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tteokggukk · 3 years

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summer heat → jjk

–pairing: twin!jungkook x reader

–genre: fluff, mature (? but no smut), drabble, a minor attempt at humor, best friend’s twin brother type of thing

–words: 2.9k

–warnings: explicit language, sexual tension, tiny bit of humiliation, a hint of jungkook and reader having some sort of “history” if u squint hard enough

–summary: in an attempt to calm you down and prevent your mood from swinging due to the blazing heat, your best friend decides to go out and buy you some ice cream. you’re shocked, however, when he quickly returns and looks different, making you see him in an entirely new light and leaving you trying to resist the urge to give in to your raging hormones and just jump on him.

–a/n: i was thinking of this scenario in the shower but didn’t have the brain power to turn it into a full length story so i might just add this to a pile of drabbles that i may or may not develop heh + ive been in my jungkook feels too lately sigh + also this is unedited

permanent taglist: @100percent-dum-dum @mochisjoon @boraength @rageyoudamnednerd

It was a scorching hot summer’s day. Sweat was beginning to trickle down your temples and your shirt was getting stuck to your skin, causing an irking feeling of discomfort. Looking around, you quickly grabbed an empty long folder from your best friend’s messy desk and began fanning yourself to cool down. The two of you were just there, sitting in his room in a not-so-comfortable silence.

You were currently plopped down onto a chair with your legs resting on the desk in front of you, too lazy to come up with ideas to kill your boredom.

It was a tradition for your family to travel every summer and visit a new country you hadn’t been to, but this year you had to pass the plane tickets and sight-seeing due to your best friend, Junghan, asking begging you to help him out with a month-long film project. You didn’t have the heart to decline, so you told your parents you’d stay behind and help him out which resulted in you having to stay over at Junghan’s place for the rest of the summer.

You had to admit though, a small part of you felt disinclined to stay because the project sounded like it would’ve been a tedious workload, but working with your best friend was so much more fun than you’d imagined and even the project itself turned out to be enjoyable. So far, your summer break has been spent filming and hanging out with Junghan—though hanging out usually meant staying in his room and watching romcoms all day while crying over fictional characters, ranting about how you two would never meet such perfect men in real life. It was great.

Until the air conditioner broke down.

You glanced over at Junghan, who seemed to be just as spiritless as you were while he sat in front of a fan, eyes looking empty and distant.

“I told you the air conditioner needed to be fixed,” You sighed and looked up at the ceiling, completely missing the harsh glare he sent you.

“I said I was gonna get it fixed,” He replies and turns back to the fan, his voice quieting down a little, “But the number for repair wouldn’t answer.”

“Right,” You muttered absent-mindedly, eyes staring at the ceiling while your mind was too busy trying to come up with suggestions to beat the heat, “We could go to the pool?”

“Closed,” Junghan grunts, “The mall?”

“As if we’d both drive in this state,” You rolled your eyes as you tried to get your shirt to stop sticking to your skin. Junghan glances over at you when he hears you grumbling, one of the many cues that you were beginning to feel peevish. Deciding that it was pointless to keep tugging on your shirt, you opt to take it off instead.

“You don’t mind do you?” You asked before completely removing your shirt, only leaving you in your bralette. Though you knew he never did because of the countless times he’s helped you change and pick out different outfits, you always asked out of politeness. Additionally, his zero interest in women made you feel much safer and comfortable enough to undress around him.

“I really don’t care,” He says and stands up. You hear him rumbling for a moment while you were neatly folding your shirt, and seconds later you recognize the jingling sound of keys.

“Where are you going?” You asked.

“The nearby grocery. You’re about to get grumpy and I am not going to listen to a rambling bitch for the rest of the day,” He says, rubbing his temples as he makes his way to the door.

“So you’re just gonna leave me here?” You asked, too exhausted to even glance at him. He probably wasn’t, you only asked for the dramatic effect.

“No, dumbass. I’m just gonna go and buy ice cream. See you in a bit.”

And with that Junghan leaves and closes the door shut. Only a few minutes later after the sound of the engine had gone did you decide to exert a little effort and move over to his previous spot to sit in front of the fan, the air immediately cooling your skin. You sighed in relief and grabbed a few tissues to wipe your temples dry before grabbing your phone and texting Junghan to buy some lemonade, followed by a second text telling him you’d pay him back once he returned.

You were surprised to hear, not even ten minutes later, that the car was already back and pulling up in the driveway. It couldn’t have been Junghan’s parents as they were out working, and it was only you and Junghan around—not like you two had many friends who would come and visit. Instead of rationalizing with yourself on how Junghan came back home in supersonic speed, you decide to drop it and wait for him to come up back to his room.

Someone knocks on the door, causing your brows to furrow in confusion. Since when did Junghan knock?

“Come... in?” You answer, though it came out more as a question. Your head turns at the sound of the door opening, and your eyes widen at seeing Junghan standing by the doorframe.

Looking oddly different.

“Dude,” You stood up from your place and stared him up and down, “Is that what you were really wearing when you went out?”

His eyebrows raise in shock and you catch his eyes taking a quick glimpse from your chest before quickly looking back at the perplexed look on your face, a small smirk forming on lips. You decide to ignore it.

“What a warm ‘welcome home’,” he chuckles.

“You didn’t answer me,” you replied, still oblivious to the difference in his tone.

He was wearing an all-black ensemble—a black cap, a black leather jacket, black pants that outlined his toned thighs (how have you never noticed?), and some chunky black boots—a huge contrast to his normally colorful and baggy clothing. You were genuinely curious because you hadn’t noticed what he looked like before he left the house as you were too tired and lazy to even look up and say goodbye.

“Uh, yeah. This is what I was wearing?” He narrows one of his eyes, looking confused, “Why?”

“I don’t know… since when did you wear all black?”

“Since way back then? I don’t know,” He replies, and you now noticed how his voice was unusually low. Junghan steps inside and averts his eyes from you, looking around in his room before scrimmaging through drawers as if in search for something.

“What are you looking for?” You asked, folding your arms and following him around.

“A charger,” He replies, and a chill runs down your spine at the sound of his voice. You thought maybe you’d detect how he was just trying to change his manner of speaking, but it was effortlessly low; like he wasn’t faking it or anything. It was weird because Junghan normally sounded a little more high pitched.

“What charger?”

“A laptop charger, mine broke,” He continues searching and not once does he meet your eyes.

“Oh okay, let me help you then,” You begin to look around and help him search, “Though I don’t know what it looks like, I’ll let you know if I see a charger.”

He looks up at you and smiles, but you don’t catch him watching you as you were already busy searching, “Thanks.”

The two of you continue searching in silence, though occasionally you’d look up and glance at Junghan. What exactly was he doing? Was this for his film? Is he supposed to be in character? This new look and manner of talking that he somehow adopted after a quick trip to the grocery store did things to you. Every time he grunted in annoyance after a failed search, something in your stomach would twist and you found yourself suddenly feeling drawn, or maybe even more than drawn, to your best friend. Your gay best friend.

You shook your head to get rid of those thoughts.

Only a few minutes later did you find something that looked like a charger hiding underneath a pile of unfolded clothes before presenting it to Junghan, “Is it this?”

“Yes! Exactly that,” He jumps up from crouching over one of the drawers at the bedside and walks over to you, “Thank you.”

“Yeah, sure. I don’t know why you took such a long time searching for something in your room, though,” You rolled your eyes.

“My room?” He smiles, voice a little deeper but with a hint of amusement.

God, you could just jump on him right now.

“Yeah?” You knit your brows, “And stop doing that!”

“Stop doing what?” He asks, sitting down on the edge of the bed so he was looking up at you. He leans back a bit a folds his arms, a smile still tugging on the corner of his mouth.

Maybe it was the summer heat doing things to your head and making you think about all these things that you never thought you’d ever want to do with your gay best friend, but he seemed so in character it was actually beginning to bother you. What store did he go to exactly? And where the hell is the ice cream?

“That! What’s up with your voice? And your outfit? You look so different, it’s weird,” You folded your arms as if to mirror him.

“Weird, huh?” He asks and looks at his clothing before looking back at you.

“Not in a bad way. It looks good, it’s just not you,” You squirmed slightly before shaking your head to snap out of it, “I don’t know what store you went to that made you look like this—and congrats I guess, if you’re trying to switch up your fashion, but you completely missed the ice cream, so good luck trying to handle this rambling bitch.”

He laughs at the words “rambling bitch” and oh god that is not what his laughter sounded like before. When did the sound of his laugh sound so deep and sultry? You subconsciously sucked on and bit your lip at the sound of his laughter, trying your best not to visibly drool in front of him. He catches your subtle action and his brow raises at the sight.

“Despite all the things you said, you think this looks good?” A playful smile rests on his face and your heart beats erratically at his expression.

“Y-yeah, I don’t know,” You mumbled. He shifts on the edge of the bed to move closer to you.

“And because there’s no ice cream, you’re going to turn into some rambling…” He reaches his hand out, the back of his fingers feeling the skin on your exposed waist before resting his hand on your back to pull you in closer.

“…person?” he continues, brows raised and eyes staring intently at yours, not using the vulgar word you had just used to describe yourself (or the word he had just called you before he left to go to the store).

“I...um, we’ll see,” you replied, and he only chuckles deeply. Your voice had transformed into a murmuring mess and it annoyed you, but you couldn’t really do anything about it, right now he reminded you so much of—

“I think you look good too, you know. Maybe I did miss you a lot more than I thought I did,” he whispers, pulling you in even more so you were now standing between his thighs.

Missed you? After an eight minute trip to the grocery store?

You didn’t question it. Your mind was blanking out, malfunctioning, even. Here was your best friend, your gay best friend (as you had to keep reminding yourself), placing his hands on your bare skin in a way that you knew wasn’t going to turn out to be so innocent. Right now you were extremely attracted and possibly even turned on by whatever the fuck he was doing, all you could do to save yourself was blame it on the heat. Was this absolutely weird? Hell yes. Did you want to stop him? Fuck no.

Were you now completely devoid of all reason and logic?

Definitely.

Softly, he tugs on your arm and pulls you into him so you were now sitting on his lap with your hand resting on his chest. One of his hands was still attached to your waist, the other was resting itself on the bed, gripping on a blanket.

Chills run down your spine for the second time now as his mouth moves closer to your ear, “Lucky for you I know the perfect way to handle rambling bitches.”

Your breath hitches for a moment and Junghan moves back to face you, his lips grazing your cheeks a little before you meet each other’s gaze. The summer heat was definitely nothing compared to this, but you didn’t mind. Your faces were only mere centimeters apart now and you could’ve sworn he was beginning to lean in by the look in his eyes, which were now fixated on your lips.

Seriously, you could just grab him by the collar right now and speed things up. He’s the one who pulled you in first, anyway, you just wanted to get things going. Though you haven’t exactly a clue as to where this would end, you wished he would hurry up a little to find out.

But for some strange reason, your senses were enveloped with the distinct smell of a signature fragrance that you knew did not belong to Junghan and it snapped you out of your thoughts. The scent was strong enough to flash some memories back in your mind, making you frown. Did he use this perfume on purpose? Or was your mind just playing tricks on you? In a flash, you could suddenly think straight and you couldn’t help it, the moral side of your brain had turned far stronger than your currently raging hormones (thank goodness). Something was definitely off.

“But, Junghan… aren’t you… gay?” You asked, your voice trailing off a little.

His eyes widen and he pulls back from you. He stares at you for a few seconds before it hits him, and he starts erupting in laughter. You narrowed your eyes at him and got off his lap, moving over to the side and sitting beside him instead.

“Junghan?” He stresses on the name. You’re staring at him blankly now, like you knew he was just messing with you. His laughter eventually dies down and he places a hand on your thigh, though it seemed much more innocent now, “I’m so sorry, ____, you’ve got the wrong person.”

With one hand, he quickly grabs the blanket off the bed. The back of his other free hand endearingly caresses your jaw, and you notice how he lingers for a while as he moves a bit lower down to your neck—before wrapping the fabric around you and covering your whole torso with it. Your face immediately turns pink as you clutched onto the blanket to further cover yourself, feeling slightly humiliated, though you were still confused.

“Wrong person? What do you mean?”

“I was wondering why you had no shirt on, I thought that was just a regular thing for you now. But it’s probably cause you’re more comfortable around my brother, huh?”

“Your brother…?”

“Has it really been that long?” He chuckles, and instantly your mind began connecting the pieces together. Could it actually be him? You haven’t seen him in years, and no one even bothered telling you he was coming back today. No way, surely this was Junghan playing a joke on you.

“I’m not Junghan. I’m his twin brother, Jungkook. Remember?”

You hastily stood up in defense, still clutching the blanket close to your chest, “Shut the fuck up, Junghan. No one said anything about Jungkook coming back today!”

Junghan Jungkook only laughs and stands up, the melodious sound filling the room, followed by the sound of footsteps approaching the wide open bedroom door.

“What a shame, but it was a surprise. I didn’t tell anyone I was coming home today,” He folds his arms, “And if I am Junghan, then who is that?” He points at the doorframe and true enough, Junghan was standing there holding grocery bags in his arms wearing his usual oversized colorful jacket and khaki colored pants.

You and Junghan both looked at each other with mouths dropped down to the floor before you looked back at Jungkook, who had the same smirk tugged on his lips, clearly amused at the whole situation.

Jungkook bends forward and leans in to your face, his voice in a lower tone but still audible enough for his brother to hear, “Probably shouldn’t take your top off so leisurely around the house anymore, huh?” He grins and winks at you, causing you wince and force an awkward smile, internally cursing yourself at everything that just happened.

“Anyways, I should probably rest up in my room. See you around,” Jungkook flashes you a smile before placing a chaste kiss on your (now dry, because your body had frozen up) forehead before walking away from you, taking the charger and dangling it in his other hand. He taps his confused looking brother on the shoulder before turning his head back to take one last look at you before walking out, leaving you and Junghan staring at each other in shock.

Junghan walks in slowly and sets the bags of grocery on the floor, shutting the door behind him.

“What the fuck just happened?” He asks you, eyes wide in anticipation.

Your mind replays everything that had happened between you two. Was Jungkook really just about to kiss you minutes before? Heart racing, you clutch on your chest from underneath the blanket he had covered you with. No way was Jungkook back. No way is he back and looking even more attractive than he did the last time you saw him. Not when you had just gotten over your small crush on him a couple of years ago.

The heat returns to your body, but it mainly pools on your cheeks. You look back at your best friend, but no words of explanation come up.

“Believe me, I’m asking myself the same thing.”

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ctl-yuejie · 3 years

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How the diverse world of the addictive tv series “Cherry magic” got made

(interview with scriptwriter Yoshida Erika by Yokogawa Yoshiaki)

沼堕ち続出ドラマ“チェリまほ”の多様な世界はどうやって作られたのか【脚本家・吉田恵里香さん】2020.12.22 横川良明

for @howdydowdy because we were talking about what a fantastic character Fujisaki is and the notion of consent when it comes to reading someone’s mind

Currently, societal values continue to change rapidly. On one hand the movement of respecting each other’s diverse individualities and making it easier for each and every one to live in society has become more active, one the other hand it is not a rare occasion to be lost for words when suddenly unconscious discriminatory biases – derived from not being able to cut loose old values that are rooted deep in oneself – raise their heads.

How should we exist within this period of polarization? This series is to create the opportunity to think about this topic by having discussions with the toprunners in the entertainment world. The person I am introducing for the first edition is screenwriter Yoshida Erika.

She is behind the script of “Thirty Years of Virginity Can Make You a Wizard?!”, the tv series that has grabbed the first spot on the oricon satisfaction ranking for 4 weeks in a row, and has gained fast popularity despite its late-night spot. The enthusiasm for the show can be attributed to the soft view Ms. Yoshida has on the world.

Yokogawa Yoshiaki (YY): I am happily watching the series. I really liked the original work, however the way it was adapted to a television format has been brilliant. One big thing is the making of the character of Kurosawa played by Machida Keita. By Adachi’s magic (played by Akasouji Eiji), the voice of Kurosawa’s heart spills out, and while the original text had him be quite blatant in his expressions overall, the drama carefully examines them.

Yoshida Erika (YE): That is definitely where there is a difference in depth. The original has the premise of a work in the BL genre, readers are expecting a BL-like development, so they can take such things in stride, but the viewership of the tv series is more varied. Under them there might be people who do not like BL. That is why I was conscious about how different people from different backgrounds might watch this show.

It is not okay to assault someone just because you were invited to their house, kissing or touching without consent is not okay and being of the same or different sex makes no difference in this. Treating such things as okay because it is BL would be rude to the parties concerned. Because we are using the BL genre, we want to specifically protect the “firsts” of the parties concerned. That is something the producer Ms. Honma Kanami and the director agreed about and I therefore paid extra attention to.

YY: Adachi himself, as he is about to step into Kurosawa’s house thinks “Not that I might possibly get assaulted?!”, and is very vigilant, but with some soul-searching realizes that that is rude towards Kurosawa. To say it briefly, you can feel the probity of the creators.

YE: I thought that a main character that thinks that he will get assaulted when he steps into the house of someone will not be loveable. No matter how well received the person is who acts it out, if we cannot love them on a human level, this drama will not work. Adachi’s power to read people’s hearts is also the action of seeing people’s darker sides on his own volition. That’s why a character we cannot love as a person will receive push-back by the viewers.

YY: Just like you said, the act of reading peoples’ hearts includes great violence. That is why I think that when he realizes that Kurosawa has fond feelings for him, unlike the original where he reads Kurosawa’s heart on purpose, the drama treats it as an accidental force. Over the whole series, it is of focal importance that Adachi doesn’t overuse his magic.

YE: That is where we were extremely careful. In the manga easy comprehensiveness is important and that type of suspense is interesting - and we don’t intend to deny that - but if you do it as a drama, I didn’t want to make him into a young man using his powers at ease. That is why, especially in the first half, he decides and tries very hard not to use his powers when possible. The scene where he reads the CEO’s heart appears in the first issue of the original, but in the drama we pushed it back to the 5th episode. We made it a point to illustrate how Adachi is filled with the emotion to help Kurosawa and that is why he uses his powers.

That what I don’t want others to do unto me, I do not want to inflict on characters.

YY: His colleague Fujisaki (Satou Ryo) is a Fujoshi in the original and that premise was cut from the series. If you decided to have a Fujoshi character on a prime time show, did you think that misunderstandings might arise easily?

YE: That was definitely a thought. In BL as a genre it is not an issue that a character exists that takes the same viewpoint as the reader, and I love Fujisaki in the original, but the people who are acting it out in reality are real people. At that point, loudly fawning about someone else’s’ love life is not perceived as good conduct. At the least, I thought that I wouldn’t want to be treated like that.

YY: It is fine to envision fictional characters as romantic partners, but it is different when you make a real acquaintance the target of that.

YE:

A thought we had was that if Adachi and Kurosawa were to really date it would be one thing, but grinning at someone - who might even be heterosexual – because you inflate your own BL adjacent delusion isn’t much different from a man grinning at a woman with big breasts and calling her sexy. I wouldn’t want to get treated that way, so I didn’t want to inflict that on the characters in the story as well.

When it comes to Fujisaki it isn’t like she isn’t a Fujoshi. We do not clearly state it, but I thought there was no reason to show it in the drama.

YY: You are saying, that it is fine that people might interpret Fujisaki as a Fujoshi when she is smiling at Adachi and Kurosawa.

YE: Yes. That is where you are free to imagine (laughs).

YY: What I thought was very fresh is that instead of proclaiming her to be a Fujoshi, Fujisaki is turned into someone who “is happily living her daily life even without romantic love”. We don’t often get characters like that in Japanese tv series.

Personally, I also like romantic tv series, but while feeling venerated when the main characters have realized their love in the final episode, when trying to build a romantic connection to someone else in real life it might not go well and beyond that, it is not that it never happens that I, who also holds interests in other things than romance, end up feeling empty because of the lonely feeling of having been left behind (when watching a romance on tv unfold).

But with having Fujisaki appear, it felt like I got rescued.

YE: Until now, for several projects I made the suggestion of a character that is not interested in romance, but I wasn’t understood. “Is it necessary to do that?” “Aren’t you overthinking it?” were things I got told often.

But with this production, when I said that I wanted Fujisaki to be asexual or aromantic, no one denied me. From that stage on I thought that this place was a good one, and thanks to the original writer giving her agreement it got turned into reality.

YY: Since this kind of character hasn’t really appeared in a tv series, it felt like people like Fujisaki were assigned to be non-existent in this world. But thanks to you envisioning her like this, seen from a person that like Fujisaki might say “I got used to acting “normal”” and feel a notion of despair when confronted with people not understanding them, it felt like it got emphasized that people like her also exist in our society. Picking such little voices feels like it is one of the purposes of entertainment.

YE: If that could become the case I would be glad about it. 10 to 20 years prior, a “fairytale gay” (describing the flamboyant gay friend, that mentally supports the heroine by giving some harsh but accurate advice) often appeared in tv series from abroad, but this portrayal slowly changed, finally it has reached the point where the view point that being gay isn’t something special has penetrated the public.

So this time, I believe that one of my duties was to tell the story of people that are not interested in romance or people who do not only love one person, not from a standpoint that is convenient for consumption, but to have properly realized characters up to their individual backgrounds.

I hope the time comes where it isn’t necessary to especially say “This is a BL series”

YY: Please let me speak on something that has confused me this far. Prior, when you explained Fujisaki in context of the script, it felt like it wasn’t okay to call her asexual or aromantic because she herself doesn’t use any of those labels. I was somewhat afraid that an outsider would just selfishly declare that “you are asexual, aren’t you!?” in regards to someone who hasn’t professed anything.

YE: There is the point of both of the terms asexual and aromantic not being widely known in Japan as much as compared to overseas and I also think there are people who just wouldn’t use these words. Even when you think you are not interested in romance at the moment, it could also be that you just haven’t found the person that makes you feel that way. That’s why I can understand how labelling someone has a violent notion.

YY: My next question is also relating to that: This applies to Cherry Maho, but generally when I write about over works that feature a lovestory between men I try not to use the word BL.

This is my own opinion but to me it feels like the term BL has too much of a sexual image.

In private I casually use the word BL. However, for the content of an article that is read by an unspecified number of people, I remember stumbling over labelling something as BL. Using BL as an easy genre specifier has the effect that there will be a layer that won’t get looked at. I simply want to have more people enjoy a piece of work. I don’t object to the editor using BL in the title but in the content I write, I try not to use the term BL story but simply “love story between two men” and keep it close to how you’d address it in reality.

YE: I understand that. Obviously, I don’t intend to shame the taste of people that like BL. However, I understand that there are people that feel a sense of resistance towards BL as a genre. That is why I also don’t use the word BL when I promote on twitter. I do think that it would be great to have a new word.

Just like women have things they don’t want to be subjected to, men also have things they don’t want to be subjected to. This kind of awareness has become more broadly spread bit by bit. However, in order to have it really penetrate society it needs for the voices of the affected people to be heard. But it is also the reality of today’s society that violence is directed at people that raise their voice. That is why I feel like it is the job of the people that create tv shows to speak up instead.

At the least, that is how I want to straightforwardly create the world, so that in 10 years without directly stating “this is a BL series” we have a society that takes it in as a “new cool romantic drama beginning” with “the leads being actor x and actor z” and as nothing unusual. Now we really have such a transitional period, and as a writer I want to build the steps towards it.

original article: https://mi-mollet.com/articles/-/27045?page=3&per_page=1

#cherry magic #thirty years of virginity can make you a wizard #30歳まで童貞だと魔法使いになれるらしい #30 sai made #a bit rusty with my translations but i really enjoyed how they were talking about the writing and character composition in the series and #decided that I had to share #long post

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gravegroves · 3 years

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ace nancy 👀?? from your wips?

I'm gonna preffice this by warning that Billy knows about Asexuality but isn't all that good at explaining it or the nuanced spectrum of being Ace. Also it's the 80's, so please read the following with that in mind. (Clarification comes later in the fic)

So this fic is about Billy being pressganged by Mr Clark into joining the debate team for the State Championships for extra credit. Nancy would rather have a Demodog chomp her left leg off than team up with Billy Hargrove, but things have a way of working out.

A few excerpts:

"Be honest Wheeler, did Harrington make you come even once?"

Nancy blushes.

"Oh, holy shit, he really didn't, did he?"

"I didn't say that--" Nancy insists, loudly.

Billy laughs, "Oh, you didn't have to, Princess. Your face says it all."

"Shut up, Hargrove, just…" Nancy huffs in frustration and goes back to picking at the label a little more aggressively, "Just don't."

"Hey, I'm not judging you, that's all on Harrington. What a dick."

"He's not really. Not anymore. It's just," Her nail finally catches and she rips another strip of wet, sticky label off the bottle and flings it into the grass, "He was my first, you know? I didn't know what to do or how to - to move, and then it was over and I just remember thinking, is that all it is? And then I thought, maybe I'm just not good at it yet, maybe I just need to try again."

She sniffs, reaches up to wipe her face and Billy realises with a sickening lurch in his stomach that Wheeler is crying. He stares at her, frozen solid with uncertainty about what to do.

"And then I thought maybe there's something wrong with him, you know?" Her voice turns bitter. "Like, why couldn't he make it good for me? It's not like I hadn't heard about the other girls talking about Steve before we got together. None of them had any complaints."

"But then I got together with Jonathan and I thought this feeling, this is what I was missing. But-- it didn't fix anything! It didn't fix me."

Billy flounders a little, but ultimately goes with the first thing that pops into his head. "There isn't anything wrong with you, Wheeler."

Nancy cackles a little, sways on the spot, the drink clearly loosening her tongue as well as her body. "Yeah? You gonna show me what I've been missing out on, huh? You wanna take me for a ride in your Camaro, Billy?"

Billy gags a little at the thought, luckily Nancy is too preoccupied by taking another swig from her bottle to notice.

"Oh yeah, that'd end really fucking well."

*****

"You literally did an hour long presentation on Nicola Tesla last semester and spent a quarter of it talking about why he never got married. Don't tell anyone I said this, but you're not exactly stupid. Don't fail me now, Wheeler."

Nancy blinks, looks likes she's thinking real fucking hard. Maybe Billy spoke too soon.

"You ever heard of the term asexual?"

"I think so?" She says, slowly, sounding out the words with deliberate care and turning it into a question. A valley grows between her brows in concentration. "The farmers at the spring festival talked about-- about culling a rooster because it wouldn't, like, mount the hens naturally. I'm sure that's the term he used.

"Jesus Christ." Billy sucks deeply on his cigarette. "It means you don't wanna fuck." Billy frowns, waves his hand dismissively. "Like, you can like it just fine, but you don't think about it like most people do. Something like that."

Nancy straightens of her slouch to lean back and stare at him, jerking a little when she overbalances and steadies herself by grabbing the crook of Billy's elbow. "That doesn't sound normal."

He shrugs a little, takes one last pull from the cigarette before flicking the butt at the ground. "What the fuck is normal, huh?" He grinds the butt into the gravel and turns to look at her, "Let's get you back on your pea, princess. I think you've had enough for one night."

He holds out a hand.

Nancy takes it.

*****

Billy jerks out of doze when someone drops into the seat next to him. He already knows who it's gonna be before he turns to look.

"Morning Wheeler, you get lost on the way to your seat?"

Billy looks around pointedly, his little nook in the back of the bus cut off from the rest of the group by a good five or six rows of empty seats. Far enough to get the point across that Billy isn't there by choice or planning to socialise with any of these nerds.

"No." She says simply.

"You sure? Seems like an awful lot of empty seats for you to be getting all friendly. How's the head?"

Nancy ignores him. Stares at the back of the seat in front of her like it gave her a less than a perfect grade. She purses her lips in that awful way that reminds Billy of a cat's asshole, but she doesn't run off in a huff like he expects.

"You're right." She says, still not looking at him. He watches a muscle tick in her jaw as she grinds her teeth.

He grins.

"You about to have a heart to heart with me, Wheeler? Gotta know whether or not to turn the volume up on these things." He gestures to the headphones pushed partially off his left ear.

She turns her head and regards him cooly for a beat, before a hand shoots out and bats the thing off his head with a quick swipe.

"Watch it!" Billy scrambles to catch them by the cord before they fall to the floor.

Nancy smiles sweetly, "Don't be a dick, Hargrove."

He rolls his eyes.

"Bitch."

"Slut."

"Whore."

She shoots him a pitying look. "Oh Billy, we both know Christie Otto paid you twenty bucks to let her suck your toes."

Billy guffaws, taken completely by surprise and loving it.

Nancy stares, disbelieving.

"You actually did it?"

Billy grins.

Her face does a complicated thing before settling on a confused expression. "But why?"

"Twenty bucks is a hell of a lot of dough for us mere peasants, Princess."

Billy screws his face up, tries not to squirm uncomfortably in his seat at the memory, "Maybe I should have warned her that I'm ticklish. Almost kicked her face in, like, three times."

Nancy coughs. Covers her mouth as she laughs into her hands, like she doesn't want him to see that he made her laugh.

"Not that this isn't nice and all--"

"Oh, I'm sorry, you got somewhere to be, Hargrove?" She snaps, deadpan, but Billy can tell she's nervous from the way she wrings her hands and hides them up her sleeves.

"I just wanted to say thank you--"

"Don't mention it, Wheeler." He says, hastily. Actually he'd prefer it if they never spoke about it ever again.

She glares at the interruption, but presses on. "-- thank you and I wanted to know if I could talk to you. More. About it."

And now it's Billy's turn to stare. Nancy meets his eyes with a determined gaze. Whatever shit Tommy and the rest of the school likes to say about Nancy Wheeler, she's got stones, he'll give her that.

"Alright."

*****

The topic is announced.

Gay marriage.

Berkeley for. Hawkins against.

They win by a landslide.

Of course they do.

The team from Berkeley registers a formal complaint with the panel the second the win is announced. Mr Scott and his Berkeley counterpart are waved up to approach the judges table. Billy wants desperately to leave, but he's forced to sit and watch the Berkeley debate coach protest the unfair conditions his team had been placed under.

"No one in their right mind would chose to side with us on such a topic. No matter how well my kids argue their case."

"I'm afraid I disagree." Mr. Clarke argues. "We debate politically and morally charged topics all the time, Mr. Davenport. The judges judge how well you present your side, not their own personal beliefs.

Billy snorts. Feels unclean after having to stand on that stage and tell the world how unfit people like him are to love. To form families. To be allowed to simply be.

Even if it's all hypothetical, Billy knows those words came damn easily out of his team mates mouths, just as the words of support clearly left a sour after-taste in their opponents.

Nancy turns to look at him.

Fuck it.

Billy gets up and stalks out of the hall. Fuck it all to shit.

#billy hargrove #nancy wheeler #tag game #gravegroves writes #anon ask

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im-just-a-random-fandom-girl · 3 years

Text

You know what I want?

Domestic Stucky. In Westview. Hear me out.

(First of all, Endg*me can go fuck itself. Steve’s whole thing? Never happened. Forget about it. Wipe if from your mind. We’re rewriting that shit.)

(Also, this isn’t a fic even though I know it starts out looking like one lol. This is just stream of consciousness thoughts. I would put way more effort into actual writing)

The weeks after the final snap were hard.

Bucky was back, and it felt like every weight that had been dragging Steve down for the past 5 years was lifted. He was mentally and physically exhausted, but his soulmate, his best friend, was at his side again, pulling him into a warm hug, tight and breathtaking.

It was still hard; Steve was a very different man than he had been 5 years ago, but Bucky was calm and understanding. There was still much to mourn for, too. Tony and Nat were gone. Any sense of stability that had been established during those 5 years was immediately destroyed, and Steve was sure it would take many more years to try to fix the damage.

And Wanda. When Wanda was snapped back into existence, her grief was palpable. What had been 5 terrible years for him had been 5 minutes of bliss for her, relief that she wouldn’t have to try to live in a world without Vision. Steve knew the feeling. Even though he didn’t quite understand Wanda and Vision’s relationship (he was a robot?), he can’t really judge because he’s been pining after his childhood best friend for the better part of a century and still hasn’t managed to do anything about it.

To be brought back to life was the worst trick you could play on Wanda. Her sense of peace was snatched away from her and she was throttled back into a world that had nothing in it for her. Everyone she loved was dead. Her powers still deemed her a threat, even if she had played a crucial role in the fight against Thanos.

Steve wanted to be selfish and just run away with Bucky, but he couldn’t leave Wanda, who had become the little sister he never had.

He worried about her. Even as those who had been snapped away started to come to terms with the fact that 5 years had passed, Wanda wandered around, just a shell of her former self. Sometimes she fell into fits of rage and despair, using her powers to smash everything in her room at the compound or snapping at anyone who tried to distract her. Most of the time she was just blank.

Just a month after the return from the blip, Wanda strolls into the kitchen and announces that she’s going to S.W.O.R.D. headquarters. Steve’s head snaps up. Her eyes are hard and determined, and Steve belatedly realizes that every muscle in her body is tense as she readies herself to fight anyone who tries to stop her. Sam is the first to speak up.

“Okay, kid,” he breathes out nonchalantly, “you need anyone to go with you?” Sam is good like that. Always knowing what to say to make someone feel comfortable and cared about, but not coddled.

“No,” Wanda grits out. A breath, and then, softer, “thank you.”

Glancing around to see if anyone else had any objections, Wanda walks out of the compound.

Steve lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he was still holding, but the room is still tense. He whips around to Bucky, eyes wide with concern.

Before he can even say anything, Bucky reaches out and puts a hand on his shoulder, “Don’t worry. Come on, we’ll watch out for her.”

So, with a tight smile, Steve stands up and lets Bucky lead the two of them out.

It’s not until they are halfway down the street in an inconspicuous car, trailing a little ways behind Wanda’s red sedan that it occurs to Steve to ask what they’re doing.

“We’re just going to follow her to make sure she’s alright, pal. S.W.O.R.D. has Vision’s body, and it’s not a good idea for her to be alone, even if she thinks it’s best.”

“She’ll be mad if she realizes what we’re doing.”

“Good thing one of us is a reformed Russian spy,” he smirks.

Steve’s heart skips a beat at that familiar face, one that he hadn’t thought he’d ever see again, and blushes, ducking his head. If Bucky notices, he doesn’t say. They carry on in a comfortable silence.

As they pull into the S.W.O.R.D. parking lot, Steve watches Wanda march into the headquarters. He turns to Bucky, "Are we going to follow her in?"

"You can't, that's for sure." Steve scowls. "It's not entirely your fault, pal, but you're don't exactly blend in easily. But I'll go in to keep an eye on her if you want me to."

Steve considers the offer for the moment. As much as he wanted to watch out for Wanda, he knew that if she found out, it would hurt her more. She would think that he didn't trust her, and that he was following her to make sure that she didn't lose control of her powers and hurt people. He didn't want to make her feel more ostracized than she already was.

"No, we'll just wait," he says, shaking his head. His eyes never leave the entrance to S.W.O.R.D. headquarters.

The wait for Wanda feels excruciatingly long. Steve doesn't trust that S.W.O.R.D. is any better than S.H.I.E.L.D., and he honestly has no idea what they've been doing with Vision's body for the last 5 years. A renewed sense of guilt washes over him. If he had tried to fight S.W.O.R.D. harder for Vision's body, Wanda wouldn't be here, fighting through her grief to see him one last time. After the snap, Steve didn't feel like he could waste his dwindling energy scrutinizing S.W.O.R.D's every move, but he now wishes he had. He could have spared her this pain.

Sensing the anxiety bubbling up within him, Bucky reaches out, pulling Steve's hand into his own. "It's not your fault, Steve," he reminds him gently. Steve squeezes his hand in response.

Wanda walks out of S.W.O.R.D. headquarters 20 minutes later. She seems drained and tired, but her expression reveals nothing. They wait again before following her out of the lot.

When she turns right, away from the direction of the compound where he assumed she would return, Steve frowns. "Where is she going? The compound's the other way."

Bucky shrugs. "I guess we'll see."

Steve has no idea where they are until he sees a sign declaring "Welcome to New Jersey!" not far down the highway.

"What the hell is she going to Jersey for?" Bucky gasps, pulling a loud laugh from Steve's chest. It's absurd and ridiculous, but it reminds Steve of when they were kids in Brooklyn, shitting on the Yankees and the state's annoying accent, among the plethora of other abhorrent traits about New Jersey. Bucky starts laughing with him, shaking his head.

They finally arrive in a small, run-down town called Westview. Steve can't imagine why Wanda would come here.

Her red sedan comes to a stop in front of an empty plot of land, and she steps out, clutching a folded piece of paper to her chest.

"Oh, Christ... Shit," Bucky mutters. Steve is about to ask what he's thinking when he finally sees Wanda's walls crumble.

Her shoulders shake with the force of her sobs, and she falls to her knees with a cry of desperation. A red orb of her twists around her body and Steve shoves the door to the car open, desperate to get to Wanda.

"Steve!" he hears Bucky cry out behind him, and it's the last thing he hears before Wanda's powers implode around her, and his vision is blotted with red.

Remember! Wanda made all of her characters in the hex as similar to their actual lives as possible to ease her control of them! SO, it's only natural that her powers would pick up on the fact that Steve and Bucky are very obviously pining for each other and put them in a loving relationship while they are in the hex. Since they are both under Wanda's control, their storyline would happen mostly independently from what we see in WandaVision. I wouldn't have there be any smut (since I'm not talented enough or comfortable writing it myself) so there wouldn't be any non-con or any serious dub-con while they are in the hex. The idea is that both of them want everything that they are made to do (be partners, hold hands, kiss, do other couple-y stuff), but they are concerned because they think the other would feel disgusted and not want it.

There unfortunately were not any gay characters on TV in the 50s and 60s, so I would write these two "episodes" with loose ties to other sitcoms from those decades and do some research into how gay couples lived during these time periods. Basically, reimagine my own 50s and 60s sitcoms with realistic portrayals of a gay couple.

For the other decades, I would then base their relationship off of those actually depicted in sitcoms from that time.

It should be noted that, while I have actually watch a lot of old sitcoms, I haven't watched many of the ones I mention. If I every decide to write this, I would do a lot more research on these shows (and watch some episodes!)

70's - I would likely draw from Barney Miller, Mary Hartman, Mary Hartman, and Soap.

80's - Roseanne is pretty iconic, but I would be a little hesitant to write it after all of the controversy a couple years ago. Love, Sidney may also work, but I don't know enough about the show.

90's - Will & Grace, of course! I don't know anything about Northern Exposure, but the little bit of research I've done suggests that also may be a source of inspiration.

2000 through early 2010s - It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia and Modern Family. (I loved The War At Home, but it doesn't really fit)

When Wanda releases everyone from the hex, Bucky and Steve had some serious miscommunication issues and angst. Both feeling exceedingly guilty about their actions, despite the fact that they had no control over them. They got a taste for what domestic life would be like together, and they are frustrated that they enjoyed it since they believe the other one did not. When Wanda explains that her powers gave everyone jobs, relationships and roles in society that were equally comparable to those they had in real life, Bucky and Steve both realize that the hex would not have put them in a relationship if it wasn't what the other also wanted. Yay! They make-up (and make-out, lol).

I seriously want to write this, but I really don't have the confidence that I will be able to execute it as I imagine it. If someone wants to work on it with me (be it we both write it or you just want to offer some brainstorming help/story guidance), I would be thrilled! Just so long as there isn't any pressure to get it done in a time crunch. I just want this writing experience to be fun! Also, if you are interested, I swear I’m a better writer than what was just exhibited, but I really only spent an hour or so on it, so it’s obviously not my best work.

Anyway, if you have any thoughts, suggestions, advice etc or just want to scream about WandaVision and/or Stucky, please feel free to PM me or stop by my inbox. It would make my day :)

#sara says stuff #my writing #wandavision #stucky

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monaownsmyass · 4 years

Text

Time’s Up

If you have any fic ideas or requests you'd like me to write, you can leave me an ask!

Book: My First Two Loves

Pairing: Ava Lawrence x MC (Emma Price)

Genre : Angst

Rating: PG13, a couple of strong words

Word Count: 1,510

A/N: MC realised she likes Ava a little too late and struggles to cope with it. I was literally in the middle of writing a different Ava x MC fluff fic when I had the sudden urge to write a full on angst piece so I did. I know we Ava stans have suffered enough at the hands of PB but at least my fic is gay. This was written on a whim in a little over 2 hours so idk how good it is lol it’s my first fully angst work too so lmk how I did!

Tag list: @ineedskyecrandall @kamilahsayeet2063 @avalawrencefl @lovekamilahsayeed @thequeenkamilahsayeed @heygmicheelle @djtjsmith14 @jjlover01 @soft-for-drake @dopeyouth @alexroyard @satrinadia @toalltheboysididntlove @mypegasifly (lmk if anyone would like to be included or removed in my next fics and if you only want to be tagged for certain pairings.)

I heard sobs as I walked past Emma's room. Uncontrollable, inconsolable sobs. I stopped in my tracks and bit my lip. I wanted to go in and comfort her, to ask her what's wrong and how I could help her. But I've tried that the day this all started and she refused to even let me in her room.

She's been like this for the past few days and I couldn't bear it. She was my sister and it killed me to know that she wouldn't even let me in and my heart hurt to hear her cries and sorrow. I reached out for the door knob but hesitated when my hand was on it.

I sighed and shook my head. She clearly wanted space and I don't think it would help to barge in on her at her most vulnerable state. It took everything I had to move away from the door and walk away but I did.

I walked away and the sound of my elder sister calling out Ava's name as she cried faded with it.

~*~*~

How long had I been cooped up in my room? When was the last time I had a proper meal or even took a shower? When was the last time I saw anyone? Talked to anyone? What day was it? What was the time?

I couldn't answer any of those questions...

And I didn't care.

I didn't care about any of that. How could I when the thing that made me care walked out on me?

I know it sounds like she was the villain in this story but she wasn't. The only villain was time.

Goddamn time.

Time wasn't real, it didn't exist, but it was the thing we all dreaded. One way or another, sooner or later, eventually, we all ran out of it.

At that time, I felt like I had all the time in the world. After all, there wasn't any rush, right? My best friend would always be by my side, no matter what I did or who I picked, right? Right...?

Wrong!

Then, suddenly, I didn't have enough of it. Like an hourglass being smashed before the last grains of sand in it could fall.

Time was up before I knew it and if I had only one wish to do anything I ever wanted, I would turn back time to when it all went downhill. As selfish as it sounded, I wouldn't have cured world hunger or restored world peace or wish for equity for everyone.

Would that make me a bad person? To wish for personal gain if that wish rightfully belonged to me? Some would say yes, others no. Some would be uncertain and who could blame them?

For me, I didn't care if it was good or bad or morally-grey. I already saw myself as a bad person when I treated her an alternative instead of my go-to, so what was another selfish act?

'Cuz fuck, I just wanted Ava Lawrence.

But she didn't want me.

I could cry as much and as hard as I wanted but I knew deep down that wouldn't help with anything. It wasn't gonna get her back, it wasn't gonna ease my burden, it wasn't gonna fill this emptiness in me that was present ever since I watched her walked away from me and it definitely fucking wasn't gonna heal my wounded soul that would remain scarred so long as she wasn’t with me. Nothing.

Tears streamed down my cheeks as I glanced up at my ceiling. Photos of Ava and I plastered all over it above my bed. We hugged and smile and laughed and it felt like a lifetime ago. Maybe it was. I wasn't sure.

All I was certain about was the present and right now, I was pathetically and miserably crying over my love who probably didn't give a fuck about me anymore.

My gazed focused on one particular picture among the cluster. It was the last time we actually spent proper time together before shit hit the fan.

It was also the memory I cherished the most. It still was and even if millions of years go by and I was already on my life after the afterlife, I still would remember it fondly.

In the picture, Ava looked at me as I looked at her, on this very bed I was currently grieving on. I reached my hand out like I remembered doing months ago where I grasped onto her warm hand that fitted in mine as if it was meant to be. Only this time, I grasped at the cold, empty sheets.

She gave me a kiss on the cheek and the sound of her giggle lit up the room. Now, the chilling air from my fan brushed against my face and left me feeling exposed to the vast darkness of the space I was in.

She caressed my skin and looked into my eyes like she was looking at the world. Because at that time, it was true. I was her world. I looked at her like she was mine too. But that was then. Right now, my tears trailed my skin. It trailed my cheeks and forearms and hands from when I rubbed my blurry sight which was the only thing I could see.

She whispered 'I love you' in my ear and I felt goosebumps rise from her breath tickling my neck. In this moment, I could only hear my own sobs fill up my ears and the only goosebumps I had was from the fear of knowing I'd never experience that sensation again.

My heart raced and my stomach was in knots at her declaration. But now, my heart ached and I was sick to my stomach. I felt like throwing up but even that wouldn't make me feel better. Nothing could.

I thought back to when I started avoiding her after that. Months. I avoided her for months because I was too afraid to face my feelings for her. Too afraid to know the truth. I shut her out and didn't give her an explanation. I couldn't even look at her and I knew she thought she was the problem. That, of course, was the furthest thing from the truth.

The problem was me.

I was my biggest enemy.

Time may have been the main villain in this story but I held myself back. Time didn't tell me to ignore Ava and pretend my feelings weren't real, I did.

And when I realised I couldn't run away from them of her any longer, my time ran out.

I should've known she wouldn't have waited on me forever but something in me believed she would. And I think that's what made me a bad person. Not some metaphorical wish I'd use for myself but for thinking others, especially the ones closest to me, owed me something that wasn't mine to begin with. For thinking others owed me their time that was clearly running out too.

I remembered running after Ava, calling out to her, shouting, anything to get the attention I was craving for in the months I stopped speaking to her.

I remembered groveling and apologising, saying how wrong and sorry I was, how I would do anything to make things right between us and how I'd give up the world just to hold her again.

She told me I didn't have to do that and embraced me but it didn't feel right. The warmth her hugs normally had were absent, the tight grip she used to have was now loose and reluctant. The comfort I usually felt in her arms was replaced by uncertainty. This wasn't a welcome back hug. It was a goodbye.

This wasn't the hug I wanted but what I wanted didn't matter. I still treasured that hug, making the most of it and soaking up every last second of feeling her body pressed against mine that that hug gifted me.

She pulled away all too soon and didn't say another word to me. She looked me in the eyes and where I once saw her staring at her world was now empty. She wasn't looking at her world, just a forgotten planet. A lonely place that was once full of hope and adoration was now gone. She turned away from me and didn't look back.

Every step she took made every fibre of my being wanted to scream 'stop!'. To run after her and take her in my arms again, to grab onto her hand and never let go.

But instead, I stood still.

I shouted to her, finally admitting that I was in love with her. That I didn't think could live without her.

That made her stop. She stopped and told me she loved me too.

But not anymore.

Heart shattering, I watched her one last time, still looking at her like she was my world. I watched her walk further and further away from me.

And eventually, out of my life. For good.

(More fics!)

#ava x mc #ava lawrence #ava mtfl #my two first loves #mtfl choices #choices #choices: stories you play #pb #pixelberry #playchoices #mtfl fanfiction #choices fanfiction #thanks for reading!

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galaxina-the-pyro · 3 years

Text

A Cure That Ails You

"IT'S NOT FAIR!" "I'm sure it's not, hon..." "Like, he asks me to all these things NOW?! While I'm trying to get over him?! That oblivious, kerfluffin-!" Schnitzel sighed deeply, rolling her eyes towards a sobbing mess of a seventeen-year-old Isabella. In hindsight, this was all on the former Fireside Girl - Phineas had asked her out to some stupid festival that Danville was setting up. Isabella turned him down. Phineas was disappointed but never once felt upset over Isabella's answer, only telling her that he'll still meet up with her at the festival or whatever with whomever she was gonna go with. She told him that that one kid named...uh...what was it...Everett? No, wait, that was the bastard who broke her heart after her Bat Quincinera Mitzvah party thing. That other boy who started showing signs of having a thing for Isabella was that one kid with that completely fake British accent. Bland and forgettable to Schnitzel, though Isabella fawned over the kid's sense of humor at the very least. Humor was important in a relationship. But if Schnitzel remembered this particular kid, she remembered that he seemed much more...flamboyant for someone Isabella would be pursuing. Not that Phineas didn't have those moments, it was more like this particular kid- "CLINTON!" Schnitzel shouted, "That's his name! Clinton, right?" Isabella whined. "Yes, Clinton," she leaned her head back against her couch, covered in crumbs of cookie dough and chips, "He already asked me before...before he did. I told him I was gonna think about it..." She scooped another clump of cookie dough into her mouth and chewed. Schnitzel examined her jaw bobbing up and down like a well-oiled garbage disposal. "Don't you like that kid?" she asked, "You told your other friends you liked him, anyway. They won't shut up about how..." she trailed off and shook her head, "You flipping lied to them, didn't you?" Isabella threw her hands up into the air, nearly sending her spoon flying into the air in the process. "They wouldn't shut up about it!" she cried out, mouth still full of dough, "The girls kept pushing how I shouldn't give up on him just yet!" she had the sense to swallow before she could choke on a chocolate chip, "That we were meant to be! Love knows no limits! You have to wait for it-UGH! I just-I couldn't take it anymore!" "I get what you're saying, kid," Schnitzel frowned deeply, "But that's not a cool thing to do to a guy like Clinton. He's a cool...well...nice dude, at least. Leading him on is kind of a jerk move on your end." The fat woman could feel the sense of irritation drooling from Isabella's tone as she turned to face her. Isabella sighed. "You really can't tell?" she asked with a raised eyebrow, "Clinton's gay. Like, really, really gay." Schnitzel was taken aback, but not by much. "...then," she paused, "Then why is he-?" "He's not out of the closet yet," Isabella shrugged, "I and another one of his friends are the only ones who know. Though honestly, I'm surprised no one's figured it out by now. It's kinda obvious." Schnitzel blinked. "I mean, I figured," she admitted, "But, like...why would he be pretending to-," she facepalmed, "Oh, duh, this is a setup. You're trying to cover up your crush, he's trying to cover up his," she smirked, "Which one of your friends is he pining for?" "Buford," Isabella said, "Totally Buford. He hangs out with him the most. The two like to jerk around with each other." Schnitzel nodded, smiling for a moment before she noticed Isabella slumping back into a depressed pile. The former villainess scowled slightly at the sight, having hoped changing the conversation to that of Clinton's dilemma would snap Isabella away from what happened with her and Phineas. Schnitzel picked up one of the empty cookie dough canisters and lifted it up for examination. "You know," Schnitzel said slowly, "You really don't have to lie to your friends. Just talk to them. Explain that you don't appreciate-." "They wouldn't understand," Isabella insisted, "They only ever backed off when I was with...you know...and now they're kinda backing off now that I'm...interested in Clinton, you know? I...I wanna keep it that way." "It's a dumb move," Schnitzel stated bluntly, "But...I see why you're doing it...at least partly," she turned the cannister, looking for the ingredients - the odor of the dough making her lick her lips, "Your friends mean well. They do. They shouldn't push this stuff, but they definitely care," she looked over at Isabella with a frown, "But maybe you're backing the wrong horse here, too?" Isabella squinted her eyes at the greying woman in her early fifties at best. "What do you mean?" she practically scowled. "I mean that maybe," Schnitzel leaned back slightly, not looking at Isabella, "Maybe they have a point...I'm not saying you should go back to how things used to be," she briefly placed the plastic onto her lap, "It's good to take breaks. Learned that from experience," she turned to the teen carefully, "But...is giving up on the kid entirely really what you want? Or do you think it's what you have to do because you need to start 'growing up' and moving passed those supposedly childish endeavors?" "I can't revolve my entire being to him all the time," Isabella insisted, "I'm more than that!" "Yeah, well," Schnitzel drummed her fingers on the bottom of the plastic canister, "Who said you had to give up on being with Phineas in order to do that?" Schnitzel regretted her choice words, regretted the look of sheer agony that graced Isabella's face from hearing the name of her heart's desire ring in her ears. The floodgates reopened as the strong, fearless leader, Isabella, once again succumbed to a sniveling mess. Schnitzel let out another deep sigh as she returned to examining the cannister. "Why does the world hate me?!" "Heck if I know." "I don't understand why emotions work the way they do! Why can't I just MOVE THE HECK ON?!" "Feel ya, girl. I really do," Schnitzel lit up, "OH! Here it is! Ingredients!" Isabella wailed, "H-he's just so PERFECT, Alice," she insisted, "Why must he make it so hard for me to move on from?! Why does he feel the need to squeeze at my heart?!" The broken sobs that followed were bone-shattering, even for Schnitzel. A wave of guilt washed over onto her, even as her eyes refused to leave to words on the container. "Oh, Isa..." she paused upon looking at the part of the container that specifically said 'do not consumer before baking' in bold letters, wondering why she hadn't noticed that before; she glanced around the empty as well as the partly empty containers on the ground, and barely noticed the large black garbage bag beside Isabella, slowly putting two and two together, "...uh...Isabella, how much cookie dough have you been eating?" Isabella's response was a mere hiccup and a cough, having nearly choked on some more cookie dough. "Why won't Phineas love me?" she sobbed before hugging her current container close to her chest like it was her offspring. Schnitzel swallowed some air and slowly stood up, the container in hand. "Ooooookay, that's enough cookie dough, Is," she looked at the container once more and gaped, "Why...why would you buy cookie dough that uses unpasteurized eggs?" Isabella coughed again. "Why does THAT matter?" she groaned. "Well," Schnitzel walked towards the garbage bag, opened it, and saw a lot of containers and empty chip bags of varying flavors, "Raw cookie dough already gives you a strong likelihood of getting foodborne diseases," Schnitzel failed to notice Isabella's coughing suddenly turning into gagging, "But when you use unpasteurized products, it also gives you the high risk of getting-" Schnitzel cringed as she heard Isabella lurch forward and, for lack of a better word, tossed up her cookies all over her feet. The woman need not turn to look at the poor child, but did so anyway and sighed as Isabella trembled in a bent up position, whimpering. "...salmonella." (~) "Oh, Izzy...oh you poor baby..." Isabella moaned as she leaned against the toilet, feeling Phineas' hands gently rubbing her back. He sighed and shook his head, as if somewhat disappointed in her. It was both painful to see, yet far more comforting than any medicine would do for her right now. "You really should be more careful," he said sternly, "What compelled you to eat all of that anyway?" "I was," Isabella gagged again and clutched the seat, wincing, waiting...but nothing came; she slowly turned back to Phineas and swallowed dryly, "Clinton broke it off with me. I...I didn't take it well." The look on Phineas' face was as heartbroken as it made Isabella feel. She hated to see Phineas look so hurt, even when it was because she was the one in pain. She felt his arms gently wrap around her waist and his chin rest on her head ever slightly. "I'm so sorry," he said, "I know you liked him a lot." "I...yeah," Isabella laughed softly, "I did...I do...but..." her chuckles became shaken, "Phineas, I...I need to..." she fought the need to wretch as the words echoed in her mind like a broken record. "Who said you had to give up on being with Phineas...?" "Isabella?" Isabella could barely turn to look at Phineas like her neck was locked into place. But from the corner of her eyes, she could see the kindness and love that Phineas had on his face. Platonic or not, that love was real - that love was far more than worth fighting for. Worth pursuing even. He proved that by coming over today on such short notice. He proved that by dropping everything just to go see if she was doing okay. He loved her. He loved her so much... "I lied." Phineas blinked, tilting his head. "Lied?" he asked, "About what?" Isabella breathed slowly. "About me and Clinton," she explained, "I made it-made it all up," she sucked up on some air and choked in down, "I'm so, so sorry, I was," the tears poured, "I was just so tired of it all...they had so many expectations for me," she shook her head, "I just couldn't stand it. I wanted to prove I could really stand on my own." "What are you talking about?" Phineas seemed to pull in closer to Isabella, his voice filled with...hope, perhaps? Isabella wasn't entirely sure. But she desperately wanted that to be the case. That would make this so much easier to do. "From the day I met you," Isabella paused, "No, that's silly...for a long time, since we were little," she grimaced, "I felt strong feelings for you...I...loved you...and whether I wanted to or not, I," she almost broke out into a sob, the pain too much for her to handle as her stomach twisted, "I still love you. I still want you. I wish I was," she shook, "I wish I was strong enough to have told you this when-." "Izzy." Isabella flinched at her nickname, her body finally allowing her to turn and look at Phineas, who pulled his arms away from her. He cupped her face. A tender grin formed on the boy's face as he rubbed his thumb across her cheek to wipe away a stray tear. "Izzy," he repeated, "I always-." Before he could finish, Isabella gasped out in agony and turned back to the loo, chundering once more. Phineas immediately went into position, lifting up Isabella's hair, serenely humming as she finished, a worried frown still in place even as he continued to try and soothe her. Once Isabella had finished, she looked over at Phineas, a shaken up smile forming. He opened his mouth to finish his previous statement before the door opened. "I'm back with some water," Schnitzel stated walking in slowly, looking around, "Were you...talking to someone?" Isabella was afraid to look away from Schnitzel. She was afraid to look behind her. She really didn't have to. She already knew the truth, anyway. But that didn't mean it wouldn't hurt her to see the confirmation first hand. And yet her head turned. Like an idiot, she looked, a small, stupid bead of hope shining in her chest. The same one that refused to die like the rest of it. And the fruits of that hope was met with an empty spot where Phineas was once kneeling at. Some hair that he had been caressing slid onto her skin as she sniffed. Schnitzel took another step closer. "Isabella?" The automatic action of any human being with even the smallest shred of decency was to immediately reached down and clutch the poor, sobbing mess close to her. The once ugly tears of over-dramatics had turned into something far more self-destructive. Schnitzel felt this the moment she felt Isabella's tears on her shoulder as she hugged her close. Rather than disappear, the bead of hope in Isabella's chest proceeded to taunt her with small maybe's and what if's before it was briefly drowned away in fragmented sorrow. Who did Isabella think she was kidding? Phineas would never truly feel that way for her, no matter how many times she could've sworn he did.

"Let it out, Izzy," Schnitzel cooed, brushing the girl's black locks between her fingers, "Let it out..."

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marsalimackimmie · 3 years

Text

Another Outlander Fic Idea

This is set in an AU where Jamie came through the stones to the 20th century soon after Claire returned, and they raised Brianna in the future together.

(I wrote this whole thing out at once and didn’t proof read it so please forgive any typos. It’s a mostly stream of consciousness outline.)

Bree always knew there was something different about her family-- in that they had none. All her friends had grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins… but the Fraser's were an orphaned family. Her Mama and Da had plenty of stories, but always said the people they discussed had died a long time ago. As a kid it made her sad in a detached sort of way, but as she grew older she began having more questions her parents couldn’t answer.

Growing up, Bree had developed an interest in history with her father. He was always reading books, watching documentaries, and always seemed fascinated by everything he learned-- even the things everyone knew, and the things he supposedly lived through himself. It became something they bonded over, and it led Bree to her secret hobby of genealogy.

Unbeknownst to her parents, Brianna one day organized a day trip with her friends up to Broch Morda, the place her parents always claimed Jamie was from. She searched their historical archives and church records, but could find no mention of Jenny, Brian, or Ellen Fraser born in the last few centuries. At one point a librarian said she HAD found people by those names, but perhaps it was a more distant ancestor(?) as they were all from the 18th century.

With this being the only lead Bree had, she dug all in. Every detail that matched up with her parents’ stories (as few details as there were) made her confusion increase. Her first thought was “oh no, my parents are crazy”. Clearly, Jamie had become so lonely as an orphan that he constructed an entire backstory based on the lives of people who shared his last name 200 years ago, who he found through his weird fascination with history. Or was James Fraser even his real name? Oh god, is Fraser even HER real last name?

Freaked out, Bree decides to visit Broch Tuarach’s graveyard to make sure there weren’t just typos or mistakes in the records (it’s not like they’re very valuable or well preserved). The newest graves are full of Murray's, McTavishes, Mackenzies… wow a lot of M’s for a place built by the Fraser clan. She pushes through and finds many faded graves from the early 1800s… quite a few match the names from her supposed family history as well. Brianna is now certain her parents have been lying to her this whole time.

Roger, one of the friends Bree came to Broch Morda with, suggests that maybe they should try some archives in the larger Inverness instead, that maybe this whole Lallybroch business is just a weird coincidence, or a matter of family names repeating themselves. It’s not like Jenny and Ian are uncommon, after all, or James and Katherine for that matter. Brianna is skeptical but agrees.

Back in Inverness, they dig through the library and find articles about Claire’s disappearance through the stones. Surprised, Brianna does the math and realizes her parents must have met when Claire ran away from this ‘Frank Randall’. The lies piling up, Brianna decides to call Frank and ask for any information he has. Frank is reluctant to speak to her when she ambushes him at his office, and she leaves.

Later she returns late at night hoping to break into his files (she’s really mad and not thinking straight, alright?) and instead finds Frank still there, drinking at his desk. In his drunken state, he tells her everything Claire had claimed about time travel, and stones, and that “bloody Scot bastard” who had taken everything from him. Bree is disturbed to find him so bitter and drunk, and honestly can’t fault her mother for leaving the guy-- he seemed awful. And how seriously could she take his story about magic stones when he’s three sheets to the wind?

Still, Bree can’t help but think. Her vacation is over and she goes back home to Claire and Jamie (they live in Edinburgh maybe, or a remote farming village away from modern hustle idk). Despite dropping many subtle hints, she can’t get her parents to crack. She does start writing down small details they mention about the family though-- for comparison to the historic family, out of curiosity, etc-- and trying to suss out whether her father is delusional or just lying. But he seems as sincere as ever, and never contradicts his stories like someone making it up might.

Now Bree is starting to feel like the crazy one. Is there even anything here to uncover? So her parents are orphans; so her mom left a drunkard and married a Scot instead. Everything truly suspicious is just circumstantial, paranoid even. Why is she so fixated on it? In the end, Bree finally decides to drop it.

She still had another visit to Inverness planned however, and Roger suggests they go to the Culloden heritage reenactment festival instead of getting stuck in dusty archives. Bree agrees, and Claire helps her assemble a period costume. Claire seems oddly knowledgeable and nostalgic about it, but Bree brushes it aside. In the end she has a costume that looks great, but isn’t totally accurate. It’s cheaper. It has zippers. She never said she was committed to accuracy ok? Still, making and wearing it seem to make her parents’ lips loosen a bit, and they all bond talking about Scotland and history and family the night before she leaves. As she’s going to sleep, she thinks she hears her parents discuss how they think “Jenny and Ian” are faring at Lallybroch, but that’s probably her imagination-- why would they speak in the present tense? And she knows for a fact Lallybroch is empty.

Flash forward-- Bree and Roger have a great time at the festival. (To insert my own headcanon agenda, I should mention Roger and Bree are not romantic, just good friends. Roger knows Bree is secretly gay, and sometimes even tries to be her wingman. Bree is out to her parents after they caught her and Sally McGinnis making out when she was 17; that’s why they trust her to stay at Roger’s during trips without too much shovel talk.) When they get back to the manse, they run into Fiona (who had been dancing at the stones at sunrise and gone all day). She awkwardly lets them know she brought a man back with her, who seems like he just needs some help. Confused, they ask why he wasn’t brought to the hospital, and she says he doesn’t need it. Fiona claims this man was at the reenactment (to explain his clothes) but dodges most of their questions. Still, Roger is very hospitable as a Reverend’s son and lets him stay.

The man, who introduces himself simply as Claudel, seems very friendly if a bit baffled. Still, Roger doesn’t love the idea of Bree staying in the building with a stranger and asks if she’d rather go home. Bree is resistant because she’s not some damsel who has to be protected, but Fiona pipes up and agrees with Roger. Especially since the trains aren’t running right now and the inn is full-- could she call Mr. & Mrs. Fraser to come pick you up, Bree?

Outnumbered, Brianna angrily agrees. She then sulks in the living room until Claudel comes in and they talk for a while. Brianna complains that everyone treats her like she’s less capable, and the man commiserates, pointing out what she had missed earlier-- his missing hand. She asks what happened, and he vaguely says “the war”. (Fiona had briefed him on what happened to him, where/when he is now, and how he should be as vague as possible when he couldn’t give the truth or a good lie.) Brianna decides she doesn’t mind this guy, even though his presence is inadvertently forcing her to be picked up by her parents like a misbehaving child from a slumber party.

About an hour or whatever later, there’s a knock at the door. Bree gets up, long suffering, and jokes with Claudel that it must be ‘her time’. They say goodbye amicably and he offers to walk her to the door like a gentleman.

Bree answers the door to see Claire on the other side, looking equal parts ruffled and concerned, and almost doesn’t notice Claudel freeze behind her. She hears him ask, “Milady?” under his breath, and now her mother is freezing in place too. Do they recognize each other? she wonders.

Bree gets her answer almost instantly, when a smile stretches on her mother’s face and Claire goes to hug the man, saying “oh my god, Fergus. Oh my son.” Cue record scratch noise-- did Mama just call this man her son??? Bree has more questions than ever before.

#outlander #outlander fic #outlander fanfic #fraser family #fergus fraser #brianna fraser #claire fraser #fix it #jamie fraser #outlander au #jamie x claire #to be clear 'claudel' never heard that brianna's last name was fraser #but fiona kinda put it all together and set up this reunion on purpose #she's pretty sly #my writing #plot bunny #mine

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werewolfpropaganda · 3 years

Text

Sébastien - Male Werewolf x Male Reader

not sfw. 4886 words. you meet and fall in love with werewolf and busker, sébastien.

You missed seeing the stars.

You missed seeing the stars deeply — a horribly indescribable feeling you felt deep in your core everytime you looked up at the night sky — because Manhattan had no stars. It hadn’t had stars for a long time, and it probably never would.

Growing up in rural suburbia had few pluses, but at the very least there was space. Between the lack of restaurants, idealistic white picket fences, and families with two-and-a-half children, there were glimpses of beauty: picturesque forests, a wide open sky, and the stars. You used to go stargazing just about every week with your father well into adolescence (and partly into adulthood), until he died and left you with this mess. You moved to the city, and, well, here you are.

You looked out onto your balcony. It would have been a good spot for stargazing. Only 22 and you were living the American Dream: renting an apartment with an okay view of the adjacent building and a shittily constructed fire escape. You felt like it could collapse at any moment and you would get to recreate “Fire on Marlborough Street.” Truly the American Dream.

It was time for your daily walk. Despite the fact that you lived in Manhattan, you never left your apartment except for work and this walk. You had no real friends and Upper Manhattan was basically just banks and pharmacies, anyway.

You lived within walking distance of the park, so your routine was partially through there. You put on a jacket and left, not completely sure that you locked the door.

There was a guy playing the violin about six feet from where you were sitting, and he looked to be about your age. He was really good at what he did, playing a song that sounded nothing like the Suzuki viola books you played from as a child. You never learned the names of any classical composers so you guessed. Debussy? Bach? Vivaldi? Who knows?

He had an open case next to his boots, with about 20 dollars in various amounts. There was also a small card linking to his social media. You pulled up his Instagram, and, well, you hated to admit it, but he was really attractive. In all the pictures, his hair was styled into a wavy bun, although in real life his hair was down. He was currently wearing a bomber jacket and black jeans, and he was fit. Not fit enough to be gross, but in a casual way where you pretend to not care about how you look but you really do.

You dropped five bucks into his case. He looked at you and smiled a cute smile. You smiled back, and then tried to hide it by speaking. “That’s so beautiful. How long have you been playing the violin?” you asked.

“This is a viola,” He stated back, ceasing the music and holding his viola out. He ran his hand down the back of it like that meant anything to you.

“Shit,” You recalled when you played viola as a teenager. Anger was the only emotion you could feel when people called the instrument the wrong name, even though it was a pretty benign mistake. For a split second, you considered telling this to him, but doing that felt like it would make the situation about you and, subsequently, worse. You decided on a simple: “I’m sorry. Fuck.”

“Hey hey hey, you’re fine, darling,” He responded warmly. No one had called you a pet name in a long time. “Most people don’t apologize. Some people argue with me, as if, no, Sébastien, you’ve lost it and you’re actually playing a violin,” You laughed. “I’m Sébastien, by the way.”

French. That was a gross first thought you had, but he was indeed French. You told him your name.

“Oh, I love that. I’m going to apologize for snapping.”

“Sébastien, it’s so totally fine. I know the feeling of people assuming the instrument you play,” Apparently you were going to tell him. Okay.

“I must say, it’s always violinists,” Sébastien said.

“Oh my god, I so fucking know!” You unconsciously stamped your feet into the dirt to let out the emotion you were feeling.

“I hate violinists.”

“Hate ‘em. So stuck up.”

“I know. I actually used to play the violin religiously, but then my teacher told me I would have better luck finding a job if I played viola because there were so many violinists. Guess what, I can’t get an orchestral job anyway,” You both laughed. “I do think viola jokes are funny though.”

“Wait,” You said with a bit too much excitement. “What's the difference between a viola and a coffin?”

You could tell Sébastien knew the joke about halfway through, because he smiled and tried to hide it. “The coffin has the dead person on the inside. I love that one.” He laughed.

You talked for what felt like an hour — about your musical experiences and upbringings and hobbies and pretty much everything — although it was realistically a lot longer. Sébastien was born in France and moved here when he was young, and has been trying to do music ever since. It was still midday when you went out to walk and it was dark now. You stared at him illuminated by a streetlight that didn’t particularly flatter his face, but he still looked good.

“Would you…” Sébastien hesitated and spoke quietly. “Would you want to get coffee with me?”

You smiled. “Hell yes, dude!” Your mind flooded with first date spots. “There’s this really cute place by my apartment we can stop by now and then we could probably go starga-” You abruptly stopped and looked at him. Sébastien’s lips were pursed. Fuck. There aren’t any stars in Manhattan.

“Sure, darling!” He got down and put the money from his case into his bag. He started to put his viola away. “I’ve been busking for a while now and believe it or not fingerless gloves don’t warm you up all that much.” Sébastien paused. “Although maybe no stargazing.”

You felt the smile on your face start to lower. You hadn’t even noticed you were smiling until now. “Not even for the fuck of looking at an empty night sky except for the moon and the beeps of a satellite?”

“It’s like a metaphor.” He picked the case up and looked up at the sky for slightly too long. “Alright, I’m just gonna say it.” He’s a murderer. He’s already murdered you and you’re a ghost. This is the afterlife: talking to a conventionally attractive viola player.

“Yeah?” you asked.

“I’m a werewolf.” He didn’t necessarily look ashamed but you could tell he wasn’t exactly confident in what he was saying.

You had never actually met a werewolf, because the suburbs had no diversity and you never left your apartment. You actually did quite like werewolf porn, but admitting that you had both never seen a werewolf in real life and fetishized their existence would make you look really weird. “Nice.” You were excited.

You had been seeing Sébastien for about a week now, and were about to go through with your promise of coffee and shitty stargazing. The coffee place had been closed the first time because it was too late, so you tried again earlier. You deliberately planned this for the full moon, and, although you told yourself you wanted to feel guilty about setting up the date for werewolf sex, you didn’t. You could feel guilty after he pumped his jizz into you for the first time.

“Hey, Yasmeen,” you said. “I love your new hijab.” You really did. Yasmeen’s hijab was eggshell white with small gold stars.

“Thanks, love. You’re paying for it. Literally. You’re buying my coffee and thus paying my salary.” She chuckled and motioned to Sébastien. “Who’s the piece of ass?”

“Aren’t you in a relationship? And gay?”

“I’m like an illiterate nun, love.”

“Right…?”

“I can look at the menu, I just can’t order.”

“God, Yasmeen.” She laughed at herself again. “Anyway, I’ll have a black coffee and one of those stupid little sandwiches, and Sébastien’s gonna have a pumpkin spice latte.”

“Sébastien? French.”

“I know, right?” You said this a little bit louder than you should have.

“He has some audacity asking for a pumpkin spice latte in early January, especially since this isn’t a Starbucks.”

“Just make it for him.”

“Alright, love.” She put her hands up to indicate innocence. “You’re not normally this snappy.”

“He’s hot. And interesting.”

“Fair enough.” Yasmeen got to work making your drinks, and you sat down across from Sébastien. It was a communal style table, which felt strange for such a small place, and the lighting was slightly too yellow to be flattering. You and Sébastien were probably the last customers. He was typing into a document when you sat down, and promptly put his phone away.

“Do you know them?” Sébastien asked.

“Yeah, actually,” you responded. “Yasmeen used to live in the apartment above me and we met like it was La Bohème. I actually used to call her Mimi until she eventually told me she didn’t like it.”

“Huh. Did she need to light a candle?”

“You know it.”

Sébastien gazed down to your chest for a second, before reinstating eye contact. “Wait, am I just being used as cannon fodder to boost the popularity of your friend’s cafe? Do you take men and force them to pay 10 dollars for coffee and a sandwich? Daily? Shame, darling, shame.”

“You aren’t the first man to realize that, Sébastien, although you are the first man to realize that on the third date.”

“And you just tell them when they find out? You must get a lot of wrong numbers.” He laughed a gross laugh — hearty, somehow accented with French, and you felt the vibrations of it just by touching the table — but you enjoyed it nonetheless.

Yasmeen walked over. “Here is your black coffee,” She said, placing the drinks down. “And here’s your pumpkin latte, love. The sandwich will be out in a bit.” Sébastien looked at you with an empty, but seemingly loving stare, his lips pursed, before turning and thanking Yasmeen. Yasmeen walked away mouthing something to you. You assumed this was her approval, but assuming doesn’t get anyone anywhere.

“Thank you so much for ordering the coffee, darling,” he said with a smile. The way he said “darling” felt less like a filler pet name tacked on at the end of the sentence and more like a deliberate choice.

“Hell yeah, dude! It’s payback for the photos you sent me. Also because I love you.” Sébastien had sent you a few pictures of him in his werewolf form before your date with the attached message “I love you!!” That was the first love confession you had received in a while. He used more exclamation marks then you expected, but it was really cute.

The first thing you noticed when you opened the picture was his sense of aesthetic — sensible, if not a bit too minimalist. The second thing you noticed were his eyes, which were far more yellow than his human form. His fangs protruded out far further than most of the werewolves you’ve seen, his fur was mostly gray except for his white chest and tummy, and he was fluffy as shit. The only thing he didn’t show you was his cock, which you asked him to save for today.

“I love you too,” he said in a soft and light tone, which made you feel one too many emotions.

“I swear,” You said with a whisper and a lack of inhibition. “When I got to the last photo, the mirror selfie, I literally had to put my phone down because I was just like… that’s so hot.” He was wearing a pair of black boxer-briefs that didn’t do a great job of hiding his erection in the photo. “I saw your bed in the background and it shocked me how huge you were compared to it.”

“I’m not actually that tall in werewolf form, despite being 6 foot in real life. Most werewolves are, say, a foot larger.”

“Really?”

“I… I feel like that’s kinda common knowledge.”

You took a sip of your coffee. It was disgusting. You erred on the side of caution as you said: “What do you mean?”

“Have… have you never seen a werewolf before?”

You laughed, not because anything was particularly funny, or awkward, or even to relieve anxiety. You just laughed to have the noise out there. “Um..”

“Oh, God.”

“No.”

“WHAT.” Sébastien laughed, not deliriously or angrily but in pity. That isn’t what you were expecting. “How have you not… you did go to a shitty public school, huh?”

You were drinking coffee just to do something, and took a large gulp before speaking again. “I will not blame my upbringing on my ignorance, but yes.”

“Question, when do werewolves come out?”

“The full moon.”

“Really, darling?” He pitied you. “Were you born in the 1800s? How much funding did your health class get?”

“I didn’t have a health class.”

“Okay…” He rubbed his temples light-heartedly, you hoped. “Do you know what a period is?”

“Like… blood?”

“No, a werewolf period.”

“Explain.”

“This is common knowledge. This is what you learn when the kid you’re babysitting turns into a werewolf and you don’t realize so you call the hospital.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s my duty to explain this to you. Your information about what werewolves are is really wrong. You’re getting it from, like… fringe articles about the Dendera light bulb. People become werewolves for a few days a month.”

“Okay…?”

“Like a period cycle.”

You smiled, because you found a way to turn your anti-werewolf slight into horrible flirting. “I don’t think I understand. I might need hands-on experience. With a werewolf.”

Sébastien raised one eyebrow. “...Oh, thank fucking god, you’re just flirting.”

“Yeah. Definitely.”

“Yeah, of course I’ll show you, darling. I’ll do anything if you don’t scare me like that again.”

The full moon was going to come out, but it’s not like that mattered, because apparently werewolves aren’t controlled by the moon. Okay. Whatever. The sky had nothing else to offer you, anyway.

Sébastien put his viola case at the base of your bed and sat down. “I love your place, by the way,” he said. “You have a fire escape?”

“Those things are death traps,” you responded, laughing and putting your black coffee in the fridge. You would never end up drinking it and only through it out 2 months later to make place for Thai food. “I’m way too anxious about it to step on it.”

“You’re not that high up,” Sébastien said with an abrupt pause. He pursed his lips. “Not suggesting you risk your safety if you don’t want to. Just-”

“Nah, I get you.” You sat down next to him and took his hand. “God, I love you.”

“I love you too.” He breathed in a breath deeper than necessary, and stared at the ground. Uh-oh. “...Are we a thing, darling?”

“We’re multiple things: Human beings. Lovers. A French violist werewolf and a poor 1893 poet.” Sébastien glanced at you with an empty stare. “Hell yeah!”

“Nice.”

“Just gotta consummate it first,” you said.

“You’re a loser, darling.”

“Are we not gonna consummate it?”

“No, we will, you’re just a loser that’s bad at flirting.”

“I’ll take it.”

“That’s not the only thing you’ll take.”

“Oh, fuck you.”

Sébastien fell backwards onto the bed with his wonderful, beautiful, gross laugh, feet slightly dangled off. His tank top rose slightly and exposed his navel. “Alright, let me get these off and you can climb on, darling.” Sébastien put his thumbs into the hem of his sweatpants and pulled them to his feet. You were sad to see them go because they did particularly flatter him, but this sadness was replaced with a fluster when you saw his thighs.

His hips protruded out from his midriff with a strong curve, and his thighs were massive. Sébastien’s thigh and calf muscles were defined in a natural way, from time spent outside and on his feet. Almost his entire thigh was exposed by the short, black briefs he was wearing, and he had a nice amount of hair which grew in thickness as it got closer to the inner of his thigh. You could imagine the feeling of running your hands against it, and it was pure bliss. His bulge was nice and hefty and you just wanted to shove your face into it.

“Alright!” He said. You moved and adjusted yourself to be sitting on his thighs. This was the highest above him you had actually ever been, and you briefly pondered what you looked like from his perspective.

You reached to grab his hand, but before you could he had already taken your hand and placed it underneath his bulge. You lifted your hand and felt his balls as if trying to determine the weight of a bag of fruit, which was a weird comparison but was also the only thought in your head the entire time, besides: “fuck me.”

“You like that, huh?”

“It’s like I’m at a farmer’s market,” you said without thinking. He laughed.

“Oh, shut up. You are SUCH a loser.”

He placed his right hand onto the small of your back. You could feel his cock harden in your hand, the tip underneath his balls and lying against your palm. His cock began to stretch out the fabric of his underwear. He began to grind his dick against your hand and it grew even more, to what you estimated to be about eight inches. “Good. Good, good boy,” he said with a gruff voice.

Sébastien fixated his eyes onto yours and used his free hand to pull your head closer to his. “Wait,” he said. You felt Sébastien’s body stiffen and his grinding stop. “Oh, god, this is such a stereotype.”

You snorted. “What’s happening, dude?”

“I’m transforming.” He looked up at the ceiling and sighed. “I swear to God, darling, most werewolves don’t transform on the full moon. My cycle just happened to line up with it.” “I trust you, dude,” you responded back.

Sébastien smiled and pulled you in for a kiss. You closed your eyes and let him do his job. He pushed you down into the bed and climbed on top of you, maintaining a kiss the whole time. You put your hand down the back of his tank top and stroked, feeling the fur of a wolf grow in at a rapid pace. Your heart fluttered and you were almost too in awe of what you were feeling to do anything. It was soft and lovely to touch.

You felt the lips you were kissing become more furry and his tongue longer. His fangs grew in and pushed against the meat of your mouth, which was a foreign, but not painful experience. It became less kissing and more him licking at your mouth and face with a strong passion. You couldn’t even begin to imagine how it felt for him right now. A mixture of both of your spits ran down your face, and you could feel a cock far different from the one you felt before hitting against your midriff.

Opening your eyes, you saw a werewolf before you. He was much, much larger than you expected, and you didn’t just want to be fucked by this creature, but rather straddled and used as his personal cum dump. Sébastien pulled away from the kiss and you caught a glimpse of his dick, bright red and huge. Just one sight of his knot made you want to scream.

“How am I?” he said with a gross amount of confidence.

“Sébastien, fuck me.”

He was moving his ass left and right and his cock followed, the tip running against your midriff. His tail was straight in the air, although from where you were you could only see the tip of it. He took his hand, or rather, at this point, paw, and began to unbuckle your belt, careful to not destroy any fabric with his claws. He took your jeans and underwear off with one motion.

You could see his intentions without thought. The tip of his cock was leaking a clear fluid and already at the base of your asshole, just begging to push in and destroy you.

“Ready?” he asked.

“You did NOT lube me up, dude.”

“I- Well.” He stuck his tongue out, and it reached far further down than you expected. “Fine.” He bent down and licked your hole vigorously, lapping in and out as if he were drinking water from a bowl. Sébastien made a mess of spit down there, and you were ready.

The noise you made as he pushed his cock into you was both disgusting and ungodly.

“Are you-”

“Shut up and fuck me.”

He barked, and somehow there was a tinge of French in it. “Don’t talk to me like that.”

“Or what?”

Sébastien responded by pushing his cock a few inches further into you, stretching you out even further and rendering you unable to speak. He licked your nose and woofed. “Good boy.”

Sébastien went at you for the next few minutes, grunting the whole time. He held you down into the bed with his paws and pushed his doggy cock in and out of you, in and out, in and out. You could feel his knot slam against the base of your asshole, and you knew you wouldn’t be able to take it.

His pace quickened and his grunts started to turn into whimpers — desperate whimpers. He needed to dump his load into you and it needed to happen now. Your entire body had turned to nothing and you wouldn’t be able to move for the next several days, but you tried gripping the bed sheets anyway. It didn’t work.

You heard him howl and you felt his cum enter you. The neighbors would not like that.

He knotted you and you saw stars. Not in a positive sense, though. You didn’t see the literal stars you saw stargazing growing up, the stars that Manhattan didn’t have and that you so desperately wanted to see. You didn’t see Sirius, or Proxima Centauri, or the Pisces constellation. What you did see was your vision clouding from the pleasure of feeling his jizz fill you, the pain of his knot, and every other emotion humanly imaginable before you passed out.

You woke up to a tap from a claw and the horrible sensation of Sébastien pulling himself out of you. “Dklfhsdkfshj,” Sébastien said.

“What?” you responded.

“DKLFHSDKFSHJ.” Sure. Whatever. You were barely awake and didn’t care, and somehow managed to take a pillow and bury your face in it. You could feel a wetness on the inner parts of your thighs and the bedsheets below you, as well as your own on your stomach.

Sébastien took a fabric you were decently sure was his tank top and wiped up the seed he had left on you. It felt good, being pampered. Just the sensation of the touch of a human, or werewolf for that matter, could send you into a frenzy, so you were living the dream right now.

Sébastien reached over and took the pillow off of your face. “Oh, you did such a good job, darling. You’re such a good boy.”

You groggily smiled. The sun was just about to set and the lighting was actually beautiful for once in your life. An orange and pink glow emanated from Sébastien’s fur. He was still naked, although substantially less horny. The fur on his chest was so thick and furry that you just wanted to shove your face into it.

More of his nut left your body and he quickly wiped it up. “Yeah,” he said. “That’s not going to be fun.”

“How… how much did you...” you tried to ask.

“I’ve been pent up, alright?”

“I can tell.”

“Do you happen to have some spare… like… everything in my size?”

“You don’t prepare for changing size as a werewolf?”

“I wear elastic clothing before I become a werewolf, because I’m not a loser. Like you.”

“Hey.”

“I mean like underwear. And a tank top.”

“You just came so much, huh?”

“Do you want to have to wear clothes covered in massive amounts of dried wolf nut?”

“Fair point.”

You moved your hands to prop your body up, and while you expected to have a difficult time getting up you didn’t expect to yell from the pain.

“Sorry.” Sébastien pretended to be humble.

“You’re proud of this.”

“Yeah,” he snorted. “I know.”

Sébastien wrapped the blanket around you and adjusted you upright. You touched your hand to the bottom of his muzzle, pulled him in, and kissed him.

“I’m going to reheat my coffee from earlier. You want yours, darling?”

“No thanks.”

Sébastien bent over to take his coffee from the fridge, and the one benefit of living in a studio apartment was that you could see his ass as he did it. You couldn’t tell if he was deliberately moving in a promiscuous manner, but the sight of the lighter fur below his tail was wonderful. He put the coffee in the microwave and leaned against the counter, and for the first time you saw just how big he was. Sébastien crossed his arms and stared wistfully at you.

After a moment with only the sound of the microwave, he spoke. “Y’know what, darling, let’s go sit on the fire escape.”

“It’s almost dark. And it’s cold.”

“We can watch the moon come out, and I’m a giant fluffy werewolf if you don’t remember. We can take the blanket out if you want.”

“Oh, god, Sébastien, that would be so nice.”

Sébastien took his coffee out the microwave and picked you up, the blanket wrapped around you, and carried you over to the window. You were surprised by how easy this was for him, considering he was holding a hot coffee as well.

“You’re not even gonna cover your ass?” you asked.

“You’ll be covering up anything I can’t show to the public.”

“What if the people below us decide to have a nice, romantic evening on their fire escape, and they look up and see giant wolf butt?”

“If anything, that would be even more romantic.” You both laughed. “Fine.” He took the blanket and wrapped it around himself.

Sébastien opened the window and you felt a cold rush of air on your face. He climbed out, carrying both you and his coffee, and sat down on the ledge. You sat on his lap and could feel his soft member against you, although you definitely were not in the mood to take it. You told yourself you wouldn’t be able to take anybody ever again, although you knew that was a lie. Sébastien wrapped his arms around you, and you felt warmth everywhere except for your face. He put his paw onto the top of your head and started to pet.

“Are you cold, darling?” he asked. You could feel his bottom jaw hit the top of your head as he spoke.

“Nope!” You marveled at the sky in front of you. It was vast and empty except for the tops of buildings, and the sun was just about to go down. You sat in a comfortable silence for a few minutes, taking in the environment and general feeling of love.

Sébastien moved his paw from your head to your thigh, and continued petting. You broke the silence.

“Teach me some French.”

“In school, you’d start with the pronouns, so, I guess, ‘Je’ means ‘I.’ ‘Je.’” He said ‘Je’ with such a strong intent.

“No,” You laughed. “I mean like romantic things.”

“You don’t know ‘I love you’ already? ‘Je t’aime’?

“Je t’aime.” You spoke. You somehow couldn’t pronounce it correctly. “Je t’aime.”

“I love you too, darling, but the vowel in ‘Je’ is a schwa.” He demonstrated. You tried again and still pronounced it wrong. “You’ll get the hang of it eventually.”

You laughed and stroked your hand against his thigh, just to get to feel his fur even more. You felt him press his chest into your back.

Sébastien woofed a small woof and then you returned to your comfortable silence, watching the sun fall beneath the horizon. You realized you wouldn’t actually be able to see the moon rise if you were currently watching the sun set, but you didn’t want to say this out loud and break the atmosphere.

“I just realized we’re not gonna be able to see the moon.” Thank god Sébastien said it before you did.

“Hm.” You pushed your head back to be closer to Sébastien. He wrapped his arms around your chest.

“We can still look at the sky, even if it isn’t stargazing, per se.” He adjusted you slightly. “Like, look at the beep of the light on top of that tower. It’s beautiful in it’s own way.” “Yeah.” It really was. You smiled, overwhelmed by everything that was happening. “I love you.” “I love you too, darling.”

#exophilia #werewolf #werewolves #mlm #if u think u've seen this before #you probably have #i posted this here before but i lost the account #so im reposting it #6 months later

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marvel-ousnesss · 4 years

Text

My very own Prince Charming (Bucky x reader Royal AU) - Pt. 1

Word count: 4705

Pairing: Prince!Bucky x Queen!reader

Warning: Mild cursing

A:/N: I don't know much about royal protocols and other stuff so I mostly based myself on the Princess Diaries and some googling. Message me if you wanna be tagged in upcoming parts or updates on my masterlist. Also, this won’t match the MCU timeline, but will have some elements of the plot. And, for the sake of the story, S.H.I.E.L.D. is an international organization.

Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN ANY OF THE MARVEL CHARACTERS/ PLOT.

Twenty three years ago, international intelligence had detected activity of Hydra members inside King James’ palace, and his only son, and heir to the crown, had received multiple threats. At first, the stubborn monarch didn’t make major changes, claiming Hydra was only cultivating fear. The prince was kidnapped, and only then were exhaustive measures taken, and; in a matter of a few months, he was found and taken back home.

It was hard not to notice that the traumatic experience had affected both the boy and his father, for the two of them had grown paranoid of something happening to them, or to their kingdom. So, internal security was doubled and the prince was sent into hiding.

But the problem was nowhere near eliminated. More recent investigations had unmasked the nation’s Prime Minister, Alexander Pierce, and other members of the court, as Hydra spies and, considering the events that had unfolded before, you couldn’t believe your eyes when you saw how relaxed the old king seemed to be with it all.

That morning, he had strolled into your palace with the warm smile that he always seemed to wear; and, only after drinking his peppermint tea, did he step into the meeting room.

It had been an hour since then.

Now, you were desperately trying to keep your composure. The meeting had been going on and on in what seemed like circles and King James Barnes could not bring himself to understand how serious the situation was.

With Pierce imprisoned, the king openly expressed his intention to bring his son back into the spotlight. This, you thought, was the most reckless decision he could make, and you didn't keep it to yourself. As soon as you heard, you asked to meet him to make him see the risks of the whole plan. After all, it affected you directly, given that the prince was your betrothed.

“Your majesty, I believe that matter was already taken care of, Minister Pierce and the rest of the traitors were imprisoned for their actions,” he assured, with his silver brows frowned.

“That’s not enough, it’s unsafe and idiotic for Prince James to come back until the whole engine of Hydra is dismantled.” You took a sip of your coffee, trying to appear calm.

“They’ll spend the rest of their days in maximum security; that will deliver the message. There is nothing to worry about.''

“Hydra won’t even flinch with their imprisonment, Prince James won’t be welcome here until the coast is clearer or international measures are taken,” you stated, crossing your arms.

"That’s not a call for you to make, dear. I Will make the arrangements for my son to be sent here, as I had agreed with your father and the parliament of Galicia, and wedding preparations will commence as soon as he arrives."

They won't get any more fear from us," he looked at you pointedly; "from neither of our kingdoms”.

…

You had met Tony Stark a few years prior, at the annual Diamond Aircraft Industries Convention and Exhibition, which you were both attending as honored guests. Just needed to say that, In Bruce's words, everything had gone downhill from there.

He was one of the most frequent guests at the palace and you were one of the most distinguished figures to attend his parties; but, it was more than that. Since your friendship with the businessman began developing, you tested the waters and, bit by bit, grew to trust him. You became the closest of friends, and each other’s esporadical, charge-free therapists.

For obvious reasons, he told you all about his media starboy business, but you barely knew what went on downstairs, in his lab. Same went for him; you didn’t tell him everything, and he understood. But both of you had the vice of rambling a lot; so he had a good idea of the royal gossip going on in your life, and you had a few clues about his mad-scientist mystery.

There wasn’t much rambling, at the moment; just the therapy part. Your head rested between your hands while your mind drifted off, softly singing along the AC/DC album playing from the computer in front of you, thinking about possible solutions for the problem at hand. However, the awfully permanent smirk plastered on your friend's face didn't help at all. You groaned, lifting your head and frowning at the billionaire.

“So… you’re not gonna marry him? There's one little problem standing in your way,” Tony scoffed, filling two glasses with his finest Macallan. “Kind of a big problem actually: thirty-seven parliament members who'll have your head if you go all Princess Diaries on them. Not to mention Jimbo and junior, and daddy's ghost roaming around your castle."

“Well, it's the only solution I can think of, daddy dearest sure managed to leave me between a gun and a wall, and not figuratively. I can’t call off the engagement just try to postpone it, that way, at least the king will have no reason to take his son back home anytime soon and, hopefully, I avoid getting a terrorist pain in the ass.”

He leaned on the counter, taking a long sip of his drink. “Why do you care so much about Prince Charming; for all we know, old Jamey may have some Kingsman business under the table and, wedding or not, it’s gonna involve Galicia”

“That’s what I’m afraid of, haven't you seen the news? How useful can a secret plan be if his government is basically Hydra's headquarters by now?”

"Well, from the PG civilian version that you, and half of the journals worldwide, have told me, all of us are eventually gonna get bugged by Hydra, so you might as well make up a pro-wedding plan, which leads me to my field of expertise. Whatever you do, don't even try to pull a Mia Thermopolis. Trust me, the cameras are gonna be all over you, now more than ever; so, unless you wanna go from princess to pauper real quick, you need to behave.”

You emptied your glass, sitting back. "Nothing to worry about then. I’d rather hide under a rock than face a camera right now. Besides, don’t really know what they find appealing about my life; they already have Prince Harry and his American Girl, turning everything into some reality show.”

He quirked a brow, snickering. “No offense, but your life’s basically the royal edition of Parental control.”

"Fuck off. I'm not even against marrying the guy; I mean, how bad can it be?"

"Let’s see, um, Donald Trump bad, Charlie Sheen bad, Alec Baldwin bad,” he grimaced, “Amber Heard bad, ooh… Caytlin Jenner bad, want me to continue?"

"I get it, Stark, it may not be ideal; but I'm really not bothered by an arranged marriage.”

“He could be ten years old,” he began fidgeting with a paper, making tiny balls out of it.

You glared at him, “he’s not”.

“Could be gay,” he declared, throwing one of the balls into the trash can across the kitchen.

“Wouldn’t be a bad thing, look at Philip of Orleans,” You tried to dodge, but the next ball hit you on the nose. You picked it up from your lap, and threw it back at him.

“Cheesy,”

“There’s worse things.”

“Bald,”

“Seriously, Tony?” You complained, standing up and turning the light on. You then moved past your previous spot on the kitchen chair, going straight for the couch. You let yourself fall gracelessly and padded the spot next to you, where Tony sprawled himself with a huff.

“Or… he could be a cocky bastard.”

“Already got practice with those.” You smirked, smacking him lightly on the back of his head.

“Glad my bickering made you feel better,” he smiled at you.

You laughed. “Fuck you, Jimmy Neutron.”

“You wish,” he chuckled, grabbing the remote.

—————————————

Two weeks passed, and it was done. No turning back now, Prince James had been sent to his kingdom and, after some father-son quality time, was supposed to arrive at your palace that very morning, for you to finally meet him in the afternoon.

You felt like a complete idiot, like a high school girl. The last time you had seen the prince, you were both five, so all you could do was wonder how he had changed over the years. You had breakfast with an ambassador from the Global Charities Aid Foundation, but it had practically passed in a blur. Before you would’ve liked, you found yourself in the limousine, on your way back home, with the major part of the day still ahead of you.

Your gaze was glued to the driver’s head, you were motionless.

Thinking.

What were you supposed to say to him? “Hey, you’re welcome to put us all in danger, make yourself at home. By the way, I think your father’s a dickhead”?... not appropriate. It had to go something along the lines of “Your highness, hi. Welcome to your future home but still my kingdom. But, hey! you get to choose our wedding cake.”... no, too straight forward.

“After speaking to Colonel Rhodes at eleven, you'll be heading to the Marbella room at three, for greeting and welcoming the prince and his people; and later, at four, a sweet two hours of document verification and signing.”

It had to be perfect; consistent, not sharp… kind, but not weak… polite, but not passive agress—

“Y/N, are you even listening to me?"

You huffed, “No.”

Clint, one of your attachés, scoffed at your attitude but gave you an encouraging, soft smile. “Rhodes, prince, letters,” he clarified.

"Maybe a few gallons of coffee to go with it? I’m sure the breakfast meeting left us all half asleep," suggested your bodyguard, Pietro.

You let out a strangled laugh, but remained zoned out, until the intrigued gazes your bodyguard kept sending your way became too obvious.

“Do I have something on my face, Piet, or do you simply enjoy staring?” You spoke without catching his eye.

“Yes, no, nevermind… it’s just… there’s something on your face; a ‘gonna meet my husband’ look, kinda makes you look nervous.”

“Really?” Clint jeered.

You loured at him, earning an apologetic puppy look.

You chuckled, genuinely this time. Pietro could be annoying at times, he spoke without filter and got himself in trouble; but you couldn’t stay mad at him, the little shit always managed to make you laugh.

The limousine came to a stop, right in front of the palace. The door was opened for you, so you breathed once and graciously made your exit, followed by Pietro and Clint.

Arriving home always brought a smile to your face; the marble facade of the place, together with the colorful gardens, the blue of the sky, and the friendly faces of your staff and household members made you momentarily forget about what was to come.

“Your majesty, Mr. Barton,” grinned Wanda, your other attaché. “How was your meeting?”

“Not that bad," you found yourself smiling at her.

“Don’t I deserve a greeting?” asked Pietro, but his sister only rolled his eyes.

You scoffed at their quibbling. “How’s everything going? Has the Colonel arrived yet?”

“He’s waiting for you in the library.”

“Thanks, Wanda; I’ll see you later.” You made your way inside, closely followed by Pietro.

The Colonel was sitting on a velvet chair, going over a pile of paperwork. As soon as you made an appearance through the waiting room’s door, he stood up and subtly curtsied. “Your Majesty, Lieutenant Maximoff,” he greeted.

“Sorry for the wait, Colonel. Shall we begin?” You opened the library door, allowing both men to go inside before you.

You proceeded to settle on your desk, with your guest sitting in front of you. Pietro stationed himself at the door and adopted a firm posture, head held high and hands behind his back.

“Lieutenant, would you be kind enough to leave us alone?”

Complying with his superior’s words, Pietro unlocked the door but, when he was about to open it, you said, “Lieutenant, please stay. Colonel, whatever you need to speak to me as my head of security, I’m sure the commander of the royal guard, whom you personally named, poses no danger.”

“As you wish, your majesty; but I'm here to talk about a matter of absolute secrecy.”

You exhaled.

“As you know, with the current situation, it would be wise for you to take measures in regards to your personal protection. I know we're talking about not only an anarchist, but terrorist organization, which requires the employment of country-wide measures, but members of King James's War and Defense council have expressed their desire to keep our actions minimal, to see how Hydra proceeds.”

You quipped, “They want an attack.”

“I’m afraid so”, he nodded.

“Fine, they want discretion, we'll give it to them. I want SHIELD involved. While the King's people work on whatever it is they are doing, I want someone there to get information from Pierce and the other inmates. No need to worry about me.”

"That'll certainly end up in diplomatic issues if we don't consult the World Security Council first," he said as he scanned his planner notebook, looking for the other topics he had selected for going over.

"Too flashy," you mumbled, thinking.

“Maybe contact commander Hill,” suggested Pietro, who had heard about her reputation.

“Who?” you tilted your head.

“SHIELD’s Deputy Director”, clarified Rhodes, then prompted Pietro to continue.

He looked into Rhodes’ eyes, then yours. “Once you tell her about his majesty’s plan of not having a plan, I’m sure she’ll assign someone without having to involve diplomacy.”

“What do you, think, Colonel?”

“I’ll speak to her, and update you on the course of action that she recommends.”

Pietro smirked, his chest sticking out.

“Great.” You nodded.

He scratched the topic from his list, “on a different matter, I wanted to ask if you had already set a date for the arranged visit of the newly named members of the War and Defense council. I was thinking of next Friday, for dinner?”

“Friday is perfect, Colonel.” You smiled, “I’ll see them at eight pm on that day.”

….

You had three hours to spare before the most dreaded meeting you've had since the reading of your father’s will. It was only natural for your head to be foggy but you couldn’t afford to waltz through the day like that. Fresh air, that’s what you needed.

Discarding your trench, heels and dress, you jumped into a (classic avenger disguise) pair of skinny jeans and a hoodie, making sure your face was more or less concealed by sunglasses and a baseball cap. Ready to go, you walked out walked out the door but, as expected, you didn’t even reach the stairs.

“Where’ you headed, your majesty?,” inquired Pietro, crossing his arms and lifting a brow.

He was the most loyal friend one could ask for, but annoyingly rigorous when it came to his job. He had to know where you were and who you were with, especially outside the castle’s protection.

“Just want some coffee, and maybe a croissant,” you tried to walk past him, but he grabbed your arm softly.

“You know all that you need to do is say the word, right? The kitchen’s a call away.” Now, he was messing with you; you could tell by his boyish smirk.

“You know what I mean,” you playfully punched his arm.

“Fine,” he lifted his hands defensively, “meet you downstairs.”

After you practically sprinted to the first floor, you sat down at the lobby and waited for your shadow. He walked down the stairs wearing a pair of gray joggers and a white basic v-neck, not forgetting his earpiece and gun, carefully concealed under his jacket.

Both of the guards at the entrance bowed slightly and opened the wooden door.

“Who would’ve thought you’d take babysitting so seriously?” You teased.

“Well, don’t wanna deal with Clint and Wanda yelling at me for losing you; not to mention Rhodes and Stark, ” he deadpanned. “Would be annoying. Also, I’d have to go job-hunting.”

“I’m sure you’d manage, I mean, half of Hollywood would cut an ear off for you to work for them.”

“What can I say, guess I'm that good at my job.”

You scoffed, “I bet their thoughts drift off to things a bit over your pay-grade.''

“Well, my ‘pay-grade’,” he air quoted, “ is negotiable.”

You quirked a brow at him, smirking, “eew.”

“You’re just jealous,” he taunted. “I’m sorry, but you're like my other sister."

"Yeah, right."

"One that's also my boss, kinda weird relationship; but, eh, you get the point."

You chuckled, letting the scene fall into a comfortable silence as you walked, occasionally hitting each other with your shoulders. After a few minutes, you arrived at your favorite coffee shop, and sat down on a table at the back.

When he placed two huge cups on the table, you laughed, “you weren’t kidding about the gallons of coffee.”

“Oh, you wanted some too, my bad.” He grabbed a cup with each hand, holding them out of your reach.

“Oh yeah?” You took hold of the cardboard plate which held both of your donuts and put it on your lap, under the table.

When you had your fill, and bought a few pastries to go, you made your way back to the castle.

“You know, we should lay down for a bit,” you voiced. “There, under the trees.”

“Don’t you have a blind date in like two hours?” Not that you don’t look hot right now, but you need to get all royalled up.”

Your smile disappeared, “Shit, you’re right.”

With the park now behind you, minutes went by as you walked through the crowded street with Pietro, animatedly discussing some recent soccer games.

You noticed that some odd looks were directed your way, so you tried to ignore them. Maybe it was just your imagination, maybe they had just recognized you. Better brush it off… you adjusted your hood and continued. But the whispers and snickering were a reaction you never got when seen in public.

It didn’t seem to stop. Now you were sure it wasn’t just you, so you looked at Pietro, silently asking for help. As a response, he placed an arm around your shoulders, shielding your face a bit better.

You continued talking as if nothing happened, but it was useless; even if the glances only came from some random pedestrians, it was getting pretty awkward.

You were about to stop walking, when you felt an unfamiliar hand tapping your shoulder.

“I’m really sorry, but you have a bloodstain on your pants,” the stranger scratched the back of his neck, clearly taken aback by the situation.

“Here.” He offered his denim jacket, which, after thinking about it for a moment, you accepted, wrapping it around your waist .

You smiled at him, and he visibly relaxed, “thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” He gave you one last tight-lip smile and began toward the other side of the road, but still in the same direction in which you were going.

Pietro softly pushed you forward, prompting you to say something; “he gave you his jacket,” he mumbled.

“So?”

“Flirting,” he coughed.

You weren't supposed to; heck, you were on your way to meet your fiancé, but there was no harm in small talk… right? You took a breath, it was the first time you did this, so you had absolutely no idea what to say.

You took a step forward, then eyed Pietro, who urged you to continue… Here went nothing.

“I’m Y/N/N.”

He turned around, all of the sudden radiating confidence.

With an alluring smile that made his indigo eyes twinkle, he replied, “Bucky, nice to meet you.”

Pietro quietly snickered beside you, then opened his mouth, “and I’m Pietro, her boyf-”.

“Best friend”—you elbowed him in his right side— “he's my best friend.”

Bucky’s gaze drifted between the two of you. After hesitating for a second, he chose to believe you.

“So, where' you headed?” He asked.

You lied with ease, giving him a charming smile, “I have a meeting near the palace, how ‘bout you?”

“Same actually, wanna walk together?” His eyes drifted awkwardly between you and Pietro, “the… three of us?”

“Actually, my sister just texted me, says she needs help with, uhh, her cat; he's been... acting weird lately. Bye Y/N/N.”

Just like that, Pietro left. Only, he didn’t.

He had to keep an eye on you, so he was just gonna keep his distance.

“So, your best friend…” Bucky trailed off, hands half inside the pockets of his jeans.

“Yup,” you popped the ‘P’, "but let’s not talk about him. Your accent...,” you noted, “where are you from?”

“I’ve been living in New York for quite some time,” he didn’t answer your question, but you gave it no mind.

"What brought you all the way here?” You adjusted his jacket around your waist.

He scratched the back of his neck, letting out a breath.

"I… sorry, you don't have to-...," you atoned, but he cut you off.

“Relax, doll, it’s fine," he assured. "My father called me last week, basically told me to drop everything and come help out with some family business.”

The way in which he spoke picked your interest; it wasn't with resentment or bitterness, which you'd have expected from someone who had basically left everything on hold, but just as if he had been waiting for that to happen. Nevertheless, his voice came out thicker than it had before, so you could tell he was clearly affected by it.

Unsure whether or not to change the topic, you asked, "what's New York like? I’ve never been there.”

He chuckled softly, lifting his brows, "exhausting, fast-paced, it's like everyone's in a rush all the time. it's surprisingly homely; the people, the sights, everything's great but, you know, the food’s what I love the most.”

You looked at him quizzically, tried to suppress a laugh, “seriously?”

“The touristy places aren’t bad, but, when you have an expert guide, that’d be me, it’s something else.”

“Guess I’ll have to take your word for it,” you removed your hood, but fixed your hair so it would frame your face.

“For now, you’ll have to.” He bit his lower lip, masking a smile.

Did he just say ‘for now’? Of course he did. You chuckled nervously, doing what you could to get rid of the silences that had surfaced.

“So, what else do you hide?, apart from being an expert New York foodie, of course,” you finally asked.

“I own a small gallery in Brooklyn,” he explained. “My friend, Steve, he’s an artist; we show and sell most of his work there,” his right hand moved to his hair, fixing a rebel strand. “But, enough ‘bout me. My turn to ask.”

“Okay, shoot.”

“Ideal date.” He declared, with the same bold smile that, to be honest, made your knees tremble.

This time, you straight up laughed at how straight forward he was.

Before you’d have liked, you reached your destination. The World Trade Center and the Wakandan international aid center stood tall before you, in front of a subway station that led straight to the castle.

Instead of heading down the subway stairs, you smiled at him and stopped walking. “Well, this is me. It was nice walking with you, uh.. take care.”

You waved goodbye and walked to the buildings as fast as you could, avoiding any more conversation.

“Wait!” Bucky urged, “didn’t catch your number.”

You gave him his jacket back, together with an apologetic, tight lipped smile, and stepped inside.

What was Pietro thinking? No, what were you thinking? If people at the palace heard a word of it, you'd never get a break. Through the window, you saw him jogging toward the subway station with a slight frown on his face, and mentally cursed.

With that taken care of, you could focus on fixing your bloody situation so you could get to the palace (sort of) on time.

You waited until Bucky was out of sight and sprinted across the street, toward the recently opened Wakandan aid center. When you entered the lobby, you greeted the staff and walked to the receptionist’s desk.

Amare was the woman who assisted you every time you came to meet king T’Challa or the ambassador, so you didn’t hesitate to ask her for a tampon, a pad, whatever she had at hand, really.

She handed you a tampon and you rushed to the restroom. Once out, you glanced out the window to make sure the coast was clear. After thanking her and saying goodbye, you went toward the subway station. Your hand flew to your jean’s back pocket and, by heart, you dialed your prime minister’s number.

“I assume you're running late.” His voice was tired; no, calm, yet aggravated.

"Hey, Bruce," you sang, trying to lighten the mood.

"Y/N.”

His voice was still cold, but softer. You sighed and went straight to the point. Bruce was one of the most patient and understanding people you Knew, but you didn’t wanna push him too far. He was known for having quite a thin temper, which you had personally experienced only two times and wanted to keep it that way.

“Please, could you entertain Prince James and his people?, just for a bit,” you were panting, jogging down the stairs. “I’m begging you, I just had a little problem.”

“Of course I'll help you," he sighed. “Just make sure you get here before they leave.”

“So, so funny," you rolled your eyes. “See you at twenty.”

He coughed, “ten.”

He already knew there was no hope of you arriving on time. This was a frequent conversation between the two of you; whether it was for an official matter, or whatever else that required your presence.

As soon as the phone call ended, your train arrived. You opted for standing up, wanting to avoid leaving a crime scene on the plastic seat; your hand grabbed the pole, and your left foot bounced restlessly. Practically jumping out of the train, you sprinted to the palace and straight to your room.

Shower, tampon, dress, makeup, hair, and you were out the door, with your shoes in your hand. Heels could wait.

Record time, you thought, falling limp on one of the chairs outside the throne room; proceeding to put your stilettos on and fix other minor details.

While you were at it, Pietro, who was leaning against the doorway, made his presence known. “You know, something tells me there’s a story that I’d like to hear”.

“You literally shadowed me the whole way home, Piet, you got first row seats for the entire thing.” You glanced at his navy blue suit through your makeup mirror, as you fixed your lipstick.

He loosened his tie a little bit. “Just to be clear, I wasn’t listening,” he claimed.

You rolled your eyes. "Of course you weren't.”

“How nosy do you think I am?”

“Very.”

He protested weakly but you gave it no mind, your heart was pounding and your hands were shaking. You inhaled and closed them into fists, then grabbed the handle of the door.

You were about to open it, then you stopped. “I don’t think I can do this.”

Pietro grabbed your arms and gently rubbed up and down. “It’s gonna be fine.”

“What if it’s not,” you mumbled.

“You have nothing to worry about.” He turned you around so he could face you. "If he doesn't like you, I'm sure he'll change his mind in no time; I mean, look at you. And, if he ever tries to hurt you or take over your throne, you know I'll kill him, remember that."

You hugged him tightly. "Thanks," you whispered into his shoulder.

At first, you opened the door just enough for your voice to be heard, so your name could be announced.

“In comes her royal majesty, Queen Y/N from the house of Y/L/N; and Lieutenant Pietro Maximoff, commander of the Royal Guard and of her majesty's personal escort.”

That's when you stepped into the throne room.

Requests open!

#Bucky x reader #Avengers imagine #mcu imagine #Tony stark #pietro maximoff #Bucky barnes #Avengers x reader #Bucky imagine #Bucky x you #Bucky x y/n #Prince!Bucky x reader #royal au #prince!bucky barnes x reader #marvel fanfiction #winter soldier x reader #arranged marriage au #avengers fanfiction #marvel fanfic

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stxn-the-mxn · 5 years

Text

Family || 2019!Richie Tozier X Daughter!Reader

IT CHAPTER 2 SPOILERS

Being in the town of Derry felt more surreal than anything. It didn’t seem real, actually being in the town your father grew up in. Richie didn’t talk about Derry, in fact, he never once mentioned his childhood. In the fifteen years you’d been alive, not once was Derry mentioned. The first time it had ever been mentioned had been the night he came home and started packing.

***

It hadn’t been that long since you’d gone to bed, 1:30 am most likely. Usually, you went to bed earlier, maybe 10 pm or 11 pm, but on nights when Richie had a show, it would be hours till you went to bed.

It was a tradition for you to watch every one of your dad’s stand up shows, and hope that some of the jokes you had written made it in. Richie made it his mission to have at least one of your own jokes in his set.

Tonight, he had included three of yours, which all went down well after his hiccup at the start. One of yours got the biggest laugh, and you could see Richie’s proud face through the screen.

You switched off the TV after the show ended, and as usual, crashed on the couch. When Richie got home, he usually carried you back to your room, but that night, he made no move to pick you up, pacing around their rather large home instead.

“Dad? What’s going on?” You wiped the sleep from your eyes, as Richie thundered around the house. It was around 2 am, a regular time for Richie to come home after a show, but usually, he tried to be quiet to let you sleep. Tonight was not one of those nights.

“Oh, sweetheart, I’m sorry, I tried to be quiet, I did. I jus-”

The empty suitcase in his hand rang some quiet alarms.

“Dad? Where are you going?”

“Home. I have to go home.”

“Take me with you.”

Richie thought it over. He couldn’t in good faith leave you home alone for as long as he would be gone. Surely you’d be fine if you did what he said. After all, he promised you all those years ago, when one of his late-night flings left a baby girl on his doorstep, that he would be the best damn father around.

“Only if you promise to not leave my sight.”

You held up your crossed fingers and crossed those fingers over your heart.

“Right well, get packing, sweetie. We leave as soon as we’re done.”

***

The drive to Derry was a combination of obnoxiously singing along to the radio and you catching up on some sleep. The sign welcoming you to Derry sent a shiver down your spine, not going unnoticed by Richie.

“You okay, sweetheart?”

“W-what? Oh! Yeah, yeah I’m good.”

He didn’t believe you but didn’t bring it up again.

The car pulled into the parking lot of the Jade of the Orient, a Chinese restaurant. Your dad seemed almost shocked by its presence. Clearly, this wasn’t in Derry when he was a kid. Richie spotted two other people off to the side and seemed to recognize them.

“Big Ben? Bev?” You trailed behind him, a few meters behind, somewhat out of sight.

“Richie?” The woman asked, not noticing you as you peered at the two adults. The taller male made direct eye contact with you, a confused expression forming. You stepped closer, not caring if they saw you at this point.

“Uh, Richie, you seem to have a fan.” ‘Big Ben’ said, gesturing behind him. Richie whipped around, only to be met with you smiling awkwardly at him.

“Oh, no, actually this is my daughter, Y/N.”

The pair had extremely shocked faces. You felt a bit more offended than you should have at that comment. The pair seemed to notice but didn’t backtrack on their comments.

“I’m Beverly, it’s lovely to meet you.” Beverly held out a hand for you to shake, which you took happily. Ben simply greeted you with a smile.

“Well, let’s go meet everyone else. I wanna see how they react to Y/N.”

The whole vibe of the restaurant felt normal until you stepped into the reserved room for what you had heard was called “The Losers Club”. Your dad, being your dad, hit the gong on his way in, causing three heads to snap towards where the four of you were standing.

The three pairs of eyes stared at Richie, Ben and Beverly, before instantly snapping to you. Their expressions were similar to Ben and Beverly’s.

“Richie, Ben, Beverly.” One of the men at the table stated, trailing off as he looked at you again.

“Right, I’m starving. Let’s eat.” Richie cheered, and everyone else just accepted that Richie was not doing what they expected. And for some reason, they felt like that was what they expected.

“Hey, Rich, would you mind explaining who that is?” Another man asked, nodding in your direction.

“Oh! Right, this is my daughter.” The three men who weren’t Ben and Bev all dropped their jaws.

“It’s lovely to meet you all, I’m Y/N.” You smiled, feeling less nervous as they smiled back. Going around the table, they all introduced themselves as Mike Hanlon, Bill Denbrough and Eddie Kaspbrak.

You immediately noticed a strong bond between all of them, even if they had only reconnected less than an hour ago. It was a similar bond that you and your father had; family.

You also noticed a different bond between Richie and Eddie. It wasn’t news to you that your father wasn’t straight. And this Eddie man, no offence to anyone, did not give off straight vibes.

It was strange, how well you felt you fit in with the group of forty-year-olds. You and Eddie found many a common interest, including joking around and teasing Richie. The more Richie remembered, the more he realised that you were basically a baby Eddie, save for the hypochondriac-ness.

It brought a smile to his face as he watched the two of you mucking about like toddlers from beside him.

Dinner continued on, and eventually, one of the waitresses brought out a bowl of fortune cookies. Everyone eagerly took one, cracking them open.

“Huh, mine just says ‘Could’. These cookies are bullshit.”

You looked at your slip of paper, and something about the words written caused that shiver to once again run down your spine.

Welcome to Derry, Y/N! Why don’t you stay forever?

Your hands were shaking, quite violently. Richie glanced over at you and immediately rushed to your side. He took the paper, reading it quickly before ripping it up. He hugged you tightly, comforting you like he would when you would get nightmares.

“You’re alright, sweetheart, you’re gonna be alright.”

***

You felt guilty, honestly. Richie had made you promise to stay in the hotel, not to set foot outside, but you didn’t listen. After finding yourself in a brand new town, so much different from your hometown, writing new material for your dad seemed bland.

Exploring the place your dad grew up in seemed way more fun. Plus, it was a small town, what could really go wrong?

In your journey to the centre of town, the only thing that went wrong was the kid who almost ran you over with his skateboard. Aside from that, you were yet to run into the other adults or anyone for that matter. The Canal Days fair was drawing in quite the crowd.

Turning the corner, you froze.

Something about the abandoned cinema in the middle of the town drew you in. It ran in Tozier blood to love the movies. Finding a hole through the newspaper, you pushed the door open. It was incredibly dusty, and you felt your throat constricting. Eddie had warned you earlier about how gross this town could be.

The hallway that led to the cinema was lit up, and the smell of popcorn was on the verge of overpowering all your senses. Something told you to run, walk, do anything in the opposite direction. But your body wasn’t listening, and you found yourself in the screening room in no time.

The screening room seemed harmless, but nothing in this town really was. You turned to leave when the sound of a projector turning on echoed through the empty room. Turning around slowly, every bone in your body trembling, you were met with the blinding white glow of the screen.

Your eyes locked with the harmless, yet frightening screen, panic settling in.

The white screen wrinkled, and two beady yellow eyes opened. A scream latched itself in your throat, unable to escape through your dust infected lungs.

“Well, well, welcome to Derry, little Miss Tozier.” The face shrunk, smaller and smaller, and became a clown. At this moment, you wished your feet would just move, but alas, you remained glued to the spot.

The clown’s glowing eyes pierced your soul and reached out a gloved hand, grabbing the screen. The screen began to tear. The scream you were holding in escaped, causing the clown to laugh. Once the screen was entirely gone, the clown made his way towards you, leaping over the seats.

Your feet, much to your dismay, remained glued to the ground. This wasn’t happening. This wasn’t real. You would pinch yourself, open your eyes, and be back at home, watching some crappy movie and bullying it to death with your dad.

It wasn’t working. No matter how hard you pinched, no matter how many times you whispered that “it wasn’t real”, you kept opening your eyes to see that fucking clown.

Your entire body was shaking, all senses except sight seemed to disappear. The clown was only two rows away. One row away. Here.

A gloved hand clamped around your neck, your already constricted throat growing tighter. The clown smiled, never breaking eye contact. Drool dripped from his mouth, as he growled lowly. His face contorted, turning into Richie.

“You’re useless. A burden. I should’ve left you on that fucking doorstep. You’ve done nothing but hold me back. I never even wanted a child. Your mother was a drunk mistake, and so are you. I might as well leave you here to die.”

Tears rolled down your cheeks. No, your dad would never… Is that really what he thought? Had he spent fifteen years blaming you in secret? No, no, he promised that he loved you. He swore on his life that you were his everything.

Maybe it was true… after all, would any gay man want to live with and raise a reflection of someone who he never wanted to be with? No. You had to push the thundering thoughts aside. No.

“N-no.” Your voice was weak, only just loud enough to hear. “Richie” tilted his head, a sad expression on his face. His skin was reverting to the pasty white of the clown.

“No? Poor Y/N doesn’t want to accept that no one truly loves or wants her. Not even her own father.”

“Y-you’re not r-r-real. You c-c-c-can’t be real.” Words struggled to form, and those that did struggled to escape. The clown dropped his Richie facade and in a terrifying turn of events, smiled at you.

His grip continued to tighten, and you could see black dots forming in your vision. The sensation of trickling blood set your mind ablaze. You didn’t know where it was coming from, but it was there, and the clown was the cause.

In your last seconds of consciousness, you heard the thundering sets of footsteps coming down the hall, but the clown had sensed them first. You felt like the world was spinning before everything faded to black, your father’s panicked, fearful face the last thing you saw.

***

“Fuck, shit, shit, fuck!” The five other losers sat, heads hanging as Richie stormed around the building. They didn’t know what to do. Who would, in this situation? Bill was the only one who was close to understanding what Richie was experiencing.

“I’m a terrible father.” His pacing stopped as his knees gave out, collapsing onto Eddie, who caught him with ease. He held Richie tightly, letting him sob into his shoulder.

In the minutes since Richie had been too late, he was already struggling to come to terms with the gap of silence where you used to stand. It wasn’t right. It was unnatural, unheard of, unorthodox.

He couldn’t speak, the wave of guilt and despair pulling him out to sea.

“Richie, I wholeheartedly promise you that you are the best damn father ever. We are all going to get Y/N back, and we will stop at nothing until we do.”

Richie wrapped his arms around Eddie, and one by one the losers joined in. Y/N Tozier was a loser now. And losers never left a loser behind.

***

The sewers were cold, wet and extremely uncomfortable. It was impossible to tell how long you’d been stuck here, but you did know that you’d walked through what felt like thousands of tunnels. You just wanted your dad back.

You couldn’t shake the tiredness that weighed you down. Closing your eyes wasn’t an option. You couldn’t let your guard down, not for a second, unless dying at the hands of a killer clown was on your bucket list.

The clown hadn’t shown his face since he took you. Part of you felt relieved, you didn’t have to fear for your life yet. But God knows what he was doing on the surface. You could only hope and pray that your father and his friends were okay.

Tears cascaded down your cheeks as thoughts of your dad filled your mind. All you wanted was to be held in his arms again. Your dad was your everything, and you were his. This was most likely the longest you’d been away from each other.

You threw a small pebble up and down, catching it over and over again. Your trajectory was off on one throw, and it bounced and rolled its way over to the wall. Building up some courage, you scampered over to where the rock was, but your mad dash back to the “safety hole” was cut short by an echo.

“Come one, we gotta squeeze through that hole. We can all make it through if we try hard enough.”

That was Mike’s voice. They had come to save you. Somehow, no matter how far below Derry you were, they found you. You ran to where Mike’s voice was coming from, tripping over the smaller spikes on the ground.

“M-M-Mike!”

Said man’s jaw dropped and he ran towards you, and you grasped onto his jacket. Having a physical being to cling onto was calming. As you stood there, clinging to Mike for dear life, more people came through the small gap, the first being Beverly. She ran to you too, her hug even tighter than Mikes. She was the only loser who knew exactly what you had just experienced.

As Bill and Ben appeared, you could barely see them from between Mike and Bev’s arms. But they were there, and they were real and they were everything you needed right now.

“Y-you found m-m-me!” Bill looked at you surprised as you stuttered over your words. Your stutter wasn’t simply a stutter of fear, it was like his. He knew the causes of a stutter very well. And looking at the causes, he could cross out genetics and prayed he could cross out a brain disorder. Which left emotional trauma. Psychogenic stuttering.

As you remained surrounded by the four losers, quiet bickering drifted into the cavern.

The four stepped aside as Eddie and Richie came through the hole. Eddie froze, his dropped jaw widening to a smile while Richie remained frozen. There you were, alive, seemingly unharmed, surrounded by all his closest friends.

“Y/N. Holy fucking shit, Y/N!” Eddie exclaimed, hugging the girl close to him. They had only known each other for a few days, but they were already extremely close.

Richie still hadn’t moved, so Y/N and Eddie took the first step, sending Richie into a crazed sprint as he ran to hold his daughter again. Tears blurred everyone’s vision as father and daughter reunited.

If Richie had an option, he would have chosen to never let his precious baby go.

“Richie. We have to perform the ritual. It's now or never.”

***

The Ritual of Chüd didn’t work. Mike hadn’t been telling the whole truth. And also, a spider-legged demon clown was chasing and tormenting the Losers Club.

Each loser had run off in different directions, Richie and Eddie both pulling you with them as your eyes lay transfixed on the evil entity. The sewer’s tunnels were long, windy and tight at some areas. They seemed never-ending.

Until you came to a sudden stop.

Standing in front of the three doors, Richie, Eddie and yourself contemplated what to do. In this sort of situation, nothing was to be trusted. Flinging open the ‘Very Scary’ door, you all found an empty closet.

“O-oh. Well, this s-s-s-seems harmless eno- oh what the f-f-fuck?” You screamed as a pair of disembodied legs ran towards you. Richie pulled you behind him as he slammed the door shut.

The next door they opened read ‘Not Scary At All’ and at this point you were highly doubting that. From behind your barrier of Eddie and Richie, you could see a small dog staring at you all. It also seemed harmless at first, so you waited for it to fuck around and scare the shit out of you.

“Aww, it’s actually kinda cute.” Eddie cooed, leaving you a tad confused. Richie seemed to agree, telling the dog to sit, which it did.

“Aw, that’s precious.”

The dog twisted into a beastly creature, which was truly inevitable, wasn’t it? Your father and Eddie screamed as if they hadn’t been expecting any of this. The door slammed shut, and you quickly found yourself running out of the cave, back to where this whole mess started.

As you stepped foot into the cavern, bright lights drew you in, and you couldn’t feel anything. You were numb to the world around you. The screams of your father were nothing but faint echoes.

You could feel yourself succumbing to the lights. You let them decide your fate. This was how it all ended.

Until the lights disappeared, and you came crashing into Richie. You blinked slowly, adjusting to the darkness once more. Richie cradled you to his chest as Eddie stood off to the side, amazed at what he had just done.

IT lunged a clawed limb at the Eddie, but he ducked in time for IT to get trapped in the rock walls. It was a chance to escape.

On your feet once more, you ran to meet all the losers. Clambering through the hole once more, you used the time to think of a plan.

“We n-n-need to bring IT d-down to size. If w-w-we can lure IT in, IT’ll h-h-h-have to shrink to f-fit through that h-h-h-hole.” You muttered, mainly to yourself, as you contemplated your options.

“That just might work,” Bill announced, bringing you out of your daze. “But I don’t think we have to lure IT out here…”

Bill had a plan.

Crawling through another entrance, you mentally cursed yourself for coming back to this hellhole. Bill stood before the clown, who loomed over you all.

“You’re just a clown.”

Physical pain flashed across IT’s face.

“A clown!”

“You’re a sloppy bitch!”

“You’re nothing!”

The clown’s spider legs weakened, collapsing slightly. The insults continued being thrown, and IT continuously grew weaker. As IT staggered backwards into the centre spikes, IT grabbed the smallest loser, pulling her towards itself.

You fought against IT’s arm, yet somehow still found yourself powerless. Even now, IT was too strong for you.

“Put me d-down. You’re just a clown. Just a motherf-f-fucking clown!”

With a final punch to the clown’s stupid red nose, IT let you go, deflating into an ugly baby-looking creature. You ran to Richie and Eddie, the pair making another protective barrier around you.

You all moved towards IT, and Beverly kneeled down beside IT. IT’s expression was pure fear.

The beautiful irony of it all.

She reached into IT, yanking out a rotten, yet beating heart. Each loser placed a hand on the heart, and IT seemed to be begging for mercy. For forgiveness.

You all squeezed the heart, crushing it and watching the life drain from the monster that had tormented Derry for millions of years.

IT had been defeated for good.

***

Driving away from Derry was therapeutic. It was a breath of fresh air. For the first time in far too long, you felt safe.

On your way out, Richie pulled over on the bridge and got out. Walking over to the wooden rails, you followed behind him, not noticing the other car pulling up too. Richie traced a pair of letters on the wood.

“R + E.” You murmured, much louder than intended. Your dad spun around, catching you just in time to make the connection. His eyes drifted behind you, to the man standing beside his car.

“It was a-a-always you and E-Eddie, huh?”

You kneeled beside him, hugging him tightly. You knew how long it took your dad to accept who he was, so seeing him recarving the faded ‘E’ into the wood, with ‘E’ standing not so far behind meant the world to you.

“Can you just go kiss h-him, for god’s s-s-sake?” You whispered into his side, making him laugh.

“I just might, so you better close your eyes.” He covered your eyes with his hands, making you laugh loudly.

“And miss s-s-seeing my dad happier than e-ever? I could never.”

His smile held so much love and appreciation for the beautiful girl he had raised that people all across the USA could feel it.

***

“Dad! These are our s-seats.”

Your dad followed behind, making sure you were reading the right part of the tickets.

“Yep, these are them.”

You sat down first, leg bouncing in anticipation. You had wanted to see this live for years and finally, you could get into the show, with adult supervision.

“It s-starts in three m-minutes!”

If it weren’t for the sheer fanciness of this building, you’d be bouncing off the walls in excitement.

Three minutes passed quickly, and the announcement was made that the show was starting. You stared at the stage, a huge smile on your face.

He walked out on stage, and the applause was thunderous, but you knew you were the loudest.

“Yknow, my husband is a bitch and I love him so much.”

Looking at Eddie’s jokingly hurt expression, you burst out laughing, harder than you ever had in your life.

***

It was around 2 am when you all paraded back home. It had been a long, carefree night, only made better by the pure joy radiating off everyone in your family. Eddie fumbled for the house keys, eventually unlocking the door, only to be knocked down by their surprisingly strong Pomeranian, Stanley.

A minute after you walked inside and kicked off your shoes, you passed out on the couch. Stanley curled up beside you, licking your face.

Eddie and Richie shared similar expressions as they gazed at the adorable sight. Not once had either of them believed their lives would come to this.

Richie Tozier never believed he’d be a world-famous comedian, married to his best friend that he’d been in love with since childhood, with the most amazing daughter anyone could ask for.

Eddie Kaspbrak never thought he’d escape his never-ending cycle of letting an emotionally abusive woman control his life, marry the man of his dreams and have a daughter.

Y/N Tozier-Kaspbrak truly believed that no other kid was as lucky as her. No other kid had a perfect, unbreakable pair of parents like she did.

No other family was as beautifully perfect as the Tozier-Kaspbrak family.

Not even close.

***

@peteporkers @unamused-fangirl

#richie tozier #richie tozier x reader #eddie x richie #richie x eddie #reddie #richie tozier x daughter!reader #richie tozier x eddie kaspbrak #it #it x reader #it 2019 #it 2019 x reader

800 notes · View notes

hopetofantasy · 4 years

Text

“Thank you”

Part 1: ‘Soft, sweet lips’

Part 2: “Your turn now”

A VDS FIC - PART 3 (fluff / little angst)

“Sander... Can I ask you something?” The beach blond boy was sitting at the lake’s edge, illuminated by the upcoming sunrise. He held the usual coffee mug in his hands. A puzzled look appeared on his face. Their relationship was purely focused on teasing Robbe, so they weren’t exactly the conversational buddies. But Jens really needed an outsider’s perspective.

“Yeah sure, Jens. Something seems to bother you, what is it?”

Damn, he forgot how perceptive Sander could be. Maybe this was a bad idea. Jens didn’t even know how to approach this inner turmoil. But talking to his best friend was out of the question. Robbe would go on about feelings and intentions. He didn’t want to explore those things yet.

Jens sighed. When he woke up a few minutes earlier, he didn’t expect to be standing here. At that moment, he had felt pure bliss. Last night was one of the best in his life. Everything fell into place: he was the person he was supposed to be. He wanted this feeling to last forever. All wrapped up in love and passion.

But when he turned over to meet another pair of arms, reality had struck.

Lucas was gone.

No beautiful boy in the morning light. No blue eyes in the golden hour.

Jens jumped out of bed immediately. Turned around to his scattered clothes, his thoughts already cluttering his mind. Did Lucas dump him? Was this a one time thing? He needed to tell Lucas he liked him. Right now. He felt like a whole person again. Different, but the same. He already started walking towards the other cabin, when he noticed Sander sitting by the lake.

“I just wanted to know... how- how come you were so sure? About Robbe, I mean? You were together with Britt, like together-together. So how did you... Euhm -”. God, this was hard. Could he ask the question he desperately wanted an answer to?

“How did I know I was in love with a boy, even when I’ve been together a girl?"

Well, he really cut through the bullshit, didn’t he. Jens analyzed Sander’s face, who strangely didn’t seem bothered by the question. He even looked quite amused. “That’s what you’re asking, isn’t it? How did I know I like boys as well as girls?” Jens turned red. “Yes.”

Sander sighed. “Well, I don’t know. Britt and I were together for a couple of months. She was a handful, but never boring. I really liked the spark in her, you know? She challenged me. Only it was too much. But I just didn’t know how unhealthy some parts of our relationship were, until I met Robbe. Did he ever tell you about the time I first met him?”

Jens shook his head. “Well, no surprise there, he’s very private,” Sander chuckled. “The first time I saw him, Noor took him to spray some garbage trucks. I was there as well with a group of art friends. Then suddenly the moonlight fell through a crack in the ceiling and light up his whole face.

I was gone for him. Really. Like a sudden rush of feelings. Love at first sight. It scared me at first, but i just couldn’t stop thinking about him. So I kinda... stalked him a bit. Even went to the skatepark to see him. That’s why I said yes to the beach trip, when Britt asked me. To see him.”

This took Jens by surprise. He never knew Sander went this far for Robbe. He’d always thought they met on the beach trip. He didn’t know when the boys fell in love, but he assumed it happened somewhere between the beach and the break-up with Noor. When he wasn’t being a good friend to Robbe. When he wasn’t there to help him out. The thought made him feel guilty.

“What I’m saying is,” Sander continued. “I don’t know how it happened. It’s just did. I know Robbe is the love of my life and that won’t change. No need for a label. And if you’re wondering if it affects anything: it might cause some reactions, but the most important thing is that you’re always yourself. Out there, finding happiness. Are you happy, Jens?”

Jens shrugged.

“I guess.”

Sander snickered and put his hand on Jens’ shoulder. “You’ll be alright. Life is a rollercoaster sometimes, but that’s what makes it worthwhile. Trust me, I know how high or low it may get. Just go along with it, okay? Now, I guess I’m going to wake up a certain sleepyhead we both know so well.”

After that statement, he stood up and walked back to the cabin with the empty cup in his hand. Jens stayed, to stare at the calm lake. He’d tried to find some peace in his feelings. The story was still ringing in his ears. After hearing a slight huff, he turned around to a smirking Sander. His look all knowingly.

“He’ll be worth it, Jens.”

——————————————-

“What are you doing?”

Jens whispered breathless.

The Dutch boy almost gave him a heart attack, creeping up to Jens without any sound and wrapping his entire body around him. Not that he mind the hugging, but they needed to watch out. The boysquad were just a couple of meters away. Fortunately, they didn’t seem to notice anything.

“I’m kidnapping you,” Lucas simply stated. His eyes were filled with mischief. He took his hand and dragged him into a green grove of trees. “I’m going to take you to my favorite spot,” he said deliberately. Jens’ feet almost tripped over a branch, due to all the tugging and pulling. Why was he such a klutz in Lucas’ neighborhood?

“Lucas, we really need to talk -”

“We can do it later, Jens”, Lucas answered and gave him a quick peck.

Jens was getting very annoyed. He didn’t want to go to this mysterious place. He wanted answers and Lucas listening to him. He hated being so insecure. His life was always in control, or at least put into separate segments to address later. His home, his parents, his friends. One by one. He always searched for a way to deal, without breaking down any barriers.

Breaking down wasn’t an option.

"We’re here!”

He’d almost forgot they were going somewhere. Lucas let his hand go and pointed to a small treehouse. It looked really cool. It couldn’t have been big, maybe just enough to fit a couple of small children. The construction was about four meters up. Old yellow paint made the thing seem very eerie and old.

Lucas was already on his way up and looked down to persuade Jens to climb. The latter one was still contemplating the safety of the wooden ladder. He then shrugged his shoulders and took his chances.

Inside the tree house, his eyes registered a pillow fort, a laptop and a couple of snacks waiting for them. His mouth fell open in awe.

“What’s this? A setting for a playdate?”

His questions were answered by a red flushed Lucas. “I thought it would be nice to go on a little date. You know, learn more about each other. I wanted it to be relaxing. But if you don’t like it...” Oh no, he seemed to have hit the wrong nerve. Lucas looked hurt, he must have put a lot of effort in this.

Jens brought his hand to the nape of Lucas’ neck. His other hand lifted his chin so their eyes would meet. “I love it, Lucas,” he said with a huge smile. “I would love to go on a date with you.” His lips slowly traced the soft, pink lips. He really liked this surprising boy. He hoped for more surprises in the future.

He is going to be so much trouble.

——————————————-

“So, am I your first?”

The question came out of nowhere. They were halfway through the movie ‘Romeo + Juliet’, which Jens had never seen before. He wasn’t really a fan of DiCaprio. But he didn’t dare to insult Lucas’ actor crush. Even when he deserved to be teased, since Lucas couldn’t stop comparing Leo to Jens.

“Yes, you’re my first boy. I’ve been with some girls before. Keisha, Britt, Jana. But never a boy.”

“Well, that’s good. It makes me feel superior. Since I’ve been with a guy before”, Lucas said jokingly. He should have known Lucas had more experience. Jealousy was already starting to rear his ugly head. Especially when he asked the question: “Who was it?” Did he really needed to know the answer?

“Well, it was a drunk encounter at some indie rock concert. I was high as a kite, but I really wanted to kiss a guy to prove something. So I met this foreign dude on the way to the toilet. The name didn’t stick with me. Steven... Baeven... I know it ended with ‘Even’ at least. But yeah, we kissed like there was no tomorrow. I guess that was my gay epiphany.”

Lucas said it in such a casual way, like it didn’t affect him whatsoever. He was gay. Yet, for Jens, it was too hard to say that sentence. To accept himself. He liked girls as well as boys. Bisexual. Jens is bisexual. Why was it so difficult to admit? He knew he accepted Robbe’s sexuality in a heartbeat.

Suddenly Lucas pulled himself out of Jens’ arms and looked at him with clear determination. He seemed to have read his mind. He probably picked up on Jens’ heartbeat. Or he had developed a sixth sense for internalized homophobia. But he knew Jens was struggling somehow.

“Jens, I know it seems difficult. It’s okay to doubt what you want. You don’t know everything about yourself. That’s alright. No need to push yourself. But be careful, it’s not healthy to separate your feelings or experiences. If you want to feel, you can feel.

I just really had a great time with you. If you don’t want to continue this, I understand. For me, our first kiss started with loneliness, but there is still something about you. Something real. You’re different and I like you, okay?”

Jens gasped loudly. The revelation hit him like a truck. He didn’t now what to do with this information and kept on staring into those blue pools filled with love. He felt a burn in his throat. Like a bubble that was about the burst. He didn’t try to stop this heavy feeling, let it completely surround him.

Lucas sensed what was coming. He put Jens’ head against his chest and gently stroked his hair.

Jens couldn’t hold it in anymore. Tears were welling up in his eyes, until they overflowed onto his red cheeks. Everything started to blur. And then, suddenly, he was sobbing. He wanted to curl up in a ball. Didn’t want to be strong and confident. His heart couldn’t deal anymore.

So he cried out all his pain.

His mom and dad fighting. His sister’s sorrow. His inability to do something about it. His guilt of being a bad friend. His loneliness. His insecurity. Him not being who he thought he was.

Then this boy, who just said it was okay. Who liked him nonetheless. Who knew. Who held him close and made little shushing sounds to calm him down. Who kissed his head. And held him until it was almost over.

He stayed in the hug, even when it was safe enough to face the world again. And in between the last sob and a hiccup, he softly whispered to Lucas.

“Thank you”

#wtfock #skam #skam belgium #skam nl #skam nl lucas #lucas van der heijden #jens stoffels #wtfock fic #wtfock jens #wtfock skam #jens #skam remakes #skam universe #van der stoffels #vds #skam theories

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carversourcebe · 3 years

Text

Max and Charlie Carver Get Inside Each Other’s Head

Interview for Interview Magazine :

MAX: This is my Barbara Walters moment.

CHARLIE: You prepared questions?

MAX: Oh yes. I have.

CHARLIE: Oh lord. Here we go.

MAX: Let me start with this: We’ve been through thick and thin together. Knowing what I know about you, in terms of disappointments and moments of questioning “if you’re on the right path,” why do you keep doing what you’re doing?

CHARLIE: That’s the first question? [Laughs] I guess part of it is a sense of curiosity about what’s possible. How can I challenge myself? In what ways can I feel like I’ve found my own version of success, and what does that feeling of success afford me as a person, moving forward?

MAX: What do you mean? Define success.

CHARLIE: I love that you have to be kind of naïve to want to work in a creative field. I don’t mean having to be overly simplistic about the world, but you have to maintain a kind of innocence, or a hopeful state of mind. And I can’t imagine getting practical. I don’t think I could do anything else.

MAX: What do you mean?

CHARLIE: Well, I can’t imagine dropping that disposition to go work in a different field. I’m trying to remember what made me want to go into this as a kid, and I think it was being moved in one way or another, and feeling the potential of being able to do that for other people, and understanding in an intrinsic way that that had value. Now, the battle has been trying to convince myself that it still has value, particularly in a world where there are so many other actionable ways to affect people’s lives.

MAX: But the value is you get to empathize with a belief system whether you’re consciously doing it or not. You’re getting to explore parts of yourself that may be dormant. And I think when people see that on the screen, it wakes up that dormant part of themselves. It’s like soul exercise.

CHARLIE: I hear that.

MAX: In terms of Ratched, what did you want to convey that you felt other people might not understand or see in your character?

CHARLIE: Another arrow of a question. I’m not sure I wanted to go in and convey anything. I think you learn from the story in front of you and you discover something in that process.

MAX: What did you learn?

CHARLIE: I always have to battle my own insecurities, or feelings of being limited somehow in actually embodying the character and the circumstances that are in front of me.

MAX: You’re speaking in abstracts.

CHARLIE: Thank you, Max. With Huck, what was being asked of me was to sit with and live with the experience of a war vet—in a very specific, genre show—and I just wanted to trust that the product would come out of that. I’m so grateful to Ryan Murphy, not only for the opportunity, but for how much creative freedom was given to me. We spoke a little bit about the images and things that came to mind for him, and I was on the same page.

MAX: Such as?

CHARLIE: The Elephant Man, and then some of my own stuff. Want to know a funny one? Do you remember that skunk from Bambi? Flower?

MAX: Yeah.

CHARLIE: I kept feeling Flower a lot.

MAX: [Laughs] Just to be clear, these are all leading questions. For me, whenever I get a role, whether it’s just working on stuff on camera, or writing, or whatever, I’m going to start recognizing some belief system that I have that I was in complete denial about. What did this story kick up for you?

CHARLIE: A lot of my own stuff around masculinity. To really believe myself as a war vet in a nursing uniform, the physicality or the posture, was challenging. I think a lot of that comes from the very narrow definition of masculinity presented to me as a kid, and how as a gay man, I didn’t feel inside of that definition. I felt naturally excluded by it. So anytime a character where these traditional tropes of masculinity come in, it always brings up stuff for me. It’s surprising that it does, and I’m grateful that it does, because it always deepens something that I wanted to learn about myself. And I usually find I end up going against those tropes. Having to find my own way in response to them. There’s a core question that I always return to in any work, even if it’s just writing, or the work of being in a relationship: Am I enough?

MAX: Enough of what? You have imposter syndrome when you’re portraying “masculine” characters?

CHARLIE: Yeah, kind of. More that by doing my own thing, I’ve somehow failed at the task. But the sense of fraudulence, or insecurity, or imposter syndrome is somewhat akin to doubt, and I think it’s important to see that for what it is and welcome it. Doubt isn’t a bad thing. I’ve definitely made some peace with that feeling of not knowing what I’m doing and feeling kind of fraudulent while I’m doing it. I would like to believe everybody feels that way.

MAX: Yeah, when I feel doubt, it’s a somatic experience. It’s this empty feeling in my body. Feelings with no label or no name. But I think that’s okay. Not to name it, just to allow it. Gonna change gears here: What do you think is your most attractive quality?

CHARLIE: Really having your Barbara Walters moment. [Laughs] Oh my god. I don’t know anymore. I feel pretty bland these days, I’m not going to lie.

MAX: Are you trying to suggest that modesty is your most attractive quality?

CHARLIE: [Laughs]. Shut up. I’d like to think I’m a good person. I’m open-minded. I think that’s attractive. I say yes to things.

MAX: What’s something you think about a lot that you believe other people should spend some more time thinking about? I know, that’s going to make you sound arrogant, no matter how you answer that question.

CHARLIE: Yeah, it is! What do I think people should sit with?

MAX: Maybe it was a bad question.

CHARLIE: No, it’s an interesting question. Hmmm. You were the one who taught me to use this technique: It’s so important to remember that we were all children. That the person in front of you, whether you’re meeting them with a sense of judgment, or excitement, or whatever, that they were once a child. I think that’s something valuable to sit with.

MAX: Um, I never said that. I think I said that kids will identify with anything. By which I mean, kids get defined by other people around them and that’s not right. I forget who said it, but “the law of the jungle was kill or be killed, now it’s define or be defined”. But maybe don’t bother defining anything or anyone. Let it be a question. You and I have gotten in some arguments about defining oneself through abstract language, through labels, instead of just saying, “Hey, I’m Charlie.”

CHARLIE: Yeah. I think that identities and labels are useful in that they can be ways into finding community and showing solidarity across a real shared experience. But I don’t particularly love using “gay” as an adjective to describe myself. I don’t have an issue with being seen that way, but it’s just such a strange…

MAX: I don’t think you can or should try to boil down your personality or who you are into descriptors. I don’t think it’s possible. I think it’s unwinnable.

CHARLIE: Exactly. And that word in particular, “gay,” has become something monolithic. It stands for something that I’m not sure I want to be in communion with. To clarify, what I mean is that it’s absolutely something I identify as. But I think it’s a word that has come to stand for an exclusionary, very privileged, and largely white experience… Well, I would be in denial if I didn’t fall into that, categorically. But it’s not my identity. It’s not the “all” of who I am. And so I bristle at that word a bit. And don’t want to feel defined by language. Then again, I am happy to identify as one letter in this broader coalition, the LGBTQ coalition, if that makes any sense. It becomes a position from which to speak from and engage with the world. I have no idea how we got here.

MAX: We were talking about you. Now we’re going to change the subject. If you could write the musical of your life, using the music of a known artist, who would that be ?

CHARLIE: I don’t know why there hasn’t been a Dixie Chicks musical. I would feel very represented by that.

MAX: Hm. Why?

CHARLIE: You know the answer. You’re setting me up. [Laughs] “Cowboy, Take me Away” is such a great song! It would really rip on stage.

MAX: Okay. Next question. Did you play The Sims as a kid?

CHARLIE: You ask this question on dates, don’t you? I know you do.

MAX: Don’t deflect. What did you do with your Sims characters? How did you spend your time on The Sims?

CHARLIE: Fine. I know you have this theory that that question is like this Rorschach test.

MAX: Sort of, yeah. For dysfunction.

CHARLIE: The “Red Flag” test. I would build these beautiful houses and then I would separate the family members into rooms and remove all the doors, and watch what happened. So that the people would just be locked in these doorless, windowless rooms. Trapped. That was my big fear as a kid.

MAX: You had a lot of fears as a kid.

CHARLIE: That’s true. But I was really afraid of waking up in a house where it’s like, “Where is everybody”?

MAX: You get to start over today. What age would you pick?

CHARLIE: I would go back to kindergarten.

MAX: You would go back to kindergarten?

CHARLIE: I remember. We’re lucky. We were identified as “twins,” but we really got to separate, I think internally, from each other at that age.

MAX: To add some backstory here, we were always very different. We even went to different boarding schools across the country from one another. We didn’t really grow up together. I mean, we did. We fought so often our parents had to build a wall between us while we were sharing the same room. We went to different boarding schools, pretty much decided we were going to go to different universities.

CHARLIE: And somehow both ended up in L.A. Just a little bit of backstory. But I think at that age, six or so, you’re just responding to the world. You’re not actively trying to do anything differently. You’re learning to survive, or adjust to your environment. You are adjusted by your environment. So I wonder what it would have been like to grow up somewhere else.

MAX: Where?

CHARLIE: I don’t know where. I don’t have a lot of resentment about that time, but I do feel shaped by having grown up in a rural pocket of the world. I will always wonder what other parts of myself could have better and more naturally flourished from that age. And I think a lot of damage comes from feeling forbidden from certain possibilities. I wanted to do all sorts of things in kindergarten. I wanted to dance, I wanted to be a good student, I wanted to make art, I wanted to act, and all of those things were not acceptable because they made you a “queer.”

MAX: And you got teased a lot.

CHARLIE: And so we both found out, in this strange experiment of being genetically identical people with a controlled set of similar circumstances, how different inputs played out.

MAX: But because we’re twins, I still had to witness what you went through. It’s not like I walked away unscathed or untouched by your pain. If anything, I felt I had to compensate for it.

CHARLIE: It’s symbiotic. I don’t think I got away from your pain. I felt all that, too. We’ve already talked some about masculinity and identity and I think you can feel that stuff as a kid, but you don’t know how to do anything about it. Expectations. You don’t have any language to be able to articulate what it is, but you just feel it. So if I could go back – I’m just curious, in this “experiment” that is our lives as identical twins – what happens if you plug in or take out certain inputs? A setting? A time period? How does that shape the person that you are? Had I grown up somewhere else, how might we have diverged in other ways? This also goes back to the acting stuff. When I step into a role as an actor, are the circumstances going to be enough information for me to become that character? Or is there something else that’s beyond what is circumstantial that shapes a person? A kind of spiritual force, or self, independent of those inputs?

MAX: I believe that we get whatever stories we need until we don’t need a story anymore. And in this profession, the stories we need find us. Do you see an underlying pattern in all of the stories you’ve been given? Not just stuff you’ve shot professionally on film, but other stuff, too. Plays, books, stuff you write. I remember you doing Angels in America in college. Life and Limb.

CHARLIE: I often end up playing people who have been maimed, or hurt, or who feel ugly.

MAX: What do you think the common denominator is?

CHARLIE: I don’t know if I can generalize as far as a common denominator. I’ve always been attracted to telling stories where there is an externalization of trauma or a loss, something put into your life that you didn’t choose. Huck was such an important character to me in that way

MAX: Well, if I can reflect on my own stuff, I keep getting stories and I’m realizing that for whatever reason I keep getting a lot of villain stuff thrust upon me, at least on paper. And what I’m learning is, it’s very hard for me to own my goodness, my softness in a vulnerable way. But it’s there, too. In the “bad”. So I’m also learning I can’t compartmentalize in that kind of way with myself. And I want to own more softness in my day to day life.

CHARLIE: And if I’m being perfectly honest, I have a difficult time finding myself beautiful, in a way. There’s something about all these characters and how beautiful these characters are that reflects something back to me like, oh, that is something that I am too. Beauty is a big word.

MAX: Just say it. “I am beautiful.”

CHARLIE. [Laughs]. Anyone can find a time in their life, and this theme goes all the way back to being a kid, of feeling different, of feeling ostracized in some way, and trying to find an explanation for it. I think how I interpreted those feelings was that I was that I’m the ugly duckling. And even though we’re identical twins, in my head that was how I related to the situation. I saw myself as the ugly duckling compared to you. And the work I’ve gotten and I’m interested in, well, it’s just a theme that’s preoccupied my life.

MAX: Are you sick of that story?

CHARLIE: We are so predisposed, even in our conversations not on the record, to talk so seriously about things, Max. My turn to ask you something. How do you hope to have fun in the next five or ten years?

MAX: My idea of fun is getting out of L.A., in a car, not having a plan. Driving up the 33, north of Ojai, and finding a hot spring and running around naked. And not bringing cameras, not recording it, not trying to do anything. It’s to be in nature with no plan no feeling that needs to be accomplished. It’s just butt naked in a natural spring. That’s fun.

CHARLIE: Well, I’m always down to do that, too.

Read the article here

#Charlie Carver #max carver #Carver Twins #teen wolf #desperate housewives #the leftovers #interview #interview magazine

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choupichoups · 5 years

Photo

Press F (Instagram/College AU) Ch.5

Lucas swears he’s the absolute master of undetected stalking. Or: Eliott is instagram famous and Lucas is the disaster gay who accidentally likes his post.

Lucas smiles to himself as he browses through Eliott’s Instagram story, melting at the sight of the boy holding different puppies at each frame. Where does Eliott find so many dogs to cuddle anyway? Lucas can’t even guess the answer, all he knows is that the photos need to keep coming. He’s just settled down on the bulky armchair they’ve placed in the corner of their “break room” (it’s a small empty space at the back of the kitchen) when he reaches the end of it, almost choking on the water he’s just drank at the last photo.

He recognizes that building behind Eliott. He’s very familiar with it, in fact, because it’s the same building he sees every time he looks longingly out the window when a shift goes particularly south.

Jumping off the armchair, he hurries to get to the front, narrowly missing stubbing his toe on the stove in his rush.

And just as predicted, Eliott leans against the wall by the entrance, eye-catching even in a simple hoodie and that damn jacket of his. Lucas slowly approaches, wary of the stares that are already trained on Eliott. Mr. Instagram Famous doesn’t seem bothered by it, only grinning at Lucas as he flips his phone back and forth between his hands.

“What are you doing here?”

Eliott shrugs. “Picking you up.”

He doesn’t finish for another hour. “And how’d you know I’d be here?”

“Yann told me.”

“Oh, so you guys talk now?”

“Well, I’ve gotta get on his good side.”

“Why?”

Eliott pushes off the wall, lifting his eyebrows as he teases, “You know why.”

Lucas doesn’t let himself believe that quite yet. "What if I told you I don’t get off work for another hour?”

“Then I’ll wait. If you’ll let me this time?”

His brain function staggers, grasping for a witty response. “It’s not 5 hours, I guess.” Close enough.

“Why thank you, you’re so generous.”

Lucas turns around to head back, having used up his 15 minute break watching Eliott’s story and now talking to him. Eliott’s a real hazard to his much wanted alone time. “You could’ve just messaged me, you know.”

“Hm?”

“What if I didn’t check your story when you came?”

“Nah, I knew you’d be watching.” He sounds so sure of himself and Lucas kind of wants to slap him but at the same time, the whole confident act is working for him god damn it. Lucas flips him off but that only serves to widen Eliott’s shit eating grin.

His coworkers stare him down as he takes his place at the second cash and Lucas does his best to avoid their eyes, unwilling to spill anything about the gorgeous boy waiting for him by the window stool. He only gets away with it due to how busy Saturdays tend to be, allowing them zero free time to ask him the questions he knows they’re dying to throw at him.

He can still feel their stares on his back when he leaves the cafe with Eliott.

“Where are we going?” He asks, following Eliott to the bus stop.

“You’ll see.” It doesn’t even occur for Lucas to question it.

Eliott’s taken him to the doggy daycare he volunteers at, stating that he’d been there the entire morning and had only stopped by the cafe specifically to get Lucas.

“I wanted another date,” Eliott claims, hands wrapped around a tiny Pomeranian that looks strikingly like Champagne.

“This isn’t a date,” Lucas retorts, taking the Pomeranian off his hands.

Eliott chuckles. “Of course it is.”

Lucas kisses the dog on the nose, hoping with his entire being that the warmth on his cheeks isn’t as visible as it feels. “What’s this one’s name?”

“That’s Bee.”

Lucas laughs down at his phone, chancing a glance at Eliott who’s also smiling down at his own screen, free hand petting absently at a poodle’s back.

His staring gets interrupted by multiple pings from his phone and his eyes narrow in confusion, recognizing the Instagram handles that follow him all at the same time.

“Why are your friends following me?”

As if electrocuted, Eliott jumps out of the couch and lunges for Lucas’ phone, but Lucas was fast enough to dodge him, turning around so he can fold over the device like a protective cocoon.

“They’re a bunch of dumbasses, ignore them.”

“What? No.”

“Why not?”

"They sound fun."

"You're choosing them over me?"

"Maybe."

"Here you go again, hurting my feelings like this," Eliott sighs melodramatically.

Eliott has his arms around Lucas now from how he’s been trying to reach over him for the phone. Lucas looks up and turns until he can clearly see Eliott when he says, "Sorry."

"Got some more of those apology candies?"

"I don’t have any left."

"So how are you gonna apologize now?"

The way he says it is electrifying, his voice freezing Lucas on the spot-- not that Eliott has to do much for that to happen. Lucas belatedly realizes that Eliott’s beginning to lean down and, panic simmering in his stomach, Lucas turns away, forcing himself to face forward again. His cheeks feel like they’re in flames and his heart is pounding so loud it's a wonder Eliott doesn't hear it.

"I'll apologize by sincerely saying sorry,” he mumbles, sounding shaky even to his own ears. Eliott's hands tighten around him and Lucas gasps, acutely aware of how goddamn nervous he suddenly feels. Fuck, Eliott isn’t saying anything but Lucas can feel his breath above the nape of his neck. What is going on here? Eliott places large hands on his waist and spins him around so that they're facing each other and fuck if that isn’t the hottest thing to ever--

Someone knocks on the door, the noise jarring despite its softness. "Eliott? Gerard's here for Bee."

They stand there as if suspended in time, blinking at each other. It takes a minute for the both of them to process the interruption.

"One second." Eliott looks down at him, thumbs running restlessly over the material of Lucas’ shirt. He huffs out a sigh and ruffles Lucas’ hair before scooping up a wiggling Bee in his arms on his way out of the room.

Lucas slumps down on the couch, immediately wrapping his arms around the giant German Shepherd that comes sniffing around his lap. He buries his face in the dog's soft fur as he lets out a drawn out groan. Eliott's going to be the death of him.

#skam france #elu #elu insta au #*violently updates*#i cant believe i had to watch lucas cry for 3 mins #hopefully this shows up #if not #i will try my best to update ao3! right!! away!!!#fictag

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