jess looked at you quizzically, trying to decode your dejected state. He kept quiet, knowing not to push you to talk. He trusted you’d come to him when you were ready. Therefore, he simply followed you until you made it off campus, where you turned into a random alley and suddenly stopped walking.

Jess caught himself, almost running right into you. You suddenly turned around, dropped your bag, and bolted right into his chest. He was caught off guard but instinctively brought his arms around you, trying to comfort you. He noticed you were crying, your broken sobs getting muffled in his shirt. He soothingly rubbed his arms up and down your back, desperately trying to give you solace. After you finally quieted down, Jess gently and slowly pulled you back.

His hands gripped your shoulders as he studied your face, your sad gaze meeting his. “What happened?”

“Stupid English, that’s all”

“Come on, Y/N, don’t shut me out. What happened?” He said, his tone kind.

“I-” You trailed off, trying to keep your composure. “Some kids just said some shit. I was just reading slower than them and they said some shit. It’s not a big deal, I just- it got to me, okay?”

“Who?” Jess said, firmly this time.

“Jess-”

“Who, Y/N?”

“Alex, Justin, and Sarah.”

Jess groaned, rubbing the heels of his hands over his eyes. “Fuck them, Y/N. They’re fucking ridiculous and they don’t know anything about you”

“I know, I know. That’s why I’m so goddamn frustrated! Because, like, it did get to me. Jess- Jess, they’re right. I felt like an idiot today, I felt stupid. And I hate feeling that way!” Hot tears smarmed in your eyes, the frustration and anger bringing them out.

Jess’s gaze softened. As livid as he felt toward the three of them, he knew that’s not what you needed right now.

“Hey, hey, hey. Love, take a breath. I’ve got you, okay?”

You nodded, your breathing shaky from the stress of the day.

“I’m sorry that happened today. Listen to me, Y/N. You’re so smart. You’re smarter than I am, hell, you’re smarter than anyone at that school! They’ve got nothing on you!”

You looked at him and smiled at his words but shook your head. “You don’t need to do that, Jess”

“Yes, I do. We promised we’d be honest in our relationship, right? Well, that’s all I’m doing. Seriously, Y/N, who else at that school could debate the themes in literature with me like you? Who could discuss the importance of accurate representation in books with me? Who could talk to me about just how influential YA books are and why they should be taken seriously-?”

“They are and they should!” You cut in.

Jess laughs, nodding in agreement. “Exactly!! You’re amazing, Y/N. And I swear those fuckheads are gonna get what’s coming to them”

“Jess-” You warn.

“Okay, okay!” He laughed, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “They just- they messed with you and made you upset and I fucking hate that”

“I hated it too. I hate doubting myself because of my dyslexia. I feel so shit about myself when I get in that headspace and I start spiraling and it gets out of control so fast.”

“I know. It’s not your fault when those spirals happen. And I know you know this, but I’m just gonna remind you: you’re not any less because you’re dyslexic. It doesn’t make you stupid or anything. It’s a part of you and I love you, all of you”

Your heart swelled at his words. Everyone thought Jess wasn’t good expressing his emotions but you knew the truth. He was quite eloquent when he wanted to be, he just sometimes had trouble with vulnerability. You didn’t blame him for it, with his past it made perfect sense. But when you needed that reassurement, that compassion, you could always count on him for it.

He moved to place a kiss on your forehead before slinging his arm around your shoulder. “Let’s go home, okay?”

“Okay” You smiled up at him and kissed him once more before tucking your head into his shoulder. He pulled you closer and you grabbed his free hand with yours as you continued to walk through the Stars Hollow streets together.

#jess mariano x reader #jess mariano #jess mariano x you #jess mariano fanfic #jess mariano fic #jess mariano imagine #jess mariano imagines #jess mariano x gn!reader #jess mariano x gender neutral reader #jess mariano x dyslexic reader #jess mariano x dyslexic!reader #gilmore girls x reader

318 notes · View notes

oidheadh-con-culainn · 3 years ago

Note

What are the major details that confused you about the Hound blurb? The major one that stood put to me was the "way of the farmer opposed to the sword" thing which felt very...un-Cú Chulainn. Also, if you don't mind expanding further, which details didn't you question/be confused by?

and also for anon:

okay so it is like. 2am so there are not going to be any sources here but i can't sleep so here goes!! i will go through this blurb line by line and give youse my thoughts

In 50 BCE,

reasonable. this is roughly the right time period for when the ulster cycle is set. maybe marginally earlier than i'd place cú chulainn, but i'm talking a few years, nothing to get worked up about.

Morrigan, the goddess of war,

fine. normally i'm wary of pantheonising impulses with regard to irish characters (almost none of them can be identified as a god of anything in particular, it doesn't work like that) but tbh the morrigan is like, the most plausible exception to that, so whatever. normally her name has the definite article attached to it because it's kind of a species term as well but whatevs.

has become restless as a long-lasting peace settles over Ireland.

dubious. closest i can think of to peace being reference in any texts is togail bruidne da derga talking about conaire mor's reign being like, prosperous and peaceful and whatever, and even there you've got díberg (plundering/reaving) which is what eventually fucks him over and starts the otherworldly hell spiral situation. that's roughly the right period here but conaire's doom proves you don't have to do much to nudge peace into war, and connacht and ulster are at each other's throats for years before cú chulainn comes on the scene anyway

Deciding the time of peace must end, she chooses Setanta, the nephew of the king of the north, to become her ward.

hmm. i mean. like, this isn't the WEIRDEST choice they could have made. it's still completely made-up, don't get me wrong -- cú chulainn has a lot of different foster parents in different texts and they don't agree with each other but none of them ever mentions the morrígan. but like, they do have a connection of some sort, as evidenced by their conversations. and there's that one moment in the r1 boyhood deeds where little cú chulainn is out on the battlefield and hears her (not sure which name is used here) calling out to him and it like. motivates him to do some deeds or whatever, and i guess you could extrapolate that into some kind of teaching capacity.

so like. could be weirder. if you're gonna pick anyone, you could do worse. still seems weird to me! but not on its own a major issue, i could get past this and consider it a Fun But Unorthodox Creative Decision

(the fact that she tries to seduce him in the táin probably wouldn't get in the way of this considering sleeping with his teachers/foster-mothers is far from unheard of where cú chulainn is concerned)

After a young Setanta slays the demon-hound of Cullan, he becomes known as Cú Cullan—The Hound of Cullan.

weird spelling choices, they could have at least bothered to use the genitive properly. also the hound isn't a demon, it's a ferocious watchdog -- making it sound all Otherworldly and Hellish like this kinda confuses the issue of why he would need to take its place. he needs to take its place because the cattle and people still need protecting because it is a watchdog!! but whatevs, again, it's a brief summary so they can't exactly give us all the details and this is not actively objectionable

As Cú Cullan grows older, it is apparent that an extraordinary power lies within him … and a great darkness.

ugh boring. this makes it sound like he's going to be ~tortured~ and angsty about it. give me an unapologetic murder teen please. is the ríastrad dark? sure i guess, if you're going to be boring about it. it's more like, grotesque neon in my head

When he chooses the quiet life of a farmer over the sword,

this would fucking never happen on like five different levels. obviously like anyone who has ever read anything about cú chulainn can see that this is not in his nature. he is never going to choose a quiet life. this is the kid who tricked his way into taking arms before everyone thought he was ready. also juxtaposed with the "darkness" comment makes it sound like he would Angst his way into this quiet life which. again. have you seen this kid. he is an unapologetic murder teen

the only thing i can think of that might make him temporarily want to walk away is connla's death which... depends where you position that in the timeline really, he does seem a bit fucked up by it and maybe he'd want a holiday although i can see that lasting precisely 5 minutes before someone pissed him off enough for him to murder them. but if he's being raised by the morrígan i can't see him going to train with scáthach so then he'd never meet aífe and therefore connla would never be born so that wouldn't happen. so like. whatever.

but also like. he would not become a farmer. he just wouldn't! it doesn't work! the ireland of the stories is super hierarchical, right? and this blurb has already fucking told us that he's the king's nephew (canon) so we can tell that being a farmer is Not His Place. when we see upper class figures becoming menial labourers in texts, like in cath maige tuired, it's because Things Are Fucked, Shit's Gone Wrong. people don't just decide to change their entire social class on a whim lmfao

if cú chulainn really wanted to turn his back on being a warrior he could probably make recourse to certain other Suitable Professions ... his grandad's a druid so he might have a route into that, though his dad's not so that might fuck things up a bit bc it's one of those things that's usually inherited. he does give "wisdom" in at least one text though and we also know he can write (he carves riddles in ogham in the táin) and he composes verses on various occasions so idk, maybe something in a poetic direction, though again, usually requires two generations of inheritance to be a real poet and not just a lower-class bard. warrior's kinda the main thing he's got open to him tbh. but farming? i'm not a legal expert but as far as i'm aware based on what i have read, that would fuck shit up

more likely an upset cú chulainn would just go off in search of an adventure somewhere conveniently far away until he'd calmed down (alba, or the tyrrhenian sea, or -- if we're going to get early modern about it -- somewhere like india, which frequently gets thrown into the texts with absolutely no cultural context and it's always hilarious)

Morrigan, angry at the betrayal,

of the entire social order, yes,

instigates an invasion of his homeland

i mean. if they intend this to be the táin then.... táin bó regamna does kinda make the morrígan responsible for it? not in the sense of triggering the pillow talk argument that it's in the book of leinster -- it's her getting up to her usual cow-nicking behaviours for shits and giggles. [note to readers: it is probably for more than shits and giggles but did i mention it's 2am]

but all in all, not particularly out of character that she would be at least some way responsible for this so i can vibe with this. echtra nerai also supports the TBR explanation with her fucking around with otherworldly cows and pissing people off so, yeah, whatever. the morrígan engineered this. sure.

and Cú Cullan must challenge fate itself

this is probably a controversial stance but fate feels like a difficult concept to apply to medieval irish texts. like are people sometimes Doomed? yes. there are prophecies, there are gessi, there's all manner of otherworldly fuckery that can trip you up. is that the same thing as fate? no idea. considering cú chulainn comes out alive from the táin though and his doom prophecies don't catch up to him for like, at least another decade, maybe 16 years depending on who you listen to, hard to see how that would apply here

to keep the goddess at bay.

again like she IS causing fuckery in the táin but also it's like... one time. really not the main character. but she or maybe just some crows, hard to say, do get implicated in the death tale so maybe they're doing what people often do and conflating the two? even though there's like 10-16 years in between them?

anyway as you can see i don’t think it’s wholly terrible / i’m not completely thinkshaming it. like, having cú chulainn raised by the morrígan is unorthodox but it could be a fun and creative direction so i don't object to it. making cú chulainn get sad about murder and choose to be a farmer is just fucking laughable tho, and makes me doubt their characterisations in general. so that's offputting and would probably make me think twice about buying it, if that had ever been on the cards.*

and of course sure, their cú chulainn can be a Sad Boy Who Likes Sheep, but that means he's not the cú chulainn of medieval irish lit / irish myth, because that cú chulainn is a feral murder teen who keeps killing his friends and also is way too high social status to ever be a farmer, and whose only relationship to livestock is as the watchdog who kills anyone trying to harm them (which is an important role on a farm! but like. not the same thing as Being A Farmer. mostly because it involves more murder and is essentially just an extension of his role as a warrior. or rather the other way around. he promises to protect mag muirthemne as a watchdog and this like. gets extended into him becoming its sole defender)

this has been my analysis of this blurb i hope you enjoyed it

it's now 2.30am i should try and sleep now that i've exorcised a few thoughts from my head

*as i mentioned in the tags of my other post, i don't tend to read graphic novels due to disability stuff. they're much harder for me to understand and follow than prose, to the point where some are incomprehensible, so i don't really enjoy them. there are a few i've read, but they tend to be short ones, and i'm usually not reading them in order, just admiring the art separately from the text. so it's unlikely i would read a graphic novel of this size anyway.

#cu chulainn #hound #hound graphic novel #answered #oddnub-eye #anonymous #irish mythology #medieval irish #tain bo cuailnge

18 notes · View notes

gamequeenanya · 4 years ago

Text

Prinxiety - Purple is More Regal

Rating: T

Summary: When Roman tries to give up his crown, Virgil has to convince him that he's enough. (Human AU)

Warning: Inspired by ANGST fics! Roman angst w/ a happy ending. / trans!Virgil / self harm implications / depressed Roman / implied U!Remus / somewhat intimate prinxiety? but it's playful

Two men were sitting on a bed in Roman's room. It was grand, with fancy red curtains adorning it. The pillows were feather soft, with a hand stitched R pattern. Silence permeated through the air.

"Purple is a royal colour, you know."

Roman's voice had startled Virgil, and he looked up. The man smiled sadly.

"Huh?" Virgil said. Roman seemed broken, his eyes trying desperately to show some happiness. He inched towards Virgil on the bed. When he was close enough, he took off his crown and dropped it in front of him.

Virgil looked up in shock.

"This is for you," Roman shook his head. "I don't deserve it anymore."

"What do you mean?"

Roman turned around, fighting back tears. Virgil came closer, tentatively offering his hand if Roman wanted it. The man held it.

Virgil could tell he was stressed. He massaged Roman's newly bandaged wrist lightly, and brought it up to his lips. The gentle affection made Roman smile.

His wrist had been bandaged just hours before. He'd told Virgil he'd accidentally cut himself on glass. But Virgil knew the truth. The man had run for the bathroom and had a breakdown. He'd heard his heart wrenching sobs. The only thing stopping him from offering comfort was the fact that it would hurt Roman's pride more. So he'd waited until the man recovered.

Now seeing how broken the man was, Virgil wondered if he'd made the right choice.

Virgil moved to hug Roman, his thin, small frame supporting Roman's larger, muscular one. The man hummed gratefully, wrapping his arms around Virgil too. It was wonderful, until Virgil felt a pinching pain in his chest. He winced.

"What is it?" Roman said. Virgil groaned.

"Ugh, I wore my binder too long."

"Alright, I won't look!" Roman said, turning away so as to give him privacy. Virgil took his shirt off and then his binder, tossing it to the side. He slipped his shirt back on.

"'Kay, you can look now."

Turning around, Roman saw Virgil smile up at him. His heart beat faster in his chest and filled him with bliss. Roman wrapped his arms around him and stroked his back. Virgil purred like a cat. He smoothed his fingers through his hair.

Lifting the back of his shirt up, Virgil traced his lower back. Roman stiffened for a second. He stopped.

"A little higher," Roman muttered. He didn't like how that spot still gave him pain flare ups. Virgil did so, moving up, past the "I love you, Virgil" tattoo with the heart and bat wings above it and a rose bush of thorns below it. He traced his mid back now, tickling the red dragon tattoo he'd gotten there. Roman giggled.

Virgil could feel his heart melt. How could anyone abuse this man? He felt rage build up inside him as well, thinking of how Remus had treated him; cutting his skin and calling him worthless.

He continued tracing his upper back, hoping to distract Roman from his sadness. There was a fire and sword tattoo, and next to it a smiling Sheltie, one of Roman's favourite dogs.

The man hummed in satisfaction.

That was good. Virgil thought. He'd waited for this moment for so long. Remus had convinced Roman that he was unlovable, and it took a lot of therapy to undo the damage. Virgil had confessed to him that he liked him as soon as Roman was in a proper mental state to give an honest answer. He'd cried tears of joy and embraced him.

"I love you," Virgil muttered into his neck.

Roman couldn't help giggle and turtle. He lightly pushed him away. Smiling, he said, "I love you too!"

With his hands still lazily clawing at his back, Roman decided to return the favour. Lightly massaging Virgil's lower back, he hummed.

A tattoo was there that said "I love you Roman," with a similar design to his boyfriend's, except his heart and rosebush roses were purple. Scritching up to his middle back he jokingly petted Virgil's cat tattoo. Unlike Roman's tattoos, these didn't cover abuse scars. But they were gotten out of solidarity. He moved ever upward, stroking the bat, pumpkin, ghost, and even the scary spider tattoo.

Virgil leaned in to kiss him. Roman accepted, stroking his hair and kissing back.

Opening his eyes slightly, Virgil spotted the crown still on the bed. It was looking a little lonely, he thought. So, picking the crown up, Virgil placed it onto Roman's head. They parted their kiss, and Roman reached up to feel the crown, confused.

"You really think I am worthy...?"

Virgil nodded.

"But I'm so stupid..." he muttered. Virgil clenched his fists in rage.

"Screw the school system! And screw Remus!" Virgil said, growling. At seeing Roman’s startled expression, he looked guilty. He spoke softer. "You're so intelligent, Ro. Do you think I could ever write a screenplay? I'd have a panic attack just trying to get the formatting right! And your acting? Some people sound like cardboard cutouts, but you make it real." He looked at him with mixed emotions in his eyes.

"That's the trick," Roman muttered. "You have to become the character, and genuinely feel what they're feeling."

Virgil's eyes brightened. "And that's what I mean! Don't ever let anyone tell you you're unworthy because their analysis of you is flawed!"

Roman looked back at him and nodded slowly. Virgil stroked his hair.

"I love you, and you are good enough, understand?"

Roman chuckled lightly. He felt the crown on his head, still unsure. But Virgil's words did make him feel better.

Virgil picked up a notebook from the desk.

"Here, you can write something if you want. If it's important, I can proofread it for you."

"Alright." Roman said, picking up the notebook and a pen. He thought a while, glancing to the side, and at Virgil.

It was tough knowing he'd be scrutinized. But also he knew Virgil would never criticize his vision, just circle errors he wouldn't have noticed himself. They'd agreed upon the sorts of things Roman wanted criticized when Virgil become his beta reader. As silly as some of the ideas were, Virgil trusted that Roman knew what he was doing. Sometimes one's vision doesn't become clear until the end of the story, after all.

He wrote until his idea faded, and he put his pen down.

"Want me to see?" Virgil said. Roman shook his head.

"It's not ready yet."

Virgil nodded, understanding. He simply let Roman sit there and decide what to do next.

Roman looked down at him curiously. "Would you like to switch clothing?"

"Huh?" Virgil looked confused. "Uhh, sure."

He didn't know what his idea was, but let Roman borrow his jacket. The other man turned around, dug through his drawer, and gave him a spare Prince outfit. Virgil smiled, putting it on. He had to admit, he felt good like this.

Roman, on the other hand, looked in a mirror and sighed.

"You know, you're right-" Virgil said, cutting in before he could say something self deprecating. "Purple is a royal colour. You look good in it."

Roman smiled. "And you look amazing as a prince."

"Hey," Virgil said playfully, standing next to him. "I never said I wouldn't wear a crown."

Taking the crown off his head, Roman placed it on Virgil's. Immediately, Virgil took it off and gave it back.

"No, not your crown. A crown. So we can be husbands."

"Alright, my prince," Roman chuckled.

((3 days later))

Virgil would have been pleased with a printed paper crown. But Roman had to go all out, commissioning an actual blacksmith. After it was made, he paid the man and accepted the crown. He'd placed the crown in a box, wrapped it with Disney’s Frozen wrapping paper, and tied it with a bow on top.

When Virgil had opened the box, he gasped.

"Roman, you shouldn't have!"

He placed it on his head, finding it the perfect size. Smiling at Roman in awe, he asked him how he could ever think he'd be worthy of such a gift.

"You're my prince, and you are worthy. You are kind, supportive, and you make me happy."

Virgil blushed for the first time in a long time. "Wha...? No, you!"

Roman laughed, enjoying the cute expression on his face. He pulled out an Uno Reverse card.

"This isn't fair, Roman. I'm supposed to be the one cheering you up!"

"Life isn't fair, dear." He leaned in to gently kiss his forehead.

"Whatever."

Roman gently tickled his sides, making him giggle.

Instead of pushing him away though, Virgil pulled his hands away, but leaned closer to his torso.

"How did I ever end up with someone like you?" Roman said with a smile.

"Hey," Virgil said with a leftover giggle. "I've got five more reverse cards, and I'm not afraid to use them!"

Roman accepted his fate, putting his hands up in mock surrender.

It was so funny, he was always striving so hard for perfection that he didn't stop to think that he might be enough for someone... until now.

#sanders sides #prinxiety #roman sanders #virgil sanders #fanfiction #my fanfics #angst #hurt/comfort #u!remus

38 notes · View notes

cotncandyboifics · 4 years ago

Text

1989 [High School AU]: Chapter 3

AO3 Link

Masterpost

Chapter 1 ~ Chapter 2 ~ Chapter 4 ~ Chapter 5 ~ Chapter 6 ~ Chapter 7 ~ Chapter 8 ~ Chapter 9 ~

Pairings: slight Logince, eventual Prinxiety & Logicality

Word count: 1,983

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter CW: implied anxiety attack, (let me know if i missed anything please!)

Author notes: <none>

...

The four boys were in Roman's room; Virgil sprawled across the bed lazily, Patton and Logan observing Roman's pet turtle, and Roman taking out the Cress plants and setting them on the window sill by his desk.

"soooooooo adorable!!" Patton yelped. he was naturally very enthusiastic, but seemed to be putting a little extra umph into it now.

Logan smiled over at him. "Quite. This is a Trachemys Scripta Elegans, also known as the red-eared pond slider. These are among the most common species of pet turtles. Although, despite their prevalence, they are indeed 'adorable.'" Upon finishing his analysis, Logan looked back to Patton, who had been watching intently as Logan explained. Patton felt a light blush rise to his cheeks, looking away from Logan.

"H-how do you know so much about turtles?" Patton said quietly.

"Well, when I was young, I really wanted a pet turtle. My mother, well, she supported it, but my dad... well, they came to a compromise, that if I did my research and took care of it on my own, that I could have a pet turtle."

"...And? Did you end up getting one?" Patton asked, his face showing plainly how emotionally invested in this story he'd become.

"Yes. His name was Star, I had him for a total of two years and three months." Logan said shortly.

"Why only two years? What happened?" Patton said. "I thought turtles lived for a long time?"

"They do, but Star was already 46. I got him from a rescue center; he had been left in an aquarium on the side of the road. I knew before committing to keeping him that he wouldn't last too much longer." Logan reminisced, but only for a moment. "Anyway, that was years ago." He said shortly, turning away from Patton.

Just at that moment, Roman turned around and cleared his throat. "If I could have everyone's undivided attention," he side-eyed Virgil aggressively, who just smirked and seemed to relax more into Roman's bed. "ugh, typical. will you please come and join the conversation, Hot Topic?" he pressed.

"Aww, you think I'm hot." Virgil teased back as he sat up. Roman's eyes went wide, his cheeks darkening. But before Virgil could notice, Patton diverted the conversation.

"What's the plan, Roman? Logan?" Patton looked between the two of them, and they looked at each other. They both went to speak at the same time, interrupting each other. While Roman chuckled at the situation, Logan took the opportunity to speak first.

"Well, I assume that you don't have any fertilizer Roman, so we'll-"

"Actually, I had my dad pick some up on his way home from work! He bought two very different brands- one mainstream and one... liberal. I'll go grab those, and some plant pots." Roman interjected, and then pranced off out of his room to collect said items, leaving the three others alone in the room.

Immediately, Virgil got up from the bed, and bent down to check under the bed, rummaging around.

"What are you doing, Virgil?" Logan asked, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose again.

"Yeah, isn't that including on Roman's privacy?" Patton said, sounding a bit concerned.

"I believe the word you mean to use is 'intruding,' Patton, and the correct wording would be 'intruding upon,'" Logan corrected.

"Oh, sorry, 'intruding upon.' Thanks, Lo!" Patton said, smiling brightly. Logan felt his cheeks heat up, and smiled softly back to him.

"Well, if you must know," Virgil grunted, getting up from his crouching position on the floor and moving to examine Roman's bedside table, "I'm looking for his stash."

Logan and Patton shared a confused look. "what do you mean 'his stash?'" Patton asked, somehow looking more confused.

Virgil was now making his way into Roman's closet. "Whatever that means for Roman, I guess. the stuff he hides from his parents. Drugs, porn, you know. something juicy." Virgil clarified. Patton winced at the p word.

"Virgil! Not only is that - intruding upon - his privacy, but that's downright disrespectful! you stop that right now!" As Patton finished speaking, Virgil emerged from the closet empty handed.

"Well, either way, I just checked all the classic spots. nothing to write home about. Guess I'll have to up my searching game for next week." He teased Patton, who whimpered. Virgil plopped back onto the bed, and Logan was about to ask why Virgil would need to write a letter to his parents when he'd be returning home far before a letter would arrive. But, his opening mouth was cut off, as Roman returned with two small flat pots, both already consisting of two different looking types of fertilizer.

"It's amazing, the differences between these," Roman said, presenting the pots to his teammates. Patton leaned in, and Roman made a good point. One pot had grayer dirt, and much fewer flecks of minerals and nutrients, and the other looked rich with life - Patton half expected a worm to emerge from it.

Logan walked over to the sill where Roman had put the plants, setting them down on the empty section of the desk. Roman brought over the pots, and Logan pulled the Garden Cress plants out of their temporary plastic pots, placing them gently in their respective pots. While he did this, Roman stepped behind him and put his arms around Logan's waist, and growled lightly into his ear. Virgil scowled in their general direction, and Patton's face fell.

Through his blush, Logan cleared his throat. "Roman, that is inappropriate behavior, and frankly I'm not comfortable with it. Our relationship is currently strictly professional." His voice was a little unsteady and cracked once, but he kept himself composed for the most part.

Roman considered continuing to tease him, but decided to take a nobler, grander route. "Fine," He began, releasing Logan from their intimate embrace, "I'll leave you be today, but on one condition. Logan Montgomery, will you go on a date with me?"

Everyone in the room was shocked into silence, even Roman. He was surprised at his own confidence, but he just rolled with it, as he usually did. Virgil's scowl just worsened, and he quietly said he had to use the restroom, leaving with hardly a sound. Patton just looked horrified, all the color having drained from his face. But no one was looking at him.

Logan turned around slowly, looking Roman in the eyes, half expecting him to have some silly grin on his face and say "haha, just kidding! Man, I really had you there!" or something of the like. But Roman just returned his gaze confidently, a small smile tracing his face.

"...You're serious?" Logan said after a long moment. Patton was praying that he wasn't.

"deadly," Said Roman, his smile widening slightly.

Logan thought for a long moment. "...w-well, I'm not sure that's appropriate, consid-"

"Come on, just one date. That's all." Roman pleaded.

"And what of your reputation? Won't people be jealous? What if someone does someth-"

"I promise, I'll keep my... fans... from messing with you, if that's your biggest worry. Please, please please?" Roman pressed.

"...A-and I'm not sure my parents would approve. They've never allowed me to be involved with anyone romantically before, so-"

"I'm sure they'll be more understanding this time around! Or, better yet, just don't tell them!" Roman countered. He had a glint of determination in his eyes, and Logan knew he wasn't going to back down. He spent a long moment trying to think of some conflicting factor, but he couldn't come up with a thing. He also considered simply telling him he wasn't interested, but that would be a lie. Despite his better nature, Roman did capture his attention.

And so, with a somewhat defeated tone, Logan sighed and pushed his glasses up again. "Fine. One date. But that is all. I wouldn't plan on-" Logan tried to be stern, but Roman was pumping his fists in the air excitedly.

"yes yes yes yes yes yes yes!!!! Woohoo!!!!!!! Be prepared for the most romantic and fantastical evening of your life, my Iron Giant Nerd!! How's Thursday sound?"

"That is... adequate," Logan responded, not knowing what else to say.

"Excellent! Just give me one moment." Roman pulled out his phone, and from what Logan could see, he was looking something up. "...Okay! Perfect. I'll pick you up at from your house at, say, 7?"

"okay. I'll text you the address beforehand." Logan said shortly. He then set the pots on the windowsill, assuring that they were receiving equal amounts of light. "Alright, I'm going to go wash my hands in the kitchen and get some water for our specimens. Roman, the kitchen is the first left down the hall, correct?" Roman nodded, and Logan left swiftly. Roman just punched the air a few more times, and then fell back on his bed with a plop.

Patton was sitting on the edge of the bed, fiddling with the ring on his right middle finger. Don't let it show.

He turned to address Roman, a smile gracing his face that few people would know was forced. "Congratulations on your first date, Roman! You guys make an adorable couple. I wish you a successful relationship!" He said.

Roman sat up and eyed him. "Really? I mean, from the way you and Logan were talking, I would've guessed you have a crush on-"

"Nope!" Patton said shortly, smiling more intensely. "I like Logan a lot as a friend, but I'm so glad he has you now! Well, hopefully. We'll see after your first date! What do you think, will he want to go on another one?" Patton waggled his eyebrows.

Roman delved back into his self-centered world once again, considering Patton's query. "Well, I certainly hope so. I'm quite... attracted to Logan, so hopefully we connect on an emotional and mental level as well. If I play my cards right, I think he'll fall for me." Roman idly speculated, smiling at Patton.

"I'm sure! I mean, you are such a charmer, from what I've seen. I-I mean no disrespect! I don't mean like that. I mean you have an inmate skill for attracting people! I think you have a shot." As Patton finished, Logan returned with clean hands and a spray bottle, walking over to the plants in the sill.

"Once again Patton, the word you mean to use is 'innate.' Don't worry, you'll get there." Logan assured, spritzing each plant exactly five times. "Roman, since you'll be the primary parent of these plants, i beg you, please don't falter in consistently watering them. five spritzes each, every day, preferably when you get home from school. If you don't have confidence in your commitment to this, as I don't, I suggest setting a reminder on your phone." Logan turned to Roman, watching expectantly for him to pull out his phone.

"Oh calm down, calculator watch. I have complete 'confidence in my commitment,' thank you very much," Roman said, earning a grimace from Logan, who then turned away and pulled out his own phone. Once Logan's attention was diverted, Roman did in fact pull out his phone and set a reminder for watering the cress.

Just as he was slipping his phone back into his pocket, Roman felt it buzz. "There's my address. Now, I'm going to call my parental units. I must be getting home, as I have work to do. For now, none of you should worry about the report itself, I'll be writing up a draft tonight and sharing it with each of you. Excuse me." And with that, Logan left the room once again to call his father, leaving Roman and Patton in silence.

Suddenly, Roman thought of something. "Hey, where's Virgil? Count Woe-laf may not be the best company, but it seems he's been absent for an excessive amount of time."

Patton didn't say anything as he listened to Roman, his thoughts quickly beginning to race. He's right. When did Virgil leave? Oh, when Roman first asked Logan. Oh, no... he wouldn't have been gone this long, unless-

Patton stood abruptly. "Wait here. I'll be right back." He said quickly, rushing out the door, leaving Roman to speculate.

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

10 notes · View notes

aquidragon · 5 years ago

Text

Purple (Part 1)

Spencer Reid x Reader Summary: Spencer sometimes considered his eidetic memory a curse, however when he spots a gorgeous woman crossing the street with a purple ribbon, he can’t help but fall heads over heels for her. However, there’s more to her than it seems... Warning(s): Mentions of blood and alludes to violence Word Count: 2.2k A/N: Here’s my first ever x reader series! Thank you to @criesinreid for beta-reading this for me! (Part One: Here) (Part Two: x) (MASTERLIST) ---

---

Spencer Reid POV

It was a sunny Tuesday morning when I saw her, with beautiful h/c hair that was tied with a purple ribbon. Maybe it was because of the color, since purple was my favorite, but I felt like I was drawn to her. I watched with a rather stupid expression as she walked past me, with a wide smile from across the street. I felt my heart flutter and my face get warm. She was gorgeous. My eidetic memory allowed me to picture her smile and her shining h/c hair as she chased after her friends. After a few days, I caught myself imagining holding her hand and taking her out on dates. Would she like attending the library with me? What kind of genres did she enjoy? I could tell that she at least could read, since she was holding a few books close to her chest as she ran. I could no longer focus the book I held in my hands, the words seemed jumbled and scrambled. Nothing made sense, except for the woman that had blessed my very mind. The few seconds that I had my eyes on her, I couldn’t get her picture out of my vision. I let out a small sigh as I closed my book, allowing my mind to drift to her again.

“Pretty boy has got a crush.” The familiar teasing voice of my colleague joked from right above me. I looked up from my slouched position on the jet’s couch, I snorted, brushing over my lower lip with my tongue. “I-I don’t have a crush.” I responded, which I knew wasn’t convincing as Morgan laughed and took a seat beside me.

“Come on, you’ve been staring out into space.” He gently patted my shoulder, his dark eyes just dancing with playfulness. “So, who is she?” The older FBI agent asked, earning a small groan from me. “I told you I don’t have a crush.” I unintentionally let my voice lift up an octave, which gave away my lie. The look on Derrik’s face made me sigh and finally give in. “I saw this girl across the street from the coffee shop I frequent before work, Morgan she is the most beautiful woman I’ve ever laid eyes on.” I knew it was rather dramatic, but it was true. “Well, did you get her number?” My co-worker asked, I shook my head sadly. “I didn’t get to her, she was running after some friends.” The sinking feeling in my chest began to drag down my mood. I suddenly felt like a dunce, how couldn’t I have just ran to her, asked for her name, her number, anything?

I cursed my inept ability to flirt, or talk to women in general. Looking at my friend made my brain begin to curse itself. I wasn’t as confident as Morgan, I couldn’t even cross the street to go after the girl that I was really fond of. This made me bring my hands up to my face, I dragged my palms over my eyes, I was much too tired to think too much about my hopeless attempts at relationships.

Morgan must’ve noticed my downwards spiral into hopelessness, because he patted my shoulder a few more times as the plane began to shake into the descent. “Hey don’t lose hope, she might live in DC, maybe you’ll see her again.” I looked up at him again, rubbing one of my eyes as the pressure rapidly changed. “How? Morgan I can’t just search DC for her, there’s 705,749 people that live in DC.” I challenged, hopelessness sinking deeper into my chest. I also felt frantic, I felt this paranoid need to find this woman again.

Morgan laughed, shaking his head. “Oh I know you Doctor Spencer Reid, you’ll find this woman.” Before I could respond with more statistics about the likeness of me running into a random person I hadn’t even met, the plane started to rumble on the runway. The rest of my team all groaned as they were awoken from their naps on the five hour flight we had just endured in Seattle.

After the plane was landed, I begrudgingly dragged my suitcase behind me towards the BAU offices. I wasn’t looking forward to doing paperwork, usually I could whisk through them with ease, but the nagging feeling in my heart made it impossible to think. All I could think about was her, and that purple ribbon that bounced with her movements as she ran. I scuffled all my paperwork back into a file, I would fill it out tomorrow morning, after my third coffee of the day. I was just about to leave when I heard the soft voice of my closest friend.

“Leaving so soon Spence?” JJ asked tiredly, I could tell that she was struggling to keep her eyes open. “Yeah- I’m too tired to do paperwork tonight.” I responded briskly, bringing up three of my fingers to rub one of my eyes. “Wow, Spencer Reid, too tired to do paperwork?” The teasing voice of Penelope came next, her entire body was limp and exhausted. I couldn’t help but crack a small smile, gathering up the last of my stuff. “Yeah-I have plans” I responded nervously. I couldn’t tell Penelope that I had a crush on a girl I randomly laid eyes on. I’m sure I could just tell the woman that the mystery girl owned a purple ribbon and she could find my crush within a couple hours. Tops.

“Ooo plans?” Garcia asked, a little bit of excitement glittered in her eyes. I opened my mouth to tell her that it was just a trip to the library, but Morgan stepped on. “Woah now Baby Girl, we can’t have our pretty boy here giving away his secrets.” He sent a wink at me, which made me chuckle. “I gotta go guys, see you on Monday.” I walked out of the office, heading towards the silver elevator that would take me to the main floor.

Now, I normally don’t believe in dream analysis. There’s just not enough evidence to prove that our dreams are somehow linked to ourselves. However, the events in my dream felt so unbelievably real. I saw the woman again, with her gorgeous h/l hair and sparkling e/c eyes. We were in a void, which reminded me of being underwater. My hair was fanned around my head, as if I was swimming. I looked back over at the woman, her hair was also floating around her pretty face. The purple ribbon was no longer on her head, but instead it was tied around her pinky finger.

“Spencer, look!” She spoke, but her voice was echoed, and sounded like a weird mix of voices. “We’re connected.” I blinked, confused. “Connected?” I muttered to myself, before I felt a tug at my pinky finger, making me look down. Just like the woman’s, a purple ribbon was tight around my finger, and led just to her pinky.

I let a joyous laugh bubble out of my chest. “I guess we are.” I looked back at the girl, she was now closer. Her face was slightly blurry, but it also seemed so clear. She seemed sad, from the way her hands floated over my shoulders. “Please find me.” The woman with the purple ribbon whispered, her voice softening. “I need you.” Then I heard gunshots, screaming, and a woman screaming for help. I moved to protect the girl, but she was gone, I was now in a decrepit looking house. I unholstered my gun, approaching the door where I heard the noises. Blood began pouring from the crack between the door and floor. I let out a scream.

And then I woke up

--- Y/N L/N POV

Any method to get away from my psycho family was a win for me. Even if it meant hanging out with my shitty friends from high school, who did nothing but cause trouble and get high. Now I didn’t really have an issue with people getting high, I once dabbled in it when I was in my early college years. I only stopped when I started to fall behind in my classes.

So today, I decided I was going to the cute little coffee shop I passed after stopping at the library. I’ve been in a desperate need for coffee anyway. Looking into the mirror of my vanity, I cautiously applied makeup to my face. Brushing a hint of blush onto my cheeks as I smiled at myself. I loved makeup, maybe it was because my parents never let me use it growing up. They believed it was “against God's will” or yadda yadda.

It didn’t matter anymore, I lived in my own shitty apartment, so I could do whatever I wanted to myself. After finishing up the last touches to my face, I reached over to tie my ribbon. I didn’t know why, but I was always drawn to the color purple, so I bought a lot of purple-colored accessories. My ribbon was my most prized accessory though, I could tie it in my hair in whatever way I saw fit.

So, I tied it in my favorite way before admiring myself in the mirror once again. I tried to ignore the subtle scars marking certain locations on my face, but I felt like my makeup covered them well. Feeling satisfied, I switched off the lights, grabbed my phone and headed out.

“Ugh seriously?” I exclaimed as I stepped outside, only to feel the subtle drops of rain on my hair. The coffee place was only a block or so from my apartment complex, and I really didn’t feel like digging for my keys again. So, I bolted, hurrying to the cafe as the rain started to pelt down harder.

Once I reached the building, I threw open the door and got inside. Breathing heavily, I searched my purse for my wallet and made my way over to the line. The line went by fast, I ordered my coffee and went to sit down right by the window. A storm had rolled in, I sipped at my beverage as I watched people outside scramble about in hopes for shelter.

One of them being a handsome lanky man that I swore I saw somewhere. He glanced at me from outside, through the window, and his face lit up. He swiftly entered the cafe, and made a beeline over to me. He didn’t order anything, but the baristas seemed to recognize him, one of them even waved.

“I-I’m sorry is this seat taken?” The brunette asked, breathlessly, as he stood behind the seat next to me. I shook my head, scooting my chair over so he could get into the one he wanted. “Do I know you from somewhere?” I asked, curiously, I swore I recognized him.

The handsome man seemed surprised, he took off his soaked jacket. “Uh, I saw you last Tuesday.” He mumbled, his voice squeaking a bit. I bit the corner of my mouth and observed him from head to toe. He was well-dressed, with a dark grey cardigan over what seemed to be a dress shirt and tie. He wore dress pants, but had two well-worn converse and two differently colored socks.

Suddenly it came to me, I had glanced at him as I rushed to catch up with my friends. I remembered that I really wanted to look back at him again, but had a time constraint. “Oh yeah!” I grinned, taking another sip of my caffeinated beverage. “I remember now.” The man seemed pleased at my words, fumbling with the ends of his cardigan nervously. “Oh, well, I’m Doctor Reid.” The man seemed like he wanted to shake my hand, but kept his hands as far from mine as possible. He nervously cleared his throat, looking at me in the eyes. “Doctor Spencer Reid.” Spencer gave me a hopeful smile, which I returned. “It’s a pleasure to formally meet you Doctor, my name is Y/n.” I didn’t bother saying my last name, I didn’t want to be associated with it.

“No please, call me Spencer.” The fawn-brown haired doctor sounded tense. “No need to use formalities with me here.” He clarified, making me laugh. “Alright, alright. Spencer it is then.” When our eyes met, I swore that Spencer looked at me with so much intensity I thought I would explode. He opened and closed his mouth like a fish, trying to say something.

Ring

“Oh sorry lemme get that.” The doctor scrambled into his pocket, pulling out an ancient flip phone and answering the call. “What? Already?” He paused, listening into the call, I began to become more intrigued by the minute. His face fell, his once bright and handsome face turned into one that resembled haunted somberness. “I understand, I’ll be there right away Hotch.”

“What’s wrong?” I asked, not bothering to suppress my curiosity. “It’s my-job.” Spencer answered sluggishly, making a face as he slid on his damp jacket. “Oh?” I watched as he scrambled for a napkin and he fished a pen from his satchel.

“Call me?” The honey-eyed man asked hopefully, after sketching out his number on the paper. I nodded, taking the napkin into my hand, scanning over the haphazardly written numbers. “Of course-” I responded, but Spencer was already halfway out the door. I snorted, slipping out my phone and typing in the man’s number. Now THIS will be interesting...

---

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #multiparter #spencer reid fluff #purple #criminal minds #reader insert #implied soulmates

110 notes · View notes

honsoolie · 4 years ago

Text

don’t rush | 02

pairing: Yoongi/reader

genre: slight enemies to lovers, college au, fluff, eventual smut, classical pianist!yoongi, violinist!reader, they’re both actually really into each other but won’t admit it

warnings (for this chapter only): mentions of stage fright/performance anxiety, swearing, sexual references, slight angst, dad jokes :|

words: 6k

rating: +18

summary: You know, when Min Yoongi’s face isn’t screwed into an accusatory scowl, he looks exactly like the kind of guy you’d have no trouble falling in love with. Or, the conservatory au where Yoongi helps you get over your stage fright. In more ways than one.

a/n: didn’t plan to take this long for an update, life gets in the way, you know the drill. read 01 here and as always, this is crossposted to ao3 :)

When you get inside, the warmth welcomes you in. You’re not quite sure if it’s from the heating in the hallway or how Yoongi’s eyes had shone in the moonlight. You lean against the inner door frame, a happy smile tugging at the corners of your mouth, legs a little weak in the knee. You feel light-headed, maybe from being up late, maybe from your exhausting day, maybe from the lingering remnants of Yoongi’s cologne.

Did that really just happen? Did he really just ask for your number? Was this all a dream?

The euphoria is short-lasting, however. You still have some assignments waiting for you, and only a couple hours left until your morning classes. The tiredness never lets up, and your limbs heavy again as you make your way inside the lobby of your dorm.

Unknown number (2:47am): hi this is yoongi

Unknown number (2:47am): did you get inside ok?

You (2:48am): yeah

You (2:48am): did u?

Yoongi (2:50am): im walking back now

Yoongi (2:50am): you should sleep soon ://

You (2:51am): I still have hw :(

You (2:51am): text me when ur back inside too

Yoongi (2:53am): lmaoo is it counterpoint hw

Yoongi (2:54am): it’s so sweet that you care for my safety ;(

You (2:54am): yes sadly

You (2:55am): ofc I care, we can’t have our amazing star pianist get hurt

Yoongi (2:55am): im home now

Yoongi (2:58am): you have a thing for praise, don’t you

Even though you can’t see him, you splutter alone in your room, roommate fast asleep. There is no way that means what you think it means.

You (3:00am): idk where u got that from

You (3:03am): maybe i do, you’ll have to find out

Yoongi (3:04am): I would, but you have to finish your analysis worksheet :/

You (3:15am): ugh, fuck it

You (3:15am): im going to sleep

You (3:15am): ill just wake up early tomorrow to finish it before class

Yoongi (3:16am): what? No goodnight? >:(

Yoongi (3:17am): some manners you have

Yoongi (3:17am): what a rude girl

You (3:18am): aw have i been bad?

You (3:18am): I’m sooooo sorry

You (3:19am): gn

The minutes tick by, and you grow more indignant than you should. Is he serious?

Who doesn’t say goodnight back? Maybe you scared him off. Maybe all this “flirtatious” banter was just how Yoongi talked to his friends. How would you know? You don’t know anything about him.

The same insidious doubt creeps back in. Maybe this is all a game to him. Maybe he just wanted to introduce himself to another music student in the department, you all were supposed to know each other anyway. Maybe, worst of all, he had really only meant to wake you up in the music building as a simple courtesy, no intent behind it. You groan as you sink into your bed, cradling your head in your hands.

You (3:27am): some hypocrite you are

Yoongi (3:30am): I was in the showerrr relax

Yoongi (3:31am): hm you have been bad

Yoongi (3:33am): maybe I should punish you

You (3:29am): u wish

You (3:30am): but goodnight for real, we have class in five hours :”(

Yoongi (3:31am): goodnight

Yoongi (3:31am): save me a spot next to you

You were in the world’s smallest big crisis.

Was Yoongi actually serious when he asked you to save a seat? Or were you just indulging in wishful thinking? Was he flirting with you last night? And if he was, what are you supposed to do now?

Whatever he meant, you would have to face him now.

The endless litany of maybes and what-ifs grows louder in your head, even louder than last night during your text correspondence with him.You elect to use your backpack to save the seat next to you as class time draws nearer, chiding yourself for overthinking something so casual, but it does nothing to soothe your existential anxiety.

“Thanks for saving me a spot, I’m so glad you remembered.” A voice brings you out of your reverie. It takes a moment to register who it is at first. Your eyes meet the traditional college garb first, sweatpants and an overwashed fundraising t-shirt, then the half-tamed cowlick, that ever-present cup of coffee. Your breath catches in your throat, breathtaking despite the casual circumstances. It’s just another class lecture, you chastise yourself, but your gut twists nonetheless.

Seeing Yoongi in such close quarters is still an adjustment for you, his presence (or even the thought of being close to him) a shock to your body. You had spent so much time languishing after him that even now, it still feels like waking up into a dream.

You clear your throat, stalling, “Yeah, putting my backpack in the seat next to mine was sooo hard. You should compensate me for my labor.”

You try to put on the flirty smile that you were wearing last night, but it feels like a grimace. God, you are way too nervous for this.

You realize you’ll never get tired of the way he laughs at your shitty jokes, the way his shoulders shake and eyes crinkle at the corners.

“Yeah, I will, don’t you worry about that.” He sinks into the seat next to you and doesn’t spare you a second glance.

Dr. Won walks in, the picture of put-togetherness, killing whatever flirty response you had formulated.

You thought you had enjoyed having a crush before, but admiring someone and imagining a life together from afar was worlds away from talking and sitting next to said object of affection. This shouldn’t be that big of a deal. You shouldn’t be tripping all over yourself when Yoongi sits next to you in lecture.

Whatever Dr. Won is saying is drowned out by Yoongi sitting next to you. It feels deeply unfair how he affects you, when he gets to sit next to you like nothing important is happening. It’s just another day in lecture, preparing for the midterms coming up.

He’s not even doing anything, minding his own business. You shouldn’t be swooning when he is just sitting there, again bouncing his leg, taking diligent notes. From the furtive glances you steal, even his handwriting is attractive. Endearing, even if it was a little messy and looping over the printed lines.

True fact: the only reason why Yoongi fidgets so much is because of the effect you had on him. It drives him up the wall, the way you keep tucking your hair behind your ear. He envies your unfaltering concentration, the look in your eye when you see something on the Powerpoint slides that you have to jot down.

Yoongi can’t stand to silently sit next to you without doing anything anymore. Taking his pen, he scrawls on the corner of your neat notes. He knows it’ll piss you off, but that’s the reaction that he wants.

do you have any idea what is going on

He watches carefully for your reaction. Satisfaction creeps into his neutral expression when you notice, confusion turning into what could only be a lovestruck smile, and then into an irritated grimace. Fuck, even the curve of your wrist was enough to drive him crazy. You pick up your pen, writing back.

No, stop writing on my stuff

Okay, new plan, Yoongi concedes. He settles for writing on the corner of his own notes, tearing off the corner. He slips the paper into your lap, fingertips skimming the top of your thigh. He doesn’t notice, but he leaves a trail of goosebumps in his wake.

don’t you think dr. won dresses like an old hag

You write back on the scrap of paper:

actually you could learn a thing or two from her

Yoongi smirks, in classic Yoongi fashion.

You know I would rock a long skirt like her

Yoongi watches you read his message, smile, and then tuck the note into your notebook.

After class, Dr. Won reminds everyone of the midterm coming up two weeks from now, and that’s when Yoongi senses an opportunity. The two of you walk out of class together, forced to walk side by side because of the student foot traffic.

“Do you like, want to study together sometime?” Yoongi blurts out, louder than he needs to be, even among the hum of the other students.

He clears his throat. “I mean, we’ve shared a lot of classes, so.”

You can’t help but laugh in surprise, or maybe incredulousness. You resist the urge to let the satisfaction show on your face. “I didn’t know you ever noticed.”

“Of course I did. You’re like, the biggest nerd on the planet.” Even when Yoongi is teasing you, he can’t help but sound bashful.

You gasp in mock offense. “There’s nothing wrong with being a nerd.” You both stop, standing at the mouth of the lecture hall.

“Of course not.” He’s awfully close to you, close enough that you can see the mole on the tip of his nose. “That’s why I’m asking you to be my study buddy.”

It’s not necessary to be standing this close. Sure, the hallway is busy, but not that busy.

“Study buddy? That sounds lame.” You scoff, playing hard to get. Both you and Yoongi know you’re going to say yes anyway.

“What else do you want me to call you? My homework homie?”

“Uh, yeah . That sounds way better than study buddy. ” You’re more proud of your humor than anything else, even if it earns a deserved eye-roll from Yoongi.

“And midterms are coming up. So you know, mutually beneficial.” Yoongi takes a sip from his coffee, peering at you from behind the rim.

“Like… friends with benefits?” You can’t help yourself. It’s just too easy to flirt with him.

Yoongi tongues his cheek, he grins. “Only if you want it to be.” He’s having way too much fun with this.

You try to hide your reaction, but Yoongi notices anyway. (He notices a lot of things you don’t realize.) Your wide-eyed shock, the blush that’s flushing down your neck, the way you open your mouth as if to say something equally as flirtatious back, your laugh, like this is actually way more casual than it is.

“So I’ll take that as a yes,” He says. You could get used to the playful lilt in his voice.

“Only if you promise you won’t just copy my work.” You cross your arms in front of your chest, suddenly very aware of how tall he is.

“I live and die by the honor code, y/n. Of course I won’t,” Yoongi says, leaning ever closer to you in the cramped hallway.

You quirk an eyebrow. “Does a man of honor text me like you did last night?”

“Oh come on. If you’re going to be friends with me you’re going to have to learn to laugh at dirty humor.” Friends? It’s a start, at least.

“Who said that I didn’t like dirty humor?”

“Hmm, I did.” There’s a glint in his eyes that wasn't there before. “You’d have to be a woman of your word and show me.”

“You’ll just have to wait and see.” You flash an innocent smile, like you don’t see the implication of what he’s saying.

Tuesdays have always been the most bittersweet day of the week for you. It’s lesson day, but oh, it’s lesson day. It feels like the day of judgement, every single week. It’s a culmination of all the blood and tears that you’ve poured into your music in the past week, another chance at evaluation. You’ve known your violin teacher longer than you’ve been in college, and it still shouldn’t scare you this much.

The nervousness spins and dips in your chest as you make your way up the winding stairs that lead to the music building. You usually soothe the apprehension by reminding yourself of all the things you’ve done to prepare, just like you usually do before you go out on stage. This week you were supposed to get the rest of the Bach partita memorized and cleaned up, but it still resides in your memory as disjointed bits and pieces of what it’s actually supposed to sound like. You try to run through the parts that you were stuck on last night, but you draw a blank. You usually don’t take this long to commit pieces to memory, but when you open up your score, all you can think about is the unmoving stare of the audience. Seeing your life flash before your eyes every time you stare at your pencil markings isn’t exactly conducive to productive practice sessions.

As you retrieve your violin from your locker and make your way to the practice room, you feel like you’re preparing yourself for your own undoing—every scale, every tick of the metronome—another step towards your demise.

It shouldn’t be this serious, but the pitter-pattering of your heart says otherwise. You glance at the clock. It’s time. You pack up now, so you have a couple extra minutes to wait solemnly outside of her office, staring at the posters that advertise the professionals who come to perform concerts at your college. Next week, a pianist and violinist duo is coming. In the picture, they’re smiling proudly next to a Steinway piano. They look proud of themselves. They probably don’t feel like they’re allergic to the stage, probably live for the audience’s applause. That’s probably how they ended up there on the poster, after all.

Your violin teacher isn’t scary. She’s a homey, lovely old woman whose wrinkles come from a lifetime of smiling. She’s the type to bring you sweet, homemade pastries that are almost as warm as her hugs during the toughest parts of the semester. Which makes the moments when she’s unhappy all the more painful. It’s not her fear that plagues you, but disappointment.

The door clicks open, and you have no more time to ponder your failures as a musician. You gather your things and head inside. Nothing inside her office has changed since the previous week. The same teetering stack of well-loved method books sits on her chair, the same humidifier whirring steadily in the corner, the same Dr. Kim Hyung-Seo sitting on the piano bench.

“Good afternoon, y/n! How’s the Bach coming along?” She asks, like you haven’t spent the past week treating this piece like your mortal enemy. She takes a sip of her warm chamomile tea, from the same snowman-shaped mug that she’s used every week, because she is that endearing. In another life, she would probably be your grandmother.

“Good morning. Ah, you know…” You trail off and gesture into the air, trying to hide your grimace. How could you possibly describe the unease and unsureness around performing without crossing some kind of professional boundary?

“Let’s hear it, it’s okay. Are you all warmed up?” You nod as you unpack your things again. As you move to put the Bach score on the music stand, she tuts.

“Didn’t we agree that this would be memorized last week?” Dr. Kim flips through her lesson notes, inky blue scrawling over the pages. “Yeah, it should be memorized. Close the score, darling.” Usually, when Dr. Kim calls you darling, warmth unfurls in your chest and you beam. You’re not feeling particularly warm right now.

“Ah, okay…” With slow reluctance, you close the score, the plain paper cover mocking you. You lift your bow to your violin, and shut your eyes. You don’t want to watch this.

Yoongi (4:38pm): Hey

Yoongi (4:38pm): wanna study tonight :]

If there’s anything Yoongi is good at, it’s having perfect timing. You half-walk, half-run out of the music building, sucking frigid air into your lungs. The cold weather seems to force the tears back into your eyes. If there was ever a worst-case scenario for how a lesson could go, then that was what just played out in the music room.

Shutting your eyes won’t stop the barrage of images, playing the world’s cruelest slideshow behind your eyelids. Your teacher’s pursed lips, the still fingers clasped over her mug, the pinched brow.

“y/n, we don’t have much more time to clean it up…” Her words echo in your head. “We’ll try again next week…” The disappointment was the worst thing, the downward tone in her voice. “I expected better…”

You (5:15pm): maybe

You (5:15pm): what time?

Yoongi (5:20pm): like now

Yoongi (5:23pm): are you busy?

You (5:25pm): no I just finished up a lesson

You (5:26pm): i’m about to study in the library if you want to join me

Yoongi (5:30pm): I don’t want to go to the library :(

You (5:31pm): why not

Yoongi (5:32pm): if I feed you dinner will you come to my apartment

Yoongi (5:33pm): I really don’t want to walk to the library it’s too damn cold

After all, the best way to a woman's heart is through her stomach.

You (5:35pm): fine

You (5:35pm): it better be a hell of a dinner

Yoongi (5:36pm): of course it will

Yoongi sends you his location, and you’re walking as fast as you can through the campus to make it to his apartment before you can freeze your fingers off.

Yoongi’s expression is nothing short of scandalized when you show up at his door. It’s a typical mouse hole apartment, his front door identical to all the other ones that you’d passed to get here.

“You’re not wearing gloves? In this weather?”

“I don’t have any…” You rasp out. You’re tired. Your throat hurts from trying to hold tears back during your entire lesson, and you have no spirit left to give Yoongi an innuendo-laced comeback.

I expected better.

“Oh my god, you’ve been playing violin for how many years and nobody ever told you to wear gloves when it’s cold?” He leads you inside, the warmth abating the cold that’s wormed its way underneath your clothes and into your bones.

“For God’s sake, y/n, hasn’t anyone ever told you about the importance of blood circulation?” Yoongi clasps your hands between his, rubbing and blowing air on them to warm them up. He doesn’t notice your surprise amid his chastising, muttering something about common sense. You don’t try to keep your guard up this time, just trying to bite tears back at the mention of musicianship. The firm press of his hands grounds you.

“There.” He smiles, proud of himself. “Warm now?”

Oh yeah, you’re definitely warm. In every dimension of the word. But you don’t tell him that, so you settle for a weak nod.

“You can put your stuff there. I’m hungry now, let’s eat first?” You hum in affirmation as you settle your heavy backpack on his cramped couch.

It turns out that Min Yoongi’s idea of gourmet cooking is heating up two freezer-burnt Hot Pockets while you watch him putter around the tiny kitchenette. This is the first time you’ve ever seen him without his glasses, and this is when you finally internalize that Yoongi will always look good no matter what he does or wears or says.

“You made it seem like you were cooking,” You say, just to fill the silence.

“Uhhhh, I don’t know who told you I was capable of cooking, but they were wrong. I can show you a good time in other ways, no?”

You snort.

In hopes of saving time, he microwaves both of Hot Pockets at the same time. You silently bristle at the fact that even your dinner is getting more action than you are these days.

You and Yoongi eat together in his tiny living room, sitting on mismatched stools.

“How did your lesson go?” Yoongi says, more focused on eating than on you.

“Oh…” You set your Hot Pocket down, sighing in defeat. The image of Dr. Kim sitting behind the piano bench, her dissatisfaction like a noxious cloud. “I… I… got ripped apart. I’m a little behind with preparing for the Bach festival, but it doesn’t matter. Nothing I do or prepare will make me less stressed about it.” You slump onto the counter, recounting all the things you did wrong in your lesson today. I expected better.

“What’s the stress about? We still have over a month, right?” You’re suddenly jealous of Yoongi. His nonchalance, his seemingly constant reassurance that everything is going to be okay.

“I’m not worried about that… just, no matter how much I practice, I’m gonna fuck it up on stage.” Your forehead pinches in frustration.

“Are you that nervous?”

“I’ve always been this nervous. For any performance. I haven’t performed alone in a while… and you know. It’s Bach, and everyone expects me to do some amazing job, and it’s like, I don’t know if I can deliver that and-” Yoongi eases his hand on your shoulder, calm, reassuring. He looks concerned. Like he cares. Like a friend.

“When was the last time you played something just for the fun of it?”

“I don’t know, maybe my freshman year? I used to arrange themes from movies.”

“We should work on something together, just for fun. We’re such a perfect instrument combo, there’s so much repertoire for violin and piano.”

“What did you have in mind? Do you even have enough time for that?” (You know you don’t have enough time for that.)

“It doesn’t even have to be a difficult piece. It could be something easy or hard, I don’t care.” Yoongi ponders his next words over a bite of his food. “I… I... just want to see you less stressed out. And music should always be fun, not just for a grade. What kind of music would you be making if you weren’t happy?”

“I don’t know…”

“I know this one Brahms piece that I think you’d like. Totally fits your vibe. We can just work on it slowly, you know? Or we could arrange the Anpanman theme song, I don’t care.”

“I think I’m mostly good for the midterm, except for the composer dates,” Yoongi spins around in his office chair, dragging his feet on the ground.

“Me too,” You say, as you drink in the sight of his room. For someone who claims to abhor studying and all things academic, Yoongi appears to be quite the organized student. Despite the constant claim that his education is merely a necessary evil, he keeps his notes organized in uniform binders on a well-cared for bookshelf. The bookshelf is adjacent to the extremely detailed wall calendar, marked full with due dates and deadlines in pens of various colors.

He runs his fingers over the binders to locate the binder allocated to the species counterpoint class you’re taking together.

“I already have flashcards for everything before the Romantic Era, but I’m so fucked for everything else.”

“Why not just use Quizlet like everyone else?” You say. You eye his neatly made bed and the Kumamon stuffed animal shoved hastily underneath it.

“Back in my day, we used flashcards like cavemen,” Yoongi reasons, despite the fact that your birthdays are months within each other. “And besides, they feel better in your hand.” Of course, they’re indexed by color and musical era.

“Ugh, I hate sitting at my desk. My back is starting to hurt,” Yoongi says, despite having worked for about ten minutes. “Do you want to lay down?” He pats the fluffy comforter adjacent to him. Yoongi doesn’t wait for your response however, plopping down on the bed with an audible thump.

“Okay, old man,” You jibe, but you’ve also been sitting for a majority of the day. Your back is aching too, but you’ll never admit it to him.

Sometimes, at times like these, you wish you could just muster up the courage and stop playing this game of cat and mouse with him. When you lay on his sheets that smell like him, quizzing each other, you wonder what would happen if you confessed your feelings for him, right then and there.

Or outlined exactly how exactly you would take his cock in your mouth, given the chance. Other times, you consider the fact that he might like to play with his food before diving in. Whatever it was, it scared you, the unease climbing up your spine and staying put.

You wonder if he understands the implication of you so casually lounging on his bed, but then you realize that you likely don’t exist in the realm of romantic possibilities for him. He likely sees you as the nerdy, sexless violinist that spends all her time slaving away in the practice room or the library. That’s why you’re here, after all. To help study for the midterms coming up. “Being friends with him is better than nothing,” you tell yourself, but you can’t really bring yourself to believe it.

You don’t remember, or at least don’t care to, when Yoongi started touching every aspect of your life. It’s really only been a couple of weeks since the two of you started studying together. You don’t dare to imagine how much of your thoughts he would occupy if you continue your friendship into the coming months. If your crush of massive proportions was bad before, it’s truly out of hand now. It certainly didn’t help that he actually knew you existed now. He spammed you gifs of baby animals while he was on the way to class, texted you links to performances of pieces that he was working on. He even began to send you teasing texts on the mornings that he made it to the practice rooms before you.

Every experience you have is colored by thoughts of him. The coffee that you drink like ambrosia conjures up images of him sitting across from you in some far-off sunlit cafe, laughing at all your jokes. On the nights when sleep escapes you, you lay awake rehashing over and over what you had said to him on the previous day. You even fall into reveries when he’s sitting there right next to you.

It’s inescapable, especially with the Bach Festival looming over your head. The more time you spend in the practice room, the more you go back to that one fateful night. You can still see the image of him now, sitting before the piano, playing Chopsticks.

You both make your way through the fat deck of flashcards, Yoongi quizzing you first.

“J.S. Bach?” You note to yourself even the upswing in his voice was cute. How did you ever let yourself get so whipped?

“1685 to…” You falter, still stuck on his voice. Even his voice drives you crazy.

“Come on, you should know this.” He drives his point home by poking you in the side, and he likes the gasp that you make.

“1750.” Of course you know Bach’s birth and death dates by heart. You see it every time you open up your score. Even the scant prod he gave you in the side, over your clothes, is enough to make your skin heat up.

“And if you ever tickle me again, you won’t live long enough for midterms,” You threaten, but your harsh tone of voice doesn’t reach the light in your eyes.

“Brahms?”

“Ugh, fuck, I don’t know. 1832 to?”

“Wrong.” He sets the cards down next to him, looking at you in mock disappointment. In an instant, he attacks you with tickles, and your efforts to bat him away are fruitless.

“This-this is what you get for not knowing when Brahms was born! Learn through punishment! 1833 to 1897, remember that next time!!” He collapses on top of you, burying his face in your neck, unrelenting. Yoongi sounds almost gleeful in your torture.

You writhe under his touch, and for all the wrong reasons.

For the first time in your life, you’re almost glad you’re ticklish. Your eyes roll back into your head, not of your own accord. It’s too much, the soft skin of his cheek pressed up against your neck, the warm weight of his body against yours, the way his legs cage you in. A moan slips in between your helpless giggles, and Yoongi doesn’t miss it.

“Uhhh, what was that?” He doesn’t stop, merciless in his advance. “I didn’t know you liked tickling… like that.” He’s teasing you, now. He can’t hide his pleased grin.

Between gasps, you manage to pant, “I… don’t…”

“Then what? Tell me.” That’s when Yoongi relents, leaning back. He continues to straddle you, because he’s cruel like that. (And because he likes it too.)

“You’re just… ugh, I don’t know… so close.” In Yoongi’s eyes, you’re a study in debauchery. From your struggle, your hair is mussed, the hem of your shirt awry. Your cheeks are flushed, from embarrassment or from the tickling, you don’t know. Your chest frantically rises and falls, trying to regain your breath.

You, on the other hand, feel fucking ridiculous. Contrary to popular belief, being on the recieving end of tickling is fucking physically exhausting.

Yoongi is stuck on the hot and bothered look on your face, except for the hard look in your eye. You despise being tickled, even if it is Min Yoongi doing the tickling. He wonders what you’d look like if you were underneath him in… different circumstances.

Would it compare?

“I… I… I just…” You avert your gaze now, hiding your face behind your hands. You can’t stand to look at him right now.

“Spill it, or I’ll go back to tickling you until you break.” He grabs your hands away from your face, pinning them next to your head.

He really isn’t going to make this easy for you, is he.

This is overwhelming. The eye contact is too much. The weight of his hands on your wrists, holding you down, is too much. The way his panting breath tickles the skin beneath your collar is too much. You’ve had a bad day, the voice in the back of your head whispers. He makes you forget how awful this semester has been. He makes you feel better. Make this day easier on yourself. Just give in.

There’s no hiding it now, you concede.

You shut your eyes, unable to face him. “It’s just… been a while.”

“Uh-huh. Continue?” He places his hands back on your stomach, as if in warning.

“Since uhhhh… I’ve done… anything… with anyone…” Your words hang heavy in the air. Your secret is out.

He laughs. He really has the audacity to laugh.

“Shut up! I’m just like, touch starved, okay?” You’re definitely just blushing out of embarrassment, at this point.

Yoongi starts to ponder if he crossed too far of a line, but you continue anyway. You huff, indignant and desperate to cover your ass. This is not how you ever imagined telling Yoongi you were ever interested in him, sexual or not.

“Not everyone is like, the campus pussy magnet and gets to fuck whenever they want,” You say.

He rolls his eyes. “Okay, I’m not the campus pussy magnet. We’re... not so different. I haven’t been with anyone, um, in a while.” Now Yoongi takes his turn to blush and stutter. He does that thing he always does when he’s nervous, runs a hand through his hair and lets it rest on the nape of his neck.

“I find that hard to believe. No need to lie out of pity. Like, come on. Look at you. You’re all…” You gesture down his body, “And you have that whole vibe going on, and you’re tall, and you have good taste in cologne, and-and-and you play the piano , and ugh. You should know that by now.” You babble on. You’re not that good at keeping secrets, anyway. Might as well let the cat out of the bag while you’re at it.

Yoongi doesn’t say anything, but you’re not fazed. By now, you’re used to the long silences that elapse when you’re with him. You wait for him to talk first, just so you can discreetly enjoy the feeling of him straddling you for a little longer. You try to pass off the silence as you quietly fuming at him for calling out your lackluster sex life, but you’re really just trying get yourself together.

Then he starts laughing. Again.

“What are you laughing for now?” Your brow furrows in frustration.

“Nothing, nothing, don’t be mad. I just didn’t think that tickling would be a turn on for you.”

“It’s not!”

“To be completely honest with you, you look like one of those really innocent soft girls on the outside but you’re actually like, into choking and have a secret sex dungeon.” He doesn’t seem to care that you’ve all but revealed your massive, terminal crush on him.

You sigh, but you’re just glad he gave you something to fire back with.

“You and I both know that the university dorms are too small for a sex dungeon, Yoongi. I can’t even have candles in my room. What sex dungeon is complete without candles?”

“Oh, a devil in the details. The ambiance is important, I see…” That devious smile of his makes a comeback.

“Oh, shut up. Give me the flashcards, four-eyes.” He relinquishes the flashcards, but he still continues to straddle you.

“Woah, there’s no need to insult my glasses.”

You ignore him, desperate to move on from your momentary lapse in judgement. “Haydn?”

“1732 to 1809. What about music? Music must be important if you care about the ambiance. Answer my question.”

You laugh to cover up how worked up you are. “Maybe you can find out after we finish reviewing. Scarlatti?”

“1660 to 1725. What kind of music do you listen to? R&B, something sexy?” He sits up now, spurred on by your refusal to answer his questions.

“Or do you listen to classical music then, too? Does Chopin get your blood flowing?” He’s being insufferable now.

You groan into the pillow. “Yoongiii, let’s focus.”

“If it’s something like Liszt, I’m sure I have a couple recommendations.”

Yoongi sits up straighter, waggles his eyebrows in a way you definitely shouldn’t find endearing. “Or, I could record something for you…”

You snap. “Just, I don’t know, sometimes I listen to music?” Your attempts to stop the blushing are in vain, heat blooming across your cheeks and down your neck. It’s even harder to stop when it’s your embarrassingly short sexual history on the line.

“I prefer dirty talk anyways…” You murmur under your breath, wishing he could just get the fuck off your case. The more he keeps talking about things like this, in that tone of voice, the harder it’s going to get to keep your ever-growing crush a secret.

Still, some small part (let’s be honest, the monkey brain part of you) of you, the part of you that aches for him, wants to spur him on.

“What was that?”

“Nothing! Nothing.”

“Hmm… something about dirty talk?” Fuck, does Yoongi have a good ear. He smiles. He knows he’s gotten you now.

Okay, you should probably admit to yourself that he’s flirting with you now. The touches, the holding you down, the insistence on pushing this tiny matter, it all adds up. And the math says that Min Yoongi is flirting with you.

“Mmm, nothing.” You snuggle a little deeper into his bedsheets, playing coy.

“You know, like during sex? Don’t make me tickle you again, because I will stoop that low.”

“I don’t remember saying that…” You mock-pretend to ponder his question, catch your bottom lip between your teeth. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see his gaze fall downward. You know you’ve gotten him now.

“Can you refresh my memory?”

“Like… you know.” He shrugs.

“I’m an auditory learner. Do you have an example?”

“Hmm, let me think… I’ll tease you until you’re begging for me to touch you properly? Does that ring a bell for you?”

“No…” You bring your hands to your face to cover up your blush, and because you can’t stand to look at him. Not when he’s talking to you like that, with that look in his eye, his hands on your body. “It doesn’t…” You laugh, even beneath his weight.

He laughs. “I’m just teasing. You’re so cute when I get a rise out of you.”

Oh.

#armywriterssupport #btsgoldnet #yoongi smut #bts smut #yoongi fanfic #yoongi scenarios #bts fanfic #bts scenarios #bts #bts x reader

84 notes · View notes

imaginewithmgk · 5 years ago

Note

Can I request a story where the reader is trying to do coursework (maybe because she came along on tour) and Colson trying to distract her? (I've just finished writing all my end of term essays and I wish I had someone to distract me)

DISTRACTIONS

request thirteen

summary: y/n is trying to work on stuff for school and colson won’t stop trying to distract her

word count: 1,024

warnings: swearing, lil smut

Reader’s P.O.V.

You rub your forehead for what feels like the hundredth time today. You’ve been working on multiple papers for multiple classes all-day in a noisy tour bus because for some reason you agreed to join Colson on a tour while in the midst of exam season. You had somehow convinced all your teachers to let you submit your work online due to a “personal emergency” that involved travelling to the other side of the world. God knows how they let you. You finally decide to pick up your multiple textbooks, laptop and other miscellaneous writing tools, shove them in a bag and take them outside to find a quiet place to get some work done. You walk for a few minutes and find a beautiful park that has benches scattered in random spots. You pick a suitable bench, one that’s clean and is under a tree in case it rains. You place your things in all their necessary places, plug your headphones into your phone and begin to play all your favourite songs that help you concentrate.

Who knows how much time has passed since you began working, hopefully, an hour or so, before you notice another presence opposite you. You look up to see Colson staring at you with his hands placed under his chin and an adorable, yet cheeky, grin plastered on his face.“How did you find me?” You roll your eyes but smile, this man is your weakness. “You will never find out my secrets Y/N,” He teases.“Whatever,” You chuckle. “Go away I need to finish all these papers,” You point to various pieces of work. “Come on,” He groans. “Take a break for a little bit,”“I can’t. You and I both know that will lead to me never finishing this work,” I laugh.“Okay,” He pouts. You furrow your eyebrows at him knowing that he never gives up this easy but let it go, you really need to finish this work.

It had only been a few minutes before Colson started his antics, first one is playing music off his phone out loud and jamming to it. You look up to see him sitting on the bench, feet on the seat, drumming the beat on his knees in a very extreme manner. You try your best to ignore him but you draw the line when he stands up on the table and starts playing air guitar to his own song. He jumps up and down, almost landing on your laptop a few times and knocking your pencils all over the ground. “Colson!” You yell. A few people jogging look over at the two of your and shake their heads in annoyance. “Fuck off!” You whisper yell.“What?” He pouts once again and sits across from you. “I really need to finish this stuff and you’re distracting me. Look you knocked all my stuff on the ground!” You complain and cross your arms over your chest. “I’m sorry,” He says before picking up all of your stuff and putting it back where it was. “Thank you,” You grumble and get back to work.

You expected him to leave when you went off at him, but he didn’t. He sat there in silence, not for long, but the time he did you appreciated greatly. It wasn’t long until he was on the same side of the bench as you, poking your shoulder and saying your name over and over. “Y/N,” Poke. “Y/N,” Poke. “Y/N,” Poke. “Y/N,” Poke. “What!?” You whisper yell, not wanting more unnecessary attention from onlookers. “Pay attention to meeeee,” “Colson, seriously?”“Yes seriously,” He smirks. “Ugh,” You shake your head and focus back onto your current paper. “What are you writing about?” He looks over your shoulder at your computer.“I’m doing a song analysis,” You mumble. “Ooh! What song?” “Glass House,” You whisper under your breath. You didn’t intend for him to know that you were analysing one of his songs for a class, knowing that it would either inflate his ego or upset him. “Huh?”“Glass House,” You say louder. “My song?” He asks in disbelief. You look up at him, mentally preparing yourself for the argument that was surely going to begin. “That’s so cool! You can even ask me about what some of the lyrics mean!”“It’s more about what I interpret but yes, your help would be amazing,” You admit. He smiles and you notice a blush tinting his cheeks but choose not to mention it.

“Y/N,” “What?” Half an hour or so had passed since you told Colson you were analysing his song. He helped you with a few of the lyrics but mostly let you work which you were extremely grateful for, yet you knew it wasn’t going to last much longer. He was getting antsy. “When will you be done? It’s going to be dark soon,” He’s not wrong, the sun was beginning to set. “I’m not sure. I’ll get this paper done and then head back,” You pause. “Maybe.”“I can give you a reason to head back now,” He smirks. “Oh yeah?” You question, dumbfounded. He chuckles and goes back to looking at his phone. You furrow your eyebrows at him but don’t question it. As you begin on a conclusion for an essay, you feel a hand on your thigh, just above your knee. You look over at Colson to see him still scrolling through twitter. You roll your eyes and focus back onto your work. His hand slowly begins to move up your thigh, slowly and he begins to trace circles on the inside of it. “Colson?” You look at him.“Hm?” “What are you doing?”“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” He smirks. He continues looking at his phone as his hand moves higher up your thigh. He rests it right next to your “private part”, still tracing circles on the inside of your thigh. You slap your textbook closed and look at him. He raises an eyebrow at you. “What?” He grins. “Let’s go back to the bus,” You smirk.

wrote this in like 15 mins don’t judge

stay safe, self-isolate if you can and wash your hands!!

tagged: @2dead2function @s-j-g-x @bakerkells @mayaslifeinabox @onlybadthingz @PumpkinQueenest19 @mrsambroserollinsacklesmgk @Feeding-into-darkness @xxkellsvixen19xx @lovemythsworld @xwhitewalkerx @deanwinchesterswife121 @jindongdongie @itjustkindahappenedreally @machine-gun-colson

link to be tagged in future posts

#machine gun kelly #mgk #colson baker #hotel diablo #rap devil #est #est4life #est19xx #smut #writing #fanfic #fan fiction #prompt #request #requests open #reader

124 notes · View notes

jaehyun-eclipsed · 5 years ago

Text

Before I Met You | Twelve

Updates: Sundays

Pairing: NCT (Jaehyun, Lucas, Mark, Jaemin, Johnny) X Reader/OC

Genre: Romance, Angst, Coming of Age

Summary: Four. There were four people before I fell in love with you… Here are their stories.

Warnings: Some swearing

Before I Met You Masterlist

Prev | Next

“Okay, I’m stuck.”

This morning, I had decided to text Jaemin to help me with my physics assignment. He agreed and we promptly met at one o’clock in the piano room. We sat at one of the two work tables, occupying the two chairs directly next to each other with our backs to the window.

Jaemin leans over, placing his hand on the edge of my seat right next to my thigh to get closer to my laptop screen to read the question. His shoulder is brushing against mine, but I don’t move away.

Okay, dude, you’re invading my personal space. I’m pretty sure you don’t actually need to get this close just to read the question.

But I’m also guessing that this is another sign you like me because you don’t seem to be bothered by it at all.

“It’s asking for the distance,” I say, trying to distract myself from our close proximity. “So I’m going to need the acceleration, but I’m not sure how to get that.”

“You can solve for it. They give you enough information.”

“They do?” I read the question again, a sudden epiphany occurring mid-read. “Oh, I’m dumb. I can solve for delta v and divide by the time.”

“Yep, that’s right! And no –” he turns to look at me and smiles “– you’re not dumb.”

I return his smile and glance at his laptop screen. “What are you working on?”

“Nothing really. I’m supposed to be working on a coding project, but I don’t really want to.”

So you’re just sitting down here – on your own time – helping me with physics when you should technically be working on a project…

“Oh, I’ve never tried coding before”

“It’s pretty simple. See, you can define ‘x,’” he says, quickly tapping several keys on his keyboard. “You can say ‘x’ equals five and then” – he hits ‘enter’ to move to the next line in the terminal – “‘x’ plus two and hit enter, and it’ll return seven!”

“Oh, that’s cool.”

I remain in the same position, comfortably seated all the way back in the chair, only turning my head and leaning in just enough to be able to see the small font on his computer. Okay, you definitely don’t need to be getting that close to me just to see. I can see perfectly from here. And you don’t even wear glasses… unless that’s why you’re leaning in… because you actually do need glasses… Eh, no matter, you wouldn’t be leaning into a complete stranger even if you did need glasses.

I shake my head, returning my focus back to my own computer, filling in the values into the equations in a notebook and punching the numbers into my calculator.

“So, who’s your other roommate?” I ask while submitting my final answer into the online assignment.

“Which one? Renjun?”

“No, I met Renjun. Who’s the other?”

“Oh, Jeno?”

“Jeno… so that’s his name…” I murmur to myself.

Jeno’s pretty cute. He has a very… manly look.

“Yeah, why?”

“No reason. I haven’t met him yet, so I was just wondering who he was.”

“Oh,” he remarks. “Yeah, he’s nice. He’s a chemistry major. You should introduce yourself.”

I nod. “I never see him around, but maybe next time!”

We continue this way for the next three hours. I sluggishly work through the questions, asking for his assistance when needed while he occasionally shows me some random YouTube video or coding thing. Honestly, I was surprised he stayed here with me this long. It’s Sunday afternoon; there are a million other things you could do that are much more exciting than helping your new housemate do her physics homework.

“Yay! I finished! Thanks for your help!”

“No problem!” he says, standing up and shutting his laptop. “I’m going to go upstairs to do my homework now.”

“Now?” I ask, perplexed. “Why didn’t you do it within the last –” I check the time and my eyes widen in shock. “– last three hours?”

He shrugs. “I was procrastinating, but I can just say I was helping you,” he says, following with a slight smirk and a wink.

I deadpan. Did he just – did he just wink at me?

“Anyway,” – his smirk morphs into a smile that’s genuinely warm – “I’ll see you later, okay?”

“Yep.” I press my lips together in a flat line. “See ya.”

I watch him as he leaves the room and turns left to head upstairs.

What the hell?

Thursday evening, I slowly open my eyes, blinking several times to adjust to the early evening twilight seeping in through the blinds. Stretching my arms above my head, I reach for my phone that I placed at the top of my pillow. I squint at the sudden bright light as I unlock it to check the time.

5:30. I napped for an hour and a half.

Jia was out for some club meeting so I had the room to myself for the next few hours.

Gradually, I sit up in bed, looking around the room as I try to shake off the sleepiness. In my groggy state, I decide that I’ll make a sandwich for dinner and then come back up to the room to call my dad.

While grabbing some groceries out of the fridge, I turn my head towards the door, hearing a muffled sound of Jaemin’s voice. In the short time here, I had learned that the walls in the house were not soundproof whatsoever. Unfortunately, the way I figured this out was because I heard some “things” going on when the girl living across from me brought her boyfriend back to her room.

Stepping out of my room, I look down the hall to see that the door to Jaemin’s room is wide open. He walks out of his room, holding a phone up to one ear and glances at me before continuing. He’s dressed nicer today – blue and white vertical striped button-up loosely tucked into his blue slacks. I shut my door and begin walking down the hall.

There’s a little inlet halfway down the hall with a small table and chair. A number of times, I’d walk by in the evenings and see one of my neighbors sitting there with a laptop. Something comes over me – a desire for more attention to continuing testing my suspicions. I walk into the inlet, setting my bag of groceries on the table and stand with one foot in the hallway, placing my weight on the other leg. I pull out my phone to read the text messages I received from Hyojin when he walks back into his room, gripping a package under his arm.

“Hey, I gotta go,” I hear Jaemin say.

When I look up again, Jaemin is walking towards me. He smiles. “Hey! What are you doing?”

“I just woke up from a nap so I’m going to go make a sandwich.”

“Oh, okay.” He nods and presses himself up against the wall opposite of where I’m standing. “Hey, so I was having some trouble with this physics problem… I think it was one you had last week. Do you think you could help me?”

I deadpan immediately, shifting my eyes to the right before returning my gaze back to him. Fortunately, I’m still groggy from my nap and can’t properly contort my face to express how confused I currently am.

You want me to help you with your physics problem when you’re in a harder class? What? Aren’t you the one that helps me?

“Uh,” I begin hesitantly. “Sure…”

“Okay! Uh, you can go make your sandwich and then I’ll meet you in the piano room?”

“Yeah…”

When he leaves, I continue to stand in place, unable to fully comprehend what just happened. I try to attribute my confusion to the residual sleepiness, but I know I can’t be convinced. He really just asked me for physics help, didn’t he? This sounds like another excuse to spend more time with me…

But I do as he says and make my sandwich, grab my backpack, and then find him at the same table we were at last weekend, except this time, we’re facing the window.

As I pull up last week’s physics homework, I sit there wondering how in the world I’m going to help him. If he doesn’t understand it, it’s unlikely that I would have understood it last week. The most I could do is let him see the solution and that’s not exactly helping him.

And guess what? That’s exactly what happens. The only saving grace is that he doesn’t understand the solution either; so he inputs the answer and calls it good because “it’s not like these homework questions are representative of the exam anyway.” He’s not wrong. Even I know that.

“I have to go meet some friends for dinner,” he says, quickly packing up his things. “So I’ll see you later.”

While he’s gone, I decide to do some reading for tomorrow’s lecture and finish up any of the prelab questions before tomorrow’s lab class. However, I find it difficult to concentrate as my brain wants to perform intense analysis on Jaemin rather than trying to understand Vibrio isolation.

Maybe he really only wanted the physics help because he knew I already had the solution. I’m sure he knew I wouldn’t be able to explain it to him and it’s not like he stayed either… I sigh. But that doesn’t explain the winking or sitting with me for three hours… Ugh, whatever, you need to finish studying for tomorrow.

After about an hour and a half, I hear the front door of the house open and I look over my shoulder. The light from the dining room across the way provides just enough light to make out Jaemin’s figure as he walks into the foyer. He glances at me and waves before going upstairs.

I purse my lips, feeling a bit disappointed that he probably wasn’t going to come back. I truly enjoyed his company. He was fun to talk to and showed me interesting things, including his water bottle collection he had accumulated from attending job fairs. Though I wasn’t interested in dating him, I did want to be his friend. At the very least, I could designate him as someone to go get dinner with and just hang out.

“Hey!” a voice says behind me.

I jump slightly upon realizing it’s Jaemin. He has his laptop and backpack in hand and pulls out the chair next to me to sit down. Oh! Huh… you came back.

“Hi, you came back to work?”

“Yeah, I just have something that should take a half hour.”

Several other residents had returned home and were sitting on the couches a few feet away discussing Pokémon Go.

“Have you ever played?” Jaemin asks me.

“No, have you?”

“Yeah, I played all summer,” he says, pulling out his phone. “It’s pretty fun, see? But yeah, I was here for an internship during the summer so I’d walk around campus trying to catch them.”

He spends the next few minutes searching up different Pokémon on the internet, showing me pictures and telling me about their abilities. I nod, commenting on the ones I found particularly cute. It’s nice; it’s so easy talking to him and we can easily talk about nothing without it ever feeling forced.

“Yay, I finished!” he says.

There’s that feeling in my chest again – the one of disappointment when I thought Jaemin wasn’t going to come back to hang out. I internally chastise myself.

“You going to turn in for the night?”

“Nah, I’ll stay down here.”

Three hours later, at eleven p.m., after having finished my biology homework, I decide that it’s time to return to my room to shower and get ready for bed.

“All right,” I say, gently closing my laptop and packing together my things. “I’m done for tonight.”

Jaemin trails behind me as we go up the stairs, telling me about an interview he has next week. There are three directions you can go once you reach the top of the stairs: right, left, or up to the next floor. Jaemin’s room is the first one on the left when you turn right. My room is at the end of the same hall.

As we near his room, I expect him to stop in front of his room and bid goodnight. Only, he doesn’t do that. He continues to follow me to my door as we pass his room.

“Hey, can you get my keys out of the top zipper?” I ask, turning my back to him. “My hands are full.”

“Sure!”

I feel him tug on the top of my backpack, followed by a jingling of my keys as he hands me my lanyard.

“Thanks!” I say as I try to separate the key fob from the rest of my keys.

“You’re a Vulpix!” he suddenly says.

“A what?”

I look at him and see that he’s looking at the printed photo on my door of a brown animal resembling a fox with a fluffier tail. Each door had the names of the residents living in that room and a Pokémon to “represent” each resident. He points to the photo above my name tag. “It’s a Pokémon. It’s one of the cuter looking ones.”

I blink several times, unsure of what to say given that I didn’t have much of an interest in Pokémon. “Oh.”

“Yeah, I think it suits you.”

I turn to look at him and he’s smiling again. He does have a nice smile. And I’d have to be blind to miss it, but there’s that look in his eyes again. The mischievous one.

You’re definitely charming, I’ll give you that.

I return a small smile back, allowing the slightest bit of amusement to be detected in my eyes. “Which one are you?”

“Charmander.”

“Does that one fit you?”

“Yeah, I’d say so.” He puts a hand on my shoulder. “Anyway, I’ll let you get to bed. Thanks for helping me today.”

I give him a crooked smile. “I didn’t really help you at all…”

“Of course you did!” he insists.

He still has his hand on my shoulder and as I look back at him, he’s gazing at me with an expression that I can only describe as ‘lustful.’ He’s conventionally attractive, but I still can’t say I’m interested in him. I just happen to like the attention. And I’m not flirting with him either – at least, I don’t believe I am.

But the next thing he does shocks me to such an extent I nearly drop all the books in my hand. He squeezes my shoulder and leans towards me, tilting his head down so that his mouth is near my ear.

“Goodnight,” he whispers.

He pulls back, a smug smirk on his lips, evidently amused by the stunned expression he catches on my face before he turns around to walk back to his room. I watch him until he reaches his door, unlocking it and glancing at me before slowly closing it and disappearing inside.

Okay, there’s no fucking way that wasn’t flirting.

It takes me another moment to gain enough composure to process what just happened before opening my own door.

“Who was that?” Jia immediately asks when I step inside.

“Jaemin,” I answer nonchalantly.

“He walked you back to the room?”

“Yeah…”

She gets up from her chair and hovers over my desk as I set my things down. “Did you ask him to help you with physics?”

“Um, no…” I bite my lip. “He asked me to help him with physics.”

“What?!” she exclaims.

“That was my response.”

She follows me into the bathroom, leaning in the doorway as I clip my hair back to take off my makeup and wash my face.

“Do you think he likes you?”

Jaemin’s “goodnight” continues to ring in my ears. The way he was grabbing onto my shoulder was a little more than “friendly.” Hell, whispering into my ear like that is more than “friendly.” There’s no way he’s not – at the very least – interested in me.

“Um, I think he’s interested in me…” I respond, attempting to say as little as possible.

“I saw you guys working together downstairs when I came home. I think he likes you!”

“I have no idea.”

Friday at noon, I returned home for lunch after finishing up my classes for the day. I sat in my room, watching reruns of NCIS while eating a sandwich and some fruit. My plan for the next few hours was to start on the physics homework that was due on Tuesday. I would attempt all of the questions and then ask Jaemin for help this weekend on the ones I couldn’t figure out myself.

I had sort of made an assumption that we would work together every weekend even if it wasn’t for him to help me with my physics homework. He stayed with me for three hours last Sunday and we studied together for the entire evening yesterday. Hell, he came back to study with me after he went to meet his friends for dinner. Dad is convinced Jaemin has a thing for me and even Jia is suspicious, but I’m trying to keep her out of it as much as possible.

I grab my keys and leave my room to run downstairs to wash my dishes and refill my water bottle before starting on my homework. But as I’m about to pass Jaemin’s door, my ears perk up due to the voices coming from his room.

“No, look, it’s really cool!” Jaemin says.

“No! I don’t want to go there! It’s so dirty!” a female voice responds.

“It’s not dirty! And they have really good samgyeopsal!” Jaemin replies.

I stop mid-step and slowly turn my head towards his door. What the –? Is… is that a girl in his room?

“Noo!” she whines again.

I check the time. It’s 1:45. Last Friday, Jaemin had come to say “hello” to me while I was in the piano room working on an assignment around this time. Our interaction was brief, as he told me he had to be in class at two. Hmm. He should be leaving soon.

I continue walking to the kitchen, figuring it’s probably best that I not get caught eavesdropping right outside his door. As I wash my dishes, I mentally strategize how to stay downstairs long enough to watch Jaemin when he comes down the stairs. I don’t have any of my study materials and I don’t want to risk wasting any time to go get them in case he leaves before that.

After filling up my water bottle, I walk into the dining room and place my things on one of the bar tables near the entryway. I choose to sit in the seat that looks into the foyer and pull out my phone, pretending to busy myself with replying to a text from Hana.

My head snaps up when I hear a door close followed by the voice of the female in question. I wait until I hear them walking down the stairs before getting up, keeping my head down, gaze focused on my phone.

I begin to traverse the stairs, briefly looking at the girl as she comes into view. My heart jumps. Why – why does she look so familiar? Jaemin is following behind her, keeping his gaze to the floor. As we’re about to pass each other, I look up from my phone as if I had just noticed he was there.

“Hey,” I greet.

“Hi.”

I continue up the stairs, rounding the spiral and glance at the girl from the corner of my eye, narrowing my eyes at her. When she reaches the door, she steps to the side, her hands clasped in front of her. She looks at Jaemin expectantly as he extends his hand to open the door for her. My nose wrinkles with a slight disgust at the interaction I just witnessed. She purposely moves out of the way for him to open the door for her?

When I return to my room and sit down at my desk, a sudden realization hits me. Wait a second. I know why she seems familiar!

I log into Facebook and type in a name.

Jisu Choi.

As soon as the page loads, my jaw drops.

Staring back at me is Jisu’s profile picture of a smiling Jaemin with his arm around Jisu.

Holy shit! Jaemin has a girlfriend!

Prev | Next

Before I Met You Masterlist Masterlist

18 notes · View notes

juliabohemian · 5 years ago

Text

backhanded compliments & the art of commenting on other people’s creative content without being a complete twat waffle

WARNING: This is a long post.

I'm a word person. That's probably why, when I do find myself becoming irritated by someone else's unsolicited critique, it is almost always due to their choice of words. Words are important and very powerful. Words have different meaning to different people. Which is why we need to take care when choosing them.

Now, whenever possible, I will click on the profile of the person who left the unsolicited critique and try to get a feel for what type of person they are. Just so I can better understand why they might have left the comment in question. If it is clear they are not a native English speaker, I stop right there. Learning a foreign language is hard. English is one of the most ridiculous languages on the planet. So, mastering its nuances is a challenge for someone who may not have grown up using it. I’m sure I have offended at least one person with my Spanish, at some point. I’m working on it.

BACKHANDED COMPLIMENTS

When I say choice of words, I am implying almost exclusively to something known as a backhanded compliment. A backhanded compliment is a statement that seems, on the surface, to be positive, but is actually an insult. If you are not familiar with the backhanded compliment, I direct you to the mom from American Beauty who says to her teenage daughter "Honey, I'm so proud of you. I watched you very closely, and you didn't screw up once!"

There are a lot of reasons why people make such comments. It would be reductive to suggest they are all suffering from some form of insecurity, although many of them probably are. Some may genuinely believe that they are being helpful. Others may be jealous of the attention another person is receiving and want to either sabotage them or find a way to get in on the action.

However, it is most likely that the type of person to give a backhanded compliment is either very young, very sheltered or very privileged. And thus, they may not realize that their opinion about something may not carry the same weight on the internet as it does in other venues. Or they may not realize that the world is filled with people who are more informed and more experienced than they are. They mistake their opinion for objective analysis and therefore, offer it freely and without hesitation.

Now, I would like to state that if you see something and you REALLY think it is problematic, you should absolutely offer your critique. Note: if you dislike or disagree with something, that does not make it problematic. Anything that promotes the maltreatment or marginalization of any living thing is problematic. Even so, you should stop and ask yourself whether your critique will accomplish anything or if it would be more worthwhile to simply report the post in question and move on.

That being said, here is MY analysis of some of the backhanded compliments I have received over the years (amalgamated for brevity), and a guide to leaving more constructive/supportive comments for the content creators in your life.

ARTWORK (including photography)

“Definitely not my style, but beautiful.” Do we need to know that it's not your style? If you think it's beautiful, just say that.

“This is so great, but it would have been better if you had used yellow instead of red!” Color choice is a creative choice and its value cannot be objectively measured. Just say it’s great and move on.

“Wow, this is way better than your old stuff.” Do I need to explain why this is bad? I hope not.

“Wow, you're really improving.” Slightly better than the previous one, but still bad. This is a really good example of something that might even feel like a compliment, but actually isn't. Saying that someone is improving is basically saying that it needed to improve.

Unless you are speaking to your own student or a child, or a really close friend or family member who has openly shared with you their desire to improve as an artist, this is completely unnecessary.

It's important to remember that not everyone is doing things with the same objectives as you. Not every artist or photographer is aiming for technical mastery. If an artist creates something that is very personal and feels pleased with it, the last thing they want is for someone else to come along and tell them what’s “wrong” with it.

Really ANY comment that suggests that the piece of artwork in question would be improved if it were altered in some way is a no no. Unless you are an art teacher or someone has specifically asked for you to give them this information, or you are paying someone to make something especially for you.

FANFICTION (or really writing in general)

“Oh man...I was so excited when I saw your story summary, until I saw the pairing.” Do not comment on a story just to tell the author that you don't like their pairing. Ever. If you accidentally click on a story without seeing the pairing and you are disappointed, your feelings are valid. But there’s no need to let the author know.

"This was good but I don't think (character) would say (quoted dialogue)." Then, you should go and write a story with that character, but where they say different things.

"I noticed you used a semi-colon in the third paragraph. Semicolons are actually supposed to...." Critique grammar, punctuation, spelling and writing mechanics ONLY if you are the author's editor, the author's teacher, or if the author requested it. Period.

If you are commenting to point out what you believe to be a factual error, stop and ask yourself...is this really an error? Is the error intentional? Does the error represent the views of the author or the views of a specific character in a fictional work? Does this story have a reliable narrator? If not, might that narrator be misinformed or biased? And the most important question to ask yourself before correcting an author...do I actually know what the fuck I'm talking about?

Once, in a story, I referenced Copernicus and mentioned that he was imprisoned by the Catholic church. Which we know that he was. Someone commented to leave a long, bullet pointed explanation for how this is a common misconception and that the Catholic Church never mistreated Copernicus, along with many links to articles and videos as evidence. Guess who made all the articles and videos? The Catholic Church. SKIP!

When commenting on a fictional work, consider letting the author know how the story is making you feel. Speculate about what you think might happen next. Express excitement and anticipation. Ask a question for clarification about what you just read. And you can never go wrong by simply thanking the author for taking the time to provide you with free entertainment.

MEMES & JOKES

I love to make people laugh. I have been making people laugh since I learned to talk. This was actually bourne out of an inability to interpret facial expressions. I couldn't tell when people were angry or annoyed. But when they were laughing, I knew exactly how they felt.

That being said, people on the internet LOVE to tell me when something isn't funny. The only problem with this is that humor is very subjective and often very esoteric. I have made memes that I knew were esoteric and knew that not everyone would understand them. I have memes just for birdwatchers. Hell, I have made memes just for a dozen people who participated in a specific academic discussion. But it amazes me how people who don't get a joke are often most compelled to comment and let me know that it isn't funny. How can you know if you don't understand it? Is it so hard to imagine that things exist for which you are not the intended audience?

It's perfectly okay to comment and say you don't understand, and ask for an explanation. But if you look at something and think "I don't understand this, therefore it lacks value" you may have some growing up to do.

Before reblogging someone else's joke to add to the joke, stop and ask yourself whether your intention is to correct or improve upon the joke, or if you are attempting to laugh along WITH the OP.

We've all done this, I'm sure. I know I have. But it really inconsiderate to hijack someone's meme, meta or artwork with a completely unrelated discussion. I can't tell you how annoying it is to post something and check my inbox days later, only to find pages of notifications of people reblogging my shit over and over as part of some completely unrelated discussion.

Once again, if you're commenting to point out a factual error, ask yourself whether the error was intentional. I recently made a meme about the Star Trek films in which Data uses contractions. All of his dialogue is ridiculously out of character, in fact. Which is kind of part of the joke. But someone felt the need to reblog AND comment to let me know that Data wouldn't say that because he doesn't use contractions. Which I already know. Because, well, I’ve been a ST:TNG fan since the day it first aired on TV. I don't even know what to do with a comment that, to be honest. I kind of feel sorry for the other person for not grasping the joke.

So, how DO you compliment someone whose work you enjoy? Imagine yourself speaking to them in person. Imagine that they are emotionally invested in whatever they have created. Consider your objective. Are you expressing appreciation? Or is there something else going on.

And avoid qualifiers.

When a compliment includes words like "if" or "but" then it's probably not a compliment. You would be so pretty IF you lost some weight is not a compliment.

Choose words that are unlikely to be misinterpreted.

If someone's art or writing IS improving and you really want them to know, a good way to do that is to use the word evolving. Wow, I really like the way your art is evolving. This works because it implies that the art is changing over time, as the individual grows as a person.

I know what some of you might be thinking...ugh...it's like you can't say ANYTHING anymore! Aww...boo hoo, fam. As a person on the spectrum, I’ve spent my entire life dancing around other people’s feelings, navigating neurotypical subtext and struggling to say things without offending anyone. This is a cake walk compared to that. And I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but if actually thinking about how other people feel BEFORE you share your opinion would require a great deal of effort on your part, it's possible that you're just an asshole.

TL;DR

Creators of original content are actual human beings with feelings. Don’t offer them unsolicited advice or criticism. Think before you comment.

#I know this is long and no one is putting a gun to your head and making you read it #these are just my views #backhanded compliments #unsolicited opinions #unsolicited advice #how to comment without being an asshole #theory of mind #unwanted critique #critiquing #commenting on fanfic #fanfic comments #I have autism if I can be tactful then so can you

19 notes · View notes

unproduciblesmackdown · 5 years ago

Text

ok-yikes replied to your post: diefordarkseid replied to your post: ...

ok but like thank u sm for the link i’ve been vaguely following your winston/billions content and ive been trying to find the context without having to watch the whole thing lmao so now i can fully understand ur analysis and art that i already enjoy!!

oh first of aw!!!! that’s such a compliment lol ty and yes s/o to @winstonthequant for posting that compilation for 5.5k+ people to partake in, it’s super useful

yeah we Jest that all anyone needs to know to understand the Spirit Of Wynnstanning is to have seen those scenes with winston and taylor from kompenso, ep 3x11 lol.....i mean it’s partially a joke but it’s also partially true, that’s pretty much the Cause of the group of us going “oh my god” and becoming Invested in all of this. winnie n tay baby.......their Dynamique...they are way too good Ugh

and yeah the Broadest Of Strokes of this series overall is that the Central Theme is "insufferable bastard hedge fund ceo damian lewis [aka axe] man Versus insufferable bastard attorney general paul giamatti man [aka chuck],” just these corrupt assholes having a back and forth slapfight power struggle every season. nobody cares what happens in season 1 but taylor is introduced at the start of season 2 as a just-out-of-undergrad intern at axe’s hedge fund. turns out they’re amazing at hedge funding (they have some goddamn sense and strategy and awareness, whereas axe is 100% beholden to the whims of his own Delicate Temper and Ego and is a continually self-sabotaging idiot, nbd) and by season 3, while axe is doing a bit of jail time over insider trading (see: previous parenthetical) taylor is left effectively in charge of axe’s hedge fund, which btw is called axe capital

Our Beloved Quant Winston enters the picture 3 eps into this situation, where taylor is attempting to start a quant team at axe cap, hence interviewing him, then only known as “quant kid 2″ in the credits. [not-that-informed explanation of What Is A Quant: where the Traditional Financial Analysts in a hedge fund try to make profitable stonk trades just via like, reacting to The News and other publically available info / whipping up Strategies / intuiting shit and making judgment calls or whatever the hell they do, a Quantitative Analyst (a more recent development in the high finance world) is taking a more mathematical approach to the whole legal gambling operation which is The Stock Market and might, as winston does, use An Algorithm to analyze finance info and make trades in response. is the vague idea here] Quant Kid 2 was not Originally meant to ever reappear, hence him just messing up the interview and getting sent off after like 30 seconds, but they wrote him in further when William Roland showed up and actually filmed the scene.

when “i’m a shitty bastard driven by my shitty ego and will self-sabotage if my Pride asks for it on a whim” axe shows back up, tl;dr, he spends the rest of s3 being terrible and unappreciative to taylor, who you might imagine is Threatening That Delicate Ego of his by capably taking care of his hedge fund while he was indisposed. for example, he needlessly wrecks taylor’s relationship with a guy they were having a nice time dating (and will, we’re pretty sure, talk to again in s5ep2!! hoorayy) and does basically the opposite of apologizing, sweeps taylor’s Quant Project into the trash, gets mad at them for failing to land a certain investor which he said they did on purpose which idk they May Have lol i think this was later in the season, and won’t give them the raise they want, and that’s just A Few of the bullet points in this topic. but oops, turns out that taylor has been secretly taking steps to put together their own entirely separate hedge fund! which is where winston comes back in, aka their meeting him in that empty classroom only to summon him to a random basement. that algorithm he ends up creating for them (which he’d Assumed was for axe cap purposes) was used by taylor to entice a Big Investor at axe cap to invest in their own hedge fund, taylor mason capital, which exists by the end of season 3, which obviously axe is not happy about and of course it’s a whole ~betrayal~ even though he did it to himself but no, he decides taylor is his Nemesis, b/c in so many ways he is a dumbass. god

season 4 has winston as taylor’s Main Quant (the one time we hear his name spoken aloud is taylor saying “winston and the quant team). taylor spends the season dealing with all the problems of having a Brand New Hedge Fund and having a Well Established Hedge Fund With An Asshole At The Helm constantly trying to sabotage their fund, which we also call tmc / mase cap for short, just for reference lmao, the latter being how they shorten it in the show’s actual dialogue. the Front Running mentioned in that one clip was an instance of such sabotage. and by the time winston shows up 5 eps later, that Fracking Subplot (lmao...this fucking show) was about taylor being reeeeal sick of axe cap’s sabotage b/c they kinda made it personal, and thus spending the whole episode Completely playing axe for a fool, which was kinda fun, b/c it’s not that hard and he has it coming. it gets a little involved with what’s going on in ep 4x11 with the bonuses lmfao but it's nbd, just know that winston was right, we went frantic about him being Bullied and are still indignant about it, and taylor talking to Everyone in that 4x12 clip does seem to address what winston had said, compare and contrast 4 yourselves, even if this apparently went totally over the heads of any Regular Billions Viewers lmao. and then in 4x12 A Lot Happens b/c it’s the finale but axe manages to self-sabotage himself in a way that does a lot of damage for mase cap though, and axe thinks that he’s successfully blackmailed taylor into returning to axe cap with mase cap as a Supposedly Temporary subsidiary of axe cap, which sucks, but taylor is not as blackmailed as he thinks, which is a secret, Drama and Twists and Shifting / Dubious Loyalties and Stonks are just constant themes here and who cares. we are here for the quant, who is there with taylor

We Have Many Ideas / wise concepts and headcanons, seeing as canon is a nightmare and there’s not That much material re: winston and precious few details about him / he spends sooo much time offscreen and unmentioned and it leaves us plenty of blanks to fill in. for example, maybe u noticed we think he should kiss taylor and also get railed by them, there are extensive ideas about that relationship wherein we happily ignore Finance. also, there is an unusually kind and reasonable analyst over at axe cap named ben kim who we also think should kiss winston, so yeah That idea is sure around as well lol, they have enough Parallels and complementary Similarities and Contrasts and also just like, a normal nice person is a rarity on this show, so ben does Not have a world of competition in our [list of people who’d be Okay to kiss winston, b/c someone should, b/c he deserves that cuz we love him]

yeah that’s my Quick Basic Context summary lmao we hate it here but also we have fun, and really at any time (extending this to anyone lol) feel free to Send An Ask about anything at all b/c i am Not annoyed by random / unprompted asks from anybody, i love interaction! who knows if i’ll answer promptly (for example: sorry @ the person who’s asked for deh/bmc hcs who i havent answered yet lol) but yeah. it’s totally nice that you were already interested even without any Context lmao like. i mean yeah basically the joke still stands that the only context u truly need is that one scene from Kompenso but. yeah #Stonks

#ok-yikes #i've 100% been appreciating all ur Likes btw ty ty #winston billions

8 notes · View notes

frickyeahfanfic · 5 years ago

Text

SHOULDER ANGEL

pairing: steve rogers/captain america x reader

word count: 2019 (idk how that worked out) 2K

warnings: none just fluff hehe

(PART 2)

summary: you are a mission analysis specialist, hired on by tony. You've worked with him in the past with the initiative, but you just got moved to the stark tower. You are pretty undercover with your work, but you are extremely intelligent and are very good at finding the best drop off locations, escape routes, weapons analysis. (more explanation in the text). The story starts when Happy moves you into Stark tower.

_________________

“Happy, don’t worry, I got it, just let me- OUCH!”

The unsteady pile of boxes you were carrying fell from your arms. It landed with a thud, a few small memorabilia items tumbling out.

“See, Agent Y/L/N, if you had just given the box to me,”

You huff and put the rest of the boxes on the floor, gathered up the scattered items and put it back in your arms, this time more carefully. “I’m fine, we’re almost there, right?”

Happy rolled his eyes, but he too was carrying boxes so you couldn’t see. Behind him was one of Tony Stark’s droids, carrying more boxes. Moving was grueling task.

It had happened too quick. The papers around the apartment complex were notifying the occupants that renovations would be taking place for the next two months. You didn’t have time to think about it, let alone time to find a quiet place to stay. All of a sudden there were hardhats and workers crawling around, like ants in a hole, leaving you no choice but to move out. Frantically, you asked around your coworkers if they knew of a place to stay.

You didn’t know that Stark Tower was an option, but Tony Stark, your boss, quickly invited you to stay for the two months.

As a mission analysis specialist for SHIELD, you were often assigned to plan missions and help with the small (but important) details. One day the main specialist was gone and you had to sub in, completely terrified of the task ahead. Your job that day was to speak into the comms of the Avengers, the Avengers, and tell them the best escape route to the small mission they were on.

“Who is this? This is not Agent Miller,” Iron Man had said.

“Uh, no, this is Agent Y/L/N,” you said timidly into the microphone. You had just suggested an alternate exit route to the one originally planned, which led to the safety of dozens of citizens.

“Agent Y/L/N, I’d like to offer you a position,” the billionaire asserted with a nonchalant sigh.

So that’s how you got added to the favorites list.

When Tony found out that you didn’t have a place to stay, he immediately arranged a room in the tower for you. If there was one favor he could do for you, this was it.

“Y/L/N!”

You spin around, the top box shifting dangerously to the right. The boxes obstructed your view, so you couldn’t see whoever called your name. Your load lightened when the top box was replaced with a smiling face, Tony Stark.

“It’s a pleasure to have you here! Let me take you to your room,” he said like an enthusiastic hotel manager.

You followed him, with Happy close behind, and shared some small talk till Tony found your room. He opened the door, revealing a somewhat plain, but cozy room.

“Here is your key, don’t lose it.” He placed it into your now empty hands. They ached from carrying your boxes.

As he started to leave he paused at the door frame. “Our lounge area is on floor 27. Feel free to hang out with the gang, I’m sure they’d love to meet you.” A mischievous smile spread on his face and he winked, stirring confusion in your mind. He left, with the door open. A continuation of the invitation.

“Thank you Mr. Stark!” You called as he walked away.

Well, you survived the move. You looked at your luggage, then to the door. His words lingered in your head, “I’m sure they’d love to meet you”. Maybe you ought to give social interaction a try.

You left your empty room to go to floor 27.

A woman with striking red hair, dressed in black jeans and a black tank top turned her head as the elevator opened. You brought your laptop in one arm for a safe retreat in case this greeting went wrong, and a box of doughnuts in the other. An offering.

“You must be Agent Y/L/N,” she stated carefully, like a child dipping its toes into a cold pool before jumping in.

You nod and beam. “Yep. Sorry for the intrusion in your… headquarters,” you said her same tone.

“You’re fine. We don’t usually have visitors, so this is a nice change.” she stuck out a hand. “Natasha Romanoff.”

“Call me Y/N, please, it is such an honor to meet you.”

Two figures lingered in the kitchen area, laughing and talking loudly. You decided you’d leave the doughnuts over there, and have a chat with them. As you approached, they grew quiet, holding their breaths.

“Hi! I’m Agent Y/L/N!” You said enthusiastically. Emptying your hands you put the doughnuts and your computer on the table beside you.

One man took a sip of his coffee and nudged the taller one with his shoulder.

He cleared his throat. “I’m Steve Rogers, nice to finally meet you,” he spoke.

You tried not to look him up and down. He was a work of art.

The way his hair was perfectly combed, face well groomed, blue eyes shining like sapphires. His shirt fit almost too tight, oh those poor seams. The smirk on his face was adorable, like the one you’d see on an adolescent boy when they were up to no good.

“Finally?” You questioned.

He stuttered. “Tony, uh, talks about you a lot. Says you help with us Avengers more than we know, and that we should thank you.”

You laugh. “Just doing my job.”

“Thank you Agent Y/L/N. I’d love to spend more time getting to know you, but I have some duties to attend to,” the man next to Steve said, placing his cup down and dismissing himself. As he left the lobby, he quickly shouted, “I’m Clint, by the way!”

When you turned to look back at Steve, you caught him looking at you, and he quickly diverted his attention to placing Clint’s cup in the sink.

“Are those free game?” Steve said, pointing to the doughnuts.

You tilted your head. “As long as we save a few for everyone else.”

The two of you sat down, across each other and ate a doughnut in silence. He inhaled his, and waited till you finished yours.

“Sorry,” you mumbled with the last bite of doughnut.

“It’s okay, maybe I should have tried to savor mine better,” he chuckled.

You swallow and wipe the edges of your mouth with a napkin from inside the box. “So, you’re Captain America.”

He folds his buff arms. “The one and only. And you’re the shoulder angel.”

“Shoulder angel?”

Steve laughed. “It’s what Tony, and the rest of the team sometimes calls you. See, you’re like our shoulder angel because you always talk to us in our comms and say the right thing. You seriously have saved our butts a few times.”

Okay, you were really blushing now. Captain America was too charming.

“Well without you guys, I wouldn’t have a job, so thank you. Plus you’ve saved like, the entire world a few times so.”

His face was starting to hurt from smiling too much. He made a mental note to thank Tony for inviting you to stay in the tower with them.

A chime emitted from your computer and you opened it up.

“Ugh, agent meeting in 15. I’ll have to call in. I totally forgot,” you groaned. Normally you’d be fine going to a meeting, but right now it meant that you couldn’t spend time with Rogers.

You looked up at him and he met your gaze with his perfect blue eyes. He must have been staring at you because he cleared his throat and averted his attention.

“Forgive me Steve, but I need to take this. It was so nice to meet you.”

As you started to get up, he jumped out of his seat and came around the table to you. You had to crane your neck to look at him, and wondered why you hadn’t noticed his height before. You loved tall guys.

After a deep breath, he spoke. “When you’re done with your meeting, can we talk afterwards?”

You beamed at him. “Um, yes, I would love to!” You were startled at his suggestion, but surprise quickly turned into glee.

“Sweet!” He nodded and watched you leave.

…..

“Thank you for attending this meeting. Please remember the assignments you have been given.”

The meeting had come to a close. As you shut your computer, you looked to the alarm clock by your bed. It read 8:00pm.

You exhaled and rubbed your eyes. Exhaustion, hunger, pain in your neck and back from sitting in front of the screen, man, you were ready to collapse.

Without thinking, you got out of your desk and opened the door to your room. A figure was looming at the door and you screamed.

“I am so sorry!”

“Steve?” You realized.

He tried to stifle a laugh, but he couldn’t hold it in. Laughter echoed through the hallways until it hurt to breathe.

“I brought you some food. You’ve been locked in there for hours,” he said, holding out a paper bag with a Five Guys receipt stapled on.

Who is this man, and where has he been all your life?

“Do you want to eat in the lounge area? Or, I mean, we could just eat in here, I haven’t unpacked-”

Steve smiled. “I don’t mind, maybe I could help?” He tried looking around you to see the boxes.

You waved him in and sat on the edge of your bed. He sat next to you, somewhat unaware of how close he should sit. As you rested your legs on a box in front of you he grabbed the burgers out of the bag.

The two of you began to talk, talk about work, about saving lives, about movies, just about whatever. You felt so comfortable sitting next to him, all of your worries seemed to slip away as you talked into the night.

“Thank you so much for getting that for me. I really appreciate it, Steve,” You said, then yawned. It was getting really late and it was hard to keep your eyes open.

Steve turned to look at you and smiled. “It was so nice getting to know you, y/n, I hope we can hang out again, maybe in a more formal setting,” he laughed, nodding to your room.

The both of you stood up simultaneously, and you walked him to the door.

“By more formal setting, you mean,” you paused, letting him finish your sentence.

“A date maybe?” He suggested, going a little red in the face.

You bit your lip. A date with Captain America? The Captain America?

He folded his arms with a newfound confidence. “Y/n, would you like to go on a date with me Saturday night?”

“Steve, I would love to.”

The two of you stood in your doorway, eyes locked. Was he leaning towards you?

“Goodnight y/n,” he said abruptly, turning and leaving you, stuck to your spot on the ground.

It seemed a little rude to leave that quickly, it was out of character from his behavior that whole night. You tried not to think anything of it.

Little did you know he was actually going to hug you, or say something else, but he got too scared. He was worried you’d freak out and after all, you had only met several hours ago.

You slowly shut your door and flopped onto your bed. Wait a minute, you were going out with Steve. Why overthink anything?

As you looked to the bunched up sheets where Steve had been sitting, you remember his laughter, only echoes in your memory. The way he looked at you as you tried to explain something that had happened at work, gosh, every girl wants to be looked at that way. The longing, the hope that was trapped in his pretty blue eyes.

Now you could only wait restlessly to be with him again.

(PART 2)

(author’s note: part 2 probably, thanks for being somewhat patient with me guys, im probably gonna start writing more marvel stuff cause im a hoe for the avengers)

#captain america #captain america x reader #captain america x you #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #shoulder angel #marvel fanfiction #marvel fanfic #captain america fanfic #steve rogers fanfic #infinity war #endgame #endgame fanfic #iw #mcu fic #mcu #iron man #frick yeah fanfic

64 notes · View notes

iatethepomegranate · 5 years ago

Text

Homecoming Chapter 22

@iontorch @dick-rarepairs

See notes for story masterpost and AO3 links.

Pairing: DickTiger

Rating: Teen (this chapter)

Length: 3k

Summary: Dick and Tiger settle back into Wayne Manor, but between Dick's new ailment and the secret they're keeping from Bruce, they're just waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Notes: I LIVE. Okay, since I don’t trust Tumblr to let this post appear in the tags if I add links, I’m going to add masterpost and AO3 links in a reblog, so check the notes.

***

Chapter 22

As the days passed, Dick waited for another migraine to come along and ruin his life again. It felt like everyone was watching him with bated breath, expecting him to drop any second... Dick most of all. Tim, at least, tried to make himself useful by going over Dick's symptoms to help him figure out his warning signs for when the attack finally did come.

Tiger had clammed up since that last conversation about the shooting. That was never a good sign. The man was a classic bottler when it came to his emotions and wouldn't entertain further discussion. It would all come to a head eventually. Dick was not looking forward to it.

What made matters worse, possibly, was that Bruce was being oddly polite to Tiger. It was possible he genuinely felt bad for kicking Tiger out, but there was also a chance he was trying to lull Tiger into a false sense of security. It wasn't working. Tiger was more anxious than ever. Unless that was Bruce's plan. Dick hoped not. That was a douchey kind of plan.

Dick came to dinner one night in a not-so-great mood. Irritable for no reason. He'd already snapped at Tiger three times in the past hour, and he'd deserved exactly none of them. And his neck was kinda stiff, which made sitting in a dining chair a rather annoying experience.

Tim took one look at him, pausing in the motion of cutting his steak, and said, “You know irritability and neck stiffness are pre-migraine symptoms, right?”

“Who says I'm irritable?” Dick replied, irritably. Internally, though, his mind was a litany of shit shit shit.

“You’ll probably have, like, twelve hours from when the symptoms started,” Tim said, looking back down at his plate. “Maybe more. Hard to say. Try to get a good night's sleep if you can.”

Dick wasn't sure how he was supposed to sleep with his neck like this. Tiger was staring at him, trying to catch his eye, but Dick didn't feel like talking. Especially not after snapping at him so much.

Tiger made a show of shrugging and piling brown rice onto both their plates. Dick also received a generous load of vegetables and not as much meat as he probably would've liked. But he'd already been an asshole today, so he shut up and took it.

Dick excused himself as soon as he was finished, knowing that he was not good company tonight. Tiger, in a fit of masochism, followed him back to their room.

Then, in what could only be a lack of self-preservation, he took Dick's hands and led him to the bed. “Sit. Let me help.”

“Look, I wouldn't blame you for not wanting to be around me. I don't want to be around me.” The words came out way sharper than he'd intended. Naturally.

“Hush.” Tiger knelt on the bed behind him and dug his thumbs into the hardened muscles on the back of Dick's neck. “I forgive you.”

“Ugh.”

Tiger kissed the top of his head. “I am trying to spoil you.”

“I don't deserve it.”

“I do not care.”

Dick shut up and let him rub his neck. It helped a bit. A warm shower later, he felt almost like himself.

Sleep was elusive. Dick kept shifting position, unable to get comfortable. Tiger had ended up on the edge of the bed, well away from his fidgeting. Dick was kind of offended but couldn't really be mad because Tiger had done that in his sleep.

He was still kinda mad.

Dick fell into a fragile kind of sleep eventually, flitting in and out when Tiger got up to pray. He woke in the daylight, eyes grainy and brain fogged. Right. Fatigue. Another fun symptom. Apparently even sleeping made him tired now.

Tiger was eating a bowl of oatmeal on the bed, legs crossed with a huge photo album in front of him. “Good morning.”

“Mmph.” Dick rubbed his eyes, which helped a tiny bit. “Is it morning?”

“Barely.”

Dick used Tiger's arm to haul himself into a sitting position, slumping against his shoulder. “Whatcha looking at?”

“Jason stole a photo album Alfred kept of your first few years as Robin.”

Dick rubbed his eyes again, until he could see the photos. Oh. Oh God. The green underpants. It was actually a leotard at least fifty percent of the time, but no one believed him.

Look, it wasn't that Dick was ashamed of his childhood fashion choices. It was just... well... everyone was ashamed for him.

“Bastard,” he muttered. “I'm gonna show you his album.” He dug his chin into Tiger's shoulder. “Nice breakfast. Where's mine?”

Tiger leaned over and grabbed another bowl from the nightstand. “I was about to wake you. Here.”

There were spiced pears in the oatmeal, which lifted his mood a little bit. But he still felt kinda fuzzy and doubted that would improve.

There was one photo in the album that Tiger paused over. It was a selfie, in a way. Dick-as-Robin making a face in a funhouse mirror. Alfred had seen the mask camera footage and liked it.

“Where is the camera?” Tiger asked.

“In the mask. It was a prototype at the time. The lenses broke constantly so we had to carry spare masks and cowls in our belts.”

“Wait.” Tiger's eyes went wide and his face turned the most worrying shade of grey. “You have cameras in your masks? Does Jason have...”

“Jason has a few,” Dick said. “He only wears the cam-masks when he's working with us.”

“So there is a video of Alia...”

The shooting. Fuck.

“Jason would've thought of that,” Dick said, trying to sound sure, even if he was kinda panicking. “Right?”

Tiger sighed and shoved more oatmeal into his mouth. Good idea. Dick did the same. Soothing his panic with breakfast. They kept flipping through the album with a detachment born out of preoccupation.

As soon as Dick had scraped the last bite out of his bowl, Tiger snatched it off him. “I'll take these to the kitchen. And find Jason.”

“Yeah. Do that.” Dick wanted to trust Jason had remembered. If not... Bruce would have seen the footage by now.

God damn it.

Dick took a piss while he waited and then spent a few minutes flipping through the album, tracking Robin's fashion evolution over the years. And the Discowing outfit. He still thought the high collar was pretty cool, no matter what anyone else said. He just couldn't turn his head as much as he would've liked. Still, some of Bruce's old costumes had the same problem.

There was just something in him that made him desperate to defend even the most questionable of fashion decisions. It didn't matter if he had been questioning them himself. The instant someone else teased him, he had to take it all the way.

Voices erupted in the hallway.

“Maybe I just don't like the way you're trying to corner him.” Jason.

“That is not what I—”

“You're not fooling anyone, Bruce. You've had it out for him from the moment he entered the city.”

“This is not a productive conversation.” Tiger.

“Right?” Jason said. “You prepared to say whatever you wanted to say in front of Dick? You think he's gonna be happy?”

“You're being dramatic,” Bruce said.

“Am I, though? Am I?”

“But if you wish to be involved in this discussion, I have plenty of questions for you, too.”

“I've answered your questions already. Not my fault you didn't like the answers.”

“I am missing some context in this conversation,” Tiger said.

“So am I!” Dick yelled impulsively.

There were a few horrible seconds where no one breathed a word. Then Tiger, Jason and Bruce entered the room. Tiger and Jason at least had the grace to look sheepish.

“Is someone going to explain what the hell is going on?” Dick said. “Quickly, if you don't mind. Not sure how much time I have before my head explodes again.”

“Jason's mask camera footage is missing,” Bruce said. Well. That answered that question.

“I told you already,” Jason complained. “The equipment's been on the fritz for weeks.”

“You should've had it fixed.”

Jason shrugged. “You don't trust me with your stuff and Tim was mad at me again. What was I supposed to do? Steal your shit? I only do that when I'm really mad at you.”

Dick had a distinct feeling Jason was lying his ass off. He also had a feeling Bruce saw right through him.

Tiger leaned against the closet door, arms crossed, watching the exchange with a muscle twitching in his jaw. Dick would trust him on a battlefield, but he wasn't so sure how well he was gonna hold up in a war of words over something he already felt terrible about. Jason wasn't gonna budge. Dick certainly wouldn't. But Tiger...

“I find it convenient that your equipment failed on that night in particular,” Bruce was saying.

“Sorry. I forgot to pencil it in.”

“Do you let your grapnel gun wear down like that?”

“No, because I would die. Again.”

Bruce's face twitched; he hated it when Jason brought up the dying thing. “Jason. That's not—”

“Oh, am I playing dirty again? Sorry. Force of habit.” He was blatantly not sorry. “Sometimes you gotta prioritise the important stuff. You never look at my mask cam anyway.”

“Because I never know when you're wearing it.”

“Then why did you bother looking this time?” Jason was smiling now, but it wasn't a pleasant one. “Seems to me you were looking for something specific.”

“I deserve to know what happened when someone dies on my watch.”

“I told you what happened. Is my word not good enough?”

“No. It's not.”

“Bruce,” Dick said, before this could spiral further, “I was there, too, you know.”

“You didn't see what happened.”

It wasn't worth arguing. Bruce knew what he was talking about. Good old blood spatter analysis, ruining everything.

“I saw Jason holding Tiger's gun.” Dick wasn't about to let this go without a fight, though.

“That proves nothing. And evidence has conveniently disappeared. Where did Tiger's clothes end up?”

Tiger still looked kinda grey from earlier. It was probably best he wasn't talking much, because Dick honestly didn't know if he could keep the lie going.

Jason, bless him, kept fighting. “Well, fuck me for getting him out of that blood-soaked shit. Not like I was thinking about how you were gonna be a giant asshole over this. My bad.”

“You haven't told me where his clothes are.”

“Gone. They were wrecked. Maybe if you'd asked in a timely manner, you could've examined them.” Jason actually sounded convincing. Dick tried not to get his hopes up. Bruce wasn't called the World's Greatest Detective for nothing.

“This is all rather convenient,” Bruce said. “Your spare gun jammed, recording equipment failed and vital material evidence happened to disappear, all on the same night.”

Could they have done this better? Given the circumstances, could they have found a way to keep Tiger out of this without tripping Bruce's coincidence meter? Dick wasn't sure there was. If only Jason hadn't been wearing his mask cam that night.

Still, Bruce didn't have concrete evidence. He just had a pile of coincidences that could mean someone was hiding something. Certainly not enough for a legal conviction or possibly even a trial in the first place, but that was not what they had here.

Bruce didn't need incontrovertible proof to believe Tiger had helped kill Alia. All he needed was enough doubt in Jason's version of events.

“Enough,” Tiger said.

Bruce rounded on him, staring silently. He didn't need to speak. Dick and Jason shared a grimace behind Bruce's back.

“There were three shooters,” Tiger continued, crossing his arms tighter across his body. Dick could see the slightest hint of a tremor. “Jason, Helena... and me.”

Okay, so they were doing this now. Things were still salvageable. Maybe.

“He saved my life,” Dick added. “The three of them only had a split second to do something.”

“Murder is never the solution.”

“Then tell us, O Wise One,” Jason snapped, “what would you have done with fuck-all time to save your favourite son?”

“I'm not his favourite,” Dick muttered. They ignored him.

“I would not have resorted to murder.”

“That's not what I asked,” Jason growled. “Dick is on the floor, literally cornered, back against a wall. Daedalus's gun practically touching him. He won't miss. You have a second to do something and you don't have a good enough angle to hit his gun. If Daedalus takes over Dick's mind, he dies. If the gun goes off, he dies. If you spook the bastard, the gun will go off anyway and Dick dies. So tell me, with all your boundless wisdom, what could we have done in that second to save Dick's life without killing Daedalus? The woman he possessed isn't even a factor. She was a goner already.”

Tiger flinched. Dick wanted to go over and squeeze his hand, but that would just draw Bruce's attention while Jason tried to divert it.

“Remote-controlled batarang,” Bruce replied.

“Yeah, we didn't have one of those. Even if we did, setting it up would take time we didn't have and he probably would've heard it coming.”

“The fact remains,” Bruce said, turning back to Tiger. “You hid this from me.”

“He wasn't even there when I told you what happened,” Jason said. “You gonna get mad? Get mad at the right person.”

“People,” Dick corrected. “I helped Jason mess with the evidence.”

“You were a backseat driver, more like.”

“Stop it,” Tiger muttered.

Dick's fingers were tingling a little, which was not a good sign. He concentrated extra hard on speaking, because he was not about to let this fucking migraine muddle his words while he still had a choice.

“Tiger,” he said, “you didn't want us to lie for you.”

Bruce raised an eyebrow. “And yet he allowed it.”

Dick put his left hand on the bed, leaning into it to keep his balance. Even sitting was starting to get a little fraught. Fuck's sake.

“Bruce,” he said, “stop it. You've directed exactly none of this pissiness at me even though I was actively involved in the lie.” He had to take a second to get his mouth around his next sentence, holding up his right arm, which obeyed him enough, so they wouldn't talk over him. “That's why we lied. Jason and I knew you would be harder on him than anyone else.”

“Same shit, different day,” Jason said. “He was like this when he kicked Tiger out and he hasn't learned a damn thing.” Jason's voice was a touch louder than Dick's head liked right now.

“Bruce has a point,” Tiger said quietly.

“He's selectively applying that point,” Jason replied. “How about it, boss? If you're gonna be shitty to Tiger, then you should be just as shitty to me.”

“You are not dating my son,” Bruce said.

“I'm a grown-ass man, Bruce,” Dick said.

“And I happen to be your son,” Jason added. “Legally, anyway.”

“You're an adult in control of your own actions,” Bruce said. “You have made it clear that I cannot control you.”

“Uh, hello?” Dick waved his fingers, which didn't really want to cooperate. “I'm the eldest, and you're acting like I'm a teenager with a bad influence for a boyfriend.”

“Difference is,” Jason said, “he actually cares about you.”

Bruce looked like he'd been slapped. “That's not—”

Jason grinned, but it looked more like a grimace. “Am I wrong?”

Bruce was not often a man lost for words. He sometimes preferred to let his actions speak for him, but it was rare that he truly had no idea what to say or do. Witnessing it now was unsettling.

Any other time, Dick might've let Bruce work through it on his own. Things with Jason were complicated, and sometimes interfering made matters worse.

But he was really having trouble sitting up and there was a distinct numbness on the right side of his face, and down his arm. And there was a pounding building up in his head.

In the silence, Dick caught Tiger's eye. The man's features hardened, and he put himself between Bruce and Jason. Probably not the safest idea, but Dick couldn't think of another way. Damn brain fog.

“Enough,” he said. “This is not a productive conversation.”

“You do not get to tell me when I am finished,” Bruce replied.

Jason glanced in Dick's direction. “Yeah? Well, I'm done.” He made a good show of storming out in a fit of temper, rather than giving his brother some space to lie down and die for a while.

“Jason...” Then Bruce followed him.

Well, that was one way to clear a room.

Tiger fetched Dick a glass of water. Apparently a pack of straws lived in Dick's nightstand now. He wasn't sure when exactly they appeared, but they made drinking a little easier with only half a face.

“Anything else you need?” Tiger asked softly.

Dick got him to help him into the bathroom. He wasn't sure how much he'd be moving in a few minutes. He also may have thrown up in the sink a little bit while he was in there.

Then Tiger helped him lie down. “There is a pager here,” he said, lifting the little thing from the nightstand. “Do you want me with you? If not, the pager will put you in touch with Alfred if you need anything.”

Dick waved him away with his good hand. He didn't want to put Tiger through this if he didn't have to. Besides, when he was at his worst last time, he couldn't even stand the sound of Alfred breathing.

Tiger helped him put a sleeping mask on and placed a bucket on the floor. Then he kissed Dick's hand, leaving him to his misery.

#Dick Rare Pair Challenge #dicktiger #dick grayson #tiger king of kandahar #fanfiction #my fics #homecoming dicktiger fic

13 notes · View notes