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watchmegetobsessed · 2 years

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WILDEST FANTASIES (part 10)

⚫️A/N: yaaay its WF day! i hope you guys are not sick of the story yet lol bc im def not done with it! thank you for all the messages and comments, i love reading your thoughts and conspiracies haha! keep 'em coming!

⚫️PAIRING: Professor!Harry X Reader

⚫️WARNING: sexual content

⚫️WORD COUNT: 5.1k

SERIES MASTERPOST | SUPPORT ME!

You basically fly across the room when you hear the ringtone, your phone vibrating and flashing, letting you know that someone wants to FaceTime you. You almost slip in your fuzzy socks as you rush from the kitchen into your bedroom, the oatmeal you were just about to make long forgotten on the kitchen counter, breakfast can wait when your boyfriend is calling you from across the world.

“Hey!” you pant as you throw yourself onto the bed holding the phone up in front of you. Harry’s face appears on the screen, his curls messy as always, wearing a black hoodie from what you can see.

“Hey, did you just finish running the marathon?” he chuckles and your heart pitter-patters when you see his pixelated dimples.

“It felt like that coming from the kitchen, yeah,” you grin. “What’s up? How is the family?” you ask, making yourself comfortable in the sea of pillows.

“Everything is great, mum is having a blast with everyone around,” he smiles, rubbing his nose. “And Gemma has been bugging me about my alleged new girlfriend.”

“Oh, you told them about me?” you ask, truly surprised. It’s been only a few weeks since you made it official, you weren’t expecting him to tell his family a thing.

“Of course. Not in many details, but I told them I’m dating someone. Mum immediately asked why I didn’t bring you home with me,” he laughs shaking his head.

“Your mom sounds like an amazing woman. Tell her I said hi,” you grin.

“Will do. Now, tell me, what have you been up to?”

Harry has been calling you every chance given and you know it’s because he feels bad you are spending Christmas alone. Both Ramona and Kostas left on the twenty-third, so it’s your fourth day on your own in the apartment. It’s weird to be here without Kostas gasping every few minutes at some gossip someone sent him, or Ramona’s loud laughter that sounds like a seal is choking, though you haven’t heard that in a while with the whole Dean situation. You’re hoping the holidays are gonna beat sense into them and they will realize they need to be together.

You’ve been using your quiet alone time to write your thesis, you’re already ahead of your planned schedule with it and when you’re not on the phone with Harry or sitting in front of your laptop, you’re watching Christmas movies nonstop, baking and cooking, destroying the kitchen and enjoying that Kostas is not here to start cleaning up after you right away.

It’s been a bit lonely, but you don’t mind it. You’d rather be on your own than anywhere near your mother.

“I was just about to have breakfast. I think I’ll take a walk later and then, just the usual,” you shrug.

“What movies are you watching today?” he smirks.

“Probably Frozen,” you giggle. “Have you seen them?”

“I had to watch them last year with my cousin’s kids, so yeah.”

“I bet you enjoyed them more than the kids,” you tease him.

“They weren’t half as bad as I expected, I admit,” he grins and it seems like he lies down in a bed, taking a similar position you are in. “Are you sure you don’t want to give your grandma’s sister a call? Maybe you could have lunch with them or something.”

“Harry…” you sigh. It’s not the first time he is bringing it up, it seems like your lonely holidays bother him more than they bother you. It’s sweet of him, but you also know exactly what you do and don’t want to do.

“I know, you felt out of place there. But it could still be nice.”

“I promise you, I’m fine alone. Don’t worry about me,” you smile at him warmly and you truly mean it.

“It just doesn’t feel right that I’m here with my family while you’re on your own. Maybe you really should have come home with me.”

“No, I shouldn’t have,” you chuckle. “Meeting the family when we’ve been together for less than a month? No, thank you.”

“Alright, I see where you’re coming from, but it’s different.”

“How come?” you cock an eyebrow at him.

“One, my family doesn’t live on the other side of town, I only see them like twice a year, next time I’ll be here will be in the summer. Maybe it wouldn’t have been too early.”

“It would have,” you protest, but smile at him.

“And second, I’m pretty sure nothing we do is by the book, so it wouldn’t have mattered.”

“Okay, I hear you, but still, it’s better like this. Next time,” you smile and he returns it with a nod.

“Alright, next time,” he sighs.

For the next about thirty minutes you just ramble about anything and everything and Harry listens as if you were telling him about the meaning of life. You love hearing his laugh and you sneakily take a few screenshots of him because he is looking extra cozy today. You wish he was here with you so you could shower him with kisses and then tear that hoodie off of him and show him just how much you love having him around.

“I gotta go,” he sighs after you hear a female voice from somewhere in the distance through the call. “I’ll call you later, okay?”

“Okay. Have fun,” you smile and he returns it before the call ends.

Sighing deep you just lie there for a bit, staring up at the ceiling, his voice still ringing in your ear. You count how many days until he comes back and you come to the conclusion that it would be too many even if it was just one. Being away from Harry is the only thing that bothers you right now.

You carry on with your day just as you planned. Taking a little walk around the neighborhood you decide to ditch the cooking today and just grab something to eat on your way back home. It’s not too cold outside, but you truly appreciate the heated apartment when you finally arrive back. You eat in the living room while watching the first Frozen movie just how you planned, everything is peaceful and uneventful.

Even though Harry said he would call later, the afternoon passes by without hearing from him. You assume he is out with his mum and sister somewhere, it doesn’t even occur to you to bother him for not paying you attention, you want him to have a great time with his family.

After you finish watching the Frozen movies you go for another thesis writing session to keep you busy and hopefully tire you out so you’d go to bed at a reasonable time. Buried deep in an article you’re planning to use in one of the chapters, you jump when you hear your phone ringing on your bed. Thinking that it’s Harry, your heart skips a beat as you snatch it from the comforter, but your face falls when you see an unknown number.

“Hello?” you answer the call hesitantly.

“Y/N?”

You recognize the voice right away and it makes your stomach drop in an instant. It’s your mother.

“What do you want?” you ask not even trying not to sound hostile. She is not calling to say merry Christmas, she has ulterior motives, that you’re sure about.

“You still have the sassy attitude I passed on to you,” she chuckles, as if this chit-chat was a normal, everyday thing.

“You didn’t pass on anything to me. Now what do you want?”

“Just wanted to check in on my daughter, is that a crime now?”

“Carol, you haven’t talked to me in over a year. I don’t believe this bullshit, I know you called with a reason that has nothing to do with anything a mother would do.”

You stopped calling her mom in middleschool. It started as a way to get on her nerves when she was making you mad, but then it stuck, because it felt more fitting to call her by her first name than refer to her as mom. She did not act like one.

“Jesus, what’s gotten your panties in such a twist? It’s Christmas, can’t you be a bit nicer to your mother?” she scoffs, pretending to be the victim, as always. You never found out how Carol turned out to be the way she is when she was brought up by your grandmother. Helene was a saint and it definitely wasn’t her fault your mother turned out to be like this. She never wanted to talk about what went wrong, but if you had to guess it was because of your grandfather who she divorced when Carol was only five. She spent summers and winter breaks with him in Florida and though your grandmother never liked to talk shit about others, even if they deserved it, you just know he was the one who messed it all up.

“If you just called to piss me off, I’m ending the call,” you warn her and that finally brings out her true intentions.

“Wait! Okay, alright! I called because… I need your help.”

Ding, ding, ding! We’ve got a winner!

When you don’t answer, she decides to go into further details.

“I want to move out of my boyfriends’, but I can’t really afford the cost of it, but it’s pretty urgent. I thought that maybe you could help me out with some money you got from your grandmother.”

And you’re back to the one thing that truly destroyed your relationship with her. Your grandmother left most of her savings and her house that you sold a year later to you, while Carol only got a bit of money and that’s it. She was vivid when she found out about it and tried to get more of it any way possible.

She didn’t succeed. But it seems like she is still not over trying. While she probably spent all of the money she inherited in about a few months, you’ve been using it wisely, supporting yourself while in school so you don’t have to worry about having a job while studying.

“That is none of my problem,” you answer coldly.

“It’s an emergency, Y/N. And I would pay the money back, I just need to get out of his place as fast as possible.”

“Why?” you ask, because if it’s an abusive household, you will of course help her, but you have a feeling that’s not the case.

“Because… God, I just don’t want to be here, okay? He is suffocating and I’m done with him.”

“Okay, that doesn’t sound like an emergency.”

“It is! Come on, you’re sitting on all of that money and you can’t lend me some to help me out?”

“I’m not sitting on it,” you grit through your teeth. “I’m saving part of it and putting the rest into good use.”

“This would be a good use as well,” she argues and it pisses you off how entitled she thinks she is.

“Don’t you feel ridiculous for coming to me to beg for money when you haven’t talked to me in ages? You really don’t have any shame in you, do you?”

“Shame? Why would I have shame for asking for help from my daughter?”

“Oh, how convenient that now I’m your daughter, but what about the rest of the year? When I hear nothing from you?” you scoff rolling your eyes.

“You know, this works the other way around. You could call me too, but my phone hasn’t been blowing up lately.”

“I’m already over the trying, Carol. Did that in high school, but you were too busy living out your second teenage phase. I’m not trying to go back there.”

“Come on, you can’t be mad at me for shit I did ten years ago,” she growls.

Clenching your jaw you shut your eyes closed, you are not in the mood to get into a screaming match about who messed up what and this is definitely heading in that direction.

“How much do you need?” you ask sighing.

“Just a couple thousand.”

“Just? A couple?” you scoff at the way she just presented it as if she was asking for twenty bucks.

“It’s not that much, Y/N. Do you know how expensive apartments are these days?”

“I do, because I live in a rented place as well, but I assume you are not trying to live with roommates to lessen the costs and you also haven’t even looked at humble, smaller places that cost less.”

“I’m sorry that I’m not trying to live in a fucking… pantry!”

“Whatever,” you growl, completely running out of patience at this point. “I’ll think about it.”

“What is there to think about this?” she scolds you as if you were obligated to just throw thousands at her.

“A lot, Carol. There’s a lot to think about when it comes to you.”

“Oh, you just love to pretend like you’re better than everyone, right? Your grandmother loved to do that too, acting like you’re superior, like you have no flaws and you make no mistakes!”

“Don’t fucking bring her up!” you snap at her. You’ll not let her disgrace the memory of the woman who brought you up when she was away doing God knows what.

“I can bring up whoever I want! You both have always tried to guilt me into thinking that everything is always my fault, but you’re not perfect either, Y/N. No one is! I don’t know how people put up with your attitude, I bet you have no friends, let alone a man who—“

“Good luck with getting the money you need. Don’t call me again,” you cut her off and end the call before she could get another word out.

Tears are bubbling in your eyes as you stare up at the ceiling with trembling lips. Most of the time it’s easy to be unbothered when it comes to your mother, but not when you’re facing her directly, when she is coming at you, targeting you with her toxicity.

You’ve been acting tough for so long, even you believe that the dysfunctional family background you’re coming from has no effect on the person you are today, but deep down you know it’s just the surface you’re showing to the world, but it hurts to know you never mattered to your mother enough to take good care of you and you had believed for a long time that it had something to do with you, that you weren’t lovable enough, that you were the reason why things turn out to be the way they did.

Now you know it wasn’t you and you should never take the blame for her mistakes, but that doesn’t mean it can’t hurt to think about everything you missed out on.

For the first time since your home vacation, you don’t want to be alone so you call the person you want to be with the most right now. You tap on Harry’s contact without hesitation, but it goes straight to his voicemail.

“Hey, it’s Harry. I can’t answer the phone right now, so leave a messa—“

You don’t wait for the recording to finish, just end the call as you feel your chest tightening. Seeing the time on the screen you realize how late it is in the UK so that’s why he is not answering, but still, it doesn’t help with your desperate need to at least hear his voice.

“Fuck,” you breathe out, wiping your cheeks from the tears that has escaped your eyes. Throwing your phone to your nightstand you just get under the covers and close your eyes, your body still shaking slightly as you decide to just sleep it off and then never think about this day again when you wake up.

You awaken to your phone ringing and buzzing on the nightstand. Your head feels so heavy and you need a few seconds to adjust to the real world. It’s still dark outside, your laptop has shut down since you left it on when you decided to sleep your problems away. Grabbing the phone you see two things. One, that it’s about three in the morning. Two, Harry is calling you.

Swiping your finger across the screen you move the phone to your ear, your eyebrows knit together, still kind of half asleep.

“Hey,” you speak up groggily. “I hope you do know it’s three am over here.”

You hear his chuckle first before he answers.

“I know, that’s why I would appreciate it if you let me in.”

Eyes popping wide open you shoot up into a sitting position as if you were just shocked by electricity. Did you just hear that right? He wants you to let him in? Is this supposed to be a metaphor or something?

“Um, what?” you ask clearing your throat as you kick the covers off of yourself, standing up.

“I’m at your front door, Y/N. Can I come in or should I go home?” he asks and you can hear it in his voice how funny he is finding the situation to be.

Dropping your phone onto the bed you rush out to the front door and swinging it open you’re shocked to see that he is indeed right there, standing on the doormat with a duffel bag in one hand, his phone with the call still going in the other as he smiles at you. He ends the call and shoves the phone into his pocket as he tilts his head to the side.

“Surprise?” he chuckles softly and the next thing you know is that you’re throwing yourself at him, arms and legs wrapping around him tight as he drops his bag so he can hold you up with both hands. “Woah, I assume you missed me, huh?” he chuckles, kissing into your neck as you have your face buried in his, tears stinging in your eyes at his unexpected arrival especially after the evening you had.

“What the hell are you doing here?” you mumble, your words almost completely muffled.

“It didn’t feel right to let you be alone. I might have missed Christmas but there was no way I was gonna let you be on your own on New Year’s Eve.”

Your heart is about to jump out of your chest at his words, this is hands down the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for you. Peeling yourself off of him your feet get back on the ground again and you finally let him inside, closing the door behind him before taking his face in your hands and kissing him to tell him how happy you are that he is here without words.

“I called you a few hours ago and only reached your voicemail, so you must have been on the plane then, huh?” you hum against his lips.

“Yeah. But why did you call so late? Did something happen?” he asks, quick to count back what the time was in the UK when you called. Then he realizes that something is off about you. “Hey, have you been crying? Your eyes are puffy, but not the sleepy kind.” he cradles your face in his hands to take a better look at you with furrowed eyebrows.

“Can we just… sleep? I really don’t want to talk right now,” you plea, too tired to go into any details at the moment. It’s obvious he is worried and wants to know what got you so upset, but he would never go against your will.

“Okay,” he nods before kissing your forehead. “Can I take a quick shower?”

“Sure.”

While Harry is in the shower you wash your face and change your clothes, just hearing another person in the apartment is so relaxing, the silence you’ve been living in the past days now feels so much more suffocating.

You’re already in bed when Harry finishes in the bathroom and walking into your room he looks around as he sits on the edge of the bed. It’s the first time he is here so it’s his first glimpse of your personal space. Though he would love to snoop around a bit, he is about to pass out from the long flight and he wants nothing more than to hold you in his arms.

When he gets under the sheets, you’re quick to cuddle to his side, laying your head to his chest as he wraps his arms around you.

“Harry?” you speak up, voice barely louder than just a whisper.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you,” you murmur before closing your eyes and letting yourself drift back to sleep, now a lot more excited for morning to come.

When you wake up in the morning your first thought is how realistic your dream was about Harry showing up at your door at three in the morning. But then you feel a strong arm draped across your waist and someone quietly snoring and puffing air out behind you and it hits you hard in the head like a brick.

It wasn’t a dream. Harry did fly back earlier than he planned just to be with you.

Blinking your eyes open you’re met with Harry’s puffy sleeping face, squished into your pillow just inches away from yours. It might look creepy, but you take a few moments to admire him. It’s crazy how you get to see him like this, how he is allowing you into his personal space when just about two months ago you were just a student in his class, drinking every word that left his mouth, fantasizing about things that are your reality now.

He stirs in his sleep, his hand on your waist squeezing you as he scrunches his nose before his eyes slit open just a tiny bit, his long lashes fluttering gently.

“Good morning,” he mumbles groggily and you bite into your bottom lip, because even half asleep, wrapped in your light pink sheets, he still looks so irresistible. He pulls you closer until your chest is pressed up against his, a gasp and a giggle slipping through your lips.

“Good morning,” you grin, nuzzling your nose against his before finally kissing him softly. “I thought I dreamed that you showed up here in the middle of the night.”

“Definitely not a dream,” he smirks, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth.

“Does your mom hate me because I was the reason for your early departure?”

“Are you kidding me? She was basically kicking me out the door when I told her why I’m coming back earlier. She wouldn’t have let me stay longer even if I wanted,” he chuckles.

“Your mom is an angel.”

“She is,” he hums, nodding into the pillow. Closing his eyes he sighs comfortably and you think he has fallen back asleep, but then he speaks up, flashing his gorgeous green eyes at you again. “So, want to talk about what got you so upset?”

Chewing on your bottom lips you play with the thought of keeping it to yourself, not too keen on bringing up your mother again, but part of you also wants to share it with him.

“My mom called me last night,” you finally admit then.

“Oh! And… how did it go?”

“Awful,” you breathe out. “She asked for money to move out of her boyfriend’s place. She knows I have a big saving from my grandmother and she’s been trying to get a hold of that, this is probably just another attempt.”

“What if she really does need the money?”

“I’m sure she does, but I’m definitely not her last choice. I know she didn’t even try to earn the money herself, she just wants me to hand it over to her.”

“Mmm, I see. And is it what got you so upset?” he asks, sensing that there’s more behind it.

“We kind of got into a fight… She basically said that I’m entitled and act like I have no flaws and then went on how I must have zero friends and… the message she was sending was clearly that I’m unlovable.”

Your throat starts to close up and your voice dies down as you say the last words, avoiding to look at him. The last person you discussed the situation with your mother was your grandma. She never told you, but you always suspected she felt like she failed you and Carol as well and wanted to make up for the things she messed with her by taking good care of you. She was the mother you never had, but that never changed the fact that your real mother could never love you like her daughter.

It’s a messed up situation that you like to keep bottled up, but last night, the bottle got knocked over and it seems to be leaking. Tears are dwelling in your eyes again and you hate that she has this much power over you still.

“Hey,” he speaks up softly, brushing your hair out of your face before he cups it in his hand. “It’s okay to be upset.”

“But I don’t want to be. Not over my mother,” you whine with a grimace, trying to swallow down your tears. “She was never there for me, I’ve promised myself so many times to just simply forget about her, but…”

“But she is still your mother, no matter how bad she messes things up,” he finishes up your thought and you nod with trembling lips.

This is where people usually start telling you how it’s not your fault, that you did nothing wrong and you should be strong. You know they mean well, but you hate hearing these. Surprisingly, Harry says absolutely nothing. He just gathers you into his arms and pulls you to his chest, lets you calm down in your own pace, giving you the silence you truly need. When the tears dry up and you don’t feel like your throat is all closed up, you lift your head so you can look into his eyes. He gently runs his fingers down the side of your face, tracing your features before combing through your hair, giving you tingles from his little touches.

“Do you think I’m unlovable?” you find yourself asking and your heart is beating so hard in your chest you know he can feel it. “That maybe that’s why she can’t stand me?”

“I can assure you, that’s not the case. Some people are just not cut to be a parent and your mum is one of them. Unfortunate events sculpted your relationship and maybe you’ve made mistakes as well, but that doesn’t mean you can’t be loved.”

Pushing yourself up, you swing a leg over him and sit on his hips, his hands moving up to rub your thighs that are bare thanks to the fact that you’re wearing just a pair of shorts with your oversized cotton shirt.

Reaching forward you place one hand next to his head, leaning onto it while cupping his jaw with your other, running your thumb along the line of his bottom lip. It feels like time has stopped and nothing else exists, just the two of you in your slightly messy bedroom, staring at each other, memorizing the other’s face down to the tiniest details.

It’s scary and relieving at the same time, the way you are feeling about this man. You never planned any of it, in just a few weeks, you went for needing and wanting no man in your life to depending on Harry to the extent that he is in almost every thought that runs through your head.

Leaning closer you hover above him, nose almost brushing against his.

“Do you think you could love me?” you ask and though you expect him to hesitate with his answer, he speaks up right away.

“I’m already close to it.”

You kiss him in an instant, needing to be as close to him as physically possible, that’s the only way you can express how you feel. Harry returns the kiss just as passionately and vehemently, his arms wrapping around you tight and you both gasp when you grind your hips against his.

Rolling the two of you over he presses you into the mattress, your legs circling around his waist while his hand is quick to grab the hem of your shirt, tugging it up and ridding you from it, leaving your chest completely bare. Moving his lips down your neck he focuses on your chest, peppering your heated skin with his kisses and it all feels so different from the previous times you’ve been together.

He is not trying to be dominant, there are no games involved, it’s just the two of you, equals and desperate for each other.

“There are so many things about you to love, Y/N,” he murmurs against your skin, still kissing wherever he can reach while his hands work on the shorts. He pulls back just to take them off and do the same with his t-shirt too before he returns to kissing you, but this time on your lips. “You are smart,” he starts, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “You’re beautiful.” A kiss to your nose. “Passionate and I’m not only talking about sex,” he grins, placing a soft kiss to your lips again.

He moves down, a few more kisses on your jawline and neck before he lifts his head up as he pulls his pants off of himself, the last layer of clothing keeping the two of you apart.

“You’re so caring, to your friends, to me, to the people you think deserve to be taken care of.” His hand squeezes your thigh before moving up to your hip, then your waist and ribs, as if he is feeling you up, making sure you’re real. Turning your head to the side you press a kiss to his arm that’s beside you, holding him up above you. You run a hand up that arm until it meets your other behind his neck, pulling him down. His hips press against yours and you feel how hard he is, a soft gasp slipping through your parted lips.

“It’s hard not to love you, Y/N,” he smiles softly, brushing his lips against yours, but not kissing you. “You’re so perfect, everything I’ve ever wanted. It really is hard not to love you,” he repeats, “and it's scary and I’ve been fighting it, believe me.” Your heart beating so fast you fear it’s gonna burst right out of your chest. Harry stops when he positions himself to your entrance and you’re so desperate to feel him filling you up, you’re just seconds away from crying. Harry looks you in the eyes and before he thrusts inside you, he adds: “But I’m losing the fight.”

You cry out the moment he fills you up, his hard cock stretching your walls perfectly and finally, you feel like you’re exactly where you should be.

NEXT PART

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googoojeu · 3 years

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love, that must be nice || park sunghoon x gn!reader

🎫 ;; you really don't hate sunghoon. you just don't find him interesting unlike your friends. yet here you are, harboring this small hatred for him, but it fades away as he messily tells you he loves you through a drunken confession.

📽 ;; fluff, (not really) friends to lovers!au, college student!sunghoon, college student!reader, cousin!heeseung

warnings ;; sunghoon's drunk, reader whacks sunghoon with a broom, blood, cursing, reader's roommate says reader is too ocd

🖋 ;; officially back! i'm working on a few requests rn but have a sunghoon imagine as a gift from me skskskks also changed a few things here lmao also the ocd part in this happens to me a lot sjdjdjd i just can't stand unorganized places

you don't remember letting your cousin in your apartment at exactly twelve am, with his very drunk friend by his side.

maybe because you were feeling generous you just had to let them in and not having them freeze to death outside. or maybe because you owe heeseung a big one for helping you with your thesis. you weren't really sure but nevertheless, heeseung was already making himself comfortable on your roommate's bed (you made a mental note to yourself to tell myungjoo to change her covers when she comes back next week). you glare at the boy and nodded your head to his friend, sunghoon, who was drop dead drunk on the couch.

"what are you gonna do about him?" heeseung peeks at you under the covers and sighs. "i don't know, just leave him there or something. his dorm room was too far anyways, you were my last resort." he says as he covers his head again. you stared at his figure huddled under your roommate's blanket. "seriously? why am i related to you?" you can hear his muffled chuckle under the covers. you were already closing the door when heeseung says, "please turn off the light when you go." gosh you didn't want to strangle someone so much until now.

you don't really hate sunghoon that much. he was fine. he was naturally nice and funny, he gets along with people well, but after months of knowing him (through heeseung of course), you really didn't deem him as an interesting person. sure he figure skates, but that's it. that's the only interesting thing he does.

did you really hate him though?

you stare at his sleeping figure on your couch. his chest rising up and down rhythmically, his lips slightly parted and his hair messy from all the partying he did. your friends would die to see this sight right now. you snapped out of your daze and head towards the kitchen. you silently cursed your roommate for leaving the broom by the water dispenser, it's place is always near the vacuum.

('you're too ocd (name)!' she says one day. 'well it's nice to be clean and organized once in awhile!' you say back. you don't miss her telling you this is the reason why you don't have a boyfriend. you ignored her for two weeks.)

you grabbed the broom and opened a drawer, taking an empty cup to pour yourself a glass of water. you were stressed enough and courtesy to your beloved cousin, he added another person for you to stress over. you decided you're just gonna wake sunghoon up and let him crash on your bed. you were about to turn when someone grabbed your shoulder. with a shriek, you whack the person with eyes closed.

"ow (name)!"

you opened your eyes to see sunghoon, hunched over in front of you, his hands covering his nose. "o-oh my god, i'm sorry sunghoon. i'll get an ice pack, go sit back on the couch." sunghoon obliges. you hurriedly take out an ice pack out of your freezer and a first aid kit and went to sunghoon. his nose was bleeding and you felt bad. you might hate the guy, but you didn't want to physically hurt him. you kneel in front of him and take the cotton pads out of the kit and started cleaning his nose. sunghoon winces as the contact of the pads hit his nose.

"sorry.." you say once again. he shakes his head. "it's okay, i scared you anyways..." he closes his eyes as you continue cleaning his nose. he says something under his breath but you couldn't quite catch it.

"what did you say sunghoon?"

"nothing." you tilt your head in confusion. he says something again, it's a bit louder this time, but his words were slurred. he's drunk (name), what were you expecting? you gently place the ice pack on his hands. "you can put it on your nose now sunghoon, i don't want to hurt it more." he opens his eyes and stares at you.

"why do you hate me (name)?"

you were caught off guard by the sudden question. you quickly thought of an excuse but your brain short circuited and it led to one of your conversations with a preppy high schooler named sunoo, that you tutored a couple of months back. you were once again frustrated over one of your acquaintances talking about sunghoon this and sunghoon that, you accidentally let it out on the said boy. sunoo playfully grins at you and tells you, "you don't hate him (name)! you're just mad, madly in love with him!" you just scoffed at him and reply with a, "yeah right." looking back at it now, no, you really didn't hate sunghoon.

"i don't hate you hoon, why would you think that?" you sighed, patting his shoulder reassuringly.

"it's because you don't look at me."

you furrowed your eyebrows. "i look at you what do y—"

"no! like look, look at me! you don't even talk to me! it really hurts because i really, really like you.... love you even... and heeseung hyung thinks it's stupid because you don't look at m—"

"wait sunghoon what did you say?"

"heeseung hyung thinks it's stupid—"

"no, the one before that..."

"that i love you?"

you sat there, mouth agape, the bloody cotton pads still in your possession. "what the fuck?" you managed to blurt out. "you're drunk!" you stared at him in disbelief. but, wasn't there a saying that 'drunk words are sober thoughts'? sunghoon simply shakes his head again, carefully placing the ice pack over his red nose. "i think i'm pretty sober at the moment. i didn't drink much anyways." you couldn't do anything but just stare at the boy. his cheeks were tinted with a soft shade of red that you can't help but simply smile at him.

"if you really do like me, i'm giving you a chance to ask me out tomorrow morning. when you're sober enough."

sunghoon's eyes lights up. "really?" you chuckled, "yeah." you gathered your trash and disposed them on the trash can and bid sunghoon a good night. you didn't see sunghoon's longing gaze on your back once you went inside your room.

the glare of the sun was the first to greet you the next morning. sighing, you reach for your phone and opened your messages. myungjoo was telling you that she's coming home early, chenle and jisung telling you to not forget about the fair the three of you were attending, sunoo asking for your help again and one message from an unknown number. you opened it and the first line made you sit up.

hey it's sunghoon! :)

i realized i didn't have your number so i kindly asked heeseung for it. if you think i forgot about our talk hours ago, i didn't! when does your class end? i'm taking you on a date today! if that offer is still up you know....

you smiled at the text. immediately sending him your schedule and a "see you later!" before getting ready for the day.

maybe, just maybe, you're really didn't hate sunghoon after all.

#i luv sunghoon #and i luv chenji lmao #enhypen #enhypen imagines #enhypen scenarios #enhypen x reader #lee heeseung #jay park #park jongseong #jake sim #sim jaeyun #park sunghoon #kim sunoo #yang jungwon #ni-ki #nishimura riki #kpop imagines #kpop scenarios #enhypen oneshots

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youvebeenlivingfictional · 3 years

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The Long Con Part Three

Previous Part | Masterlist | Next Part Pairing: Marcus Pike x Reader Rating: T Notes: I hope y’all had a good week! 💕 Warnings: Cursing; a little angst; mostly fluff tho Summary: When Marcus had first come to your lecture to ask for your help, he had been hesitant.

Over the course of the following week, you spent more time with Marcus - both on the phone and in person - for the sake of getting a little more comfortable with one another. But to your surprise, there really wasn’t much that needed to be eased into. You went over to his place a couple more times, and he surprised you by showing up at your office once. He even plopped himself down on your crummy little office couch with a stack of quizzes and an answer key while the two of you chatted.

You’d been stunned to find how easily conversation flowed between the two of you, beyond his work at the Bureau. Sure, the two of you talked about his work, but he liked to hear about yours, too - about the student that had come to you for help with her thesis on Han Van Meegeren; about the freshman in your Art History 101 class that had turned up reeking of weed and raised their hand to clarify that you were discussing Michelangelo the painter, not the Ninja Turtle. Now and again, though, as things quieted between the two of you, Marcus would remind you how grateful that he was that you were doing this - that you didn’t have to, that he owed you one. You’d always lightly wave him off, tell him you’d never been to Austin and were getting free cake out of it. Marcus told you about growing up in Austin, living there; the band he’d been in in college, playing bass and singing; he told you about his ex-wife and ex-fiancé, and that he hadn’t given up on love yet. You told him about the endless days that you had spent at museums and galleries as a child, taking tours and falling in love with art and history. He never pressed you for details about your grandmother, about how you were moved from place to place, about when and how you began to fence her work for her. With Marcus, those things really didn’t seem to matter. But you felt so safe with Marcus, so comfortable that, well— You would’ve told him, if he asked. -- When Marcus had first come to your lecture to ask for your help, he had been hesitant. When the two of you got off of the plane in Austin, he was downright nervous.

The two of you used the flight going over your story again, running through some of the particulars of the week’s schedule that you hadn’t gotten to go over the week before. You also began to ease into that casual PDA that you knew his family would expect from the two of you - holding hands intermittently, touching the other on the knee to draw the other’s attention: twice, he’d leaned over and murmured in your ear to comment on the show that the person sitting in front of you was watching; once, you’d reached out and brushed back a stray strand of hair that had come loose from his otherwise controlled coif.

He’d been a little uneasy as you’d gotten on the plane, and slightly jittery during the trip. It wasn’t a lengthy flight, so it didn’t take terribly long for his nerves to intensify. His leg had started bouncing somewhere over Atlanta. It hadn’t gotten any better as the plane had started to descend. What discomfort had triggered in Marcus was a hometown fact info-dump that you could never have seen coming. And god, it was some of the nerdiest shit that you’d ever heard. “You know this airport has one of the country’s longest commercial runways?” He told you as he hauled your suitcase off of the baggage carousel. “Really?” You asked teasingly. Marcus nodded, seeming to miss your tone as he lifted his own off of the carousel and set it down. “It used to be an old Air Force base, back in the— the 40′s? It actually opened to the public in, uh—1999 and—” “Hey,” You reached out, cupping his face to focus him. He went quiet, lips parted in surprise. You offered him a gentle smile. “It’s going to be fine,” You insisted. Marcus’ shoulders relaxed a little, and he turned his head, pressing a kiss to one of your palms. The feeling sent a wave of warmth through you, and you smiled, sweeping a thumb along his cheekbone before you let your hands fall away. You had to remind yourself that those little touches would be commonplace throughout the week.

“Before we get out there,” He said quietly. “Mm?” “I know I’ve said this before, but I really, really appreciate you doing this. I mean you didn’t have to, and… I wanna thank you for being here with me.” You felt your stomach flutter at his thanks, and you nodded. “Thank you for trusting me to be,” You returned. Marcus’ eyes searched your face for a moment, warm and kind, and the urge to hide bubbled up in your chest. You didn’t know what he was looking for, and you didn’t know if he would find it. “C’mon. We don’t wanna keep your mom waiting,” You added, taking hold of the handle of your suitcase. Marcus nodded, shifting his bag onto his arm and taking hold of your free hand. You intertwined your fingers, glancing up at him to make sure it was alright. He smiled, giving your hand a squeeze in turn. “How do you know so much about the airport, anyway?” You asked curiously. “Oh-- I’ve got a cousin that works here.” “You’ve got all the inside dirt, huh? I see how it is.” “Marky!” You heard crowed from a little ways away. “Marky?” You repeated quietly, glancing up at him, and grinning when you saw an embarrassed flush tipping his ears. “Do not start using that--” “Oh I’m so using it,” You laughed as the two of you approached the woman that had called out to him, “Gimme your bag,” You urged, gently untangling your hand from Marcus’ to take hold of his duffel so that he could hug his mother unencumbered. “Thanks-- Hey, mom,” Marcus grinned, embracing his mom. You grinned, watching the two of them, listening as the two chattered a little as they held to one another. He was nearly a head and a half taller than she was. “Is there someone you’d like to introduce me to?” She asked, peering at you around his arm. Marcus smiled, leaning away from her. “Yeah, there is. C’mere, sweetheart,” He murmured, holding a hand out to you. You felt yourself thrill a little, bashful as you ducked your head a bit. The two of you hadn’t discussed pet names, but ‘sweetheart’ sounded...so terribly dear coming out of that man’s mouth. You stepped closer to Marcus as he introduced you, passing his bag back when he gestured for it. “This is my mother, Jill Pike.” “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Pike,” You said lightly, holding your hand out to shake hers. “Call me Jill-- Oh, come here,” Jill laughed, tugging you in for a hug without a moment’s hesitation. Your brows rose at the tug, but you took the hug that was offered, smiling and laughing a little bit. “Jill-- it’s a pleasure to meet you. Marcus talks about you all the time.” “Oh,” Jill leaned away, holding you at arm’s length, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, too! I’ll admit Marky has been light on the details,” She shot Marcus a look, as he made careful study of his shoes. “Oh, ma’am, I’m afraid that’s my fault,” You cut in quickly, “I’ve been told I’m a little hard to pin down.” Jill’s brows rose. “Mark, this one is a firecracker! Where’d you two meet?” She asked, hooking her arm through yours and steering you toward the exit. “Work. She’s been kind enough to assist us on several cases. We’d be lost without her.” You shot Marcus a thankful smile over the top of Jill’s head as the two of you walked through the parking lot. “He’s being too sweet-- You guys’d be fine.” “No, not true,” Marcus volleyed back, “That break in the Rosepoint case? It would’ve taken us months to find that dealer-- and the forger.” “Weeks at best.” “You cut the time down, sweetheart, just-- Take the compliment,” Marcus pouted a little, and you rolled your eyes, smiling. “Well, I’m glad I could help.”

“You wanna sit up front?” Marcus offered, taking hold of your suitcase and lifting it into the trunk of his mom’s car.

“Why don’t you? Give you and your mom some extra face time before the week gets busy,” You said.

Jill smiled, giving your arm a light squeeze before letting go. Marcus rounded the car, opening the back door for you and pecking your cheek before you got in.

You’d been a little apprehensive when Marcus had told you that you’d be staying with his family for the duration of the visit. But apparently Marcus always stayed with his family when he went home now, and you didn’t want to further mess with the family dynamic. He’d reassured you that the house had room enough for you all to be comfortably situated. “My parents can be a little old-fashioned,” He’d warned, “You know-- unmarried couples can’t sleep together, that kinda thing, but the house has three bedrooms. I’ll be in my old room, and you’ll be bunking in Marnie’s with her massive canopy bed-- and her Air Supply poster.” You’d appreciated his reassurances. The two of you had certainly gotten more relaxed around one another in his apartment and your office, but it was one thing to be nearby one another. It was another entirely to share a bed. You felt your nerves roil up in you as Marcus and Jill chatted in the front seat. You contributed to the conversation a little, answered questions when they were asked of you, but said little else. You were careful not to use your phone for the duration of the car ride, not wanting to seem rude, or like you weren’t paying attention. As Jill pulled the car into the driveway of the house on the wooded hillside, you found yourself perking up a bit more, despite your trepidation. You noted Marcus glancing back to look at you, but couldn’t bring yourself to meet his eye as you tried to take in each new little detail. He and Jill were still chattering as the three of you got out of the car, but you bring yourself to contribute. You just couldn’t help stop yourself from looking around. You looked over the two-story home with exposed brick exterior and dark wooden door. You spotted someone peering out at you through the front window before hurrying away when you met their eyes. Marcus’ hand rested on your lower back as he murmured, “Are you alright?” In your ear. “You grew up here?” You asked, a little dazed. Moving around as much as you had, the places you’d stayed had never been any bigger than a two-bedroom apartment. You couldn’t imagine spending your whole childhood in a house— especially one as beautiful as this. “Yeah,” Marcus chuckled softly as he steered you up in the front walkway, “If you think this is nice, wait until you see the back porch.” “You have a porch?” “Oh, honey,” Jill laughed as she opened the front door, “We’ll have to get you down here more often.”

Marnie was a streak of dark hair and lanky limbs that launched herself at her brother with a squeal of excitement the second Marcus crossed the threshold. He dropped his hand from your back just in time to catch hold of her, clearly anticipating the charge. You smiled, taking a step to the side to give them adequate room as Marcus lightly rocked them side to side. “Do you have any siblings?” Jill asked softly as the two of you watched the reunion, the two chattering between one another. You shook your head a little bit, glancing over at Jill and smiling. “Do you?” “Five sisters. Imagine that bathroom when we were all late for school,” Jill laughed. You turned back as you heard Marcus say your name. “Oh, I know who she is,” Marnie waved Marcus off as she broke away from her brother, “Honestly, no name has puzzled me more since you told me that you were talking Shlomo Ziegler to prom.” “Was...Shlomo going with someone else?” You frowned. “There was no Shlomo Ziegler. He heard the name on an episode of the Golden Girls,” Jill explained. “Oh, honey,” You turned a sympathetic smile up at Marcus before taking a step closer to Marnie. Marnie had the same kind eyes that her brother did. Their noses were the same, too, but her cheekbones and lips were like her mother’s. She pulled you in the same way that Jill did, giving you a light squeeze before leaning back to get a better look. “It’s nice to meet you,” You smiled, “I’ve heard a lot about you-- About all of you.” And that was technically true. “I’ll grab your bag and run it up to Marnie’s old room,” Marcus reassured, resting his hand on your lower back. “Oooh,” Marnie cringed, glancing between the two of you, “I meant to mention, um-- I’m staying here this week.” Marcus froze, glancing between you and Marnie. “W-Why?” “Well, Hazel and I thought it would be kinda cute, you know, spending the week apart. Absence makes the heart grow fonder and stuff.” “So I’ll...Sleep... On the couch?” Marcus frowned. Jill waved him off. “Oh, you and your sweetheart can sleep in the same room. You’re all adults now, christssake,” She laughed, reaching up and pinching his cheek. You glanced back at him, raising a brow at his stunned expression. This was going to be an adjustment, but part of the reason you were down there with Marcus was to help him roll with the punches. He could only do that if you did. “Yeah, Marky,” You smiled, reassuring, “We’re all adults.” Tag list: @hufflepuffing-all-day-long ; @spideysimpossiblegirl ; @blueeyesatnight ; @elen-aranel ; @yespolkadotkitty ; @artsymaddie ; @phoenixhalliwell ; @lunaserenade ; @winniedaboo ; @empress-palpat1ne ; @randomness501 ; @nutmeg-20 ; @leonieb ; @the-feckless-wonder ; @lou-la-lou ; @captain-jebi ; @supernaturalgirl ; @naturenebula21 ; @evelynseventyr ; @giselatropicana ; @heatherbel ; @marydjarin ; @annathewitch ; @absurdthirst

#The Long Con #marcus pike x reader #Marcus Pike x You #Marcus Pike/Reader #Marcus Pike/You #Marcus Pike Imagine #Marcus Pike Fic

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wiypt-writes · 3 years

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Barking Up The Wrong Tree

Ransom Drysdale One Shot

Summary: It’s the Annual Pre-Easter meal at the Thrombey’s and Ransom and you are in attendance. As usual, there’s fireworks, a lot of swearing and there’s only one way you know he can get rid of his frustrations…

Warnings: Bad Language words. SMUT (NSFW) NO UNDER 18s!

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x Reader

A/N: So this was originally written last year for @jennmurawski13 who requested a smutty one shot with an Evans character of my choice for her birthday. It was coined from a Brainstorming sesh me and @icanfeelastormbrewing had for our intended Ransom x OFC series (we might get round to it in 2022…so by then you’ll have forgotten if we use it again.) FYI Eighteen year old Ransom is totally Bryce from Fierce People, you can’t convince me otherwise… I also very much now see this being the same Reader as in mine, @ohthankevans13 and @sweater-daddiesdumbdork’s Real Life Tasks With Ransom Drysdale series.

Your brown leather, knee high Saint Laurent boots (a gift from the man whose lap you were curled up on) were on the floor by your feet leaving you in your grey, woollen over-knee socks. One of your boyfriend’s large hands was resting on your left shin, the other just at the top of your right thigh, almost on your ass cheek. You were well aware your black sweater dress was riding up so went to shift and shimmy it down a little, conscious that you were, after all, sat in the large drawing room at his grandfather’s house whilst the rest of his family milled around as the pre-Easter dinner, which always took place the weekend before the actual holiday, was being prepared.

“You okay?” Ransom looked up at you, noticing you shift on his lap and you smiled.

“Yeah, just don’t want to flash everyone too much if you get my drift.”

Ransom cocked an eyebrow at you, then peeked around the room, before he gave a snort as his eyes fell on his cousin Jacob who was watching the pair of you.

“Yeah, we wouldn’t want Adolf junior getting a boner now would we?”

You gave a chuckle as you re-arranged your dress, making yourself more comfortable.

“He’s just a kid, Ran.” You soothed.

“He’s a deviant, Princess.” He replied, his voice quiet.

“So were you when I first met you.” You grinned, looking at him as you bent closer to whisper into his ear “Still are when the mood takes you.”

Ransom pulled back to look at you, his face inches from yours, his eyebrow raising slightly as that dirty smirk spread across his handsome face. “Stop it.” He warned, and you shrugged innocently, as he placed a soft kiss on your mouth.

“Come on son, put her down.” Richard’s voice rang across the room and instantly you felt Ransom’s entire demeanour change. Gone was the relaxed, jokey, happy Ran you knew and loved and in his place was Hugh Ransom Drysdale, asshole extraordinaire.

“Piss off, Father.” He shot back, his head moving back from yours, fixing his dad with a steely glare.

“Hey.” Richard glowered “Don’t speak to me like that…” he turned to Linda. “Did you hear that Linda?”

“Ransom…” Linda said lazily, not looking up from her phone. “Don’t speak to your father like that.”

Ransom rolled his eyes and you gently looked at him, shaking your head, silently telling him to stay calm. It was always the same with the Thrombey family gatherings. Ransom despised them for the simple fact that Harlan was the only one he had any time for, bar his mother on a good day, and you were inclined to feel the same way. It always ended in chaos, each individual nuclear sects within the extended family trying to get one up on the other, prove they were the best players in the game.

Frankly, they made the fucking Lannisters look normal.

All your friends were constantly asking you how you managed to stay tangled in this web of dysfunction, but the answer was right in front of you, his crystal blue eyes now narrowed as he shot a sarcastic reply back to his mother.

The simple truth was, you loved him and couldn’t walk away if you tried.

It hadn’t always been that way, mind. When your High School had been asked to submit nominations for the coveted position of Harlan Thrombey’s Summer research assistant, you’d been short listed along with 15 other candidates from the New England area. Each of you were asked to produce a five-thousand word thesis on a literary subject of your choice to be submitted for reading by Harlan. You’d been ecstatic when you received the call from his Publishing Company to say you’d made the final three and were requested to attend an interview.

You’d been and bought a new suit. Nothing fancy but decent enough quality. You made sure your hair was tamed, your make up was as on point as you could get it, and had driven the thirty minutes or so out to his mansion from the home you shared with your Nanna in Brookline, following the directions on your GPS to the area near Pierce Park where the Thrombey Mansion was located. You were greeted by his housekeeper and shown into the large office where the man himself was waiting. Harlan was nothing like you had expected him to be. He was eccentric, sure, but also dmaned good fun. He’d asked you a few questions about why you wanted the position “I’m going to major in English at college and I hope to work in publishing when I graduate, this would be an invaluable experience.” He had then discussed your paper with you and after a few more general questions he had reduced you almost to tears of laughter by telling you a about an incident when he had been at college and was almost caught climbing down the trellis of his girlfriend’s parent’s house following a late night rendezvous of the very naughty kind “Don’t think too badly of me, we ended up married for forty-seven years…”

Then, just as he was showing you out of his study a tall, well-built young man, your age you had correctly guessed, with a strong jaw, dark hair flicked to the left side of his forehead, and a pair of the bluest eyes you had ever seen, waltzed down the hallway. He was dressed in a pair of riding breeches, a polo shirt and wore a long pair of tan leather riding boots.

"Ransom?” Harlan looked at the young man “I wasn’t expecting you till this afternoon.”

“Yeah well, the fucking horse I should have been riding is lame.” Ransom shrugged “Which means I can’t ride, and I probably can’t compete this weekend.”

“Dressage?” you had asked, your mouth speaking well before your brain had engaged, for some reason thinking it was a good idea to comment. Ransom had looked at you with disdain, scanned you up and down and cocked his head to one side, his eyes cold as they locked onto yours.

“Polo.” He had answered, a sneer on his face “Do I look like a dressage rider to you? Mind you, from the state of your cheap high-street dress the nearest you’ve probably ever been to a horse is those shitty little trail rides they run at kids parties.”

“Ransom!” Harlan had snapped sternly “Enough!”

You felt the heat rise in your neck and cheeks, and you drew yourself up to your full height, folding your arms as you looked at the ass hole stood in front of you. One thing your Nanna had told you was that, despite your humble origins, you were as worthy as the next person, no matter how much money, status or self-importance they may have.

“My apologies. I always thought polo was played by arrogant, snobby, stuck up pricks.” You retorted as you made a show of looking him up and down in the same way he had done to you. “Actually, on second thoughts, I should have guessed.”

As soon as the words were out of your mind you let out an internal groan. Way to go, flush your chance of landing this summer internship down the fucking toilet by insulting Harlan’s grandson. Nevertheless, you held the gaze of the man in front of you who stared back, his expression and face utterly stoic bar the blink of surprise his eyes made.

You heard Harlan chuckle behind you and the old man dropped a hand to your shoulder. “Fran, could you see Miss Y/L/N to the door.”

Two days later Harlan had personally called you to offer you the position, and it had turned out to be everything you ever wanted, and more. Three weeks into your internship, to your utter surprise, Harlan confessed that he had been looking to fund a worthy, local candidate through college and as the successful applicant it was yours for the taking. Some strings had been pulled, and in the last week of September thanks to his generosity you started your English Major at Harvard.

And so did Ransom.

He pursued you with a dogged determination, seemingly viewing your indifference towards him and his advances as some kind of challenge. You weren’t fooling yourself, however. He was devastatingly handsome and your traitorous vagina and that part of your brain that controlled your libido harboured a deep desire to fuck his brains out, a desire you finally gave into at the end of your first year when, following your final exam, you got drunk and woke up the morning after in his bed.

It wasn’t all puppies and roses though. You were on and off more than his boxer shorts, as simply put, Ransom was a player. And it didn’t bother you to start with. He was a hook up, a way to relieve tension when you needed to, and he was a very handy person to know with his seemingly endless network of connections. But by the time you graduated you knew you were head over heels for him, and needed to break this seeming cycle of being in and out of his bed. So you turned down Harlan’s offer of a job at Blood Like Wine and were ready to move away from Boston after landing a job at a publishers in Manhattan…but then your nanna had been taken seriously ill and suffered a stroke meaning you had to stay.

As a result of her illness, your nanna was unable to live in your house in Brookline alone and so you were forced to sell it so she could afford to move into a supervised Retirement Village a five minute or so drive away. You were now jobless, drowning with the house-sale which would leave you homeless, and your emotions and been all over the place. You had no other family since your Grandfather had died at the start of your senior year so had no one to turn to.

Enter Hugh Ransom Drysdale.

You’d called him one evening, drunk and emotional and needing a release and he came over alright, but instead of fucking you into the mattress he made sure you drank water, ate something, and then got you into bed. The next morning, Harlan had shown up, telling you the job offer at his company was still open, and then to your utter surprise and initial horror he had offered to buy your nanna’s house, meaning you could remain there as a tenant. At first you had refused, insisting you weren’t a charity case but Harlan had simply waved your concerns away by insisting it was an investment. After a little discussion he agreed to allow you to pay rent which, all things considered, was a pittance in comparison to what other properties the same size in that area commanded but it was a rent nonetheless and made you feel better.

And you knew all of it had ben Ransom’s idea.

This was the side to Ransom he very rarely displayed to anyone. A softer side, a caring side, a gentle side. A side that held you as you cried at the thought that your nanna was growing old and may soon leave you behind, a side that made you a sandwich when you hadn’t eaten in days, a side that helped you pack up and move your Nana’s stuff to her new home, a side that turned up at 9pm with several tubs of ice cream and a bottle of wine after you’d messaged him earlier that afternoon to tell him what a shit day you were having when his Uncle Walt was being a dick at work.

The rest, they say is history. History which meant you were now curled up in his lap some eight or so years post that initial meeting in the hallway of this very house, listening to him bicker with his family, feeling his leg beginning to shake in that way it always did when he was agitated.

“Ran…” you said gently, squeezing his arm and you felt him take a deep breath and he looked at you, his mouth closing as you shook your head “Don’t.”

He turned away, looking to the other side of the room and his face glowered as he spotted Jacob once more had his eyes trained on your bare thigh. God the pubescent creep did his fucking head in, and if he stayed here he was going to end up putting the lanky streak of shit through the wall.

“Can we go?” Ransom looked at you, tucking your hair behind your ear.

“We’ve not even had dinner yet.”

“Please.”

That single word was enough to make you understand. It was a word he hadn’t learned until he’d met you, when he realised that his demands and arrogance got him nowhere with you. He still rarely used it mind, but when he did, you knew he was in desperate need of what he’d asked for.

“How about we take a walk?” You suggested “If you still wanna go after then we will”

He took a deep breath as he considered what you had said. Compromise was another word that hadn’t been in his vocabulary until you. His eyes locked onto yours and you looked at him, encouragingly and he took a deep breath, nodding.

“Okay.”

You uncurled yourself from his lap and stood up, him following so you could sit down and place you boots on.

“Are you leaving?” Linda asked, looking up for the first time.

“For a walk.” Ransom said simply, grabbing your hand and pretty much dragging you from the room. He didn’t say a word as he reached the coat stand and retrieved your lightweight Ted Baker belted mac, holding it out for you to slip your arms into, in a display of chivalry he reserved only for you. Once you’d done it up, he took your hand in his and you headed through the kitchen and outside into the reasonably mild April afternoon.

“Don’t let them get to you.” You said softly, leaning into him a little and he sighed, untangling his fingers from yours so he could drop his arm round your shoulders. He hated the fact his family could make him feel like this, like he wasn’t in control, like he was insignificant in the grand scheme of things. He could quite happily go without seeing any of them, well, bar maybe his grandfather, but you had told him he would regret it if he pushed them away completely because you had always wished you’d had a large family unit like that. So, despite the fact he knew deep down that was a load of bullshit, he played the game. He attended the damned gatherings more for your benefit than any as you adored Harlan and seemed to get on fairly well with Joni, Meg and his mother. He hung onto a glimmer of hope that maybe one day it would all change and he’d feel part of it.

But it never did. And he never did.

The two of you walked in comfortable silence across the Mansion grounds, round the lake where Ransom stopped by the small pier, looking out over the water.

“You know my most vivid childhood memories are of this spot.” He mused, his gaze focussed over the lake “Grammy used to bring me down here to feed the ducks.”

“It’s beautiful down here.” You agreed, snuggling further under his arm. “Peaceful.”

“Yeah unlike that fucking house.”

You gave a chuckle, as his hand curled over your shoulder, absentmindedly rubbing over the smooth material of your coat. He was agitated, you could tell, and there were very few ways in which he could calm down when he was like this. One was riding his beloved BB- a polo horse Harlan had bought him for his 21st, one was the pair of you curling up on the sofa with snacks and a good scotch or bourbon, getting drunk and watching Trashy Films, in particular horrors-you both loved to pick plot holes and insult the main characters, declaring the victim a dumb bitch for running up the stairs and not out of the door and the other, well…

You glanced around, checking you were alone before you pulled away from him, taking his hand and tugging on it slightly.

“What?” he asked looking down.

“Come on.” You gave his hand another pull.

“Y/N?” he questioned again, but followed nonetheless despite you not answering. You tugged him away from the lake, into the thin thicket of trees a little further round. You could still see the house here but you knew there was no way anyone from up there could see you.

“Seriously, Y/N what the fuck?” he groaned, as he stepped in the slightly squelchy mud “You’re gonna ruin my Gucci’s…” “Should have worn something a little more substantial then shouldn’t you?”

“I didn’t know you were planning on going fucking hiking in the fucking woods.”

“That’s not what we’re doing.” You said, stopping in front of a large oak tree, looking up at him.

“Then what are we doing? Reconnecting with Mother Nature? Or are we on the hunt for Oberon, Titania and Puck?”

“Ooh, good Shakespeare reference.” You grinned at him and he rolled his eyes as you slid your hand up over his navy blue lightweight Barbour jacket which was done up to his sternum, leaving his plain white, Armani t-shirt slightly visible at the neckline. “Does that make us Lysander and Hermia?”

“You got a hidden suitor called Demetrius I don’t know about?” he arched an eyebrow, his hands falling to your hips.

“Nope, I’m all yours Tiger.”

The sound of your ridiculous nickname for him drew a large smile across his face and he shook his head, giving a genuine chuckle. Here, with you there were no annoying voices to listen to, no family politics, nothing to care about but the gentle brush of the wind as it blew through the canopy of trees above your heads and the faint sounds of birds as they went about their business and Ransom felt a sense of comfort. Because you were his rock. The one person that saw through his bull shit, the woman in his life that knew all his horrible personality traits as well as his slightly less horrible ones and loved him all the same. The girl that had rounded off his harsher edges no matter how much he protested to the contrary.

You were his better half for sure.

“Well that’s good, because I don’t like sharing.” Ransom smirked, dipping his head to capture your lips in a soft kiss.

“Don’t I know it.” You mused against his mouth. His fingers flexed on your sides, pulling you closer to him as he slid his tongue across your bottom lip. You opened your mouth slightly, allowing him control over the kiss, knowing that’s what he craved when he was like this. His lips were soft on yours, tongue domineering as he kissed you deeply, slowly. Eventually he pulled back, his nose bumping yours slightly as he gave a little chuckle.

“I know you’re trying to distract me from those shit heads in the house.” He said, his tone playful and you loved playful Ransom. Another side to him only you really got to see.

“Is it working?” You played along.

“Yeah.” He nodded, his lips pressing to yours again.

“Good. Now why don’t you let your inner deviant come out to play?”

“You don’t need to ask me twice, Princess.” The words were barely out of his mouth before he had pressed you into the harsh, earthy bark of the tree behind you, kissing you hard again, groaning as you palmed his crotch through his designer denims. He grabbed your wrist, pinning it above your head before he did the same with the other one, easily holding both in place above you with one large hand, his other softly tracing up the outside of your thigh, fingers skating under your skirt.

“Is this why you wore this?” he smirked, toying with the material slightly. “So you could tempt me away for a fuck in the woods?”

It wasn’t, it was because it looked and felt good, but you decided to play along “Maybe. Was it a good choice?”

“Damned right it was…” he growled against your mouth, his long, soft fingers sliding your lace panties to the side. His index finger traced a path up your slit and you gasped at the feeling as he gently began to toy with you. Soft, teasing touches, his eyes never once leaving yours. That was one of his things, he liked to see your face, watch as your expressions changed as he undid you, fuelling his ego. Your hips gently started to move in time to his strokes as he played you, like an instrument from which he could always draw a tune. And in no time at all, he was listening to the music as you let out a soft keen, a purr almost as your head fell back against the tree, your mouth parting slightly.

“Like that?” he asked, and it was all you could do to nod, panting brokenly as the familiar feeing began to rise in the pit of your stomach, the fire growing hotter and hotter. “God you’re a fucking minx. Come on, cum on my fingers, you know you want to.” And you did, hard, your knees trembling, as you let out a loud cry of his name as the lights exploded in front of your eyes. Ransom pressed into you, his erection evident as it dug into your stomach, keeping you pinned between him and the tree as he coaxed you through your orgasm, before he moved his hands, allowing yours to drop to his shoulders as you held onto him tightly.

The clanging of a belt buckle, then the zipping of trousers and the rustling of fabric broke through the post-orgasm haze as Ransom undid his flies, reaching into pull out his painfully hard cock. He gently pushed forward, sliding the tip against your folds, gathering your slick as you gave a moan, the feeling of him sliding against your clit sent lances of red, hot desire through your veins.

His hands gripped the back of your thighs as he pulled you off the ground and you hooked them round his slim waist, ankles locking at the base of his spine. In a swift, fluid moment, no teasing, no gentle ease, he buried himself inside you with a deep thrust making you cry out as he filled you. His lips crashed onto yours as he drew back, then thrust back in hard, his cock dragging against your walls inside, hitting that spot that he knew would leave you seeing stars.

Yes, if there was one thing on this Earth Ransom knew he was good at, it was fucking you.

His lips traced a path from your mouth to your jawline, then to your neck, biting and sucking at any bit he could get to, his hips moving back and forth in a slow but deep pace which was torture, and you needed more.

“Ran, harder…” You groaned, digging your heels into his ass and he gave a dirty moan of his own as his hands held your hips.

“You’re such a needy little slut.” He smirked against your lips, not waiting for your reply as he picked up the pace, his hips snapping back and forth with a vigour that was merciless as he pistoned in and out of you again and again. Your hands gripped his shoulders tightly as you kissed him, teeth clashing together as your back repeatedly brushed against the harsh, rough surface behind you as you clawed desperately at the material of his jacket.

It wasn’t long before you felt another orgasm brewing and your head fell forward, teeth nipping at his ear drawing a growl from his throat. Your hands moved into his hair and you pulled sharply back causing him to hiss and look up you.

“Fuck, Y/N….” he groaned, the pupils of his eyes blown wide with a desire you would never tire of seeing. You pushed your hips down against him causing him to drive deeper and you let out an almost primal cry, the noise you made simply revving him up even more, his rapid movements growing even more urgent.

“Fuck Ran…” you moaned as your head rolled back against the tree, hands back on his shoulders, as once more that snake in your belly moved. Ransom felt the tell-tale flutter of your heat tightening round him and he continued his voracious pace, his eyes locked onto yours.

“You feel so fucking good…” he panted “So fuckin’ good Princess...”

His words made you moan again, and he pushed up once more, stilling slightly, grinding up against you as opposed to thrusting and a few rolls of his hips later you were done. The world faded around you as you came hard, with a loud scream before your head dropped to his shoulder, as you moaned his name, again and again whilst he pounded through your orgasm chasing his own.

“Shit, Y/N…I’m…fuck…” his words tumbled into your hair as his movements became desperate and he came a short while later with a loud yell. You felt him fill you up, as his hips stilled and he groaned, face buried into your neck, his chest heaving, sweat beaded both his brow and yours as he simply pressed into you, panting and shaking.

Neither of you had any idea how long you stayed like that, but eventually Ransom managed to gain enough control to pull his softening cock out of you and set you gently on your feet as he brushed the tendrils of your hair that had fallen over your face back with a tenderness he reserved only for you. He said nothing, simply looked at you, his lips gently greeting yours in a soft, loving kiss, a stark contrast to the violent ones you had shared moments before. You smiled at him, unadulterated love in your eyes as you moved your hands to brush his hair back before you leaned up and kissed him again, your nose sliding against his.

“I adore you Hugh Ransom Drysdale. Don’t ever forget that.”

“Don’t fucking call me Hugh.” He grumbled and you chuckled as he pulled you to him, nuzzling into your hair as he sighed. “But for the record, the feeling is mutual Y/F/N, Y/M/N, Y/L/N.”

You gave a laugh and were about to reply when you felt his head snap up, and his entire body tense and he let out an angry cry causing you to jump.

“Jesus Fucking Christ! The perverted little shit!”

“Ran?” You saw his face contorted in anger as he pushed back from you, striding away from the tree, rearranging his jeans as he went before he broke into a sprint. You watched him go and then, to your horror, saw the retreating back of a smaller male running away from the thicket of trees on the curve of the bank to your left and you felt yourself grow cold.

Jacob.

How long he had been there Ransom had no idea but he chased the little fucker all the way to the house, yelling insults and threats as he burst into the kitchen. Ransom finally caught up with him just as he ran into the hall and grabbed the kid by the collar, spinning him round and pinning him to the wall, arm crossed over his windpipe. “Enjoy the show did we?!” He yelled, the noise drawing the rest of the family out from the sitting room into the tiled hallway. Walt started to shout angry threats about what he was going to do to Ransom if he didn’t take his hands off his son, which then sparked Richard to bite back at Walt saying if he touched Ransom he’d give him a damned good hiding. If Ransom hadn’t been so focussed on the dirt little bastard he had pinned to the wall he would have laughed because the idea of his dad fighting anyone was hilarious, he couldn’t fight his way out of a paper bag.

“Give me your phone.” Ransom demanded.

“I didn’t…” “GIVE ME YOUR PHONE NOW YOU PERVERTED PRICK!” Ransom yelled, and reached into Jacob’s pocket, grabbing his hand where it was curled around the offending item, bending the boy’s fingers back. Jacob gave a yell, pulled his hand out of his trouser pocket and Ransom seized the phone, yanking it out, just as you walked into the hallway.

He looked at you, then to Jacob and saw you pale as the realisation washed over you that you’d not only been seen but recorded or snapped, by a twelve year old boy nonetheless.

“Unlock it.” Ransom demanded, thrusting it back at him.

“Now listen here…” Walt started until Harlan turned to him.

“Walt, shut up.” He barked, turning to Jacob “Unlock the phone, now Jake.”

Jacob sullenly took the phone from Ransom and did has he was told, Ransom snatching it back. He glanced down at the screen, flicking to the Gallery and let out an angry noise as he saw not only footage of you both in the woods but ten or so photos of your bare thigh and close ups where he had attempted to see up your skirt when you had been on his knee before. Thankfully from the snaps there wasn’t really anything visible, but still the fact he had even taken them in the first place made Ransom apoplectic with rage.

“You dirty little prick.” he mumbled, looking back up at him. Jacob visibly recoiled under Ransom’s glare.

“Ran?” You questioned as you gently touched his arm and he tilted the phone so you could see the screen and your eyes widened, your entire body growing warm as you saw the close up of your thigh on the screen.

“How the fuck dare you?” You exploded, glaring at Jacob.

“Can you explain what he has supposedly done?” Donna, Jacob’s mother spoke for the first time and you turned to face her, your pretty features contorted in rage.

“He’s…” You shook your head “Taken photos of me, before up my skirt.”

Noise erupted in the hallway, Joni and Meg screaming about you being violated, Richard and Linda yelling at Walt and Donna whilst Harlan shook his head, making a noise of disgust. Ransom ignored them all as he selected the photos and images, deleting them, and showing it to you.

“Gone, Princess.” He turned the screen off before he leaned over and kissed your temple.

“Look, he’s a teenage boy…” Donna was protesting “He’s a bit curious…”

“He’s a dirty bastard.” Richard snorted and the irony wasn’t lost on Ransom as he’d seen his father eyeing you up on more than one occasion. He looked at his dad, eyebrow raised as Jacob bit back at the dig.

“I’m a dirty bastard?” The pre-teen snapped, his eyes flicking from Richard to Ransom “I’m not the one that was having sex against a tree!”

Everyone paused and their heads turned to you and Ransom. You gave a groan, your hands sliding up to your face to hide your utter embarrassment, but besides you Ransom’s expression never changed because, well frankly, he couldn’t give two shits about everyone knowing what you had been up to.

“I’m a grown ass man.” He snarled “If I wanna fuck my girl outside on private property I will”

He held Jacob’s phone out to him, but as Jacob went to take it Ransom opened his hand, dropped it to the floor with a loud “oops” and stomped on it, the metal and glass crunching under the heel of his expensive, leather boots.

There was more yelling, and Ransom simply turned, taking your hand in his. “We’re leaving.”

This time you didn’t argue. The pair of you walked away, ignoring the screaming which grew fainter as you headed down towards the large front doors, only to hear Harlan calling after you. Ransom stopped, took a deep breath and tuned to face his grandfather.

“Y/N are you ok?”

“Of course she’s not.” Ransom snapped but you gently squeezed his hand, shaking his head.

“I’m okay Harlan, thank you. But I think its best we go before Ransom commits murder.”

“Well, I can assure you I’m not far off killing the little turd myself.” Harlan shook his head, sighing. He then took a deep breath, looked at Ransom, and there was a flash of something which you knew only too well to be amusement in his eyes. “Which tree?”

Ransom frowned “What?”

“I asked which tree you two were doing the naughty against.”

You groaned as Ransom blinked and then shrugged “Just in the thicket to the south side of the lake, near the little jetty. Why?”

“Well, instead of barking up the wrong tree so to speak, next time stick to the North side.” Harlan grinned cheekily “It’s in the dip and no chance you can be spotted by anyone unless they’re a foot or so away.”

Ransom’s mouth curled up into a smirk as he looked at his grandfather then to you.

Meanwhile you simply wanted the ground to open up and swallow you.

Harlan bid the two of you goodbye as you headed out to Ransom’s Beemer. He stopped just besides it, turning to you, his hands falling to your hips again. “Well, I don’t know about you, Sweetheart, but all that excitement has made me a bit hungry. Seeing as we’re not getting dinner here, how about I take you to Asta?”

Your face lit up at the mention of your favourite restaurant and you gave an eager nod before you frowned “Aren’t we a little underdressed? And it’s Saturday evening, we’ll never get in.”

“Baby girl, enough money can get us in anywhere, and you look fine.” He said, dropping a kiss to your lips before he grinned “You might wanna brush the twigs outta your hair though.”

#ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale x you #ransom drysdale smut #ransom drysdale fic #chris evans #chris evans characters

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rivalsforlife · 3 years

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Phoenix Wright: The Truth Reborn: Oh No We’re Doing This Again

hi.

Nearly two months ago, I wrote an essay summarizing and making very wild conclusions about the second Takarazuka Musical. I did this about two and a half years after watching the first Takarazuka musical. As such I did not have the full context for many things from the musical and was relying mostly on my memory, which blocked many things from this musical for my own safety. However, just this week, I decided to rewatch it, because I enjoy tormenting myself. I said I wouldn’t write anything on it. Here I am writing something on it.

Here’s the youtube thumbnail so that you know what you’re getting yourself into. And here, of course, is the link. This is the HD version which may be slightly more pleasant to watch. Maybe.

It was not quite as cringe in a funny way as the second musical to me, and therefore this essay may be less funny, but I feel like I’m doing a disservice to people by providing a summary of the second musical while completely neglecting the first. Quite possibly doing this is even more of a disservice. I just eagerly await the day that the third musical is translated because *that* will be the day that I finally shuffle off this mortal coil. Either way, I want to write this stuff down so that I never have to watch the musical again out of curiosity.

The following essay will contain major spoilers for both the first and second Phoenix Wright Takarazuka musicals, as I will be using many points from this musical to argue my thesis of the second musical. ... like you were going to watch them anyways.

This one broke 8k. I’m dead inside.

Introducing The Director

Again another disclaimer that I don’t have anything against the actresses or the theatre troupe. I DO have something against Suzuki Kei, who I recently learned is the writer and director of all three of the Ace Attorney Takarazuka musicals, and is quite possibly my mortal nemesis.

This man is the one who brought this monstrosity into the world.

This man, allegedly, cleared the first four ace attorney games *seven times* before sitting down to write these musicals. He played these goddamn games seven times and did not take in a single word. The man clicked through them mindlessly while watching a badly written legal romance drama in the background and got them completely confused. I genuinely have no idea how this man could have played these games more times than even me and yet managed to get so many characters (MAYA!!!!) completely and utterly wrong. This haunts me every day, truly.

This man played Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney, Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney - Justice for All, Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney - Trials and Tribulations, and Apollo Justice: Ace Attorney seven times. SEVEN TIMES EACH!! and was told to create a musical based on the series. He played these games seven times each and you know what he said?? You know what he said?? “This sucks, I’m getting rid of all of Phoenix’s backstory, butchering half the characters, and writing Phoenix/Lana fanfiction, but also rewriting all of Lana’s backstory so that she was Phoenix’s childhood friend, and you know what, I’m changing her name for good measure.”

I think this man played the games seven times each and then hated it so much and was so sick of it he tried to write something that destroyed as much of the series as possible while still being vaguely recognizable. And then somehow it became a massive hit because people like me see this and go “what the actual hell” and watch it, or people who haven’t played the games see this and go “wow what a great musical!” and then he wrote TWO MORE, destroying EVEN MORE every time in his wake, until finally, finally, he stopped after making Edgeworth straight and time traveling into the past to face off against a corrupt Gregory. I guess that was the last straw.

I have to issue a disclaimer here that for legal reasons this is a joke. I don’t actually hate this man and would not punch him in the face if I met him because that would be rude, and he is entitled to his wrong interpretation of the games. I don’t know what his thought process was. But allegedly he did play the games seven times according to the wiki. This whole essay here is satire and not slander and I don’t want to offend this guy if he somehow stumbles across my nonsense tumblr post. At the same time: Suzuki Kei blink twice if you need help.

Anyways half the reason that I’m making this essay is because I want to share my fake ao3 page for this musical. The other half will become apparent later.

Sorry if that’s illegible because of tumblr quality it’s not really important. All you really need to know is that it’s a fake ao3 screenshot for the musical. Also in the author’s note I said he played the games four times but it was actually seven I just remembered wrong because I didn’t want to believe it.

at this point you may be like “Grace shut up and get to the actual musical” and okay, fine, let’s start this nonsense. Also note that I may be referencing things from my essay on the second musical very frequently; I’m not going to force you to go read that though because the fact that you’re reading this is enough of a torment already.

The Musical Begins

Unlike the second musical, this one opens with some narration from Phoenix.

Transcript:

Phoenix: I’m reviewing a particular case at the moment. To me, this case... is one I’ll never forget.

Immediately I think this is important because it establishes that this whole musical takes place in a flashback that Phoenix is reflecting on. Why is this important? Because we know, by the time of the second musical which takes place three years later, Leona is dead.

Knowing that Leona is inherently doomed to die of her Sad Woman Disease paints this whole musical in a different light. It’s not Phoenix reflecting on how he got back together with his lover; it’s Phoenix dwelling on their past together, and the opportunities they had, before her life was so cruelly and inexplicably taken away. We don’t know if Phoenix’s reminiscing takes place before or after Leona’s death... but I wouldn’t be surprised if it was after.

Phoenix, still in the present, starts to sing. “A wave appears on the horizon like a mirage, it trembles, then vanishes. Your voice, carried upon the waves, fades upon the shore, erasing the splendor of the past.”

This line actually shows up in the second musical, sung by Lucia about her imprisoned fiance quite possibly. It’s kind of hard to tell what the meaning of these songs even are. They’re too abstract for me I think. But this line appears very frequently in the first musical when Phoenix is thinking about Leona.

Then we enter the flashback time.

Phoenix inexplicably yells at a newspaper saleswoman. This is not relevant to anything whatsoever. Then Larry barges in to the office, looking for Maya. Phoenix describes him as “A real trouble maker, but you just can’t hate the guy”, the latter part of which I think many people would disagree with.

Well, afterwards, Maya comes in. Phoenix describes her like this while making exaggerated “can you believe this shit” gestures.

Transcript:

Phoenix: She’s as ditzy as they come. Oh, and about the outfit... Apparently she comes from a family of spirit mediums. Try not to make fun of her, okay?

Suzuki Kei personally has it out for Maya and I can never forgive him for it. Maya in these musicals is here for pure comedic relief but it’s not even comedic because I just get so angry. How can you play the trilogy seven times and think this about her?? The girl who figured out DL-6?? The girl who told Phoenix to sacrifice her life in order to find the truth?? The girl who put on a brave smile in order to try and cheer up her younger cousin even after she saw her own mother murdered right in front of her eyes?? That Maya Fey?? Ditzy as they come??????

Ugh. Moving on.

Maya and Larry run off, leaving Phoenix to watch the American Broadcast.

Important things to note here are the Godot mug, the little line up of what I think are the messed up little ace attorney figurines beneath the screen, and the fact that while this broadcast is supposedly from and to America the screen is actually not at all showing America. Like literally almost everywhere in the world except North and South America.

The broadcast says that Leona Clyde, age 24, was arrested for murdering the senator Robert Cole! Leona Clyde -- that’s Phoenix’s ex-girlfriend! He runs off to the detention center.

She is not happy to see him.

Leona: Mr. Wright... I’m not the woman you once knew.

Let’s Play A Matching Game

Sorry for the abundance of screenshots that are going to be throughout this section. Phoenix convinces Leona to let him defend her. Some of the conversation seems... familiar.

Leona: No one would defend someone who admits to killing a senator. I’m waiting for a court-appointed attorney.

Edgeworth: Every defense attorney I’ve talked to has turned me down.

Phoenix: In that case, let me defend you.

Game Phoenix: Let me defend you.

Leona: Don’t be ridiculous!

Edgeworth: Don’t be ridiculous.

Phoenix: I’ll never accept that you’re a murderer. Let me prove your innocence!

Game Phoenix: Huh? Isn’t it obvious? I’m going to prove that Miles Edgeworth is innocent.

Leona: I’ve already confessed my guilt.

Gumshoe: He confessed that he did it! In court!

Leona: It’s foolish to think you can win this case.

Edgeworth: My case is near hopeless, Wright.

Leona: (in response to phoenix offering to defend her) No you won’t! Don’t ever come here again.

Edgeworth: Look, just go away, and leave me alone!

Phoenix: You of all people should know. Once I decide to do something, I see it through to the end.

Edgeworth: Once you start on something, you always see it through, don’t you?

Leona: I never thought that you’d be representing me.

Phoenix: Ah, who could have guessed this day would come?

Edgeworth: Not me.

Phoenix: You believed in me. You saved me. And this time, I swear... I swear I’ll save you!

Game Phoenix: Edgeworth believed in me, and I believe in him. I’m the only one who knows the real Edgeworth. I’m the only one who can help him.

I could’ve done a few more, but tumblr is already threatening to murder my laptop.

So long story short, Phoenix manages to convince his lover to let him be the defense on the case. Then immediately after swearing to save Leona, he starts singing a song, which I’m not screencapping because this is enough:

“As long as there are people in this world, there’s only one path I will follow! As long as there is love in this world, there’s only one path I will believe in!”

Edgeworth sings this in the second musical after saying that he returned to California because of Phoenix. Phoenix sings it now after swearing to defend Leona. You draw your own conclusions.

And then we finally get the opening credits. Eleven minutes in.

Just Pretend This Is Narumitsu Fanfiction

Following the credits, we see a beautiful beach. Couples (exclusively heterosexual, of course,) dance and embrace in the background for some time, before revealing Phoenix and Leona, in the Even Further Past, before the LSATs or whatever the ace attorney universe’s excuse for law school exams are.

Phoenix establishes his absolute hatred of change, an important characterization moment.

Phoenix: The view here never changes, huh?

Phoenix reminisces on when they were kids. Leona’s parents were both lawyers (they’re both lawyers) and sometimes they would be like lawyers with her when she was a kid. This inspired her to also become a lawyer after their tragic death of Sickness. They never specify what the sickness is that caused two people who must be relatively young to die while Leona was in her early twenties at the latest. It may be whatever sickness claimed Leona’s life later. Sad Woman Disease. (Sad Man Disease for her father, I guess?)

Phoenix also talks about why he’s becoming a lawyer.

Phoenix: Watching you chase your dream inspired me to become a lawyer too.

So, it’s not “my childhood friend looked sad in a newspaper” because I guess that makes no sense or is too gay or something. But this is another important piece of Phoenix characterization. His entire life so far has been focused around Leona. They’ve been friends since they were kids, and then Phoenix decided to become a lawyer solely because Leona was becoming a lawyer. Not even to try and get back into contact with her after she moved away or anything; just because he’s so obsessed with her that he wants to have the same career as her, then they can run a Mom & Pop Law Firm or something, years in the future, after years of happy marriage and a few children or like whatever the hell.

Well, there’s a few steps they’ll need to get to that. At this point Phoenix still hasn’t confessed his feelings for Leona. He does so here, on this beach.

Leona tries to protest.

Leona: But I’m pushy, selfish, and only care about my goals... You’d get fed up with me.

Phoenix: That’s what I’ve always admired about you. That’s who I’ve been chasing all these years. That’s the only person... I love.

Sooo, Phoenix, your type is pushy selfish people who only care about their goals...? In the first, older lower-quality video translation it was “only care about my work”, too. Hm. Things to think about.

They sing a little duet together. Then we go back to present-day of what’s technically still a flashback. Whatever. Murder is happening.

Back To The Murder

So some plot things to establish: Leona is the legal counsel of Governor Miller, who is running for president in the AMERICAN PRESIDENTIAL ELECTION. After the flashback so that Phoenix has some time to change clothes, they show an interview of him talking about the murder.

Governor Miller: I vow to forge a peaceful country with my own two hands, and to prepare myself for whatever may lie ahead.

Reporters: Through thick and thin, he’s a friend of the people!

The Takarazuka musicals are not very good at hiding their killers.

Phoenix: Oh yeah... It’s almost time for the presidential election, isn’t it?

NEVER FORGET, WRIGHT. THIS IS AMERICA. LAND OF THE FREE! god what even was that line.

Anyways, we meet Gumshoe, who is incompetent once again. Maya runs around the crime scene, picks up the murder weapon, puts her fingerprints all over everything, moves things around, all while Phoenix is like “lol get a load of the world’s stupidest girl” or whatever. But who cares about that.

It’s time to get to the only valid part of this musical.

Edgeworth’s Gay Little Villain Solo

You may have seen this one before.

Edgeworth arrives, but not really. It’s like Phoenix heard Edgeworth was prosecuting and immediately entered a dream-like state, where Edgeworth is heralded by the sound of trumpets in Great Revival. He’s played by a different actress than in the other two musicals, since I think she retired in between the six or so months from this musical to the second. She still plays the role well, though, or as well as can be when you’re written in an ace attorney Takarazuka musical.

Shrouded in scarlet solitude... it’s Edgeworth.

Yes, those are six Edgeworths. Yes, they pick Phoenix up and carry him around and dance with him. Yes, it was probably not meant to be at all homoerotic.

He sings a song that’s called “My rule”. I only figured this out later, but it’s loosely based on a “catchphrase” of his in the Japanese version - in game 1 he says something along the lines of “All I can do is get every defendant declared guilty! So I make that my policy.” In DD in his dramatic anime introduction before the trial, he says “I intend to question the defendant with all I have. For that is a part of my creed.” “So I make that my policy” and “For that is a part of my creed”, to my understanding, are both translated from the same line, which I think is like, “sore ga watashi no ruru”, “That is my rule.” (If I’m wrong, please correct me.) In this song he sings about how he’ll reduce all criminals to ash and such, basically talks about his game 1 prosecuting strategy as “my rule”.

It’s very fun and probably if you want to only watch one number of this musical, it can be this one. It starts about 26:10 in the video I linked.

Once the musical number is done, Phoenix and Edgeworth stare at each other, and the background fades into the courtroom, so court begins. I feel like I should note that Phoenix has not picked up any evidence or talked to any witnesses in this investigation except for Gumshoe, since Maya just moved some things around and then Phoenix had some weird fever dream about Edgeworth which presumably took up the rest of the day.

The Trial, Day 1

Edgeworth: Consider it a prelude to the poignant Greek tragedy that’s about to unfold.

Maya: The real tragedy’s your pompous attitude!

Those are the only screenshots I took of this trial day. Here’s a summary, though:

The trial starts off with Leona confessing, Phoenix says “no I think she’s innocent”, and since ace attorney doesn’t care about the defendant’s wishes he’s allowed to proceed. For some reason Leona lets him do this without complaint.

Gumshoe is the first witness, he claims to have caught Leona red-handed at the scene of the crime, standing over the corpse. Phoenix tries to claim that since Gumshoe didn’t see Leona committing the crime, he didn’t actually catch her red-handed, to which Edgeworth responds “What do you think being caught red-handed means?”

Once Gumshoe is dismissed, Lotta takes the stand. She has a photo of the actual moment of the crime, where Leona is holding a knife in the air in front of the victim.

The Takarazuka musicals like to do this thing where the image is blurry and zoomed out, but then Phoenix will go “I’VE NOTICED A CONTRADICTION” and it zooms in really far as the resolution increases drastically in order to show you the contradiction that is impossible to spot for yourself, because they don’t want people figuring out the mystery in this musical based off of a video game where you have to solve the mystery yourself. Anyways Phoenix zooms in on this photo and sees that there’s blood on Leona’s hand, presumably before she stabbed the victim. How did it get there?

Edgeworth suggests the victim was stabbed multiple times. Phoenix says the autopsy report contradicts that. Edgeworth, uncharacteristically, does not update it to suit his argument.

Phoenix concludes that this photo is not showing the moment Leona stabbed the victim, but the moment Leona removed the knife! ... Which somehow casts doubt on her having been the one to stab the victim. Because as everyone knows, anyone wanting to kill someone would never remove a knife, it’s not like they’d bleed out faster that way, or anything.

And this whole contradiction is confusing because presumably if the victim was stabbed and then the knife was removed, they’d know that happened, because then the knife would not be found stuck in the victim’s body, since the victim was only stabbed once. So this shouldn’t be news to the prosecution that someone removed the knife after stabbing. But the investigation was headed by the most incompetent version of Gumshoe ever, so. sure. I guess no one knew.

That at least manages to extend the trial another day.

This Totally Has To Be Illegal

After the trial, Phoenix goes to talk to Governor Miller, aka Mr. Totally The Real Killer. Phoenix asks him why he decided to hire Leona as his legal advisor.

Basically, it’s because her parents were both renowned lawyers. Her father was a Chief Prosecutor, and her mother was a defense attorney. ... a prosecutor and a defense attorney couple... who does that remind us of...

Phoenix points out that just because her parents were good lawyers, it doesn’t mean she’d necessarily be one. Miller says that, sure, but she is actually really talented, and her law school marks were spectacular. Phoenix says “WHY WERE YOU LOOKING AT HER LAW SCHOOL MARKS”, like it’s somehow? suspicious? for a government official hiring legal counsel to look at their law school marks?

Apparently it IS suspicious because Governor Miller freaks out and asks if this is an interrogation. Before Phoenix can press much further, he gets a phone call, and leaves Phoenix alone in a big room.

So naturally Phoenix behaves like a fully grown adult running a law firm.

If all he did was sit in the chair, lift up a desk lamp, and poke his finger on a pen, that’s one thing. But then he leans over, OPENS THE GOVERNOR’S DESK DRAWER, and finds a knife that’s just sitting there casually. It looks like a butter knife. It’s not anything major. Maybe the dude just wanted to butter his toast?

I mean I know Phoenix will dig around in stuff whenever in the games, but he has no reason to suspect Governor Miller at all, much less dig through his drawer probably full of confidential government documents to lift up a knife that he thinks is suspicious. It’s not even covered in blood or anything?

Naturally Governor Miller’s assistant comes in just then, and Phoenix puts the knife. in his breast pocket.

bud. It may look like a butter knife, but putting knives up against your chest is not a great idea. Much less stealing a knife from a governor?

Well, in his panic, he accidentally knocks over a bunch of books on the desk. The governor’s assistant helps him pick them up, and they find a photo. Look a little familiar?

The photo has the assistant, the victim Robert Cole, Governor Miller, and the victim’s brother who died in an incident two years ago. He’s the “Neil Marshall” of this musical, and he died in what was essentially the SL-9 incident. Same general premise, except it occurred in the courthouse, and the names are different.

AND FINALLY WE REACH THE END OF ACT 1. They do a musical number here which is a weird sort of mashup of the main opening credits song, Edgeworth’s Villain Solo, and the love duet between Phoenix and Leona. They are all such different songs that it sounds a little weird.

ACT 2, FINALLY

The act begins on a sour note with Maya playing with the knife and showing off her characterization, which is one of the most infuriating Maya characterizations you’ll sometimes see around the fandom by people who don’t like Maya.

Maya: Let me whip up my special spirit channeler hamburgers!

sigh.

But then we’re saved (?) by the arrival of EDGEWORTH, who is presumably just here to chat. He asks Phoenix if he’s defending Leona in hopes of winning her back, then says to keep out of it, since it’s a very important case and he can’t understand the gravity of it.

Then Phoenix says this.

Phoenix: Would you be saying that if you were the one on trial? The defendant is in a dark prison, reaching out for hope... Can you imagine the loneliness and sorrow of being ostracized?

CAN YOU IMAGINE IT, EDGEWORTH? CAN YOU IMAGINE IF YOU WERE ON TRIAL AND I WAS THE ONLY ONE WHO WOULD DEFEND YOU AND BELIEVED IN YOUR INNOCENCE??

Edgeworth responds to this by essentially rehashing his speech in Turnabout Sisters about how he needs to find all defendants guilty because he can’t guarantee their innocence and all that. Maya gets upset and leaves so that Phoenix and Edgeworth can talk about their childhood in private.

Phoenix once again complains about how people change since nine years old.

Phoenix then says that he has something Edgeworth doesn’t: the POWER TO BELIEVE! Then Maya comes in and tries to spike Edgeworth’s coffee, so he leaves.

The Class Trial

Phoenix explains a bit about Edgeworth and his backstory to Maya. Namely, the class trial. Phoenix was accused of stealing lunch money, Edgeworth stood up for him, but instead of Larry, Leona stood up for him. I guess Suzuki Kei thought “oh the class trial, if Leona stood up for him, it would be so romantic, because she’s a woman, and he’s a man”, or something like that.

Edgeworth wanted to become a Great Lawyer Like His Father! But then he turned cold as ice.

Phoenix: His father got too deeply involved in a case... and paid for it with his life. Edgeworth saw him murdered. He was never the same again. I bet he couldn’t forgive the criminal.

Yeah I bet he couldn’t ever forgive the person he thought killed his father all these years, Phoenix. I bet he really hates that person, Phoenix. I bet he has nightmares about that person killing his father or something, Phoenix.

Phoenix: He vanished, then returned without his mercy or compassion. He had become a monster. When he lost his father, he also lost the ability to believe in others.

So like... one of the most chilling things about this musical is that they never actually solve DL-6. This probably roughly takes place 15 years after DL-6, since they were about the same age when the class trial started, and at least Leona is 24 now. The next musical takes place three years from now, and in it, Edgeworth refers to von Karma as his mentor, implying he’s still around and doing things.

So, in addition to everything else going wrong with this musical, DL-6 still happens, but von Karma never frames Edgeworth for it fifteen years later. The statute of limitations runs out, and von Karma forever gets away with his crime. And Edgeworth has no idea.

What changes did they make to DL-6, though, you may ask? I’m desperate to know as well. In the third musical, which I’ve watched because I hate myself but am unable to fully understand because I don’t know much Japanese, there is a scene where Miles flashbacks to DL-6. It’s abstract, but he makes gun-throwing motions at Gregory, followed by a gunshot sound.

Therefore, in this musical’s internal canon, either Miles Edgeworth shot his father, or he believes he did for the rest of his life.

... moving on.

Phoenix: But he still has his humanity. It’s still there, deep down inside!

At least, if nothing else, Phoenix still believes in him. Even this Takarazuka Musical couldn’t touch that.

The Feenie Sweater

Right after this, Larry barges in, and Phoenix leaves him alone with Maya. The musical tries teasing Larry/Maya, but fortunately, Maya’s having none of it.

Maya: You’re barking up the wrong tree.

Props to this musical for not being as bad as it could have been.

After this, the two sit down on the couch, and Maya asks for more gossip on Phoenix and Leona. Larry launches into a story, which turns into a flashback that ends up being narrated by Phoenix halfway through. This one’s about Phoenix and Leona’s relationship.

This is an interesting line in here, “I’ll guide you to the future”, for it loosely referencing the sort of love ballad Phoenix sings with Lucia in the second musical which is about “I’ll take you to that radiant future”, and he later sings to the memory of Leona right around the time of his big spiral into despair.

I’m sorry if you haven’t read my other essay and just said “wait what” to what I just typed.

Leona was getting ready to move to New York to defend the weak “in the big city”. This is rather strange wording because it implies that California does not in fact have a big city. She says some things in her conversation with Phoenix that probably plant some of his later issues.

Leona: This is the first time we’ll be apart since we were kids.

Leona: We promised we’d always be together.

Leona: I’ll be waiting. Waiting for you to come to me.

Haha. Sure would be a shame... if something were to happen... and they wouldn’t be able to be together anymore...

So some dancers wearing black come in and take off their outer jackets, to symbolize the passage of time. They circle around Phoenix and Leona. In this, you can just barely see, Phoenix is wearing a pink sweater beneath his jacket.

“Oh,” I think to myself, “Is that the Feenie sweater? Are they including it here as a reference to the games?”

Then the dancers keep moving.

THAT IS NOT THE FEENIE SWEATER. That is a pink sweater with a sexily drawn woman on it.

This is the other half of the reason why I decided to go through with making this essay.

This is so incredibly funny to me. Suzuki Kei Who Has Played The Games Seven Times has seen the hand-knit bright pink sweater with a giant red heart on it seven times. The sweater Iris, Phoenix’s girlfriend, lovingly knit for him that he wears all the time even though it is one of the tackiest, cheesiest items of clothing to ever exist. And so, when the costume designers were designing the clothes for College Phoenix Wright, they asked themselves: “Should we include the Feenie sweater?”

and “NO,” someone must have shouted, “NO, we can NOT include the Feenie sweater, it is PINK and it has a HEART on it and it’s TOO GIRLY. Phoenix Wright is a MANLY MAN. He would not EVER wear something PINK with a HEART on it.”

“BUT,” someone else said, “it’s a REFERENCE to the original games, where he DID wear a pink sweater with a heart on it! We MUST include it to pander to the fans!”

“WAIT,” a third person interjected. “I have a BRILLIANT IDEA. We can keep the pink... But to make it VERY CLEAR he is a heterosexual, masculine male... we put a sexy woman on it.”

And Person Three Got A Raise.

Thank god we’re finally halfway done this musical.

We Just Have To Go On With Our Lives Now

There’s plot or something happening. Leona breaks up with Phoenix inexplicably over the phone. Probably because of that freaking sweater. Imagine wearing that. God.

Eventually we go back to Phoenix talking to Leona, and he asks about the Jack Lyon case, which is the rip-off version of the Joe Darke case. Leona is pretty cagey about it, but Phoenix proves that she was there in the gallery that day. Leona refuses to answer, claims again that she killed the victim in her case, and leaves.

This makes Phoenix sad, so he starts singing.

Phoenix: I want to bring you back! I believe in you.

If this sounds familiar, it’s the part where I started absolutely losing my mind in the second musical because this line had never shown up before then, I’d forgotten it was in this musical, and Phoenix was screaming it alone in a red room, so I thought he was like desperately resorting to a necromancy ritual in hopes of bringing Leona back to life.

Instead, this line actually has CONTEXT, though it does just end up enforcing my theory. This is Phoenix mourning what he used to have with Leona, wanting to bring the “old her” back, because he’s devastated that people sometimes change. There are several flashbacks of their college days where he’s wearing his Sexy Woman Sweater. He does succeed in winning her back at the end of this musical. Before she dies, of course.

Phoenix in musical 2 still believes that he can bring back what he used to have with Leona... even beyond death. That’s something affirmed by this musical. I’m very grateful to it for somehow managing to enforce my nonsensical theory.

Doctor Ema

After this, Phoenix returns to his office, and meets with someone new.

That’s right! Only now, halfway through the musical, do we actually get to meet the Ema-equivalent to Leona’s Lana-equivalent. Her name is Monica Clyde. She has little rainbow heart stickers on her briefcase, which is the closest thing this musical has to acknowledging that gay people exist.

But what does this little briefcase contain, you may ask? Scientific investigation tools? No.

A full surgical toolset. Because you never know when someone’ll get sick, or when someone will need an entire operation in front of you. I guess.

So yes, Monica Clyde is not a forensic scientist in training, but a doctor! She decided to become a doctor because of her parents, who passed away of The Sickness, and so became a doctor in order to save lives like theirs.

Once more this has much darker and deeper implications than the musical is even aware of, because Monica is so anxious about treating sick people that she carries a full surgical toolset around with her at all times, scared to lose someone like she lost her parents... and then sometime in the next three years, Leona, her big sister, is going to die.

Of what? The strange Sickness that claimed her parents? A car accident? A botched spur-of-the-moment surgery? Whatever it is, Monica was unable to save her, even when she’d been training her entire life for it.

Monica is not mentioned at all throughout the second musical. It’s as if she does not exist.

Because unlike Ema of Rise From The Ashes, Monica is not at the heart of this story. She is, primarily, a plot device here to make Leona not trust Phoenix so that he can angst about their relationship.

What a mess this world is.

The Trial, Part 2

Rather than try to prove Leona’s innocence, Phoenix wants to link the current case to not-SL-9, the Jack Lyon case. He does this by showing this picture.

Senator Cole, the victim, is in this picture. His younger brother whose name I’ve forgotten, the victim of not-SL-9, is also in this picture. They are brothers. It is apparently novel that they are in the same picture, and somehow makes their cases linked.

As well, Governor Miller is in the picture. I guess you could say like... Governor Miller’s legal counsel is the defendant, so that’s another link? Even though the Governor would presumably know a Senator, so this isn’t an unusual group. Right now Phoenix has absolutely nothing to prove that these two cases are linked other than “hey, these two victims are brothers”, but apparently it works. So they spend a lot of time talking about not-SL-9, since Leona has confessed to the murder on day 1 and there is absolutely nothing indicating that she can’t be immediately declared guilty.

They hid the fact that Monica was a hostage in this not-SL-9, meaning that some of the case records were forged. Here’s Edgeworth’s reaction when this comes out.

Edgeworth: This is an outrage! I’m the most influential prosecutor in America! There’s nothing I don’t know!

In RFTA, when Edgeworth learns he’d been using forged evidence to give a man the death penalty, he is devastated, his entire worldview is shaken, he sees himself as a monster who could end up becoming horribly corrupt if he isn’t stopped.

Musical Edgeworth goes “I DIDN’T KNOW SOMETHING???”

It’s certainly strange characterization, but I guess Edgeworth is further behind in his character arc than in RFTA, so... ugh. Fine.

Phoenix calls Monica out as a witness to prove she was involved in the case. This causes Leona to panic, and try to dismiss Phoenix as her attorney, like Lana in RFTA, but Edgeworth interjects to call Monica in anyways. He and Phoenix have a little moment.

Edgeworth: You said to believe in others. I suppose I’ll try believing in you. Try to keep up.

Phoenix: Edgeworth!

So Monica comes to the stand to testify. We get to see this picture of Monica being held hostage, and not-Joe-Darke’s incredible eyeliner.

Lots of it is very similar to the actual RFTA, except instead of the victim being stabbed on the knight with the giant knife, he’s instead stabbed with a regular old knife. Leona still refuses to admit to what really happened, until Edgeworth convinces her to believe in Phoenix.

Edgeworth: Your attorney is a runaway train with a one-track mind. Yet he placed all of his faith in you. Believe in him. You owe him that much.

Leona testifies, and says that when she found the victim, he was stabbed with a scalpel.

Here is where things get weird.

Scalpels Can’t Kill People

So basically earlier in this trial, they talk about how Leona knew that the knife that stabbed the victim was double-edged despite being buried in his chest. The judge questions if this means Leona killed him, but Phoenix is quick to say no, she was searched when she entered the courthouse and couldn’t have concealed a knife.

Yet, Monica was able to bring in her surgical toolkit which contains several sharp knives, scalpels, scissors, etc.

This is the first major contradiction.

Leona continues to say that when she found Monica, and the scalpel stabbed in the victim, she also ran into Governor Miller, who if you haven’t been able to tell yet is the Gant-equivalent of this musical. He offered to help her with the cover-up, etc.

The next bit goes a lot like RFTA. Phoenix accuses Governor Miller, who barges in, says Phoenix has the decisive evidence in his pocket. This is the “butter knife” that Phoenix took from his office when he dug around in confidential documents and stole it for no particular reason. It has Monica’s fingerprints on it! ... And Phoenix’s and Maya’s too probably because they were handling it without gloves, but they don’t mention that part.

Leona cries about how she shouldn’t have trusted Phoenix because he was apparently now blaming Monica, Monica looks terrified, she and Leona have some good sister moments but it’s not as good as it could be if the story was actually about Leona and Monica like how RFTA was about Lana and Ema. But Phoenix has the decisive piece of evidence that can turn this around.

It is this:

Phoenix: Scalpels are made for medical incisions, not stabbings. So how did it stab the victim?

...

... What?

So like. Yes, scalpels are made for medical incisions. Medical incisions often involve cutting through flesh, very easily. As a result, they are sharp. Extremely sharp. As in: their purpose is literally to stab people, very specifically.

Yes, they’re easier to control, so that surgeons don’t regularly stab people how they’re not supposed to be stabbed, but it’s not like, impossible to stab someone in a killing way with a scalpel? Admittedly, I have never tried to kill someone using a scalpel. And I do not have experience using a scalpel for surgeries because I am not a surgeon. But I’m pretty sure, if you take a sharp scalpel, and you stab someone in the chest with it with a reasonable amount of force... they die.

Like, is this a particular kind of scalpel that is not very sharp? Is the problem that the blade doesn’t match up with the initial wound? But even then, we don’t have the original unforged autopsy report or even a picture, so how would Phoenix know what the original wound looked like to say it didn’t match up? And even then why wouldn’t Phoenix say that instead of SCALPELS CAN’T STAB PEOPLE???

This is his decisive contradiction and it makes ABSOLUTELY NO SENSE TO ME!!!

Well Darn I Guess Scalpels Can’t Kill People

This is such a decisive piece of evidence, that scalpels can’t kill people, coming from the man who thought “caught red-handed” does not involve being caught standing over a corpse with blood on your hands, that it causes Governor Miller to confess.

Unlike Gant, who created the murder with Neil Marshall both to ensure that there was decisive evidence to convict Joe Darke, a serial killer who had not left any decisive evidence behind, and gain control over the prosecutor’s office in order to pull similar stunts to get criminals convicted using false evidence, Governor Miller does not have that as his motive. After all, he’s not a police officer. Instead, he ended up accidentally killing not-Joe-Darke, and then set up the incident in order to get Leona on his side. As her parents were both influential lawyers and very respectable, having her and her parents’ reputation on his side could help him become President of America Where This Takes Place.

So, let’s just take a moment to run over some of the things that made the original Rise From The Ashes great, in my opinion. Just for fun.

1 - The heart of the story between the Skye sisters. Lana closing off to protect Ema, Ema wanting to get through to her sister and get back to the way things used to be. Phoenix, in this story, is more of a bystander to this plotline rather than in the heart of it himself.

2 - Edgeworth’s Character Development. Basically RFTA creates an interesting transition between Turnabout Goodbyes and JFA. It causes Edgeworth to re-evaluate everything he knows about being a prosecutor. So quickly on the heels of Turnabout Goodbyes, it crushes the last bit of hope in him. It compares him to Gant, who also hates criminals, and forces him to wonder if his hatred of crime will one day lead to him being a criminal himself. He’s already convicted one person on forged evidence; how many others could there be?

3 - The Ends Justify The Means. ... wait come back, don’t leave. What I found neat about this case was also Gant’s motive. At one point he was presumably an honest person who hated crime and wanted to stop criminals. But over time in the police force, he became corrupted. He wanted to have all criminals convicted. So what do you do when you don’t have the evidence to convict them? Joe Darke was a serial killer who has killed several people and may have killed more if he’d gone free. The only way to stop and convict him was by using forged evidence. Other criminals could hide evidence to get away with their crimes, so people like Gant would make it up to catch them; but then when do you stop? What happens if there’s no evidence because someone is truly innocent? When does the line between “this person is a criminal and I want to stop them” and “I just want to convict everyone I’m dealing with” become blurred? This is also something he shares with Edgeworth and helps to advance his character.

All three of these things are either lessened or outright ignored in this musical. Leona and Monica’s story takes a backseat to Phoenix and Leona’s Love Story, with Monica only showing up halfway through, and mainly as an excuse as to why Leona is withdrawn. Edgeworth doesn’t seem to blame himself for the forged evidence he used, and doesn’t have a crisis questioning his morality over it. And Governor Miller’s motive is purely power. Unlike Gant, who would have become Chief of Police whether he solved SL-9 or not, Miller needed Leona to win the presidency. And instead of asking her to help him with his campaign like a normal person, he just blackmailed her instead.

... How do you play the games seven times and miss this much?

The Case Finally Ends

god. we’re almost there.

The case ends, Leona is declared not guilty but will still face trial for covering up murders and such. Probably less of a sentence than Lana because she was not involved in ongoing police corruption? Either way she’s dead in three years, so she’s got something a bit more concerning coming up.

She’s led away. Phoenix sings a bit about Leona before being interrupted by Edgeworth... who has something important to tell him.

Edgeworth: You awakened within me those once-cherished emotions I had discarded. I see visions of a distant, nostalgic past.

So basically this is the unnecessary feelings of the musical. Something along the lines of “seeing you again and fighting for my former ideals is making me question many things about myself.”

How does Phoenix respond?

Phoenix: Edgeworth... Try talking normally for a chance.

Sure, we were all thinking it, but that’s a little cold, Phoenix.

Edgeworth tries a smooth recovery.

Edgeworth: I don’t do... idle chit-chat.

This doesn’t accomplish much. So he leaves to allow Leona to visit with Phoenix alone. He’s got to go change for something more important coming up.

Leona and Phoenix decide that they’re going to get back together once Leona is done her sentence! They make a promise that is very funny if you know she’ll be dead in three years.

Phoenix: I’ll be waiting. For you.

There are a lot of hugs here, I’m not screencapping them all. There are also several moments where their faces get very close together and like, their nose brushes the other’s cheek or something, but they never actually kiss. Is it because the actresses weren’t comfortable with it (valid), or they thought kissing would be too much for the musical (sure, whatever), or since both characters are played by women the show staff did not want two women kissing on stage (probably the real answer)? I don’t like watching kisses, but I kept bracing myself for one and then it never happened, so.

Phoenix ends the main part of the musical with one last musical number starring my personal favourite piece:

Phoenix: I want to bring you back! I believe in you.

I like to think that at this point, this is present-day Phoenix, after finishing his reminiscing, still desperately wishing he could bring Leona back from death.

But alas, he cannot. And so, after one last daydream of them dancing together on the beaches of California, singing about their love, the musical ends.

Dance Time!

This starts at exactly the two hour mark, if you’re interested in watching what is, once again, one of the only fun parts of this musical.

Seriously, Edgeworth’s actress kills it here, when I first saw this I went “oh, this is why I saw so many people being gay for her on twitter.”

Edgeworth’s song is an encore of “My Rule”, so it’s lots of fun. Afterwards Phoenix gets another fun piece.

Then we get to the love ballad part, which I can probably overanalyze, I feel like I haven’t done enough ridiculous over-analyzing in this essay in comparison to the other.

Uhhh so the fog represents how Phoenix feels lost in this world without Leona. You can see it in the second screenshot separating the two of them, representing the barrier of death between the two of them. Idk it’s midnight I’m getting worn out from having to think about this musical for so long.

But his mourning over Leona’s death becomes even more apparent in the credits, where Phoenix sings that one line again:

Phoenix: I want to bring you back! I believe in you.

I’m not fixing that screenshot, I think it’s oddly fitting, in a way. That’s me right now.

Then at the very end, he sings this song.

Phoenix: I’ll spend... this eternal life... soaring through... the heavens!

Technically, this refers to his name Phoenix, but let’s dig a little deeper. He spends the rest of his life soaring through the heavens... the heavens that Leona went to after her untimely death, perhaps?

Overall, the musical becomes much more interesting when you just see it as a prequel to the second musical. This musical establishes many core concepts of Phoenix’s character: his refusal to believe in the concept of things changing, for one, and also his extreme dependency on Leona who he was never separated from since they were kids and where he based his entire life around her dreams and ideals. All he can think about is her. And in the end, he promises to wait for her in California.

Yet, to paraphrase Miles Edgeworth, all that is waiting for him is her death. Their dream of opening up a Mom & Pop Law Firm will never come true.

Thanks again for bearing with me even though this wasn’t as funny!

#ace attorney #phoenix wright the truth reborn #idk maybe someone wanted to know what the first musical was like without actually watching it?#my essays #my posts #i'm TIRED i'm going to BED goodNIGHT #this is less funny jokes and more actually criticizing the musical #because so much of this is like. wow. you really thought that was a good idea huh #just skip to the feenie sweater part honestly that's the funniest part of this musical

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santigarcia · 3 years

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Phone 📲

Human Touch Part Two

a nathan bateman x f!reader series

Part One

word count: 2.9k

rating: M/E for sexual themes, smut (pls only read if youre 18+)

summary: You send Nathan accidental nudes and that turns into something else...

a/n: thank you so much for the response from part one!! be sure to read that one before this one!! and as always thank you to @punkpascal and @sergeantkane for making this moodboard for me! let me know what yall think!

That morning when you wake up there’s a stack of paper, your phone, and a breakfast tray on the table in your room. You didn’t even hear Kyoko come in. You can only assume Nathan is working, and you don’t want to bother him this early.

You still can’t believe last night was even real. Even when you wake up it takes you a moment to remember where you are.

With a stretch and a sigh, you climb out of bed. You reach for your phone immediately and see a text from Nathan on the home screen. He put his number in your phone and you flush at the mere thought of having a text relationship with him.

The text from him says that he is working, but you’re welcome to come ask him any questions you may have about the thesis. That’s what’s on the table. It’s a heavy stack of paper. The text also tells you that you don’t have to read the entire thing, but enough to see if any of it makes sense.

You’ll read in a moment, first you want to eat some of that breakfast. It’s an assortment of fruit and oatmeal. There’s also some toast and a glass of milk, water, and orange juice. It’s all so good and you’re happy to eat something so fresh.

You also notice nearby is a stack of your clothes from yesterday, they’ve been washed and dried. You get up to pull on your underwear only, you like feeling Nathan’s shirt on your skin.

Once you’ve finished eating, you reach for the papers. You begin to thumb through them and it’s almost impossible to read. Hardly any of it makes sense to you, and you don’t know if you should feel dumb that he thinks you could read it, or dumb that he’s so smart to write something of this scale.

A text alert causes you to jump while you’re deep in this thesis. It’s from your cousin.

‘Where are you?’

‘You’ll never guess! I’m a Nathan Bateman’s!’

You text back and forth for a while. You catch her up on all that’s happened in the last few hours. You stop texting her to take a couple selfies showing her where you are. You playfully take a couple nudes; you lift his shirt and take some aesthetic looking photos of yourself.

You send one of the normal selfies to her. But then joke that you took nudes.

‘You should send them to him!’ she teased back.

You’re about to send her another photo when Nathan texts you and ask how it’s going. But you don’t register it’s from him and before you know if you’ve sent him one of your nudes.

You drop your phone in a panic and burst out the door. You have no idea where he even is, but you bolt down the hall to find him. You remember him pointing out his work area on the tour last night.

You turn the corner quickly and see him sitting quietly at his desk. There are several screens in front of him, and behind that is a wall covered in sticky notes.

He glances up at you, but you can’t tell if he saw it or not. His expression is blank. He seems confused now that you’ve sprinted into his office.

“Something wrong?”

“Please tell me you didn’t look at them.”

A slow smirk appears on his face. He saw it.

“So… who was that meant for if not me?” he scoots back in his chair to look at you better.

“Look, I was sending it to my friend to uh, hype me up. And I accidentally sent it to you.” Your heart is pounding in your chest. From the running, but also the thought of him seeing the photo. Ok yes, he saw you naked yesterday, but not like THIS. “Did you look at it?”

“Of course, I looked,” he shrugs and licks his lips. “And I won’t say anything if you don’t want me to. But I kinda get the feeling you wanna hear my thoughts,” his smirk is plastered to his face.

“Just tell me, you're dying to say something. You have been since you saw me last night,” you blush hard.

“You’re fuckin’ gorgeous and I’d kill to touch your tits,” he states without so much as blinking. “But hey, it’s fine,” another shrug. “We can forget about this. No harm done.” He rolls back up to his screens.

“Wait,” you speak up, and he turns to face you again. You sigh heavily before you speak again, “ok so the picture was for you, sort of. I wanted to send it to you whenever I got the guts to make a move. So, I sent them to my friend to get her opinion, but I sent it to you instead by mistake.”

He sits quietly, his mouth quirks up in a soft smile.

“Is that you making the first move?” he asks referring to the ‘conversation’ last night.

You nod, biting your lip.

“Alright then,” he stands and cracks his neck.

“Right now?”

“Why not? You got somewhere you’d rather be?”

“I suppose now is the time I tell you that I'm, uh…. virgin,” you look down at your feet.

His expression softens and he takes a few steps forward. He puts a warm hand on your neck, just under your jaw and ear, “I’ve got you, okay? We don’t have to do this if you’re not ready, but if you are… I’ll take good care of you. I promise.”

He lowers his hand to your hip, and it all comes spilling out. “I want this. I want you. You’ll just have to show me how.” You blink at him, “you really liked my tits?”

He brushes his thumb along your hip, his skin burns through the fabric of his shirt.

“I wouldn’t waste my breath on it if I didn’t,” he leans closer to you. His body heat warms you in an entirely different way than last night. “Is my room ok?” he whispers. All you can do is nod, but you smile. He does too and grabs your hand.

“I can't believe that one picture of me did all this,” you lean into his shoulder as you walk over to his bedroom.

“Yeah? Well, you have some pretty powerful tits,” he chuckles. “Right in here,” his hand moves to your lower back pointing you towards his room.

“Look,” you start to talk while he sits down on the bed. He’s watching your every move. You know he knows you’re nervous. “I know this is probably going to be meaningless sex to you, but it’s not to me ok?”

“Kitten,” he frowns, “this is not meaningless to me. I told you last night, you’re exactly my fuckin’ type and I’d be a dumbass if I let you go. I mean if you want to leave, Kyoko will show you the door.”

“Oh. Really?”

“Really. I wanna get to know you. Every bit of you.”

“So, we’re starting with sex first,” you bite your lip, and he shrugs.

“What better way to get acquainted?”

“We haven’t even kissed yet…”

“You have to come closer if you want me to touch you, kitten.”

Each step closer to him makes your knees shake. You come to stand in between his spread legs and his hands grab your lower back. He pulls you onto his lap and goes right for your lips. His tongue slips between your lips and you moan. You grind yourself down on him and feel him harden between your legs and you gasp.

“Sure, you’ve never done this before?” he murmurs into your neck. “I got you,” he reminds you.

“Don’t say you won’t bite unless I want you to. Because I do. I do want you to,” you whine a little.

“Noted.”

He nibbles under your ear gently and you squeak. He squeezes you tighter and chuckles, his grip is tight.

“We need to get you out of those clothes,” he repeats his phrase from last night. This time it’s even scarier, but more exciting. He tugs on the hem of your shirt asking permission, which you give. He peels off the shirt revealing your bare chest underneath.

You wriggle under his gaze as his eyes rake over your body. You can feel him growing harder still beneath you.

“Please say something,” you whisper.

“You’re so fucking beautiful. I wanna…,” he clears his throat, “can I touch you, baby?”

You nod and his thumbs brush against your nipples first. His touch is soft, he traces all around your breasts with his fingers. Then he palms your breasts and squeezes. He bounces them, feeling the weight in his strong hands.

“Kitten,” he mouths at your neck. “I haven’t seen an actual person in months, and I haven’t touched a woman in well over a year. You’re gonna kill me.”

“In a good way I hope?” you moan a little. “Because you’re killing me.”

“Good?” he asks squeezing a little harder. “Fuck… fucking perfect. You seriously have the best tits I’ve ever seen, baby.”

When he lowers his head to your nipple, that’s when you really cry out. He hums happily and sucks harder. You buck your hips and he only seems to encourage it. He likes you wanting him. And he needs you, you can feel his need.

His beard brushes against your soft flesh and you shudder. He files that away with a quirk of his eyebrow.

“Nathan-“ you whine. “Please.”

“Please what kitten? Use your words baby.”

“Lay me down?” you writhe again in his lap.

“Good girl.” He pats your ass and stands with your legs wrapped around him. He lays you down, then spreads his body on top of yours. He kisses your lips over and over. He thrusts himself onto your thigh and groans into your cheek. “Are you real?” he sighs happily with a soft groan.

“I keep asking myself that,” you laugh.

He chuckles deep in his chest and sits up, pulling off his shirt. You reach for him right away and he shivers under your hands.

“You feel so good,” you tell him, tracing his skin. He’s toned, but still has a softness to him. It’s perfect. And he’s warm, so warm.

He moves down between your legs, giving you another look asking for permission. You hesitate this time, and he waits patiently for you to nod. He doesn’t budge until you do.

His fingers dance along the hem of your panties and he slides them down. He whistles softly when he sees you’re wet and needy for him.

“All that for me, kitten?” he looks up at you. He leans up to kiss your lips and he murmurs against you again. “You ever use that vibrator and think about me? Want me to go get it? Let me make your fantasies real kitten.”

You can only blink at him and you open your mouth trying to speak.

“Baby, I can’t make your dreams come true if you don’t open that pretty mouth,” he chuckles. “Where do you want me? C’mon. It’s just me, no need to be shy.”

“But- you’re you!” you laugh. “Just, please, touch me.” You grab his hand and guide him to touch between your legs. “I want you here.”

“Good girl,” he praises again and kisses your hip. He slips a finger inside with ease and he delights in that. His thumb brushes your clit and when you shiver, he smirks. He knows he’s on the right track with you. “Can I add another?” he asks.

“Please!” you cry, and he obliges. The second finger is a pinch, but a welcome one. His thumb presses harder on your clit and rubs in tight circles.

“Feel good?” he asks though he knows the answer. He can read your body like all the code he works on. You clench around him, and he continues his touch. His fingers curl deep inside and you let out a loud moan. “There it is,” he hums and kisses your thigh. “You’re doing so good, kitten.”

You moan his name when you find your release, and he works you through it. His voice is soft but commanding and full of praises.

“You did so good baby. So, so good. Ready for more?”

“Please,” you buck your hips up. “Can I touch you?”

He climbs off the bed to pull off his shorts, his hard dick springs free. He pumps himself a few times and sits down next to you on the bed.

“Have you ever touched one before?” he asks, there’s no jest in his tone but he really, really is turned on that his dick is going to be the first one you’ve touched. And he wants to hear you say it.

“No,” you reach for him and he puts your hand on him.

“The tip is the most sensitive part,” he breathes, your hand already feeling good. “Fuck, yeah just like that.”

“You’re…big. Are you going to fit?”

He wants to moan, but he holds back. He’s so turned on from your shyness.

“I’ll fit kitten,” he chuckles warmly. “Fuck, squeeze harder-“

You squeeze him and enjoy the warmth and weight of him in your hand. He looks perfect, just like you imagined he would.

“Yes,” you whisper.

“Yes what?” he chokes out a gasp and pushes you off him.

“Yes, I used my vibrator and thought about you.”

“Thought so,” he winks and positions himself between your legs. “You ready for me? I’ll go slow.”

“Wait-“ you stop him before he does anything else. He pauses, he’s about to ask if you want to stop when you gently pull off his glasses. You get a better look at his soft brown eyes, and he seems almost shy when you look at him. He clears this throat. He reaches for your hands; he pins your wrists above your head and kisses you deeply while he pushes inside slowly. You moan together and he checks your face for any pain or apprehension. Your eyes are closed, and your mouth is open, and he hums kissing your cheeks.

“You with me kitten?”

“Push in more,” you gasp, and he chuckles darkly doing as you ask. He shudders, your warmth feels so good to him. He buries his face in your neck and tells you so.

“You have the best pussy,” he grunts as he pushes in all the way.

“You better not just be saying that” you gasp.

“Kitten, are you ever going to believe me when I say I don’t mince words? I mean what I fuckin’ say,” he purrs. He’s straining, he wants to move so badly. “Please, kitten- tell me how you feel. Use those words baby.”

“It’s good, it’s so good. Tight. But, oh shit, please- move.”

“Yes ma’am.”

He lets go of your hands and he starts to move. You grab his head and hold on for dear life while he snaps his hips into yours. You know he’s still holding back and if you told him to, he’d unleash his full power on you.

You wrap your legs around him, and while the feeling of him is new and foreign it feels good. There’s a dull ache, but it’s wonderful. Wonderful because it’s him.

“Nathan,” you moan, “let go. Manhandle me. Fuck me hard.”

He makes a strangled sound between a gasp and a laugh and starts to push into you hard. He holds your body close to his and he sits up, pushing deep into you. His face buries into your tits and he moans, he fucking moans into your skin.

You reach between your bodies to touch yourself, but he shoves your hand away. He rubs you tight until you’re clenching around him. You’re both covered in sweat and breathing heavily when he nears his end.

“Fuck, fuck. Where do you want me to come? Tell me now,” he growls. His thrusts are sloppy, his dick jumps inside you and he squeezes you tight.

“In me,” you moan, and no sooner did the words leave your lips did he spill himself inside of you.

“Holy fucking shit,” he sighs with a soft laugh. He cradles your head and lays you back down. He pulls out with a shudder as he kisses your forehead. “Fuck that was amazing. You were amazing.”

“I feel amazing,” you look up at him. Your body is humming.

“Can I run you a bath?”

“Will you join me?”

“Well, that was the plan…”

You shove his chest playfully. “Your thesis sucks by the way.”

“Ouch!” he puts his hand over his heart.

“I didn’t understand any of it!”

“I didn’t think you would. Really it was just an excuse for you to stay a little longer.”

Oh.

OH.

“Well why didn’t you just say so?” you smile warmly.

“Cuz I’m a dumbass when it comes to women.” He gives you a genuine smile. “And I didn’t want to scare you anymore than you already were last night. I wanted you to want to come to me on your own terms. And I knew that if you didn’t understand the thesis that meant you really are here for me. And not my secrets.”

“So why did you give me the money?”

“Wanted to.”

“What am I going to do with you?” you laugh.

“Hopefully, a lot,” he nips at your chin.

“Nathan!” You shake your head laughing, but inside you feel it. That pull. You’re already falling for him and he is too. “I think I’m going to tell my cousin I’m going to stay-“

“Forever?”

“Yes,” you laugh. “Maybe I will.”

“We’ll get your things tomorrow. I want to meet my future cousin-in-law.”

tagging: @pascal-isaac, @wasicskosgirl, @velvetmel0n, @huliabitch, @shadow-assassin-blix, @writefightandflightclub, @aellynera, @softboywriting, @veuliee2, @spider-starry, @mylifeliterally, @millllenniawrites, @ntlmundy, @foxilayde, @writingletterstothefire, @mandoplease, @anetteaneta, @feelmyroarrrr, @artsymaddie, @shakespeareanwannabe, @thevalentinowhitebag, @deanfanatic, @magicsuperheroes, @phoenixhalliwell, @that-one-weird-one, @mariesackler

#nathan bateman #nathan bateman x reader #nathan bateman imagine #nathan bateman x you #mine #my writing #human touch series #part two #AYYYYY

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shutupanakin · 3 years

Text

Wasting Your Time Ch.3

“Wh— what?” Tommy choked out, his voice hoarse from the lack of use all day.

The man rolled his eyes, as if he didn’t just ask a completely impolite question. “I said, do you have any booze?”

Tommy sat still. He reached into his jacket pocket, his hand finding only a plastic pen. Could he stab this man with a plastic pen?

Tommy pulled said piece of plastic out, visibly holding it up. “I have a pen.” Something about the bemused look on the man's face made Tommy click it, and again, repeatedly.

click click click click click click click click—

...

or; Tommy planned on dying. He meets Wilbur instead.

Chapter Summary: Tommy is wrong. Wilbur tries to teach him color theory.

cw for suicidal ideation

Tommy was not proven right.

In better words, his thesis, his argument, it was wrong. He was wrong, okay? He could admit that! He was wrong and Wilbur was right. Wilbur, him, and his stupid antithesis. Wilbur got the good grade, Wilbur got the pat on the shoulder from the teacher. Tommy got credit for participation. Tommy got a pity smile and a gold star sticker and a ‘good job! You tried!’

Tommy should be happy. He is happy! He talked to Tubbo and Ranboo. After they were all done with classes on Friday, because Tommy had waited that long— he talked, and they listened! They did!

“ Would you guys be happier if I— I don’t know. Stop hanging around you, or something?” He was picking at the thread, pulling it so tight he could feel it move the inside of his sleeve.

The answer he got? They said no. Ranboo was quiet, letting Tubbo babble. Then Ranboo would reword what Tubbo said, more coherently. And Tommy resisted his urge to just scream, because that was their dynamic. Of course it was! Tubbo was the controlled forest fire and Ranboo was damage control.

What Tommy did not expect was when he had pointed that out, his friends didn’t let him burn out like he thought they would. Tommy wasn’t the tree burning up, Tommy was the water that Ranboo was using to put it out.

They had hung out at Ranboo’s all weekend, after that. Sam was busy and couldn’t handle the noise, Tubbo’s dad worked nights and refused to leave the house to them alone. Ranboo’s cousin was cool about it, thank god. The guys' friends were fucking awesome, Tommy thought. The shorter American was telling him about Molotov Cocktails and one with the stupid fucking glasses tried to teach him and Tubbo some clutch in Minecraft.

Tommy wasn’t afraid to admit that he lost.

The train, as it always does, stops in front of him. Tommy didn’t hesitate this time, grabbing his seat at the back. There might have been more of a skip in steps this time, but no one he knew was there to point it out. The woman at the front promptly ignored him. He sat down, hands tucked firmly in his jacket pockets.

He did not doubt that Wilbur would show up this time. The man himself had indicated that he’d love being proven right. Tommy was willing to let him take this, to take this ego boost. Tommy knew when to admit that he was wrong— he was, okay?

“I like your pin.” Ranboo’s cousin said, passing him a coke from the fridge. “Smile. Nice.”

Tubbo looked at him, his eyes settled on Tommy’s jacket. He reached out, fabric gripping up in his hand. His thumb ran over the yellow and black pin. “Bee.” Tubbo tilted his head. “When did you get this?”

“Oh. Uh.” Tommy stuttered. “Uhm. Two weeks ago! There’s this cool shop a bit out that sells them.”

Tommy fiddled with the bee, adjusting the diagonal position it had fallen into. He didn’t tell Tubbo or Ranboo about Wilbur— he didn’t know how to explain it. How to explain him. He didn’t want to tell them what had led him to go to the train station in the middle of the night. That was a conversation that Tommy was simply not ready for, yet.

Wilbur was also eerie, and he was sure that only Tommy himself could deal with his weirdness for a whole night. He would probably psychoanalyze Tubbo and make him cry, or monologue to Ranboo and give him a breakdown. He’d keep them separated for a bit, Tommy decided.

When they pulled into their next stop, Tommy didn’t shut his eyes this time. He watched Wilbur come into view through the window. Wilbur entered swiftly, following behind a man that nabbed a seat in the front.

“Hello, fellow science experiment,” Wilbur grinned, placing himself down opposite Tommy. “I assume it went well?”

If Tommy was in a worse mood he would curse him out. “I’ll have you know, it went exceptionally well, Mr. Soot. I even walked here with a bit of pep in my step. I did that! Not you!”

“Of course you did, they were your words, I just gave you a motive.” Wilbur hummed.

Tommy scowled. There it was. “You’re a prick,”

“A correct prick.” Wilbur said. “So your friends took it well then?”

Tommy hesitated. “Well. You could say that? They’re trying, now. They’re listening. I’m not just hitting the pavement anymore. But we’re talking! And we spent the whole weekend at Ranboo’s!”

“So you are getting somewhere,” Wilbur concluded. Tommy nodded.

“It— it’s nice enjoying myself, hanging out with them. Ya know? Like it’s not a chore. It’s easy. I don’t have to zone out to be around them.”

They stopped. No one got on, the man remained at the front.

When Tommy was around them, he would have to do that. Zone out. Sometimes it wasn’t on purpose, other times he just found himself begging to just go, anywhere else, but he was too aware to go away, their voices were too loud and the air was too cold and Tommy couldn’t fucking breathe—

He didn’t feel that way all weekend.

Tommy didn’t feel trapped. He was in the present. He was in the present and he was happy. If not just for a few moments, Tommy was okay and he didn’t have to think about anything else.

“So it worked,” Tommy said. “It did! We’re working on it; this weekend was fucking great though. I know how to make a Molotov Cocktail now—“

“You what —“

“I didn’t actually make one,” Tommy emphasized. “I was just taught how! It’s quite easy actually! Ranboos' cousin, one of his friends just... it was a lot of vandalism advice.”

Wilbur groaned. “Please do not get arrested for vandalism. You need better influences.”

“You’re a bad influence,” Tommy waved him off. “don’t worry big man. Can’t come to see you if I’m arrested. Sam would also kill me. In cold blood. Dead, I would be dead as fuck, man.”

If Sam had to bail him out for something as stupid as setting something on fire, he would be so fucked. Oh, Sam was so fucking overbearing when he was paying attention, he would never hang out with Ranboo again. Or Tubbo for that matter. Sam would deadbolt his door closed. Tommy would never see the sun again. Screw prison, Sam would lock him up himself.

Tommy will not be doing that, thank you. If anyone offered to help him burn something down, he would certainly not be taking it.

They stopped. A woman got on, the clanking of her jewelry as she sat down echoing in Tommy’s ears.

“How am I a bad influence?” Wilbur enquired.

“HAH!” Tommy blurted. “Look at me! Mr. Soot! I go on trains in the middle of the night! I gamble with teenagers. I am suuuuuuch a good role model.”

“I do not gamble with teenagers!” Wilbur cried. “No money has been placed! I told you that!” Wilbur accused. “Also I am not the one telling you to blow stuff up.”

“ Memememememe — I said nothing about blowing anything up,” Tommy argued. “I was at most implying arson. I said absolutely nothing about exploding shit! That’s you!”

Wilbur slapped his hand against his forehead. “Oh, you insolent child!”

“Oh, you cryptic old man!”

Wilbur shot up. “Hey!”

“I hardly know anything about you,” Tommy retorted. “You— you could be a war criminal or something for all I know—“

“Do I look like a fucking war criminal to you?” Wilbur interrupted.

“... You could be!” Tommy exclaimed. “What’s your favorite color?”

“What is your favorite color?”

“Red. Answer the question.”

Wilbur groaned. “Blue. Used to be teal.”

“Why did it change?” Tommy pressed.

“There is not enough of it here,” Oh god, Tommy thought. Here we go. “The sky is cloudy. The water is gray. It is muted, it is drowning in black and white film instead of saturation. I wish there was more of it. Especially down here.” He longed, Tommy was exasperated.

“Wilbur, we are underground. Look at the graffiti.” Tommy deadpanned. “Or just go on Google man. Color blue— not everything needs to be a Greek tragedy.”

“That is not a natural blue,” Wilbur objected. “It is artificial! From a spray bottle, or on a screen!”

“I’ll bring you some flowers or something, okay?” Tommy snapped. “You’ll get your fucking blue.”

“I will sneeze on you.”

Tommy hit the side of the seat. “You will not!”

Wilbur made a face, rearing his head back. “A—a— ACCHOO. Like that. But you will not be expecting it.”

“Fuck you! And your blue!” Tommy exclaimed, Wilbur cackled.

“And why do you like the color red so much then?”

There was no special reason as to why Tommy enjoyed red. When teachers asked in primary school he gave it as a response, no deep or intricate thought attached to it. That was the difference between him and Wilbur. Everything Wilbur did and said seemed to have some sort of deep thought attached to it, everything he said was planned out, and said carefully.

Tommy was decidedly not that.

Tommy existed in the moment and Wilbur existed around it, quietly observing. Whispering. Taking notes.

“No reason,” Tommy shrugged. “It’s just kinda nice. Loud.”

“Like you.” Wilbur teased.

Tommy groaned, hitting the back of his head against the glass. “Stop patronizing me! I’m done doing color theory with you!”

“Oh I can do color theory—“

Tommy put his hands out, gesturing for him to stop. “No, no. Please do not. I’m begging you. I can only handle so much of your monologues.”

Wilbur scoffed. “My ‘monologues’ are fantastic, I will have you know.”

“You should write songs,” Tommy said. “You’re a right emo; you— you— you could take all that messed up shit up there,” Tommy pointed. “and make stuff. I dunno.”

“I mean I used to,” Wilbur breathed. “not anymore though.”

“Why not?” Tommy pushed.

“Have not felt like it.” He said simply. “No fun in doing it anymore. Can not even sing to anyone.”

Tommy’s brows furrowed. “That’s shit,” he grumbled.

“Poor me, having to exist being friendless!” Wilbur sighed. Tommy knew he was being dramatic, but it still made Tommy glare.

“Hey!” Tommy objected. “I’m your friend!”

“That just makes me sad,” Wilbur groaned, rubbing his face. “we are friends?”

“ Nooo,” Tommy drawled. “I only meet mere acquaintances on the tube line in the middle of the night.”

“You came back here because of our deal,” Wilbur pointed out. Tommy’s brows creased, because technically he was right. To be proven right, to be proven wrong, that’s why he kept coming here. Some sort of odd mutual trust and genuine curiosity enabled Tommy to keep coming back.

Sam might call it a lack of self-preservation.

And he wouldn’t be wrong, sneaking out in the middle of the night, to a tube station, alone, to meet a practical stranger was in every right dangerous. The first time Wilbur had stumbled into the seat across from him, Tommy couldn’t bring himself to care about that part, the danger. If Wilbur had mugged him then and there it wouldn’t have changed anything.

Once again, the thought of not seeing Wilbur again was bothering Tommy. Did Tommy want to make another deal? To continue this odd tradition? Tommy felt, alright. Kinda. He was happy. This was a good weekend. His classes yesterday were bearable, the overwhelming feeling to pull his hair out was muffled under the warmth in his chest.

Did feeling better mean he would never see Wilbur again? Surely they could keep doing this. Just a... check-up.

“You should play again,” Tommy suggested. “if not for anyone else, then just for yourself ya know?”

“Do you play anything?” Wilbur asked.

“I know piano,” Tommy thought. He hadn’t played said instrument in a bit. He had a keyboard that sat in his closet collecting dust. He hadn’t taken it out since he moved into the flat with Sam. “I haven’t played it in a while. Too much noise.”

Their stop was coming, Tommy realized. Tommy hit his leg awake, standing up. “Guess we will dive into that later,” Wilbur said. Tommy shook his head.

“No, no,” Tommy was going to put a stop to that right now. “I’m not you. There’s no deep, depressing reason. I just don’t play anymore. Stop psyche evaluating me, or whatever the fuck you people call it.”

“Alright, alright.” Wilbur said lightly. Taking the lead as Tommy followed him out. “Are you still going to get pins?” Tommy hummed an ‘mm-hmm’ in response.

“I like the pins,” Tommy confirmed. “Do you want anything?”

Wilbur shrugged him off. “Nah,” He waved. “Knick knacks, I would have no use for that. Nowhere to put them.”

“Are you homeless?” Okay, that was a bit rude, Tommy would admit. But that slipped, alright? “Because that would explain a lot actually.”

“ No,” Wilbur said immediately. “I have a house, Tommy.” He groaned in exasperation. “Believe it or not, I can exist in different places other than a tube station. ”

“No, but it makes sense! Every time I see you you’re wearing the same shit!”

“It is my Tuesday jumper,” Wilbur defended. “I already told you that.”

“ It is my Tuesday jumper .” Tommy mocked. “Fuck you. You don’t have a house.”

They stopped outside the glowing Jack Of All Trades sign.

“Get something cool this time. Like an orca.” Wilbur suggested as Tommy pushed open the glass door, Tommy mumbling a ‘will do’.

Jack leaned over the counting, scrolling through his phone. His eyes met Tommy as he strolled further into the shop. “Hello again!” He put his phone down on the counter. “I was wonderin’ if you were gonna show up.”

“It’s become a habit,” Tommy said, reaching into the bowl.

“What’s ya name again?” Jack enquired.

Oh, Tommy realized. “Tommy,” He answered. He took the blood-orange-flame-shaped pin in his hand, placing it on the glass counter.

“You’re gonna run me out of pins,” Jack joked, sliding the pounds over to the register.

“You’re gonna run me broke,” Tommy joked back. He clipped the pin in, securing it. “Bye Jack!”

Jack waved as Tommy pushed out the door. Wilbur stood waiting for him, raising his eyebrow as Tommy showed him the new pin. “You did not get an orca,” Wilbur pointed, disappointed.

“He didn’t have any orcas, big dubs. Is that why you got banned?” Tommy asked, turning backward as he walked in front of Wilbur. “He didn’t have any orca merch? Is that it, Wilbur? Have I cracked the mystery yet?”

“Nope!” Tommy’s excitement visibly dropped. “Good guess! Still wrong.”

“ Ughhhh, ” Tommy groaned, kicking a stone. “Fuck you, man. Just tell meee,” Tommy begged.

“No,”

“Please.”

“Still no.”

“Did you steal something?”

“No.”

“Did you kill his mother?”

“ What ?!— Tommy, no!”

“Are you a felon, Wilbur?”

“Let me stop you while you are ahead,” Wilbur said. “The answer is no, no, and no. To everything.”

Fuck you, Tommy thought. He didn’t like not knowing things. He’d figure it out. He would drop it for now, because this clearly wasn’t getting anywhere, but he’ll make Wilbur slip. He will! He just needs to catch him off guard. He could do that! Outsmarting Wilbur would be a feat, an accomplishment.

“I’ll figure it out, you watch,” Tommy grumbled.

“Good luck with that Toms,” Wilbur hummed.

“I don’t need luck,” Tommy stated. “Just my big brain.”

“You do have a big head,” Okay, that was mean, Tommy thought.

“That was unnecessarily rude,” Tommy stated. “I can’t believe you’ve done this to me, Wilbur. My self-esteem. It’s ruined.”

“Oh come on,” Wilbur retorted. “I have a big forehead. Look.” Wilbur lifted the curly bangs that framed the front of his face.

“Oh no,” Tommy cried. “Don’t do that, please. My eyes! I can’t stare directly at it!”

Wilbur fixed his hair, chuckling. “My jumper buddy used to call me Forehead-Bur.”

Tommy snickered. “Jumper buddy sounds cool.”

“He really is not. He is a real loser.”

“Like you?” Tommy chortled.

Wilbur scoffed. “Shut it!”

When they got to the station, two women were standing together on the platform. Tommy nodded politely while Wilbur simply ignored them. When it had pulled in, Tommy trailed Wilbur to the back. The two women had sat down at the front.

“Got any plans for this week?” Wilbur asked, Tommy shrugged.

“Got a test Thursday. That’s about it.” Tommy thought. “I think Tubbo wanted to go to the mall Friday, dunno. I’ll have to text him.”

It would be the next time that Tommy would see him; his, Ranboo’s and Tubbo’s schedules made it difficult to see each other during the week. Tommy was no longer actively avoiding them now, though. Maybe Tommy could set up a game of Pub G, or CSGO.

He was starting to feel guilty for blowing them off, actually. Tommy would have to make up for that. He didn’t really regret coming to see Wilbur, he couldn’t. If Tommy was given the choice between playing a first-person shooter game on a Tuesday night with them versus… this…

Tommy knew what he would choose.

They stopped. No one on or off.

“You have anything planned?” Tommy asked.

Wilbur did not look like he was expecting to be asked. “Hmm,” He wondered. “Might go see my dad. Been a bit.”

Tommy did not know why that had shocked him so much. A father! Everyone had a father, Tommy knew that alright? That was completely logical.

Wilbur had just, given off the feeling of someone who didn’t have anyone. Wilbur was a feather floating in the wind. Tommy supposed that feather had to come from a bird then, perhaps it was missing it.

“You should bring your dad something,” Tommy said, shaking off the frown.

“Like what?”

“Like— like a snowglobe or something man, I don’t fucking know. Flowers!”

“He likes birds,” Wilbur thought aloud.

“Chicken,” Tommy decided.

“ No,”

“Chicken,” Tommy repeated. “You gotta let me know how that goes next time.”

“Next time?”

Oh.

They stopped. The two women left, the brunette left quickly while the blonde frowned at him.

Tommy forgot that they hadn’t even thought of another deal yet. Did they need that at this point? Couldn’t Tommy just show up and trust that Wilbur would be there, deal in the air or not?

“I... I—I think I want to keep doing this?” Tommy admitted, pulling at his hair. “Showing up. And talking, to you, ya know? I enjoy it. I keep thinking like, what deal, what bet this time we could make again. And nothing comes up.”

“You want another deal?

“Do you?” Tommy asked, genuinely. “I don’t… I don’t want to make you feel like you have to come back here.”

They stopped. A small group got on, this time kids around Tommy’s age holding bottles wrapped in brown bags.

Wilbur thought for a moment, like he was mewling over his next words carefully. “As long as you need me, we can keep doing this,” Wilbur said softly.

Catharsis, there it was. Tommy swallowed. “Okay. We can do that.” It was another deal, in all technicality. An extended one at that. Conditional.

But Tommy was relieved from that pressure of not knowing if there will be a next time. Because now he knows for sure there will be! And another after that!

Wilbur might have started as a buffer to what Tommy considered the inevitable, a simple delay. Despite the serotonin high that he had for the past few days, Tommy hadn’t forgotten about Wilbur. He hadn’t forgotten about why he met him in the first place.

Did he want to anymore?

Tommy didn’t have an answer, apparently.

That’s why he needed these meetings with Wilbur to continue, they got him to the end of the week, they got him through his current problems. He helped him fix his relationship with Tubbo and Ranboo. Maybe Tommy wanted to figure out what he could solve before he left. What he fixes— then he’ll decide.

He’d make up his mind then.

Because was Tommy’s decision to make, not Wilbur’s. Not Sam’s, not Tubbo’s, not Ranboo’s. His. He knew that. Alright! Tommy knew that.

They stopped. The loud group got off.

Tommy eyed them as they left. “It looks like you asked the wrong teenager for booze,”

Wilbur cackled, his boisterous laugh filling the now mostly empty train car. “I had forgotten I did that,” He giggled, wiping away at his eye.

“I didn’t!” Tommy pointed. “Man, I thought you were going to stab me. Or demand for my wallet. Or both.”

“You thought I was going to mug you?”

“You asked me for booze!”

“I was breaking the ice!”

“You break the ice by asking for alcohol ?”

“Yeah! You looked miserable. I thought you could use a good laugh.”

“I didn’t,” Tommy said. “I clicked a pen at you. I was prepared to stab you with that in case you were a wrongun.”

“Oh no, ink poisoning,” Wilbur dismayed. “What will I do?”

“Go to the ER,” Tommy replied. “But you’re probably banned from that too.” Wilbur was silent. Tommy had meant that as a joke. “Wilbur…”

“It is a long story,”

“Oh my god.”

“It is!”

“Geez man,” Tommy rubbed his temple. “And you scold me for making jokes about Molotov Cocktails!”

“They are mini bombs.”

“And you’re not allowed in places in half of England!”

“I did not set anything ablaze, Tommy,” Wilbur said, rising. His stop was next. The night was coming to an end. “Try not to get arrested between now and next week.”

There it was, his confirmation. “No promises big man!” The train was stopping. “Try to stop pissing people off!”

“See you, Tommy!” Wilbur stepped out, not looking back at Tommy.

When they moved again, Tommy startlingly realized that he was alone. Just him. Two weeks ago, Tommy would’ve killed for this. He would’ve died for this.

Tommy sat alone, and the flashing markers of the tunnel were too bright and the rumbling, vibrating feeling of the tube going at its ungodly speed was nauseating because Tommy should’ve been—

He could’ve been—

Tommy shook his head. Squeezing his eyes shut. He could drown out the lights. He was okay. He was alone, and that was okay. It didn’t matter. Being alone didn’t make a difference. Nothing changed. The time of the night was really starting to become very prominent to Tommy. He wanted to go home and just sleep. Tommy checked his phone, no new messages other than some old Instagram notifications.

When his stop came up, he practically bounced up and sprinted off of the train, pushing past a concerned-looking ginger woman. He was up the steps before the train could even pull out.

Tommy was alive for right now, and he was okay with that.

#wilbur #wilbur soot #tommyinnit #tommy #crimeboys #crimebois #sbi #sleepy boys inc #crime bois #crime boys #dream #dream smp #sleepy bois inc #wyt shutupanakin #shutupanakin posts

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palimpsessed · 3 years

Text

Writerly Ephemera

I was tagged by @amywaterwings @mostlymaudlin @tea-brigade @effing-numpties @captain-aralias @bloodiedpixie . This is so cool, so thanks for sharing yours! ❤️

Per Amy: We add little bits of ourselves to our writing, scattering memories and places and phrases and things into our stories. The game is to find five examples of this, of YOU, in your writing and show everyone.

I don’t really feel like I put much of my own experiences into my fic, probably because I don’t feel like I have a lot of experiences to pull from. (That’s not me being self-deprecating; that’s me never going anywhere or doing anything.) So, let’s see what we come up with!

Going to tag here. I feel like I’ve gotten to this late so I’m not sure who has been tagged. Anyway. No pressure, loves. Just saying hi. 🥰 @theflyingpeach @bazzybelle @otherworldsivelivedin @unseelieseelie @wetheformidables @caitybug @nightimedreamersworld @foolofabookwyrm @stillmadaboutpetra

1. I have put the most of myself into A Man of Letters. I have my degree in English Lit and when I was in college, I was at the height of my Jane Austen obsession. So I sort of built my degree around the development of the English novel. My senior thesis was on a book called Evelina by Frances Burney, who was one of Austen’s greatest literary influences. Evelina is an epistolary novel—told entirely in letters. I love the epistolary form, for the same reason I love dialogue and texting fics. It’s such a fun narrative technique and can reveal so much about individual characters. It’s actually a bit like the way Rainbow Rowell uses multi POV in her books. Anyway, my love of the epistle was on full display in this fic, which is ofc told in letters. —Do I share a passage? That’s like...the whole fic 😅 So, idk. Here’s Simon being a disaster as he meditates on letter writing:

Dear Penny,

As I start this letter, I already know I'm not going to post it. I know I won't be able to bring myself to do it, because of what I have to say to you. I do feel bad. It's not that I don't want to tell you. And you know I'm so much better at writing things down than saying them out loud. It's only that I feel like this would all sound better coming from me in person. I just don't think I'll be able to make you understand in a letter. I'm still trying to understand myself. And writing all of this down helps me with that. Even if I'm only pretending to write to you, it makes me feel better, to think of you on the other end. I promise I really will tell you everything as soon as we're together again.

2. Also for A Man of Letters, my fascination with Regency fashions, in particular the dandy, was a major factor. I did an art book about this, comparing how fashion has changed over time, especially in regard to gender. (I also did an art book based on Evelina, since I’m on the subject. I minored in book art. 😁) I always fancied the look of a Regency dandy, so that was my gift to Baz.

Whoever has been working their magic on Salisbury should in fact be the person to whom I offer my eternal devotion. Alas, I am left to flounder under the burden of lusting after a man who is incapable of dressing himself.

The utter and unmitigated shame.

Salisbury wore a forest green wool frock coat that set off the golden highlights in his brown locks. This was accented with a green and aubergine striped silk waistcoat that was trimmed in white piping and felt much too daring a pattern for the man. (I don't care if he was a soldier; it takes a hardier man than him by half to choose a stripe like that.) His charcoal trousers were enticingly snug, but not so much to prove lethal. His cravat and points left much to be desired, though that likely reflected poorly on his ability to keep himself in order, rather than the ability of his valet. (Good God, maybe the man doesn't even have a valet!)

3. When it came to my countdown fic, To the Manor Borne, I had Shep make a reference to Cluedo, because Pitch Manor would be perfect for a real life game. Behind that, is the fact that my family played a lot of Clue and I watched the movie a whole bunch growing up, to the point where my sister and I used to quote it to each other. This was a way to pay homage to that. He also talks about playing the game Murder in the Dark, which was one I played at Halloween as a kid. One of my cousins was dressed as a ghoul with glow in the dark face paint and we were in my grandma’s creepy upstairs. Perfect vibes.

I’ve seen the kitchen and the dining room and the library and the study and the parlor. Walking through this house is like playing Clue. (They call it Cluedo on this side of the pond, because they like to be difficult.) (That was a whole thing. Do not get me started.)

I keep thinking Colonel Mustard’s going to pop up out of nowhere and brain me with a lead pipe.

And:

What kind of games do you play with magickal friends who don't have magic? Twister? Not with the wings and tail. Cards? Baz and Penny would cheat. Or accuse everyone else of cheating if they didn't win. Murder in the dark? With these people, in this house, I knew it would turn literal fast, and also it was like ten in the morning. Hide and seek? Simon and I would hide and everyone else would ditch. Snowball fight? World War III.

4. I’ve referenced Mozart in my fics a couple of times because when I was first getting into classical music, I was listening to a lot of Mozart. My sister had a CD of some of his early symphonies, and my local classical station does “Mozart in the Mornings” which happened to fit in the exact time slot between two morning classes I had my first year in college. I’d go sit in my car with a cup of tea, and just vibe with Mozart as my soundtrack. I’ve name dropped him in both A Man of Letters and To the Manor Borne. Also, Mozart wrote 12 variations on the melody shared by Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star, which is a lovely tie in. (I also had the gang sing/cast The Holly and the Ivy, which is one of my favorite Christmas carols, and by strange coincidence was playing on the radio at the same time I wrote that scene. 🥰)

"It's a songbook," I tell him, like he can't figure that out for himself. "Did you know that Mozart wrote twelve different versions of the same song?"

He's laughing. "Mozart did not write Twinkle, twinkle, little star, Simon."

"You know what I mean."

"He composed twelve variations for solo piano on the French folk melody Ah! Vous dirai-je, maman."

"Sure. Anyway, this is for the violin. For you to play."

He's still laughing, and I'm trying to figure out what's so funny, but then he kisses me again, on the lips this time, so I figure maybe I'm still doing okay.

Only one more to go! What will it be? 👀

5. Therapy! Eheheh...😅 Look, it’s no secret the gang needs it. And tbh, so do I. Haven’t actually managed to get myself to go yet, and I think that’s where a lot of my “send them to therapy” happy endings come from. I did it in Use Your Words and To the Manor Borne. I started Chamber by Chamber with SnowBaz already in therapy, and then structured the whole thing around therapy that they give to each other and to themselves. It didn’t really fit in A Man of Letters, but if it had, I absolutely would have done it. I’ve only shared from two fics so far, and since it could kind of spoil the ending to Use Your Words (tho saying this may be spoiler anyway...), here are two snippets from It’s a Kind of Magic, Part I of Chamber by Chamber.

I've been working on articulating my needs. We both have. Ordinarily, I'd be afraid of pushing him away by making demands when he's on the verge of a spiral, but my therapist insists that I can't go on treating Simon with kid gloves. If I never ask him for anything, he'll think he doesn't have anything to give.

And

When I told that to my therapist, she said that I needed to talk it out of me and she'd help me find ways to work through it all. She said I needed to talk it out with Baz, too, so that he'd know how to help me when things got bad again—that was something else she said, that things would get bad again, and that I'd need to be prepared for that. That I couldn't expect things to be easy, and just go away.

6. BONUS! I think the biggest way I include bits of myself is in the AUs I’ve chosen to write. I have three I’m planning that say a lot about me, so I’m going to talk a bit about them here. There is ofc my Scooby Doo AU, inspired in large part by the fact that I watched it all the time growing up and also, my sister continues to be obsessed with it. When we were young, my parents were doing a lot of work on their house and we’d take family trips to the hardware store. My sister and I hated it, so we’d wait in the car with my mom and she would entertain us with “Scooby Doo stories”. Other AUs I’m planning? Troop Beverly Hills—please tell me someone else out there loved this movie the way I did when I was 5. It was very influential to baby me and I remember wishing for nothing more than being able to dress like Shelley Long. So, I’m going to let Baz do it, because I think he deserves it. 🥰 Lastly, tho it will probably be the first I write, is my Cupid and Psyche AU, from when I was heavy into mythology and religion. Since these are all forthcoming projects, I don’t really have a snippet. Instead, here’s Baz comparing Simon to Eros, which is what started my brain on that particular AU.

I am lost. I barely know anything about Salisbury, but I can't help being drawn in. At one time, I could have comforted myself that I was only so smitten with him because he looks like he was sculpted by Praxiteles. That excuse grows weaker with every encounter. He's the furthest thing from a lifeless tribute to beauty in marble as one can be. There is something deep and dark and feral inside of him and I want to claw it out. I want to see it, to let it free. To taste his wildness and his pain.

#tag game #writerly ephemera

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hansolmates · 4 years

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jjk; angel’s trumpet [02]

summary; one second, your life is flashing before your eyes and the next, you’re transported into a world exactly like your own. but the jungkook you meet in this world isn’t a renowned singer or your former almost-lover, in fact he has no clue who you are and why you know him so well. as you work to find your way home lost and confused, you conclude that you’re either dead or in the middle of the most wicked drug trip of your life. pairing; idol!jk x reader (f), alternatively film producer!jk x reader genre/warnings; fluff, angst, supernatural, idol!au, non-idol!au, alternate universes, themes of fate, language, alcohol consumption, mentions of smut in future chapters w.c; 3.5k a/n; i know it feels like a lot of bg and internal conflict but y/n!! our girl is struggling! she’s processing and is going through some times BUT things will spice up soon so thank you for all the love +notes, see you again thursday!

[01] [02] [03]-> masterpost

The two most frequent contacts in your phone (you hope it’s your phone? It’s the same edition and everything) are Jimin and Taehyung.

Jungkook (or not-Jungkook) high-tailed it out of there as soon as he deemed your reactions unfit for basic human society. He muttered that you were crazy and probably under something, and sped off in his motorcycle just like that. Like you were a stranger.

It's not easy to ignore the aftermath of your heart after taking yet another rejection, but you're independent and you must stride forward in this strange situation. Taking a cautionary look around the area, you clutch your phone like a lifeline, tethering you together in this unfamiliar place. There's not many people around, but you spot a large library and a playground. Professionals are mulling from building to building, zombies in wrinkled suits and dripping iced coffees. Your phone displays an innocent 7:51, revealing how early it is. Toggling between the two friends in your contacts you take your chances and start with Jimin. The phone rings once, twice, before his dulcet voice chimes in your ear.

“Babe?” he croons, and your heart drops at the sickly warm tone, “you can’t get enough of me after what we did last night?”

You’re going to throw up. Scratch that, acid is already bubbling through your throat and you force yourself to tamp it down. There is no, no way in hell could you have hooked up with Park Jimin in your lifetime.

Unless this is hell.

“Jimin,” you steel your voice, hoping he can’t hear how absolutely mortified you are. You can picture this version of Park Jimin now, laying around in bed with crossed legs and casually enjoying how much you’re squirming on the other line, “I just need you to tell me where I live so we can move on with our lives.”

He laughs, giggles bubbling like soft pink champagne. “Wow, I really must’ve fucked your brains out if you can’t even remember where you live.” God, in what life would Park Jimin be “fucking your brains out”? Maybe you should find a trashcan just in case you do puke on the sidewalk. “Y’know, you signed your lease with Taehyung a month ago? You just moved in last week?”

“T-Taehyung?” you stutter, trying to imagine the notion, “I live with Taehyung?”

A beat passes, and you realize that just like you scared not-Jungkook away, you could be doing the same to Jimin.

He says your name softly, gone the cocky tone you were initially bombarded with. “Are you okay? You could’ve waited for me to wake up, y’know. We had a lot to drink last night.” he mumbles, almost cutely if it weren’t for the fact the he was insinuating sex two seconds ago, “Did you eat?”

“‘M fine,” you mumble, trying to chalk up your previous question with inhiberation. “Just loopy, I guess. I almost got hit by a motorbike, so my brain is probably just catching up.”

“You got hit? Did you call a hospital?” great, now Jimin’s panicked. “Where are you? I’m gonna go get you. Drop your location, I’m leaving now!”

“I’m fine!” you snip, and you feel bad for nearly screaming on the line. “I’m almost home, I’m just gonna lay in bed and sleep it off. I’ll call you later, okay?”

You don’t bother hearing his response, and you hang up. You then start to furiously scroll Taehyung’s chat wall, noting that he’s on an academic trip with his students until next week and you have the apartment to yourself. After a good ten minutes of scrolling and reading conversations that you can’t recollect you finally catch the address to your shared apartment.

The city is the same, fortunately. So are the bus stops, and you’re thankful that your bus pass has some fare money. Turns out you’re starting your journey at the University of Seoul. The bus routes are the same as well, and you manage to take a tour of your side of the city, noting the tiny differences in the town.

For example, there’s no BigHit Entertainment in its usual spot. Instead it’s an additional practice space for Cube Entertainment.

There’s no fanfare to your city tour, and it almost feels like you’re just a normal woman taking a ride home. There’s still the same trees and squirrels, familiar odeng stands and ice cream shops. It feels like you’ve been cut and pasted into this world with no rhyme or reason, a fever dream.

The bus circles around the usual route once more until you’re in front of your supposed home, only a twenty minute bus ride from where Jungkook almost ran you over.

It’s a lot, and you realize on the drive over that you’re probably in deeper shit than you could ever imagine. You pull out your keys, and instead of seeing the ramen keychain Jungkook got you when he went to Tokyo Disney, instead it’s replaced by a university ID labeled Assistant Professor under your full name.

You pin that new fact for later and focus on getting inside.

Your apartment is nice, you muse. Simple black and white furniture, but there’s a definitive home-ness to it. There’s a moss green afghan folded up on the couch, presumably made by the artist himself. You’re glad Taehyung’s appeal for the arts hasn’t been lost, as revealed by the frames on the walls detailing pictures of you and Taehyung’s families, and some of Jimin and Taehyung.

Deeper into the apartment you find your room. You choke back a sob at the familiar bedsheets your parents bought you at Target, and you even notice some familiar clothing pieces folded haphazardly in the corner. Instead of your bed being filled with shameless BT21 PR however, your RJ and Mang are replaced with simple panda and cat plushies.

Finally letting your tears fall, you sob loudly into your pillows, hugging and grappling at anything to comfort you. You feel achy and tired, as if your heart has fallen out of your body and nothing can fill the void. As much as your bed sheets feel the same, as genuine as those pictures are in your shared living room, this isn’t your home.

•━━━━━━»••»💮💮💮«••«━━•

Between your bouts of crying and forcing yourself to stomach cheap ramen, you find out a couple of things.

You’re an assistant professor at Seoul University. At least this version of you is. A little part of you is pleased by this, you have always wanted to teach at the university level before settling with BigHit. To your chagrin however, you’re not a language professor.

To your horror, you’re a pre-medical student teaching two “History of Neuroscience” classes. It’s only two classes because according to your Google calendar, you’re also balancing the completion of your final thesis on muscular dystropathy among low-income neighborhoods.

Dear god, if your parents ever found out you could’ve been a doctor in another life, they’d be surely choking on their own spit. In this world, you probably weren’t lazy and wholly capable of achieving the impossible.

You don’t know why you spend the next two hours sending emails to your students about cancelling the next week of classes. Fortunately all your lessons are neatly packaged in your drive, and you send out an email with said lessons citing your mental health and how you’ll resume direct instruction the following week.

From time to time, your eyes can’t help but travel to the frames and polaroids that decorate your walls. Some of the memories are vaguely similar, a house in the suburbs, an annoying cousin who can’t stop and won’t stop pulling at your pigtails, a movie night with unlimited pizza and breadsticks.

Some of them are far and beyond your state of recognition. Jimin and you playing hopscotch by the river, Taehyung stuffing his face with fried potato skins in a cheap hole-in-the-wall, you winning the blue ribbon at your high school’s science fair.

You could very well walk out of this life and just focus on going back home, but something tells you that you need to continue on with this life, at least for now.

It feels too real to be a dream. When you tug at your hair tie, it’s painful when it snaps across your wrist. Your skin blooms with color upon impact. Could you die in this world? If Jungkook had not skidded in time, would you have survived a motorcycle accident?

Three days pass like that. You’re contemplating, absorbing information. In-between pints of ice cream and crying your ducts out, you’re drawing conclusions. Could you be in a coma? A very realistic, painful coma? But Jimin and Taehyung are still sending you texts and the day turns to night as painfully slow as it always has. A coma can’t fake a forty person class, all of them vying for your attention through various emails and Zoom calls. It can’t be it.

And as you rummage through your drawers, check every bit of social media and even your yearbook photos, you also confirm that Jeon Jungkook has no place in this version of your life. It saddens you greatly, and reminds you eerily about the heated conversation you had before all of this. The Jungkook from days ago, the one who looked terrified when you tried to touch him, only met you through happenstance.

By day four, you get a phone call. There’s no picture next to the contact, only named Biggie Mentor. After a few rings, you finally get the courage to answer the call.

A deep timbre seeps its way through the line, and you almost whine at how much you missed him. “y/n,” Namjoon says, but he doesn’t sound happy, “tell me why our students said you cancelled all of your classes this week due to mental health?”

If Namjoon’s your mentor, that means you’re probably in deep shit for cancelling all your classes without his consent.

“Uh, exactly that,” you say, and it hurts how much you have to strain your voice, trying not to pour any type of affection into this version of Namjoon. You’ve always had a soft spot for his gummy smile. “I’m sorry for not telling you beforehand. Something really traumatic just happened and,” you choke back a sob, trying to cover the microphone, “and I really needed some space.”

“Hey, it’s okay,” his voice is like melted honey, and you close your eyes and picture yourself back at BigHit, Namjoon’s happy smile whenever he tries to cheer you up. It only makes you even more upset, and your mind is all shadowed and filled with fuzzies as you attempt to picture Namjoon as your boss, “I was just shocked, that’s all. Is everything alright?”

“No,” you reply truthfully, “and I don’t know if it will be.”

There’s a terse silence, both your breaths hanging on the line with no move to continue the conversation. If your personality here is similar to your true world, you would understand why Namjoon would have a hard time formulating a reply. You don’t even know how close you are with him here. What remains is that you’re the type to keep your secrets to yourself, and if they truly felt hindering, you’d tell somebody. Not to say you’re the suffer in silence type of person, but you weren’t one to immediately dump your feelings on someone.

Finally, Namjoon musters a reply, “I have a break at two. Why don’t you swing by our usual lunch spot and we can talk? Their sandwiches always cheer you up. ”

“Joonie,” your voice cracks, and you shake your head despite the fact that he can’t see you. A slip of the nickname comes out before you can help it, and you hope this Namjoon is fond of the manner. “I don’t know where that is. Or what our ‘usual’ spot is. I don’t know what sandwiches you’re talking about either.”

“Okay,” and you relax at the calmness in his tone, “I’ll swing by after my 5PM then. Set the table for us, yeah?”

•━━━━━━»•»💮💮💮«•«━━•••

Namjoon smells of dry-erase marker and antiseptic.

He’s bounding into your apartment like it’s his own home, carrying two paper bags and a stack of leather bound books. The items fly across your coffee table, and you two work together to organize both your dinner and the books. Namjoon looks like a textbook nerd, wearing shades of burgundy and burnt orange as he breaks into your front door. Gone are the boots and sleek outfits that trim his figure, and you can’t help but go a little anti-starstruck at how normal this moment is.

But what remains is the bumbly stance as he makes his way through your tiny space, long limbs and all flailing to help you place his work in a safe space. The curve of his nose and dimples so deep you could fill a lake in them, you can’t help but muster a shy smile as he takes notice that you’re staring at him a little too much for comfort.

The two of you eat in relative silence, and you gratefully accept the bag he pushes in your direction. To your surprise the sandwich inside is a favorite combination of yours, and you wonder if this restaurant exists in your world.

Your world.

“Namjoon,” you place your sandwich down, despite the fact that your stomach is protesting for you to finish the first real meal you’ve had in days, “you know that movie, Avengers?”

Namjoon’s face is puffed with bread, and you hand him a water bottle to chug it down. “Dunno,” he shrugs, “Marvel isn’t a popular franchise, so even if I had I wouldn’t remember.”

“Marvel isn’t popular—” what kind of fucked up world is this? Your Jungkook would have a field day if he was in your shoes. “Anyway. There’s a concept from Marvel that there’s multiple Earths. Like you can create a rip in space and land yourself in another dimension if you’re not too careful. Do you think it’s possible?”

Your tall mentor pushes his charcoal hair back, exasperated. “Is this why you’re taking off? Because you believe in some silly comic book series?”

You feel your heart cracking, desperately trying to keep itself together. In your haste you grip Namjoon’s arm, desperate. “Please, just hear me out.” you warble, “a few days ago I was out drinking with a friend. Next thing I know, I’m in another world where I run into a boy. That boy is my friend, but he says he doesn’t recognize me! But I don’t recognize this life. Namjoon I can’t even imagine you wanting to be a doctor!”

Namjoon is looking at you funny, and you know he’s really trying to believe you. Instead of the reassuring words you hope for, he instead says, “this isn’t even pseudoscience, y/n. This is supernatural! How could you possibly think you’re from another dimension? I just saw you last week and everything was fine!”

“I saw you last week too!” you exclaim, clutching your chest, “and you cried again for the umpteenth time because you lost another pair of custom Airpods.”

A pause. “That does sound like me.”

Hope blooms in your stomach. “Doesn’t it?”

“Well, in this supposed other life. What is my profession?”

Your face falls. “Uh, you’re in a worldwide K-pop band. You’re making millions and producing beautiful music.”

That sounded way better in your head. Out loud it sounded absolutely bonkers. You don’t even blame Namjoon when he bursts out laughing, wiping tears from his eyes. You let him, sinking further into your seat and hugging your knees. You really hoped Namjoon would’ve come through for you.

However you’re not laughing along with him, and he immediately stops at your teary expression. He pushes himself over to you with his long legs, quickly moving to prevent yourself from tucking into your shell. He sees how small your form becomes and he reaches over to place a hand over your hair. “You’re really upset over this, aren’t you?” he questions aloud, and he can’t piece it together, “did you hit your head or something?”

Defeated, you explain, “I may have gotten hit by a motorcycle the other day.”

“What?” he squeezes your shoulder, “well, that explains a lot! What if you’re hallucinating? What if you have a concussion? You could be suffering from short-term memory loss!”

You’re sure it’s none of those things, but you let him ramble. The explanation is clear-cut and so painfully normal that it’s the only conclusion that Namjoon will cling to. Your mentor insists you take a medical leave, and says he’ll take over your classes in the meantime. He gives you a number to call, explains there one of the best doctors for trauma and motor incidents. You don’t say anything to that, but you accept the number and lie when you say you’ll call them in the morning. Namjoon still treats you like a friend however, despite your fruitless confession, and you concede that his comfort is more than enough after such a rough week.

•━━━━━━»••»💮💮💮«••«━━••

It’s been nearly two weeks since you’ve contacted Jimin.

Sure, Jimin’s contacted you. A couple flirty texts here, some low-key sexy selfies there. Usually, you’d eat that up like honey and butter. Now, there’s only one-word replies and half-hearted attempts at continuing a conversation. He loosens his tie, thankful he’s working out of the office today. He can look at his phone all he wants, and no one will judge him.

Jimin finally looks up at the photographer his marketing company contracted, who’s still mulling over the contract. “We’re not trying to jip you, promise.” Jimin assures, and he almost laughs at the comical way the young man’s large eyes catch his concern. “You’ll get all that money, and then some if you need to work overtime. It’s a sweet gig.”

“Yeah,” the young man nods, and grabs the pen to sign at the bottom. “Looking forward to working with you.”

“Same to you, Mr. Jeon,” Jimin grins, meeting him halfway across the table, “I’ve seen your work, I’m sure the commercial will be beautiful.”

“You can call me Jungkook,” the new employee flashes him a quick grin, taking his palm in his. Jimin tries not to twitch at this cute kid, who is both devastatingly handsome and cute at the same time. He’s a little jealous, a little attracted.

“Great, because Mr. Park is my dad. Jimin’s fine.”

It’s then that Jimin’s phone lights up, both pairs of eyes darting to the picture of you decorating the wallpaper.

While it’s not a completely flattering picture (you’re asleep with your wire-rimmed glasses half-off and there’s drool dribbling down your chin.) However it’s definitely you, the person Jungkook nearly killed a couple days ago.

Jungkook’s mouth goes dry, and he lets go of Jimin’s hand like it’s fire. Jimin hardly notices, grabbing his phone in hope that you replied to his text. To his despair, it’s just Taehyung. He ruffles his hair in frustration, letting the slick ebony strands fall out of his hairstyle.

“Fuck,” Jimin curses, shoving his phone in his blazer.

“Everything alright?” Jungkook asks, trying to be polite. On the other hand, he’s rather curious about the girl from weeks ago, who still hasn’t left his mind.

In the heat of the moment, Jungkook left the scene with you blubbering on the road. How wide your eyes were with recognition, and almost mother-like as you coddled him like someone to protect. He’s felt bad about it since, but he had an interview with Jimin’s boss and he couldn’t blow a job opportunity. It couldn’t be helped that your sad expression has been his midnight fixation when he can’t sleep or has a creative block. He should’ve at least called a cab to take you to the hospital or something, you were clearly not in the right mind.

“Yeah, it’s just a friend.” Jimin forces a smile, not wanting to dump his baggage on the new employee. “She almost got hit by a motorcycle the other day,” Jungkook masks a wince, remembering the horror he felt when he saw you, just lying there across the street. “Ever since then, she just hasn’t been herself. I’m just worried. It’s like she’s seen a ghost or something.”

“Oh,” Jungkook steals a glance at Jimin’s phone again, hoping to see your picture light up again. He does feel a little guilty pushing you off him and running away, but then again it was you that started being weird.

How did you know him, and why were you so concerned for his well-being? Would he get fired if he asked Jimin about you? That would be the quickest job he ever got contracted for. Instead, Jungkook forces a smile and offers a neutral, “Well, I’m sure things will work out.”

“Thanks, I hope so too.”

Jungkook’s palms are sweaty, as if it’s a dark premonition that something will happen. With Jimin around supervising him, he has a feeling that if things don’t work out, things will happen regardless.

Maybe he’ll understand why you were so concerned for a stranger’s well-being, and why you looked at him like that.

Like someone in love.

#jungkook fic #bts fic #jungkook fluff #goldenclosetnet #thekpopnetwork #jungkook x reader #jungkook imagines #bts fluff #jungkook scenarios

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wannawritefast · 3 years

Text

Whiplash: Chapter 1- Playing Defense

A/N: Hey, y’all. I know the prologue didn’t get a whole lot of attention but I’ve written a substantial amount for this and I am VERY proud of how much I’ve written and what I’ve written. Also, huge shoutout to @andtheswordwentsnickersnack for beta reading this beast of a fic that I’ve been working on for WAYYYY too long LMAO...

Pairing: BoRhap!Brian May x fem!Reader

Prologue

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol, awful men, sexism

You loved your family. Really, you did.

But there were times, and many times they were, that you would have been more comfortable ripping your own hair out strand-by-strand than having to sit through another session of verbal abuse.

You weren’t entirely certain what you had done, if anything, to deserve such discrimination from your grandfather, father, and brother amongst a few cousins and uncles. It was like 3 generations of men in your family had decided to use you as a verbal punching bag.

You still vividly remembered the time you had told them that you didn’t particularly appreciate how they talked to you. They laughed right in your face and told you to grow a thicker skin. That Y/l/n’s were a tougher breed than most and that if you couldn’t handle it then maybe you weren’t of their blood.

October break wasn’t any different. Your family had met up for your annual dinner together aside from Christmas.

“And what about you? When are you going to settle down, Y/n?” your grandfather quipped after shoveling a spoonful of mashed potatoes. “I want some great-grandbabies!”

Before you could even open your mouth in response your brother, James, chimed in. “I wouldn’t count on anyone banging her anytime soon.”

“Well,” you chuckled, “would you look at who’s talking?” James grumbled to himself and threw a pea at you which you successfully evaded. You turned your head to address your grandfather. “And I’m not your only grandchild. You have a grandson too, you know.”

You nodded toward your brother and your grandfather hardly even blinked at the last sentence. He either didn’t hear you or didn’t care. Proof that he used any and every opportunity to undermine you. Your grandfather scoffed and mumbled to himself gruffly.

You practically heard your father’s eye roll. “Your career is only so fulfilling.”

“Dad, I’m an astrophysicist and a damn good one, I’d like to think. If my career wasn’t fulfilling enough, I’d be seriously questioning all of the time and money I spent at university writing my thesis and graduating top 5 in my year.” You took a bite out of your roll. Why did you have to defend yourself every time you came home? It was exhausting!

“I’m just saying that you aren’t fully happy until you’ve settled down.”You rolled your eyes at your father. You didn’t have the time to focus on your love life. You barely had time to do your studies as it was. Furthermore, no man you had met seemed to like you after finding out you were an astrophysicist. Nobody seemed to click with you well.

“Why do I need more than my career to be fulfilled in life?” You asked seriously.The whole table laughed at your question. Even the kiddie table laughed but it was just hive mind reflex. You certainly did want to get married and have a family someday but you were making a point to your father. Who was he to dictate what made you happy?

“Please, Y/n,” James piped up again, “that’s what lonely people say to feel better about themselves.”

Ouch. That one stung more than you should have let it. You took a drink to keep yourself from letting a tear roll.

“Who ever said that she’s single?” Your sister spoke suddenly. You coughed and sputtered on your drink. Your neck turned to Donna so swiftly that you probably could have snapped it.

“Are you implying that my eldest daughter is dating a boy,” your mother raised her brows at you conspiratorially, “and didn’t tell me? Is it that smart, goofy boy you fancied at university for the longest time?” She couldn’t seem to keep a grin from spreading across her face.You flushed red at her question. Nobody needed to know that. Except now they did because you were, apparently, no longer single. Everybody at the table locked their eyes on you, muttering to each other. You looked at your sister in panic.

“Go on,” her voice cracked and she cleared her throat before bringing her cup to her lips. “Tell them about your boyfriend.”

Gee thanks… She had just started digging you into a hole.“Wait just a second! Let’s rewind a moment.” James questioned incredulously. “My sister, the stick in the mud astrophysicist, has a boyfriend? Why haven’t you mentioned him before?”

“It’s not relevant who I may or-” you looked at your sister pointedly; she fiddled with her fork “-may not be dating.” The fact that James wasn’t buying it was making you quite nervous. You were more offended though than anything. “Is it really so hard to believe that I’d be dating someone?”

“Yes!”

“Believe it, James” Donna insisted, pointing her fork at him. Put down your damn shovel!

“Have you banged him?” Your brother asked in the silence.

You picked up your drink and splashed him in the face. Your mother softly scolded you for your actions but you were completely unapologetic for what James more than deserved. How you shared the same DNA with such a tool was beyond you…

“That is hardly your business,” you snipped. You turned and stared down Donna. You were going to have to tell them the truth…

“Ok, that’s quite enough,” your mother stopped everything. Oh, thank the Lord. “We’re here to talk about your sister not her boyfriend.” Thank you, mother. “She’ll just have to bring him over for Christmas!”

You stood up from your chair and it scraped along the floor. What had you done…“That’s ridiculous! What if he wants us to spend time with his family for Christmas?” Why were you even going along with this? Why were you defending your hypothetical boyfriend?

“Then you can split the time between the two!”

“What if he doesn’t want to meet you guys yet?” You suggested. This hole is getting awfully big, Y/n. “Meeting parents is a big deal!” The statement came out as more of a question than a defense. You were honestly hoping for one, just one, objection to stick. “I don’t want to scare him off.”

“Who wouldn’t want to meet us?” Your mother asked. You resisted the urge to answer the question.

“Well, what if we’re not even together anymore by that time?”

“Wow, you really can’t hold onto a man for that long, Y/n? It seems to me like you would have been making this whole thing up if you are ‘broken up’ by then.” James finished wiping his face with a napkin after his encounter with your drink. You locked eyes with him. He was onto you.

“I’m not making this up,” you lied. Apparently you hadn’t put down your shovel yet either.“Then bring him home for Christmas,” James challenged. “Otherwise we’ll know it's a lie.”

Your family was on the edge of their seats and, for the time being, the logistics of the challenge didn’t matter. You were fed up with your brother constantly tearing you down. You were tired of your father not being pleased with anything you did. And you were exhausted by your grandfather’s insistence that you were nothing more than a source for great-grandkids. You got no respect at work and you certainly didn’t get any damn respect at home.

And so you did it. You extended your arm toward your stupid brother’s stupid hand and grasped it firmly with a shake.

“You’ve got yourself a deal, brother dearest.”

[{...}]

Eventually the extended family left and you went to your sister’s bedroom since you were sharing the room and the bed for break.

“Why in the bloody hell would you do something like that?!” You lowered your voice so that your family, more specifically James, wouldn’t hear you. Your sister sat on the bed cross-legged, fiddling with the ends of her hair.

“I’m sorry!” Donna yelled. You shushed her as you brushed your hair. “I couldn’t just watch. James crossed a line with that comment. I just wanted to wipe that stupid smile off of his dumb face.”

“Watch your language, why don’t you?” You teased. She rolled her eyes at you. “But I was fine, honestly. I’m used to it.”

“You shouldn’t be!” You hissed at Donna to be quiet again. “It was nice for them to shut up for a few moments and see you as a normal human being.”

Your heart was warm but you were in a state of complete panic. “That’s such a sweet sentiment in such a terrible circumstance!” You dug your fingers into your temples and threw yourself onto the bed. “What am I supposed to do? I can’t just go up to a guy and say ‘I need you to be my fake boyfriend because my sister dug me into a bloody hole’! You know I can barely get guys to talk to me on a casual basis!” Your voice dropped in volume, no louder than a whisper. “What makes you think that I can get one to play my boyfriend?” You let out a frustrated sigh.

“I honestly did not foresee the consequences of my actions and I am very sorry.”

“Do you think?” You growled to yourself. “Bloody hell… what am I going to do?”

Your sister scratched the back of her neck. “I mean, you have time… It is only October…”

“But I’m going to have to find someone eventually… if I find one.” You gnawed on a fingernail.

“You’ll be fine!” Donna breathed. She curled herself into the blankets next to you. You felt sick to your stomach.

“Yeah…,” you inhaled deeply, “and I’ve got time…”

#borhap fanfic #bohemian rhapsody #bohemian rhapsody fanfic #bohemian rhapsody fandom #brian may x reader #gwilym!brian #gwilym!brian x reader #gwilym lee!brian may #gwylim lee!brian may x reader #slow burn #fem!reader #reader insert #friends to lovers #friends to lovers AU #fake dating!au #borhap #fluff #fanfiction #bohemian rhapsody fanfiction

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spield · 4 years

Text

picking up v (suitor...s enter!)

Hey, hey hey!! So, here’s the latest installment of the picking up! verse! You can read the other “chapters” here. In which Kakashi meets the other suitors. part i - part ii - part iii - part iv

“I’m sorry about that.” Sakura apologized, settling the wine glass down. They’ve barely made it to their reservation, with the stare off that happened between Kakashi and Tobirama back at the lobby.

The two silver-haired (foxes) men kept their composure with small (non-existent) small talk, gauging each other. Sakura believed that the only thing that stopped them from going all caveman was the fact that they knew she hated it.

She was not a prize, damn it.

Good thing they knocked it off and Kakashi and Sakura went on their way. The restaurant they chose limited their capacity to provide a sense of privacy and exclusivity to their diners. Their table sat by the window, inside a small function room.

They just finished their main courses when Kakashi waved her off, “Don’t apologize. I didn’t know you were so popular, but I can’t say I’m surprised.”

Sakura’s smile strained, thinking of all the male guests in the wedding entourage. From what she heard, Pein will be there. That’s an entire headache right there and oh if only he knew.

“Ah, well. Tobirama’s an old patient. He got shot by one of his client’s enemies after court.”

“Hmm,” Kakashi hummed, “I think I read about that in the newspaper. The Shimura case?”

“Yes —“

“Excuse me, here are your desserts.”

The waiter laid out a souffle for Sakura and a plain vanilla ice cream for Kakashi - which Sakura just found completely adorable.

Kakashi watched as Sakura’s eyes lit up at the first taste of the chocolate souffle, her cheeks flushing with delight. He could watch her eat forever. He’ll give her all the souffle she wants, if she asks for it.

Their conversation picked up, rounding with the details of the infamous Shimura case, and how it shook their nation. With the not-so white elephant in the room, Kakashi decided it’s time to bat it away.

Half-jokingly he asked; “So… are there any other suitors I should know about?”

The Uchiha family for all its riches is a subtle one when it comes to throwing parties. Which is the opposite of the Hyuuga clan. Glancing at the grand displays of 7 foot flower arrangements and number of tables for the pre-wedding party, Sakura guessed it was Hanabi’s family that won out when it came to decorations.

The wedding was tomorrow, this party, according to the invitation, was to allow the two families to get to know each other. Or, looking at the amount of passive-aggressive bragging, to one-up each other one way or another.

With the Hyuugas in politics and the Uchiha in the police force, Hanabi and Sasuke’s marriage seems like a political alliance to the untrained eye. But as Sakura sat waiting for Kakashi to return from the restroom, she could see the couple’s eyes soften at the sight of each other at their own table of honor.

It’s about love - and politics. Not the other way around.

“Please don’t tell me you’re not pining for your ex-husband at his own wedding party.”

Sighing, Sakura rolled her eyes at the droll voice from behind her. From her periphery, a red-head moved and sat across her - Akasuna no Sasori.

“Why are you here?” Sakura’s eyes narrowed at Sasori, “You hate Sasuke.”

Sasori shrugged, his indolence marking his movements. “It doesn’t change the fact that his father invested in our hospital.”

Ah, of course it doesn’t.

It’s love, politics and money - what a trifecta.

For a moment, it was silent between the rivals. They’d met at medical school, both studying under the heavy hands of Senju Tsunade and Akasuna no Chiyo. Sasori had been her senior for a year, before their tense rivarly started when Sakura dismantled his thesis paragraph by paragraph, making them graduate at the same time.

Their rivalry’s legendary. Rumor has it Tsunade and Chiyo still had a bet going on about when Sasori will confess his begrudging respect and hate-love for their favorite student - not that Sakura knew that.

“So should I keep my eyes peeled for a dramatic entrance of a scorned ex-wife tomorrow? Let me know, I’ve got to get my camera ready.”

Sakura’s eyebrow twitched, “I’ll peel your eyes for you if you don’t leave me alone.”

Sasori’s lips twitched upwards, satisfied with poking fun. “And here I was keeping you com—“

“Ah, Sasori-san, I didn’t know you were here!”

The Uchiha Matriarch, mother, or was it back to Mikoto-san now? was a lifesaver. Looking every bit of a matriarch with her pearls and beautiful dark blue dress, Mikoto still held an effortless elegance about her.

Sakura’s lips twitched at Sasori’s deflated expression, quickly masked with impassive politeness. He rose and kissed the matriarch’s hand. “I wouldn’t miss your son’s second wedding for the wedding, Mikoto-san.”

Mikoto took the insult in stride. Sasuke’s first marriage didn’t have a wedding - not of this magnitude of course. Given all the… circumstances surrounding it. The matriarch glanced at her former daughter-in-law, now shooting her a relieved smile.

What a pity she had to leave the family. Mikoto mused. Sakura-chan’s a great woman, smart as a whip with a backbone of steel - perfect for the Uchiha. With a glance around the ballroom, Mikoto could already tell the line of men wanting to steal her away, starting with this doctor. She also saw Congressman Uzumaki (yakuza, if she remembered correctly) lurking about and that lawyer Tobirama.

Mikoto smiled a practiced smile at Sasori, before placing her hand on the crook of his elbow, talking about the new technology Suna hospital has because of their investment -

They want her daughter-in-law?

They could try.

Hand-washing was one of the habits (or coping mechanisms) his former occupation left on Kakashi. Counting backwards from 100, he meticulously scrubbed his hands on the sink. From the cubicle behind him, a familiar figure emerged.

“I see that you lost the face piercings - good look. Must be a hit with the voters.”

Pein knew Kakashi, perhaps even knew what he was before he was a high school teacher (and even during that), and it really shouldn’t surprise Kakashi that he was here. A political gathering disguising as a pre-wedding banquet.

“And you lost the mask - you’re almost unrecognizable.” Pein said, standing next to Kakashi and turning on the sink - drowning out their conversation.

Kakashi picked off a few tissues and dried his hands, his customized face mask sitting snugly on his face. “Heh, it was going out of fashion. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a date to attend to.”

“Does she know?”

Kakashi paused, his back facing the legislator. Slowly, he turned and faced the impassive face of the shadow leader of one of the oldest Yakuza families in Ame. “That’s none of your business.”

“I knew you prefer older men.”

Sighing, Sakura turned to Shisui and shrugged off his arm from her bare shoulders. “Hello to you too, Shisui. I’m assuming you’re the one who sent her?” Emerald eyes pointedly looked at the lady Kakashi’s politely twirling.

He’d gotten back right as the meals were served and was promptly whisked away by an overenthusiastic lady with a penchant for pointing out their age differences.

Shisui shot her a grin before bowing in front of her with flourish, offering his hand for a dance, knowing that propriety dictates that she can not refuse.

Soon, her soft hand slid into his and he whisked her away for a dance. As they sway back and forth to the orchestra, Shisui lowered his lips to her ear. “You’d be surprised who’s more devious between Itachi and I, Sakura-chan.”

Sakura’s eyes narrowed, roaming the room over Shisui’s shoulder. She found Itachi near the grand staircase, already looking at her with molten eyes.

“You two are persistent.”

Shisui laughed, leaning back an inch. “We prefer, determined. If you don’t mind.”

Sakura sighed, swaying in his arms, “You do know it’s odd if I get married to someone in your family again, right? Let alone my ex-husband’s brother or cousin.”

Shisui’s chuckle reverberated against Sakura’s chest, his lips grazing her ear. “Darling, once part of the family - always part of the family.”

“What are you doing?” Sasuke asked, eyebrow raised and arms crossed.

Finally, Sakura had thrown in the towel and bowed out of the reception with a goodbye and a hug with the newly-weds. She had whispered in Sasuke’s ears a request to keep his relatives away from her.

“You still love her?” Shisui asked, daringly, eyes sharp. They were in Sasuke’s room, lounging, some sort of last bachelor’s party with wine and business plans.

“Of course.” Sasuke answered with not a beat missed.

Theirs was a history too long and too sweet to be brushed away. They may have ended but the bitterness of that ending was nothing compared to what they’ve been through. They grew together, loved together, had a beautiful girl together. How could he not love her?

Shisui watched as his cousin’s eyes glazed over, looking inwards, his body language softening before hardening as his coal eyes narrowed.

Itachi stared at his brother as if seeing him for the first time. It seemed they’d underestimated Sasuke’s loyalty. “We’ll take care of her, otouto, you know that.”

“I’ll always love her.” Sasuke reiterated, pointedly ignoring his older brother. He poured himself a glass of wine, remembering how Sakura looked up to Kakashi when they left the banquet. “Which means if any of you fucks up Sakura’s happiness, there will be hell to pay.”

When they arrived in Kakashi’s room, Sakura spilled out all the “suitors” who suddenly emerged after her divorce. Kakashi was pretty sure they’ve always been around, but he kept that to himself.

A doctor, nay, an owner of one of the biggest hospitals in the country - Akasuna no Sasori. Championed by many in their field, saying that he and Sakura are the next power couple of the field.

A lawyer, nay, one of the best criminal lawyers and co-owner of the Senju Co law firm - Tobirama Senju. The contender of the whole Senju family, including Tsunade (who had no apologies to give to Kakashi, she wanted Sakura as her official relative - sorry)

A legislator and a yakuza head - Uzumaki Nagato. Or Pein. Who was frankly just a pain in the ass to deal with. Kakashi still had some scars to prove that.

And of course, the Uchiha cousins. Championed by their whole clan, judging by the way the matriarch and patriarch approvingly gazed at them while they whisk Sakura for a dance.

And then there’s Kakashi.

“I’m just a humble soon-to-be college teacher,” Kakashi started and Sakura almost rolled her eyes thinking that there’s nothing humble about a retired military man who may or may not still be covertly working for the government and instead let Kakashi continue.

“Are you sure you’re fine with me?” he asked. And though he said it with humor laced in his voice, there’s a hint of truth.

Sakura’s heart clenched painfully, and she took Kakashi’s hands. “Are you okay with me? I’m dragging you from your peaceful life and well, into this.”

“Can’t say it’s not gonna be interesting.”

Sakura laughed, leaning against Kakashi. In turn, he wrapped his arm around his shoulder and smothered his laughter against her hair. (He’ll have to make some calls. Get the Hatake estates and businesses up and running. He’s not just. And maybe he didn’t have a yakuza family or a corporation, but he had Sakura- and the only approval he’ll ever need - Sarada’s.)

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liminaldi · 2 years

Text

27 october 2021

i am finally "blogging" again as an attempt to articulate and verbalize my feelings, hoping it would help me in processing them, in seeing the greater picture, in pointing out the lapses in my actions, in seeing the destructive patterns i unconsciously partake in.

today started out rough. i woke up to an email from ar. tan, it wasn't antagonistic in any way, just a couple reminders on what should be improved in my manuscript, but the very existence of the email reminded me of his previous one, of how he told me i need(ed) to be better, of the hard pills to swallow, of the things present in me that i am scared to acknowledge.

i've processed them enough, i'd like to think so, and i have accepted them. i'd like to think i'm better know. i've grieved already of the things that i could've done differently and am ready to proceed to the next chapter, my next sem, the second part of the architecture thesis.

another factor that kept me on the edge today was how two of juror still have not signed on my thesis approval form, and i was scared they won't ever get to signing it. i'm aware i used past tense in the previous sentence, that's because i'd like to think i've already let go of that anxiety and restless that was a built of anticipation from them signing it.

i'd like to believe i am no longer scared. i am no longer scared; for i know they will sign it. i just have to wait. and while waiting, i have no business putting myself through hell. i need to let it go. i know it will happen anyways, within the deadline set by my moderator, why put myself through hell while waiting when i can use the time on doing my other requirements?

however, i'd like to think i wouldn't have reached this if it weren't to two things that happened today.

first, my cousin came over, and for a while, surrounded by many people, the pent up anxiety was released. i had been distracted, momentarily forget of my stressors. i thought it was a distraction, it wasn't though. it was a form of rest, pause, so i can process things (my stress) away from the main culprit of it so that when i revisit it, it wouldn't be as heavy. i am not sure if that made sense.

another thing was my classmate messaging me, informing me that a classmate of ours had to go through deliberations. cruel as it may be, it made me feel better about myself? mainly because i though i had the worst performance, and to find out that someone else did as bad as me, made me feel less incompetent, made me feel like i also deserve to be here, just as she does.

we both deserve to graduate this april 2022, beah and i. we're gonna ace the next sem AY 2021-2022, and we're gonna come out with the best theses. this is just a minor inconvenience, a hiccup, towards our journey of lifetime greatness.

there are still a lot left to be said, but i will stop this here. i only have the capacity for quite a few things, but i hope in the future, my capacity for feelings processing would increase.

ciao!

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starbornvalkyrie · 4 years

Text

what we could be | part two

what we could be masterlist

Breathe.

Brea--

Aelin retched again, unsure whether it was morning sickness or fear. Probably a little bit of both. Lysandra just held her hair and rubbed her back.

After a few minutes of silence, Aelin whispers, “Now, what do I do, Lys?”

“Well, you don’t need to make any decisions right now. I’ll set up the guest room for you so you can sleep off some of this initial shock, yeah? Then tomorrow you and I can figure it out.” Aelin leaned against Lysandra's chest, unable to dull the roaring in her brain. “This time, Aelin, you are not alone. I will be with you every step of the way. Do you want to tell Aedion?”

That brought her to her senses a little bit, and she shook her head. “Not yet. Maybe once the initial shock has passed. One thing I don’t need right now is Aedion turning into a territorial Army bastard and booking the first flight to Wendlyn to beat Rowan to a pulp.”

Lysandra laughed. “Okay, sweetheart. Let’s get you a shower and then I’ll find some food for you to eat. Maybe some soup?”

“Let’s try tomato? I make no promises, though.” Aelin stood up and turned on the shower. Lysandra waited until Aelin was safely inside before leaving to find some tomato soup.

Left alone with her thoughts, Aelin let the water flow through her hair, down her back and face. She didn’t even know where to start, so she allowed herself to stand there and think of nothing. She allowed herself this shower to be numb, if just for a moment, because the fire in her heart was already burning.

Aelin didn’t know how to be a mother. She didn’t know much about pregnancy. Being an only child, she never had to babysit. What vitamins is she supposed to take? What if she has a boy? She didn’t know what was going to happen with her senior thesis now.

She doesn’t know what Rowan will say, and that thought causes the most panic. She focuses on what she does know, instead.

She isn’t religious, but she knows abortion is not an option. She knows what happened to her own parents was unavoidable--a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time--but after Arobynn, she knows she will not subject this child to adoption. She knows that she doesn’t know anything about parenting.

But she’s going to learn.

Even if she had to do it alone.

The fire in her heart burned even brighter with the thought. Growing up, she was always passionate about what she did, from learning the piano to Tae Kwon Do. Her mother called her Fireheart for a reason.

When her parents died, she worried about her fire, her will, going out. But it must have been some innate force that kept it alive. Even when she was scared for her life in foster care, her fire never extinguished. It was the only thing she had to fuel her determination to make it out of there in one piece.

All her life, Aelin’s heart burned only for herself.

But not anymore.

Aelin allowed herself the shower to cry her shock away. Here, standing in the scalding spray, will she be weak and selfish for the last time. When she steps out of the shower, she’s going to sit down and make a plan and move on with her life. Whatever that means from here on out, she will do whatever it takes to make a life for her unborn baby.

Forty-five minutes later, Aelin walks into Lysandra’s kitchen wearing a pair of borrowed sweatpants and a shirt that says “Army” on the chest. She can only assume her cousin left it behind.

A glass of water, a bottle of Gatorade, and a bowl of basil tomato soup with bread on the side were already waiting for her. Lysandra was preparing something for herself at the stove. Before she sat down at the kitchen island, Aelin walked up to her friend and hugged her from behind.

Lysandra fiddled with something in the pan for a minute before turning off the burner and turning around to wrap Aelin in her arms.

Neither woman said anything for a few minutes. Aelin took in a deep breath and pulled away.

She waited until they were both seated at the table before speaking. “I’m going to keep the baby. I don’t know what that means with my relationship with Rowan, whether he wants to be a part of their life and mine. But no matter what, they will not be given up.”

“I support you completely with everything you decide. Do you know how you’re going to tell Rowan? Or when? He isn’t due back here until the end of the semester. I don’t want to push you, but by then, you might be showing already. Everyone will know, which means there’s a good chance he’ll find out from someone who isn’t you.”

Aelin nodded. “I know, I know. I did think about that already. I was thinking of telling him after my first doctor’s appointment? Once it’s confirmed and I have some sort of idea how to move forward medically, I’ll be a little more comfortable with explaining the situation to him.”

“Okay, that’s a great idea. Do you want to call and make an appointment now? The clinic should still be open.”

Aelin agreed and went to grab her phone. She was surprised to see so many notifications, she doesn’t have that many people she talks to on a regular basis. When she unlocked her phone to see who had been calling and texting her, her heart sank. It was already 4:30 in the afternoon, and she was supposed to meet Chaol at 4.

With furrowed brows that caused a look of confusion to appear on Lysandra’s face, she texted Chaol. The last text from him asked, Is everything okay?

She replied, I am so sorry. I felt awful after class today so I ran to a friend’s house. I’ve had my head stuck in the toilet for most of the day since then, I didn’t have my phone on me.

He didn’t take long to type a response. It’s okay, that’s understandable. Do you need me to pick anything up for you?

Aelin groaned at what a sweetheart he was and said, My friend Lysandra is on duty right now and is currently shoving soup down my throat as we speak, but thank you. Let’s take a rain check on that coffee?

I’d love that. Let me know if you need anything, and we’ll definitely talk when you feel better. I’ll do my best to get a copy of the notes in class for you in case you need to take the rest of the week off. Feel better, Aelin!

Aelin put down her phone and dropped her face to her hands. “I feel so terrible,” she said.

Lysandra’s mouth was full, but Aelin understood her when she asked what happened. She explained who Chaol was and how she was going to finally put herself back out there and go on a date. “But now I don’t know how to let him down easy without spilling my guts to him. Should I still reschedule?”

Her friend chewed and thought for a second. “I think you can get coffee with him, but after your appointment and after you tell Rowan. At that point, you should be able to figure out what information to give him. If anything, you can still be his friend.”

Satisfied with that answer, Aelin picked up her phone again to call the clinic. She put it on speaker for Lysandra to hear. A receptionist with a sweet voice named Evangeline asked her for some basic information to book her appointment.

“I do believe we are all set, Ms. Galathynius. I have you down for this Friday at 10AM. Since this is your first appointment for this pregnancy, we ask that you arrive at least thirty minutes in advance to fill out some paperwork and questionnaires. Will anyone be accompanying you?”

Aelin looked to Lysandra who nodded. “Yes, ma’am, a friend will be with me. Her name is Lysandra Ennar.”

“Sounds great, I will make sure she is on your approved list before you get here. We look forward to meeting with you, and congratulations!”

Aelin mumbled a thank you and hung up. Since Lysandra was the only one at this point to know she was pregnant, Aelin had yet to hear the word congratulations in regards to it. Evangeline sounded genuinely happy for her. It touched her a little more than it probably should. It gave her hope.

---

Friday morning came sooner than Aelin expected. The last day and a half were spent making lists and plans and researching. Aelin was really good at making lists and plans and researching.

Aelin was doing just that on her phone in the waiting room with Lysandra when the Medical Assistant called her back. Everyone was lit up with smiles when they saw her, and Aelin had to admit that eased her nerves.

They took her height, weight, and blood pressure, then instructed her to wait on the examination table for the doctor.

She and Lysandra were talking about how to tell Aedion about where they are this morning when there was a knock at the door and a beautiful woman with golden-brown skin and long, brown ringlets for hair walked in.

The woman shook both their hands and introduced herself as Dr. Yrene Towers. “It is a pleasure to meet you Ms. Galathynius, and I’m so excited for you on this journey. We’re going to go over the paperwork you filled out in the waiting room, and I also have a series of questions I have to ask you as well.”

Dr. Towers sat at the computer next to the table and began logging into it. “Let me pull up your chart, and if at any point you have any questions, feel free to interrupt me. Does that sound good?”

Aelin nodded. “Great! So first things first, this says your last period started the 20th of December, putting you at about nine weeks along. This gives you an expected due date of… September 25th! We’ll be able to get a more accurate date when we get an ultrasound.”

Aelin beamed at Lysandra and reached over to hold her hand.

“After today, we will see you every four weeks to monitor the baby’s growth, run blood tests, and talk about your overall well-being.”

The rest of the appointment was great, Aelin warmed up to Dr. Towers immediately. So much so that when she switched to the next subject, Aelin didn’t shy away in the way she thought she might.

“I noticed that you didn't fill out the questions regarding paternity. It’s not completely necessary, but we like to know the health histories on both sides to get a better understanding of what your pregnancy will look like.”

Aelin bit her lip, then said, “I don't know anything about the father’s parents. I, uh, haven't even told him we’re having a baby. I’m not sure how involved he will be, either.” Lysandra squeezed her hand.

“I get it, Ms. Galathynius, and there is absolutely no pressure in regards to that. I’m satisfied knowing you have support in any form.” This time, Aelin squeezed Lysandra’s hand.”

Dr. Towers typed a few more notes on the computer, gave Aelin a few pamphlets regarding food and exercise, then instructed her to schedule her next appointment before leaving.

By the end of the appointment, Aelin was in good spirit, that fire in her heart burning bright.

“If you have any questions or concerns before now and then, feel free to call us at any time. We always have a doctor on call after hours. I’m looking forward to being with you on this journey, Ms. Galathynius.” She extended her hand.

Aelin shook it. Smiled. There was something about the way they interacted that told Aelin the seed of friendship beyond their doctor-patient had been planted. “Please, call me Aelin.”

“Only if you call me Yrene,” she said with a grin.

On the way home, Aelin told Lysandra she would make dinner for her and Aedion the next night so they can tell him together. She’d do it tonight, but she feels obligated to talk to Rowan before anyone else finds out.

She doesn't know how he will react, but her fireheart flickers with hope.

The next morning, Aelin woke up feeling better than she had all week. She felt like no matter what happens, she can take on the world. She was ready.

Before her mind could convince her otherwise, she picked up the phone and dialed the number she knows by heart.

The fire in her heart dimmed when a female voice answered, “Hello?”

tag list:

@maddymelv || @lucy617 || @tillyrubes10 || @faerie-queen-fireheart || @tottenhamboys20 || @the-third-me || @superspiritfestival || @rolltide7 || @courtofjurdan || @sleeping-and-books || @aelinchocolatelover

#rowaelin fanfiction #rowaelin #rowan whitethorn #aelin galathynius #rowan x aelin #modern au #throne of glass #sarah j maas #my writing #sfq meg writes

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more-pokeimagines · 3 years

Note

So for the Q&A time, can you make a quick presentation of you, if you want to of course. If you want to, just tell us what you want us to know about you.

Well, let’s see... I’m obviously a big fan of the Pokémon games. The first game I remember playing was Silver but my cousin gifted me his old gameboy and Pokemon Yellow when he got a new one for his birthday. I stopped playing after Diamond/Pearl and returned to the fandom after getting a 3DS and X/Y which is why these games will always have a special place in my heart.

I’m a 25-year-old female, my zodiac sign is Gemini, and I’m studying for my Master’s degree in Literature/Art/Culture but I’m expecting to graduate soon (currently waiting for my professor to finish grading my master’s thesis). I’m fluent in German and English but I also have some basic skills in Swedish, Russian and Italian. When I was younger I always wanted to become an actress or a make up artist but eventually, I decided to study German Philology and Educational Science for my Bachelor’s degree instead. I'm still really happy with this decision.

I’m quite introverted and shy around strangers but when I’m with my friends, I’m a lot more outgoing and joke around a lot. What else... well, when it comes to my hobbies, I love reading and writing (duh), playing video games and watching movies as well as figure skating competitions. I also taught myself some basic skills in sewing last year. Oh, and I also have a passion for make up. ^^

#jj speaks #get to know me #about the blogger

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cherryhanji · 4 years

Text

another day

oneshot. han x reader

genre: drama, super duper angsty, a little fluff at the end

words: 1.9k

warning(s): slight mentions of depressing thoughts, lonely reader (yeah, another day by jisung is quite a sad song for me, anyways, stream their latest album, go live!) (i really felt sad when writing this. But I hope u like it!)

Another day full of dejection. You got home early from your work after being scolded by your manager because of messing up in the cashier a while ago. You haven't started anything for your thesis. You just can't find the courage to do it.

Lots of problems keep on rushing to you. There's your landlady who keeps on knocking at your door asking for your two-month payment for your rent. The payment for the next semester. Money isn't only your enemy. But yourself too. You wanted to do a lot of things. But it feels like there's something that's keeping you away from doing it. It got slumped the most when the person you trust the most, left you in the middle of the battle. No words, just left you on the way. Jisung was your savior, your knight in shining armor, the man that keeps you from standing and fighting all the struggles that you face every day. Ever since you two split up, you feel like there's no reason for fighting anymore. There's a time that you just want to end it all. All of the pain, the loneliness that you feel. It almost got the best of you. Pressure from college, expectation from your parents whom you have to prove that you can be independent. Jisung leaving you. Luckily, your friends are still there. But they are also busy since all of you will graduate this year. You can't risk bothering them just to rant about your sulky and shitty day in school and work.

You opened your second hand refrigerator only to find out that you didn't have stocks anymore. Only bottles of water and a pack of instant ramen. You sighed and grabbed your only food for tonight. You decided to open your Spotify playlist to soothe your sullen feelings and to calm your mind.

You silently eat your ramen while scrolling through your phone. You got a notification from your online bank noting that you already received your salary for the past two months. Your face brightened at the thought. The salary is good enough(?) you think about your daily needs and for the rent. It just got delayed for two months because of the cafe's renovation. Lucky you, your salary for tutoring a kid from your neighborhood helped you for the past two months just to buy your food and stocks and some expenses on school.

After eating, you decided to give yourself a warm bath after work. You still don't have classes tomorrow and it's also your rest day from your work. However, after taking a shower, the doorbell rang stopping you from drying your hair. You checked the time, it's almost 10:30 in the evening. Just who the hell will visit you at this hour?

"Wait a minute!" You shouted from your bedroom and went to the door almost stumbling while wearing your slippers.

"Who is I-- Alexa? It's 10:30 already?" Alexa, your cousin, also your childhood friend visited.

"Oh hello to you too, dear. " she jokingly rolled her eyes at you and showed you the paper bags she brought.

"Anyways, I brought you some food and stuff cause I know how broke you are." She chirped showing you some of your favorite foods. You welcomed her inside and closed the door.

"How's my beautiful cousin? Is auntie still not talking to you?" She asked as she slumped on the sofa.

You sighed at her question. "Nothing changed, Lexie, she's still upset at me. And I got scolded by my manager earlier. Argh, it's my fault at all. I'm not with myself, It feels like my soul and sanity left me awhile ago. But something good happened, anyways. I got my salary for the last two months! I'm not broke as fuck. But I have to pay my rent. The noisy landlady keeps on bothering me. Arrgh" you said and drank some yogurt. It's been a while ever since you got to drink this yogurt again.

"Are you okay?" You looked at Alexa shocked with the sudden seriousness. You kept silent for a while before answering.

"To be honest, I'm not. It feels like the whole world already turned its back on me. I really want to do things. But I feel like there's no enough energy and motivation for me to do it."

"Is it because of Jisung?" You froze at the mention of his name. Yes, it is. You still can't move on. It's because you really don't know what happened why he suddenly left you. You should hate him for it. but you just couldn't. You slowly nod at your cousin. You heard your cousin sigh.

"Did you talk to him? You're attending the same university with him, right? Don't tell me he's avoiding you?"

"Yes, we attend the same university. But he's majoring in music, remember? I'm majoring in Psychology. So it means, we are not in the same building. And I bet he's doing all his might to avoid me." You blurted out.

"You're a hopeless case, dear," Alexa said

"I know.." you whispered.

"But, this is just an advice. If you have the courage, try to talk it out with him. You guys don't have the closure you need. Did you block each other's contact?" You shook your head.

"I didn't block his contact. And luckily, he didn't block mine too. It's just that he doesn't answer my calls. Maybe I need to talk to him in person. I just need to wait for the right time." You're determined. You just want to talk to him. Four months? Four months of not talking to him. Maybe you just need to wait a little time to talk to him.

"Yes, that's the spirit. Just remember dear, if you need something, you know you can call your gorgeous cousin." She said and winked at you. You just chuckled at her childishness.

You missed him, a lot. His smiles, his sweet voice, you missed everything about him. Up until now, you still don't know what happened to your relationship.

You wake up with a feeling of calmness after the talk you had with your cousin last night. With nothing left to do today, you decided to buy some groceries.

A calm and delightful night, Jisung playing his guitar and singing for you while you happily listen to his sweet and calm voice. You just love how he sings his heart out, you can feel the emotions as he sings.

Jisung put his guitar at the side and held your hand.

"I love you, y/n. to the moon and back. No one can replace you. We'll never let go of each other, okay? Whatever happens, we'll never leave each other." He said and kissed your hand.

"Thank you for being with me, Sungie. Even though I'm a problematic shit. You're always there for me. And I promise I'll never leave you too. I love you." You said and hugged him. He kissed the top of your head and swayed you as he hums a song.

—————

You grab a cup of coffee at the cafe near the supermarket. You take a look at the people passing by the cafe. Why does it look like they're so happy with their life? Do they have any problems at all? It seems like you're the only one who has a lot of problems. Or maybe you still don't know how to sort it all out?

While still being entertained by the walking people outside, someone cleared their throat. You suddenly turn your head to the person. You're shocked to see the person in front of you. There it goes again, the fast heartbeat, the erratic breathing as if he took your breath away. The feeling of hoping he'll stay with you again.

"J-jisung..." You called the person in front of you, almost a whisper.

"Y/N... It's.. It's good to see you here.. Can I occupy the seat?" You just nod at him. You still can't find the right words on how to answer him.

"Uhm, I shouldn't be asking this, but How are you? " he said and scratched the back of his neck. This is it. It's the right time to talk to him. Fate does its way to help you. But you can't still form any words to say to him.

"Uh, I see. Look, I'm... I'm really sorry. I mean it. I know I deserve all the hate you have for me. But can you let me explain, please.?" You just nod at him. Maybe it's good if you hear his side first.

"First of all, I'm really, really sorry for leaving you without any word. You know I love you. But you know what's my dream right? I really love to sing. So there's this agency that casted me and offered me training to debut as an artist. But the contract says there is a dating ban. I- I don't know what will I do. At first, I'm contemplating. It's hard. I love you, but I also have a dream. But I need to let go of the other to achieve one. And I'm really sorry that I sacrificed you over my dream. I'm really sorry, y/n. you can hate me. You can slap me, anything you want. I know I deserve it for leaving you." He grabbed your hand and lowered his head. You got shocked at his explanation. You're well aware of his dream of being a singer and an artist. He told you ever since he was a child, he dreams of being one. You clearly see his passion for music. That's why you understand his reason.

"But... but why didn't you talk about it with me?" You asked him.

"I'm scared. I don't know why. Maybe the thought of letting you go hurts me. I thought that not letting you know can help me. But it did nothing. I have trouble sleeping at night, knowing that you're hurting, too. I promised you I'll never let you go, but here I am, leaving you clueless as to why I left." You can feel the sadness and hurt in his voice. You really loved this man. You can't find any reason to hate him, to get mad at him. You reached out to him and caressed his fluffy cheeks.

"I understand now, Sungie." He raised his head at the nickname, that nickname you used to call him. Hearing it again makes him giddy.

"I know it's your dream. Your dream came first before me, and I don't have any right to stop you from achieving it. I'm just hurt because you left me with no word. But don't worry, I'll be okay. I love you, you know that. And I'll support you always. Be good. So that you can debut soon. And if that happens, I'll be your number one gorgeous fan." You smiled at him and held his hand. He squeezed it and smiled at you.

"Thank you, for being strong. Y/N. we can still be friends if that's okay with you. You can still love me, And I will love you. " he said. You nod at him. Hearing all the closure you two needed, a big weight just got lifted off your shoulder. Being friends with your ex doesn't hurt, right? You just need to be mature with each other. You just need to accept your fate with him.

#stray kids oneshot #skz oneshots #Han #han jisung #skz jisung #stray kids #stray kids jisung #skz drabbles

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