#when people look through my sketchbook....this one is hard to explain | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bright-and-burning · 6 months ago

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🐑 send me a fake set of fic tags, and I’ll try to come up with a summary for it! !!!! OOOh okay. if you're up for it(!), then: #Canon Divergent #There Was Only Ten Beds #Magical Realism #Bondage #Light Decapitation

a lobby with nine hundred windows | lando/oscar, M

#canon divergence, #there was only ten beds, #magical realism, #bondage, #light decapitation

The first sign of something going really, terribly, desperately wrong is subtle, honestly. So subtle, Oscar hadn’t thought anything of it. Brakes catch fire all the time, Max was due for some bad luck; nothing more, nothing less. The explosion bit was a little weird, a little larger than usual, but that was easily explained away. The second sign, the air going wavy and thick around him as he exited the car, is almost equally subtle. Waking up to Lando holding a knife to his throat, however, is not. Australia has a lot to answer for.

not only did i come up with a summary for it. i also uh. wrote it. it's wild what breaks through writers block 😭 so thank u for this strange and lovely tag combo. here's 1700 words of. idek what. something completely and utterly different from anything else i've ever written, that's for sure!

tw for mild description of violence

Oscar wakes, slow and groggy, to a warm weight on his chest, limiting his breaths. He blinks the sleep out of his eyes and goes from half-asleep to wide-awake in milliseconds, Lando looming over him, perched on his chest. Knife at his throat.

“Lando, what the fuck?”

Oscar struggles, feeling returning to his limbs, the restraints around his wrists and ankles making themselves known.

Lando presses him further into the bed, eyes wide. He shifts his gaze around the room, frenetic, never keeping Oscar out of sight for long. Oscar’s hyperaware of the cool edge of metal against his skin. The thump of blood through his carotid is loud in his ears.

“Tell me something only you would know.”

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“Oscar, I need you to trust me.” Lando leans in further, so close Oscar has to fight against the urge to cross his eyes. “Tell me something no one else knows.”

Oscar thinks, hard. Lando’s face is more serious than he’s ever seen it before.

“The backs of your thighs are weirdly ticklish?”

Lando releases a little of the pressure, but stays leaned over Oscar, considering.

“At least three other people know that. Something else. Please.” His voice cracks, and with it, his expression, desperation on display.

Oscar reaches to touch him, to soothe the visible ache. The material wrapped tight around his wrist snaps taut before he can even get close. Lando notices the aborted motion, and shifts forward again.

“Oscar, think.”

Oscar wracks his brain, turning over all the stones labeled Lando in his head, looking for something novel, something truly secret. Carefully considers the little cut-off wheezy sounds Lando makes when he’s just come, the half-filled sketchbooks shoved in a drawer, his secret sleeping spot at the MTC. Discards each one, heart rate slowing now that Oscar has a task to focus on, before remembering—

“You’ve been stealing my shampoo!” Oscar says, too loud for the odd room they’re in.

“No I ha- How did you know that?”

Oscar shrugs as best as he can in the restraints.

“I realized I was running out too fast. And you smell like me sometimes. Noticed after Vegas, I think.”

Lando’s face does something complicated, flashing from shifty to smug to sheer relief. He tosses the knife to the ground with a clatter, and collapses onto Oscar.

“Thank fuck, Osc, holy shit,” he says, shoulders shaking.

“Can I get some answers now? Like why you had a knife at my throat?”

Lando sits back up, nearly knocking his head into Oscar’s chin. His face is wet. Oscar remembers his restraints, and does not go to wipe his tears. He climbs off the bed, disappearing out of Oscar’s limited line of sight, and pops back up with said knife.

“Let me get you out of here first. Before things get wobbly again.”

“Wobbly?”

Lando ignores his question, focused on getting Oscar out of the straps. His hands are shaking nearly too bad to unknot anything; the knife lays unused, for fear of accidentally cutting something else. It takes minutes for Oscar’s right hand to be freed.

“Give me that,” Oscar gestures for the knife.

Lando hands it over without protest, and Oscar cuts through the remaining straps in quick order.

When Oscar is fully freed, Lando immediately pulls him into a hug tight enough to bruise.

“God, Osc. I thought I’d never see you again.”

Oscar pats him on the back, gentle. Lets him cling on, face tucked into his neck, quiet, shuddering exhales tickling his skin. Just when Oscar opens his mouth to ask any of the million questions, Lando pulls away and tugs him towards the door.

“I think it’ll be easier now that I’ve found the real you,” Lando says, opening the door. The light beyond is nearly blinding in comparison to the dim lit room they’re leaving behind. Lando steps out, hand still tight on Oscar’s. Oscar follows.

“The real me?”

They’re standing in a long hallway now, lined with doors of different shapes and sizes. Oscar turns slightly, to look at the one they’ve just left. It’s a simple metal door in a metal frame, a neon yellow handle the only distinguishing feature.

Every fifth door or so is the same. Simple metal, neon yellow handle. The rest have no pattern, as far as Oscar can tell. Here’s a frosted glass door stretching the full height of the corridor, and then a mini-van door with flame decals on the bottom. Here’s a mahogany double door several inches shorter than Lando, followed by a door Oscar could swear is Mark’s front door.

Lando speaks up, drawing his attention away from the oak door with the familiar mail slot. He nods to the door they just left.

“That’s the tenth one I’ve tried. Every other Oscar hasn’t passed the test.”

Oscar’s blood goes cold.

“How did you know,” He stops, unsure how to phrase his question.

“To check?”

Oscar nods.

“The first one was…” Lando pauses. Shivers at something only in his mind. “He was just wrong. I dunno. Didn’t smile right, or something. Like that valley thing.”

Lando’s clearly leaving something unsaid, some bigger reason to put a knife under Oscar’s chin, but he looks like he’s about to start shaking again. Oscar leaves it be, for now. Until they get out of this mess.

“And that’s when you…” Oscar holds up the knife.

Lando nods jerkily.

“I mean, one minute I was on the podium, the next the world went wobbly and I was here. I started opening doors, just trying to get out. Saw a lot of freaking weird shit, okay,” his voice is creeping higher, more defensive with each word, “and then I saw you, and then you weren’t you, and I-“ Lando deflates. “I freaked out, a little.”

“And then you, what, stabbed him?” Oscar tries to keep his voice even. Fails a little, maybe. Lando isn’t meeting his eyes.

“I sort of. Slithistthroat.”

“Sorry?”

Lando clears his throat. He’s tense, shoulders high around his ears, body twisted like he’s ready to bolt.

“Slit his throat.” Lando’s voice tilts up like it’s a question. It’s not.

Oscar stares.

“I freaked out a lot.”

And then he did it eight more times, from the sounds of it. Oscar can’t even imagine. Going from room to room, bed to bed. Waking Lando up, over and over, just to find something terrible in his place. Having to kill something shaped like him, time and time again, with no idea where the real him is. No idea if he’s making a mistake.

Oscar eyes the knife, looking closer. Looking for a distraction in the minutiae.

“It’s, uhm. Clean?”

“They disappear, after. That’s how I knew that I- That’s how I knew.”

That’s how he knew he hadn’t made a mistake, he means. That he hadn’t killed the real Oscar.

“Oh. That’s good, then. That they disappear.”

“Not- not right away.”

Lando looks haunted, briefly. He shakes his head, and starts moving, pulling Oscar along again.

Oscar changes the subject.

“Any idea what we’re looking for?”

“Not exactly,” Lando draws out the vowels. They’re still holding hands. Oscar is thankful for Lando’s tight grip on him, a tether to reality. A reminder that they’re both real. For both of them. “Was mostly hoping if I found the right you things would clear up.”

“Oh, brilliant.”

Lando squeezes his hand and keeps moving, walking much faster than normal.

“What’s the last thing you remember?”

“Getting out of the car.” Oscar squints, picking over his memories. “Going to get weighed, maybe?”

They pass a sliding glass door. The interior is distorted, but it looks like his back door. From home, in Melbourne. Oscar’s chest goes a little tight looking at it, but it doesn’t feel quite right. Nothing like the growing pull towards the end of the hall, and maybe Lando was right about things clearing up. They keep moving. The pull keeps growing.

“D’you feel that?”

Oscar nods. “It’s gotta be coming up.”

Whatever it is, at least.

A quick glance at Lando’s tense face and Oscar knows he’s not alone in that thought.

Lando stops, so abrupt Oscar’s hand nearly slips from his hold.

“Somewhere around here, you think?”

Oscar steps closer, threading his fingers back through Lando’s. He closes his eyes and focuses on the magnetic pull, tugging at some place behind his sinuses. He turns, slow, careful to keep Lando in his grasp, until something clicks into place.

The pressure releases, like ears popping on a flight. Lando makes a weird noise, some kind of suppressed squeak. Oscar opens his eyes.

The other doors have disappeared, leaving only one: three feet away, right in front of them.

It’s plain. Wood, this time, painted white, set in a plain frame. Empty but for a sign with their names on it.

Oscar turns to Lando.

His eyes are wide and searching.

“This has gotta be it, right?”

“Don’t think we have much of a choice now.”

They step forward in unison. Oscar puts his hand on the doorknob, and pauses.

“Just for luck,” he says, and turns, quick as lightning, to kiss Lando.

Just a press of lips, over as soon as it began, Oscar turning back to the door.

Lando makes a noise, deep in the back of his throat, and spins Oscar bodily by the shoulders.

“Just for luck?” He asks, twitchy all over, and pulls Oscar down against him for another, quick until it’s not, both unable to stay apart for long.

They kiss, slow and steady, reassuring, until the pressure in the back of Oscar’s skull starts building again, an incessant reminder that they need to leave.

They break apart.

Oscar twists the knob, watching Lando instead of the door, and opens it, stepping through without looking. Making sure Lando follows.

The door slams behind them.

They’re in another corridor, long and full of doorways, to Oscar’s despair.

Lando starts laughing, tinged with an edge of hysteria.

Oscar opens his mouth to reassure him, and fails. What if there are more Oscars? God, what if there are Landos?

“It’s Hilton, Oscar, it’s freaking Hilton.” He spins around, arms outstretched, before slamming back into Oscar.

“D’you feel that?“ He whispers into Oscar’s shoulder.

“No?” Oscar’s still in shock, a little.

“Exactly, Osc. No pull, no pressure, no caddy valley. We’re fucking free, baby.”

#fully unedited no second pass no nothing just me locking in for a few hours completely unintentionally. so if u notice anything. shrug #is it in character? girl idk. does it make sense? well. maybe!#mine.fic #i GUESS #mine #8104 #ln #op #ask #writing game #a lobby with nine hundred windows dot ao3

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lividstar · 5 months ago

Text

ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤTHE CITY OF LOVE

ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎ Chapter Six: A New Companion

ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ < previous | next >

masterpost

៚ wc: 5k (total: ???)

៚ fluff, angst, fashion designer!hongjoong x model!reader (ft. personal assistant!seonghwa & photographer!wooyoung), slowburn, strangers to lovers, soulmates au if you squint, do french people actually say bonjour irl?

៚ playlist !

៚ The tension mounts as you anxiously await a message from the directors. A call from Seonghwa bringing you the not-so-good news of you passing the first round of the casting brings mixed emotions, and a walk in the park offers a brief escape from your spiraling worries. Returning home, you find comfort in the unexpected presence of Pompidou, Monsieur Frank’s mischievous feline. As the day of the callback arrives, the pressure intensifies, culminating in a nerve-wracking evaluation before Hongjoong and the casting panel.

a/n: one of my classmates from my journalism class just asked me how i improve my literary skills and i blanked out because i couldn’t tell her i do it by writing fics :’) only our class’s photojournalist knows about it because she’s a close friend of mine

tags: @beabatiny

It’s been three days, and you’ve been on the edge of your seat for what feels like an eternity, always hoping for a callback notification. But that’s not the only thing that’s stressing you out—the sketchbook is another factor, too. Sure, you were hoping to make it past the first round, but if you did, that would only mean permanently being under the same workspace as the man who owns the sketchbook that you still don’t have the guts to return—not because you don’t want to but because you’re scared. And he wouldn’t be just a co-worker, no, he’s the creative director, meaning you’re not just under the same agency as him—instead, you’re under him.

You’ve been contemplating whether you should drop subtle questions here and there to Seonghwa in your conversation, asking if Hongjoong is currently going through a tough situation regarding his line of work, but that would be too obvious. It’s not that you were keeping your secret for the sake of saving your potential career—you wanted nothing more than to just shove it into Hongjoong’s arms and make a run for it, but the possible consequences kept outweighing your rationality. This was one of the many struggles of yours you can’t confide in someone about.

Today was no different. It was only early in the morning, but you were already pacing around your room, glancing back and forth at the sketchbook that was now laid on your bed. Each time you looked at it, your stomach twisted with anxiety, the constant thoughts swirling in your head at an even faster pace. What if Hongjoong finds out? What if he’s already suspicious? Every scenario played out in your head, from being publicly shamed to being blacklisted from the industry. The longer you thought about it, the more you felt the weight of the potential repercussions.

Would Hongjoong be understanding if you returned the sketchbook and explained the mix-up? Or would he think you were trying to steal his ideas? The stakes felt incredibly high, and it was a gamble you weren’t sure you were ready to take. Trust was hard to rebuild once broken, and you had just begun to establish a foothold in this new world.

You sat on your bed, picking up the sketchbook and flipping through its pages again. The designs were intricate, detailed, and undoubtedly brilliant. You admired Hongjoong's work, but that admiration was tainted by the anxiety of knowing you had something that didn’t belong to you. Just then, when you felt like your resolve was about to crumble completely, your phone that was on your desk started ringing. Anxious, you quickly walked toward it and saw that the caller was Seonghwa. You picked it up, trying to sound calm as you greeted him like you weren’t just nearly losing it seconds ago.

“Hello, Seonghwa,” you said, your voice slightly shaky—after all, he could be calling for any reason out there, even the ones outside of your mind.

“Hey,” Seonghwa’s voice came through the line, cheerful as always. Would he still sound the same, were he to ever find out? “I have some great news for you.”

Your heart skipped a beat. "Really…? What is it?"

“You got a callback,” Seonghwa announced, a hint of pride in his tone. “The casting directors were really impressed with you.”

Relief and excitement washed over you, momentarily drowning out your worries about the sketchbook. “That’s… that’s amazing. Thank you so much for letting me know and for believing in me, Seonghwa.” You were happy, really. It’s just you didn’t have it in you to outwardly express it, especially considering your current situation.

“I knew you had it in you,” Seonghwa continued. “They’ll be sending you a message with all the details. Make sure you’re prepared, alright? This is a big step.”

“I will, thank you again, Seonghwa. I really appreciate all your support.”

“Of course,” he replied warmly. “I’m in full support of you. Just stay focused and do your best.”

You ended the call feeling a mix of elation and nerves. The callback was a huge opportunity, but it also meant your anxiety about Hongjoong and the sketchbook would be an ongoing issue. You had to figure out a way to handle it without jeopardizing everything you had worked for. A few minutes after the call, you received a message from an unknown contact and read it. It’s from the agency and its casting directors:

Congratulations on making it to the next round of callbacks for our upcoming show! We were thoroughly impressed with your performance during the initial casting, and we are excited to see more from you.

Here are the details:

1. Date and Time: Please arrive at our main office at 9:00 AM sharp on Friday this week.

2. Location: 8th Avenue, Paradigm Street.

3. Attire: Please wear simple, form-fitting clothing that allows us to see your figure clearly. Avoid excessive accessories or makeup.

4. Portfolio: Bring an updated portfolio with recent photos, including headshots and full-body images.

5. Preparation: Be ready for a photography session and possibly engage in a brief interview with our casting directors. We are looking for confidence, professionalism, and the ability to adapt to different styles and instructions.

We wish you the best of luck and look forward to seeing you soon.

After you finish reading it and taking mental notes of each requirement, you let yourself fall onto your bed on your back, looking up at the ceiling while groaning and burying your face in your hands. This was supposed to make you happy, but all you felt was nervousness. Could this really be treated as a win when it comes at the cost of a huge loss?

Meanwhile, Seonghwa was, as usual, in his office, accompanied by the presence of Wooyoung, who had been silently listening in on your phone call with Seonghwa while he was busy drawing little doodles on the notepad settled on top of Seonghwa’s desk. “Was that her?” Wooyoung asked, his voice eager.

Seonghwa nodded with a small smile on his face. “Yeah I’m really happy the casting directors saw the same potential I saw in her. I’m really proud. I genuinely think she’d be such a good fit in the industry. I’m sure she’ll be able to find her place despite the fact that she’s entirely foreign to the concept of fashion and modeling.”

Wooyoung nodded in agreement, hopping up to sit on Seonghwa’s desk. “I agree, but aren’t you a little worried, though? The industry isn’t exactly the kindest, especially to those who are new. It’s a rough world out there.”

Seonghwa sighed deeply, his expression turning serious. “Yeah, that’s true. I just hope she won’t get pushed into the negative side of the world of fashion. It’s inevitable, though, so I really just wish her the best. We can only hope she stays grounded and keeps her integrity intact.”

Wooyoung leaned back, folding his arms. “Speaking of which, don’t you think there’s something strange going on with Hongjoong lately? I mean, he’s still... Hongjoong, that’s for sure, but it’s like the army of dark clouds looming over him are slowly starting to disappear. He doesn’t bring up his sketchbook just as much anymore, and he doesn’t seem to be that stressed out over it. Has he found it yet?”

Seonghwa shrugged, looking thoughtful. “Your guess is as good as mine. The frustration’s still there, but it’s as if it had been tamed, somehow. He’s not that much of a douche during work hours anymore, so I guess that’s a good sign? He’s definitely been more tolerable recently.”

Just as Wooyoung was about to respond, the door to Seonghwa’s office swung open, and Hongjoong stepped inside, raising an eyebrow at the two men. “Are you talking about me?” he asked, his tone light but curious.

Wooyoung quickly shot back, “Yeah, what about it?” Hongjoong rolled his eyes, a blank expression on his face as he walked over to Seonghwa’s table and pinched Wooyoung’s ear. “Ow!” Wooyoung yelped, rubbing his ear with a pout.

“Just because you like being the talk of the town doesn’t mean it’s the same for other people,” Hongjoong said, letting go of Wooyoung and making his way to the couch in Seonghwa’s office. He flopped down, stretching out as if he owned the place.

“Je m’appelle ‘don’t give a shit,’” Wooyoung retorted, shrugging his shoulders defiantly at Hongjoong.

Seonghwa, trying to keep the peace, interjected. “Enough of that. What brings you here, Hongjoong?”

Hongjoong shrugged nonchalantly. “Something similar to why Wooyoung loves making himself at home on my office couch. You know, back pains and stuff.”

Seonghwa let out an exasperated sigh. “You two aren’t any different at all, are you?”

A comfortable silence settled over the room for a moment before Hongjoong broke it. “What, you don’t want to talk about me anymore now that I’m here?”

Wooyoung grinned, leaning back on the desk. “Oh, we’ve got plenty to say about you, Hongjoong. Don’t worry.”

Hongjoong chuckled, shaking his head. “I’m sure you do, but maybe save some of it for when I’m not around to defend myself.” He reclined comfortably on Seonghwa’s couch, casually observing the room. He turned his attention to Seonghwa, a thoughtful look crossing his face. “Hey, do you have a list of the models who got a callback? I’ve been so busy lately that I haven't had a chance to keep in touch with the casting directors.”

Seonghwa looked up from his desk, shuffling through some papers. “Unfortunately, there were only a handful of models the casting directors were interested in. Less than half, to be precise.”

Wooyoung, who had been lounging against the desk, interjected with a grin. “Wanna know what’s fortunate, though?”

Hongjoong raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Go on.”

Wooyoung’s grin widened. “She got in. You know, the—”

“Really?” Hongjoong’s eyes lit up with genuine excitement, already knowing who Wooyoung was referring to. “That’s great news. I never doubted your keen eye, Seonghwa.” He shot Seonghwa a grateful look, as if it weren’t for Seonghwa spotting you at Rue de la Paix, you wouldn’t have even attended the casting.

Seonghwa smiled modestly. It was always nice hearing compliments from Hongjoong, as they never came along that often. “I knew she had potential the moment I saw her.”

Hongjoong nodded appreciatively. “The schedule’s set for Friday this week, right?”

Seonghwa confirmed with a nod. “Yes, Friday.”

Hongjoong’s smile broadened. “Can’t wait for the day to come.”

—

Two days later, you decided to take a walk to the local park, desperately needing a few moments to yourself for some fresh air. The schedule for the callback was now only two days away, and time felt like it was moving both fast and slow at the same time. The anticipation was nerve-wracking, and you couldn't shake the anxiety gnawing at your insides.

The situation with Hongjoong was still fresh in your mind. Like you’ve already told yourself countless times, it wasn’t like you wanted to keep the sketchbook a secret forever. You knew how important it must be for a creative director of a fashion brand. You just needed time to figure out how to sort things out without potentially harming your future career.

As you strolled through the park, you found a nearby bench and sat down, letting yourself get lost in the sunset. The sounds of the crowd around you blurred into the background, offering a momentary escape from your thoughts. Just then, your phone buzzed in your pocket. It was your mom calling. You accepted the call, bringing the phone to your ear. “Hi, Mom.”

“Hey, sweetheart,” your mom’s voice was warm and comforting. “How have you been? I haven’t heard from you in a short while.”

You sighed softly, trying to keep your tone light. “I’ve just been busy.”

“Busy with what?” she asked, concern lacing her words. “You haven’t told me anything about the results of the initial casting yet.”

You took a deep breath and pursed your lips, deciding to share the good news. “I got a callback. It means I’m in for the second round of evaluation, which will be held this Friday.”

Your mom’s initial reaction was one of joy. “That’s wonderful, dear! I’m so proud of you!” But then she seemed to sense your hesitation. “You don’t sound too excited about it. What’s wrong?”

You brushed off her concern, not wanting to worry her. “It’s just been a long week.”

She paused for a moment, clearly wanting to press further, but then she relented. “Alright, just remember to take a break if you need one. You don’t have to push yourself too hard.”

“Thanks, Mom,” you replied, feeling a bit more at ease. “I love you.”

“I love you too, sweetheart. Take care of yourself. I’ve got to go now—the house chores won’t finish themselves.”

You ended the call and put the phone back in your pocket, letting out a sigh you didn’t even know you were holding. As the sky started to darken, you decided it was time to head home. Standing up, you began walking back, lost in your thoughts. Just as fate would have it, as you were making your way home, you spotted Hongjoong, Seonghwa, and another friend of theirs—someone you had seen with the casting directors during the initial casting—on the other side of the street. Your eyes widened in panic.

Seonghwa seemed to notice you first, raising his hand to wave. Before he could get your attention, a bus passed by, and you used the opportunity to dart in the opposite direction, hoping to stay out of sight. Your heart pounded as you hurried away, not daring to look back. When the bus moved on, you were no longer on the other side of the street. Seonghwa, Hongjoong, and Wooyoung stood there, puzzled.

“Where’d she go?” Wooyoung asked, glancing around.

Seonghwa shrugged, looking equally confused. “Beats me. She’s probably in a hurry.”

You continue running until you reach your apartment building, pausing to catch your breath before entering. Your heart is pounding, not just from the exertion, but from the adrenaline of your narrow escape. Once inside, you lean against the wall of the lobby, trying to steady your nerves and slow your racing thoughts.

As you approach your apartment, you are met with an unusual sight: Pompidou, the mischievous cat of a fellow tenant, Monsieur Frank, is lying peacefully in front of your door. It’s rare to see the usually rambunctious feline so calm. Cooing softly, you crouch down and slowly extend your hand towards Pompidou, ready to pull back if the cat resists. Much to your surprise, Pompidou looks up and begins nuzzling its head against your palm, purring contentedly.

“Hey there, Pompidou,” you say softly. “What brings you here today? Are you on an adventure? I hope you’re not planning on scratching my door again, or are you?” You scratch its head a few times, smiling at the unexpected affection, but your knees soon start to ache, reminding you that you need to head inside. Unlocking the door with your keys, you push it open, only to find Pompidou following you inside.

Worried that Frank might panic over his missing cat, you try to gently lead Pompidou back outside. “Come on, little guy, let’s get you back to Frank. He must be worried,” you say, but the cat has other plans and darts further into your apartment instead.

Chuckling, you shake your head and playfully call out, “Want to play a game of tag?” Even though you know the cat can’t understand, you chase it around the room with light-hearted enthusiasm.

“Pompidou, come back here! You’re going to make me late for... well, for worrying about everything,” you say, laughing amidst your frustration.

Eventually, Pompidou finds its way into your bedroom. As you laugh at the cat’s antics, your laughter abruptly stops when you see Pompidou circling Hongjoong’s sketchbook on your desk. You sigh softly, walking over to sit down on the chair in front of your desk, watching as Pompidou finally settles down beside the sketchbook. You gently caress its head and ask, “Why did your owner name you Pompidou?” The cat purrs in response, making you chuckle softly. “I’m not making fun of you. I’m just curious. Honestly, if anything, it suits you pretty well.”

“Why are you so mischievous?” you continue. “Always messing around with Madame Dupont’s garden and getting into trouble with all the other tenants. Do you like seeing them all flustered? I swear, every time I see Madame Dupont, she’s grumbling about you digging up her flowers. And last week, Monsieur Bernard was ranting about you knocking over his trash cans. You’re quite the troublemaker, aren’t you?” you say with a smile.

“Do you know how much trouble you’re causing, Pompidou? Just like me, it seems,” you say, shaking your head. “I’ve got this sketchbook here, and it belongs to a very important man. I didn’t mean to take it, but now… now I’m stuck.” The nerves from today’s encounter begin to creep up again as you confide in Pompidou about the whole situation with Hongjoong. “I want to give it back, I really do,” you continue, your voice dropping to a whisper. “But what if he’s angry? What if he thinks I stole it on purpose? My career could be over before it even starts.”

Just then, Pompidou gets off the desk and jumps into your lap, its paws kneading your chest back and forth. The gesture nearly brings tears to your eyes, and you look at the cat with a heartfelt gaze, continuing to caress its head. “You’re a sweet kitty, Pompidou. Do you think things will work out? Maybe I’m overthinking this,” you say, trying to reassure yourself. “Or maybe not. I don’t know anymore.”

Suddenly, you hear the faint sound of Frank calling out for Pompidou from the hallway. The cat’s ears twitch at the sound, and it looks up at you, seemingly understanding the call. “That’s your cue,” you say softly. “Time to head back to your owner.”

Standing up, you carry Pompidou in your arms. “Let’s go, little guy,” you whisper as you walk to the door. Opening it, you set the cat down on the hallway floor. “Stay out of trouble, okay?” you add, bidding it farewell and closing the door behind you.

Inside, the apartment feels a bit emptier without the mischievous cat, but you take a deep breath, trying to focus on the upcoming callback and the challenges ahead. Sitting back down at your desk, you look at the sketchbook and then at the empty room, a heavy sigh escaping your lips.

You wish things were simpler, but in reality, they’re anything but such.

—

You find yourself back in the waiting room, but this time, the atmosphere is different. The room is nearly empty, with only a few models left who, like you, have made it past the initial round. Clutching your new portfolio filled with the photos the casting directors requested, you sit down, anxiously glancing around the room and fiddling with your fingers. The anticipation in the air is palpable.

The evaluation starts, and models are called in one by one. With every name called and every person who leaves the room, your turn feels like it’s creeping closer. Your heart races, your palms sweaty, and you try to focus on steadying your breath. The fewer people left, the more your anxiety grows, until finally, the inevitable arrives, and your name is called.

You stand up, nerves bubbling in your stomach as you walk into the room. Facing a panel of casting directors, photographers, and the creative director, Hongjoong, you take a deep breath. Seonghwa is there, offering you a reassuring smile, and you notice the man they were with two days ago, now holding a camera. He seems to be one of their photographers.

“A pleasant morning to you,” one of the casting directors begins. “We’re glad to see you again. Let’s start by introducing ourselves.” Each panel member introduces themselves, and you discover that the man you saw with Seonghwa and Hongjoong two days ago is named Wooyoung.

“Thank you for having me,” you respond, trying to keep your voice steady.

“Please, show us your portfolio and tell us a bit about your journey,” another casting director instructs. You present your portfolio to the panel, accompanying it with a brief but passionate description of your aspirations.

“I grew up in a small foreign town, Arcadia Bay, far from the exquisite streets of Paris,” you begin, your voice wavering slightly but growing stronger as you continue. “Ever since I was young, I dreamt of something bigger—an adventure, a new life. Moving to Paris was my way of chasing that dream. I left everything behind, knowing that this city held the opportunities I was searching for.” You swallow, feeling the panel’s eyes on you, encouraging you to continue.

“I have no experience in modeling, but fashion and photography have always been one of the things I have a fond sense of admiration for. Then, one day, as I was walking down Rue de la Paix during my first week here, Seonghwa found me. It felt like a turning point—the moment I had been waiting for. Seonghwa saw something in me that I didn’t even see in myself, and he encouraged me to take a chance, to believe that I could be more.” The panel listens intently, and you notice a few nods of approval. Hongjoong’s eyes seem to light up with curiosity, and Seonghwa’s supportive smile reassures you.

“Your passion is evident,” says one of the casting directors. “It’s refreshing to hear someone speak so earnestly about their dreams.”

The casting team then takes simple Polaroid shots of you, capturing your natural, unedited state. The panel instructs you to pose for photos, and Wooyoung takes the lead, directing you with a professional yet friendly demeanor. “Alright, let’s see what you’ve got,” Wooyoung says, positioning his camera. “Just relax and be yourself. Show us different sides of your personality.”

You follow his instructions, moving through a series of poses. You start with a confident, bold stance, then shift to a softer, more vulnerable look. You feel the tension in your body easing slightly as you focus on Wooyoung’s directions. “Great, now let’s try something that shows your inner strength,” Wooyoung suggests, encouraging you to channel the determination and resilience that brought you to Paris. You let out a genuine smile, thinking about how far you’ve come and the obstacles you've overcome. The room feels less intimidating with each click of the camera.

After the photo session, the panel provides immediate feedback. They exchange glances and murmur among themselves before addressing you. “Thank you for sharing your story,” one of the casting directors says. “We’re impressed with your passion and the natural talent you’ve shown today. It’s clear that you have a strong sense of self and an eagerness to learn and grow.”

Another casting director adds, “Your poses were confident and versatile, and you took direction well. It’s evident that you have potential, and we appreciate the sincerity you brought to this session.”

Hongjoong nods in agreement. “Your story is inspiring, and it’s always exciting to see someone with such raw talent and determination. We’ll be reviewing all the candidates and making our final decisions based on today’s performance, but I wanted to let you know that your dedication has not gone unnoticed.”

You nod, expressing your heartfelt gratitude to the panel for the opportunity. As you gather your things and prepare to leave, you can’t help but feel a whirlwind of emotions coursing through your body—relief from having successfully completed the evaluation, and anticipation mixed with lingering nerves about what the outcome might be. Your heart is pounding, echoing loudly in your ears as you stand up from the chair. You take a moment to steady yourself, making sure you haven’t forgotten anything. Carefully, you close your portfolio, securing it under your arm, and take a deep breath to calm your racing thoughts. The journey back to the waiting room feels like a blur, your mind replaying every moment of the evaluation, analyzing each word and gesture.

Entering the waiting room, you notice it’s even emptier than before. The models who finished their evaluations have left, and only a handful of others remain, either waiting their turn or gathering their belongings. You walk over to where you had been sitting, the spot now feeling strangely familiar and comforting after the intensity of the casting room. You quickly collect your bag, hands slightly trembling with the residual adrenaline. The weight of your belongings feels grounding, a tangible connection to reality amidst the haze of your thoughts. Slinging your bag over your shoulder, you take one last look around the room, almost as if searching for some sign of reassurance or validation.

Pushing open the heavy doors of the building, you step out into the fresh air, the cool breeze hitting your face and providing a welcome contrast to the stuffy interior. The city noise greets you—honking cars, distant chatter, the rhythmic clatter of footsteps on the pavement—all grounding you further in the present moment. Just as you begin to descend the steps, a voice calls out your name from behind.

“Wait!”

Your immediate instinct is to ignore it, the adrenaline pushing you forward, wanting to escape the intensity of the day. Your steps quicken, the sound of your name echoing in your ears, mingling with the cacophony of the street. The voice persists, but you force yourself to focus on the path ahead, eyes fixed on the horizon as you make your way towards the sanctuary of your own space. The city feels like it’s rushing by, each step taking you further from the anxiety of the evaluation and closer to a place where you can breathe and reflect as the voice fades into the background.

On your way back home, your phone suddenly rings from inside your bag. You rummage through your belongings, pulling out your phone to see a message notification from Seonghwa.

Have you already left the building?

You quickly type out a response.

Yes, I have.

Why? Was it you calling me earlier?

A moment later, his reply comes through.

Earlier? No, I’m still here with the casting directors.

Did something happen?

Confusion settles in. If Seonghwa wasn’t the one calling you, then who was it? Not wanting to delve deeper into the mystery right now, you settle with a vague reply.

No, don’t worry about it.

After hitting the send button, you shut your phone and tuck it back into your bag, continuing your steps. As you reach your apartment building, you’re greeted by a familiar, pleasant surprise—Pompidou. The mischievous cat sits by the entrance, its bright eyes peering up at you. The street is bustling just a few steps away, making you worry for the little feline’s safety. You waste no time bending down to scoop him up, lightly scolding, “Pompidou, you can’t stay outside like this. It’s dangerous!”

Pompidou responds with a soft meow, and you can’t help but laugh lightly at its endearing nature. Setting it down once you’re inside the building, you begin walking toward your apartment. However, you stop in your tracks when you feel the light brush of a cat’s fur against your legs. Looking down, you see Pompidou trailing right behind you, its tail flicking playfully. Crossing your arms, you chuckle, “You’re not planning on lounging in my room and worrying your poor owner again, are you?”

Pompidou circles around your leg, his silent response making you sigh in playful defeat. “Alright, alright. Come on, then,” you say, allowing him to follow you.

Once you’re in front of your door, you unlock it and let it enter first, soon following after and shutting the door behind you. You slip off your shoes and set your bag down on the living room couch. Exhausted, you sit down, throwing your head back against the couch’s headrest, staring up at the ceiling as the weight of the day begins to settle on you.

Pompidou, never one to miss an opportunity for affection, climbs onto your lap, snapping you out of your thoughts. You begin patting its head, its purrs vibrating softly under your hand. “You know, little guy,” you start, your voice a quiet murmur in the stillness of your apartment. “Today was... something else.”

Pompidou’s eyes blink up at you, its soft gaze encouraging you to continue. “The callback was nerve-wracking. I presented my portfolio, and they took some photos. Wooyoung—turns out that’s the name of the guy I saw with Seonghwa and Hongjoong—he was one of the photographers. They gave me feedback, and... well, it’s all in their hands now.”

You pause, scratching behind Pompidou’s ears. “Honestly, I never imagined I’d be here, in Paris, doing this. It feels like just yesterday I was in Arcadia Bay, working at a diner while dreaming of a new life. Then Seonghwa found me at Rue de la Paix and changed everything. It feels like a turning point I’ve been waiting for my whole life.”

Pompidou shifts, its paws pressing against your leg as if to comfort you. You smile softly. “But it’s scary, too. What if I’m not good enough? What if I can’t handle the pressure? And then there’s Hongjoong’s sketchbook... I still haven’t figured out how to give it back to him. It’s like it’s a huge secret weighing me down.”

Pompidou nuzzles its head against your hand, its purring intensifying. You let out a small laugh. “You’re right, Pompidou. I shouldn’t let it consume me. One step at a time, right?” You continue to pet the feline, feeling a bit of the day’s tension melt away. “You’re such a good listener, you know that? Even if you don’t understand a word I’m saying and probably think I’m out of my mind.”

The cat’s eyes close in contentment, his purring a steady, soothing rhythm. “I wish I could be as carefree as you, Pompidou. Just wandering around, finding joy in the little things,” you begin, “but maybe that’s what I need to do—find joy in the small victories and not get too caught up in the what-ifs. Yet for me to be able to reach the highs, I need to survive the lows first. I just hope all of this will be worth it in time.”

🪞 — lividstar.

#౨ৎ﹒ノ﹒lividstar．#kim hongjoong x reader #kim hongjoong #hongjoong x reader #hongjoong #ateez #ateez x reader #hongjoong ateez #ateez fluff #hongjoong fluff #ateez angst #hongjoong angst #park seonghwa #jung wooyoung

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dross-the-fish · 10 months ago

Text

I found myself thinking of Jekyll today and wondering if it causes him physical pain to have to fake a smile. To what extent is Henry Jekyll, pleasant doctor and sophisticated upperclass gentleman a painful mask he has to wear and does the discomfort ever feel physical?

I was at the local aquarium today (this is the perfect time of year to go because it's open but there are no tourists so it's never crowded and admission is cheap) hanging out and doodling on one of the benches while I watched the fish. I had on headphones to listen to an audio book and to provide a buffer between myself and anyone who might try to talk to me and I had been looking forward to relaxing for a couple of hours when a family walked up and the father waved his hand in front of my face to get my attention. The minute they started asking me questions about what I was drawing I was filled with what I can only describe as intense dismay.

Obviously the family being present isn't in of itself an issue, it's a public aquarium, it's aimed at families and parts of the aquarium are geared specifically at children, but the family noticed me drawing and stopped to talk to me.

I reiterate that this was not something they did wrong, they were just being friendly, but I was really not prepared to have a conversation and I found the whole ordeal to be...well an ordeal. They were interested in what I was drawing (a sketch of Henry Jekyll because he's been on my mind off and on) and just the thought of having to explain who this character was, hoping they got it, and having to potentially explain why I was drawing him felt overwhelming.

And it was, they did not know who Henry Jekyll was, they were vaguely aware of Jekyll and Hyde but weren't the type of people to read classic literature and had never heard of the musical or actually seen for themselves any movies featuring the character. The mom commented that he looks like "a Disney villain from back in the 90s" which...fair assessment, I can't pretend I don't see why she would have thought that. The older kid was probably the most interested and wanted to see more of my drawings which made me really uncomfortable but I let him look through my sketchbook anyway because his parents kept saying he was interested in drawing and he loves art and I felt too anxious to say no.

I made small talk with the parents for a while, all the usual, "what's your name, where you from, what's your job?" (I hate those questions, they are usually the least interesting things about any people, myself included) and I wondered if this is what Henry does on a regular day. Has ordinary conversations with reasonably nice people and feel completely like a fish out of water the whole time. I felt pretty terrible about it too, I didn't have any hard feelings or resentment but the whole time I was thinking "Stop touching my things, go away, please fucking leave so I can get back to my audio book and my drawing. I just wanted to sit with the fish for a few hours because it's supposed to be quiet here this time of year."

No one ever seems to catch on that physically talking to people is an effort for me. I've gone my whole life and no one has ever noticed that I'm anxious or uncomfortable in situations where I have to speak out loud because I've gotten good at faking small talk and I know how to make my voice sound pleasant.

It's strange because I express myself easily enough in writing and I like messaging with people over text but the minute I have to be verbal with people I don't know I feel like I'm putting on an immense effort. I have to consciously choose a tone, figure out what words I want to say, be ready with an explanation in case I'm asked questions and I have to do all of it in real time on the spot. It feels like improve, like I'm constantly doing an improve routine and I know most people would say "Just be yourself!" But myself doesn't want to be doing this at all. Myself wants to be drawing and looking at fish. Even as a child I was never very social, I liked to doodle or daydream or build with my lego sets. I got reprimanded a lot for being too quiet. So I made myself more talkative and learned how to hold conversations. I learned to blend in but it's so tiring at times and I can swear when it's at its worst it feels almost physical. The discomfort becomes a suffocating "texture" on my skin and in my brain and I have to keep pretending like I don't notice it because every time I try to articulate how I feel people don't understand it. It's just not a thing they experience.

So I just keep "acting normal," and wonder if there's something wrong with me, like I'm operating on a different frequency from the people around me and I'm the only one on that frequency so other people don't even know it exists. It's...incredibly isolating at times. Even my partner doesn't seem to hear the world as loud as I do or experience the "texture" it's just a strange THING that I'm stuck with by myself. I wonder if it was the same for Henry Jekyll? Except instead being of too quiet he was too loud, too boisterous, threw tantrums, didn't know when to stop rambling about anatomy and weird gross medical facts. So he learned how to cover it and move through life pretending to be interested in everyone else but keenly aware they could never share his interests because his favorite subjects were too grisly and if he started talking about diseases he'd put everyone off. I head-canon Jekyll loves what he does, but he doesn't love it for reasons a doctor should, he doesn't care that much about healing the sick, he cares about conquering illnesses, he likes to learn about symptoms, he enjoys the disgusting viscera of his work. But he can't let on that this is what he enjoys about his work because that's not noble or heroic, it's something most people would find creepy of him. So he buries it and pretends he cares about curing the sick. He pretends he enjoys talking to people who don't know anything about who he is or what he does but they think they do because they are aware of doctors and understand that medicine exists. All the time he loathes it, it exhausts him and he can't even indulge in activities he enjoys to blow of steam because he enjoys things like brawling, doing drugs, and fucking. All things a man of his status shouldn't be seen doing. There's an image people associate with Henry Jekyll and it's an image he can't afford to tarnish...

but it's not really HIS image, it's just a buffer he keeps up to make himself more palatable. I wonder if that ever hurts him physically, if the mask ever feels like a "texture" muffling him.

there are times when I feel like it's no wonder he wasn't repulsed by Hyde when he first saw his reflection. Because I can only imagine by the time Hyde showed up he was already completely burnt out on being Jekyll.

#kind of a vent #kind of headcanon talk #jekyll and Hyde ponderings

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nickeverdeen · 3 months ago

Note

Heyy, can I ask for match up and sorting at the same request? I think it would be super annoying for you to read me talk about myself twice, so🙈 so, firat about the hcs sortings. The ones I'm gonna choose is Avatar The Last Airbender = sorting what bender you’d be and The Last of Us 1 + 2 = sorting which (human) group you’d be part of.

For the match ups: The last of us (Part 1 and 2) and MCU. I don't really care if it's female or male, I don't have preference.

So, for my description:

I'm a teenager and my pronouns are she/her. I'm a hufflepuff and my zodiac sign is aquarius. I love art in any way possible, but drawing is basically my roman empire. I'm always with a sketchbook and sometimes I look at random places and people and I try to imagine how would I draw them. I usually draw and paint listening to classical music and orchestras (I even used to play Erick Satie pieces on a kalimba!!!), but I also love Rock and Metalcore. I'm that type of person who has a headphone on her head 24/7. I'm very introvert and usually have difficulty communicating with other people, simply because I'm bad at continue conversations. My mom says it's because I spend so much time at the little world in my head that I forget how to get out of it, and as much as she doesn't mean in a harm way, I know this can bother people around me (I mean, somebody called me autistic in a perjorative way once. I'm don't even have autism, it's just my personality). Even tho I'm introvert, I can be very chatty around people I like and trust. I also don't like fighting, I hate fighting, and because of traumatic experiences involving bullying and problems at home, I start feeling anxious when I hear arguments. So I'm usually a very chill person and try to keep things smooth till I can, but I can also get exaggeratedly agressive when people step on thin ice with me, and that caused me problems before. I also love animals (at this point, I don't even have to explain that I prefer them to people, right?), I would totally be a vet if I wasn't so afraid of seeing injuries, and I could also study astronomy if I didn't hated physics/math. I'm not very patient, but I also change my mind easily, so I'm the type of person who tries something new and says "I won't ever do this again" and it goes wrong, but is trying again next day. I looove eating, and even tho I have some pet peeves with food, food bribery can work a lot with me lol. My favorite types of films are drama and science fiction (cry for a good story and think hard are my two favorite things). I'm a very perceptive person and I am very vulnerable to see through people, I know there's something wrong in the air usually before everyone else, and can see how people may be feeling even if they don't tell me right away, that's what makes me a good friend to the few people I'm friends with, because my intuition is good. I'm also very criative, and even though my imagination can get a little morbid and sad, it also gives me good ideas and experiences. On the other hand, one of my flaws is not doing things I'm supposed to do like fufill tasks, and I get over disappointed when things don't go exactly the way I plan. I'm also not that good at talking about my feelings, but I like hearing others. I don't like hot weathers and my favorite season is fall. My favorite holiday is christmas, and I usually spend the whole year deciding what to wear for halloween. I don't really get happy about my birthday, but I like the cheap excuse to eat cake.

Your ATLA bending is…

Waterbending

Waterbenders often have a calm, reflective nature that aligns with your introverted and artistic personality

Your love for art, particularly drawing and painting, reflects the fluid and expressive qualities of water

Your ability to perceive others’ emotions and your strong intuition are traits often associated with waterbenders, who are known for their empathetic and perceptive natures

Waterbenders can adapt and flow like water, much like how you easily change your mind and try new things

Your creativity and ability to imagine different perspectives also reflect the versatility of water

Waterbenders often prefer harmony and peace over conflict, similar to your aversion to fighting and arguments

Your efforts to keep things smooth and your anxiety around conflict align with the waterbender’s desire for balance

Your love for animals and preference for them over people is reminiscent of the water tribe’s close connection to nature and its creatures

Your preference for cooler weather and fall also aligns with the water element, often associated with cooler climates

—————

In The Last of Us you’d be part of…

Jackson Community

The Jackson community values safety, cooperation, and a sense of family, which aligns with your desire for a peaceful and stable environment

Your perceptiveness and ability to understand people’s emotions would make you a valuable member of this close-knit community

In Jackson, you would have the opportunity to contribute through your artistic skills, bringing beauty and creativity to the community

Whether it’s through painting murals, teaching art, or simply creating, your talents would be highly valued

Jackson provides a relatively safe and conflict-free environment compared to other groups

This setting would suit your aversion to fighting and arguments, allowing you to live more comfortably and without constant anxiety

Jackson is a place where your love for animals can thrive

There are opportunities to care for livestock and pets, fitting your preference for being around animals rather than people

The supportive and cooperative nature of Jackson would help you feel secure and understood

Your friends in the community would appreciate your perceptiveness and emotional intelligence, and you’d find a place where you could be chatty and open with those you trust

—————

Your The Last of Us 1 match is…

Ellie Williams

Ellie shares your love for drawing and would be fascinated by your art

You’d spend hours sketching together, sharing tips and admiring each other’s work

Ellie’s interest in music aligns with your love for classical music and rock

You’d bond over listening to and playing music, maybe even teaching her a few pieces on the kalimba

Ellie understands your introverted nature and wouldn’t pressure you to be social

She’d enjoy the quiet moments with you, appreciating the peace and creativity you bring

Ellie would be sensitive to your aversion to conflict, making an effort to create a calm and safe environment for you

She’d step in to defuse situations if they arose

Ellie’s love for animals would resonate with you, and you’d often talk about your favorite animals or even take care of pets together

(Let’s ignore the fact that she killed that precious rabbit)

Ellie would value your perceptiveness, knowing you can sense when something is off

This would make you a strong support system for each other

Ellie’s adventurous spirit would inspire you to try new things, while your creativity would bring a new dimension to her experiences

Ellie would enjoy your love for food, often bringing you treats or sharing meals to cheer you up

Food bribery would definitely work on her too

Ellie’s experiences have given her a darker outlook, which would complement your occasionally morbid imagination

You’d understand each other’s perspectives deeply

Ellie would be someone you could eventually open up to about your feelings, creating a mutual space for trust and support

—————

Your The Last of Us 2 match is…

Dina

Dina would be impressed by your artistic skills and love for drawing

She’d often sit with you while you sketch, maybe even asking you to draw something special for her

Dina loves music and would appreciate your eclectic taste

You’d share playlists, and she might even join you in playing music, appreciating your classical choices and rock favorites

Dina respects your introversion and would ensure you feel comfortable

She’d be patient with your social awkwardness, making you feel understood

Dina would be protective of you in conflict situations, stepping in to help keep things calm and support your need for a peaceful environment

Dina’s love for animals would match yours, and you’d bond over caring for any animals you come across, sharing stories about your favorite creatures

Dina would trust your intuitive nature, often seeking your advice or perspective on situations because she knows you can read the room well

Dina’s adventurous side would inspire you to step out of your comfort zone, but she’d always respect your limits and ensure you’re comfortable

Dina would love your enthusiasm for food and would enjoy trying new things with you, often bringing you snacks or cooking together

Dina’s experiences have given her a nuanced view of the world, which aligns with your occasional morbid imagination

You’d find solace in understanding each other’s darker thoughts

Dina would be a great listener, helping you navigate your emotions and encouraging you to express your feelings more openly

—————

Your MCU match is…

Peter Parker 1

Peter would admire your artistic talent, often asking to see your sketches and paintings

He’d be your biggest fan, encouraging you to keep creating

Peter loves music and would appreciate your taste in classical music and rock

You’d share playlists and enjoy listening to music together while you draw or study

Peter is empathetic and would understand your introverted nature, never pressuring you to be social and appreciating your company in quiet moments

Peter, being a peacekeeper, would respect your aversion to conflict

He’d step in to resolve any arguments, ensuring you feel safe and comfortable

He may not look like it, but Peter’s affinity for animals would resonate with you

You’d bond over your shared love for them, often talking about your favorite animals and maybe even caring for a pet together

Peter would value your perceptiveness, often seeking your insights on situations and trusting your intuitive understanding of people

Peter’s adventurous side would kidna want you to step out of your comfort zone, but he’s very careful with you

Peter would love your love for food and would enjoy trying new dishes with you, often bringing you snacks or taking you out to eat

He’d joke if you love him more than food or not

Peter’s experiences as Spider-Man have given him a complex outlook, which would align with your occasionally morbid imagination

He doesn’t like it, but he also has one

Peter is an awesome listener, always there for you and he lets you to even spar with him to let some anger out while he’d hold back, but not too much so you’d notice

He cares both about your mental and physical health

He’d appreciate your support in return, knowing he can rely on you

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selfindulgentpoorlywritten · 1 year ago

Text

Do That (Mikko Rantanen)

Sorry I’m late! I got in a car accident, so I had to deal with that. Anyway, this is my fic for @kurlyteuvo for @wyattjohnston ‘s summer fic exchange! I feel like I could have written another 10k words of this, but alas, I didn’t have the time. Hope you enjoy!

Rating: T

Pairing: Mikko Rantanen/fem!reader

Words: 7789

Warnings: children involved (not the reader’s)

Summary: Reader meets Mikko at the park and things go from there

It was a one-in-a-million coincidence to meet him, but you’ve never been so grateful for a chance encounter.

Here’s how it happened:

You have a tradition of spending your days off at Skyline Park, reading or knitting or just enjoying the sunshine. It was a pleasant September afternoon, the fall chill having yet to set in. The sun was bright, the breeze not too strong. You were sitting on a bench, reading a new book your friend had recommended, a few dozen pages in.

Suddenly, someone was an inch away from you, making your head fly up in surprise. The person skipped and twisted, avoiding falling into you at the last second. He paused for only a second, throwing out a quick “sorry” before he continued his jog. There was no time to respond, having barely processed what was happening before he was gone.

You’re not sure if that really counts as your first meeting, since only one word was exchanged, but it had been the first time you’d interacted at all. You’d been more vigilant that day, waiting for someone to misjudge their footing and crash into you. Nothing of the sort had happened, but in looking up at every passing runner, you’d seen him three more times as he lapped the park. Those passes gave you time to look at him more closely, and the shock had hit.

The man who had almost fallen on you was tall and muscular, with curly blond hair and bright blue eyes. You’d seen his face on TV a hundred times, in replays and promos. Because the man was Mikko Rantanen.

Luckily, the awe had faded by the end of the day. There was an odd embarrassment in its place, despite having done nothing wrong. Whatever, you’d decided. It’s not like you were ever going to see him again.

Except you did.

Most times you went to the park, it was just a flow of regular people, nameless faces passing by. This time, you had been drawing. The scenery was beautiful, the architecture perfect for sketching. You were focusing on the concrete sculpture across the pathway, trying to get the lines perfect, trying to capture the look of joy on a little boy’s face as he climbed all over the boxes.

Just as you looked up from your sketchbook, he had passed by. Your eyes had met, and it sent a jolt through you that you couldn’t explain. Maybe it was simply because he was beautiful, the yellow-white sunlight making his hair glow like a wild halo. Maybe it was because he had been looking at you already, as if he recognized you despite the two weeks that had passed.

Again, you’d looked up at every passing runner that day, catching sight of him four more times. Your gazes met every time. You couldn’t explain the feeling, the way it seemed like he was looking for you, like he was searching for something in your eyes.

The third time, you were almost expecting it. Hoping for it, definitely. You had checked the Avs’s schedule that morning, seeing that they were off at home. With that knowledge, you brought along your sketchbook. You always saw him at around the same time, so you started on a new book to kill time until then.

When he makes his first pass, you switch to your sketchbook. It’s a little cloudy today, the fall having taken hold, weakening the sun and making the wind crisper. He goes by and you start sketching. It’s hard to get the features just right when you’ve only seen him in passing, so you give in and look up some references on your phone. He crosses in front of you again, and you do your best to take in the way the cloud’s shadows deepen on his face, carve out his features in stark relief.

He hadn’t looked at you on the second lap, and he doesn’t look on the third either. You’re a little put out, because this is the day that you want him to look the most. Nevertheless, you keep working on your art, filling the page with carefully shaded pencil sketches of his face at different angles. You’ve always been better at drawing nature and inanimate objects, but you think you get his likeness down pretty well. He doesn’t look on the fourth lap.

You had gotten distracted by working on the line of his jaw, tweaking it until it sloped just right, when a shadow fell over you. You looked up, thinking that the weather had turned quickly, as it’s wont to do. You didn’t want to get rained on, especially when working with paper.

Instead, it had been Mikko, standing a foot or two away. His gaze wasn’t piercing, really, but it felt like it dug into your core anyway. He stared; you stared back.

“Oh, um,” you said finally, sitting up a little straighter, “Hi.” A small smile had turned the corner of his lips at that.

“Hi,” he replied, going quiet again, as if he was waiting for something. You weren’t sure what you were supposed to do in this situation, not used to interacting with strangers. Let alone very famous, very handsome strangers.

“How’s your run going?” you ask, grasping for anything to say. His smile grows with the words.

“It’s good,” he says, eyes flicking down to your lap before coming back to rest on your own, “How’s your drawing?” It’s then that you realize the sketchbook is sitting face-up on your lap, your work fully visible to him. A furious blush heats your cheeks immediately, his smile blossoming fully.

“Uh,” you say, eloquently.

“I’m sorry if that’s weird,” you apologize quickly, worried that he may think you’re some kind of stalker, “I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” He chuckles, shaking his head a little. The corners of his eyes crinkled with happiness.

“It’s not weird,” he replied easily, motioning to the book, “They’re really good.” You swallow hard, still nervous. At least he doesn’t think you’re some kind of weirdo, probably.

“Thank you,” you say. Words evade you after that, and there’s a short pause. He extends his hand toward you, huge palm open.

“I’m Mikko,” he said, still smirking. You took his hand, letting it nearly envelop your own as you shook it.

“I’m Y/N,” you officially introduce yourself. His shiny white teeth peek out from between his lips.

“It’s nice to meet you,” he said. And that’s how it started.

After that, he had taken to sitting with you for a while after his run, listening to your stories and updates and sharing his own. Your schedules didn’t always align, but you got to see him at least every few weeks. Quickly, that wasn’t enough. You were fascinated by him, by the way you felt so comfortable with him so quickly, with the way it was so easy to open up to him in a way you rarely did with others. You wanted to be around him all the time. It scared you.

You feared you were becoming infatuated with him, that your brain was latching onto a pretty stranger to distract from something. You were terrified that you would put him on a pedestal, would convince yourself you were falling for him, only to break your own heart.

Over time, it became clear that that wasn’t what was happening. Yes, you wanted to spend all your time with him. But you didn’t neglect responsibilities or other friends to do so. You stuck to your encounters in the park, not pushing for anything more. You felt safe around him, but not because you deluded yourself into it. You felt safe because you had been vulnerable with him, and he had shown over and over again that it was okay to do so. It was easy to open up with him, but you didn’t feel the need to spill your entire life and all of your secrets to him. You were a little obsessed with him, but it was a soft, happy, fond kind of obsession. It didn’t interfere with your life, only added to it.

The pattern continued for months, the two of you even meeting up in the dead of winter, clearing snow off of the bench to huddle together against the cold. The spring is welcome when it finally comes, though it brought buckets of rain along. You would take walks together, Mikko holding a big red umbrella just above your heads.

Usually, you welcome the warmth and light of early summer. When it started to arrive that year, you dreaded it. You knew Mikko would be going back to Finland for the summer, and you didn’t look forward to being alone again. He told you ahead of time when he’d be leaving, and you couldn’t help but count down the days you had left.

The last day you’d get to see him, there was a solemn air surrounding your interactions. You presented him with a going-away gift, a light grey cable-knit hat. He’d have no use for it during the summer, but it would help during the hockey season. And maybe you’d been afraid that you’d never see him again, that he would go away for months and forget all about you, and you wanted to give him a memento. And even if the memory of who gave it to him faded, you’d still be able to keep him warm in the vicious winters.

He’d thanked you profusely, hugging you tight. You tucked your face into his neck, trying to imprint the smell and feel of his skin into your brain. He pulled it on immediately, heedless of the hot sun beating down on him.

When it came time to part ways, he slipped you a neatly folded piece of paper. Please use it, he had said, pressing a quick kiss to your hairline before departing. You had watched him go, your forehead tingling from his touch. When you unfolded the paper, you were met with twelve numbers. The format isn’t familiar, but the plus sign at the beginning and the note underneath reading text me make it clear that it’s a phone number. Under the note, there’s a username as well, with Whatsapp scribbled next to it. You’d tucked the note into your sketchbook, slipping it into your backpack. Your heart had sung and beat off-rhythm the entire way home.

With a line of communication open, the floodgates opened. You were able to message any time you wanted, working around the nine hour time difference. Even when one of you was asleep, you’d leave messages for the other to read when they woke. It still wasn’t ideal, but when he sent you pictures of him and his dog, he didn’t feel so far away.

His return to Denver was highly anticipated. You’d agreed to meet at the park two days after he landed. The first thing he did when he saw you was wrap you up in a tight hug, twisting you side to side like his happiness made it impossible to stand still. You had squeezed back, as hard as you could.

A month into the season, he had invited you out with some of his teammates to celebrate a win, and that had been the beginning of the current era. It was the first time you had seen him outside of the park, the first time he’d introduced you to some of the other people in his life. It had broken the seal, and the next invitation had solidified the knowledge that he wanted you to be a part of his life, too.

Another year passed, the two of you growing almost unbearably close. He came to your apartment after tough losses, holding you close under the covers of your bed for comfort, nearing the line between platonic and something else. You never crossed it, though, even when you laid between his legs on the couch, when he FaceTimed you every night on the road, when you fell asleep with your face smushed into the crook of his neck so much that you were imprinted with his scent upon waking.

Then, your sister-in-law has a baby.

It’s her and your brother’s third child, a beautiful little girl named Rose. You go to the hospital the second they’ll allow you, begging out of work early. You congratulate your brother and sister, talking for a little while you wait for the nurses to bring Rose back from wherever they’ve taken her. If you tear up a little the first time you hold her, well, no one else needs to know.

The next day, your brother invites you over that weekend to see all of the kids, and you excitedly accept. It’s been a little while since you’ve seen the other little ones, and the promise of getting to play with them carries you through the rest of the week. Even when your boss gets on your ass to finish a report a week before it’s due, you’re soothed by the thought.

On Friday, you get a text from Mikko. Well, you get texts from him every day, but this is the important one. He only has practice on Saturday, so he asks if you want to hang out afterward. You always do, hell, you want to spend all of your time with him. Unfortunately, he wants to get a late lunch together, and that’s when you’re supposed to be at your brother’s. Something holds you back from saying no immediately, the gears in your head turning.

Half an hour and a text from your brother later, you finally respond to Mikko. The proposition is this: you can spend time together, but he has to come to your brother’s with you. It’s a long shot, since he’s only met your siblings once, but you want to have your cake and eat it too.

You’re surprised when he responds less than thirty seconds later, just the word “yes” in all caps, with three exclamation points for emphasis. Beyond the surprise, there’s something about his eager certainty that warms your heart.

The decision to invite him had been mostly impulsive, but as soon as you see his face at your apartment door, you know it was the right one. His smile is wide and bright, buried in your hair as he hugs you in greeting. You grab your bag from the hook on the inside of the door and head out. The drive isn’t exactly short, but traffic isn’t too terrible at this time of day, so it’s not as bad as it could be.

It also helps that Mikko spends the drive alternating between talking and singing, turning the music up when a song he likes comes on, then turning it back down so he can continue regaling you with stories. He’s not a great vocalist, but his enthusiasm and joy more than make up for it. You keep glancing over at him, loving the way the sun turns his hair golden, messed up into a shining halo around his head.

Derek meets you at the door when you arrive, wrapping you up in a hug. He gives Mikko a quick once-over before shaking his hand. Mikko thanks him for allowing him to tag along, always polite. Luckily, neither Derek nor Heather watch hockey, so you don’t have to worry about any fannish behavior.

He leads you around the corner into the family room, eyes softening as soon as he sees Heather on the couch with Rose in her arms. It’s sickeningly sweet. Briar and Florian run to you immediately, shouting your name and latching onto your legs.

You bend over a little to run a hand through their hair, urging them to step back so you can plant kisses on their foreheads. Their smiles are brighter than the sun, and they both start telling you about their days, talking over each other. You laugh, hauling them up, one in each arm. They keep talking as you make your way to the couch, sitting next to Heather and kissing her cheek.

After a minute of the kids’ chatter, you remember that Mikko is here, still standing awkwardly at the edge between the kitchen and family room. You beckon him over, patting the spot next to you. He sits, and Briar crawls into your lap, never having been a fan of strangers. He curls up, turned away from Mikko with his face hidden in your chest. Florian’s speech about preschool has stopped, and he’s staring at Mikko like he’s trying to figure out what to do. After a few seconds, he climbs over your lap, balancing with one knee on your leg and the other on the couch, reaching around Briar to shove a hand toward Mikko.

“Oh,” Mikko says, taking Florian’s hand and shaking it twice, “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Mikko.” Florian nods, brow furrowed like he’s investigating the odd man his aunt brought.

“I’m Florian,” he introduces, “That’s a weird name.” Mikko lets out a startled laugh at that, but doesn’t seem offended.

“I’m from a different country,” Mikko explains, “So we have different names.” Florian thinks for a second, then nods again, resolute.

“Are you Aunt Y/N’s boyfriend?” he asks. You say his name, ready to chastise him for asking inappropriate questions. Mikko speaks first.

“No,” he says, shrugging, “But we are really good friends.” This seems to be a sufficient answer for Florian. He crawls out of your lap and over Mikko’s, sitting cross-legged on the couch facing him.

“What’s your favorite dinosaur?” he asks, bringing a smile to both Mikko and your faces. Mikko angles himself slightly toward Florian, engaging fully with the conversation. You’re relieved that Florian seems to like Mikko, especially because that means Briar will have an easier time warming up to him. Briar trusts Florian’s intuition, so he’ll give someone a chance if Flo likes them, but will never get anywhere near someone he doesn’t approve of.

You turn back to Heather and she hands Rose over without you even having to ask, physically moving Briar into her own lap so you have space. Briar doesn’t mind, just cuddling into his mom’s arms.

As you and Heather talk, Flo dismounts the couch and Mikko stands, following him around the room as Flo tells him about all his toys. After the tour, they sit on the floor together, Flo showing Mikko how one works. For his part, Mikko does a fantastic job of seeming interested, nodding and humming and asking questions to encourage him to continue. It’s incredibly cute.

Eventually, Flo moves on to a different toy. This one is Briar’s absolute favorite, you know, but you’re still surprised when he plops down to the floor to go join the other boys. He still doesn’t say much, but he does give little comments in his quiet, lispy voice.

“He’s good with kids,” Heather says when she catches you watching them for too long, giving you a sly look. You can feel a little heat rush to your face, biting your lip.

“Yeah,” you agree, looking back down at Rose’s sleeping face, “Didn’t know that.” Heather chuckles, but returns the conversation back to its previous topic. You’re grateful, not wanting to think too much about the feelings that have started pressing at the edges of your consciousness the past few months.

After some more gabbing, Briar comes over to tug at your pant leg. You turn your gaze to him, filled with love at the sight of his chubby face. He points toward the stairs, then starts walking over to them. You pass Rose back over to Heather, your knees creaking when you stand. Briar has stopped halfway to the stairs, staring back at Mikko and Flo. After a moment of deliberation, he goes back over, face determined as he tugs on Mikko’s sleeve. Once he has his attention, Briar points to the stairs again. Mikko seems surprised but stands anyway, letting the little boy lead him upstairs.

It takes a second to shake your shock, but you follow along. There are very few people Briar feels comfortable taking up to his room, and you hadn’t expected him to decide Mikko should be added to that list. Especially so quickly.

Since you’re a few steps behind them, Briar has already climbed up onto his bed by time you get to the doorway. You watch as he grabs one of his stuffed animals and gives it to Mikko, telling him the stuffie’s name and the backstory he’s created for them. Mikko offers it back once Briar has finished speaking, and it gets exchanged for the next. Seeing Mikko kneeling next to the bed, knees surely aching, paying rapt attention to every word Briar says… something grows in your chest that’s far too soft to not be a threat to your sanity.

Briar beckons you over when he gets to the last stuffed animal, the only one you don’t recognize. You join Mikko on the floor, leaning into his side while you listen to the story Briar has come up with for the newest addition to his collection.

Once he’s finished, the three of you go back downstairs. Heather is standing now, rocking Rose back and forth in her arms. Mikko steps up to her, but keeps a respectful distance as he admires the baby, complimenting both her and Heather. Flo pulls at Mikko’s pant leg, dragging him away and through the glass door into the back yard. The rest of you follow, Derek reappearing from his office to join.

Flo and Mikko are running around in an instant, playing a two-person game of tag. It doesn’t take long for Briar to join, and Heather gives Rose to Derek so she can follow. You want to play too, but Derek sidles up to you. You don’t get much time to talk to him, so you pass up on tag to sit in the lounge chairs with him.

He’s been working on a few tough cases lately, but obviously can’t tell you much about them. Attorney-client privilege and all that. He talks vaguely about work, before switching to the family news. He mentions your little brother getting a new job, a good one, and laughs when he realizes Matt had forgotten to tell you.

“What does Mikko do?” he asks. You probably should’ve expected the question, but you didn’t.

“He, uh,” you hesitate, “He plays for the Avalanche.” Derek’s eyes widen at that, surprised and impressed.

“That’s pretty cool,” he says, looking to Mikko, “How did you two meet?” He looks back to you expectantly, and it hits you all at once that the way you’d met was kind of insane. A complete stranger came up to you, and you had not only started talking to him, but had accepted his number and used it. Stranger danger is real, and you’d overlooked the concept because… why?

“We met at the park,” you explain, not interested in going into details, “He almost ran into me when he was running, and. Well.” It’s written plain on Derek’s face that he wants to ask a thousand more questions, but he holds himself back. That’s one thing you’ve always loved about him: he knows when not to ask.

“Are you dating?” he asks, eyes focusing in so he doesn’t miss any part of your reaction.

“No, we’re just friends,” you reply, waving a hand dismissively. Derek looks skeptical, readjusting in his chair. You want to look away from his piercing gaze, but he has this magnetism that prevents it. It’s always been kind of freaky, the way he reads people.

“Do you want to be dating?” he asks. You know he sees the way your throat moves as you swallow hard, the way your eyes dart to Mikko for the barest second. You should say no, but something stops you. You’d never really thought about it, more than grateful to just be Mikko’s friend. Your friends had joked about it, of course, but there’s something different about Derek asking. The way he asks so seriously forces you to consider it, to review everything you know about Mikko, trying to find an answer you had anticipated would be obvious.

“Okay,” Derek nods, bouncing Rose the tiniest bit when she starts to babble. He changes the subject, telling you some story about your uncle that you don’t really care about. Unfortunately, your mind is stuck on it now, trying to imagine what dating Mikko would be like, trying to decide if that’s something you’d want.

Not that it would matter if you did, because Mikko will never see you that way. You know the kind of woman hockey players go for, and you’re not it. You don’t have a business or some fancy degree, you aren’t charismatic and congenial. You’re not a trophy. Maybe a fourth place ribbon, if that. Mikko is going to find some beautiful, talented, lovely woman to love, and there’s no point in musing over dating him.

Except he comes over, and Derek effortlessly hands him Rose without even having to ask, and you realize. Seeing him hold her so carefully, the look of adoration he has for a baby he has no connection to, makes something click into place. Which is probably the worst thing that could’ve happened.

As much as you try to focus and be present for the remainder of the visit, you find yourself drifting. It’s not really the baby thing. Hell, you’re not even sure if you want kids. It’s the fact that it’s your niece, your nephews, all comfortable around him, immediately welcoming him in. It’s the fact that Heather is overly protective of her little ones, and yet had no protests about Mikko holding Rose, letting him keep her as long as he wanted. It’s Briar plopping down in front of the chair Mikko sits in, leaning back against his leg in a way you’ve never seen him do.

When it comes time to go, you hug each of the boys tightly, before kissing Rose’s head. You give a matching kiss to Heather’s cheek, and Derek squeezes you tight afterward. Then you watch Flo and Briar hug Mikko of their own volition. You watch Heather lean forward to kiss his cheek as you had hers. You watch Mikko duck down to place a kiss on Rose’s forehead, so carefully, so gently. You watch him shake Derek’s hand, some type of look passing between them.

The drive home is much the same as the drive there, though you know you’re smiling and laughing less at Mikko’s stories than usual, too lost in your thoughts to be a good audience. When you glance at him out of the corner of your eye, he’s already looking back, concern turning the corners of his lips down.

The plan had been to have dinner together after the trip, but you can’t find it in yourself to be in public. Instead, you retreat to your apartment, begging out of the meal with the excuse of a headache. It’s not completely an excuse, because you do have a headache, but it’s more what’s causing the headache that’s making you want to curl up under the covers in your dark room. Luckily, Mikko doesn’t argue much, seemingly knowing something is wrong and not wanting to intrude.

You lie in bed for a while, the blankets pulled up over your head. Sometimes your brain gets stuck on something, turns it over and over in your mind, won’t let you escape the cycle. It had started with He’s great with the boys, My family loves him, Oh my god do I love him? At some point it had switched, I want him around always, He’ll never love someone like me, Oh my god I’m in love with him.

You’re in love with him.

And that’s the sticking point. That’s where all the problems begin and end. You’d taken a chance on a stranger, it had worked out, and now you’re going to ruin it all with your stupid feelings. You know what you have to do, but you’re not sure you can manage it. Obviously, you can’t tell him. It would make things weird, and you’d lose him, either slowly or all at once. So you have to pretend. You wonder if you can, and if so, how long you can keep it up. Can you pretend forever?

By the grace of whatever deity may or not be above, you don’t have work the next day. Sundays are when you have a standing date with your best friend. Despite wanting to keep hiding in bed, you get up and ready, sighing before you step out the door.

Jackie looks lovely, as always, wearing a sundress and leggings to enjoy one of the first warm days of the season. Being around her always makes you feel underdressed, but you know she’d never judge you for your jeans and button-up. You hold her for a couple extra seconds when you hug hello, breathing in the smell of her perfume to calm yourself.

You mean to bring up the Mikko situation, you really do. There’s just no appropriate time to segue into it. Instead, you talk about work and family and Jackie’s new apartment. It’s pleasant, and you don’t want to ruin that. You try to convince yourself that this is what you need, some time with someone you love, away from your thoughts. You know better.

The two of you take a walk after lunch, Jackie’s kitten heels clicking on the pavement. The trail is short, winding through the trees surrounding the restaurant. Despite your inability to find a way to bring it up, Jackie takes advantage of a lull in the conversation to ask about Mikko. She gives you a sly look when she does, and it makes your stomach turn. Of all the people who joke about you and Mikko being in love, Jackie is the most frequent offender. You’re already mentally preparing for the teasing, squaring your shoulders and biting the inside of your cheek.

“He’s good,” you reply, already queasy. It must come across in your words or body language that something is off, because Jackie stops dead in her tracks. You stop a couple steps ahead of her, turning to look at her. She examines you, her big brown eyes surely seeing right through you.

“Oh honey,” she says, eyes going soft. Her mouth pulls in a tight, pitying line, one side of her lips tipped upward just enough to show a level of affection. Her brow is furrowed, her head slightly tilted.

“You realized, didn’t you?” she asks, taking a step toward you. You feel your cheeks heat, and your eye twitches the way it always does when you want to cry. Most of what she’s said about you and Mikko has been jokes, but it would seem that she knew about your feelings before you did.

“I’m in love with him,” you whisper. Saying it out loud is simultaneously relieving and overwhelming. It’s out there in the world now. It’s real.

“Honey,” Jackie says again, taking the second step necessary to pull you close. You cling to her, willing your wet eyes not to spill. She keeps one arm around your torso, the other coming up so she can put her hand on the back of your head, encouraging the way you’re burying your face in her neck. She presses a firm kiss to your hair, making your breath hitch. You focus on breathing, four seconds in, seven seconds out. You’re okay, you tell yourself, you’re okay.

“You’re never going to tell him, are you?” she asks, the still-fresh hurt rising up to fill your chest, to crowd out your lungs. It’s not really a question, and you know she already knows the answer. You’ve been friends since your teenage years; she knows you too well. You keep breathing, ignoring the way the air stutters in and out.

“I can’t ruin it,” you reply. The cosmic stroke of luck that brought Mikko into your life is too unlikely and wonderful to give up. You can’t bear the thought of losing him, this wonderful person who makes you feel seen and heard and understood.

“Okay,” Jackie says into your hair. You loosen your hold on her and she lets you go, still looking almost as heartbroken as you feel. She’s always been too empathetic when it comes to you, feeling your emotions so strongly that they become her own. It mixes with her protective nature, wanting to find solutions for all your problems, wanting to stop any hurt the second it starts. You love that about her, but still feel guilty that you’re hurting her, even unintentionally.

“I get it, and I’m not going to pressure you,” she says, giving you a heavy look, “But I think you should tell him. You don’t have to, but I think it’ll go better than you’re expecting.” It’s not unexpected. While most people joke about you and Mikko dating because they think the way you interact is funny, Jackie does it because she really believes you should be together. It’s been a subtle encouragement, hidden with smirks and laughs. Of course she would think you should tell him.

“I’ll think about it,” you reply, though it’s mostly to appease her. You’ve already thought of telling him, anyway, and the reactions you imagine are the reason you’re not going to do it. After a pause, Jackie gently shoves your shoulder with her fingers.

“You have a crush,” she sing-songs, smiling. The childishness of the action makes you smile in return, the air around you losing some of its weight.

“Oh, so you want to talk about Cale?” you ask rhetorically, pushing her in return. She groans dramatically at the mention of her own crush. It makes you laugh, remembering the way she’d gone shy and speechless when she’d met him. The rest of the afternoon is much less serious, and for the thousandth time, you’re grateful for her.

Somehow, the conversation makes it easier to be around Mikko. At least you have someone who knows what’s going on and supports you, rather than being alone in your feelings. He’d gone on a roadie after your visit to your brother’s, so you can’t be physically close to him for another week, but your nightly video chats are less awkward than that first day. The more you talk to him, the more you’re able to return to the friendly spirit you’ve cultivated over time.

When he comes home, you spend a night cuddled up on the couch watching a new show. His touch had almost burned when he pulled you close, but it subsides and you’re able to settle into him. When it’s late enough that you’re both trading yawns, he urges you up from the couch, leaving the snack bowls to be taken care of in the morning. He ushers you into the bedroom, assuming that you’ll stay the night without having to ask.

You’ve done it a hundred times, but it’s different this time. He shucks off his shirt easy as anything, stripping down to his boxers with a complete lack of embarrassment. Logically, you know it’s probably because he gets fully naked in a room full of other people on an almost daily basis, but you’re not one of the guys, and he doesn’t seem to mind anyway. Part of you thinks it’s a display of trust and comfort. Another part of you thinks it’s a sign that he doesn’t view you as any different from his teammates, that he sees you so platonically that the implications of being nearly naked in front of you could never mean anything.

Lying in bed together isn’t too different than usual, luckily. Yeah, you’re thinking of how much you want to fall asleep with his arms around you every night, but it’s not overwhelming. The room is dark and quiet when he presses a kiss to the back of your neck, sending sparks down your spine.

“Is everything okay with Derek?” he asks, his voice just loud enough to be heard over the whir of the fan. The mention of your brother reminds you of that day and you tense, knowing he can feel it. His tone is too grave for the question to just be checking in, so he knows something is wrong.

“Yeah, of course,” you reply. The fact that he asked specifically about Derek means that he’d noticed the change in your demeanor after the conversation on the back patio. Asking about it a week later means he hasn’t stopped thinking about it. You’d hoped that he would forget, or that acting normally tonight would keep him from asking. But Mikko never seems to forget anything when it comes to you.

“Did I do something wrong?” he asks after a pause. That’s the last thing you want him thinking, so you thread your fingers with his and squeeze.

“No,” you say simply, firmly. You’re not going to let your own issues make him feel guilty or insecure. There’s another short pause before Mikko speaks again.

“Are you sure?” he asks, adding, “You can tell me.” You’ve told him before when he’d messed up, so you already know you could. But that’s not what’s happened, and you’re not sure why he’s convinced it is. You release his hand, wiggling a bit as you roll over to face him. The moonlight filtering in around the edge of the curtains is just enough to make out the outline of his features, his light eyes silvery with it.

“Mikko,” you say his name for emphasis, “You haven’t done anything wrong, I promise.” He doesn’t say anything, just looking at you. It kills you that he doesn’t believe you. You curve one hand around his cheek, tilting his head down so you can kiss his forehead. You nudge his face back up to force him to look at you, repeating the sentence in Finnish. You still don’t speak much, but you at least know how to say this. Finns don’t say things they don’t mean, so you hope he takes it as the reassurance it’s meant to be.

“When did you learn Finnish?” he asks, startled off topic. You give a little laugh. Maybe this will distract him from his clearly morbid thoughts.

“I started studying when I met you,” you answer. You don’t mention that you’ve already completed all the lessons Duolingo offers, and may have spent actual money on a real lesson program.

“Oh,” he says, pauses, asks, “So nothing is wrong?” He sounds less grim than before, so you’ll count this as a success.

“Nothing’s wrong,” you confirm. The conversation ends when he replies okay, and you feel like you should turn back over, but something in his expression stops you. There’s some other question there, one he’s debating on asking. Turning away might keep him from doing so, so you stay in place. The silence hangs between you, but it’s not uncomfortable.

“Why are you learning Finnish?” he asks. You shrug as best you can while lying down.

“So you have someone to talk to when you miss home,” you reply. Being so far away takes its toll on Mikko, and there are no other Finns on the team, so you want him to be able to have at least a little comfort sometimes. You’d intended to keep it a secret until you were conversational, but this seems like a good reason to out yourself.

Again, there’s something in his face telling you that there’s more he wants to say, something stuck right behind his front teeth begging to be let out. You wait patiently, but he just takes a deep breath and says thank you. That’s where the conversation really ends, and you fall asleep with your head tucked under his chin.

After that, it’s your turn to think something is wrong. Mikko isn’t known for being a quiet or pensive person, but this thing keeps happening with increasing frequency. The two of you will be doing something innocuous when he’ll freeze, gaze fixed on you in some inscrutable emotion, sometimes something akin to fear. The idea of him being afraid when he’s around you doesn’t sit right, and you do your best to figure out what about you is suddenly scaring him.

You try to take note of what you’re doing when it happens, thinking that maybe there will be a common thread you can pluck out. Once, it happens when he comes home from a game and you present him with his favorite dish, a recipe you’d used your limited Finnish skills to get from his mother. Another time, you’re meeting him in the hall after a game, wearing the jersey he’d given you with his name plastered across the back. Other times included looking up to him from your sketchbook when you were at the park together, him coming home from a roadie to find that you’d gotten groceries for him, even just sitting on the couch together watching a movie.

There’s no specific action tied to the reaction that you can find. It’s always preceded by the same look, though. You’ll meet his eyes, his face will go slack, the corners of his mouth turning up just the slightest bit, his eyes bright and hazy. His mouth will part slightly, and then the surprise and fear will overtake him.

For the most part, you’ve tried to ignore it, but you know you’ll end up asking him eventually if it continues. You’re pretty sure it’s going to happen again tonight, because you’re in the middle of spooning some sauce over chicken breasts for him to eat when he gets home, one of his favorite comfort shows queued up on the TV to soothe him after tonight’s loss. It happens a lot after losses, so it’s reasonable to expect at this point.

He calls your name as he comes through the front door and you announce your presence in the kitchen. He sidles up behind you as you plate the food, wrapping his arms around your waist and kissing the top of your head. He compliments the smell of the food and you pat his forearm twice in greeting, thanking him and finishing your task surrounded by his warmth.

You carry both plates into the living room, giggling at the way Mikko shuffles along with you, refusing to relinquish his hold. After you place your handful down on the coffee table, you gently headbutt him to tell him to let go. He doesn’t, so you wiggle a little, making him laugh. He still won’t let go, so you start prying at his fingers, but he’s too strong, and then you’re both laughing. You whine his name through it, and he finally relents. You turn around to look at him for the first time since he’d come in and the look is there: that soft, fond look you’re tempted to call besotted.

You enjoy this part while you can, the clear blue of his eyes halfway overtaken by his pupils, the gentlest of smiles on his lips, the ever-so-slight tilt of his head. You only get it for a couple of seconds before his mouth begins to part, ushering in the dreaded terror.

“Why do you do that?” you ask before you’ve consciously decided to. You’d intended to wait to ask, to see if it persisted first, but it bothers you more than you care to admit. You never want to make Mikko feel anything negative. Maybe if you know what you’re doing to trigger the reaction, you can stop it.

“Do what?” he asks in return. He looks genuinely confused, his strong brow furrowed. At least he doesn’t look afraid anymore.

“Sometimes you seem so scared when you look at me,” you explain, reaching a hand up to cup his jaw, running your thumb along his cheek, “What am I doing wrong?” It’s probably not the best time to bring it up, right after a home loss, but you’ve already started. May as well get your answer.

“Nothing,” he replies, insistent, “You’re not doing anything wrong.” He takes a half-step forward, resting one hand on your hip and the other on the side of your neck. His touch is gentle, but it helps ground you.

“Then why?” you implore, suddenly desperate to know. There has to be something you can do, something you can change to stop this.

“I just–” he begins, inhales sharply, “Don’t worry about it, darling.” Typically, you love it when he calls you pet names, but it feels compensatory here, like he’s trying to make up for not giving you an answer. But you need an answer, need to know what’s gone wrong.

“Mikko,” you say his name quietly, as softly as you can manage, “Please tell me.” He hesitates, conflict writ across his face.

“Please,” you repeat, searching his eyes for something, anything. The two contrasting expressions you’ve been agonizing over return, mixing on his face. His mouth quirked in a tiny smile, his brow furrowed, his eyes dilated, somewhere between affection and apprehension. He takes a deep breath. You wait.

“You make it so hard not to tell you that I love you,” he finally says.

Okay. That’s– okay.

That’s definitely a love confession, right? There’s no way anyone could think otherwise, but your brain is trying to find another angle. The dissonance is strong, the statement going against everything you’ve convinced yourself of for months. Guys like Mikko don’t go for girls like you, except apparently they do, because he’s saying he loves you. You can feel how stupid you look, face slack with shock as you just stare at him. Mikko loves you.

It must take you too long to respond, because he starts to step away, his hands falling from your body. Your free hand flies up to grab his shoulder, holding him in place. He could pull out of the grip easily, but he doesn’t, standing stock-still and waiting.

“You should do that,” you say. Your mind is starting to shift, to push past all the bullshit you’ve been telling yourself, to take in what he’s saying and maybe, just maybe, starting to believe.

“Do what?” he asks. Your chest is tight, a smile beginning to pull at your lips.

“Tell me that you love me,” you reply. The short, disbelieving laugh Mikko lets out is the second best thing you’ve ever heard. Because the best thing you’ve ever heard is when he takes your face in his hands, looks deep in your eyes, and says:

“I love you.”

#mikko rantanen imagine #mikko rantanen fic #nhl imagines #nhl fanfic #RI #andi's coping mechanism

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howdoyoudothedew · 9 months ago

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Rated: G

Pairing: Maribug (Marinette/Ladybug)

Word Count: ~500

A/N: @mlbfemslashfebruary I don’t know if they’ll count since it’s technically selfcest femslash (even if they’re separate people in this), but I’d already had this all written up when I found out about the mlb month and figured ‘hey, why the heck not?’

Being a superhero was hard. Being the lead superhero, with all of Paris on your shoulders and a box of miraculi to protect, just made it seem impossible. But there was one place she could go where she wasn't just a superhero. A place she could go to relax and forget about her responsibilities. The Dupain-Cheng bakery. Just the smell of the baked goods took all the tension from her shoulders. Ladybug swings onto the roof, then down through the trapdoor. Once she's in Marinette's room, she lowers the hood of the jacket she's taken to wearing when she wants to see Marinette but doesn't want to be recognized by any outsider who might be watching. (Not transforming would be the easiest solution, of course, but much as she trusts the other girl she can't share her secret identity, so a jacket, jeans, and sneakers over her costume is the next best thing. The fact that Marinette is the one who made the jacket for her when Ladybug mentioned the problem just makes it better.)

"Marinette?" Ladybug whispers, toeing off her sneakers. The light is on, but Marinette is hunched over her desk and Ladybug doesn't if she's awake or asleep. She tiptoes over to touch the other girl's shoulder and Marinette jolts. Asleep, then. "I'm sorry I woke you."

"No, no," Marinette waves away her apology, yawning wide. She stretches backwards and the chair tips with it but doesn't fall. "It would've been bad for my spine if I stayed like that. So what's up?"

Ladybug shakes her head. "Nothing, I'm just done for the night and wanted to see you."

"Oh." Marinette looks down at her open sketchbook, blushing, and Ladybug smiles to herself. The other girl blushed so prettily, freckles stark against the soft pink. "Then do you want to hang out here?"

"I'd love that," Ladybug says, sitting down in the beanbag Marinette placed in the corner just for her.

"So what are you designing?" Ladybug says. Marinette lights up, blue eyes sparkling.

"It's a vest for you!-" Marinette speaks excitedly, words fast, and Ladybug listens as she explains the vest she wanted to make so Ladybug would stay in uniform and recognizable, but also warm during the colder months. Ladybug doesn't have the heart to remind her that whatever magic is behind her suit actually regulates her temperature. The conversation drifts from there and eventually Ladybug directs Marinette to the bed where both of them sleep for a few hours.

Ladybug wakes at sunrise. For a moment she watches Marinette sleep, face calm and eyelashes fanning across her cheeks, then she sneaks away into the pinks and golds of the early morning. It's best if she's not discovered, either by Marinette's parents or anyone connected to the news. Even Marinette's best friend. She leaves a note for Marinette, though Marinette is used to this by now. She knows the thought will be appreciated. Plus, it's nice.

The morning feels soft as Ladybug swings to her own place, and she smiles to herself, knowing in a few hours Marinette will be looking her direction with her own smile and a note clutched in her hands.

#miraculous ladybug #mlbfemslashfebruary #maribug #marinette dupain cheng #ml ladybug #femslash february #fluff #ladynette #femslashfeb2024 #established relationship #secret relationship because Superhero

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jgrills · 1 year ago

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Spidersona lore and blurbs!

Tw: LONGGGG !!!!

IM WARNING YOU !!!!

-the people I mentioned with their spidersonas (THE SECTION IS SPIDER SOCIETY)

@spidey-bie @onmyownside1 @the-cat-and-the-birdie

(and if anyone else's spidersona wants to meet O'Kelley, that's fine with me!!)

About O'Kelley Anderson!☆

-If you saw the old post of O'Kelley in my sketchbooks, I changed the last name to Anderson.

-A jewel spider, or known as (Austracantha minax) bit O'Kelley. There wasn't any pain, which confused the hell out of her when she started forming little claws on her fingers.

-Her mom comes into her room the next morning, about to wake her up.

-"Uh, kells?"

-"Yes mom?"

-"Did you have canines before?"

-O'Kelley, who darts to the mirror, realizes they're are black widow size canines in her mouth. (Her mom figures it out btw, and she's fine with it).

-Her mom smirks to herself, knowing that her sister (aunt to O'Kelley), used to be Spider-Woman (Spider-?????)..

-W̶̧͚̲̊͆͠͝e̵̛̳͉̔̐'̷͍̾͂͜l̵̡̰̗̓͑̒͝l̴̘͊ ̵͉͕͉̿̎̓͛n̷̹̭̳̘͆e̶͉͋̽̀̇v̷̰̮͓̯́͂́̆ẻ̸͚̻r̴̥̣̜̽̇̾̕ ̶̥̱̖̔̀̌̏k̸̤̰̦̯̀̇͆ņ̸̭̀͂o̵̗̞͙̪̊͑̆̅w̷̖̘̣͑͂̿͋.

-Her mom eventually calms her down, and she tells her this is the power of a spider-person.

-"I'm a spider!?"

-"No, Kelles, listen-"

-"No!!!"

-"Listen before I get the belt"

-silent as a mouse

"Listen Kelles, your aunt used to be a Spider hero, that's what you are, I didn't want you to panic incase the side-effects of the bite get worse, this is what happened with your Aunt Imani. But, yours is.." She pauses to hold O'Kelley's hand, pressing her fingers against the palm to see what happens.

-Tiny claws come out.

Her mom laughs.

"Yep, just like Imani" She decreases the pressure on her daughters palm, the claws going back.

"How do you feel?"

"I feel..fine..?"

"I swear to God O'Kelley, you're just like your aunt Imani, like an exact copy, you acted just like her when she got her powers." Her mom laughs and tilts her head back.

O'Kelley soon joins, laughing, not noticing her fangs have gone away.

"Mom..what is it gonna be like being a spider-person? I know they save people, but is their something else?"

"Well, you would have to ask your Aunt Imani, and..I just want you to remember, when your canon event comes..

"It can either change your life forever, or it'll change YOU."

"Canon events?"

"Can't explain it, just don't let it destroy you.."

Tw: mentions of injuries and blood.

SPIDER SOCIETY!☆

-While being a new spider-person (just 5 months). She's having an awfully hard time dealing with..

What was it again?

Earth 20918's Prowler. That's what.

Doing her best to dodge his attacks, he manages to land a few scratches and gashes, her suit is damaged.

She webs onto another sur-

What's that?

Suddenly, an orange and red portal, with a bunch of shapes... a spider-man launches himself/herself (reminder: she's still not sure wait gender) at the Prowler, after a few attacks, they grab him and web them up.

??? Walks away with a struggling prowler in their hold, they look back at O'Kelley, webbing them inside the portal.

She gets dizzy from going through the portal, gripping her head, and eyelids twitching.

Tension headache?

No.

They land in Neuva York, still disoriented from falling and being webbed to a portal.

"You new here?" O'Kelley looks up to see a figure with a lightning bolt styled spider-suit.

"Let me help" They reach their hand out, standing O'Kelley up.

"Thank you"

"You're welcome, you want a tour or something? I'm Ramone, by the way"

"Yes please, it's nice to meet you, I'm O'Kelley"

"I know"

"Wait how did yo-"

"Follow me"

☆☆☆

"That's Disco-Spider, or Diane Pastors, she's apart of the Spider Society Welcome Committee, or SSWC, for short."

"Woah.. I love their outfit, or their suit" O'Kelley watches Diane skate over to several places of the society, her suit sparkling.

"Cool, right?"

O'Kelley sees a bunch of the same people in one place, talking and smoking???

"Yeah, but why are there so many..uh..of the same British guy?"

"Alternate Universes, that's how"

"They seem really cool, is their universe from 1982? I love their style, their suit is cool too ramone!-"

"Ding! They are from 1982, or Earth 1294A"

"Woahh.. that's so cool.."

~~~~~~~~

"That's Ansi Taratella, or Tech Tarantula over there"

O'Kelley looks over at Ansi, noticing he has traditional locs, orange at the ends.

Grunge clothing..? I think.

Seems that O'Kelley stared to much, cause they make eye contact, getting a very-intimidating aura from her. Their spidey-senses go nuts, quickly turning away.

"You good?"

"Yeah, just got-"

"Intimidated?"

"Yeah"

Ramone snickers, "Yeah, I get the same reaction out of every spider-person who comes here."

<><><><><><><><>

"Annndddd, over there, Is Angel Jameson!, and the one on the left is Margo Kess" Ramone points to a.. uh,

OH.

"Arachne"

"No Spider name?"

"I don't think so" They shrug.

There, Arachne is talking with another Diane?? Uh..okay.

"Remember, alternate universies, so you might see the same people"

Also, seeing Margo, working by the Go Home Machine.. creepy, her suit seems tech-like though.

(They're both pretty cool, gotta talk to them later)

O'KELLEY'S POWERS

While training with Aunt Imani, O'Kelley discovers:

WEB BURST: The user, with enough lethal venom in the body (hard for O'Kelley), can explode the webs, and cause lethal injuries to the target/another user. With low-toxicity venom, this trick is harder.

VEIN ???: Error-91802.

AGILITY AND FLEXABILITY: Agility runs in her families genes, and the flexibility being from her Mom, who was once an Olympic gymnast. (Tier 2).

VENOM SHOCK: This is also hard for O'Kelley to do, but it ends up getting more dangerous as the experience of being a spider hero grows. (But they don't know).

Tiers:

TIER 1: After making contact with an enemy/other user, her fingertips can release a slight shock, disorienting the person.

TIER 2: Making several touch attempts with the user can result in paralyzation for a clean 10-20 minutes.

TIER 3: Lingering pain after 2 bites from the user, pain is excruciating.

Tier 4: ?????

SHORT BLURB OF RAMONE AND O'KELLEY:

"Ramone, smile for the camera!" Yells O'Kelley, while Ramone works on her new suit.

"Nah, don't feel like it"

"C'mon Ramoonneee, whyy?".

"Have you seen my yearbook picture?! I'm NOT smiling again."

"It can't look THAT bad-"

Ramone shows O'Kelley her yearbook picture, it's Ramone smiling, but why doesn't she smile? It's so beautiful ^^.

"Your smile is beautiful, Ramone"

"No, it isn't" Ramone puts a mask on and grabs a saw to make the watch for O'Kelley's suit. The orange and yellow sparks fly.

"Ramonneee!! Even Mekell said your smile was beautiful, and they barely look at anyone!"

"Wait what?" Ramone takes the mask off. "They said that?"

"Mhm!"

"Must be.." They put their hand over their mouth in a thinking motion, then sigh. "Maybe it is.."

"Smile!" O'Kelley yells, trying it again, Ramone actually smiles, and she shows her the picture.

"See, it is beautiful!"

"Hm..it might be"

Ramone: friendship up!

Mekell and O'Kelley blurb:

"O'Kelley"

"Mekell"

They both stare into each others eyes, Mekell's lower eyes looking at O'Kelley's deep brown eyes, while O'Kelley doesn't know where to stare, her upper eyes, or her lower.

"Sorry if I seemed like an asshole when you first joined, don't like people, yk?"

"Oh, no, I totally get that, no worries"

"Cool" Mekell throws a watch at O'Kelley and walks away.

"Wait what am I-"

"Figure it out"

O'Kelley / Mekell = chaotic neutral

They def fight with each other on missions, but they do love each other (platonicly). They do bite each other, sometimes too hard. (Tier 4 flashbacks)

But they do care for each other.

@chessbox, congrats!! You made it down here!

-and yes, you can send questions about them (might make an ask game)

#spidersona #spiderman oc #spiderverse oc #This is just lore and stuff for now #O'Kelley Anderson!!🕸#If you want more info #You may ask!!!#Sorry for all the ranting!!

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mochidreambubble · 2 years ago

Text

Written for OC x Canon week organised by @theocxcanonweek

Day 7 Prompt:

Brushing Hair / Modern Day AU / “You started it!...”

[Allowing myself a lil bit of Scarlet Hollow writing, as a treat www.]

A short one-shot for Reese x Ashe (my darling OC who I posted about a short while ago)

Ao3 version here.

Being in love was a challenge in itself, especially when he received all that unconditional love and trusted that nothing would ever go wrong.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Title: Fragility

It’s almost embarrassing that he forgets everything he’s holding as a result, all of it clattering to the ground. Truck, who wasn’t as horrible as Ashe made him out to be - said person protesting that he was for whatever reason just so much more behaved for Reese so it really didn’t count all the siamese’s past actions out the window, does hiss in protest at the sudden noise.

Well… It was the middle of the night but Ashe had decided he wanted a little soak in a hot bath right then and there. Reese just… wasn’t expecting to be invited in as well.

“I-I don’t think we could both fit in that small tub Ashe,” Reese feebly explains. And besides, Ashe who was radiant and looked like the kind of person who would make Aphrodite seethe… He already had a hard time focusing, he rather not test the waters any other way.

Reese gets a pout for his reply, but Ashe simply smiles almost immediately, standing on his toes to give him a small kiss on his cheek and a hug. “Okay, fine. But to make up for this, I want you to help me blow dry and brush my hair after.”

He supposes Ashe was shameless in that sense, not deterred when he wanted something. Of course, from leaving that dreaded place and actually moving in with Ashe, he got to understand that Ashe didn’t hold him to anything. Sure, he’d ask out loud but if Reese ended up not doing it, against all his feeble apologies, Ashe would simply shrug and still make himself comfortable on Reese lap and say that it was fine.

Reese simply nods as Ashe breaks away from the hug, heading towards the bathroom. His eyes are still fixed on the bathroom door even as he bends down to pick up all the things he’s dropped, just a sketchbook and some other art supplies - all still intact. When he hears the water run, he knows that the bathroom door is still unlocked, and Ashe’s initial invitation still stands. But he couldn’t…

He heads to the largest window in the apartment, overlooking the city. Truck makes himself comfortable on his lap as Reese begins to sketch. He tries to at least. If anyone were to flip through his sketches, it would be like madness on paper, all of Ashe and all lined with frustration that Reese felt incapable of capturing what he wanted on paper. He ended up mostly petting Truck, who seemed all too delighted.

The siamese had left his lap by the time he heard Ashe step out of the bath and started letting the tub drain, so Reese didn’t have an excuse to not move from his spot. He doesn’t move, not when it has been minutes since the bathroom door opened and shut once again, and he hears Ashe sweetly humming to himself in his room.

But everything about his beloved beauty may as well be a siren’s call, and Reese finds himself lingering by the open doorway.

“As much as I don’t mind you leering from the doorway like that,” Ashe laughs while his back was still turned from him. “How about you just come in, hm? It’s your room now as well.”

Right. Ashe had insisted it was no longer just his apartment but theirs…

Ashe had made himself comfortable in his fluffiest bathrobe, all his skincare and haircare and anything he needs all laid out on a vanity. He always insisted that people could naturally look good, but there would always be a need to maintain and care for themselves to keep that up. Reese didn’t fully get that, but Ashe always smelled nice and was soft to the touch so he couldn't really argue against that…

He sat as far as he could on the matching vanity bench, but it was still a relatively small seat even if it looked like it was meant for two. He could smell the soap and shampoo Ashe used and feel the warmth from the other’s soak. Ashe doesn’t say anything, simply going through the motions, as if his request was already forgotten. But it eats as Reese. He hates facing the part of him that needed just one slip-up, to break what was so important to him right now. But Ashe never, still doesn’t see him that way.

You’re not a monster

He knows Ashe truly believes that…

Reese slips the tower hanging of Ashe’s shoulder, and Ashe stops for a second to look his way. He doesn’t protest as Reese towel dries his hair first, his beloved even relaxing as Reese does so.

His hands pressed into his scalp. One wrong move…

He feels Ashe reach out to grab his wrists. “I’m willing to bet you could completely towel dry my hair, but using the blow dryer will be faster.”

“O-Oh, right…”

He gets handed the blow dryer and a brush. Truth be told, Reese doesn’t know a hundred percent to what or how to do it. Ashe would happily brush Reese’s hair, every day if he could. He remembers Ashe explained that to some, quickly adding not him anyways with the slightest bit of pink on his cheeks, that it was a commitment of lifelong togetherness. Like a cheesy proposal in Chinese dramas, a declaration of… Marriage.

Ashe insists he just enjoys brushing Reese’s hair. That was all it was. And Reese enjoys it, the feeling of Ashe gently brushing his hair, his beloved’s hands running through them…

Reese thinks he’s fumbling with how he’s handling the blow dryer and brush, but Ashe who was watching him from the vanity mirror didn’t say anything so… Surely he was doing fine?

Ashe ends up with a mess of fluff-tastic hair. Reese finds himself crouched and burying his face in Ashe’s lap. The other’s sweet laughter in his ears, ruffling Reese’s hair. “Aw, but I love it.”

He cups Reese’s face and pulls him up, smiling so brightly he could set the night ablaze. “Thank you for doing this.”

Reese covers Ashe’s own hands with his own, heart full and aching but dancing all the same. “Even though I clearly messed up?”

“I think you did perfectly.”

And almost like that was all the truth there was to it, he gets an armful of Ashe who insisted to be cuddled in bed till he fell asleep. With his world in his hand, Reese follows suit.

(FIN)

#not beta read #oc x canon week #oc x canon week 2023 #oc x canon #my fic #my writing #my oc: ashelia #reese kelly #Reese may be a monster but he’s still so human #so very vulnerable. I love him.#scarlet hollow #scarlet hollow mc #scarlet hollow oc

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danascullysjournal · 2 years ago

Note

For the ask game, I'd love to know 2, 18, and 32!

Thank you so much for the ask! 🥰

I did get a little heavy on this but you asked SO this is my honest reply. I do see the world brighter than this post makes it seem though 😂 Have a wonderful day!

2. Goodness I used to use nothing but pen all the time, but that was high school and college. Now my hands cramp up too much. I still like to do handwritten script for poetry. It has more feeling to me, somehow…? I used to carry around a little notebook/sketchbook for exactly that.

18. TW: Autopsy Scene

Unfortunately for me, and probably any readers, I’m neck-deep in a fic that takes place after “Milagro” in The X Files, called If You Will Let Me. It started as a single “Mulder needs to cuddle Scully and make sure she’s not bleeding out” one shot, but I could *not* stop thinking about how swayed Scully was by Padgett, and how insanely out of character it seemed.

I decided to give Scully a chance to cut him open, regain some control. She deserved that, and Chp 2 happened. Here is the excerpt:

“Victim is a Phillip Padgett, 32 year old male…” she studied the gaping hole in his chest, wreathed in the pale of chilled epidermis and the crusted, deep burgundy of his dried blood. “Apparent cause of death: self-inflicted… removal of heart.”

She could not stop herself from considering that this fate was exactly what he had planned for her. She swallowed hard, picked up her scalpel and continued.

His flesh cut under her skilled blade like every other cadaver she had examined, and with each slice, each organ, each measurement, she grew to be a bit more of herself. This was her profession. Measurable. Controlled. Messy, at times, but peaceful in that the outcomes were documented, usually expected, and always under her control.

She took the heart, which had been placed back into the body for storage in morgue refrigeration, and placed it on the scale for measurement.

“Heart. Weight, 10.3 ounces. Tissue appears healthy.” But it wasn’t, Scully thought. She felt a frown trace along her lips. His heart had not been healthy all. Yet somehow, she had been swayed by it anyway. It frightened her more than she dared to admit.”

While I was writing this, I felt more and more.. uneasy? Sickened? By a) Padgett’s ability to manifest a killer and knowingly kill people without being present, and b) his apparent ability to get *inside of Scully’s head and manipulate her thoughts and desires.* Who does that? It’s essentially rape, but on a mental level. Physically she was fine, but emotionally, mentally, she absolutely was not.

And I cannot really put into words how much I relate to how Scully must have felt, and how the triggers and reimaginings can take over. It became a quest to help her name and process what Padgett had done AND to somehow explain the how and why behind it all. And get her and Mulder together in spite of all that- a piece that says “yes, horrible things happen, but you can have a partner with you that will walk it all *with* you, and you’ll be okay in the end.”

32. The Lady of Shallott by Alfred, Lord Tennyson was my favorite poem all through college, and even though it’s old and has little to do with fanfic, the theme is (in my opinion) interesting and still relevant.

This section has stuck with me all these years.

“No time hath she to sport and play:

A charmed web she weaves alway.

A curse is on her, if she stay

Her weaving, either night or day,

To look down to Camelot.

She knows not what the curse may be;

Therefore she weaveth steadily,

Therefore no other care hath she,

The Lady of Shalott.”

She is so afraid of what could happen to her that she views the world only through a mirrored reflection. The concept of working and obeying for the fear of the unknown is so very striking to me.

Eventually she is lured to turn her head. Ironically, when she finally does make the choice to turn and see the real outside world beyond her tower, it was just to see a singing man passing by (Sir Lancelot, arguably the Grand Hussie of Arthurian legend). He doesn’t stop, doesn’t even notice her, but the curse is immediately brought down on her and she is a corpse by sunset.

The whole idea of being imprisoned to your fear, or seeing the real world for what it is (not always wonderful) and succumbing to it is fascinating to me. And she was led, unwittingly, to her pained death by a man.

**I should note, I’m married, but once divorced. There are good humans and there are selfish and vain humans, and I read the poem to be a cautionary tale against the latter.

#lovely asks #thank you for asking!#and bless anyone who reads this #I got carried away #its my mo i suppose

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coline7373 · 9 days ago

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1. Oh, dear. Procreate on this second hand pad I bought specifically for it and sketchbook (the app) on my phone. It's a Samsung note, so I have a digital pen. My screen is pretty scratched.

2. Not sure. Some have more kudos then others but they have been posted longer. Just like that, without checking, I would say my latest cadet!Cody and cadet!Rex, as well as my codywan "would you still love me if I was a worm?"

3. Definitively not my most popular! 🤣

I love two pieces I did for codywankiss2023, the one that is all red/pink, and the one under the stars at night.

I am mighty proud of my Mace in armor.

I have also done a fanart for Prince with a thousands Ennemies by independant_variables, which doesn't get much love but is dear and close to my heart.

And I looove my Fox & Haunted Couch. It's funny (to me) and I'm really proud of how the flammes came out!

4. Eh. The one that don't have much kudos on my ao3, maybe? People don't leave much kudos there because I'm not A Big Name, and when they do, it's often on the same pieces.

I'm unsure if it's because the viewer lost interest and thus the will to go through all my fanarts (admitedly, nearly a hundred of them) or if they genuinely don't like the other things.

5. Jeezus... No idea? "Just Do It"? 😆

I have things I often do and sometimes I Try Things Out. But I'm not sure I have a style or that it's specific enough to be named. Doesn't bother me.

6. Love, romantic or friensdhip or familial or agape. Intimacy. Kindness. Happiness. Hope.

7. What's all this? 🤣 Some things are *easy* for you???? Good for you but I don't have that experience 🤣🤣🤣

Sometimes, I have an easy time and other, not at all. Skills just won't come. The drawing drag on. Nothing come out right or quick. It's horrible and I want to throw my pad out of the window. Others, everything flow and it's magical and I wonder afterwards what made it happen this way. Haven't been able to reproduce the magical effect voluntarily 🤷‍♀️

8. Anatomy with weird perspectives. Sometimes, I have An Idea in my head and I want to make That One and then, when I get to it, I realise it's super hard T_T

9. Cody, sun and skies. For no reason, I'm sure 😉🌞💖💛🧡

10. Do it anyway. It looks like crap? Do it anyway!

If you mean ideas block, that has litteraly never happened. I have so many projects waiting for me, I could quit my job and devote myself to fanarts entirely and not run out for years.

11. Nope.

12. I have an idea in my head, I look for references pictures for the people in it (perspectives T_T), I do a first line art with the references pictures' opacity at 50%, I hide them, I adjust that line art opacity to 50%, draw a second one over it because the first never looks right (either they don't look like the character's actual face or the body type is shorter, stockier, ect, the arm looks Super Weird), repeat the process as much as necessary for it to looks okay, fill under on a new layer the flat colors, fill over the flat colors but under the line art on a new layer the lights, same with shadows on another layer, correct and do over and over and over and over... until I'm happy with how it looks or don't think I can do better.

Do the same with background if there is any.

That's it!

13. I like my WIP for jedi june. Yes, we're in november.

Also, another one that looks wonky but it's an idea I had for a long time so I'm happy to be working on it.

14. It can be very relaxing. I love when it come out pretty, even if it's in a way I didn't intended. I love making my ideas come to life. And I love how happy authors have been when I have made fanarts for their fics.

15. When it's not working 🤣 The frustration... I have genuinely screamed and cried.

16. "Drawing regularly keep your skills sharp." It's like working out. If you miss some sessions, it's crazy how fast the skills rust.

And "Keep going before the creativity run out". Sometimes, I just Do Not have the flow. It's like someone cut off the water. I don't know how to explain it. So, when the flow is there, I try to make the most of it.

17. Uh... It looks ok? Most of the time? And it's made with love. Some fanarts from other people don't look good but you can tell it was made with enormous amount of love or that the person was having fun or it's telling a story, or it's moving... I love that. I love those arts. There's plenty that's worthwhile other than "correct" look.

18. Boy... everything? It's a work in never ending progress. I look at art that blow my mind, think about what caught my eyes and try to work on that but it varies from time to time. Anatomy and perspective can always use work.

19. Star Wars. The Clone Wars. Pictures I have seen in museums, exhibitions, magazines, online, pinterest, series, movies... Life around me. Memories. Lot of things.

20. I think I'm organised? It makes sense to me.

21. Hahaha! No idea! Maybe a toast, with butter and honey on top.

22. I definitively use warm colors a lot and more saturated than not. Orange, for Reasons 😉🌞🧡

23. Not sure I understand the question. But I have tried (1) Once to imitate amarcia's style and it was very hard. I love their style! But it only looks simple. It's often that way in art, which should have been my first clue 😆 It was definitively very hard and I didn't quite succeed in the end, but it was my very best attempt 💖

24. I have been very lucky to receive several compliments and my favorites are always related to how happy it has made the viewer or how much they enjoyed it 💖

25. Mmmh. Size are uncomprehensible to me. When I was on my phone, I think the images were too small. Now that I'm on procreate, I think they are too big. For Tumblr, at least. They look blurry when viewed on the mobile app.

26. Ipad and Ipen. And Samsung Note 8 and Samsung pen.

27. Unfortunately, yes. I have so many wips. They accumulate and some get finished and some get buried under more WIPs. I'm terrible 😅

28. None. I wish I could finish all the pieces that I have started. No time or will for redo. Once it's done, it's done. There is so many fics I would like to do fanarts for, on top of all my WIPs too...

29. Yes!!!!!! A lot! And even afterwards, I redo the line art a lot. Like, a lot. It's all very time consuming. People who do amazing stuff in less than one hour have my absolute respect.

30. Nothing? I'm not proud of my art. I get happy when it come out well or better than I expected. I get happy when I'm done with a piece that took me a long time. Sometimes there is pride in that, but I'm not what you would call proud of my artstyle.

I hated it for the longest time actually, and it took me until I was well into my 30s to make my peace with it. My style is not the type of style I prefer or admire.

I am happy to contribute to the fandom and makes my ideas come to life, happy to create, but pride? No.

31. Star Wars. Definitively.

32. Next to none. Not out of distaste for the idea. I just don't know a lot of fandom person and events' deadlines stress me out.

33. I don't think so? One class during 6 months, then a year of art school before I quit because I am not so talented I can compete with what's on the market. Other than that, completely self-taught.

34. Some pieces, I remember being very happy making them or feeling happy at the results or the person I made them for was happy to receive them. It's definitively about sharing in our joy of fandom for me.

35. It's never going to look like you want, so you might as well stop crying, obssessing about it and just do it. Some people will love it anyway, even when you hate it. And eventually, you will get a bit better and learn to love some of them.

Remember to have fun and make yourself happy.

@cacodaemonia @journen @secretly-a-trekkie @rochenn @amarcia @raphaerolo @ghosts-of-rishi @orientalld @anaclastic-azurite @dontbelasagnax @jejejijiju @moriaarts

with how much this site loves its writer ask games, im astounded ive never seen one for artists, soooo

ARTIST ASK GAME!

1. what medium do you use most (if applicable, what software)?

2. most popular piece?

3. your favorite piece(s)?

4. piece you wish got more love?

5. how would you describe your art style?

6. favorite thing to draw?

7. easiest thing for you to draw?

8. thing you struggle to draw?

9. whats something you always come back to when drawing?

10. how do you deal with artblock?

11. do you listen to anything while drawing?

12. describe your process while drawing

13. talk about a wip you like!

14. whats your favorite thing about drawing?

15. least favorite thing about drawing?

16. how do you motivate yourself to draw?

17. what is something youre confident about in your art?

18. something you feel like you need to work on?

19. where do you find inspiration?

20. is your workspace, digital or not, organized (not neat, organized)?

21. what do you think your artstyle would taste like?

22. do you have a favorite color palette to work with?

23. how many artstyles can you work in confidently?

24. whats a compliment about your art that has always stuck with you?

25. what size canvas/paper do you use?

26. what do you physically draw with (pencil and paper, tablet, etc)?

27. do you ever have multiple wips going at once?

28. whats a piece you would like to redraw at some point?

29. do you use a lot of references while drawing?

30. whats something youre proud of about your artstyle?

31. which fandom have you drawn the most for?

32. have you done a lot of collabs?

33. have you taken a lot of classes for art?

34. whats something you still like from your old art?

35. if you had one piece of advice to give your younger artist self, what would it be?

(remember to give the person you reblog from an ask!!)

#artist ask game #ask game #coline7373 #artists #fanarts #sw fanart #tcw fanart

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