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pemfrost · 3 years

Note

Dimiclaude- arranged marriage ?

I had something else in mind completely, but then I saw a preview for "married at first sight" and decided to do a modern AU. Never seen the show, so I just made the rest up. Hope you like it!

Dimitri assessed himself in the ornate mirror again, acutely aware of the cameras capturing his every movement, every emotion. Even his wildest daydreams never once included a television camera crew filming his wedding. Yet, the chaos helped keep his attention far from the very real vows he was about to make to a man he had never met.

The venue was fantastic, he couldn't have selected something better himself. It warmed his heart to know the man he would be marrying found an outdoor wedding ideal as well, and where better than a vineyard overlooking a lush valley? So far, everything was perfect. Perfect venue, perfect weather, perfect suit, and, if all went well, he would leave with the perfect husband.

Sylvain's laughter announced his arrival, and Dimitri wasn't surprised to find the Producer, Manuela, fawning over him. "Heya, Dimitri! Whoa, Felix wasn't joking when he said you're dressed to the nines."

Manuela laughed, a practiced sound. "Of course, we couldn't have our star looking anything less than his best on his wedding day!" She clapped her hands together, "Alright, we need to film some camera confessionals to splice into the intro and before the breaks. Are you ready?"

Dimitri nodded, not trusting his voice. Dedue, his best man, had left to take a personal call. He was his rock through the whole process, by his side from the day he caved into Sylvain's suggestion and signed up for the matchmaking television show. Dedue's calm presence kept him centered while he waited months for a match to be made.

"Alright," Manuela clapped again, bringing his attention to the camera now in front of him. "First question: How are you feeling now?"

Dimitri inhaled and mentally repeated the general rules Manuela gave him for talking to the camera. He didn't want to redo the shots like he often had to at the beginning of the process. Being in front of the camera was nothing new for him, but filming reality television was very different from filming one of his movies.

"Right now… I am still in disbelief. I gave up finding love years ago, and to have this chance…" He looked away from the camera. "Knowing the man waiting for me at the altar is there because experts have determined we are compatible… Knowing he is not here because of my family name or my wealth means so much."

"Good, good. Question two" Do you think getting married will impact your career?"

"I hope not. My movies have been successful because of my talent, and while I am very aware of my… fan club… I believe they will be happy if I am happy."

"Question three: any pushback from your family during this process?"

"Only concern from my friends, but they support me going through with this. One of them is actually why I signed up for it- after a lot of cajoling. And some alcohol to calm my nerves."

Someone with a clipboard and earpiece grabbed Manuela's attention, and she motioned for him to walk around for some action shots as she disappeared out the door. He complied, but was disappointed to note Sylvain had slipped away during his interview. Typical; the man couldn't stay still on a normal day.

He walked to the window, looking out at the vineyard. Two small guest houses sat on the estate, built so couples could get ready for their wedding separately. There was no chance he would accidentally see his fiancé, and even if he did, how would he tell him apart from the other guests and crew milling about the property?

Would he like the man they chose for him? After so many interviews, personality tests, and various questionnaires, he sure hoped so. More importantly, would he like Dimitri? Was his custom Brioni suit too much? Would the non traditional deep blue be acceptable? His life was often a whirlwind when he was filming a movie, could his husband handle it? It was one of the most common relationship killer for him, and had been one of the first things he mentioned when he first signed up for the show. Had they remembered to take it into account?

"Good, good." Manuela's voice filled the room once more. "We can throw a voice over this, the audience will eat up that pensive staring out the window. Dimitri, are you ready?"

"Ready?"

"To get married, silly. We're about to start."

It was time already?

"Dimitri." Dedue's strong voice came from the doorway. He turned his gaze to Manuela, "May we have a moment?"

"Of course." She motioned for the camera to keep rolling and Dimitri sighed. Even with her out of the room, he needed to be camera ready.

"Dimitri," Dedue said again as he pulled Dimitri into a tight embrace. How in his head was he if he hadn't noticed Dedue crossing the room? "Breathe."

"Aww, are you guys having a moment I wasn't invited to?" Sylvain appeared at his side as he pulled away from Dedue. Immediately, he pulled Dimitri into a hug of his own. "If this doesn't work, then I had nothing to do with it. If you fall madly in love, then you're welcome."

Dimitri chuckled and pulled away from the embrace. Lingering just out of reach stood Felix. He knew better than to try and hug his prickly friend, instead he nodded towards him. "Thank you all. I could not imagine doing this without your support."

"Not having a change of heart, are we?" Manuela's head peeked into the room.

Dimitri forced a smile through his anxiety. "No. Let's go meet my future husband."

Manuela ushered him outside and into a covered golf cart. As they were driven up the hill to where he would get married, she double checked the microphone hidden in his Boutonniere. "Alright, so this venue is a tricky one since it's outside. There are two curtain boxes set up opposite each other. You will both step through them on cue and walk towards each other and meet in the middle at the altar. Got it?"

Dimitri nodded as the cart came to a stop. Manuela exited first then motioned for him to follow her. She pointed to where he should stand, and he strained his neck to catch a glimpse of anything before the white curtains blocked his view. A similar curtain was on the other side as she'd said. Chairs were set up for the few guests each brought with them, but were currently empty.

As he stood behind the curtains, Dimitri strained to hear what was going on. He couldn't see the chairs or the altar, but after a few minutes the sounds of soft chatter floated to him. The altar was just beyond a thin fabric. His husband was just beyond thin fabric.

Dimitri focused on his breathing. It was real. He was about to marry someone who's name he didn't know. While he thought he worked through his anxiety over it, he clearly had not. What did he do with his hands? What if he tripped as he walked to the altar?

Before he could continue to spiral further, Manuela was signaling him to walk out. He hesitated. His friends were out there, his husband's friends were out there. His husband was out there. With a deep breath, Dimitri pushed the curtain aside and stepped out.

He paid no attention to the people to his left, focused only on the man already standing across from him. Gorgeous did not do the man justice, and once Dimitri stepped out his face lit up, flashing Dimitri a wide smile. There was something familiar about him, something Dimitri couldn’t yet place as distracted as he was by the way his green eyes danced.

His husband stepped forward, breaking the spell he put over Dimitri. When they met in the middle, between the altar and their friends, Dimitri thought it was too good to be true.

Remembering himself, Dimitri smiled down and introduced himself. "H-hello, I am Dimitri."

"Whoa," the man said. "I thought my eyes were deceiving me, but it really is you." Dimitri's heart began to sink, afraid he was just another fanboy until he continued. "I'm Claude."

Oh- it clicked. Claude Von Riegan, lead singer of the band The Golden Deer. "This is really happening."

Claude smiled, "Yeah, it suuure is."

Dimitri wanted to talk to him, ask so many questions- touch him. But they were not alone up at the altar and a soft voice startled them both out of the moment they were sharing. "Welcome, everyone. I am Byleth, the officiant for this joyous occasion."

They paused to give Dimitri and Claude a moment to catch their bearings. Dimitri risked a glance to his friends, and was relieved to find them looking content. Annette gave him a thumbs up at the same time Sylvain wolf whistled. Claude's side was just as lively, and Dimitri recognized members of his band in the front row.

Byleth continued, bringing their focus back to them. "We welcome Claude Von Riegan and Dimitri Blaiddyd-"

Dimitri couldn’t focus on their speech, too busy getting lost in Claude's eyes. He had enough sense about him to respond to the vows when prompted, and was endlessly glad they didn't have to write their own.

"Now, I pronounce you married. You may now kiss your groom, forever sealing your union."

Dimitri was eager to do so, his nerves falling away when Claude's lips found his. He completely forgot about the cameras as he eagerly returned the kiss, and nearly groaned when Claude pulled away.

Cheers rang out from their friends. He heard Sylvain's shout of, "Power couple!" over everyone else.

They were ushered down the aisle, through their friends' congratulations and into another covered cart. Claude's hand found his as they were driven to where the reception was being held, and Dimitri squeezed it in silent answer.

"Hey?" Claude looked at him, a smile tugging playfully at his lips.

"Yes?"

"We're married," Claude said, nudging his shoulder into Dimitri's.

Dimitri leaned over, placing a chaste kiss on Claude's cheek. "Yes, we are." He brushed his knuckles along his husband's cheek before diving for his lips.

He couldn't be happier with the outcome, and looked forward to getting to know his new husband, and starting their life together.

Thanks for reading!!

#dimiclaude #dimitri alexandre blaiddyd #claude von reigen #fire emblem three houses #fe3h #pem writes #this is too much fluff I feel sticky

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riceccakes · 3 years

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1 & catradora :)

trope writing prompts: send a number and a pairing :)

hi anon, you didn’t pick a category so i’m choosing my favorite out of the three, hope thats okay !!

“What, you’ve never thought about us?”

Adora was leaving. She was brought into Hordak’s office and left with a bittersweet smile. Catra didn’t need to even ask; Adora got the promotion. This would’ve been something to celebrate, had the promotion not meant moving across the country to the sister company, Dryl Inc.

“Hey, this doesn’t mean I’m gonna fall off the face of Etheria,” Adora said as Catra helped her clean her desk. “I’ll still call and I’ll visit every now and then.”

Catra kept her mouth shut, biting her tongue. It was too much at that moment, to try and even put into words what she was feeling. Instead, she hastily scanned Adora’s file cabinet of folders and tossed whatever the woman wouldn’t need.

Adora was Catra’s first friend at Prime Co. The desk job was going to be temporary, answering phone calls and trying to sell merchandise to make money while she looked for something more permanent. But, her and Adora started on the same day, were in the same training session, even were in the same group for “Team Building Exercises.” When the scheduled lunch time came around, Adora sat down at Catra’s empty table with a smile.

“Do you like tuna?” she asked. She stopped, shaking her head, “Was that stereotypical? I’m sorry, I should’ve worded this better.”

Catra kept a close eye on her, not responding as Adora pulled out three sandwiches, four bags of chips, two large cookies, and four juice boxes.

“I saw you weren’t eating so I thought I might offer one of my sandwiches,” Adora started, holding two of the three up, “I have two roast beef and one tuna, but I should’ve worded this all better.”

She began muttering to herself, fiddling with the plastic wrapped sandwiches and Catra finally reacted. She laughed, taking the tuna out of her hand and opening it.

“You’re fine, dummy. I like tuna.” She bit into it, glancing up to see Adora’s pink cheeks trying to hide.

They’d been at the company together for almost two years and while Catra was still coasting along, sure she’d stay until she found a more suitable career, Adora was excelling like no other coworker. Their boss, Hordak, had been giving her a bit of extra treatment, at least Catra noticed. She was sure Adora would be chosen for the new promotion Hordak announced a few months ago and wasn’t surprised today when Hordak called out from his office for Adora to see him.

When the last bit of Adora’s desk was in the box issued by Hordak, the picture frame of the two girls from the holiday party on top, Catra sighed.

“How long until you have to leave?”

“About a week,” Adora answered, lugging the box towards the elevator. “I have to pack my apartment too and everything.”

“Right,” Catra looked at the floor, wrapping her tail around herself. She stayed a few feet from Adora, wishing the elevator door wouldn’t open. She hissed at the sound when it did.

Adora stepped in, calling out Catra’s name. “Help me move out?”

Catra rolled her eyes, “Of course, idiot.”

When Catra clocked out, she drove to Adora’s almost too quickly. She hadn’t realized how much she dreaded that office; without Adora, her deskmates were bland and boring, lunch was a drag, and the empty space next to her hurt her heart more than she wanted to admit.

Catra called out over the next few days, opting to help Adora move rather than endure more nine hour shifts in her newfound hell. She was silent for almost all of the packing sessions, still too upset to see Adora go. (Deep down in her heart, Catra hoped Adora would say no to the promotion. She hoped Adora would want to stay with her and not leave and keep working together and play pranks on Kyle until they retired. She hoped she wouldn’t have to ask Adora this, she hoped Adora would just know.)

Catra knew Adora was talking, but the sentences never stuck in her mind. She was too busy wrapping dinner plates in old newspaper and bubblewrap and trying her hardest to stop her shaking hands from dropping any.

When she placed the last one in the box (all of them in tact, a feat in itself) she heard Adora say, “Let’s get drinks.”

It’d be only one more day before Adora had to leave. Catra placed the last box in the moving truck and nodded. Her tail wrapped around her again and she felt her ears drop. Adora placed her hand on Catra’s shoulder and she shuddered, quickly pulling away. Another time she’d deal with all the thoughts in her head, all the words she was screaming in her throat, all the “Please don’t go.” “You don’t need a new job.” “I’ll just make Hordak give you a raise, that’ll be enough right?” “Who am I supposed to make fun of Kyle with? Lonnie? She’s all talk and no bite, she’s always eating lunch with him and Rogelio.” Another time she’d deal with all of those thoughts, that’s what Catra told herself.

At the bar, Catra and Adora found a booth in the back. It was closed off from the rest of the patrons, perhaps for the better because Catra didn’t want anyone else to see her cry. (She wasn’t banking on it happening but she’d been close to doing so the past few nights, maybe this night would be what broke her.)

“Oh, come on, Catra,” Adora kicked her leg under the table. “Lighten up, I told you this isn’t goodbye.”

She sulked in her seat, swishing the vodka soda in her cup.

“You know, I asked Hordak if I could bring you.”

Catra froze, “What?”

“I’m supposed to be some department head when I get to Dryl Inc. I asked if I’d need an assistant or something but Hordak wouldn’t budge.”

“Assistant, really?”

Adora raised an eyebrow, “Oh, so you’d rather I just go and not make an effort to try and bring you?”

Catra’s eyes widened, Adora’s tone sounded insulted. She shook her head, “Wait, that’s not what I--”

Adora laughed, kicking her leg again, “I was just joking, Catra.”

Catra’s ears fidgeted, her mind trying to understand why Adora tried to get Hordak to let her leave too. “Why’d you ask him?”

Adora gulped, taking a long sip from her beer, “Well, I just. You know, it’s always been you and me at the company and well. I don’t know, I just thought,” she paused, finishing her drink. “What, you’ve never thought about us?”

The emphasis on the word scared Catra, much deeper and closer to her core than the thought of Adora leaving at all. Of course she’d thought about them, the two of them as more than friends. All the movie nights in Adora’s apartment after a long day at work, all the fast food deliveries to the office when Catra would reluctantly stay overtime since Adora was. All the times Adora’s blue eyes sparkled in the dingy office lighting (seriously, how did her eyes do that?) and all the times Adora’s laughter perked her tail in delight. She thought about all the company parties they attended, about Adora dressed up in a long dress with her hair pulled back and her neck exposed and that stupid perfume that made Catra’s hands twitch because she just wanted to grab Adora’s waist and kiss her. Of course she thought about it all.

And even while she wanted to say all of it then, her throat closed up and Catra just stared at Adora.

“Oh.” Adora reached for her beer again and brought it to her lips, eyes widening at the clear bottom. She placed it down with a blush, looking down at the table. She whispered, “Well, I have, a lot. I’ve always been too scared to try anything, for example, right now, because clearly you haven’t and I’ve made this weird.”

Catra desperately wanted to correct her, wanted to reach across the table and yank her shirt to pull her into a kiss. But she was stuck in her spot, staring at Adora who still looked gorgeous even when she was sad.

“I just like having you around and you’re really soft and you’re always nice to me,” Adora continued. Her voice was barely audible but Catra made it her mission to hear every last word. “I’m just really gonna miss you.”

Catra heard the sentence, felt her heart jump out of her chest at the notion of Adora missing her at all. She internally slapped herself across the face and finally forced her body to move. She jolted up, slamming her knees on the underside of the table as she grabbed Adora by the collar and kissed her.

Their teeth crashed and Catra knew her knees would turn into a bluish, purple color but she didn’t care. Adora’s lips were soft and tender and that stupid perfume she wore made her quietly moan as she pulled away for air. Adora pulled her back in, placing a few more gentle kisses, more successful ones at that, and let out a shaky breath.

“What the hell was that, Catra?”

With her heart rate settling, Catra kept her eyes shut. She didn’t want to sound stupid, didn’t want Adora to know just yet she was melting like putty, so she forced her brain to regain consciousness.

“If you wanted me to come with you, you should’ve just said so,” she breathed. Adora kissed her cheek and she cursed under her breath, “You’re packing up all my shit, though.”

#ricewrites #catradora #catra #adora #spop #office au #one shot #anon

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oneweekoneband · 3 years

Text

her Nebraska (1982)

In July I flew to Massachusetts with a plague on, and I felt that it was wrong, but my mother had begged and I’d been out of work for months. Mornings there I ran in long, uneven ovals on the same roads I’d memorized in high school. There’s no sidewalks, but the few feet of dirt between the craggy pavement and the open mouths of the fields serve all right for a single body in motion. When a truck comes up close from behind, the ground shakes, and I step away bouncingly from the street toward thigh-high yellow weeds and grass, and keep going. I was slowly picking my way back in that dirt, sweat-slick from only a plodding couple of miles in peak summer heat, and sucking the wet cotton of my mask in between my teeth on every inhale, when Taylor Swift announced she was releasing a surprise album produced by the guy from The National. Not the guy from The National, like, the voice, but the guy from The National whose photo was circulated on Twitter earlier this year as some kind of antifa super soldier, which isn’t the case, but would’ve been rad. First, I stopped dead to send some outraged, misspelled text messages, and then I ran home faster than I’d moved in years.

Tall, blonde, patrician pop star Taylor Swift is to me something like a cross-between a wife and a boogeyman. Bound we’ve been since we were really children. Time and its changes haven’t rid me of her, and what’s worse is I have never quite been able to wish they would, though I claim as much all the time. Countless hours of my one wild and precious life have been spent on endlessly analyzing the minutiae of Taylor Swift’s music, the mind that made it, the real world events which influenced it. And though all the while I have known she is only a person, and that people, while each strange and lovely in their own ways, are, in the end, mostly dull, needful in just the regular manner, the fantasy is better, the sick dream of a megalomaniac songstress, curious, thrilling, probably evil, and I choose that. I don’t know Taylor Alison Swift, born to this world in, I presume, the usual way. But my Taylor Swift? I’m a renowned expert. I’ve always eaten up stories—movies, music, celebrity news, the one my grandfather tells about falling off his bike once in Ireland as a boy and his face “cracking open like an egg”—like a starved dog. I’m obsessive about my interests, but not inclined to intense fandom, and certainly not fandom in the mode of the stan. For one, I’m too self-absorbed. But caring intensely for a famous person is falling in love with a ghost, and that’s all right—I mean, what the hell? We’re here together just dying... Let’s enjoy—but is an affair best undertaken with the knowledge that everyone alive has their own complex interiority, as unruly as your own, and that you, a stranger, are not in any real way connected to the lawless, blurry middle of that celebrity, and will never be. It’s freeing and fun to know this. I mean, these people are basically in your employ. Glamorous dollhouse dwellers. Acknowledging that uncrossable distance allows for a different, healthier closeness of pure imagination. My feelings, then, can comfortably be at once both fiercely intense and entirely silly. I am a foremost scholar in the art of the Taylor Swift who exists in my head. The real person raised in Pennsylvania I don’t know at all. I have some conjectures on the matter, and, as with all my conjectures, every hackneyed theory, each picky little opinion, I’m sure they’re perfect, brilliant, just absolutely right, but that’s still all they are. Taylor Swift, figure of the cultural imagination, is the Jodie Comer to my Sandra Oh in Killing Eve, annoying and pretty in frills, taunting me endlessly and holding us trapped together in a dance of most enchanting death. But the real Taylor Swift has favorite bed sheets and a social security number and a British boyfriend, none of which I have any desire to know about, and if I saw her at a restaurant I’d politely avert my eyes before, yes, dive-bombing the group text. There’s nobody on Earth I’d stand in line to speak to, but then I’ve been speaking to a certain figment of Taylor Swift for nearly half my life.

I went to a Taylor Swift concert the night before I moved into college in 2009. My father’s work friend, firefighter by day, near professional gambler by night, got comped tickets to the Fearless Tour stop taking place at the nearby casino, and he let me have them as a reward, mainly, for happening to be seventeen. Live in-person and performed acoustically, “Fifteen” made me cry. A few years after that, in the thick, sticky part of my first post-college summer, I wrote approximately twenty-three million words about her in these very pages. (”Pages”) At that point, Taylor’s most recent release was 2012’s Red, and the work I produced that long ago July about Taylor and her career, writing I was fairly pleased with at the time, feels now, besides just being extremely clearly written by a twenty-one year old, strange to me for the way it favors the sweet over the sour almost uniformly. There is a wholesome kind of ardor in that writing which maybe I’ve outgrown the ability to hold. Or maybe Taylor just proceeded to spend the next half a decade plus releasing one bad single after another, and it was taste—and trespasses against taste—and not some shift in my nature which altered the tenor of our bond. I have real love for my particular image, gleaned from public statements and published art, of smart, bizarre famous woman Taylor Swift, and I admire the bulk of her output very much. I’m just no longer so inclined to fawn. This is not to say I am here to offer a Taylor Swift hate screed. I couldn’t swing it, and, anyway, I’m not a pop feminist-for-hire circa 2010. But we’re older now. Things are different. At twenty-eight, twenty-nine this month—Taylor will, also this December, turn thirty-one—I regard Taylor Swift warily, like an ex with whom you have a tentative friendship, perpetually on the brink of falling one way or the other into hatred or delight, only to wobble back the opposite direction again at the slightest provocation, but still, despite best efforts, even, I regard her all the time.

folklore was released at midnight on July 24th 2020, but I was at a cabin in rural Vermont without Internet or cell service. I drank Bud Light seltzers with my mother while watching the eerie pandemic return of Major League Baseball, and when I got into a strange bed there I stewed, knowing there were people out in the world all over who were hearing Taylor Swift songs I never had, and that this was a fundamental wrong, a disruption in the balance of the universe. I listened to it the next morning in a Dunkin’ Donuts parking lot.

And folklore is great. That’s the terrible thing. Slightly less great, maybe, than some people have insisted, tricked, I think, by just the pronounced shift in sound. But it’s great. A little gift I asked for a thousand times and was still surprised to get, like a wife who didn’t expect her henpecked husband to ever follow through and buy the paraffin wax hand bath as-see-on-TV. For years, I’ve been halfheartedly insisting that Taylor had a great album in her. I’d say it even, perhaps especially, while she stubbornly fed me gruel. Or worse, gruel with the occasional whiff of something better. With a ripe, little raspberry dropped into the slop. The bright, villainous thrill of “Getaway Car” made me believe Taylor, my Taylor, was in there somewhere under the lacquer of sequins and synth, which, while not objectionable by default, seemed a costume, and an ill-fitting one. The lived-in world of “Cornelia Street” made those old scars sting. That gay “Delicate” video. When she did “Call It What You Want” on SNL and played guitar while wearing an ugly sweater. If the abominable “ME!”, lead single off Lover, was the stick, 1989’s “Clean” was the carrot. I was Charlie Brown, and Taylor my Lucy, yanking the football back again and again. Over drinks I still yelled that Taylor Swift’s next album would be, “her Nebraska”, referring to my favorite Bruce Springsteen record, and learned to live with that egg on my face for good. I suppose I even came to like it. There was something inherently funny in taking up, like, “blind faith in the as of yet untapped greater artistic potential of massively wealthy and popular singer Taylor Swift” as my totally inane personal cause du jour, and eventually it was a bit, a gag I performed to be obstinate and didactic, but way down somewhere awful near my kidneys I meant it the whole while. And then she did it. A pandemic befell the world and amid a sea of human suffering Taylor Swift remembered she can write. She wrote, and with a massive, crucial assist from Aaron Dessner, whose music on this record is sometimes so beautiful it actually angers me, as the last thing I needed in already perilous times was to be made to try and marry my uniquely perverse emotional responses to beloved divorced dad band The National and fucking Taylor Swift, she made an album which, if not her Nebraska, per se (I’ve come to realize that a major part of believing Taylor Swift will one day make an album I find as quietly devastating and gorgeous as Nebraska is knowing that no album will ever actually be Her Nebraska... That each will, rather, to me, be more and more evidence that it’s coming still, more proof that the limit is untouched, on and on ad infinitum, or at least until the seas take us into a place of salty peace.) is a shocking credit to all my hard-fought and deluded confidence. folklore is great. This fact has made me feel almost equally as disoriented from my understanding of the world as the time-melting COVID-19 lockdowns have, and it turned my Spotify year in review annual collective AI humiliation kink thing into a glaring indictment of my mental state, but still, I mean... It’s great.

In talking about folklore a bit this week, there are a number of specific topics I intend to cover—what a thrill it is to hear Taylor say “fuck”; Taylor’s terrifying birth chart; the astoundingly perfect bridge of “the last great american dynasty”; “because my ass is located at the back of my body”; the bit in last year’s “Lover” where deranged WASP Taylor Swift implies that to “leave the Christmas lights up til January” is some signifier of being a love-struck bohemian, when actually everyone who doesn’t employ domestic staff to take their lights down does this; how reputation is the best of the Taylor Swift records released in the latter half of the 2010s, actually, and the people who can’t see that are cowards—but intend mostly to let the muse move me where she will. Against the advice of my better angels, she—that tie-in marketing eldritch terror—always does.

#taylor swift #folklore

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demivampirew · 4 years

Text

So we meet again.

Henry x Reader

Summary: A recent graduate recounters someone from her past with who things did not exactly ended up in great terms. She holds a grudge on him for that and still has unanswered questions about what happened.

This will have another part soon.

Masterlist

Triggers: talking about losing a parent; drinking; ghosting.

It's been an exhausting journey, but you finally made it. You graduated from University College of London and got your PhD in Linguistics. Now you were ready for the new chapter of your life. You wanted to teach Linguistics but also write books. One of your firsts topics in mind was to write a book about the topic of language acquisition, discussing the different views of famous linguistics such a Noam Chomsky, Edward Sapir, Eve Clark, Steven Pinker, among others. You also wanted to write books about the best methods of learning more languages. It excited you to know how limitless was the things that you could do with all your knowledge and how anxious you were to investigate even further. But that would have to wait because today your focus was on celebrating all your hard work. After the commencement ceremony, you went home to change and went to a pub to celebrate your achievement with your girls. The bar was pretty exclusive and usually wealthy people hung out there, mostly because when celebrities were in London, went to the pub looking for a place to drink without being bothered. You weren't rich, exactly, but money wasn't a problem for you. But definitely, you wouldn't qualify to get in the said club, the only reason you were allowed to be there was that the place was owned by your uncle/godfather. You were dancing to some song playing in the pub with your friends Kate and Emma. It felt so good to be out, truly partying without worrying about upcoming exams or books to read for class. You were finally free to rest and just have fun for once. You went to the bar to get the next round of drinks for you and your friends when you got a text. You grabbed your phone from your jean pocket and read the lovely message that your aunt Judy sent you. She couldn't be in the commencement because she lived in The USA, but she wanted to let you know how proud of you she was. You were walking towards the bar with your eyes set on your phone screen when accidentally collided with someone. You immediately apologized for being distracted and not looking where you were walking. The other person did the same as you, for him was distracted as well. You look at his face and froze. "What is he doing here?" You thought, then remembered that he always used to hang out there. That was after all the place where you met a few years back, one summer that you worked as a bartender to gain some money for the upcoming spring break; he helped you make the drink that he wanted since you didn't know how to do it for you were new in the job and he used to have the same job when he was twenty. It's been almost two years since the last time you two spoke to each other, before he ghosted you out of the blue, without any explanation. You used to be really close, he was your best friend in the entire world. You trusted him more than anyone else in the entire world. He was always there for you, even when he was away filming some movie. He would do everything he could to make you feel better on your shitty days. But, again, one day he stopped responding your messages, changed his number, moved out and didn't try to reach for you to let you know that he was moving or why he did not want to be your friend anymore. He just vanished. You knew that he was ok because he continued doing movies and you recently saw a trailer from a movie starring him and Armie Hammer that was about to be released soon. You could see in his eyes that he was as shocked to see you as you were to see him and how immediately he put together that the pub was owned by your uncle, so it wasn't uncommon for you to be there. You broke the silence, saying "I'm sorry, sir. I'll be more careful next time.", offering a sympathetic smile and walking away, pretending not to know him. You asked your friend Mark, the bartender, to prepare you three margaritas, and then went back to your friends. You chatted with your friends, although your mind was somewhere else. You discretely check the entire room, looking for him. You saw him with hanging out with two guys that you didn't know. They were laughing and taking pictures while drinking beer. "Stop looking at him and enjoy your night," you told yourself. You try hard to focus on the conversation with your friends. - I can't believe that you're leaving me alone in my night. It's only eleven p.m. - you told your friends after some time. - I'm truly sorry, but I have to work tomorrow.- Emma apologized - Tomorrow is Sunday! - you prompted - I know, but I still have to work in the hospital. - she explained - Yeah, and I'm a mother, I don't have free days - Kate added.- So technically, I also have to work tomorrow and I should go. You sighed and said goodbye to your friends. Then you went to sit by the bar. - Your friends left? - asked Mark surprised - Yep. One has a kid and the other has a shift in the hospital where she works tomorrow, so they both left early. -Bomer. Well, I guess you'll continue your celebration with me.- he said smiling. - I guess so. Hey, do you need some help? - you asked him - No, don't worry, Charlotte and I have everything cover. Just enjoy your night. - How is George? - He's great. He got promoted, now he's the bank's manager. - he informed excited. - Great! Congratulate him on my behalf. - I will. And I'm sure he will ask me to tell you the same. - Thanks. Are you going to New York for vacations as you planned? - We're still not sure. We were also thinking about going to Las Vegas. - That sounds fun as well. - Yes. I promise you to bring you something from our trip. - he said winking - Please, don't waste your money on me. Buy things for you two. - Nonsense, I want to bring you a present. We met thanks to you. - A simple thank you is enough for cupid, a.k.a me. - you replied winking and with a smirk on your face. - There she is! My little genius! - said a man approaching you from behind. You recognized immediately the voice and stood up to hug your godfather. - Hi, uncle John! - you greeted him while hugging him. - Hi princess! Congratulations! You're a star! - he saluted you while praising you. - Thanks! And thank you for letting me celebrate here! - you thanked him - No need to thank me, and besides, your dad help me built this place, so technically is part yours too. - he said winking. - He'd be so proud of you, honey. -he assured you. It's been a year since your father passed due to a heart attack. Since then, your mother, who was a college professor, and your big sister, a surgeon, have been taking care of you, so you wouldn't have to quit studying. You could always count with your uncle too; you didn't like to ask for money, even though you knew that he would be happy to help if you needed it, so if you require some money for things like clothes, hang out with your friend, etc, you would always ask him to work in the pub. You would cover shifts and during college breaks, you would work regularly there. - Everyone, can I have your attention for a moment - said your uncle aloud, while everyone in the pub turned to him - For those who don't know me, I'm the owner of this place and this is my gorgeous niece. - he said while grabbing your shoulder - She graduated from the University College of London today! - he announced proudly - So, in her honour, everyone gets a drink on the house.- he said and people cheered. Your uncle kissed your temple and went into the back of the place. You continued drinking, while people came to claim their free drink, congratulating you while doing so. Apparently, Henry asked his friend to bring him the drink, because he never reached the bar. You gave a hand to Mark and Charlotte, who now were more than busy handing out drinks. When the clock announced that it was 1:30 a.m, you decided to head home. You could keep partying, but you were bored. Mark tried to keep you entertained, but he was busy now that the pub was getting more and more clouded with rich kids looking to get wasted. You said goodbye to him and Charlotte and went to salute your godfather before leaving. He offered to take you home, but you assured him that a taxi would be more than fine and that you would let him know as soon as you were in your house. The night was so beautiful that you decided to walk. Your place was not that far away and the streets were packed with youngsters looking for places to hang out, so you felt safe. You were halfway to your home when you notice a shadow walking not so far from yours. Someone was walking behind you, although judging from the shape of the shadow, it was a few meters away. You weren't a scaredy-cat and you're even tougher when you have some drinks on you, so you turned around to face the person. It was him. - What the hell are you doing following me? - you said angrily - I saw you leave alone and I wanted to make sure you made it safe - Henry explained - Oh, so now you remember that I exist? - you questioned, furious. - I wonder where was that concern for me like two years ago when you erase me from your life without notice. A little heads up would've been nice, you know. - you reproached him and he looked away. - So, like when you ghosted me, it seems like I still don't get an explanation from you. - you told him while rolling your eyes - I needed you a year ago, not now. - What happened a year ago? - he asked surprised - I lost my dad. You've known if you were there for me like you always did, but apparently, I stopped being important for you, sir. So now you can fuck off. Don't worry about me, I'll take care of myself, as always. Goodbye. -you said and turned around and starting to walk away. - I was in love with you.- he said loudly enough for you to hear him. You stopped immediately and stood there, without turning around. - I loved you and I couldn't stand the fact that once again you forgave that asshole Steven for cheating on you once more. I couldn't be around you any more, it hurt, so I left. - That asshole reached for me to see how I was doing after my father passed. You didn't. And yes, I've made the same mistake plenty of times, but in the end, I learned my lesson. I might have done things differently if I'd have known that you had feelings for me. - you said, turning around to face him - I had a crush on you when we met and grew stronger and stronger, and then my heart broke when you started dating Gina. You were so happy together, that's when I realized that I'd never had a chance with you. So I started dating Steven. I've always known that he'd cheat on me sooner or later, he was a womanizer, a party boy, but at least he was nice to me. I needed that to make feel better and to concentrate on other things that weren't my feelings for you. - I didn't know. - he commented. - I stopped talking to you because I had hopes that if I wasn't around you my feelings would go away and I would fall again for Gina, but that didn't happen. She realized that my heart now belonged to someone else and left me. I saw online that you broke up with him and I wanted to reach you, but I was ashamed for cutting you out of my life without speaking to you, that I simply could not do it. I really wish I would have had the guts to ask you to forgive me, then I'd have been by your side when your dad passed. I'm so sorry. I know you two were close and that must hurt. You don't know how sorry I am. - You can apologize for all your want, it doesn't change a single thing, Henry. - you were about to continue your way, but stopped for one moment - Thank you for ruining my graduation day by reminding me how not only you neglected our friendship, leaving me alone without a single word, but also for letting me know that we might have something nice if instead of disappearing you would have told me how you felt. - you finished and walked away.

#henry cavill #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill fanfiction #demivampirew

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angrylizardjacket · 3 years

Text

too old to trick or treat (too young to die) // charlotte&lola (penny&jupiter)

Summary: Two Halloween costumes Tommy witnesses the creation of, twenty years apart. His cousin’s, and her daughter’s.

A/N: 4001 words. knocked this out in literally 3 hours. okay so The Road Warrior didn’t come out until December of ‘81, and Supergirl didn’t come out until ‘84, but whatever, the timeline has been massaged for a number of reasons, bare with me, suspend your disbelief abt halloween costumes. ANYWAYS this came to me very suddenly and i had to write it. i’ve had enough angst, so have cute charlie & penny halloween moments now instead please and thank you. @misscharlottelee as always owns my heart w/ her characters. also mild sexual references in the first part bcos of mishearing something/misunderstanding a situation.

[ part of the charlotte&lola au of Run to Paradise ]

----

In 1981, Tommy dresses as Mad Max for Halloween; all pulled back hair, and a truly awful attempt at an Australian accent. He’s even butchered a leather jacket he’d found second-hand, much to the rest of the household’s horror. He’s pretty proud, despite Mick telling him to shut up since Tommy refuses to stop using the accent.

Mick’s not wearing a costume, and isn’t going out with the rest of the band and the girls, he’s only here to give his opinions on their costumes, and drink with them until they leave.

Nikki’s made no secret of the fact that he’s going as that guy from A Clockwork Orange, which, okay, is actually surprisingly subdued for his usual going out attire, and Vince would not shut up about the all-white suit he bought to be John Travolta in Saturday Night Fever. Something about both Vince and Nikki in all white makes Tommy think everyone’s going to ask if they’re both the same character, regardless of their various accessories, and they’re both going to be mad as all hell by the end of the night; if he had to hazard a guess, Tommy’s pretty sure he’s going to find it incredibly funny, and Nikki’s going to chase him down The Strip for laughing.

Lola’s had her hair in rollers all day, and came home the other week with a legally obtained, sparkly, black, singlet, which was kind of a big deal when Lola either lives in the bands’ clothes, or steals herself pants that actually fit. Her actual costume, however, is escaping him, right up until Tommy walks into the bathroom, to see Lola, in said singlet, black underwear, and nothing else, sitting patiently while Charlotte diligently applied dark eyeshadow further up lola’s brow than he’d been expecting.

“Frank N Furter?” Tommy asked, pleased and amused, still in his attempt at an Australian accent. Both Charlotte and Lola made a face at that, but Lola confirmed after a beat, lips overdrawn, shiny, a deep berry red. The idea that Lola had ever seen Rocky Horror Picture Show in cinemas enough to dress up as it’s main character was a strangely humanizing idea for the often-seemingly feral roadie.

After a moment, however, Tommy takes in his cousin’s attire; she looks incredibly pretty, of course Charlie’s naturally pretty, but she’d gone out of her way to highlight it tonight. White dress, little tiara atop her head, makeup understated and still somehow glamorous, her hair’s still dark from where she and Lola had died it a few weeks ago in the wake of her split with Duff. Maybe they’d re-dyed it.

“You look pretty, Charlie, who are you meant to be?”

“You know you sound British, right, not Australian?” Charlotte doesn’t look up from where she’s working on Lola’s face.

“Shut up, you don’t even know anyone British,” Tommy counters, nose in the air, “and you haven’t even seen Mad Max, so shut it, you don’t know what an Australian accent sounds like.” And he’s haughty for all of a minute before he’s coming back with, “but seriously, who are you?”

A wicked grin spreads across his cousin’s lips.

“That’s for me to know -”

“- us to know.” Lola corrects quickly.

“Us to know,” Charlotte agrees, “and you to find out.”

Super ominous. Charlotte’s been cagey about her Halloween costume since they’d decided to hit The Strip on Halloween as a group. Usually, Charlotte’s overflowing with excitement about her costume, back in high school, she’d roped him, Vince, and a few of their friends into being the Scooby Gang. She’s been various animals, movie characters, and last year, she’d spent almost a month putting together a truly gorgeous Cinderella costume. For all that she was detailed about her costumes, he’d always known her to play it safe.

But this year she’s been quiet. It’s unusual. Tommy blames Lola entirely.

The girls allow Tommy to stay in the bathroom until Lola’s face is done, and then, instead of leaving, they both demand he get out, closing the door after him, giggling conspiratorially like teenagers.

“What’s their problem?” Nikki asks, attempting to apply eyeliner, though the only reflective surface he had was Mick’s sunglasses, and Mick looked about ready to throw him through a window for getting so close, and so Tommy moves on instinct, snatching the stub of an eyeliner pencil from Nikki’s grip, beckoning him out of Mick’s personal space.

“Not sure; they’re either hooking up, or plotting to kill us,” Tommy muses, trying his hardest to not poke Nikki in the eye.

“Hot?” Nikki sounds like he’s not quite sure about that sentiment himself.

They can hear Lola and Charlotte talking in low voices, indistinctly in the bathroom, and clattering, and then - Take off your fucking heels! - Charlie, loud and nervous, followed by some begrudging grumbling from Lola. Scuffling, more clattering, and grunting.

“They’re definitely hooking up,” Nikki mutters. Tommy’s turning red. He’s not a prude, Christ, not even close, but... Charlie wouldn’t... right? Not when she knew how thin the walls were... Not with Lola, surely!

“Let go of me, I don’t need you to steady me -!” Lola now, and Nikki’s stepping back, laughing at the look on Tommy’s face. He’s not quite sure how he feels about the idea of him and his cousin both having -

“You’re shaking, you’re going to drop it!”

What?

Silence, a few more indistinct, now muttered words, far quieter, far calmer, then - a loud, strange rush of liquid, like the shower being turned on, but much more immediate and shorter.

“Holy shit, dude!” Lola’s yell radiates through the whole house, followed by a loud clatter, like something empty being dropped on the tiles, and Charlotte’s response is too quiet to hear. It’s followed by what is distinctly the sound of the hair dryer, and by now, all three men in the living room are just confused.

Vince finally surfaces from his and Tommy’s room almost ten minutes later, hair appropriately slicked back, white suit impeccable, making a beeline for the fridge, equally confused.

“What the fuck is happening in there?” He asks, joining the other three, currently cutting up lines of coke on a plate, in the living room.

“I still think they’re hooking up,” Nikki says, frowning down, as if the intensity of his gaze will keep his hand from shaking where he’s trying to cut the coke.

“Wishful thinking,” Mick grumbles, sitting back and taking a long sip of his vodka.

“Pretty sure lesbian sex doesn’t involve hairdryers,” Vince has to agree, and Tommy’s frown deepens.

“They’re not -”

“Fuckin’ semantics, man, sex without guys, you know what I meant,” he headed Tommy’s protests off before he could properly speak them, and Tommy’s own frown deepened. Mick looks like he wants to protest, but also knows all three men far to well to have any illusions about the abhorrent range of pornography they had consumed.

The hair dryer turns off.

“You wouldn’t have half a fuckin’ clue about what real lesbian sex was like,” is what Mick chooses, instead, to say, and Vince flips him off, right as the bathroom door bursts open, and Lola, comically wide-eyed, stumbles out, what looks like blood splattered on her shins and thighs, high heels in one hand.

“Holy shit,” she’s gasping, laughing, disbelieving, “you guys are not fucking ready for this,” she’s looking altogether like a delighted Frank N Furter about to reveal and revel in her latest creation. The guys are so caught up in seeing Lola in her costume, that seeing Charlotte coming out after her is like being hit by a train.

She’s covered in blood. Head to toe, apart from her face, which she must have been covering with her hands. Bright right. Face serious and eyes wide and Tommy knows that expression, that look, that blood -

“Carrie!” He exclaims, “Fucking Hell, Charlie!” He announces at the top of his lungs, and Charlotte’s expression cracks to a bright smile, to delight at being recognized.

“It’s paint!” Charlotte announces, giving a spin, and suddenly the hairdryer, the chatter, the confusion made sense.

“Charlotte, you look fucking killer,” Nikki’s got a look in his eyes that reads as both intimidated and turned on, a look usually reserved for Lola, but Charlotte doesn’t seem to notice.

“Peach and Eileen are going to fucking scream,” Lola was absolutely delighted at this prospect, doing a line of coke when Nikki offered it, before pulling on her heels.

Charlotte is beaming, looking cool as hell, and delighted with how the whole costume turned out.

Only later that night will any of the boys discover the murder-scene the girls had left behind in the bathtub in their excitement to hit The Strip. Tommy feels like he’ll never get the image of the blood splattered tub out of his mind.

Which is why he finds it so baffling that he’s blindsided by it exactly twenty one years later.

In 2002, Charlotte’s daughter, Penny, now all of twenty years old, the exact age Charlie had been that iconic Halloween, and Tommy’s kid, Jupiter, eighteen and a half, the pair raised practically as siblings, had been marathoning mostly-trashy horror movies all through the month of October in anticipation for the night itself, and Johnny Hudson’s Halloween party.

Jupiter had announced their intention to dress as Nancy from The Craft for the third year in a row, which ties it with the costume they’d chosen for the three years prior to that, which was Eric Draven, the main character from The Crow.

“Yes, it’s because I have a thing for Fairuza Balk in that movie,” Jupiter had announced defiantly when they’d made their intentions known at a dinner that Lola fortunately had time enough to attend, in between tours.

“That’s how I picked all my Halloween costumes at your age,” Lola had admitted with a shrug, though that just made Tommy frown as he goes to take a sip of his drink -

“Tim Curry as Frank N Furter -?”

“Lola did you go as Frank N Furter one Halloween?” Penny, delighted at the concept, leans forward over her pasta, eyes alight with mirth at the idea, looking so much like her mother that it almost stings. Lola herself has gone red, trying to suppress a smile.

“Tom, that’s not a discussion I want to have right now, but yes,” she says, slight warning in her voice, and Tommy chokes on his drink, both because he doesn’t quite know what she means by that, and because it’s rare for her to call him Tom, but then she’s looking up at Penny, smiling enough that it creases by her eyes, “and yes,” she deliberates, before adding, “I’m pretty sure that was the year your Auntie Eileen surprised everyone and dressed up as Uncle Mick, top hat and all,” Lola said, voice warm and fond at the memory, “he had no clue how to take it, shocked him enough that he actually came out on the town with us; I think it’ll always surprise him when people think he’d be a cool Halloween costume.” And she looks to Jupiter at that, while Jupiter themselves made direct and unwavering eye contact with their own pasta, while Penny nudged them, voice turning teasing, picking up on Lola’s cue, gently ribbing her cousin about the time they’d dressed up as Mick for Halloween, if only to spite the rest of their family.

The conversation moves on, and Tommy thinks fondly of the memory of how bright Charlotte’s smile had been after she’d come out of their bathroom, looking as thought she was covered in blood.

So this year, Tommy’s hit with a strange sense of deja vu in the lead up to Halloween, with Penny being cagey, and obviously in cahoots with his own child.

“Looking badass, as always,” Tommy grins, showing off his cheap, vampire fangs, as he leans in the doorway of his kid’s bedroom. Penny’s applying lip-gloss atop their black lipstick, but gives pauses as they both turn to him, scrutinizing his party-store vampire costume. With his own kids going away for the night, Tommy had been more than happy to host a Halloween party of his own for friends still in the business.

“I feel like you used to put more effort in,” Jupiter says slowly, looking from the too-small, satin cape, back to his face, and Tommy shrugs.

“I guess I could always put on one of my old eighties stage costumes,” he muses, playing like he’s seriously considering it, acting as though he couldn’t see Jupiter and Penny’s expressions both turn horrified, “I’ve still got them somewhere in the back of my closet -”

“Oh Jesus, dad,” Jupiter hisses, “you know we all know too much about how Lola felt about that weird fetish shit you guys would wear on stage, please don’t -”

“It’s not fetish shit, Jup,” but Tommy’s grinning at how embarrassed they both were, “it’s hair metal, it was hip!”

“It’s a red and black leather harness at best, and tights; I’ve seen more conservative outfits at a BDSM dungeon -”

“Dude!” Penny’s eyebrows shot up, and Tommy’s mouth dropped open. Penny, horrified, looked to her uncle; “it was one time-” she says, trying to make things better, but doing the exact opposite right as Jupiter tries to tell him it was a joke. Penny and Jupiter look to each other, both horrified at what the other had said, how it must look.

“Pen!”

“It was Johnny’s idea!” Penny blurted out, and looked to Tommy, as if realising she was digging herself deeper, “we went there as a joke!”

“That part is true,” Jupiter conceded, but Tommy kept his mouth shut, raising his hands in surrender, as if to say ‘that’s your business, as adults, but I’d rather not know’, and he’s quick to leave them to their mutual, horrified bickering.

He hadn’t even thought to ask what Penny was going as. All he knows is that she and Jupiter had been arguing because ‘it’s a trashy movie, Pen’ - ‘I love it, so shut up; you get witch powers from being an angry loner, I get them from being prom queen’ - ‘did we even watch the same movie? That’s not -” - “then just picture the original, you liked the original!’ - ‘oh, I’m past the movie itself, it’s the - they’re both angry loners, Pen,’ - ‘yeah, okay yeah, but it’s a cool aesthetic, Jup, come on -’. That was a few weeks ago, Tommy still isn’t quite sure what it could be, beyond witchy powers. Usually Penny’s costumes were straightforward, or she’d at the very least announce them in advanced...

Tommy finds himself blaming his own, erratic and mischievous child entirely; just as Lola had been known to be a bad influence on Charlie, so too could their children mirror this dynamic almost uncannily.

It only gets stranger when, an hour after doing Jupiter’s makeup, they both seem to be in full costume, and should be ready to go, they’re nowhere to be found, but they haven’t said goodbye.

Penny comes rushing past Tommy in a whirlwind, carrying something bulky in her arms, making a beeline for the downstairs guest bathroom.

“Pen, whaddya got there?” Tommy calls out, and Penny stops dead. She’s in a pretty, white dress, with her hair all done up, and a tiara sitting on top. It’s... familiar.

“Glue?” Penny’s obvious lie has Tommy frowning.

“Glue?” He asks, with a huff of disbelieving laughter. When she swivels towards him, he can see that she’s holding a large, white, pourable bottle, the label of which, Penny is conveniently covering.

“We’re sniffing it?”

“Penny, what the fuck?” Jupiter calls from the bathroom, and Penny takes off at a run, avoiding Tommy’s further questions, and Tommy himself, who, with a sudden nervousness at whatever the real situation was, follows quickly. All he can see is large, clear plastic sheets covering every single surface and every wall, like the lair of a murderer in a movie, and then Jupiter’s face with all it’s dark makeup and sprayed up hair, as they’re apologizing, and slamming the door in his face. He’s pretty sure he read the word blood on somewhere on the bottle that Penny had put down.

“Jupiter Carlotta Lee, I’ve told you before that we don’t fuck with real witchcraft!” Tommy jiggled the handle, but the door was firmly locked, “not after what happened with Nikki and Lita!”

“It’s not witchcraft!” Jupiter calls back, and Tommy can hear Penny groan about how he’s still going to kill them.

“Don’t murder your fuckin’ cousin in there, you hear me?” He jiggles the door handle again, harder this time, not quite sure of what was happening in there, but concerned nonetheless.

“Hey!” Penny shouts back, “why do you think I’m the one getting murdered in here?”

“I was addressing both of you,” Tommy sighed, leaning his forehead against the door, defeated, “what are you doing? What’s so bad that you have to keep me locked out?”

“I’ll tell you when we’re done -”

“Jupiter!”

“It’s messy,” Jupiter explained, and followed it up with a quiet, “okay, get in the bath, take off your shoes,” clearly not aimed at Tommy, before yelling back to him, “I’d rather do it, clean it up, and then beg for forgiveness in that order before you decide whether or not you want to murder us.”

“Are you sure it’s safe to stand up there?” Comes Penny’s soft question to her cousin, followed by a phrase burned into the back of Tommy’s mind, somehow still there after everything it’s been through.

“Let go of me, I don’t need you to steady me -”

And everything clicks into place, the blood, the outfit, the mess -

“Are you pouring fake blood on your cousin right now?!” Tommy’s tone is disbelieving, and he’s met with silence, and then the slow sound of liquid being poured.

“No?” Penny calls back, before spluttering a little, “it’s in my mouth.” She hisses.

“Then close your mouth!” Jupiter hisses back.

“I wasn’t talking to you, Pennylope; Jup?” Tommy squeezes his eyes shut as he remembers exactly how much scrubbing he and the rest of the occupants of the Motley House had to do over the next week, and even then the bathroom was never quite the same.

But he’s met with silence, and then he starts to hear what can only be the excess fake blood dripping into the tub. And then the sound of a much emptier bottle being put on the bench.

“No, I am not currently pouring fake blood on my cousin,” Jupiter announces; Tommy thinks he can feel a headache forming with each moment that passes. There are moments exactly like this one, in which he is reminded that Jupiter is without a doubt his and Lola’s kid, which is both a blessing and a curse.

“Penny, stay in the tub,” he calls, “make sure you wash your feet off once you’re dry; a hairdryer helps it dry faster.”

Despite their confusion at how he would know such a thing, the pair in the bathroom know better than to look a gift horse in the mouth. Tommy, for his part, breathes a sigh of relief; this, at least, he knew how to handle. At least they put more thought into it than Charlotte and Lola had back in the day.

Heading upstairs while they let the fake blood dry, he finds the photo Lola had dug up from her archives in her and Nikki’s garage.

Eileen, Charlotte, Lola, and Peach, all in a row outside the Starwood, all grinning from ear to ear. Eileen as Mick, Lola as Frank N Furter, Peach as Supergirl, and Charlotte, beaming, covered in blood red paint, as Carrie.

By the time he resurfaces from the wave of memories that had overwhelmed him, Tommy gets downstairs to see the guest bathroom door open.

“How messy is it?” He calls, concerned. Jupiter sticks their head out. The hairdryer is still going.

“Not as bad as I thought, should all just wash down the drain; the plastic on the walls was probably overkill,” they admit, and Tommy gives a thin-lipped grin, remembering the splatter that came up to knee height on the walls by the bathtub in the Motley House. Though, to be fair, Lola was simply pouring an entire bucket of thinned house-paint over Charlotte’s head - it was neither Lola nor Charlotte’s brightest idea, in hindsight - Jupiter, with a bottle of screen-grade fake blood from the looks of it, would have a much more controlled pour.

And Penny would definitely have a much easier time getting it off.

When Tommy sees Penny, it’s like looking into a window from the past, the way she’s beaming, pleased and bright and covered in blood, she looks so proud to be horrifying.

“What now?” Penny asks, fond but exasperated, and Tommy snaps out of his thoughts, “what exactly about this,” she gestures to her whole self, blood soaked and standing in the tub, being hairdryed by Jupiter, “reminds you of mom?”

“What do you mean?” Tommy asks, playing dumb, and Penny’s expression softens, but she still rolls her eyes, arms out while Jupiter dries her.

“You get a look in your eye when I do something that reminds you too much of mom, and yeah it’s sweet, but this specifically is a really weird thing to get emotional -”

“This is your mom on Halloween, nineteen-eighty-one,” Tommy holds out the photo so she wouldn’t have to touch it, incase the blood on her hands was still wet, interrupting his niece.

“Oh,” Penny’s voice is so quiet, “for real?” She asks, eyes wide and misty when she looks at Tommy, and he gives a fondly amused look, and nod in response. “I didn’t even know,” Penny gave a quiet, disbelieving laugh, her own gaze turning adoring as she takes in the photo once more.

Jupiter twists to look at the photo, still drying Penny, then looks in the mirror, then back at the photo, and scowls, but keeps quiet about how they’ve just realized, at least in terms of makeup and overall pallet, how similar their costume is to their mother’s. But they’re well aware that this isn’t their moment.

“Did Lola own pants?” Jupiter does mutter, more to themselves than expecting a response, and not getting one anyhow.

“Lola poured a bucket of red paint over her head in the apartment we shared, took five of us a full week to clean it all up after,” Tommy explained to Penny, smiling.

“No wonder you were worried about us doing the same thing,” Penny snorted, and leans in, looking at her mother’s smiling face; almost the same face she sees in the mirror, if not for the blue of her eyes.

“Yeah, but I should have known you two would be smarter about it, much as I love your mom, Jup, when we were young, she wasn’t exactly known for her common sense,” and as Tommy says it, even the quietly resentful Jupiter cracks a smile.

“She looked so cool,” Penny muses, “they all do; that’s Aunt Eileen and Peach, right? The other two?” And Tommy confirms as much, also making sure to note that all four women were always better at Halloween than the rest of the band; in a move that Tommy’s seen Charlotte do a thousand times, Penny rolls her eyes, smirks, and says ‘yeah, obviously’ all smug and amused.

Tommy just smiles, asks if he can take a photo once Penny’s all dry, reminds them to call Lola and Nikki if they need a lift home, and waves goodbye to them when their taxi arrives.

The minute the taxi is off the property, Tommy’s cracking open a beer, and dialing Lola’s number in the minutes before his own guests are due to arrive.

“Lols, you’re never gonna fuckin’ believe what just happened.”

#Tommy Lee #tommy lee imagine #tommy lee & oc #the dirt #the dirt imagine #motley crue #motley crue imagine #charlotte&lola #lola & charlotte #the angry lizard speaks

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junnie133 · 4 years

Text

so you HAD to date a princess don't you.

A fic about my version of the Modern with magic Linked Universe AU for your Modern with magic Linked Universe AU needs. Available in ao3 too. Relationships: Sky/Sun. And practically all the LU boys.

{+}{+}{+}

“You two look terrible”

“You look terrible. They look like shit”

“And you two aren’t helping at all”

Honestly, Sky couldn’t care less about Warriors and Legend’s banter, or Four shutting them up for his and Hyrule’s sake. Sky only wanted to sleep, even a short nap was fine, but of course, he wouldn’t be complaining if he could actually do it.

It was movie night at Legend’s house- err, well, more like Ravio’s Shop’s basement. Legend was never around these days, not since Marin anyway, so the place was practically Ravio’s now, with their semi-pink haired friend dropping by every once in a while to provide some rare merchandise for the magical shop (mostly monster parts and weird artifacts Ravio managed to restore and sell for ridiculous prices). But as it was said, it was movie night, so Legend absolutely could not miss this. If he did, Wind would search him in the boiling depths of the Death Mountain or among the creepy mist of the Lost Forest, only to drag him over and see Pirates of the Caribbean with them. Again.

He groaned, if he fell asleep during the movie, Wind would kill him, so he stopped trying to get comfortable enough to sleep on Ravio’s couch and opened his eyes, his sclera blood-red thanks to many nights without a proper night of real rest.

“Dude, you look like you’re high,” said Wild next to him.

“You sure know a lot about it, Wild'' scoffed Warriors.

“You bake brownies one time...” he sighed exasperatedly. “I only did it because ‘Rule asked me to!”

“So now I am the addict” Hyrule groaned. “There’s a difference between being a junkie and experimenting with medical herbs because you’re a freaking med student”

“Yeah, sure, keep telling yourself that” Warriors rolled his eyes “Be glad Artemis didn’t send you two to jail. Where did you get so many hyrule herbs anyways?”

“They grow naturally in the Faron Forest” Wild shrugged.

“And anywhere else all over Hyrule. That’s why they’re hyrule herbs” said Hyrule matter-of-factly. “They have a lot of medical uses, it’s not entirely recreational like the media makes it look like,” he said with sarcasm.

Usually, their gentle friend wasn't this… Legend-like salty, but if anyone understands Sky's lack of sleep and craving for a good rest night right now, of course, it was the med student among all of them.

“I heard it helps to sleep, too…” slurred Sky, trying to keep himself awake enough to keep up with the conversation.

“No way Sky,” gaped Warriors, as Legend wheezed to his side. Wild and Four were laughing as well, but Hyrule seemed too tired to do more than a smile, slightly amused. “How is that you, future King of Hyrule, smoke weed?”

Sky grinned lazily and rolled his eyes. “I want to see all of you studying to be a king” he sighed. “Impa is cool and all, but she kicks my butt every time I slack off. I haven’t slept as I want since I began my studies with her”

Warriors suddenly grimaced at that. “Yeah, don’t mess with General Impa”

“That’s what you get as the fianceé of an actual princess I guess” shrugged Four.

“And sometimes Purah scares me” he continued with a haunted gaze lost in the void ahead of him.

“She and Flora made me eat a frog once” Wild spoke up. “It was alive”

“Somehow that doesn’t surprise me” Legend deadpanned.

“Only once, tho?” asked Hyrule.

“I actually cooked the other two, thank you very much”

“Ok, enough talking about eating raw frogs and smoking hyrule herbs” interrupted Four before someone said anything else. Sky and Hyrule glared weakly at him, and the shorty rolled his eyes “For reasonable and, uh, medical reasons, whatever”

“Medical knowledge” Hyrule corrected.

“That’s what I said. So can we please talk about something else before Time, or Hylia forbid us, Wind hears us talking about smoking weed?”

“What?” they all looked over the stairs, only to find, thankfully, just Twilight holding two big bowls of popcorn in each hand. He was glaring directly at Wild, who quickly shot his arms up, trying to look innocent. “Damn it Wild, you brought brownies?”

“That was only one time!” he shouted.

“There’s no weed here, country boy. Chill” said Legend.

“Don’t do that kind of jokes here” he sighed, putting the bowls down on the coffee table right in front of the TV. “Time can take them very seriously…”

“As if Wind hadn’t tried hyrule weed already” scoffed Legend.

Sky grimaced. Thinking about the sweet, tiny, innocent Wind they all knew since he was born smoking weed wasn’t something cute to think about, and if it made him upset one could only imagine Warriors’ own reaction. The big brother in question, not only the oldest of three but Captain of the Royal Guard who only received orders from General and Princess Zelda the CXIV (or Artemis for short), spluttered and tried to smack Legend on the head at the same time, but the asshole only dodged the hit and laughed right on his face.

“He’s at that age!” he said as an excuse like he needed any to mess around with Warriors’ big bro mental sanity. “And it’s not that illegal. ‘Rule said it, the thing’s used for medical purposes”

“I will have to make sure you don’t have illegal amounts on this house then” War crossed his arms, narrowing his eyes at Legend in the Captain mode they rarely got to see.

“Oh c’mon pretty boy, it’s only a joke”

“If that’s so you wouldn’t mind me asking Ravio”

Legend glared back. “You wouldn’t dare”

“If he doesn’t talk I just have to threaten him to close the shop”

“You really want to see him kneel and pray, and possibly cry?” he raised a brow.

“Ugh dude, I feel awful when Ravio cries, he’s such a nice guy...” scowled Wild.

“Nice guy or not, the law is the law,” said Warriors.

“Arresting the nice guy who makes us lemonade and is the only one who can shut Legend up without restraining him physically?” Four raised a glass of lemonade as proof.

Legend blushed and his glare moved to him, as Warriors nodded, convinced. “You know what? I’m not even at service right now, and I’ll give you that only for the last reason”

“You also like the lemonade,” said Twilight.

“And I also like the lemonade” nodded the Captain again.

Sky knew the kind of blush dusting Legend’s cheeks right now. It was the same he got when he thought about Sun and her beautiful smile, or Sun feeding Crimson, or Sun while she was studying, so gorgeous with her hair pulled up into a ponytail and a tiny frown on her face as she tried to memorize legal concepts and the kingdom’s history…

He could happily drift off with that blessed image.

...if it wasn’t because of his loud friends.

“Who’s ready for Pirates of the Caribbean: At the World’s End?!”

Wind showed up with a DVD case on his hands after jumping from halfway downstairs to the basement, raising the thing up over his head with one hand like he just found an amazing treasure from a chest. He could faintly hear a tiny triumphant tune in the back, something like dan-dan-dan-daaaaan!, but after a second Sky shook his head. It surely was only the lack of sleep finally hitting on him.

“Why didn’t we just watch it on Fairyflix or something? I don’t pay the subscription for nothing” asked Warriors, annoyed.

“It’s a retro movie night” the kid announced proudly, as Time walked down the stairs calmly after him.

“Since when CD’s are retro?” Time asked aloud to no one in particular, muttering under his breath about being old. He seemed to be personally offended.

“How did you get it, anyway? I thought you had nothing left from your allowance after paying your and Tetra’s last bail” War asked again.

“Tetra lent it to me” the kid answered easily (like it was normal for a fourteen-year-old to pay his own prison bails), taking a mouthful of popcorn on his mouth before kneeling down to Legend’s unused CD player, gathering dust on its place under the TV. “There’s no internet on the big open sea, you know?”

“He has a point,” said Four, who fell silent as Warriors glared at him with a loud but wordless ‘Don’t encourage him’ in his eyes.

Wind’s obsession to be a pirate was well known by all of them, as well as Warriors’ desperate attempts to dissuade him away from the idea.

“Everything ok, Sky, Hyrule?” asked Time, sitting down on the armchair across the room, right next to the TV. He had that worried look on his eye.

“I have finals at school” grumbled Hyrule.

“I’ve been sparring with Impa every day this week” Sky sighed.

Warriors grimaced again. “Surprise training?”

“Yeah…” he answered, defeated. “She says I have to be always alert to protect Sun”

Time shook his head, with a pitying expression on his face. “She wasn’t so strict before,” he said.

“How are you even retired, Old Man?” asked Warriors.

“Saving Hyrule when you’re a kid and being the Princess’s personal knight for a long time gives you nice retirement pensions” he shrugged. “Also Ganondorf doesn’t like me, he only got rid of me in a nice way”

“No one likes Ganondorf,” said Wind from his place in front of the TV, selecting the language of the movie with the control. “Not even Miss Lullaby. She only married the old fart to prevent a war against the Gerudo”

“Who told you that?” asked Time, amused.

“Tetra”

“Obviously” huffed War.

If you asked Sky, the Royal Family was a mess. A very organized mess if anything, but a mess nonetheless. Princess Zelda the CXII, or Lullaby for short, was meant to be the heiress to the throne in the first place, but then things got weird with the Gerudo and she offered herself to marry Lady Nabooru’s brother and only male of the tribe. That was like, ten years ago, when the butterflies on his stomach every time he saw Sun didn’t make any sense to a young eleven-year-old Sky.

“How many years do you have to keep studying, tho?” asked Time to Hyrule then.

“Like two, if Princess Aurora does me a few favors” the brunette answered.

Princess Zelda the CXVII, Aurora for short, was a fragile girl who gets sick very easily. Hyrule was a magic-talented boy who managed to wake her up from a curse (or a common coma, they weren’t really sure) some years ago with his curative magic (and a kiss, but he would never admit that). Ever since, Queen Hylia had been insisting on giving him amazing studying opportunities to take advantage of his wonderful abilities, but Hyrule being the humble traveler he was, declined over and over again, claiming he had no money to pay back. At least until Princess Aurora asked him personally to be her personal healer that’s it.

Like he said. A mess.

“Alright shut up everyone, I’m gonna start this” announced Wind, sitting on the floor near the coffee table, pressing the play button. Everyone made himself comfortable, ready to relax, and enjoy their weekly movie night.

The last thing Sky remembers before falling asleep was Wind and Wild fighting over a bowl of popcorn, Twilight trying to act as a mediator, Legend making bets on who would win with Four leaping forward to take the other bowl and Hyrule curling to his side, as Warriors screamed and Time looked at all of them with his Disappointed Look™.

Falling asleep so soundly in the middle of their own apocalypse only spoke how much sleep Sky lacked lately. But as Legend would say, he HAD to date a princess, doesn’t he?

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dimitrescus-bitch · 4 years

Text

Treasure Hunt (Dakota Kai x Reader)

“Good morning gorgeous!” Dakota loudly exclaimed once she was sure you were awake. You turned onto your stomach and looked over at her, unamused. “Do you know what today is?”

“I believe it’s Monday,” you told her as you sat up. “And it’s really early Kota, so can I please get some more sleep?”

“Absolutely not, I’ve left you breakfast downstairs in the fridge. I’d suggest you get a move on, you’ve got a busy day ahead of you,” Dakota told you. “Happy birthday.”

“Thank you, but it’s too early for whatever this is,” you said and Dakota handed you a card. She ran off before you could open it and you chuckled at her. She obviously had something planned and you knew that you did have a busy day ahead of you figuring out what she had planned. You opened the card and there was a clue, essentially telling you where to go after you had breakfast. You went downstairs to eat your breakfast and then came back up to get ready.

Dakota’s clue had led you to the coffee shop where you stopped every single day on your way to the gym. There was a cup of coffee with another card attached to it. Instead of the clue leading you to the gym, it took you to Raquel’s. Raquel was waiting there for you outside. You already couldn’t believe the effort that Dakota had put into this, which made you wonder how long she’d been planning this.

“Happy birthday Weenie Hut Junior,” Raquel said to you as you got out of the car. You rolled your eyes at the nickname and let the other woman pull you into a hug. She held a wrapped box out towards you and a bag. “The box is Dakota’s, she wrapped it herself. The bag is from me.”

“What time did she drop this off?” you asked as you took the box first.

“Last month, but she called me super early to make sure I still had it,” Raquel said and you unwrapped the box first. This clue was a shirt belonging to a wrestling gym that you’d been wanting to check out for a long time. It had been announced a couple of months ago, but only recently opened up. They were known to have a lot of legendary wrestlers stop by. “Open mine in the car, away from me. I don’t need you pulling any sappy shit.”

“I’m opening it here and I’m pulling sappy shit,” you told her and Raquel groaned. You smiled at her and she rolled her eyes, smiling as she looked away. You opened the bag and pulled out a little necklace. It was simple, but it commemorated the first conversation you’d ever had with Raquel, which was about shark teeth. “Yeah, I’m the sap.”

“It’s just a shark tooth necklace so you can look like the douche I know you are,” Raquel teased you. “If you don’t like it, I can get you a different one.”

“It’s really nice, thanks you jerk.” Raquel looked down and you hugged her before you went off to check out the gym. You would totally be teasing Raquel on Instagram later for being such a sap and both of you knew that. A part of you expected Dakota to be at the gym when you got there, but she wasn’t. Instead, you were met with a couple of main roster superstars and Beth Phoenix.

“Y/n, hey,” Beth said and you waved at the blonde. “Happy birthday kid.”

“Thanks Beth,” you said and she handed you another card from Dakota. You opened it and smiled. She had bought you a membership and classes with Beth and Edge to help develop your wrestling a bit more. You did your first class and then Natalya gave you your next clue.

“Lunchtime, it’s not exactly the nicest, but I know you’re lovin’ it,” Natalya told you and you nodded. It took you a couple of minutes to figure out which McDonald’s to go to, but you settled on the one closest to the PC. There, you met Tegan and Rhea, who were waiting with chicken nuggets for you.

“Ah, if it isn’t my work wife,” Tegan said, scooting over so you could sit next to her. “Happy birthday, you’ll get your gift from Rhea and I tomorrow. We don’t wanna steal Dakota’s thunder.”

“Anyways, after this, we’re taking you to pick up your suit for tonight. Oh, and to a movie,” Rhea told you. You ate with the two of them, went to the movies, and then picked up your suit. You changed on the way back to your house, where you saw Candice leaving.

“Enjoy tonight,” Candice told you as you passed her on the porch. You thought it was a bit odd, but brushed it off as you went inside. The lights were dimmed and you saw candles in the dining room, so that was where you went. Dakota was sitting in a dress at the table and you smiled over at her.

“This is really nice. Today was nice, a bit of a hassle, but I liked it,” you said with a small chuckle. Dakota got out of her seat and pulled your chair out for you. You sat in it and watched her lift the metal top off of your plate. “You really went all out.”

“I try,” Dakota said with a cheeky smile. You recognized the meal from your first anniversary date, when Dakota took you to the nicest restaurant from your hometown. It had been ridiculously expensive and you knew why Candice had been at your house now. After dinner, Dakota took you upstairs, where there were three boxes sitting on the bed. “All are yours, but choose which you open first wisely.”

“Before I open these, thank you for today. I couldn’t ask for a better girlfriend,” you told Dakota and she blushed. You reached for the box in the middle and opened it to find a picture book full of pictures of your time since you joined NXT. You would have taken your time to look through it, but Dakota was antsy and you knew better than to keep her waiting. The second box you opened was a diamond ring with a piece of paper rolled inside of it.

“Read it,” Dakota told you nervously. “Like, out loud.”

“Hey, do you wanna be my wife sometime?” you read and Dakota kneeled down in front of you.

“Two and a half years ago, I asked you if you wanted to go out sometime and you told me that you’d love to. Five weeks later, I asked you to be my girlfriend and you told me that you’d love to. Two years ago I told you that I love you and you said you love me too. A year ago, I asked you if you wanted to move in with me and now here we are. Y/n, will you marry me?” Dakota asked you.

“Of course I will,” you told her and Dakota stood up. She pulled you into a hug and the two of kissed each other. You broke the kiss from smiling and Dakota handed you the other box.

“I was hoping you’d go for the left one last.” Dakota watched you open the last box nervously. Inside of it was a certificate of adoption for a local shelter. “Tegan and Rhea are bringing the puppy over tomorrow. I think she’s already spoiled and probably named.”

“Hey Kota, we’re gonna be wives,” you said with the biggest smile on your face. Dakota nodded and draped her arms across your shoulders and the back of your neck. “I can’t wait to marry you.”

“I can’t wait to marry you either.”

#dakota kai #dakota kai imagine #dakota kai imagines #dakota kai x reader #WWE #wwe imagines #wwe imagine #wwe x reader #nxt #nxt imagines #nxt imagine #nxt x reader

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benichi · 4 years

Text

MangaGamer’s annual licensing survey 2020

As usual MangaGamer has launched a survey for which games they should localize! One of the few chances for the voices of us Otoge fans to be heard, so if you enjoy Otome (or VN’s in general) you should definitely consider voting :)

You can find the survey link [here]

The following is very similar to my post last year since some of the games I suggested made the list but haven’t been announced (another year another chance!). The info at the beginning is updated though, since we’ve gotten some new releases since last time, so some things have changed.

For the people that want to look up some potential Otoge Mangagamer might be interested in the [Visual Novel database] is your best friend! I’ve already set the search to “Otome”, but you can add further filters if you want.

You may ask yourself “What kinds of games might be a good suggestion though?”. Obviously I’m not involved in localization matters, but we can look at a few things that we’ve learned over the years:

1) Rejet and Honeybee have no interest in the overseas market whatsoever. I know Dialovers is popular, it ranks high in the survey each time. But putting the fact that Mangagamer is already well aware of this popularity aside, we also know that Rejet is not particularily fond of the idea that their games might be localized. Same goes for Honeybee (Starry Sky series,…).

1.2) Vice versa companies that have had some of their games localized (Otomate, Hunex, Kalmia8, Primula…) are likely more open to give the overseas market another go. Companies that have no experience with localizaion could be hit or miss, though on the other hand everything has to start somewhere.

2) MangaGamer will only release games available for PC at this point in time.

Those are the two main points I think. Games that have a more frequent release date (I’d say after 2016) might have a bigger chance as well, ultimately that may not be the deciding factor though.

As you’ve probably guessed I’ve also done my homework this year. So if you don’t want to search through the VNDB yourself or think that there is strength in numbers here are some games that might potentially be interesting to Mangagamer in my opinion:

(Small disclaimer that all of the following info is from the VNDB website, I did not translate or take credit for any of this)

Kannagi no Mori

(Opening Movie)

The protagonist Kinami Mizuki has been able to see things that others could not since she was a child.

Her mother, who was the only family she had told her to keep it a secret from everybody and Mizuki has kept that promise. One rainy night while looking out her window Mizuki saw a person walking in the rain without an umbrella. That person looked exactly like her mother who had died three days ago. –On a rainy night, the dead will return… [continue reading]

This game has a very interesting premise. The reviews I’ve read praised its story as emotional and heart wrenching which is always good. With it’s release date in 2018 it’s also pretty new. The Developer and Publisher have not worked with the overseas market before so they might be open to the idea of a localization.

Tricolity Eyes

(Opening Movie Vol. 1)

Tlicolity Eyes is a part of “triAngle PROJECT,” a collaboration project between Otomate and Frontier Works. Each series will have 3 games released in span of 9 months for Windows under the same concept: one heroine, two heroes, and triangle love.

Tlicolity Eyes theme is entertainment industry x love comedy x triangle love. [Story] ――This is a story a bit ahead in the future. Approximately 30% of the population have a magical power and are called the “Ability Users.” It is rumored that many of ability users are shining in the world of entertainment… [continue reading]

Honestly the biggest advantage of Toriai is that Otomate and Idea Factory are involved. They’re both familar with the overseas market so they could be very interested in working with Mangagamer. I also like that the protagonists are adults working a job, since it’s a break from the often used school setting.

Majestic☆Majolical

(Opening Movie Vol. 1)

The magician Lapis is the youngest daughter of the distinguished Idocrase family. Her parent’s and four brothers are all elites with great magical power. However Lapis only has lower than ordinary magical abilities, she spends everyday at magic school getting ridiculed as the ‘Burden of the Idocrase Family’. In order to go to a higher school she challenges a certain test. The details are to gather the 'Twinkle Gem’ that is created from a strong 'feeling’ in a humans heart. And so Lapis goes to the human world in high spirits, where a bunch of hard to deal with men are waiting for her.

I’ve seen this game on Twitter a few times and found it a happy surprise that this is a PC Otoge. Like Toriai it’s split into 3 different Volumes that focus on different characters. I’m really liking the premise (Witches and magic are 👌) and the art is beautiful. Reviews also said that the MC is great which is always a plus. This is the publisher/developer’s (dazkarat) first game so they could be interested in getting more revenue from the overseas market. Also might be a good partner for the future.

Suggestion for R18 Otoge fans:

Yoshiwara Higanbana

(Opening Movie)

It’s the Edo era. Lust and desire swirls within the “other side” of the luxurious and gorgeous Shin-Yoshiwara. At the long-standing brothel called “Oukaya”, the protagonist Chihaya works as its top-ranking oiran (courtesan). In order to go back to her motherland, she enterains male strangers day and night. Her unchanging everyday life… Yoshiwara might be a small world, but to Chihaya, it’s a treasured place in which she can prove herself. The brothel’s owner, Shigure. Her servant, Yuzu. The strong-willed fellow harlots that work alongside her. Surrounded by irreplaceable people, though her line of work is called “the world of suffering”, Chihaya is proud of being a courtesan… [continue reading]

Obviously if you want some R18 content Mangagamer is the right place to ask for it. I’ve been wanting to suggest something but didn’t manage to find a good game on my own since a lot of these titles have very unpleasant themes and just generally bad plot. A lot of thanks to everyone on Twitter that helped narrow down my choice!

I’ve heard good things about Yoshiwara Higanbana, especially that the MC is proactive during R18 scenes and that the story is good. Similar as with Majestic☆Majolicalthis is the developers first game, so getting more revenue from the overseas market could interest them as well.

As usual these are suggestions. I can’t and won’t dictate what others vote, that choice is yours :) Whatever happens let’s hope that there might be some more Otoge releases in the future!

+ Reblogs are very appreciated, since this post is filled with links it’s not going to show up in the tags (thanks as usual tumblr)

#mangagamer #annual licensing survey #2020 #kannagi no mori #tricolity eyes #majestic majolical #yoshiwara higanbana

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cozycryptidcorner · 4 years

Photo

Chapter One

Sweat glues your hair against your forehead, droplets running down your temples and down onto your shirt. Your arms protest against the pressure as you lift a rather heavy vase, one painted in tiny, intricate blue details, and stand on the very tips of your toes to push it on top of an old oak cabinet without running the risk of chipping the base. You let out a little wheeze once you manage to wiggle it right into place, taking a moment to crack your knuckles to release some tension, then step back to take one last look to make sure it appears fine. Satisfied, you turn around as your phone begins to chirp, the screen announcing the caller as one of your few employees.

You pick it up, hitting the accept call button and lifting the phone to your ear. “What’s up, Jill?”

“Just giving you an update, boss,” the child-like voice offers, though the owner is well into her late twenties, “the equipment arrived at the next location, Boomer and the others are about to start gutting the kitchen.”

“Sounds good,” you say, clicking the pen lying on a nearby table to help you focus. You try to bring up your memory of the room, having visited for a full day before heading back to the current job at hand, trying to picture just what you plan on doing with it once you get there. “Don’t forget that I want the exposed brick to stay put. The owner said she liked ‘rustic,’ so that’s what we’re going to give her.”

“Yes, ma’am,” there’s not too much respect in the voice, more like Jillian is poking fun at your authoritative stance. “Anything else? Getting lonely?”

You let out a loud snort. “Not yet, can’t say I miss Boomer’s constant arguments with Steph and Jack.”

“Okay, Lemme know if you need any help, I could use a break from the bickering too.”

“Will do, talk to you later.”

The castle isn’t the worst place you’ve had to turn into a liveable space, but it’s not without its challenges, that’s for sure. A crew of people from the local electric plant has had to wire up the entire place, a septic system had to be installed, oh, and also pipes for running water had to be dug. Working around people all trying to do their own jobs without any attempts to stay out of each other’s way has tested your patience to the very most thinnest line you didn’t even know you could take, but at least it’s over.

Your speakers blare music loud enough to be heard on the other end of the castle as you hold out strips of sample colors from the nearest hardware store, comparing and contrasting the two until you come up with a couple of possibilities for the room. The sun shines in through the freshly bought glass panes, warming the room to a comfortable temperature without the need to turn on the newly installed heating system. Carefully and thoroughly, you write down the exact serial numbers of the colors you’re deciding on, and tuck the notebook in your back pocket. You’ll head over to the hardware store tomorrow, but for now, you’re probably good to prime the walls.

The castle isn’t gigantic, it’s not like the kind you’d see in Disney movies that can seemingly house an entire city within its walls, but it’s definitely mansion-sized. A couple dozen rooms, enough to make a decently sized inn, which is exactly the plan you’re running with under the instruction of the castle’s new owner. Oh, speaking of which, they’re visiting the day after tomorrow, so you better have a good report to give to them. You open up one of the cans of primer, the scent of artificial wrongness causing your eyes to water, but you continue working like you aren’t in danger of choking on some wack fumes.

The first layer doesn’t take too much work, the roller sponge reaching all those tough places on the ceiling you wouldn’t manage to get to without the tall ass handle. Your people did a decent job making sure the plaster on the walls is smooth as silk when they painted the stuff on, so you don’t have to sand anything down before the second layer. Since this is supposed to be the ‘renaissance room,’ you’re stuck painting frescos on the walls like the many geniuses did a few millennia ago, and hoo boy do you have your work cut out. The owner seems fine with the outrageous price you named when you heard what they wanted, but a part of you regrets making such a time-consuming decision.

You have a couple of sketches on hand, pre-approved by the person in question, but still, you tap a bit of willow charcoal against the side of the paper as you try to come up with some different options that might be a little more fun for you to paint. But you need to stretch- and get some fresh air before you start feeling lightheaded from the primer fumes. Still trying to filter some sort of decent idea through your head, you wander through the halls, marveling at how your people managed to string up some modern chandeliers in the short amount of time they had. There’s a rather large and curving staircase that connects the first and second floors, one that you just had to keep in all its glory, though now it’s polished within an inch of its life.

There are several exits you can use, but you decide on the one that spits you right out into the garden, which is pretty darn dead for the most part. You know that an army of landscapers is coming to start planting things sometime in the near future. Still, you neither know what company it is or when they will be here, so you untangle the sweater from around your waist and somehow get it on without having to put your sketchbook and charcoal down. There’s a large fountain that hasn’t seen water in probably a hundred or so years, dead leaves collecting in its nooks and crannies, but at the center of the empty pool is a rather incredible statue.

It’s up on a pedestal, body in a suave contrapposto pose. The hair is carved in a mop of unbelievably gorgeous curls, you can almost imagine yourself running your fingers through it despite knowing very well that all you’ll feel is solid rock. Its face is a perfect example of what’ bedroom eyes’ means, its gaze staring directly towards an invisible partner, mouth in a sultry, inviting smile. Whoever carved it, though, definitely outdid themselves with the butt because good god the careful balance between curve and firmness is extraordinarily executed. The thighs, too, look like they could crush a melon between them, but there’s just something about the butt that always makes you stop for a minute to admire it in all its glory, no matter what you’re doing at the moment. Jillian’s mocked you a few times for ogling it perhaps a little too intently, but you know what?

You get your phone out, already formulating a dumb little stunt to put on your Instagram page. Oh, Jillian is the only one on your crew who is going to think it’s hilarious, but maybe your followers will also find it funny. Cautiously, you step over the wall of the fountain, avoiding the pipes that at one time pumped water into the knee-deep pool, and then take a moment to look over the inscription at the statue’s base. It strikes you as rather odd, mainly because you would think that a plaque would instead belong on the outside wall of the fountain, rather than right at the feet of the statue. It’s in ancient greek, or at least, that’s what the owner of the property told you when you asked some time before.

Trying your best not to use the statue’s available limbs for balance, you step up onto the pedestal, getting rather cozy with those lovingly carved abs. You have to stand on the tips of your toes to get your mouth anywhere near his, and yes, up close, those lips look even more inviting than usual. After a moment of fiddling with your phone’s camera filters and trying to find a good angle to show off your jawline and chin, you press your mouth up against the statues, glancing up only briefly to make sure the camera’s got everything. Then you close your eyes and pretend like this is the most magical moment you’ve ever experienced, finger clicking the shutter button. You take a moment to look over what you’ve got, your arm still around the statue’s neck, biting your lip as you pick which one is going to go online.

It doesn’t take you long to pick out two or three. The angle and lighting in those are a bit off from the others, not in a bad way, though, but it kind of almost looks like the statue isn’t just the recipient of the kiss. Actually, now that you really look at it… the shadows make it look almost like it’s leaning into your mouth, which you suppose is going to sell the picture even more. Neat. You hop off the pedestal and step over the wall of the fountain. Enough break time, you decide, picking up your sketchbook where you mindlessly tossed it, and head back into the castle.

You didn’t have any wild inspirations while you were making out with the stone, so you decide instead to start working on something that doesn’t take as much brain juice as, say, designing an original fresco that’s supposed to rival Raphael’s Philosophy. At the moment, you’re probably better off painting the freshly stripped and primed walls of the library, something that doesn’t require intricate thought. The paints for the library have already been purchased and delivered, courtesy of Steph, so buckets of baby blue wait for you on the protective layer of plastic taped to the floor. Turning on some loud music, you begin, stirring up one of the paint buckets and pouring some into a container long enough for the roller brushes.

Throwing yourself into the work is easy, so long as you try to keep yourself entertained. After the music loses your interest, you take a quick break, flipping through podcasts while sipping water. Wiping some sweat from your face, you happen to look through the window and into the garden to see that... Wait- the statue- the statue is missing? You frantically walk over to the glass and look out, your heated breath fogging your view. Your first impression is correct; the statue isn’t on the pedestal, which is fucking impossible? That thing has to weigh almost a ton, it’s a slab of rock, no one can just walk away with it.

You’re outside before you can even register the shock of your feet hitting the cobblestone of the path, your lungs wheezing from the sudden strain of exercise and nerves. There’s no fucking way you lost a whole ass statue after being alone for just three days, but, oh, that’s precisely the kind of stuff you would expect to happen to you. Of course your dumb ass would somehow lose the most valuable thing on this property, oh, god, you’re going to be so fired. This is going to destroy your company’s reputation, you’re never going to be able to get another job again and then you’ll have to dissolve it all once the owner decides to sue and you’ll never be able to so much as breathe in the direction of interior design again-

“Fuck!” You shout, kicking uselessly at the pavement. It’s gone. The whole thing’s fucking up and gone, and you’re doomed.

“What’s wrong?” A new voice says, too close to your body for your liking, so you do what anyone else in your position might and punch the source of the sound on reflex, letting out a loud shriek.

Instead of some rando’s face, you end up striking something stone-like as hard as you can muster, your knuckles exploding with a rush of pain. Your muscles twitch, and then you can’t feel anything but a heated throb pulsing through your fingers, but you don’t pay any attention to your ruined hand. Rather, you’re eyes are glued to the quite literal stony features of a man’s face, a face that would be on kissing level if you stood on the very tips of your toes.

“No,” you say, because, between the pain and the shock, you can’t think of anything else that would entirely summarize what you’re feeling at the moment.

Its smile is radiant despite the fact you had just struck it with the intent to knock a couple of teeth out, eyes somehow wild with an emotion you can’t place, and then it sets a well-sculpted hand on the side of your face. A split second later, you realize that it is leaning forward with the intent to kiss you again, so you do what anyone else might do in the moment.

“No,” you yelp, placing a hand on his mouth, and then repeat, “no.”

Confusion settles on his features, his brows furrowing, his mouth still in an inviting curve. “What’s wrong?”

Oh, dear god. Its voice... is like it was made for sex, melodic, soft, yet also firm. There’s a singer that you love to turn on and kick back in relaxation, the lyrics smooth and accented, running over you like a gentle stream of water, and that’s the only way you can think to describe the way that- that statue speaks, without sounding like an insane person. In fact, you’re so focused on trying to place which foreign singer that he sounds like that you forget that your hand is still firmly on his mouth, pushing his face away.

“I’m going to get fired.” That’s all you can think about. The owner of the property is going to take one look at the living, breathing statue and have a goddamn conniption.

“There is no need to fret, darling-”

“No need to fret?” You’re about to start screaming. “This is supposed to make my fucking career, and now the most priceless part of the fucking property somehow gained sentience is, um, walking around? I’m going to get scalped, no one else is going to hire me-”

“I have naught an idea of what you speak of,” it brushes some baby hairs away from your sweaty forehead, “but all shall be well, so long as you stay with me.”

You’re choking on the air because your body doesn’t know what else to do with itself. Still, somehow, you manage to pull yourself from its arms, needing a moment to breathe in an environment that didn’t involve something trying insistently to make out with you. Deep, deep breath, you coach yourself, dusting your sweaty hands on the front of your shirt, remembering suddenly that you might have accidentally fractured a couple of fingers when a sharp pain runs up the length of your forearm. “Shit.”

“Would-”

“Stop talking!” You need to think, and you need to tend to the already swelling knuckles on your hand. Hopefully, you won’t need a trip to the hospital. Angrily, you pace, two steps to the side, then three steps back, looking at the pedestal, then at the statue, and finally on the castle. “Fuck, just- just follow me, I guess.”

You storm back into the common room, frantically looking for wherever the hell the first aid kit ended up getting stashed. It’s not with the paperwork or folders keeping track of the tabs you’re racking up at the local hardware store, so you run over into the kitchen where the brand new industrial stoves and ovens are and start rifling through the cabinets until you finally find the white tin box. The statue follows you, thankfully, because you aren’t about to allow a potentially million-dollar statue to start wandering the cliffside without adult supervision.

After a minute of fiddling the sides of the locks with one hand, the statue makes a reach for the box just as you manage to open it. Quickly, you shoot it a chilling glare and pull the medical supplies closer, rifling through the contents until you find something for the spots on your fingers where the skin broke open. Okay, yes, it’s a little awkward to be doing this all with one hand, but you’re not going to let that… thing anywhere near you, much less your bloodied hand. Speaking of which, despite the substantial damage done to you, the statue doesn’t seem at all bothered by the strike which would have at least knocked an average person off their rhythm, but…

You reach over and take his jaw into your good hand, moving his head to the side to check for any damage. The stone is still in place, not a single chip flew off, which might be expected because this thing is a fucking rock. Though even now, a part of you wants to believe that this is some kind of ridiculously elaborate prank the owner is pulling for a publicity stunt, and this is a man in really convincing makeup. To call attention to the inn, you know, get some national headlines. Pull in more customers. Haha, look, it’s the stupidly handsome statue that scared the everloving shit out of the poor contractor. But if this were a man, there would be swelling puffing out that ridiculously beautiful jawline because you hit hard.

Angry that you aren’t able to come to the conclusion you want, you let go, returning back to sloppily wrap your wounded hand in some gauze and tape. Tea, you need some goddamn tea, you think, rummaging through the sparse pantry full of some random items you bought while in town, after all, you can’t get takeout for every meal three months straight. Not unless you want to take your bank account to a back alley and shoot it like a diseased dog. Urgh, finally, something relatively strong that might help cool your nerves down a notch or two.

“Do you… like, drink or anything?” You ask as an afterthought, filling a kettle with water from the sink.

“I don’t know.” He regards the kettle with curiosity, eyes following your movement with close precision.

“You don’t know,” you say in your best imitation of someone who is just positively stoked. “Awesome.”

“I have a rather interesting feeling that this is an unexpected happening,” the statue posits, placing its arms on the counter, an action that sends a shot of panic through your chest.

“Get off the granite, get off-” you half push, half lift him away, bending over and running your fingers over the countertop to look for scratches. A bit of relief breaks off into your chest, and then another, once you find no damage to speak of. Angrily, you wave your hands in the direction of a small, nondescript wooden table that’s already stained and pummeled within an inch of its life. “Just…. Take a seat over there, m’kay?”

The statue, thankfully, seems fine with listening to you, moving over to the bench and sitting while you find two mugs to use. There are dishes, at least, which wasn’t the case when your crew first started working on this project, but it’s nice to not have to eat out of styrofoam to-go boxes and drink out of travel tumblers anymore. The statue watches you intently while you work, eyes following every movement like you might offer up the secret to the universe in passing, and as the kettle shrieks, you decide that you’re just about over <em<that. You don’t care to give him any tea options, so you toss halfheartedly bag into both mugs after filling them with near-boiling water.

You set the cup in front of him, your teeth gritted, as you try to wrack your brain for where to start with your questioning because you have thousands of them rattling around in your head. After a moment, though, you decide to start with something easy. “Do you have a name?”

“I don’t know,” he says, too cheerfully for you to deal with.

“Where do you come from?” You try again.

His eyes grow distant for a moment, then suddenly snap back to reality. “I don’t know.”

You let out a frustrated breath. “Is there anything you do know?”

“I do know that you’re the one who brought me here,” he says, looking at you once more like you’re… like you’re a god or something.

“No I didn’t,” you say, as bluntly as you can muster, letting out a dry laugh.

He doesn’t say anything in response, only offers you a sly smile, tapping on his lips with two fingers.

You catch on immediately, a thrill of panic running down your spine. “No.”

His smile widens, and he nods. “Yes.”

“I did not-”

“You did.” He reaches over and gently takes your injured hand, looking over the hasty bindings with interest. “A kiss of someone with love in their heart. That’s what I know.”

You want to throw up. “I don’t- like I’m sure you’re a decent statue person, but I don’t-”

“Love me?” He finishes innocently. “Perhaps not now, but I’m sure you will be… convinced.”

You gently take back your hand, all the nerves in your body running on overdrive, and oh boy, if you weren’t sweating before, you’re sweating now. “The only thing I want to be convinced of right now is that you aren’t going to get in the way of me and my job.”

“What would that be?”

“Making this into an acceptable place to live or whatever,” you take a shaky sip of tea, “and the thing about that is that you’re supposed to be the main attraction.”

To your dismay, he seems absolutely thrilled by that statement. “Am I that handsome that people flock from neighboring villages to see me?”

”No, you fucking-” you take a deep, shaking breath to try calming yourself down before you finish that sentence, and start again. “No. You’re a prized relic. The guy who owned the property before the current one was an art collector, and you are kind of a big deal. Um,” you tap your fingers against the table as you try to recall what the new owner said, “you’re one of the oldest statues that have been pulled from Greek ruins,intact, so that’s kind of a big deal.”

That seems to catch his attention. “Greek… ruins?”

“A temple or something, I don’t really remember, she mentioned in it passing.” You cover your face with your hands, trying to get your fucking shit together before a full-blown meltdown happens. “There was an art historian who estimated your value to be in the millions. If the owner stops by and sees that her block of gold is no longer where it’s supposed to be, she’s going to assume theft. And do you know who the only person with unmonitored access to the entire property is? Do you know who is going to get blamed?”

“So tell her of this miracle.” He reaches over and covers your hands, gently peeling them back from your face. God, that smile is awful, mostly because it’s flawless and makes your insides want to melt. “Surely, she will understand that this love is a gift from the gods themselves.”

You don’t know whether to laugh or to cry. “I don’t think that’s going to work.”

“It will,” he promises, “surely anyone, even those with the heads of asses, will see that a miracle is present.” He’s about to say even more, you can tell by the way he tilts his head and takes a breath, but then your phone rings.

You wriggle out of his grasp and pull it out of your pocket. Oh, good god, speak of the devil. How the hell are you supposed to explain this? Can you even try? Should you? You swallow thickly, your good hand shaking as you hit the button to receive the call. Holding up your hand in the universal gesture for shut the fuck up, you answer, praying your voice doesn’t sound like sandpaper. “Hello, Marge! How’re things going?”

#exophilia #statue #living statue #statue boyfriend #monster boyfriend #monster/reader #statue/reader #living statue/reader

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fortheloveoffanfic · 4 years

Text

You (pt.2)

Keanu Reeves x Reader (A/n- A continuation of this fic-.> You. Also, it’s veryyy long, but I really couldn’t help myself)

Spring, Napa Valley, 2000 In the walled off backyard of a large winery, Keanu stood, that day, dressed in formal cloths that fit perfectly. White-tie grade suit that reflected the vintage theme that they had chosen. The freshly cut, green grass felt soft under his shining black shoes and the smell of flowers, coming from hedges against the vine adorned walls intermingled with the ever-lingering smell of oak and wine. A quiet chatter ran through the gathered crowd; his family and friends on the right and hers on the left, though, as the heavy doors creaked open, it stopped and everyone stood.

Keanu’s back straightened at the sight of her and he inhaled deeply. She looked better and more beautiful that anything he could have ever dreamed of. Y/n wore cap-sleeved, lace adorned, mermaid cut, ivory dress. An old fashioned veil hung over her forehead and eyes, skewing her vison as her father walked with her towards Keanu. In her hands, Y/n held a bouquet dominated by colorful wild flowers in blatant homage to all those pretend wedding they’d have when they were just children. Neither of them could believe it. Who would have thought that summers spent in her backyard would turn out to be practice for their real wedding decades later?

When they reached the alter, Y/n’s father pulled Keanu into a short hug, whispering in his ear, “Of all the men that I could have handed my baby girl over to, I’m glad it’s you son.”

Keanu smiled proudly in thanks. Her parents, like his mother, had been welcoming to their relationship and when they announced their engagement two years after that memorable night in her bedroom, her mother had exclaimed, in an exact quote, “Finally! I thought I’d die before we got this news!” His mother had been just as excited, murmuring something about finally getting grandchildren.

As they faced each other, Keanu's sister standing as the officiant before them, Y/n beamed brightly and Keanu couldn’t help but return her glee. The ceremony went on without flaw and eventually, it was time for the vows. Like years of practice had preached, Y/n went first, “Keanu, three years ago, if someone had told me that I had known the love of my life since I was three, I’d have laughed in their face and called them crazy. But today, as I stand before you, more ready to become your wife than I’ve ever been to be anything else, I think I’d be the crazy one for not believing them. We’ve grown together, you’ve loved me when I felt un-loveable, taken care of me when I didn’t what to be taken care of. You’ve made me laugh and you’ve dried my tears. Sometimes, it’s hard to believe that our love has been over thirty years in the making, that it’s taken us so long to get here, but I don’t regret it. If anything, it’s taught me that the best things are right there if you choose to look for it. Thank you, for loving me, and for helping me find it. Thank for thirty two years of unconditional love and I hope that in our next thirty, fifty, or how much ever it ends at, that I could, at the very least, show you a fraction of the love you’ve made me feel.”

With the bouquet having been handed of to her sister and maid of honor as she took her place at the alter, it was easy for Keanu to clasp her smaller hands in his as he recited his vows, “Y/n,” he began, trying to suppress the nerves, “You’d think after all those years I’d know exactly what I was going to say. But the truth is, I don’t. All I can say, is what I know. And what I know is that thirty-two years ago, I didn’t just meet a girl who lived a couple houses away, or my best friend, I met the woman I want to spend the rest of my life with. My soulmate. My home. And even though we’ve known each other for this long, it’s still hard to believe that I’m the man you chose, which is why I promise to make every day for the rest of our lives, worth it. I can’t always promise a walk in the park, but I can promise that even when things don’t seem that great, I’ll be right there with you, through it all. I love you Y/n, my love, my soulmate, my home and very soon, my wife.”

By the time he was through, Y/n’s eyes had begun to shine with tears. They exchanged rings, a thin gold band with diamonds on it for her and a slightly thicker one for him, both with the word ‘forever’ engraved on the inside. Afterwards, they ended with their first kiss as a married couple, the photographer stepping in front of them just in time to capture the moment.

Early 2001 The move had been tough, changing jobs had been tougher and with three movies being released that year, Keanu had been gone a lot. Which is why when she found out, Y/n was a little more worried than excited.

A baby?

In the midst of their crazy lives?

By the time Y/n had found out, Keanu had been gone for a couple weeks and, unable to keep the news to herself for any longer that a few hours, Y/n hopped on the red eye to New York. On the plane ride, all the way through the cab ride to his hotel and even as she walked to the conference room on the first floor, Y/n’s stomach made a habit of twisting in and out of knots.

On one hand, they were a stable couple. Married for just about a year, happy, in love. With both their pay checks, they could easily afford about three babies, though Y/n was glad it was going to just be the one.

However, on the other hand, while they were certainly finically able and mentally stable, Y/n wondered if they even had time for a child. Keanu was travelling a lot lately and she would often spend hours past midnight at her office. Then, there was the fact that they had never talked about children. They had known each other, for what felt like forever and still, they hadn’t talked about it. Sure, jokes had been made, little hints been dropped by their families and even the tabloids had seemed smitten with the idea. Since they had married, entertainment journalists had banded together to scrutinize her. If she drank water or wine, what she had at the sushi bar, the possibility that her doctor’s visit might not have been for an ear infection, but an ultra-sound. The question had even come up in Keanu’s interviews, with prying minds being bold enough to ask, “When are you going to take the leap and knock her up? She’s gorgeous, you’re a heart throb, the world needs more of your genes.”

And still the topic hadn't come up between them.

Of course, it was about to. On wobbly legs, Y/n stood at the back of the small crowd, watching as Keanu and his co-star got interviewed. She was a beautiful, tall, blonde who looked amazing in anything, but the despite it all, Y/n knew that she could trust her husband around the woman and thought very little of their light hearted banter for the cameras.

Next to her, was Keanu’s publicist, who was more than surprised at her impromptu appearance, “Y/n, what are you doing here? Is everything okay?”

“What? Huh? Yeah!” Y/n waved her off nervously, going to toy with the visitor's badge that hung around her neck.

“Are you sure? Yesterday Keanu was thinking of flying back home, he said you were sick,” the older woman said, concern written on her matronly features.

“Oh, yeah,” Y/n nodded, weakly, “I was. I am, but I felt a little better so I flew out to surprise him.”

Thankfully, before Y/n could suffer through anymore nervous attempts to hide the truth, the interview was over, and having spotted her through the crowd, Keanu was headed their way, “Y/n?” he said, a note of worry etching his tone as he immediately pulled her into a hug. His co-star and publicist quickly excused themselves and when Y/n requested that they speak in private, he took them straight to his room. “Not that I’m not happy to see you, but what are you doing here? You’ve been sick for the past couple weeks and you’re looking a little pale. You should be home, resting.”

Y/n smiled at his concern. He was always more worried about her than she was about herself. “I know,” she nodded "I went to the doctor a couple days ago. He ran a couple tests, I got the results back on Tuesday." It was Thursday. She had kept it to herself for almost two days and she was itching to tell him.

"Oh?" Keanu's frown deepened, worry lines creasing his brows. As he sat on the bed next to her, Keanu took Y/n's hand, lightly squeezing, trying to contain his worry. Swallowing thickly, he asked, "What did he say? Y/n, babe whatever it is, we'll get through it, together."

His words serves as warm comfort a d Y/n offered him a meek smile as she said; “He said that I’m pregnant.”

Keanu sighed in audible relief and it took a minute before a wide grin brightened his handsome features, “Y/n,” he breathed, pulling her into a crushing hug as he pressed a passionate, love-filled kiss to her lips, “I’m going to be a dad! We’re going to be parents!”

“You want to keep it?” Y/n laughed, relived that he was excited.

“Keep it?” Keanu scoffed, “I can’t wait to meet this little guy,” he pulled away to lay his hand on her still-flat stomach, “Or girl. A girl would be great too. Like a little you,” he wondered out loud.

“Or a little you,” Y/n mused, taking his hand, “I’m so glad you’re okay with this. We’re gong to be a family.”

“We are,” Keanu declared, pulling Y/n in for another kiss.

2003 Just let him be okay. Just let him be okay. Just let him be okay.

Those were the words that formed a mantra in Y/n mind as she weaved through Los Angeles traffic. Her hands maintained a tight grip on the wheel as she ignored blaring horns of those she had cut off in her panicked frenzy. The girls were home with the housekeeper, Nelly, who had essentially pushed her out the door when she got the worrying news, assuring Y/n that her kids would be fine and that she should focus on Keanu.

Keanu. Her husband of three years, a man she had known for thirty-five years. The same one who drove well below the speed limit on he both times his newborns slept peacefully in the backseat. The man who usually pressured them to leave their house an hour earlier so he wouldn’t have to speed with his kids and wife in the car. Keanu was a careful man, the kind that thought things through, the only one she had ever fallen in love with. And now he was in the hospital.

Just a couple hours after he had phoned home to tell her hat he’d be leaving set in a few minutes, Y/n had gotten a call. It was the kind she never wanted to receive.

“Y/n Reeves?”

“Yes? Who is this?”

“Ma’am, I’m calling from Los Angeles General, you’re husband has been in an accident.”

Without waiting to hear the rest, Y/n had hung up, already telling Nelly as she shrugged on her coat over the old band tee she was wearing and grabbed her keys. Her daughters, who had gotten more from her than they had from Keanu looked on at their mother with a kind of naivety that told her that they didn’t quiet understand the seriousness of the call. Not that anyone could blame them, they were still so, so young. Their oldest, Rosie was barely three and Taylor had joined their family in a flurry of cries only seven months before. As young as they were though, they both adored their father, maybe, just maybe, a tad more than she did.

With barely a beat to shut off the engine and grab her purse, Y/n was stumbling out of the car, almost losing a shoe or both in the process. With heaving breaths and barely contained sobs, she ran through the glass sliding doors.

Almost everyone’s head raised at her entrance. Probably because she was the widely adored wife of a block-buster movie star. Probably because her hair was a mess and there was spit up on her shirt. Or probably just because of the manner of her entrance. Y/n didn’t care about their reasoning, she only had one goal. Find her husband. “Where’s my husband?”

After the grueling process of filling out insurance forms and hearing the occasional, “He’s going to be just fine Mrs. Reeves,” a nurse led Y/n to a private room.

On the bed, Keanu laid propped on some pillows, a few cuts and bruises on his face. The worst of it was his left leg, casted up to the knee, “What the hell Ke?” Were the first words that left her lips, tears finally falling as she rushed to his bedside.

Taking her arm, Keanu pulled her down into a hug, shushing her like he usually did their girls when they cried, “All this for me?” He chuckled.

Pulling away from him, Y/n swatted at his arms, “Don’t make fun of me! I was worried out of my mind.”

“I know,” his chuckles died into a soft smile and he held on to her hands, “One of the nurses said that you hung up on her.”

“Well, obviously! She said you had been in an accident!” Y/n’s shoulders dropped, defeated, “We could have lost you, this isn’t a joke!” She explained, Y/n’s voice breaking with emotion, “If this were more serious, I don’t know what I’d do. Rosie and Taylor, they need a father, they need you. I need you! If I lost you, god,” she breathed, hot tears spilling down her already stained cheeks, “I just can’t okay? So be careful when you’re out there, if not for yourself, for the three of us.”

“Hey, hey, hey,” Keanu cooed, shifting awkwardly so he could pull her down next to him, “Don’t cry baby,” kissing her forehead, he mulled on his next words. Just the thought of his family being without him was upsetting, missing the birthdays, the anniversaries, graduations, not seeing his girls grow up and his wife achieve everything she dreamed of, “Listen, if I have anything to do with it, you three are going to be stuck with me for a very long time. I’m going to be right here, at your side while they grow up and we grow old, okay?” He kissed her hair again.

“Promise?” She turned to meet his dark gaze.

“Promise.”

2005 Fuming. That’s what she was. Y/n was surprised that there wasn’t smoke coming from her ears yet. How dare he? After everything! Acting like he didn’t know her at all. It was enough to make Y/n want to just turn around and walk out the front door, slamming it in his face. She might have, if Keanu didn’t beat her to it.

As Y/n plopped onto the sofa, not really paying any mind to the clutter of children’s toys around her, she tried to take a calming breath and not scream in a way that would wake their sleeping children.

Lately, it had become almost routine. Bouts of giving each other the cold shoulder and then, when Taylor and Rosie were finally tucked in bed, they’d engage in a shouting match. Taking turns at spatting accusations and insults that they didn’t even mean. Neither of them was sure when it really started. Maybe it was when he had temporarily moved their family to Portland at heel of Christmas, and then, when the girls had gotten sick, Y/n was left alone in their rental taking care of them without an ounce of help. Instead of offering to clear his schedule a little, Keanu had offered the aid of a nanny. Or, it could have been when Y/n had hired a new assistant, nearly twenty years their junior, though he had taken a keen liking to his boss. Offering to bring dry cleaning to their house, buying her coffee every morning and staying late with her when everyone else had left. The advances were subtle, but Keanu had noticed and when he brought it to his wife, she had waved him off, saying that Jack was just a gentleman.

Their latest fight had been more explosive than the others.

Y/n had gotten home just after Nelly had left and dinner had already been put away. From the minute she entered the kitchen, she had noticed the tension in the air. The girls were playing in their playroom and Keanu was just reentering after having a smoke. “I told you not to smoke around them,” were the first words she huffed as she dropped her bags to the counter, “Who was watching them while you were out there?” She pointed, anger growing.

“God, they’re fine Y/n. It wasn’t even in front of them,” he whispered angrily, “They’re playing, I was out there. Didn’t even see the fucking cigarette.”

“So now you’re cursing in front of them?” She fumed, trying to contain her tone. as mad as they were, the last thing they wanted was for the kids to see them like that.

“They’re not here,” he hissed, clenching the pack of cigarettes and lighter in his fist, “You know, if you don’t trust me with them, you should have come home instead of staying at your office to fuck your boy toy!”

“Boy toy?” She quoted. Before Y/n could get another word out, their eldest, Rosie ran in.

“Mommy!” She squealed, hugging Y/n’s legs, “You’re back. We missed you.”

Opting to ignore Keanu right then, Y/n scooped Rosie up in her arms, “I missed you too bunny! Come on, it’s late, lets get ready for bed.”

(2 hours later) With the girls fast asleep in their rooms, loud whispers had turned to shouts, “What do you want me to do?” Y/n yelled, “The firm is just getting off the ground and I’m supposed to be here at your beck and call? I have a life too you know?”

“Oh, I know!” Keanu accused, “How’s it been, living it with Jack? He seems to see more of you anyway, kind of makes me wonder why.”

“God!” Y/n groaned, hitting her fists against the marble counter, “For the last time, I’m not fucking him! He’s my assistant, and he’s been more help in a few months than you’ve been this past year!”

“So this is my fault now?” He tone incredulous, strong arms folded across his broad chest.

“Congratulations! Get the man a fucking trophy!” She mocked angrily, “You say I’m never here, but you leave for months, filming and doing god knows what else. News flash Keanu, if anyone’s cheating, it’s you!”

“Me?” He chuckled, rage evident, “You know what Y/n? I don’t need this bullshit tonight,” he began, walking through the house, collecting his coat and keys.

“Where the hell are you going?” She probed, annoyed.

“Out.” Was all Keanu offered, slamming the door behind him.

September, 2005 Things hadn’t gotten better, but they hadn't gotten worse either. After a night away, Keanu had returned home, wordlessly, moving some of his things to the guest room. They carried on like that for months, fights, teary nights apart and tension filled silence. Whispers had started going around, that one of Hollywood’s favorite couples was on the brink of divorce. Y/n didn’t want to leave him, Keanu didn’t want her to go, but it really didn’t seem like there was anything else left to do.

Until Y/n had spent an hour on the phone with her mother, the first draft of divorce papers opened on her computer, “This isn’t what you want Y/n,” her mother declared plainly.

“You don’t know that,” she huffed in return, “Things haven’t been great lately. All these fights, the accusations. We’re barely holding it together for the girls, I don’t want them to grow up in a home with this much anger.”

“Do you want them to grow up in a home without their father?” She asked and Y/n could swear that she saw her mother siting right there in her office, arms folded, eyebrows raised in question.

“They would still see him. We’d-”

“Share custody? Mhm. It starts with trading them every week. Then he gets a new girlfriend that you don’t like, probably because you’re jealous and you still love him, and then it turns to the weekends. Then, he moves on some more, and it’s every other weekend and you keep going like that until its once a month and, finally a few times a year. That’s not how you’re raising my grandbabies.” Her mother paused for a minute then cutting her off before she spoke again, “And don’t say that it’s what’s best for them. It’s not. I know you. Both of you. That boy is like a second son to me! Are you really going to throw away thirty-seven years over a fight?”

“It wasn’t just one fight mom, it’s been like this for months,” Y/n tried not to sound like she was whining, but she was sure she failed miserably.

“Doesn’t matter dear. Can you really sit in you office on this beautiful Thursday evening and tell me that you don’t love that man anymore? And I know you lawyers lie a lot, but I also know you like the back of my hand and anything but ‘no’ would be a lie.” Y/n was quiet for a while, lost in thought, worrying on her bottom lip, “Well?”

“Well what?” Y/n sighed.

“Can you say you don’t love him?”

Y/n leaned back in her chair, eyes falling on a picture near the end of her desk. One of the first ones taken after they had brought Taylor home from the hospital. She had looked a tired mess, but Keanu had kept saying that she was the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on. Sighing as thirty-seven years worth of memories washed over her, Y/n realized that her mother was right, “No, I can’t,” she concluded, “I still love him. I always will. But it’s not that easy mom.”

“It is. Just talk to him. And listen too.”

“I tried,” Y/n argued weakly, “But it didn’t work.”

“You didn’t,” her mother objected, “You yelled, you argued and you accused. But you didn’t communicate and you didn’t listen. So get divorce out of your mind, open your ears and get your ass home .”

“Fine,” Y/n grumbled.

That night, Y/n had gone home and after putting the children to bed, she had flopped down on the sofa next to Keanu, “I fired Jack today.”

“What?” He turned to her.

“You don’t trust him and I shouldn’t have kept him around that long if it was making you uncomfortable,” she explained quietly.

“I’m sorry,” Keanu sighed, “I shouldn’t have accused you of those things and I should have put you in a position that would make you think I’d do that.”

“I’m sorry too,” Y/n laid her hand over his, squeezing reassuringly, “I should have understood that you’re just trying to provide for us, and you’re not gone by choice,” Keanu smiled sadly at her as she declared, “I still love you.”

“I still love you too.”

Winter 2006 Y/n huffed as she stood at the entrance of the cleared out guest room, hands bracing her strained back as she declared, “I’m too old for this.”

Keanu’s eyes widened at the sight of her, scurrying of the ladder, dropping the paint brush as he hurried to her side, “Honey, what are you doing?”

“Checking on you. The last time I left you alone on a ladder we had to go to the emergency room,” she giggled, not acting on his concern.

Keanu placed a hand on the small of her back, guiding her out of the unfinished nursery, “I was fine,” he argued.

“You threw your back out,” Y/n reminded lightly, “It looks nice by the way. I’m actually surprised that you chose that color on your own,” she teased leaning into his side, her hands going to rest on her swollen stomach.

“Thank you. I think,” Keanu shook his head, unsure on whether or not it was a compliment, “You shouldn’t have been in there though, the fumes aren’t safe.”

Y/n sighed, rolling her eyes, “Ke, I love you, but this worry is unnecessary, I’ve been around this block twice.”

“I know,” he agreed, “But this little guy hasn’t,” Keanu rubbed her stomach affectionately. Everyone had been worried when Y/n had conceived over forty, even he had had his doubts. What if they were too old? What if this one was too much younger than the girls? But from the minute he saw the first ultrasound, Keanu knew, it didn’t matter that they had slowly started to go grey, that the doctor had said that there were risks, not of it mattered as long as they thought they could do it. And do it they did.

“Fine,” she huffed as they descended the stairs.

“I can’t believe that this is the last time I’m going to see you like this,” he leaned his head against hers.

“I thought the last time would be with Taylor but you just had make us go to Prague for our anniversary.”

“Me?” He shot back, hand going to his chest in defense, “You’re the one who was hot for it in the airplane bathroom!”

“What?” Y/n playfully slapped his arm, “Our son was not conceived in an airplane bathroom!”

“I think he might have been,” Keanu carried on nonchalantly, “Don’t worry, it’s a cool story.”

“No, it’s not. And it’s not true either. I refuse to believe that,” she plopped onto the couch, getting to work on folding some clothes from a laundry basket on the coffee table.

“Refuse if you like, but I think it’s true,” he laughed.

“It’s not. Now go get cleaned up or something, you’ll get paint everywhere,” she shooed him. “Bye!” She laughed as he walked off, back in the direction of stairs, waving dramatically.

2007 Y/n stood in the doorway of Rosie’s bedroom, admiring the sight before her. Keanu sat on the bed, Rosie and Taylor on either side of him already dressed in their colorful, printed pajamas, their dark hair falling in their faces and their little hands fought to brush it away. Their son, Henry, barely a year old by then sat against his father’s chest, cubby fingers trying to grab at the excitable pages of the story book. Already, he looked so much like Keanu and the little bits of his father that he had taken on showed up more and more everyday.

Bed time rituals usually ended in Rosie’s room. Keanu would read them whatever story they pleased, sometimes he’d even make one up if they asked. And then, when they were falling asleep, He’d scoop Taylor up in his arms and hand Henry over to Y/n, tucking their eldest in before they took the other two of to their rooms.

“Daddy?” Taylor spoke up as he closed the book.

“Humm?” He hummed, preoccupied with Henry trying to put the corner of the book in his mouth. Their youngest babbled in frustrated discontent when Keanu finally got the book, placing it on the near by night stand, far out of his reach. For a minute or two, he fussed but when Keanu started bouncing him in his lap, all signs of sorrow were replaced with tiny giggles. “What’s up princess?” He finally turned to her.

“Can you tell us another story?” She looked up at him, wide eyes pleading in a way that he couldn’t reject, “Please....”

“Yeah,” Rosie clapped her hands, jumping up a little, “Tell us another story daddy! Please! Henry wants to hear one too!”

“Does he now?” Keanu raised his eyebrows, amusement softening to adoration when Taylor started playing with Henry’s fingers, “I guess we can do another story. It is Friday,” he chewed on his lip for a minute and then his face lit up again, “Tell you what; we can have another story, if mommy helps me tell it.”

In the doorway, Y/n folded her arms, giggling and they all started up at her, the girls with anticipation in their eyes, “I guess that can be arranged,” she obliged, stepping further into the room. Taylor crawled out from her father’s side and when Y/n was sat next to him, she shifted into the space between Y/n’s legs. Feeling a little left out, Rosie hopped onto Keanu's free thigh, curling against him, giggling when Henry tried to get on top of her. “What story are we telling?”

“The one about how you met! Nana says it's really romantic!” Rosie sang and Taylor offered her own excited noise of agreement.

“Okay,” Keanu agreed and then he began, “Well, it was thirty-nine years ago and-”

“Thirty-nine years!” Taylor exclaimed, pressing her little hands to her opened mouth, “You guys are old!”

Chuckling quietly, Y/n lightly pressed her pointer to Taylor’s button nose, “Listen to the story monkey.”

“As I was saying,” Keanu laughed, “It was a long time ago, and I had just moved to a new place and my mom, your Nana, took me and your aunt to the park. We hadn’t lived there for very long, so I didn’t have any friends yet.” At that, the girls made a quiet coo of sympathy and not really caring about the whole thing, Henry started playing with the end of his sister’s hair. Smiling, Keanu continued, “I didn’t have any friends, but on that day, I met your mommy at the swings, she had come with her brother and sister.”

“Was she pretty?” Rosie interjected.

“She looked just like you two. So very, very pretty. And I didn’t know it yet, but she’d grow up to be the most beautiful woman I’d ever meet.”

The girls smiled and then Taylor turned to her, “Your turn mommy, did you think daddy was handsome?”

“I thought he was adorable. And a little weird,” she added at the end, “He never liked to cut his hair.”

“You said you liked it,” he scoffed defensively.

“I did! I do!” Y/n laughed, pecking him quickly on his lips, “Anyway,” she continued, “Your dad, came to play on the swing next to mine, and we played together for the entire evening. And as it turned out, he lived just down the street, a few houses away from where Gammy and Papa still do and after that day, he’d come over all the time, and we’d play together for hours.”

“Until it was past dark,” Keanu chimed in, stroking Henry’s hair, “Sometimes Gammy would even let me sleep over.”

“When did you know you loved her?” Rosie looked between them with hopeful eyes.

Smiling softly, Keanu turned to Y/n, meeting her eyes, seeing the same thing he always saw, that still, he could never grow tired of, the sparkle of love, staring right back at him, “I always loved her.” Laughing softly, Y/n blushed for a reason she couldn’t quite understand and Keanu draped his arm over her shoulders, “I just had to grow up to realize how much. And you know what?” he looked between their daughters, “She’s a saint for waiting for me.”

“Oh,” Y/n lightly slapped his thigh, “Your daddy was worth the wait, he’s worth everything. Just like you three,” she laughed and the children giggled when Y/n pulled them into a hug, with Keanu quickly joining in.

“Nana was right,” Rosie began after they finished the story, “It is romantic!”

“It is!” Keanu declared, handing Henry over to Y/n, “But it’s also way past bedtime.” After noises of protest and the ‘I’m not tired’ argument, Y/n and Keanu finally got all three of them into bed. When that was over, they resigned to their own room where Keanu fell face first into bed, patting Y/n’s usual spot next to him.

Smiling, she crawled up next to him, getting under the covers, turning on her side so she could caress his cheek, “You look beat,” her thumb glided over the apple of his cheek while the tips of her fingers brushed against his recently shortened hair; he had cut it for a part.

Keanu chortled quietly, “Well you look lovely as always.” Slowly, Keanu shifted until his face was inches from hers, drinking her in before he pressed a kiss to her lips, his hand skimming her side clad in a silk nightgown. One of her legs hooked over his and soon his hand was slipping under her nightie, groping her.

“I’m guessing you’re not that tired,” Y/n giggled against Keanu’s lips.

“I’m not,” he smiled before moving on to pay attention to the soft, warm skin at her neck. Eventually, with hurried hands, Keanu turned off the bedside lamp, right before he pushed Y/n’s nightgown over her head, tossing it to a place that could be the next day’s problem.

2019 She looked beautiful, she always did. Much like the same woman he married almost twenty years prior, though, by then little strands of grey had started to show up in her hair and there were the slightest hints of laugh lines on her face. It was like she was caught between youth and maturity, aging slowly and gracefully, like the finest of wines. Most of the world had started to consider her a beauty icon, marveling on how, after three children and fifty-four years on earth, Y/n could still mange to barely look her age. Keanu often found himself in awe of her too, and sometimes, it was hard to remember that they had been married for almost twenty years.

One of those times was the night of the premier of his latest action movie, an expected hit in the box office even before it’s release. Y/n strolled arm in arm with him along the carpet, donning gorgeous deep red dress that boasted a high slit on the right side. He couldn’t even blame the photographers for wanting her attention, she looked amazing.

When they stopped, it was for him to be interviewed by a popular media outlet and the young woman looked as about excited as they both felt, “Hi! How are you feeling tonight? Hope you’re feeling as fabulous as you look,” she gestured to their outfits.

Keanu laughed quietly before; “Well I came with the most beautiful woman here, so I’m feeling pretty great.”

The interviewer laughed and Y/n swatted at his arm playfully, “You did, didn’t you? I must say, Y/n you look absolutely stunning and I’m sure our viewers will agree.”

“Thank you,” Y/n nodded, “But I’m just trying to keep up with all of this,” she gestured to Keanu, who bent his head, chuckling quietly.

The young woman laughed loudly and then continued with her questions, “So, I know tonight is about the movie, but I just have to ask; how do you make it work?”

Keanu’s brows knitted, “What do you mean?”

“Well, you two have been married for almost twenty years, and you’ve known each other for over fifty. It’s been a long time and you still seem every bit in love”

Keanu scoffed a laugh and suddenly the microphone was near Y/n’s face. Smiling, she easily handled they question, “You know, sometimes, its not always easy. We’ve been at each other’s throats a couple times,” Keanu nodded in agreement and they both reflected on a time that seemed so distant, when they thought that their marriage was over. “But when it gets like that, I try to remind myself that it’s us against the problem, that we want the same thing, it’s just that sometimes, we have different ways of getting it. But that doesn’t mean that one of us is wrong, or right, it just that means that we still care.”

“Yeah,” Keanu agreed, “It’s what Y/n said, and you know, I think if it starts feeling like work, like we have to make it work, then we’re doing something wrong. Because this isn’t a job and at the end of the day, all we want is what’s best for out kids, our marriage and each other.”

The interview went on for about another half hour, and for the briefest moment, they talked about their children with proud smiles and eventually, things steered back towards the topic of the movie. At the end of it, the woman offered them a couple more compliments and praises and finally, when it was over, Keanu looked down at Y/n, smiling as he asked; “Ready?”

In response, Y/n nodded eagerly, reaching up to give him a quick peck on the lips. With his arm secured around her waist, Keanu and Y/n continued down the carpet, occasionally stopping for pictures until they disappeared through the double doors, ready to spend the rest of the night, and the next fifty years and whatever came after, not only as an internationally adored couple, but also as two people who loved each other dearly.

#Keanu Reeves #Keanu Reeves x reader #Keanu Reeves x you #john wick x reader #john wick x you #Keanu Reeves fanfic #Keanu Reeves fanfiction #john wick fanfic #john wick fanfiction #Keanu Reeves fics #Keanu Reeves fluff #you pt2 #keanu #reeves #x you #it's a long one #fanfic #fanfiction

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ahtohallan-calling · 4 years

Text

chapter 11 of don’t read the last page is here!

[kristanna / m / multichap / modern au with actress!anna and vetstudent!kristoff]

“What would I do without you, Kris?”

“Have to pay for a professional driver, I guess.”

“Way to ruin the sweet moment,” she’d murmured, but by the way she had nestled closer to his chest, he’d known he hadn’t really.

chapter 11: transitions

Some people, he presumed, would find it sexy, all the sneaking around and clandestine meet-ups and whispered phone calls. It was all very exciting in a way, standing around in parking lots and waiting for an SUV with newly-tinted windows to roll up and collect him, but he was already missing the ease of just running down to meet her in the parking lot and sweeping her up into an embrace before she’d had a chance to say hello.

There were no parking lot kisses for them anymore, especially not at his apartment complex, not after last weekend’s news article announcing newcomer Anna Arendelle had been cast in the title role of the live-action remake of Anastasia, alongside-- what was that guy’s name? Henry, or Hank or something; no, it sounded vaguely European...well, whatever it was, in Kristoff’s opinion, he wore far too much hair gel. And he was apparently very famous, and it was a huge deal for the movie and Anna’s career that they were playing opposite each other, and that meant the paparazzi were going overboard trying to get photos of her. As if it hadn’t already been bad enough that she was the biggest breakout star of the year, according to all the clickbait websites; the whole world loved Anna Arendelle now, was going absolutely crazy over her and her “down-to-earth presence” and “hilarious Twitter feed” and “all those gorgeous freckles” that were apparently starting a new skincare craze.

Perhaps the only person more exhausted by it all than him was Anna herself. “It’s not that I’m, like, ungrateful,” she had explained to him one night last week after an interview as they had huddled in the backseat of her car, parked behind a KFC that was undergoing renovations while they waited to make sure the coast was clear before driving to her apartment. “I mean, the fans are great, and I’m glad I like, make them happy and stuff. But Jesus, I just want to be just me again for a little while. I can’t even walk around in your fucking t-shirts anymore without people speculating which thrift shop I got them from and tweeting me a million times about it.”

She had been in the middle of changing into one of those t-shirts as she spoke, and it was jarring, almost, to see the contrast between the faded cotton and the thick layer of makeup she was still wearing. It looked beautiful under the stage lights, but now up close it just felt like one more barrier keeping him from her.

And then she had seen the sadness in his eyes and clambered into his lap and thrown her arms around him, and it was like nothing had changed at all. “Well, I love you,” he had reassured her with a kiss on her forehead. “Just-you you, and famous actress you, and Twitter you, and any other kind of you there is.”

She’d pressed a kiss to the underside of his jaw. “What would I do without you, Kris?”

“Have to pay for a professional driver, I guess.”

“Way to ruin the sweet moment,” she’d murmured, but by the way she had nestled closer to his chest, he’d known he hadn’t really.

But now she was knee-deep in rehearsals and costume fittings, and he was gearing up for the end of his final semester before clinicals and still working at least three days a week, and since she refused to spend the night at his place for fear someone would find him and stalk him, he hadn’t seen her since that single hour they’d spent together in the car nearly a week ago.

The first night after everything had blown up, when she’d been planning on staying the night and instead had called him in tears, she had apologized over and over. “I had no idea it would be like this, Kris, I know I promised to come but I just keep running into people everywhere who recognize me now, and I can’t do that to you, I just can’t--”

He’d let her go on for a while, knowing she needed to get it out of her system, but when she’d finally paused to draw in a ragged breath, he had said as calmly as possible, “Anna. I don’t love you any less because of this. We’re in this together, okay?”

“Okay, okay, I’m just really s--”

“Don’t, baby, please, okay? Do you need me to come pick you up?”

“No, I-- I know you have class in the morning, just-- will you stay on the phone with me? God, I just-- I just really, really was looking forward to spending the night with you.”

He had been, too. And he was again now; tomorrow was Thanksgiving, and he’d had the week off from classes, but she had been so overwhelmed with rehearsals and fittings and endless interviews for the past month that even if she hadn’t been dodging paparazzi, there would have hardly been any time to see each other. But they were going to spend the next three days at his parents’ house, three whole days where only his younger siblings’ giggles would keep him from holding her.

“And Saturday and Sunday,” Anna had said over the phone when he told her his parents had invited her to come along. “Elsa and Honey are going to the mountains for the weekend, so we’ll have my whole apartment to ourselves and no weird ‘my older sister is in the next room’ vibes. If you want to come over, I mean.”

Of course he did, and he had told her in no uncertain terms exactly what he would spend the weekend doing, until he could practically hear her blushing as she said, “Jesus, Kristoff, give me one good reason not to come pick you up so we can hole up in a hotel for the next twenty-four hours straight.”

At the time, he’d had a reason, but a week later he was wondering what the hell it had been. He shoved his hands in his pockets, trying to think of roasted turkeys and watching football with his dad instead of Anna’s hands running all over him and her lips against his skin and her hair spilling out over his pillow-- and then he sighted her car finally pulling up to pick him up from the deserted parking lot behind the biology lab on the far end of his campus, and he could think about her all he wanted because finally she was here.

Apparently even the time it would take for him to walk over to the car from where he’d been standing under an awning was too long; the moment the lights switched off, Anna jumped out and ran over to him, her arms already extended. She jumped into his arms with the same desperation she had had when he had dropped her off at the airport all those months ago, tangling her fingers in his hair and kissing him like it had been six years and not six days.

“I missed you,” she managed to say between kisses. “Fuck, longest week of my life, Kris.”

He pulled back enough to get a good luck at her, worry pooling in his chest when he saw the dark circles under her eyes. “Well, we’ve got five days together now, yeah? You’ll have to tell me all about it.”

She leaned her forehead against his, drawing a deep breath as their eyes met. “We gotta find something better than just sneaking around and seeing each other for an hour every couple days.”

“I know,” he said softly. “I’ve kind of gotten used to having you around.”

“Gee, thanks,” she teased, kissing the bridge of his nose.

He wanted to keep holding her like this, wanted to pull her in for another kiss and feel her sigh against him and whisper that he loved her until he went hoarse. Instead he set her down and affectionately nudged his elbow against her arm. “You know what I mean. I keep rolling over in the night and reaching for you or like, expecting to come home and find you fighting with Sven about Call of Duty.”

Anna laughed as they walked towards her car hand-in-hand. “That started out really romantic and then just reminded me that I really owe him an ass-kicking. I-- wait, actually…”

He paused by the back of the car, raising an eyebrow. Anna blushed as she met his gaze. “Um. Can you drive?” she asked hesitantly. “Um. Don’t laugh, but, like...fuck. Okay. This is dumb--”

“Anna. Just say it.”

“I just...miss how like, how when you drive you put your hand on my knee because like. I don’t know.”

He went without further comment to the other side of the car, a smile playing at the corner of his lips as he moved the seat back. When there was finally enough room for his legs, he climbed in; Anna was setting something wrapped in foil in her lap, smoothing down the edges where she’d just taken a quick peek at it.

“What’s that?” Kristoff asked as he turned the keys.

“I, um. I made a pie. From scratch, seriously, Elsa nearly killed me when she saw all the flour on the counter, but I didn’t want to just show up empty-handed or with just a can of cranberry sauce or something, and I know your sisters like chocolate so I figured fudge pie would be good and keep in the fridge tonight until--”

He leaned over and kissed her until he felt her relax. “Thank you for doing that,” he said, brushing the tip of his nose over hers. “It’ll mean a lot to my mom.”

She looked at him with so much love in her eyes then, the way that was beginning to frighten him. It wasn’t her that scared him, not at all; he would be overjoyed to spend the rest of his life with her looking at him that way. But he had this absurd idea in the back of his mind that if she kept showering that much love on him all at once, she would run out of it quicker and then...well. She was still Anna, so she wouldn’t just completely cast him aside, but a gentle letdown seemed more and more likely every day as her star shone a little brighter each passing hour, and still she poured so much time and affection onto him of all people. He wished she would slow down, pace herself; he’d take a few less “I love yous” if it meant dragging out the inevitable a little longer.

He didn’t dare breathe a word of how he felt to Anna. He knew it would devastate her to hear it. It wasn’t that he doubted her; she loved him well and so completely he wondered sometimes how he had lived before it. And of course he loved her too, more than anything, and yes, like he reassured her over and over again when she began to worry about all the new Annas she was expected to be, she was still her, which meant she was his favorite person in the world, but that was the problem: she had always been her, always destined for bright and beautiful things, and he had always been him, and sometimes just loving someone wasn’t enough.

“Kris?”

He blinked; he had been so focused on his thoughts and getting started on the drive that he hadn’t heard her. He reached over and squeezed her knee. “Sorry, baby, what is it?”

“Can we make a detour? I’ll, uh-- it’s hard to find with GPS, I mean, so I’ll tell you the way. And it’ll be fast, I promise.”

He shot her a quick glance before turning onto the interstate. Why did she look so nervous all of a sudden? “Sure, no problem.”

They stayed on the interstate for a while, until they were nearly to Santa Clarita, and then she set her hand over his where it rested on her knee and squeezed. “Take this exit,” she said, and he did so silently, not understanding what she was doing and not trusting himself to say the right thing.

She directed him down a series of roads until they were just past the outskirts of town, and then she pointed towards a gravel lined path he nearly missed. “Sorry,” she said when he swerved to make the turn, “it’s, uh, like I said, hard to find. Which is, um. What I was looking for.”

He opened his mouth, a question finally forming, but then they passed through a line of trees into a cleared glade, and the words died in his throat.

It was a little house with blue shutters and a small porch; only one story, but with plenty of wide windows to let in the light, and there was a “For Sale” sign out front. After several long moments, he turned to Anna, and saw a little smile curling at the corners of her mouth.

“It’s-- it’s not that expensive, really,” she said, her voice wobbling a little, “I mean, I can’t buy it outright, but since they’re paying me week by week during rehearsals I can do the down payment and mortgage easy, and it’s out of the way so no one would find it, and-- and Elsa came and looked at it for me a few days ago and sent me pictures of the inside and it’s really nice, and I know-- I know…”

She trailed off and took a deep breath. “Um. I mean. I looked at other houses, but I kind of liked this one the most because...well. It’s out of the way, like I said, but since it’s north of town it’s only like thirty minutes from where you said your clinicals would be, and like-- I’m not saying that to, you know, make you feel obligated or anything, but just-- well, I mean, I really love you. And you just...I don’t know, I kind of thought maybe you would want it too, and it would make a lot of stuff easier on us, and if you say no I totally get it but, um-- do you think maybe you’d want to live here with me?”

Yes, he wanted to say, yes, my god, you don’t even have to ask, give me the chance to fall asleep with you in my arms and wake up to find you still there, let me make you breakfast every Saturday and let me start a garden out front full of only sunflowers and let this be our home for as long as it can.

Instead he swallowed hard and asked, “Are you sure about this, Anna? I...don’t know if this is a good idea.”

He had never seen her face fall so fast.

#sorry bout the ending ill try to update again faster this time #drtlp #my fics

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limitless-rose · 4 years

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The Signs as things I wanted to be when I grow up

[This has literally been in my drafts since December because I wasn't sure if each option matched with the sign I chose but whatever (it's also a long post again, oof)

Also I didn't really post anything related to 2020 so... Happy New Year, let's hope something good will happen this decade!! 💖]

♈ Aries: Be part of the army. I was quite fascinated by the idea of guns and protecting the nation and actually getting my life together. I was actually thinking about it for quite a while until I realized that in order to get accepted (at least according to the Greek system) you need to have excellent grades (especially maths/physics), to be taller that 165cm and to be excellent in sports. Guess what, I don't understand physics/science/chemistry, I've been about 158cm for the past 3 years and the only two sports I'm good at are badminton and tennis (while you need to be good at running, swimming and things like that I guess 😕)

✧

♉ Taurus: A chef/baker. Cooking and baking always seemed pretty fun. I would always sit by my grandma whenever she cooked/baked goodies and observe the whole process. I also got inspired by the movies "The Princess and the Frog" and "Ratatouille" and thought that one day I could possibly come up with my own recipes and open my own restaurant. But while growing up I realized that I can't cook properly when I'm stressed/multi-tasking (I'm capable of burning the food AND the kitchen if I get slightly distracted, ooof)

✧

♊ Gemini: A TV presenter or a weather woman. My mom told me that from the age of three I would always pretend to talk to an audience and answer questions from the callers or announce news/talk about the weather. Maybe that explains why I talk to thin air (as if I was a YouTuber) about anything and everything when I'm alone. Though it sounds cool, I don't really think I could do it now because I have social anxiety.

✧

♋ Cancer: A writer. I really like writing, I don't know why. Authors have been inspiring me since my childhood, I remember I used to read so many books and try to write something of my own based on it. 😅 I like taking notes and then re-writing them more neatly. I like re-doing old homework in a different style and see if I have improved. I really like writing in a diary/a bullet journal too, I feel like it's much better than bothering others with my problems anyway. I also love coming up with random scenarios/stories/characters and writing about it but I don't know if I should share it. Idk, sometimes I feel like my writing is a bit boring or that it's nothing that impressive. So, honestly, if more people took writers seriously instead of thinking it's a hobby as it doesn't always pay well (when did the world even start revolving around money that much, oml) and if I was more confident about my work I'd definitely chose to become a writer/author (I'm still keeping it as a hobby no matter what I end up doing, lol).

✧

♌ Leo: A model. Omg, I honestly don't know why I even thought of it. Probably because I really liked watching ANTM when I was younger (and I specifically chose the American version because the one we have in my country makes me cringe a lot, just hearing girls from my school talking about it is painful). My friends also liked the outfits that I put together or how I would always pose for pictures (a few years ago, I'm too awkward now asdfghjkl). Looking at it now it's just so funny. There's literally so much competition in the name of beauty, the community can get kinda toxic sometimes and the standards are pretty high. Also I'm way too short and I still can't walk like a normal person when wearing high heels lol.

✧

♍ Virgo: A teacher. Specifically, a teacher for elementary or even kindergarten. Back then, the concept of teaching seemed pretty fun to me and I had lots of ideas about how to make class more interesting. The thing is that I have good chemistry with most kids and I actually kinda dislike teenagers because of how rebellious we can get when it comes to school (idk but like teens in my country are like pretty rude to everyone 😐). I'm not so sure about it now, though it's still an option.

✧

♎ Libra: A psychologist. I always liked helping others out and offering advice when they're having a tough time and I was also curious to see what makes each person feel angry, sad or stressed and the way they respond. It's also interesting because you can learn a lot about someone's personality, preferences and way of thinking or understand what caused someone to commit a crime. I still really like psychology and it's one of my main options for uni. The only problem is that psychology is pretty much overrated in my country so people say it's best to choose something else. 😒

✧

♏ Scorpio: A criminologist. And, surprisingly, I still want it. I was always intrigued by things that required research, was interesting in learning what caused a murder/crime to be committed and I would always watch crime thrillers with my dad. I also like it because it's a field of Sociology which is one of my favorite subjects. I'm just hoping finals aren't super difficult so I can get accepted in the college that I want on the first try lol.

✧

♐ Sagittarius: A flight attendant. Back then I found it kinda fun, as I was always curious about what going on a plane is like. It could also be because of their outfits (like the ones you see in movies or in Britney's MV for Toxic, idk why 😅). Plus I would get to travel around the world without paying as much as the passengers. But then, at the age of 14-15 I got on an airplane 4 times and I saw that it wasn't really like the movies and that literally everyone ignored the flight attendant so yeah, it's not an option anymore. ✈️

✧

♑ Capricorn: A fashion designer. So because I would always draw and constantly ask for new crayons/markers and other art supplies, my mom bought me a few coloring books that focused on fashion. It came along with stickers, stencils, ideas for Victorian dressses, advice for how to design lace or mermaid tail dresses and I was so impressed. A few years later, my grandma showed me a few dresses that she had made for my mom when she was younger (which were so gorgeous like I'm definitely going to wear one of them on my graduation day) and taught me sewing. I also got to see these small floral designs that you usually see on lingerie and it was so pretty, I wish I could do it as perfectly as her. I decided to follow my grandma's advice and keep it as a hobby instead (because she ended up doing nothing but designing clothes and repairing them which she regrets 🧵🧶).

✧

♒ Aquarius: An astronaut. This was pretty random, I have to admit. I guess I really liked space and looking at at the stars in the night sky. I read a few books about space and learned a few things about NASA back in elementary too, though I realized that it's something I could never really do, as you have to sacrifice a lot. I'm still fascinated by this profession but there's no way I could ever do it, since I can't even understand basic physics or mathematics. 🤷‍♀️

✧

♓ Pisces: An artist. Honestly I didn't really care if most artists didn't get recognition/fame or if they didn't earn enough money, I just wanted to make art because I liked it. It's also fun because while you are expressing your thoughts through an art piece, another person might interpret it differently, based on their likings and thoughts. Art also plays an active role in my life: I've been drawing and painting since I was 5 and I would always watch the show with Bob Ross on TV with my grandma. Instead of completely giving up on this idea, I thought that I could choose another profession (also my family didn't really like the thought of me doing art for a living 😐) and keep art as a hobby.

#astrology #zodiac #aries #taurus #gemini #cancer #leo #virgo #libra #scorpio #sagittarius #capricorn #aquarius #pisces #me and my thoughts #yeah idk #for fun ig #at least for me #random

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sabraeal · 4 years

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Rarely Pure & Never Simple, Chapter 6

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5

The last entry in the 600 Followers Gift-a-thon! I meant for this to be out the last weekend in December, but dude to both illness, kiss-a-thon, and this fic turning out well over 7.5K...it just didn’t work out. Thank all of you guys for following and voting; hopefully this year I’ll actually get to finish all the 500 follower raffle fics too...

Despite the glut of graduation media Shirayuki’s been binging, trying to brace herself for-- for all this, nothing quite prepares her for what it will be like to wear her cap and gown.

“It’s plastic,” she says dully, rubbing the waffle-weave between the tips of her fingers. “It feels like a tablecloth.”

“You look great,” Nanna assures her, eyes shining, giving her arm a good squeeze.

“Besides,” Grandad adds, fiddling with his camera. They got him that two years ago, for Christmas, and even still he doesn’t know quite how it works. “At least you and all your friends will be wearing tablecloths together.”

That fact that doesn’t seem to assuage Kihal in the least.

“This is a disaster,” she wails as Shirayuki approaches, waving her hand to encompass both their gowns. “They’re practically see-through!”

Shirayuki blinks, and-- yes. At a glance, she knows that Kihal’s dress is blue beneath her robe, and Kiki’s is purple. She stares down at her own, and through the cheap plastic, the hazy pink splotches of the roses dotting her dress give the vague impression of period stains.

“Oh,” she murmurs, dropping the fabric. “Oh.”

“We’ve agreed, as whole, to aggressively ignore it,” Kiki says rationally, though by the round of her shoulders and the tense line of her jaw, it still rankles. “I’m going to warn the Junior Student Council that they need to ask for blue robes for all genders.”

“Or black,” Kihal suggests, “ditch the whole school pride thing altogether.”

Kiki nods. “Classic. I like it.” Her gaze hooks on to Shirayuki. “You’re doing a speech today, aren’t you?”

Butterflies races sickeningly in Shirayuki’s stomach. “Um, yeah.”

“Feeling prepared?”

Not at all. “As much as I can be,” she settles on. It earns her one of Kiki’s rare smiles, which at least gets the micro-fauna in her gut doing a more pleasant set of maneuvers.

“Good.” She reaches out, giving Shirayuki’s shoulder a solid squeeze. “I’m excited to hear it. Obi said it was, and I quote, ‘killer.’“

“Oh.” She knows they’re friends, of course; she met him through Kiki and Zen, and she hangs out with both of them on the regular, it’s just--

They talk about her. He talks about her, in a way that is, well, boyfriend-like. And she’s never...

Shirayuki has never been someone people talk about. At least, not without some rumor to go along with it.

“Um.” Her eyes sting, even as her mouth curves into a smile. “Cool.”

Kiki’s gaze flicks over her shoulder. “I better go check on Zen. It looks as if he might have some sort of apoplexy if he doesn’t get more help than Obi getting everyone into line.”

Shirayuki’s head whips over her shoulder, gaze fixing to where Zen stands in the gym, cheeks so red he might as well have been slapped. Right beside him is Obi, mouth hooking into his customary smirk, and something that’s been knotted in her breast since this morning loosens.

“That boy needs to get laid,” Kihal decides with a snort. “Or pick up yoga, or meditation, or something.”

A guilt heat sweeps over Shirayuki, head to toe. “W-what?”

“Wisteria.” Kihal jerks her head at him. “He’s going to pass out if he keeps walking around like a pot with its lid on, you know?”

“O-oh,” she says, now more mortified. “R-right.”

“Obviously not Obi. You’re already--” her eyes narrow-- “aren’t you already doing something about that?”

“Um!” Shirayuki casts about for anything that will keep her from having this conversation. “Looks like...we better go line up. I’m with the Ls so...I’ll see you after the ceremony!”

“What?” Kihal squawks, hands fisting on her hips as Shirayuki hurries away. “This conversation is not over!”

Tragically, Kihal is correct.

“I can’t believe you haven’t blow him.” Shirayuki glares down at where Kihal rests her elbows on the back of her chair, staring down the opposite row to where the ‘N’ section sits. “Like not even a little?”

The rehearsal was hardly three days ago, but somehow Shirayuki had forgotten the crucial fact that the ‘T’ section sat just behind the ‘L’ one after they file in.

“I don’t think this is really the time to be talking about this,” she hisses, glancing at the girl next to her, buried in her phone. To her other side is the aisle, thankfully, though when Mitsuhide throws her a small wave she can’t help but think if he was here, on this side, his staid presence might discourage this particular conversation.

“Just look at him.” Kihal gestures with the flat of her hand, right to where Obi sits, grinning, in front of Zen. “His dick is probably gorgeous. Like if I had to say who had the best dick out of everyone we know, I’d say--”

“Kihal.”

“--Probably Mitsuhide,” she admits, “but Obi would be a close second.”

Shirayuki sighs, and, well, maybe if she indulges this line of questioning, it will be over sooner. “We just...haven’t gotten there yet.”

Kihal gives her a dubious look. “It’s been what? Three months? And you expect me to believe he hasn’t mentioned it at all?”

She blinks. “No, actually.”

It hadn’t seemed odd to her-- after all, the only person thus far in her life that had mentioned her getting on her knees was Raj, and that had gone...not well, for either of them-- but now that Kihal has mentioned it...

Obi is nineteen, twenty in a month, and from every movie she’s ever avoided watching on the subject, he should be, well, more actively campaigning for an end to her dickphobia. Or at least, mentioning how he’d like her to be touching him, often and well.

“Maybe he doesn’t like it,” she suggests, at a loss. After all, she knows there’s, um, a reciprocal position, and as nice as it sounds when he suggests it, it doesn’t excite her in a, ah, intellectual sense. It’s not anything she cares about doing any time soon.

“Fake news,” Kihal grunts, “all boys like having their penises touched. If you asked him what he’d like to do to celebrate--” Shirayuki grimaces at the suggestive nudge-- “tonight, he’d say, hands down, that he wants you to blow him.”

Her menagerie of intestinal insects takes flight at the thought. “I don’t know...”

“Scientific fact,” Kihal insists, “given the choice, a dude will always want to be blown.”

“Well--” Obi meets her gaze, giving her a wink that is somehow both saucy and supportive-- “good thing there’s going to be no time for any of that tonight.”

Kihal’s gaze darts between the two of them, her mouth curling slyly. “Oh, I’m sure you’ll both find a way.”

If there’s one thing to be said for Kihal’s dogged determination on the subject of Obi’s penis and what Shirayuki should be doing with it, it’s that while she’s worrying about just how glacially slow she’s moving in her single serious relationship of her lifetime (and whether the local access cameras are near enough to pick up this entire conversation), she had absolutely no time to worry about her speech.

Which is why she nearly faceplants into the aisle when Zen announces, “Shirayuki Leon,” from the podium.

With a recovery that is as removed from smooth as she is from cool, Shirayuki shuffles up to the stage, trying not to stumble on the kitten heels Nanna insisted she wear. Distantly, she’s aware that there had to have been more lead up, that by Zen’s cheerful smile and the interested applause of the crowd, he must have said something complimentary enough to get her into heaven. But she can’t find it in herself to worry about that; instead she thanks him woodenly as he steps back, taking his seat on the stage as the Student Council President, and lets the cold breath of fear wash over her.

“Hi,” she begins eloquently, eyes scanning over the crowd. Goodness, this is a lot of people. “I’m Shirayuki, and I’m new.”

To her surprise, the crowd chuckles, fond smiles spreading across a few faces, and--

She can do this. She really can.

“I think I said that a million times my first week here.” It’s not anywhere near an exaggeration; she’d been searching for friends, anyone to make a senior year transfer seem like less of a punishment, and she’d been what she liked to term aggressively friendly. “I’d thought nothing could be worse than having to leave my old school right when I was going to graduate. How could I replace eleven years of friendship in less than nine months? How could I even become part of this school, when even your colors are weird?”

They laugh at that too, and it’s strange-- she’d thought she’d feel naked saying these things in front of a crowd, in front of classmates who had whispered behind her back, or even asked her bald questions in the hall about blowing Raj Shenezard. But it’s all so far away now, another lifetime, one that existed before Honor Society, before Mathletes, before--

Well, before Drama Club, certainly.

“But I didn’t feel that way long.” Zen and Kiki are on the stage behind her, but Mitsuhide and Kihal are were she left them in the crowd, smiling as she meets their eyes. “I made friends, good friends. The kind of friendships that last beyond homework. The kind of relationships--” her knees quiver under the podium as she glances at Obi, as she says the words she wrestled over last night, trying to make perfect-- “that last beyond a play, beyond high school, into whatever comes after. Together.”

He holds her gaze, and oh, she is-- she is not going to make it through this if she keeps looking at him>.

“I’m changed because I came here. We’re all changed because we came here,” she says, lifting her gaze to the crowd. “My Nanna likes to say that we’re not stone, but clay, constantly being shaped by what’s around us. Being here has shaped us, but it’s also shown me that we can shape ourselves if we choose to. When we leave here we’ll change again, and again, and for some of us, we’ll lose this shape entirely and becomes something new. And for others, we’ll carry pieces of what we became here our whole lives.”

With a single, steeling breath, she continues, “A few months ago, I couldn’t imagine fitting in here. And now I can’t imagine ever having been anywhere else. So as much as this speech is a celebration of all we’ve achieved together, it’s also a thank you.” She smiles, letting her gaze scan over the whole of her class, realizing she knows a name for every face. “Thank you for my senior year.”

“I cried,” Kihal informs her, fanning herself with a program as they wait for their families to find them on the field. “So I hope you’re happy about that.”

Shirayuki frowns. “That wasn’t really the point--”

“Hey!” Zen holds out his arms, wrapping her in a hug that’s only slightly stilted. “Great speech!”

“Thanks,” she says, gripping his arms as she steps back. “I was nervous. I don’t really know how much that would, um, resonate for people.”

“It’s a small school,” Kiki drawls, cutting between them to wrap her arms around her. A thrill shoots up her spine, all the way from her toes. “And you’re one of us now.”

“Oh.” Her eyes sting, like she worried they might on the podium, but this-- this-- “Thank you.”

It’s fine.

“You did an amazing job, Shirayuki!” Mitsuhide tells her, bounding up with a grin and a hug strong enough to break a moose’s back. “The best speech today!”

“Thanks,” Zen deadpans.

“Oh, I--” he grimaces, rubbing at the back of his head-- “I forgot you gave one. But It was good too!”

“Don’t hurt yourself,” Zen laughs, shaking his head. “You’re right, Shirayuki’s was much better than mine.”

“I thought that, um...” If only she could remember any bit of the ceremony that wasn’t her speech or Kihal’s opinion on oral sex, this would be a much easier compliment. “It was very good!”

“Doesn’t hold a candle to yours, though.” Obi’s arm slings around her shoulder, drawing her tight against his side. “Though maybe I’m biased.”

Zen grins at that. “You are kissing the competition.”

Obi waggles his eyebrows. “You’re always welcome to come over here and bias me yourself, Chief.”

He flushes, bright pink against the platinum of his hair, and coughs, “I’m-- I’m good.”

“Do have to say, kid,” Obi continues, dropping his chin to tangle the amber of his gaze with hers, “there was a part in the middle there I don’t remember practicing.”

“Mm.” It’s good he didn’t look at her like this when she was talking; she’d never have gotten a word out around the tangle of her tongue. “I found out I had more to say about all the, um, future stuff.”

“Future stuff?” he asks, breathless.

It would be inappropriate to kiss him here, at least the way his eyes are promising. Her grandparents are talking to Kihal’s parents just a few feet away, and all their friends are watching them, and a peck might be in order but--

But his chest rumbles under her hands as he leans in, half a purr, and as much as she knows this is more fit for a dark corner instead of right next to the bleachers, she pushes up on her toes--

“Hey, Obi, are you coming tonight?”

He steps away, hazy-eyed. Her lips still tingle with thwarted anticipation. “Hm?”

Zen darts a glance between the two of them. “My graduation party. I know you have, uh, a competing engagement.”

“Oh right.” He nods, tucking her into his side. “Yeah, I’m gonna come for about an hour, and then ditch out for Shirayuki’s. As long as that’s okay with you, Kid?”

She blinks. “Yeah, of course. I’m sorry I can’t make it, Zen, but--”

“Don’t worry,” he waves her off. “I know how it is. I might try to pop by after Kiki’s dad opens the liquor cabinet though.”

Kiki grimaces. “Me too.”

“Glad that’s settled.” Obi presses a kiss to her forehead. “I’ll stuff myself on canapes for an hour, and then I’ll come just in time to eat Grandad’s cooking.”

Shirayuki feigns a pout of disapproval. “Well, now I know where your real priorities lie.”

Kiki barks out a laugh. “You can’t be surprised that it’s his stomach.”

Obi grins at that, but his eyes grow serious. “Aw, c’mon kid,” he says, softer, pressing another kiss between her eyebrows. “You know you’re what matters to me.”

She wraps an arm around his waist, enjoying the way his breath skips as she squeezes him. “I know.”

In all her anxiety-watching of graduation movies, not one of them had managed to show a graduation party, opting instead for moonlit moments on picnic blankets beneath the floodlights of the school’s football field. Thus, Shirayuki is thoroughly unprepared for how chaotic it is.

“Shirayuki!” Nanna calls out, waving at her from across the room, “do you remember Mrs Kino?”

She doesn’t have many relatives; her mom was an only child, and her whole paternal side is shrouded in a mystery she’s only even half-interested in solving, but the party is filled to the brim with her grandparents’ friends and business associates from the pub, as well as a handful of old teachers Nanna managed to track down as a surprise. Her own friends have been filtering in and out all night: the Mathletes started here and left after the first round of chafing dishes were finished, leaving to go to another party across town; at least a handful of drama club members here since before even she managed to arrive, ever-changing, though always clustered around the refreshment tables; Kihal has been aggressively greeting everyone that walked in the door as if it were her own party, making sure that Shirayuki gives everyone at least a cursory hello and an outline of her post-graduation plans. Even Ryuu puts in an appearance around dinner, looking as if he’d like to melt into the floor as his mother gushes about what an excellent influence Shirayuki has been, how she’ll be sorely missed next year.

Still, she hasn’t seen Obi.

“He’ll be here,” Kihal promises as they take a breather in the den, scarfing down a entire plate of chicken marsala with an intensity that makes Shirayuki concerned about her future gastric health. “You know he will. And if he doesn’t I’ll kill him.”

There’s a half dozen thing she could say to that, but she settles for, “Thanks.”

“Do you mind checking to see if there’s anymore chicken?” Kihal holds out her plate with wide, pleading eyes. “It’s so good. And I know you want to see if the desserts have come out.”

More like Kihal wants to know if the desserts are out. “Can you not make it there yourself?”

“Nope.” Kihal lounges against the couch’s arm. “I’m like a California condor. I’ve eaten so much I won’t be able to fly for another hour.”

She lifts a brow. “And you still want more?”

Kihal scoffs. “Your grandpa made it. Of course.”

Technically, the staff of the pub made it, and it’s just Grandad’s recipe but-- Shirayuki takes her point and her plate. For a minute, she contemplates cutting through the party, which fills up the living room and spills out onto the back deck, but then elects for the longer, quieter route around the stairs.

“Hey, kid, there you are.” Obi’s smile lights up the kitchen, plates in both his hands stacked high with appetizers. “I’ve been looking all over for you.”

“Me too,” she admits, breathless, frozen in the doorway. He’s still in his dress shirt and slacks, sleeves rolled up to the elbow, and haah, she has never been more tempted to tell him that if they’re quiet, no one will know they’ve snuck up to her room.

Obi grimaces. “Sorry about that. I meant to only go for an hour, and then Zen wanted to play a quick pick up game, and it turned to two, and then I got here and...” He shrugs, shaking his head.

“It’s packed,” she agrees, “but I should have known to check the kitchen.”

His lips tick up into a grin, and he turns, leaning his hip against the counter in a way that only heightens the length of his limbs, that reminds her how good they feel around her--

“You did great, by the way,” he says, suddenly earnest. “If I didn’t say already.”

“You did.” She flinches at how awkward and hostile the words sound, but there’s no easy way to say, Kihal has reminded me you have a dick, and even though it abjectly terrifies me, I really want to make out. “I mean, thank you. Again. I’m glad you liked it.”

His mouth quirks at the corner. “Not a dry eye in the place.”

Shirayuki almost says, that wasn’t the point, but what falls out of her mouth is, “Not even yours?”

Obi lights up. “Definitely not.” His cheeks flush as he continues, “I got you a graduation gift.”

It’s on the counter just behind him, conspicuously placed away from the food: a small bag with crumpled up tissue paper, done so artlessly that she knows it couldn’t have been gift wrapped in-store, that he had done it himself. He had picked out that tiny bag, had crushed that paper in his huge hands-- his face distressed, like he’s afraid he’s doing it wrong, like he might break it just by trying-- and there’s something about it that is so sweet, so heartbreaking that she-- she--

Gosh, she really wants to kiss him.

“Me too,” she says, setting her plates down. Kihal may be waiting on the chicken marsala, but she’ll understand the delay. Probably all too well. “I left it upstairs. Should we--?“

“Oh, yeah!” Obi recoils with a grimace. “I mean, yes. Mine’s probably better given in private anyway.”

She blinks, wondering what he could give her that he wouldn’t want other people to see--

I was thinking of one of those little egg ones, the kind that just sit here–

“Obi!” she gasps, scandalized. “You didn’t...”

“What?” He catches her wary glance at the present, and his eyes pulse wide. “No! I mean, I didn’t--”

“Obi!” Nanna bustles in behind her. “You’ve finally made it! I was getting worried I’d miss you.”

With an ease that clearly comes from sixty years of practicing shamelessness, her grandmother closes the space she hasn’t managed to, enfolding Obi in a hug so tight he squeaks. It would warm her heart, normally, but all Shirayuki can think of is that bag, not two feet from them, that may or may not contain a gift that will definitely see her grounded until she’s thirty.

Shirayuki could live with that though-- after all, no one is more eager to not repeat history than her-- but-- but--

The very thought of Nanna standing here, in this room, sharing air with something at least vaguely phallic shaped that Obi would have every intention of putting inside her for the purpose of like, sex stuff and orgasms is just-- wrong. Super wrong. She tastes bile at the back of her throat just contemplating it.

“Have you had the meatballs yet?” Nanna asks, pulling away with a smile. “Colin put them on the menu for you especially.”

Pink flares high on Obi’s impossible cheeks. “Oh! I--” he blinks, gaze fixing over her shoulder-- “Lata?”

“Obi!” Shirayuki presses to the jamb to let him pass, and there’s something about the wildness of his eyes and the mussed mass of his hair that reminds her that the professor is a narrow man, but a tall one, looming over even Obi as he stumbles into the kitchen. “There you are. This place is a zoo.”

“It’s a party,” Nanna offers, wry.

He stares at her, uncomprehending. “Did I not just say that?”

“Lata.” Obi’s voice is strained, every line of his face etched with worry. “Is something wrong?”

Professor Forenzo doesn’t answer, not with words, but instead he reaches into his coat, thrusting out his hand, and--

And he’s holding an envelope. A large envelope. A golden lantern glitters under the kitchen light. “This came for you.”

Obi only stares, gaping, hands dead at his side.

“Oh!” Nanna gasps, eyes wide. “Oh, why don’t you-- you should--” her eyes meet Shirayuki’s around the professor’s shoulder-- “I’ll make your excuses, honey.”

She blinks. “But...”

Obi still hasn’t moved, and neither has Forenzo. Even from where she stands, she sees the professor’s hand shakes.

“Right.” She sets down her plates, taking the envelope from his hands as she slips her fingers through Obi’s limp ones. “We should go open this, don’t you think?”

Obi swallows thickly. “Yeah. Yes. Open it.”

She tugs on him, yanking him a single staggering step. “Come on, I know just the place.”

“Okay.” He stares at the envelope in her hand, following her woodenly. “Okay.”

Shirayuki glances at the plates on the counter. “Nanna, could you do a favor for me?”

She eyes Obi worriedly. “Anything you need.”

“Do you think you could bring a plate of chicken marsala to Kihal?” She grimaces sheepishly. “That was sort of why I came it here.”

Nanna's mouth twitches at the corner. “Sure thing. Have fun, you two.”

“Right,” Obi murmurs, every line of him tense. “Fun.”

The bleachers haven’t been broken down.

Somehow that’s the detail she hangs onto as they pull up to the field in Obi’s sedan, dew staining the satin of her flats. They’d been here only hours earlier, the afternoon sun burning bright and endless, but now fog hangs heavy over the grass with only the floodlights to break through it.

It’s strange how it only strikes her as she lays out a blanket with shaking hands, dew wetting her fingertips, that it’s all done now. Her whole life has been focused on graduating, on going to college, on not letting history repeat itself, and now it’s over, the work of a single afternoon. The moment she’s bent her whole life towards has passed.

Now she needs a new one.

“All right,” she says, settling onto her knees, feet crossed under her. “Is it time?”

Obi’s wide-eyed in the glow of the floodlights, mouth slack, his hands clenched around the edge of the envelope like he’s drowning and it’s the only thing holding him afloat. “Is it?”

“Obi.” She folds her hand over his, feeling how he shakes right down to his bones. “Whatever happens, we’ll be okay.” She gives him a confident smile she only half feels. “There’s skype, remember?”

He nods, absent. “Right. Right. I know. It’s just...”

Shirayuki knows what it’s just. She’d had plenty of time to think of every single worst-case scenario on the way over in triplicate, and now she’s just-- she’s just--

She’s tired of being afraid that something good will happen. “What’s the worst thing that could be in there? They won’t accept you? We’ve already been planning for that.” Her thumb rubs over the bone of his, soothing. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“I know, I know. I just...” He sniffs, rubbing his face on his shoulder. “Sometimes hope is worse, you know?”

She doesn’t, not really, but she knows that deep down inside, he’s still that little boy hoping his mom would fight for him, hoping that he’ll get passed to someone that will finally love him. She may not get it, but she understands.

“Okay, this is-- it’s getting dumb.” he laughs wetly, turning the envelope in his hand. “Let’s do this.”

Despite the bravado, his fingers shake as he opens it, muttering curses to himself when the flap won’t come off with one clean pull. Every time he tries to do another tear, the paper feathers out of his grip, until the edge is thousand little finicky rips that flutter off to the blanket. Shirayuki bites back a giggle as he tips the whole thing over, trying to use the weight of the packet to break through the last of it, sitting up on his knees and just shaking--

A thousand flyers flutter out, covering the blanket between them, the grass beside them, everything. Student Dining she sees on one, Greek letters on a dozen more, financial aid-- but still the bulk stays stuck inside, its squared-off corners stuck where the envelope didn’t fully tear.

“You know,” he grunts, tearing the edges off wholesale, “they don’t show you this shit in movies.”

A laugh bursts out of her, scattering the glossy papers she’d already straightened. “I think that’s because most people know how to open mail.”

“I know how to open mail,” he protests, shaking harder, “this is just unnaturally--”

The packet slips out in a slump, hitting the blanket with a weighty thwap, like the calves they show being birthed in biology class, only without all the, uh, extra gunk, or cows, or anything being actually birthed at all. They both stare at it, wide-eyed, neither of them making a move, not for the large, spiral-bound book or the crisp letter on top of it.

When Obi does, it’s for that, picking it up between his fingers as if it’s made of tissue, like all he has to do is breathe and it’ll break. Her eyes fall to the thick manual beneath it, squinting to make out the words Prospective Student Guide. Just like hers. “Obi...”

“I did it,” he chokes out. “I got in. I got in.”

In the glow of the floodlights she sees the shine on his face, and she knows, right then, that whatever her new moment is, she doesn’t want it unless its with him.

She fists his shirt in her hand, dragging him down until she can press her lips to his, until she can taste the salt under his lips and the hitch of his breath.

“I knew you could do it,” she murmurs as she pulls away, sitting back on her heels. “I’m so proud of you.”

His breath rasps out of his throat, eyes wide and gold like dollar coins, and-- and maybe this is too fast, too much. Maybe she’s too much like her mom, thinking that her high school boyfriend is forever when he’s really just right now, just what’s easy, and she--

She stops thinking when his mouth covers hers.

He whimpers into her mouth, hands digging through her hair like he can’t get close enough, like nothing less than consuming her whole will be. Her hands fly to his wrists, holding him where he is, leaning into his touch, and oh, maybe she is like her mom, falling too hard and too fast, but Obi’s right there to catch her.

With a groan, he pulls back, resting his forehead against hers. “Well, I gotta say...this sort of fucks up the gift I got you.”

“What do you--?”

He springs for the bag, set at the edge of the blanket, and thrusts it at her. “Go ahead.”

Her brows furrow as she rifles through the tissue, plucking out wads of crumpled paper. There’s two layers at least, packed tight, and even if she hadn’t heard the broad strokes of his life before he came to Clarines, she’d be worried about just what sort of childhood he had if he can’t pack a gift bag.

She unearths a blister pack, pulling it out with a twist of her fingers. There’s a headset nestled inside, blue and white, clip-on instead of buds, with the packaging boasting microphone included!

“Oh,” she breathes, running her fingers over the bubble. The bulge of the mic is innocuous, a small thing, and it’s so easy to see the way it would have slipped subtly it under a hoodie, or how she could have just slung it around her neck as she moved from class to class, never bothered by the weight. She’d believed him when he said he was serious about her, that nothing about his feelings were casual, but still, still--

He wanted to fit into her life, as unobtrusively as he could. Hours away, he wanted her to know that he was there for her, only a quick phone call away.

“I didn’t want to get the earbuds since you always say they hurt your ears.” His grin goes wide, wicked. “You know, because you’re tiny.”

“I’m not tiny,” she says, wrinkling her nose, “my ears are tiny.”

“Sure, kid.” He coughs, mouth twitching, “it’s your ears.”

“It is!” she insists, swatting at his arm. “Anyway, thank you. These are wonderful.”

Obi shrugs, just a twitch of his shoulders, cheek flushing the pales pink. “You won’t really be needing them now, I guess.”

“I guess not.” She sets them aside, right next to his student guide, and-- and it’s all so much. Too much. “It was thoughtful, though. And I’m sure I’ll use them anyway, even if it’s not for, you know, three hour long skype calls.”

“Yeah, keep ‘em.” His grin pulls even wider. “I’ll just have to make sure to get you that other gift too, to make up for it.”

She surges forward with a yelp, clapping a hand over his mouth. “Stop.”

His lips shiver beneath her palm, and despite the burn on her cheeks, she can’t stop smiling either, can’t stop thinking about this is it, he is it. “Just sayin’...”

“Yes, yes, I think you’ve said plenty, thank you,” she laughs, dropping her hand. She’s so close to him now, half on his lap, her hand pressed to where his chest still shakes with laughter, and-- “We should celebrate.”

“Oh, are you going to take me out?” His arm cinches around her, yanking her close, and she gives out a shriek, hands bracing on his shoulders. “Going to drive me out to Olive Garden and treat me right?”

“I mean...if you want,” she blurts out, wishing that she was better at conveying...stuff. Sexy stuff. “I just meant that we could, um, celebrate here, too. Now.”

“Oh.” His eyes pulse wide. “Oh. You mean...here. Just the two of us. Like...” He swallows hard. “What were you, ah, thinking?”

“I thought I might, ah--” this should be easier than it is, especially when she can feel him twitch against her thigh, excited-- “leave that up to you?”

His eyes go impossibly wider. “You mean...anything?”

“Yeah.” It’s what’s fair; she asked him to touch her, to make her come, and he should-- he should also get the choice. It’s his achievement, not hers.

Scientific fact. The words still ring in her ears, reminding her what a terrible idea this is. Given the choice, a dude will always want to be blown.

He ducks his head, fixing his gaze on hers. “Are you sure, kid?”

Shirayuki braces herself. It’s fine. She can do anything for him, even if it involves penises. “Yes. Anything.”

“Okay,” he breathes, “okay.”

That’s all the warning she has before she spills back, air huffing out of her as she hits a particularly hard clump of earth. Obi’s there in a second, wrapping her legs around him, and oh, she’d thought maybe this would be a-- a blowjob, but-- but Obi has had sex before, after all, even told her he missed it--

So it’s a real surprise when he just kisses her, open-mouthed and wanting, and doesn’t do anything.

Not that she’s complaining. He’s got one hand snug against her scalp and the other keeping her hips firmly against his in a way that is...very exciting, especially when she can feel, um, him grind into her, right where she’s starting to ache. It’s just--

“You just want to make out?” she asks, incredulous, as he slips the strap of her dress down and cups the breast he bares. “That’s it?”

He pulls back, blinking. “Is there a problem with that?”

It’s hard to locate one when he rolls her nipple like that, right between two long fingers before his mouth closes over it wholesale. But still, still-- “I thought you’d want to-- to--” she takes a gasping breath as his hand snakes up her thigh-- “do something, um, new.”

“I do,” he rumbles, mouth grinning against her breast. “I just can’t really, ah, go for it.”

“Why not?” She squirms, lifting her hips as he hooks a finger into her panties and pulls. “I said any-- ohhh--thing.”

His fingers slip against her in just the way she likes, and oh, it’s getting really hard to protest any of this. His mouth is back on her neck, kissing down to her sternum, and her arguments turn mushy and indistinct as she tries to voice them, slurring into groans and sighs as he touches her, tracing her clit and teasing her folds.

“I know,” he murmurs against her skin as she arches into a particularly good thrust. “And I appreciate it, but...it’ll feel weird if you aren’t ready.”

That gets her thinking, as much as she can in this state, but all high function stop the minute he purrs, “Good thing you are now.”

His mouth leaves her skin, the hand in her hair skipping straight down to ruck up her skirt, and still she has no idea what he could possibly mean until he puts his mouth right on her clit.

“Oh!” she yelps, hips bucking so hard she nearly knocks his chin. “Woah!”

He blinks up at her, concerned. “Is this okay?”

Oh, it’s...it’s really hard to think when she can feel every puff of breath out of his mouth like a caress, deliciously warm against her. “Yes. I mean, yes, but I thought you would want, ah, something for you?”

“For me?” His pupils blow wide as he looks down at her, bare and wet beneath him, leaving only a thinnest ring of gold. “Kid, you don’t know how much I’ve thought about this.”

“O-oh?” The worst part about him being down there, touching her, is that she knows he can feel her get wetter, get hotter. “Just...recently? Or...?”

He laughs, tongue tracing along her slit in a way that makes her sure she’s about to come right there, if only he’d keep going. “Always.”

“Always?” she breathes, curious.

She can’t really see his cheeks, but his neck definitely flushes. “You were just always perching on things with, you know, skirts on and being cute. I’m only human.”

(”--and I think we may have to move this flat,” she hums, tucking a leg beneath her, pulling her skirt back down over her knee. “Raj keeps running into it when he exits through the door, and-- Obi, are you listening?”

“Huh?” he slurs, gaze jerking up. “Were you saying something?”

She rolls her eyes. “Yes. The flats.”)

“Oh,” she pants, “oh.”

Her fingers curl through his hair, and with a single shuddering breath, she urges him down. His laugh huffs against her, so warm, and then he’s on her again, only this time better, more.

What he’s doing is just-- beyond her. His fingers thrust between her legs, so good and yet not nearly enough, hitting the rhythm she knows will bring her to the edge, but it’s his mouth that has her full attention. She’d imagined this before, sure, but she’d always though it would be his tongue where his fingers were, poking in and out, and she just assumed that would feel...good? Goofy, but probably nice, if people were always talking about doing it.

It had certainly appealed when Obi mentioned it, I could put my mouth on you, though she’d often wonder why afterward. Something that would make sense in the moment, she assumed, but not when someone was thinking with their actual brain, after.

She could not have been more wrong.

His mouth latches onto her clit, the jolt of pleasure almost too much, too intense when he give it one, strong suck. The noise she makes isn’t anything sexy, half a yelp and half a grunt, but he readjusts, tongue flicking over the tiny bud instead and-- oh, that’s...that’s much better.

Maybe a little bit too much. She wants this to last, to enjoy the feeling of him down there, between her legs, stubble tickling her thighs and mouth so warm against her, but-- she can feel it building already, too quickly, his fingers moving with his tongue in just the right way, sending her right to the edge--

She comes with a strangled cry, head tilted back toward the stars, and for a long moment she’s one with the sky above her, weightless, before she plummets back down to earth.

“Oh,” she gasps, blinking away tears, “wow.”

Obi flops beside her, mouth stretches in a grin, and pants, “Good celebration.”

She stares at him. “Is that it?”

He jolts up onto his elbow, serious. “Di you not--?”

“N-no! I did. I definitely did. It’s just...” She braces herself, determined. “It’s your celebration! You should come.”

His mouth rounds into a surprised O as he stares at her. He shakes himself a moment later, laughing, “No, no, trust me, Kid. I’m fine.”

“Obi.” She rolls up onto her elbow, fixing him with her most stubborn look. “I’m not going to make you drive back with a hard on, and then sit through more of my graduation party.”

She presses her thigh against it, just to underscore her point, and he groans, eyes fluttering shut. It should be so hot, but, ohh, it is.

“See?” she murmurs thickly. “The celebration isn’t over.”

His breath pants out of him, harsh. “Kid...”

“I-I could...”

“Kid,” he laughs, “don’t put yourself out. I can handle it. I mean, if you don’t, uh...”

“Yes!" She winces at the relief in her voice. “I mean...yes. You should-- do it now. I just won’t look.”

“Right,” he laughs as she turns over, putting her back to him. “I wouldn’t want you to feel oppressed by my massive--”

“If I’m going to see it one day, you probably don’t want to give me unrealistic expectations,” she snips waspishly, folding her hands to make a pillow.

“Oh.” The word bursts out of him, like he’s been punched. “Yeah. I mean...right.”

She can hear each tooth of his fly as he unzips, so slow she squirms in anticipation even though she’s not doing a thing, just laying here for, uh, moral support. It’s strange to think it’s right there, that if she turned over she’d see his-- his--

Well, a lot more of Obi than she’s seen before. More than she’s prepared to see, no matter how much she’s thought about it.

He gasps when he takes himself in hand, and even though she knows the mechanics of this, of boys doing that, she’s surprised at how quiet it is, how it sounds less like comical wet slapping and more like... skin on skin. It’s soft, rhythmic, lacking the weird, almost violent jerking in the five seconds of every old teen comedy she’s seen before she covered her eyes. And the sounds Obi makes...

Ah, those are...nice. Really nice.

Her thighs clench at each soft sigh, at the way his breath hitches with every stroke. Obi always said that just watching her come did it for him, and she believed him, she had, but-- now she knows how true it is. She only came minutes ago, but the sounds of him alone is making her wet, slicking the inside of her thighs and reminding her how he’d sounded in the car, months ago--

--ah, yes, like that, god – fuck, Shirayuki, I–

He moans, long and pained, and she-- she’s curious. Enough to get her into trouble, Grandad says, and sometimes out again. So she can’t help it, she-- she peeks.

Not at his-- down there, of course, but just at his face, at the safe parts. Or at least, it would have been safe, if his head wasn’t thrown back like that, if his eyes weren’t wrenched shut, mouth slack--

Yes, god, the way you sound – god, fuck, that’s so good, please –

Shirayuki rolls back, fitting tight against his side, stomach thrilling as she feels the pace of his arm rubbing against her, as she watches the way his whimpers eke out of his mouth, unbidden. He must feel it, feel the difference, because he stops, a whine wringing from his throat as his eyes slit open to look at her, so dark--

“Don’t stop,” she tells him, breathless. “Keep going.”

His eyes widen, seeking hers, and as he starts moving again, breath rasping out of his chest, all Shirayuki can see is gold. It’s too much, too much, and she leans in, covering her lips with his.

Obi gasps into her mouth, whimpering as her tongue licks against his teeth. He arches into her, hand wrapping around her neck and dragging her closer, fingers tangling roughly in her hair until he cups the back of her skull, holding her to him.

“God,” he murmurs against her lips, pulling back with each press to suck down a drowning man’s breath. “Fuck.”

His elbow works against her stomach, and she’s too curious still, letting her hand trail down his arm to feel the corded muscle there, standing out in stark relief as he strains to meet his pleasure. Her fingers trail down further, further, following those lines to his wrist, to where she can already feel the heat from his--

He whines, writhing beside her, hips bucking into her thigh, and she realizes: he’s coming.

Shirayuki jumps back from him with a pop, eyes searching his face, but it’s too late, it’s over, his head dropping back onto the grass with a laugh. In the burn of the floodlights, his face is flushed, dewy.

“You don’t, um, have a tissue or something in that bag of yours, do you?” he asks shyly, looking like he’d appreciate if the field experienced a sudden, localized sinkhole.

“Oh!” She pops up, grasping blindly for where she dropped her purse. “Yes! Here. I, um, also have hand sanitizer.”

Obi lets out a weak laugh as he takes the packet from her. “It’s not that much of a--” he hisses-- “mess, god damn.”

She dares a glance over her shoulder, mouth dry as she watches his back work. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, just-- sensitive.” He casts a shy glance over his shoulder, before letting it skitter away. “It was just...really good.”

“Oh.” That is really not helping with her whole...situation. Especially now that she can see where her panties are, an arm’s length away on the grass, and she’s reminded that there’s nothing beneath her dress, that she could easily lay back and-- “Oh.”

“Yeah.” His zipper is loud in the silence, enough that she feels her own blush bloom on her cheeks. He lets out a sigh, scrubbing a hand down his face. “You know, I think it’s good you have your dickphobia, kid.”

That’s...definitely not what she’d though he’d say after all...this. “Oh?”

“Yeah.” He lays down next to her, hands raising up to grasp her by the shoulders and guide her down beside him, ear pressed firmly to his chest. His heart is beating loud, strong, and triple time. “If that’s what it’s like with you just being here, I don’t know if...” He coughs, squirming. “I’m not sure I’m ready to have sex either. With you.”

She shrinks. Of course, of course. “Oh...”

“No, no! That’s not--” he pulls back to look at her, so serious-- “I want to. I want to so bad. But, I just mean...”

He lets out a sigh, head hitting the ground with a thunk. “I’ve never done any of this with, you know, feelings too. It’s just been...stuff. That I did. To feel good. But now...”

He bites his lip, and it’s terrible how it only makes her want to kiss it, to take it into her mouth and sooth away the sting. “Like, my dick wants to have sex, all the way, all the time. Everything about you does it for me, and I just...” He lets out a frustrated groan. “I think that my...my heart...”

He presses a hand there, brows furrowed, like he’s not used to thinking about it. “Never mind.”

“No, I...” She lays a hand over his, squeezing it. “I get it.”

“It’s just that...” He takes a breath, clears his throat, and looks at her with eyes as warm as honey. “You’re not casual for me, Shirayuki.”

She can feel the smile on her face, almost too big to contain, and she leans down, pressing a kiss to his lips. “Good,” she breathes, curling fingers into his hair. “You’re not casual for me either.”

#obiyuki #akagami no shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair #lemon #my fic #rarely pure and never simple #as promised #THE GRADUATION #this was actually supposed to be the bulk of the last chapter #but things got out of hand on both ends and now HERE WE ARE #fyi the first draft that included both chapter 5 and this was about 3.5K #and now together they are over 13K #JUST SO YOU ALL KNOW #HOW STUPID LONG THESE THINGS BECOME IN THEIR FINAL DRAFT #I'd actually hoped to get this out the last week of december and then do ch 7 for kiss-a-thon #but OBVIOUSLY that was not meant to be #AH MEMORIES

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seb-owns-these-tatas · 5 years

Text

Positive (Sebastian Stan x You)

Characters: Sebastian x You

Summary: Y/N is married to Sebastian and have been trying to conceive a baby. You’ve been trying the best you can until you were left asking yourself that maybe you were the problem. Until one day, your prayers have been answered.

Warnings: Sweetness, too much sweetness that you’ll have cavities. 😍

Words: 2,028

A/N: ANOTHER UPDATE! AYEAYAYAYA! I was tempted to write something NSFW in this. But, then I decided to make it wholesome and sweet instead. I might have wrong grammars, tater tots because english isn’t my mother tongue. I hope y'all will understand if ever you read grammar errors or such.

***

“I think I’m the problem, Seb.”

“No.” Sebastian breathed through the phone. The line going quiet, hearing only his breathing. He was in the middle of shooting another movie, and having his break time.

You, on the other hand have been thinking a lot at home. Negative thoughts couldn’t be stopped once you were left alone in your home. Grasping in the lost feeling that something was missing in the household, and the answer to that was children. You needed to conceive children.

Sebastian and Y/N have been married for five years now. Seeing everyone around them having babies wasn’t helping her, it was just making her feel sad and worried that maybe..just maybe it was all because of her. Especially with Sebastian who have been more understanding and thrilled for her to have his babies by now.

“What if it’s me, Y/N?” His voice began to turn quieter. Breath slow and shaky through the phone. “What if i’m the problem? We’ve been trying for years now, you’ve even had your check-up and the doctors said you were healthy.. I think i’m the one who needs to be checked,”

You felt your heart tighten with the need to comfort your worried husband. There was nothing wrong with him, you know there wasn’t. Maybe it wasn’t just your time, maybe you both should give it another try. “Baby, no. No. I know it’s not you,” You comforted, biting your lip apprehensively. Sebastian gave a faded hum, if your attention wasn’t on the phone, you wouldn’t have heard him. “Let’s try..again. Remember the short quote that people have been saying?”

“Never say die?”

“Never give up?”

You both gave a breathy laugh through the phone, they were two different words but held one thought and shared one feeling. Faith. Hope.

So, you tried and tried till your strong hopes could falter. There was a tiny dot of hope left in you, to the both of you…

Huffs of breath came out of your mouths, shaky, tired breaths. Sebastian’s sweaty, warm forehead on yours as he was laying on top of you. Eyes closed and his arms on either side, you tenderly reached his face, cupping his sharp, scruffy jaw with a hand and tenderly caressing him with the thumb of your hand. No words can be spoken after a toiled night full of love. Just feeling in each other’s arms was enough. He was enough.

“Don’t give up on me,” He breathily sighed against your lips, eyes now opened and fully filled with desperation and love. Sebastian was in the midst of accepting the fact that maybe you both weren’t destined to have a baby. He have been thinking that maybe you were enough. You were, and having you would make him happy and contented with the rest of his life, even if it means that you both won’t be having little clones running around the house.

“I love you,” He whispered before giving you an eskimo kiss. Eyes shut and just appreciating the shared moment. Your lips turned into a smile, giving a soft nod in agreement. “And I,” You tenderly kissed his pointy nose before continuing, your heart beating loudly against your chest, a wave of overwhelming love surrounding you both, “–love you more than anything in this world, Sebastian. I would never give up on you just because we couldn’t..couldn’t conceive a baby,”

“We could always adopt a child, or if you don’t want to–” You were cut-off when Sebastian suddenly piped in, “Why didn’t I ever thought of that?” He spoke more to himself, “But, I do. I’m totally in for it. If this one last try won’t make us have a baby, then we’ll need to,”

Your hands slowly travelled towards his soft, dark locks. Gently dragging your fingers in his hair, making Sebastian’s heart swell in affection, completely loving the need to touch him. “Let’s talk about this when the time comes, but as of now. I just wanna say that..You’re enough for me, you’re completely enough for me.”

“And you are for me too, Y/N.”

Then the days went on for the married couple. You were both having a normal day, just casually spending the rest of the afternoon in each others arms. Considering that this day should be spent peacefully and without any interruptions, both phones turned off so nobody can disturb them. Y/N and Sebastian have been arguing about what to eat. Sebastian wanted nothing more than a box of pizza and Y/N wanted something different…something she couldn’t decipher.

“You want me to cook??” Sebastian uttered oh so surprised, pointing to himself as he eyed you skeptically. He placed his hand on his cleft chin, slowly caressing his scruffy jaw in habit, lost in his circle of thoughts. “But, I don’t even know how to cook?”

You narrowed your eyes on him, huffing out your cheeks in frustration. “Don’t act like I never read facts about you in google,” With both of your hands on your hips, you kept your head up high. “I’ve read that you know how to cook spaghetti bolognese! Don’t lie to me, Stan!”

Was it the hormones that was making you act what you were saying today? you only wanted nothing more than to eat food made by his pretty, sculpted, manly hands. Staring at Sebastian’s hands have been a habit of yours weeks ago. You couldn’t help but keep on holding it when you got the chance, even when you sleep..

“W-What? We could just order something–”

“But, I want my food made by you!”

Sebastian stared straight at you, his baby blues looking defeated, raising the white flag in the back of his mind. That’s what his sweetheart wanted, then that’s what she gets. “Alright, alright. I’ll..I’ll try my best. Just don’t blame me when you’ll end up vomiting in the middle of the night,”

You clapped enthusiastically, and cheered. “Yay! Now, get to work. I’m damn starving,”

Sebastian gave you a hearty smile, nervously chuckling. “Yes, Ma-am!” Before he turned his back around on you and began getting the ingredients out of the fridge.

Y/N kept admiring her husband, she kept her eyes on him the whole time. Sebastian knew he was being watched, he was worried she’ll be starting to bore holes in him. Sebastian couldn’t help but notice how she intensely stared at his hands that was chopping onions in front of her. He observed how her eyes kept her attention on his hands the whole week, how she held it all the time, how she was fond of it even at night and it was beginning to grow weird.

“Y/N? Is there something wrong with my hands?” Sebastian nonchalantly talked, chopping white onions in front of him. Every slice of the knife hitting the cutting board made the kitchen echo.

You sat more comfortably on the stool, placing your elbows on the table and a hand on your chin, giving Sebastian a look that was so pure and innocent. “I..” There was a pause, “I…don’t know, it’s just so pretty and…pretty…so..pretty..” you answered like you were lost in this world.

Small voices have been yelling at the back of Y/N’s mind. She was having a hunch as to why she was acting so weird. It was probably a hunch that could break your hopes down again, yet it wouldn’t hurt less if she would give it another shot. Pain never ceases to be felt in this world we were in. Pain is what gives people a lesson. It gives drama and color in our life.

“I gotta pee,” Y/N announced, hopping off her seat, and quickly sprinting towards the bathroom in the first floor.

You breathed in and out, deeply waiting for the stick to show it’s result. Y/N’s clammy hands couldn’t help but tremble in anticipation. She could feel it inside of her, she knew it wasn’t just her imagination. Will they finally be gifted with a baby? Any gender will do for the both of you, since you weren’t that picky anymore..

It had already been 15 minutes, her husband couldn’t help but start to worry. Sebastian gently knocked on the bathroom door three times, “Honey, you okay in there?”

He began to hear silent sobs, and from the moment he did, the man didn’t hesitate to turn the knob and see her crying her eyes out in front of the mirror, desperately holding the pregnancy test on her chest. “S-Sebastian,” She croaked, voice breaking and sounding vulnerable. “F-Finally…finally,”

Sebastian took her in his arms, tightly hugging Y/N to cease her cries, though that triggered her to shed more tears especially that she was now in his arms. “What happened?” He whispered in worry and held her head against his firm chest. “Finally what?”

Y/N was the first to untangle herself from his arms, eyes full of bliss, gazing up at him to meet his confused, gorgeous blue eyes. “Our prayers have been answered,” She couldn’t help but feel another set of tears that was tempted to fall down. “We finally have the gift we were waiting for, the most precious gift in the whole wide world that not any friend could give,”

“Uhm,” He hummed, still completely baffled as he reached up to brush his short hair back. You placed a hand on his clean shaven jaw, turning his head to look at your sparkling ones, giving him a smile that he wouldn’t forget once you show him your present.

The pregnancy stick was now in front of him, right before his eyes, in between your fingers. His eyes blown wide in surprise, taking few gulps because his throat turned dry, he couldn’t believe it. “Y-You’re…you’re..”

Y/N nodded repeatedly, tears started falling out of her eyes in joy and not in pain, this was the moment they were all been waiting for. She could finally say it out loud, “I’m pregnant, Sebastian! I’m finally pregnant!”

He grabbed onto you, pulling you in his comforting arms. You heard him sniffle, never thinking he would cry at first until warm tears pool on your shirt, your husband was crying..

“I’ve waited so long for this day, Y/N..” His voice shook, grabbing on to you more and keeping his arms locked around you.

Y/N couldn’t help but share more set of tears, caressing her husband’s broad back and keeping her face in his chest, “and I thought I wouldn’t get to say those words in my whole life, Honey..”

The best day had just came. They both waited patiently for their time to come, believing that if it’s destined to happen, then it would. Not probably now, but in the near future, they believed and waited, never forgetting to put effort with the destiny they wanted to have.

“I’m going to be the best father that our child can ever wish for,” He blissfully whispered in your ear, closing his eyes and just enjoying the moment..

A certain moment that crushed your hopes at first, but eventually happened because she was finally pregnant and happy with Sebastian.

Y/N was finally pregnant and that’s all what matters.

***

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