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jerzwriter · 1 year

Text

Paging Dr. Carrick

Book: Open Heart (Book 3 Timeline)

Pairing: Tobias Carrick x F!MC (Casey MacTavish)

Rating: Explicit, 18+ Only

Category: Smut

Summary: Tobias selects the theme for their next roleplay adventure. While Casey appears to disapprove at first, he takes full advantage when he realizes she was only teasing. But when they’re interrupted, Casey makes plans for a night to remember.

Words: 3,500 (It’s a lot, but it’s sort of 2 smuts in one, lol)

A/N: Let’s put up some disclaimers. This is a happy, loving, committed couple who are crazy about each other and like to get their freak on – a lot. Fulfilling fantasies is just one of their love languages. So, this is all play for them. It’s not degrading; it’s not harassing. It is exactly what they both want – very much.

@choices-november2022 Day 28 – “You like that?”

Tobias was quick on Casey’s heels as she breezed down the stairs and into the kitchen. She was doing her best to conceal her amusement at his increasing exasperation. Opening a container of carrot sticks, she offered one to him before biting into another herself.

“I don’t understand why you’re upset,” he said. “You know the rules; if either of us isn’t down for something, we don’t do it…period. So if you don’t want to, I’m not going to be….”

“It’s not that I don’t want to,” she interrupted. “It’s just….”

“Just?”

She put the carrots away and leaned against the refrigerator with a sigh. “Why do you get to be the doctor, and I have to be the nurse?”

“Is that what this is about?” he grinned, his hands wrapping around her waist the moment he realized she wasn’t angry.

Casey was doing her best to maintain the upper hand, but it was becoming increasingly difficult as he pushed the soft fabric of her t-shirt aside, his thumbs tracing circles on her hips. His body pressed tightly against her as his lips brushed ticklish kisses up and down her neck. He could win this battle easily, and he knew it. But Casey’s stubbornness rivaled his own. Fighting her every instinct, she slipped out of his arms.

“Yes, that’s what this is about. And don’t you dare say because I’m the girl!”

“I mean … it’s not totally the reason, but….”

Tobias bit his lip to stop himself from laughing as Casey’s eyes widened. Until now, he was playing a game; it was all an act. But looking at her now, he knew the scales had tipped, and before she considered sleeping on the couch for the first time ever, he needed to reel it in.

“Not totally?” she steamed.

“I’m just being honest. I mean, I wouldn’t look as good in that little costume. But if you want me to wear it… I’m not judging!”

“You!” She laughed, pushing him back against the refrigerator. “You’re such a jerk you had me….” her voice trailed as his woodsy scent overtook her. Leaning into his warmth, she felt intoxicated. One hand caressed the muscles on his back as the other rubbed the back of his neck. Words failed her, and Tobias watched with glee as she faltered. Grasping her ass, he pulled her tight against him, close enough for her to feel just how much he wanted her rubbing against her thigh.

“You were saying?” he smirked.

He knew he had taken back control, and Casey no longer cared.

“You would look a little silly in that short skirt,” she agreed.

“Really? I don’t know,” he teased. Her legs began to tremble as his tongue dragged down her neck at a deliciously slow pace. He relished the sound of her soft, broken moan that almost took him off his game. Almost. But he quickly recovered. “I think I have the legs to pull it off. But the push-up bra….”

“Yeah,” Casey giggled as his hands slipped under her t-shirt, his thumbs tracing her nipples over her bra, “I think I have you beaten there.”

“Oh, I know you do.”

Their lips crashed together, and moments after, he lifted her onto the kitchen island, gently nudging her legs apart.

“Tobias,” she hissed, yielding herself to him.

Her eyes clenched shut as his teeth tugged on her earlobe. His erection rubbed rhythmically against her, even over their clothes, eliciting a pleasure that made her want to scream. Taking her shorts off and taking him in were the only two things she had on her mind. Tobias must have sensed it because, with one quick tug, her shorts were discarded on the floor, and she was halfway to where she wanted desperately to be. He was just inches away from being inside her when his phone rang from across the room.

“Noooooooooo!” Casey groaned as a trail of curses fell from his lips.

“I’m on call,” he grumbled, his anguished face collapsing against her chest.

“I know,” Casey reluctantly admitted. “Go. Answer it!”

With much hesitation, he crossed the room and answered. The sight of his Casey… legs parted, hair tousled, watching him with desperation had him considering tossing the phone and beginning a new career.

“… yeah, no worries. I’ll be there in fifteen.”

“Fifteen…” Casey wailed. “Fifteen doesn’t give us time to….”

“It gives us time for nothing, sweetheart. I’m so sorry, but I have to head in.”

“Ugh,” she tossed her head back before turning to him with a soft grin. “Well, at least I’m stocked up on batteries. What are you going to do?”

“I,” he whispered, pulling her into a soft kiss, “am going to be counting the hours until I get back home to you.”

“It will feel like forever,” she complained.

��It sure will, but think of how phenomenal it will be.”

She pushed him away with a playful shove to his shoulder. “You better get out of here before I take you hostage.”

“Hey! You get to pick our next role-play. That’ll work.”

“Just get out of here,” she laughed.

Several hours later:

Tobias walked into the team’s office with his eyes glued on a patient’s chart; he barely noticed Ethan sitting at his desk.

“That was a good call on Riley,” Ethan stated, startling his friend.

“Yes, it was,” Tobias self-congratulated, “but I’m sure you would have made the same. I don’t know why you called me in.”

Ethan's brows raised as he looked at Tobias for any sign of sarcasm, but it didn’t come.

“Perhaps I’ll call someone else next time, like your better half,” Ethan smirked. “After all, her diagnostic success rate is towering over yours right now. I thought I was giving you an opportunity to even game.”

Tobias glared in Ethan’s direction. “You think you’re hurting me?” He chuckled. “Last time I checked, she was kicking your ass too. If you think my girlfriend annihilating both of us hurts my ego, you’re wrong. I think it’s hot as hell!”

“Do you need to bring your sex life into everything,” Ethan cringed.

“Hey, that’s on you for calling me in. Speaking of which, since I did what was required of me, can I get out of here? I’m kind of anxious to get back home.”

“Sorry,” Ethan said, looking at his watch. “New hospital rules say you have to stay for a minimum of four hours, just another hour to go.”

“Such bullshit…” Tobias muttered.

“Just lay low and get some paperwork done,” Ethan advised. “It’ll be over before you know it.”

“Not a bad idea….”

Tobias had just settled at the table when he heard his name being paged.

“Dr. Carrick, please report to the 4th-floor nurses’ station. Dr. Carrick, 4th-floor station.”

Rubbing his temples in frustration, he grumbled. “I can’t catch a break today.”

“That’s right by your office. Just bring your things with you and finish there.”

“You know, I think I will. I’ll catch you tomorrow Ramsey, don’t call me again.”

“Please, then, if I don’t call, you miss me.”

“In your dreams, Ramsey,” Tobias cackled as he disappeared down the hall. “In your dreams!”

Tobias approached the nurse's station, looking fairly exhausted. Sabrina, the new night nurse, smiled sympathetically as he approached.

“Dr. Carrick, you received this message,” she said, handing him a slip.

Dr. Caruthers needs to consult STAT. Call him on 3402 when you get to your office.”

“So much for finishing my shift in peace,” he mumbled. “Thanks for getting this to me.”

He headed to his office, attempting to stay focused despite the visions of Casey in his mind. He always missed her, but today the need to return to her was almost primal. Lost in his borderline impure thoughts, he was taken aback when he saw a figure sitting at his conference table.

Quiet, almost motionless, she hovered over a pile of notebooks, but no one could read in this darkness. Shock, then annoyance bordering on fury, registered within him. Who had the audacity to…. He flipped the lights on and growled.

“Excuse me, what the hell are you doing in my private….” his words stopped with a gasp, then his face lit up in delightful anticipation.

Casey managed to mask a smug grin as a low chuckle rumbled in his chest. Nothing made her feel more alive than rendering her man silent. And as the bewilderment on his face morphed into pure desire, she knew she had hit a home run.

“Oh, Dr. Carrick,” she stammered nervously. “I’m so sorry. I told Dr. Caruthers I’d review the notes he left for you before your meeting… I didn’t think you’d mind if….”

Tobias drank in every inch of her. A few blonde curls spilled out from the nurse's cap, pinned neatly atop her head, cascading down her face, past her cherry-stained lips. Pouting ever so slightly, she worried she may have disappointed the doctor. Catching on quickly, Tobias played along.

“You know better than to be in my office without me present. I’m sure Dr. Caruthers would not be pleased to hear about this.”

“No! Please, Dr. Carrick, please,” she pleaded as she approached him almost desperately. “Please don’t tell Dr. Caruthers. I just wanted to do something extra, you know? To impress him, but…” she stalled, gingerly reaching out to straighten the lapels on his lab coat. “But even more to impress you.”

She was so close to him. He could feel her breath against his skin, as her brow furrowed with worry. He reached out and caressed her brow with his hand, an unreadable half-smile forming on his lips.

“Give me one good reason I shouldn’t call your boss and tell him about your indiscretion right now?”

“I’ve already been written up once, Dr. Carrick. Which is why I was trying so hard to do something, you know… special.”

“So you’ve been in trouble before, then?” he accused, as she nodded with her eyes facing the floor.

“If you’ve already on thin ice, you should be following the rules. Don’t you think?”

“Yes, but I….”

“Uh, uh, uh. It’s a yes or no answer. Now…” he fell back into his chair, eyes lustfully lingering over her body. The white patent pumps and long, curvaceous legs that didn’t seem to stop. A respectable but fitted white dress that only made him long to know what she had on underneath. His mind was running wild. Leaning back, he slowly removed his tie.

“Dr. Carrick, please don’t tell I was here. I could be fired….”

“And whose fault would that be?” he snapped.

“Mine, but…” she breathed as she approached him, gently touching his cheek before she knelt before him. “I don’t think you’d like me to be gone. Would you, Dr. Carrick?”

Her blue crystal blue eyes locked on his with such desperation he almost forgot this was playtime. God, how he wanted her.

“Surely, there must be some way we could work this out, isn’t there?”

“That depends. What are you willing to do, Nurse MacTavish?”

Biting her lower lip, she smiled seductively.

“Anything you wish, doctor.”

Tobias stared at her, bewitched and filled with longing.

“Stand up,” he ordered, pleased with how quickly she complied.

“Take off your dress. My mind has been thinking of nothing but what you have on underneath since I walked into this room. Show me.”

A devilish grin spread on Casey’s face, and she answered with a graveled voice.

“As you wish, doctor.”

Tobias licked his lips as she slowly unzipped the front of her dress, exposing herself inch, by precious inch. Pushing one shoulder to the side, then the other, she shimmied out of the snow-white garment until it fluttered around her feet.

Tobias let out an audible gasp as he took in the angelic vision. White stockings held up by a satin garter and a matching shelf bra that just barely covered her swollen pink nipples that spilled over its top. He instinctively stroked himself over his pants, his need becoming desperate.

“I hope this is to your liking,” she purred.

“No panties?” he said, not an ounce of emotion in his voice.

“Are you disappointed?”

“Not at all,” he grinned. “Saves me the trouble of ripping them off of you. Turn around, Casey. May I call you Casey?”

“Of course,” she beamed, slowly turning for him. “And I should call you?”

“Doctor is fine,” he said, bending a finger to beckon her near. “Except for...”

“Except for what?” she asked, standing just inches in front of him.

She felt his hand skim the inside of her thigh, unapologetically trailing higher until a finger delved inside her, dripping wet in anticipation. Her head fell back with a gasp, and he smiled.

“Look at you, Casey. You’ve wanted this, haven’t you?”

“D-do you mind?” she whimpered as he playfully fondled.

“Do you mind, who?”

“Do you mind, doctor?”

A sardonic chuckle escaped him, “Not at all. Keep calling me doctor, Casey. But when I make you come, I want you to say my name. Do you understand?”

“Of course,” she breathed, rewarded at once when he plunged another finger inside her.

“Your such a good girl, Casey. I’m sure there is no need for us to take this issue outside of this office. We can work it out between us.”

“I’m so glad,” she shuddered, eyes widening as fingers suddenly retreated from her. He placed them in his mouth and let out a languid moan as he slowly dragged them from his lips.

“So good, princess,” he hissed. “Now, open your legs for me. Because I want more.”

She barely had time to obey before he was on his knees, face buried between her legs.

“My God,” she gasped as his mouth latched on to her. Dizzy with desire, he groaned against her, and the vibrations left her struggling to keep her footing. Unsympathetic, Tobias’s tongue lashed her, sucking and nibbling like a man starved as her thighs trembled around him.

“You like that, darling?” He asked, scraping the stubble on his chin against her swollen clit, and taking delight in the sweet little cries she let out as he did.

So lost in his rapture, she didn’t know how she ended up on his desk, but there she was, spread wide as his fingers plunged into her soaked depths.

“Tob.. uh, Dr. Carrick,” she whimpered breathlessly.

“Quick save,” he grinned, lowering his mouth to her nipple and tugging it with his teeth while his hand continued its delicious assault.

Casey’s breath quickened, and she covered her mouth with her hand to muzzle the sounds she made.

“That’s not a bad idea,” he chuckled as he worked diligently to make her cry out all the more. “There are people outside that door, and you don’t want to let them know how naughty you are. Do you?”

“I like being naughty for you,” she panted as he felt her beginning to clench around his drenched hand.

“I’ll tell you what, pretty girl. I’ll kiss you as you come. Would that help you?”

Casey nodded as desperately as little grunts escaped her shaking body. She eagerly accepted his lips, instantly letting out a muffled scream she knew he would happily absorb. Her body almost jerked off his desk with one last flick of his hand. Wrapping his arm protectively to hold her, he hissed in her ear.

“What are you supposed to say, baby?”

“To-to- Tobias…..” she gasped as a cord snapped within her, leaving her boneless underneath him.

“Look what you’ve done to me,” she whispered in his ear.

“Any complaints?” He laughed.

“Not a one.”

“Good,” he smirked as he stood to unbuckle his pants. Despite her blissful state, Casey quickly jumped to her feet to help him out of his clothes, falling submissively to her knees when he was finally bare. His hand was on her cheek, thumb gently caressing her before he dragged it over her lower lip.

“Don’t you look beautiful on your knees, ready to take me in?”

Casey grabbed the base of his cock, and looked up at him, eyes wild with anticipation. “May I?”

“I’m all yours,” he gasped as her tongue swirled over his head.

His eyes shut tight. “Dear God, Casey,” he growled. Grasping her long hair between his fingers as he waited patiently, allowing her to play with him, stroking, licking, teasing… until he had enough.

“Take me in, all of it,” he ordered through gritted teeth.

Her mouth opened wide at once, pushing forward to take him until the tip of his cock was at the back of her throat. She gagged but quickly recovered, humming with delight as her mouth thrust against him, harder and faster with each stroke. She smiled, reveling in her power over him as he nearly stumbled to the floor as ecstasy overtook him. Her tongue swirled around his shaft as she continued to take him in, his sweet, salty taste leaving her, leaving her pulsating with need. As if he could sense it, he grunted out between breaths.

“What do you want, Casey? Tell me what you want.”

Her lips tightened around him, and she pulled off with a smack.

“I want you inside me,” she hissed, sitting back on his desk. “And not my mouth.”

“I can arrange that,” he smiled, nudging her thigh to the side with his knee. “You are so fucking sexy. You know that, right?” He smiled, breaking from character just a bit.

Casey giggled, letting go of her persona a little too. “Would you just fuck me already, Dr. Carrick?”

“With fucking pleasure,” he growled as he slammed into her, filling her with just one thrust.

They both released sharp gasps, no longer worried they’d be overheard.

“Oh, my fucking god,” he cried into her ear. “You feel so incredible.”

“You approve,” she teased, wrapping her legs around his waist and lifting her hips to allow him in deeper. He took full advantage, plunging into her with a furious pace. She made him lose every bit of control.

Whimpering beneath his delightful assault, Casey gasped for air.

“Tobias, I can’t… I can’t breathe….”

“Don’t call me Tobias until you’re coming, princess,” he panted as her fingernails dug into his glistening body.

His hands were on her hips, pulling her flush against him as he pounded deeper with each thrust. He wanted to do this for hours. Hell, he wished he could do this for days, but as her supple walls tightened around him, he knew he was close.

“You almost there?” he asked, lowering his mouth to take in a nipple.

“Fuck, yes!” she cursed, arching into him.

“Then say my fucking name,” he growled as he doubled his already frantic pace.

Casey's eyes shut tight as a languid moan escaped her, slowly at first, then bursting into a crescendo as her body trembled. She dug her nails into his back, arms, hips… anyplace she could grasp as a million small eruptions broke free inside her.

“Tobias…………..” she yelled, as white light flashed all around.

“That’s it. Say my name,” he hissed, “say my name, gorgeous,” it only took a few more thrusts, then it was her name on his lips, repeated like a mantra, before his own release ripped through him, erupting deep inside the angel in his arms.

“Holy… holy shit…” he gasped as he desperately gulped for air. “Holy. Shit!!!”

“That good?” she giggled beneath him, delicately training her fingers down his sensitive skin, leaving him shuddering on top of her.

“Good doesn’t describe it,” he grinned, rolling off of her and pulling her close to his side. He planted a kiss atop her disheveled hair, chuckling when he saw the nurse’s cap, hanging on desperately with just one bobby pin.

“What about you, Nurse MacTavish,” he smirked, “did Dr. Carrick take care of you to your satisfaction?”

“Oh, Dr. Carrick will be getting a five-star review from me,” she smiled. Placing her chin on his chest, she looked at him sheepishly. “I’m pretty sure someone had to hear us.”

“The only one on the floor right now is Sabrina,” he replied. “I don’t think she’d rat us out.”

“Oh, Sabrina!” Casey exclaimed, “she likes me. I help her study all the time. She wouldn’t rat me out.”

“The shit we have to go through so no one turns us in for our sexcapades,” he laughed as Casey playfully hit his shoulder.

“Hey, I’m just nice. I would have helped her anyway.”

“You’re more than nice,” he said, bringing his lips to hers. “You’re amazing. And I’m just so glad you’re mine. No matter who you’re pretending to be.”

Casey reached up to kiss him, catching a glimpse at the clock on the wall.

“Hey, your shift is over. Should we get dressed and go home?”

“Yeah,” he smiled, “after all, I promised to take care of you when I got home.”

“Think you’ll be up for a round two,” she winked as she began to dress.

“With you… I’ll be ready for three and four.”

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Tobias Only: @icecoffee90 @kyra75

#tobias carrick #tobias carrick x mc #open heart chocies #choices fanfic #open heart fanfic #18 and up only #tobias xcasey

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leogichidaa · 1 year

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I am a very firm believer that Regulus hated James specifically because James befriends Sirius and this is what leads to Sirius running away from home, and that the Black family would want their heir back (Sirius’s room still had old books and such [so not just the things that Sirius used a sticking charm on], and it’s implied it’s Mundungus that messed up Sirius’s room, so Sirius’s family still left his room exactly the way it was; plus, Kreacher claims Sirius broke his mother’s heart, so assuming he was being even partway honest, Sirius leaving hurt his family), so Regulus seducing James specifically to murder James and then using that grief to bring Sirius back would be super interesting. Not to mention, how does everyone else view this whole thing? Do the other Blacks know what Regulus is doing, in that this is all to either bring Sirius back or prevent Sirius from leaving (depending on if Sirius has left Grimmauld or if it’s just Regulus seeing the signs and trying to prevent it)? Do the other Slytherins know about the relationship, and if so, do they also know what Regulus is doing? Because if they know of the relationship but not the goal, then it looks like there’s two blood-traitor Blacks and I can’t see them treating Rebulus very well as a result (although that would be a cool twist, Regukus tells some of his closer Housemates about his plan, but he needs them to publicly ostracize him and be cruel to him when outside Slytherin, because if it looks like Regulus is on the outs with his House, then James and Sirius are that much more likely to accept Regulus). There’s so many interesting aspects to this whole thing; I’ve never read Jegulus before, but now I kind of want to write this too

Well. I've spent all day turning this idea around in my head and I have a loose idea of how I would write it. My thought is to have him trying to bring Sirius back after Sirius runs away, because doing it before is just too tight a timeline. Regulus would have to seduce and murder James by the time he was 14 to keep Sirius from running away. Maybe he starts plotting to destroy James before Sirius leaves, but gets more serious about it after Sirius runs away.

I don't think Regulus would loop his family into it. I feel like it would be this secret mission of his that he knows his parents would be horrified by, but the results are going to make him a hero to the family. So he keeps them in the dark as much as possible about there being a relationship with James until after Sirius agrees to come back to the family (and possibly after, if he can). If he fails to get Sirius back, he just tries to pretend none of it ever happened. Or he snaps and angrily tells Sirius, "I killed James Potter".

Oo, that's a good thought that it would feel more real if he's ostracized by his housemates. I think he would have to keep it a secret from his housemates to keep it secret from his parents, though, because if his housemates know, someone is going to tell his parents. And that makes it riskier if he fails. Regulus also doesn't seem to like bringing other people in on his plans either. I don't know if he would trust people not to spoil it.

That's just how I would do it, though, there's so many interesting directions you could take this concept. If you do end up writing this idea, I'd love to read it!

#ask #anon ask #Regulus Black #Sirius Black #James Potter #toxic jegulus

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lillian--reed · 1 year

Text

knowledge | drabble

tl;dr: lillian learns of the alternate timeline. putitng under a read more because it was quite a bit longer than originally anticipated.

She was floating. There was nothing binding her to anything, just darkness and a faint point of light somewhere in the distance. Something told her that she needed to move towards there, that it was where she was meant to go, and so she slowly went there, floating along, peaceful.

Lillian...

Yes, that had been her name. The one she'd been born with, many years ago, that was hers and no one else's. She had heard it often, growing up, usually annoyed as her mother called for her for some reason or another, tearing her away from books-

...Lillian Reed, Mistress of Pandora's...

-and laughing as she rearranged the shop, yet again, because some little thing wasn't exactly where she thought it would be best. He laughed often, at some of her antics, and it was fun to still be able to surprise him after spending so long with souls so close. Yes, she remembered her shop too, remembered all the time she spent in there, all the energy she devoted to it, the pride it gave her to rise above what many expected of her. She was always proud, or so she considered herself, unable to admit she was wrong, unable to admit she needed help-

I summon thee!

She was no longer floating. She no longer saw that light, nor felt entirely weightless. She was looking at him, her demon, and she felt more and more of her memories returning. For the briefest of moments she felt a flash of pain and then it was gone, fleeting, and the memory of her death reappeared.

She was not alive.

She had not wanted to come back.

She opened her mouth but he interrupted her, sheepish in a way she hadn't seen him since they were young. "I... Sorry. I knew you probably didn't want to come back, because I know you and that you wouldn't think anyone would want to say goodbye, but..."

She observed him, head tilted, and when he trailed off she understood. "But the other groups failed."

"Well- Yes."

She waited.

"And I... didn't want to die alone. And who else to go out with but my favorite person?"

She could see it now, clearly in front of her. His fear. He had likely never thought he needed to contemplate the idea of mortality until fairly recently, and now she got to see the effect it'd had on him, with bags under his eyes and his hair sticking up in every direction and the abruptness to his movements.

Lillian nodded, looking around the first time, seeing nothing but darkness. "Where are we?"

"Pandora's. I thought you'd be most comfortable here."

Except it felt empty without her years of spells floating around, but she wasn't going to tell him that. Not when he'd ultimately tried to make his last selfish desire accommodate her as well. Besides, she was fairly certain they would not be around much longer; he'd likely waited as long as he could to summon her.

That suspicion was answered soon after, when he pulled out his cell phone and started fiddling with it. "I was, uh, thinking," and then music, something she recognized from some ball they'd been at and had needed to pretend they didn't know each other during, "a last dance?"

The smile she gave him was soft and fond and sad, but she agreed anyway, and the demon and former-witch danced until they were taken by the end.

And she woke up.

She was in her bed, above Pandora's. The alarm clock showed some early morning time, one she barely paid attention to as she hyperventilated, overcome by thirty-five years of memories flooding into her, as a timeline she'd only heard of existing became a reality in her mind. Tears next, and she sobbed even after she felt Rhys rub against her. She grabbed at him, ignoring his startled little meow, burying her face into his fur until she calmed down.

She did not go back to sleep that night.

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butgilinsky · 4 years

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you don’t understand, poppet // dm

warning; language i think?

summary; being severus snape’s daughter makes your time at hogwarts just slightly difficult

word count; 5.8k+

draco x snape!reader, dad!snape x daughter!reader

this doesn’t follow the harry potter timeline!

you don’t remember how exactly you ended up here, sneaking out of draco malfoy’s room at a despicably late hour, trying to flatten your hair while making sure that your sweater was put on the right way.

it was one thing to sneak in and out of draco malfoy’s room every once in a while, but this had been the third time this week, and it didn’t help that it was starting to get harder to sneak out so often.

the two of you had been sneaking around for longer than you could recall at this point. you hadn’t kept track, too busy tripping over yourself when you saw the blond boy smile at you from across the room. despite the two of you being a secret from everybody in the school, it was hard not to pick up on the longing gazes and the giggles that neither of you could hold back when the other was put under a microscope.

you hadn’t always been the best friends with draco malfoy, but you couldn’t deny the fact that the slytherin boy had taken your heart in his hands with little to no effort. if it were completely up to you, with no complications sitting in the forefront of your mind, you would’ve announced to the entirety of the school about you relationship status with draco long ago.

though, that proved to be anything but an option, given that the head of slytherin house was not only a less than tolerant man, but also your father.

it had been nothing less than expected for you to be sorted into slytherin. being severus snape’s only child, and living up to the family name, it was inevitable for you to sport silver and green during your time at hogwarts. you were well versed in potions, given that it had been your father’s area of expertise and you had nothing but an abundance of herbs and liquids lying around the house when you grew up.

most people were never given an opportunity to see severus snape’s fatherly side. the part of him that would read you to sleep, the part of him that had him leaning over the edge of his bed to pull you up after you’d had a nightmare. nobody ever saw the side of him that was reserved entirely for you, behind closed doors and almost never on the hogwarts campus.

they all knew him to be the hard ass professor that took away house points far more than he awarded them. the one that assigned surprise essays when someone pissed him off in class. snape wasn’t seen as the fatherly type, though you and a few of the professors at hogwarts knew that wasn’t necessarily the case.

he was hard on you, there was no doubt about that. he had always been hard on you, ever since you were born. it was no secret to you that your parents were never in love with one another. your father’s heart belonged to someone that didn’t want it, and you had been the product of a way to forget about that.

he didn’t show you any special treatment while you were in class, or if you stepped out of line, but you preferred it to be that way. you hated your first few years at hogwarts, since it had mainly consisted of your housemates blowing you off as the favorite of the house by default. that, along with the few times that you found out kids were spending time to get into your father’s good graces.

you had quickly isolated yourself, sticking your nose up at the kids in your house, and ignored by kids from other houses. it had taken you three years to allow yourself to slip into a steady friend group, guarding yourself from more people than you initially intended.

and now here you were, trying to tip toe down the hall back to your room where you’d have to sneak into your room as quietly as you possibly could. you made the mistake of thinking you had made it safe and sound by the time you reached your door once, but your roommate had run off to your father the next morning and told him that you had been out after hours.

that wasn’t a fun conversation to have at seven in the morning.

you were surprised to see draco on the other side of your door early the next morning, knocking with a grin plastered onto his lips. your disheveled hair and narrowed eyes allowed him to know that you had just pulled yourself out of bed, completely forgetting about the quidditch match that you had promised to attend. slytherin wasn’t playing this morning, so most of your house would be sleeping in as late as possible.

it took you all of ten minutes to get ready, throwing on an old sweat shirt that was very much not yours, though you weren’t sure who the rightful owner was. draco wasn’t going to tell you that it was his, one you had stolen from him a few months back when crabbe had spilled pompion potion down the back of your robes.

you hadn’t even made it out of the hallway before you almost ran into your father, who stood tall and rigid in the middle of the hallway, eyes void of emotion as he looked between you and draco.

“where are you two off to?” you rolled your eyes, stepping around your father and continuing your path out to the front of the building.

“to the quidditch game. care to join us?” you pushed a smile forward, cocking your head to the side as you and your father had a silent argument.

he had been suspicious about your behavior for a few weeks now. he’d caught you out in the halls after hours several times, though you were always quick to whip up a believable lie. that is one thing he wished you hadn’t inherited from him; the ability to be sneaky. you were. good liar, and he was to thank for that.

he shook his head slowly, lingering his gaze on draco for just a moment before you were gripping the boy’s elbow and tugging him in the direction of the pitch.

you sat beside draco during the game, not being able to ignore your father’s burning gaze on you practically the whole time. draco noticed the heavy gaze on the two of you as well, restraining himself from reaching out and showing you any form of physical affection.

the two of you had to do everything in secret. if anybody found out, your father would find out, and that was the last thing either of you wanted.

your father liked draco, sure. he was the stereotypical slytherin student at hogwarts, which was bound to bring the two of them together. he sucked up to the right people at the right time, and wasn’t falling over himself at the sight of harry potter like most of the school usually did.

but it didn’t matter how much your father liked draco. at the end of the day, you had his voice ringing in your ears, reminding you that you were, in his words, “far too young to be making decisions that will dictate the rest of your life’. you always rolled your eyes when he repeated the phrase you’d heard from a very young age, but now it was dictating just how you truly lived your life.

you were close to being caught one afternoon, pinned between draco’s frame and a wall with his lips latched onto your neck. if it wasn’t for your keen hearing and the faintest clicking of shoes, you might have exposed your hidden relationship. but you were able to push draco off of you just in time, running around the opposite corner of the hall and leaving the flustered blond to be found by your father, all alone in the middle of the hall.

then there was the time you were late for class, your tie ever so slightly loosened and crooked. you were panting softly, though it was assumed that was from rushing down the hall to get to class. this is a time when most of the class expected you to receive special treatment, barely receiving the bat of an eye for being late to your own father’s class.

that assumption was wrong.

“late, miss snape?” you felt your breath catch itself in the back of your throat, nerves building up at the tone used to address you.

“sorry, professor, i was-“

“ten points will be deducted from slytherin.” you felt your shoulders sink when the slytherin portion of the room groaned at their entire house being punished from your mistake. “take your seat now.”

you slid into your seat, catching a glimpse of draco’s gaze for just a moment. he smirked, not half bothered by the point deduction since he knew it was because you woke up later than you had intended, having to rush back to your own room to get ready before class. you rolled your eyes, though your lips tugged up into a soft smile that had his heart thumping in his chest.

halfway through the class and you had been completely lost. you were barely following, which had been a surprise to everyone in the class, especially hermione who sat beside you. the two of you weren’t the best of friends, but you found it easier to work together since nobody had been better at potions than the two of you.

so when you poured too much lethe river water into your cauldron, you threw your head into your hands and tugged at your hair.

“struggling?” your father stood at the end of your desk, hands folded behind his back as he quirked up an eyebrow at you.

“no.” you grumbled softly, moving to grab your cauldron so you could pour it out and start again. you were beat to it, the man before you grabbing it in his own hands and pouring the contents onto your desk right in front of you.

you jumped back, trying to avoid ruining your robes with the large amount of liquid, but ultimately failing. your sudden movement and loud gasped had surely caught the attention of everyone in the room.

“papa!” your eyes were wide, filled with shock and a twinge of hurt as you stared up at him in disbelief.

“start again.” he dropped the cauldron onto your desk and spun on the balls of his feet, eyes scanning across the room to test anyone to say something to him about his previous actions.

when everyone turned around and tucked their nose into their own books and recipes, you were left to clean up the mess with a newfound distress weighing in your chest. you had lifted your wand to clean up the mess, hoping to get rid of the liquid spilled across your desk quickly before your father was calling back to you without even sparing you a glance.

“and don’t even think about using magic to clean your mess, miss snape.” your wrist paused, not even having time to conjure the charm before the rest of the class was looking at you, once again.

you had gotten up to leave the class as soon as you were dismissed, ignoring the incessant calling of your name echoing between your ears. you had almost made it the entire way out of the room before you felt your feet glued to the spot, your muscles unable to move, which meant your escape was no longer possible.

the charm that your father used on you lit a fire in your chest. he hadn’t done it in years, choosing to address the problems between the two of you in different ways. the two of you played dirty when it came to fighting with one another, but gluing your feet to the ground beneath you was something that never failed to get underneath your skin.

“y/n.” you sighed when your father stood before you, waiting for the rest of the kids to file out of the room before he allowed you to move from your spot. “what’s going on with you lately?”

“me? what’s going on with you?” his eyes softened, detecting the hurt in your voice and in your question. the two of you had never had this silent feud go on for so long. usually it was a few days at most, but you were teetering the line of a few months now, and you weren’t sure how much more embarrassment you could take.

“you’re keeping something from me.” you groaned, screwing your eyes shut as you racked your brain for another quick response. “and don’t lie.”

“it’s not a big deal, papa. it’s just not something i want to talk to you about.” you hoped it was enough, hoped you could circle around him and slip out the door without more of an interrogation.

you were wrong.

“did i do something?” you felt your shoulders fall at the question, feeling defeat creep into the back of your mind.

“no, you didn’t do anything. i promise.” you took a step towards him, allowing your arms to snake around his abdomen before squeezing gently. “i love you, papa.”

“i love you too, poppet.” his voice was soft, barely reaching your ears.

you were able to slip away then, making it halfway towards your next class before you were being tugged into an empty classroom. you were closed in between a familiar frame and the door, locking you in your place.

“close call, huh?” draco’s hand fell to your cheek, thumb softly stroking the soft skin of your cheek as his lips turned up into a smile.

“really close.” you smiled widely, eyes falling down to his lips just before they pressed against yours.

you had been sitting at dinner when you were being called into your father’s office, having to put your plate aside and excuse yourself from your conversation with draco and crabbe.

the familiar scent of peppermint filled your nose upon entry, a soft excitement bubbling in your chest when your father turned over his shoulder with a knowing look.

“cuppa?” you nodded eagerly, already feeling your tastebuds stand tall as they awaited your favorite tea.

your father always made the best peppermint tea.

you had taken a sip almost immediately after he’d set the cup in front of you, humming in delight while he circled the desk and leaned against it. he crossed his arms over his chest, eyes boring into yours as you sipped your tea.

“are you keeping something from me?” you brought the porcelain cup away from your face and narrowed your eyes.

“yes.” your eyebrows furrowed at your own voice betraying you.

“why were you late to class today?”

“i woke up late.” he narrowed his eyes at you, surprised that was truly the reason. he had expected your secret to come tumbling out by now.

“have you been sneaking around with somebody?”

“yes.”

“who?”

“draco.” you slapped your hand over your mouth, unsure of why you were spilling out these truths until you caught sight of the small bottle that sat beside your father’s kettle. “you put veritaserum into my tea!”

“you’re right, i did. how long have you been sneaking around with malfoy?”

“a few months.” you groaned at your inability to lie to him right now. your lies had been the only thing saving you from your father’s rage for the past few months.

“were you ever planning on telling me?”

“no.”

“why not?”

“i doubt it’ll last.”

“why’s that?”

“because nobody wants to spend the rest of their life with me!”

your father stated at you then, finding himself at a loss for words. you didn’t truly believe that, did you? surely you would’ve told him that. surely you would’ve been able to realize that that isn’t true in the slightest.

“why would you say that?”

“because it’s true.” your voice was soft now, eyes falling to your hands that were folded in your lap.

the heavy feeling in your chest pinned you to your chair. you had never admitted these things out loud, always finding the embarrassment far more intimidating than you were willing to face. it was also common knowledge that your father wasn’t the most emotive person, keeping most of his life experience and thoughts on almost every single subject known to man, to himself.

“poppet-”

“i don’t want to talk about it anymore, papa.” you pushed yourself to stand up from your chair, the lump forming in your throat taking all of your focus in order to swallow it.

“y/n, just talk to me!” you shook your head, moving to wipe away the single tear that dared to roll down your cheek.

“why? so you can tell me that i’m too young? that i don’t understand anything about life because i’ve barely scratched the surface of what life has to offer? i’m tired of hearing that. i’m tired of being told that i don’t know what’s good for me because i’m too young.”

your cheeks were wet with tears now, your voice slightly scratchy from the strain you’ve been putting on it in the last few minutes. snape’s lips parted, his mind racing in order to try to find the words to say to you in order to make all of this better.

“you don’t understand, poppet-”

“to hell with that, papa! i’m set to graduate soon!”

“graduation has nothing to do with your ability to make decisions for yourself!” you froze in your spot, staring at the man who was now seething in front of you.

his breath came out in heavy sighs, his chest rising and falling with the beat of his anger as he watched you sink in front of him. your shoulders fell, your tears cascading down your cheeks as you stood there at a loss for words.

your mind reeled, thinking about every time he had told you something similar. within seconds, your mind was filled with your father’s voice overlapping itself, tumbling out excuse after excuse as he drilled it into your brain. he didn’t trust you to make large decisions. life changing decisions.

“you’re merely a young girl who thinks that she knows what she wants, but you don’t. you don’t know the trials and tribulations life is going to put you through, and if you think that that little twit malfoy is going to stick by your side, then you’re wrong.” your bottom lip wobbled just before you clamped your teeth down around it so it would still.

you looked down at your feet, allowing him to continue his lecture of how you were unfit to choose the life you were going to live. you knew how your life was meant to go, and how it would play out, more than likely.

you would be handed off to a boy that your father saw as fit, no doubt a boy that was physically and mentally capable of caring for and protecting you. you knew that your father wanted you to be safe and respected throughout your life, but that didn’t mean he trusted you to pick who you would share your life with.

it had been a philosophy he’d taken from his youth. he didn’t want you to experience the world that he had to endure, and although you appreciated that, you weren’t him. you weren’t going to follow his footsteps that closely, but he had tuned you out when you tried to assure him of that.

when he stopped, words halting on the tip of his tongue while his eyes were locked onto your defeated and shaky figure, your eyes locked with his once more. you saw the flicker of guilt in them, but you also watched that flicker fleet quickly, replacing itself with the same absent look he often held.

“it’s getting late. you should head off to bed.” you nodded once, turning on the balls of your feet to step back out into the hall, fully intending on bolting straight to your dormitory.

“y/n!” you turned just before making it fully out of the door, turning over your shoulder to lock eyes with your father once more. “don’t even think about stopping by that boy’s dormitory on the way.”

the tears spilling down your cheeks had been far too much for you to wipe away. it would have been useless since there had been a build up in your eyes large enough to refill an entire lake if prompted to.

“well if it isn’t our favorite snape.” you ignored the weasley twins’ comment, walking straight past them without so much as a glance in their direction.

you were able to dodge both of their frames, sliding between the two of them successfully. george had caught sight of your wet cheeks, but had no time to ask about them or point them out to his brother before you had turned the corner and disappeared from their sight.

you thought you had made the cleanest getaway you were capable of, just as you were colliding into another figure, too busy staring at your feet through burred vision to notice the boy walking towards you.

“bloody hell, love, you just about ran me over just now.” you had mumbled out an apology, turning to duck out of his way and move around him before he could see the tear track on your skin, but it had been too late.

he had reached for your cheek out of habit, moving your head back ever so slightly with every intention of greeting you with a kiss in the middle of an empty hallway. he stopped at the damp feeling on his fingertips, and the sight of tears leaking out of your eyes and rolling down your cheeks.

“oh, love. what’s happened?” you shook your head, reaching for his wrist to pull his hand away from you in an attempt to save yourself the embarrassment. “darling, please. who’s at fault for making my pretty girl cry like this?”

“he knows.” you squeaked out, voice weaker than you had originally thought it to be.

draco’s eyes widened ever so slightly, partially out of fear of how snape would eventually confront him about the newfound news, but also because he knew how much you tried to avoid this very scenario. the two of you had been as carefully as you possibly could be, and now you were in front of him, sobbing in the middle of the hallway.

“i reckon it didn’t go well.” you shook your head slowly, not being able to stop the built up of fresh tears in your eyes. “let’s get you to bed.”

his soft voice, along with the way he wrapped his arms around you brought you a sense of needed comfort. he walked you back to your dormitory, threatening both of your roommates in order to get them out as soon as the door opened.

they scurried out, not sure what was happening but surely making a mental note of taking this straight to snape in the early morning. you couldn’t bring yourself to care much, too focused on the sound of your father’s voice still swimming between your ears.

you spent the night in draco’s arms, spilling every detail of the conversation between you and your father. it pained the boy to hear the quiver in your voice as you spoke, having to pause every now and again to choke out a sob in between words. he stayed by your sight for the entire night, arms wrapped around you while he listened patiently.

he didn’t try to talk you down, or assure you that everything would be alright. he knew you hated empty promises, and truth be told, he didn’t know if it would all be okay. all he knew for sure was that he was going to fight for you if faced with the decision.

you had developed bags under your eyes over the past few days, feeling more defeated and exhausted than you did during exams at the end of every year. your shoulders had fallen more often than not, eyes void of the glint they usually held. you only ever smile behind closed doors when draco would pull out all of his tricks to bring the very action out of you.

the last thing you wanted to do today was to stare your boggart in the eye.

you hadn’t been the first to go, which had been slightly uplifting, though the anxiety continued to bubble up in your chest as you waited to stand at the front of the queue. it had been comical when your father tumbled out of a wardrobe while neville stood at the front, shaking at the mere sight of your father.

your classmates, especially those you shared a house with, had expected you to find the sight more amusing. they expected you to laugh or even crack a smile at the sight of your father in high heels and a dress, but you didn’t. you had ben too worked up about what you were about to see. what the whole class was about to see.

“alright, miss snape. wand at the ready.” you nodded slowly, raising your wand in front of you as you anticipated the next few moments.

you casted a glance at draco, who had already had his turn moments ago and stood just off to the side with a reassuring smile. you tried to shake the nerves from your head, but when the creature before you took the shape of your father, seemingly two feet taller than he actually stood, you felt your heart thud harshly in your chest.

he loomed down at you, gaze as cold as it usually was and shoulders squared. his hands were folded behind his back, his tongue clicking against the roof of his mouth as he stared at you with the utmost disappointment in his expression.

“pathetic little poppet.” you felt your breath hitch in your throat, completely forgetting about the full room of students that stood around you, watching the entire thing as it played in real time. “a disgrace to the name i’ve so graciously awarded you.”

your lips parted, the spell sitting on the tip of your tongue, but held back by your lack of focus. you had forgotten about the assignment, forgot that there was a way to end this experience now and forever.

“far too young and weak to make lifelong decisions. you’ve relied on me your entire life, did you think that was going to come to an end anytime soon?” you clamped your lips tightly shut as tears stung your eyes for the first time in several days.

you hadn’t spoken to your father since the conversation in his office. you avoided his gaze in the great hall, and he avoided picking on you in class. the two of you had an unspoken agreement that you would keep your distance from one another, far too tense to try chipping away at the ice for now.

“you’re never going to be able to-”

“riddikulus!” your head whipped around, casting a gaze across the room just in time to catch your father lowering his wand, a mortified expression displayed clearly across his face.

the room was silent, not even professor lupin had something to say on the subject. that is, until he clapped his hands together and told everyone to grab their things and hurry out of the room.

just before draco walked out, your father pressed a firm hand to the boy’s chest and held him in place, telling him to stay put for the time being.

draco had been waiting for the man to call him into his office, or keep him after class one day. he had expected this lecture long ago, and was surprised it had taken this long for the head of slytherin to make that step.

there was an uncomfortable silence that hung in the air, nobody knowing how to break the thick blanket of tension that laid over the three of you. draco didn’t think it was his place to speak first, figuring there was far more to solve between the two of you than the small role he played in it all.

“malfoy, i’m going to say this one time and one time only.” draco nodded, his own nerves bubbling up to the surface at how much of a mess he had made for himself by falling into a relationship with severus snape’s daughter. “one step out of line with her, and i’ll make sure you never forget who you’ve messed with.”

he had expected much more. more interrogation, or threats leading up to an inescapable command to break it off with you right then and there. draco hadn’t expected him to give in so easily, not even expecting an acceptance for years to come.

you hadn’t expected it either, not seeing a future where your father allowed you to choose these things for yourself. you were sure he’d wed you off to a man you had little to no interest in for the rest of your life. never did you imagine him to stand here and give draco his blessing, even if those weren’t the words he used.

“yessir.” draco nodded quickly, scared that if he took too long to accept the sliver of sentiment, that it would be retracted quickly. “i would never hurt her, professor snape.”

“you say that now, boyo, but i assure you-”

“papa, please.” your voice, although soft, carried across the room and brought both of their gazes over to you.

“you’re dismissed, malfoy.” draco sent you a questioning glance, surprised to see you nod within seconds, giving him the silent cue that it was okay to leave you alone with your father.

when the door shut behind the blond, your father was taking steps towards you, eyes casted down at his feet as he searched for what to say to you. he knew he stepped over the line the other night, but he hadn’t been able to bring himself to admit it to you just yet. he was still having trouble accepting it himself.

“papa-”

“just, give me a moment.” you nodded, pressing your lips together in a thin line as you waited for him to find his words. “i shouldn’t have put veritaserum in your tea. i shouldn’t have said all of those despicable things to you the other night, and i should not have told you that you can’t make decisions for yourself.”

you nodded, not knowing how to respond to a thing like this. you knew your father wasn’t one to admit when he was wrong, but there still hadn’t been an apology that you were able to accept or reject in his train of thought.

“it was wrong of me to trick and treat you like that. i shouldn’t have done it, and it won’t happen again.” you nodded again, still keeping your lips pressed together as his eyes drooped with sorrow. “i’m sorry.”

“i just wish you trusted me with my own life.” you were shocked by your own words, seemingly holding the weight of the word in them.

“i do trust you, poppet. i trust you, i just,” he stopped to breath out a heavy sigh through his nose. “i fear that you’ll make the same mistakes i made when i was your age.”

“i wont.” you shook your head carefully, taking the small step that allowed you to wrap your arms around your father’s frame. “i’ll be careful, papa. i promise.”

“i know you will.” his voice was soft as he wrapped his arms around you, holding you tightly to his frame. “but i was serious about what i said to malfoy.”

you laughed gently into the fabric of the man’s shirt, feeling his own chest bubble with a low laugh.

just as the two of you unravelled yourselves from each other, you turned towards the door to make a swift exit by each other’s side. however, the sight of multiple pairs of eyes peering in through the window that led into the hall had elicited a soft growl from the pit of your father’s chest.

you couldn’t help but smile at the sight of kids scattering away from the door, leaving the same blond boy that had just been in questioning with wide, apologetic eyes.

“i tried to get them to leave, but nobody would listen.” your father huffed, muttering a small ‘thanks’ before turning to you and telling you to make sure you weren’t late for dinner.

when he left, leaving you and draco standing in front of one another, you let a large smile spread across your lips. draco mimicked it, allowing himself to relax at the sight of you smiling and joyful once again. just as he made a move to reach for your cheek, his hand was clamped down back by his side involuntary, and the two of you were looking down the hallway at your father.

“i’m not going to make it that easy on you, malfoy.”

though he had kept his promise to not make it easy, keeping a close eye on the two of you for the remainder of your time at hogwarts, he accepted the love affair between you and the blond boy.

you were head over heels for the boy, and he for you, and even your father was capable of picking up on that. so when draco stepped up to your house one evening, two years after graduation and while you were away at work, he sat down at the table in your kitchen, your father wasn’t surprised.

draco, despite your now lengthy relationship and his ability to develop a strong relationship with your father, was still slightly surprised to see a grin, though small, spread across the man’s lips. your father had been waiting for this, wondering when draco was going to step up to the plate and drop to one knee in front of you.

he was there for it all, smiling and even wiping a stray tear from his eye when you legally bound yourself to the malfoy boy. though he had been sour about your new last name, he would learn to deal with it. he would also learn to deal with three little ones running around with the very same name.

he was partial to favoring the eldest, a boy with hair as black as his grandfathers, and the same name to prove the relation. your father would mess about with his three grandchildren, claiming that severus had been his favorite, but you were the one to blame. though, that wasn’t entirely true. he loved all three of them all the same.

as long as you were happy, so was he. and you were the happiest you had ever been.

#draco malfoy #draco x reader #draco #harry potter #severus snape #snape x reader #tom felton #draco malfoy x reader

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mxttellion · 3 years

Note

Politely asking for the 300 pages of Matt headcanons

they're not 300 pages (sadly) but it's the sequel to that hc posts i said i was gonna make a part 2 of

Lets GO

- Gets lost in his thoughts a lot. Sometimes you can find him silently staring at the void before being snapped out of it.

- Let's start off with one hc I literally thought about a few minutes ago lmao

The only "things" left from him being a vampire are the incredibly pale skin and the side powers: meaning super strength, super speed, enhanced senses, telepathy and mind control. NONE of them are useful to him in anyway let's be real here (especially mind control)

and not only that, his hyperactivity skyrockets the speed and agility related powers

- I guess this ties in with this sort of alternate future timeline i have in mind with my hcs? but well, Matt can be a very great liar and manipulator. And not-so secretly wishes to take over the world, mostly for fame and all that junk that comes afterwards. Yknow, people praising him for being an amazing leader. which leads him to keep the time machine from wtfuture hidden somewhere. And going by the comics? He probably built one if that got destroyed for any reasons.

- He drinks sometimes. He has stolen Tom's drinks more than once and surprisingly enough, he has a decent resistance to it. But he becomes even more chaotic when drunk lmao

-out of the 4, he's the one who openly expresses his feelings the most. It's pretty easy to understand what he's currently feeling. He's very expressive when it comes to facial expressions and talking, meaning he probably even gestures when speaking (italian matt real?) and of course, he mostly doesn't think before speaking. He swears like a sailor. He tries to keep some kind of "elegant" or "sophisticated" language but in reality he would create a new swear just for you. He also makes up words, and he's 100% convinced the word he said was right.

-He has probably tried to dye his hair in his teens. He failed miserably, and had to cut his hair. Speaking of teenage years, yes, he had an emo phase because I said so

-When it comes to love, he goes through DEEP denial. He would rather insult his crush than admitting that he loves someone else that isn't himself. But once the denial phase is gone, he becomes a clingy ass motherfucker and a huge sweetheart at the same time. Even thought it IS kind of difficult for him to express his love for someone fully. And might accidentally put his lover down when he's being vain once again. Hard times not gonna lie. Matt is usually the one coming up with stuff to do with his partner and in general, he comes up with stuff that the partner doesn't necessarily agree on doing.

- You CAN guess who Matt goes along best in the household, and also who can read him like a book. Just look at my blog ffs

- When he's upset or pissed, he just keeps his >:( face. He isn't led to tears easily, despite being extremely expressive.

-His memory is EXTREMELY bad. He keeps thousands of notes and phone alarms for everything, he has skipped a lot of appointments (even important ones) due to his awful short time and working memory.

-Matt's hair is naturally messy, like very messy. Only hair gel or cutting it can make it less messy. So yeah, when he keeps a mullet he has like an insane amount of gel.

-Going back on the manipulation stuff, Matt knows exactly what to say to break you. He remembers secrets and all that junk from his friends, he'd pull a "you would never do that, would you?" when he wants.

-Hobbies? film making. He made films canonically, he loves to experiment his skills and has TRIED to take a few classes there and there. He has tried drawing aswell, but it doesn't really stick. It's very complicated ngl- He's more headed towards creative hobbies, though. Has tried cooking, but he burnt the house. He also tried some fashion design stuff, following his mother's steps, but nope, none of that worked

-Family time once again!! His biological parents are divorced, and he's an only child, but with a lot of cousins there and there. His father (who i once called Harold in an old au of mine jdhsk) divorced with his biological mother shortly after the incident where Matt was dropped. He later remarried another woman, and Matt honestly considers her to be his actual mother. His parents are both really protective of their child and just want him to grow a pair at times. They've spoiled him to hell and back, but then one day decided "HEY how about YOU try to get some money and buy what you want YOURSELF"

That's,,, all i can think of rn and i'm sure I have some more that I don't remember right in this very moment, and i'll probably rememeber when i hit post ofc

#i dont suck at writing i'm just able to write essays about matt and thats it #rxplies #eddsworld #ew matt #ew headcanons #nxb interps

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retvenkos · 3 years

Text

“shall i capture your heart with a song?”

A/N: lol, i only know the witcher on netflix, and what i have found out about jaskier via tumblr osmosis, so how accurate is this? i guess we’ll have to see, lol.

requested HERE WE ARE, IMAGINING WHAT IT WOULD BE LIKE TO BE CHILDHOOD FRIENDS TO LOVERS TO EVENTUAL MARRIAGE WITH THE ONLY AND ONLY JASKIER....

well, seeing as jaskier is of noble birth, i’m going to say that you are, too.

your families are old friends, so when you guys first meet, (i want to say you’re like 8 or 9) it’s at some celebration or another and at first you’re a little unsure if you should talk to each other or just,,,, stand there.

one of your parents absent mindedly tells you to talk to the boy, and so you have to do the awkward introductions.

“i’m (y/n) (l/n)”

“i’m julian alfred pankratz.”

“that’s unfortunate.”

“hey!”

“don’t worry. i’ll find something better to call you.”

“yeah, well... i’ll find something better to call you.”

(sorry, guys,,,,, i still can’t get over jaskier’s real name)

the two of you decide to sneak away from your parents to get some food or something, and then you eventually decide to sneak away from the party entirely

it was jaskier’s idea, really. he was trying to avoid some family or something - the family that thinks they are oh so better than you and compare achievements and what not...

the two of you are just wandering (jaskier’s sense of direction is horrible so it’s really up to you to keep everything straight) and you end up in some field or another, talking about whatever comes to mind. jaskier is telling you stories and you scoff.

“you’re like a weed, julian alfred pankratz. like a.... dandelion.”

“i am not!”

“what flower would you want to be, then?”

“something better than a dandelion!”

“like what, a buttercup?”

“yOU are.... are like....”

“like what?”

“...aconite! that’s a poison.”

“aconites are related to buttercups, dandelion. you can’t get rid of me.”

and jaskier thinks it’s wildly funny that you know horticulture, of all things. he finds it so funny, in fact, he fails to miss that you’ve coined a new nickname for him.

it seems that all the time, afterward, you run into jaskier and his family. by virtue of constantly seeing each other, the two of you end up being really good friends.

it’s a running gag that you love horticulture, and since the illustrious julian alfred pankratz uses it against you at every turn, you fluctuate between calling him “jaskier” and “dandelion”. he eventually gets used to it, but he hates it when others start to catch on.

he also comes up with ridiculous nicknames for you, but none of them quite seem to stick. he’s constantly cycling through through new ones, hoping to find the right one.

the two of you hang out a lot, but since you do a lot of reading or gardening and need jaskier to stop chatting with you for five minutes he picks up the lute and learns to play it really well.

you’re the first one who tells him his singing voice is quite beautiful.

“i’m sorry, did you just say my singing voice is ‘quite beautiful’?”

“it’s nice, okay?”

“nice?”

“if you keep this up, i’ll just have to insult you.”

“you’d never.”

“do you not remember the first time we met?”

“like it was yesterday.”

“i laid down some pretty decent insults, if i remember right.”

“i called you poison.”

“yeah, but aconites are pretty. unlike dandelions.”

and jaskier scoffs. “and buttercups?”

“they’re not bad looking.”

so we all know that jaskier supposedly gets into poetry when he’s 19 because he’s inspired by his love for the countess de stael,,, bUT,,,, consider this instead:

he actually gets into poetry for you.

jaskier has had a few loves at this point, and with each one, he’s a nervous wreck. you always help him by curating the most beautiful bouquets (all of which come from your amazing, thriving garden) and you are always there to help him with his flirting (which needs serious help,,,, i’m not even sure you’re cut out for the job)

you guys have probably even kissed before - both of you were regrettably drunk (don’t tell your parents) and jaskier said he desperately needed ‘the practice’. plus, he wanted to know!!!! was he a good kisser or not? no one else would rate him on a scale from 1-10 with brutal but accurate honesty! neither of you fully remember what exactly happened, come morning, but you remember the lead up to the moment and jaskier remembers the thoughts running through his head afterward... both of you agree not to speak of it.

anyway, when jaskier starts to realize that he has these awkward feelings that seem suspiciously illicit, he knows he has to get them out, somehow, but you are the only one who would listen to his complaints, and he very well can’t tell you.

so he decides he has to write them down.

but clearly they can’t be literal, lest someone stumble upon them,,,,, so he has to learn the secret art of poetry.

you, of course, notice how oddly quiet hanging out with jaskier has become, and his odd questions on flower symbolism, and it doesn’t take you long until you realize that, of all things, jaskier has turned to poetry.

“you can’t make fun of me for liking horticulture, anymore, dandelion. you’re a p o e t .”

“at least i’m a good one.”

and you flick his forehead

“what will your stage name be? surely julian alfred pankratz won’t work.”

“which one should it be? jaskier or dandelion?”

and you laugh, the sound like a summer breeze.

“i knew you’d come to appreciate my nicknames, eventually.”

jaskier frequently “serenades” you, under the guise that he’s practicing, of course, but it’s also his not so subtle way of seeing if you like his poetry and his songs - they are for you, after all.

“you’ll certainly capture hearts with that one.”

“did i capture yours?”

and you, feeling very flustered, especially seeing as you’ve had feelings for jaskier for a while now, can only let out a guttural sort of scoff.

“of course,” and you try to say it over the top and jokingly, but you can feel your face heating up.

and jaskier winks. you huff and turn back to your books.

oh, yikes, i didn’t realize this was getting a little long,,,, let’s speed things up.

everyone knows that you and jaskier are end game. your families think it’s vvv sweet, and everyone that either you or jaskier attempt to woo know it’s only going to be a passing fancy because,,,, have you seen the way you look at each other? like you hang the moon and the stars?

but of course, both of you are dramatic as hell, so you frequently have conversations like:

“we’re piss poor in love, aren’t we?”

“i guess the world just doesn’t understand our genius.”

“terrible that i have to share this lonely cleverness with the likes of you.”

“absolutely devastating.”

and you just sit there for a while, staring at the ceiling.

maybe you guys do some traveling together for a while, but you eventually find a place to put down roots (lol, horticulture jokes). maybe you run an apothecary! that would be precious.

either way, jaskier is a bard so when he isn’t traveling around, he’s staying with you.

a frequent request of yours goes something like this:

“dandelion, play me a song.”

“what kind?”

“a love song.”

and he does, and afterward, he sits down across from you and winks.

“did i capture your heart with that one?”

and some nights you’re a little too tired to make a show of it and some of that blissful candor slips out and slaps jaskier across the face when you smile and say, “yes.”

if you haven’t noticed, the two of you hella dance around your feelings. it’s insane, because catchphrase is: “anything for you” meanwhile you are the most soft™ for him and yet you don’t seem to clue in.

100%, you are going to have to be the one that expresses your love first, because jaskier is the definition of suffering in silence

but what’s also really funny is you both probably try to keep it hidden just how long you have loved each other for, and yet you are both nosy as hell and want to know how long this has been going on, so it leads to really funny conversations where you are both trying to dodge giving a proper timeline, but are drying to coax one out of the other.

ohmygod, i forgot to do marriage headcanons

alright, lightning round: firstly, i don’t think it takes you guys long to get married - you have known each other for so long, and you already act like a married couple, might as well make it official

jaskier refuses to let anyone else sing at his wedding, but you eventually coax him into it because how else are you going to dance with him?

let jaskier invite all of his witcher friends. the divide between your wealthy families and the witchers would be funny as hell. like inlaws that don’t get along but wORSE.

some quick marriage thoughts:

jaskier has definitely learned the art of flowers, thanks to you, so (1) he leaves you flowers everywhere, and (2) both of you get to garden with each other all the time.

sleep and jaskier don’t mix - no matter what time of the night, you can wake up and he’s up and about, doing something or another. maybe he’s writing a song, maybe he’s eating, maybe he’s arguing with yennefer (she often visits, just to antagonize jaskier. you guys are great friends) in the livingroom and trying to keep his voice down

similar with nicknames, jaskier is constantly using pet names, trying to decide on which one is best. it doesn’t really work out, but maybe the most common one is he’ll call you his muse.

and it only sounds cheesy 20% of the time

you guys get to go to parties together! that’s fun - you like dressing up and sneaking away half way through because you’re bored. you guys steal food and hide out until they realize the bard is missing and drag him back.

so we all know jaskier is big on compliments, and it only gets worse when the two of you are together. it’s like,,,, yes. now i can shower you with love and affection at all hours of the day, and it’s okay! he still does his poorly timed winks but he insists they’re charming!

you begrudgingly agree

consider for a moment: going to get breakfast with this man. first of all, breakfast is probably his favorite meal, and he’s always adamant you get a good one (since being with geralt means no breakfast at all). jaskier talks like you haven’t seen him in years, despite living together, and he’s very big on holding your hand or bopping you on the nose. plus, he smiles.

oh! and his singing is 100% contagious, so it doesn’t take long before you are singing around the house, and jaskier is just stunned at you,,,, you find him staring and roll your eyes at his ridiculousness, but this man is in love!!!! let him be in love!!!!

and you also talk to your plants, so you know jaskier picks that up, to. you’re a very vocal couple, lol.

AND FLUFF ENSUES.

-- taglist: @lenalxvegood, @cooloaflandhero, @swanimagines, @multifandomfix // message me if you want to be added!

#jaskier #jaskier x reader #jaskier headcanons #jaskier witcher #jaskier x you #jaskier imagine #reader insert #gender neutral reader #tw marriage #fluff #the witcher

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hyrule-kingdom-updates · 3 years

Note

🌼 any of them

Whoops, wrote a fic

Describe one of your OC’s worst nightmares.

An optimist would look at the world of divination with wonder. The universe is a but a magnificent hall of tapestries, beautiful pieces of art woven into anything you could imagine. Tapestries where you are a hero, tapestries where you are royalty, tapestries where your people live with riches, tapestries depicting your eternal victory over your enemies. The universe is endless and bountiful, for in the future, all futures are possible.

This is how Astor usually can depict the good fortune tellers from the worse.

If they’re an optimist, they’re most likely a faker.

The only true divinator that he had met that was even a bit of an optimist was his mother, and even then, he had always had the sinking feeling that she hid a deeper sorrow behind her simple shoes of colorful flames and shining moon and starlight. No, it was quite hard to stick to true, unfiltered optimism in this field, as while it was true that all futures and choices were possible, that freewill ran its course through all who walked the vast possibilities of the universe, the issue came in the fact that you could not travel it to and fro.

There are futures where you live, there are futures where you achieve your wildest dreams, timelines where your childhood is happier, and timelines where you find true love and satisfaction.

But you aren’t in those timelines. The future you have is this one, and it is set in stone.

Walk all the roads you want, say all the words, read all the stories, but when a seer analyzed exactly what world we live in, exactly what end is destined for this string of the universe, there will be no holding back. There is only the unfiltered, raw, typically pessimistic truth of the end. Savor it.

“In truth, Elane, I hate my job. Fear it, even,” Astor set his teacup down, looking out the balcony towards the inky, midnight view. “I fear one day I will find the prediction—the true, ultimate glimpse into the night, that seals in the fact that we’re doomed.”

The Queen only cocked her head with a smile. “Well, I’m flattered that there’s still a ‘we’ in this scenario. Good to know I’ll be joining you in the lockup when my mother find our contraband cucco nuggets—“

“I’m serious, Elane.”

She only laughed quietly, before leaning back in her chair, and gazing out into the pleasant evening. “I know...”

There was a quiet between them, not quite awkward or stiffening, but quiet in the way that you might hold your breath after someone embraces you warmly. Quiet in acceptance, quiet to make room for the sounds of something rare and fickle.

“I swear, I might retire early,” Astor finally said. “Quit while I’m ahead. Head off to Hateno or Mabe and bury my head in the sand.”

“You might want to try Gerudo then, if sand is what you’re searching for. I’m sure Urbosa would be thrilled.”

“Tsk. I am inclined to disagree.”

Elane chuckled again, and she let the quiet embrace her for a moment.

“Eternal doom aside, for a moment, I would posit that there’s hardly anything to fear. You’ve foreseen my daughter’s growth, analyzed the future livelihood of the kingdom, and predicted our victory over Ganon. I’d say it’s hard to bargain with that.”

“Maybe, but I could be wrong.” Astor circled his finger on the lip of his cup. “It happens, people make a prediction, but miss one star, or slip up one word...or perhaps one cow suddenly dies, or one ember quickly fades, and suddenly we’re actually in an entirely different timeline than predicted.”

“Didymos Astor? Wrong about something? Oh my, I never thought I’d see the day...” Elane smiled to herself again as she lifted her cup for another sip.

Astor clicked his tongue. “Well. You should hope I’m not wrong about anything. If someone of my skill makes an incorrect prediction, it would probably be disastrous for everyone.”

Elane winked as she set down her cup. “Well, good thing you’re a prodigy, then.”

“Good thing, indeed.”

Quiet keep their third company once again. Astor still had not sipped from his cup, but Elane was already heading for her fourth refill, no doubt begging for any energy after tucking her daughter to bed. A young toddler with enough energy to power a Guardian army, Elane has always found it quite odd that she used up a lot of her energy to annoy the Royal Seer. It was charming to see him get put off by a Mallory’s boundless curious aura, but mostly relieving in the sense that the Queen could get a moments rest and trust little Zelda would be alright.

Elane looked back inside through the half open door, and smiled at a bundled sleeping figure, surrounded by an army of stuffed animals. She then turned back and finally noticed Astor’s continued silence on the next refill.

She sighed. “Although I would be saddened to see you leave,” she began, “If a retirement would make you happy, Astor, I would loathe to do anything to stand in your way.”

He looked up at her, analyzing her body language and expression. She was genuine, of course, as she always was in these sorts of talks. Astor finally let himself exhale in peace, as he smiled and shook his head.

“Unfortunately I don’t think it would do me much good, anyways. Location won’t let me escape my own thoughts and visions.” He took a sip of his tea—a bit citrusy this evening, a hint of apple—and relaxed. “I’d imagine His Majesty would miss me dearly, and I simply wouldn’t want to leave him in distress.”

“Ha! Oh yes of course, Rhoam would be crying tears if you left us...” she replied, sarcastically. “Tears of deep, deep sorrow.”

Astor looked out into the night in silence again, not touching his cup.

“But I’ll tell you what Astor,” Elane began again. “If you ever receive that world dooming prediction, whatever may happen that may instigate your view of the deepest hells,” she raised her cup. “You come find me, and we’ll have a drink.”

He raised an eyebrow. “A drink? What sort of drink?”

She shrugged. “Whatever you like. Tea, wine, beer, water or juice if it’s your fancy. Whatever will keep your spirits high.”

Astor smirked, solemnly. “I don’t think you understand just how severe and dreadful certain predictions can be. When we say ‘all futures are possible,’ we do mean all possibilities.”

“And I understand, dear seer. I truly do.” She tilted her head as she kept her cup in the air. “But the way I see it, is that with divination or not, doom and hell come into people’s lives one way or the other. But it hasn’t really stopped the majority from loving their lives now, has it?” Her eyes twinkled like starlight. “Dearest Astor, if our destined doom is predicted one day, I command you to at least smile through our tea party.”

Quiet.

He finally sighed, the corners of his lips perking. His protests drowning in her expression.

“I suppose if you’re the one pouring, it’d be difficult to refuse.” He raised his cup and clinked it with hers.

She was dead eight days later.

With her death came the final factor. The final star.

“Your daughter is destined to fail us,” he said again. “The Calamity shall rise and consume us all, and she won’t stop it in time.”

Rhoam slammed his fists on the desk, but the seer did not flinch. “We’ll train her hard, we’ll start now, even! I’ll get those clerics from the temple to teach her the starting prayers!” he yelled.

“It won’t work.” Astor replied, simply. “Perhaps she might attain them down the line, but she most certainly won’t awaken her powers by Ganon’s rise. It’s over.”

“You told me we could do this!” Rhoam pointed a finger, accusingly. “You saw our prosperity, our victory!”

“That was what I initially saw, yes. But unfortunately we live in world where the Queen of Hyrule is dead, and thus the threads of our future weave accordingly.”

“You’re a liar!” Rhoam bellowed again. “You saw her death, saw our end and lied to us since the beginning, haven’t you?!!”

“Don’t you think that if I knew Elane would die, I would say something?! That I would give ample time for her to say goodbye to you and her daughter??” Astor finally raised his voice, met with equal silence. “I failed to correctly analyze our timeline the first time around, and for that I am sorry. But I can not control what pieces of the future fate allows me to see. It’s not an open novel for you to give me a bad book report grade on. It’s a museum of endless tapestries, of which I am task with analyzing one stroke at a time to identify which is woven to a singular man, and the fact that I have given you a complete enough answer now is a gift within itself, so don’t even try to accuse me forgery and lies.”

The two men clenched their jaws, staring angrily at each other.

Astor finally whispered. “Overtime I might gather more specifics, but overall—this is over.”

Rhoam balles his hand into a fist. “We’ll start a new schedule for Zelda first thing in the morning—“

“It won’t work, it’s futile—“

“We’ll make it work—“

“This is set in stone, this is the world you live in—“

“Well what if you’re wrong again?”

“I’m not.”

“But what if you are?”

“I’m. Not. I’ve read the signs again and again and again, in fact I’ve been reaching the same conclusions repeatedly for the last four weeks. It. Is set. In stone.” He tapped his finger on the wood with each syllable to emphasize. “Perhaps the futures of prosperity are accurate for the Rhoams and Mallorys that live in a different time, but unfortunately for us, we live in one where Elane is dead. This is our reality and you’re doing no good denying as such.”

Silence.

Rhoam made his way towards the door. “You’re a liar.” The seer scoffed. “You’re a liar and you don’t know what you’re saying! Borderline treason if I’m being honest! You’re pathetic, and a rotten fake—“

“If it pleases His Majesty to confirm the integrity of his humble subject,” Astor cut in, sarcastically, “It might be good to know that also I’ve predicted you won’t imprison me, or exile me, or execute me, given you’re still ever reliant on my uncontested skills for more personal matters. That, and you wish to try and keep me around to hopefully prove me wrong, in which you can then tell yourself you’d be in the right to truly punish me.” He stared the regent dead in the eyes. “But don’t worry, you won’t.”

Rhoam slammed the door shut as he stomped off.

That night, Astor has another dream. Or perhaps it was a vision, he wasn’t sure, as the details were so surreal and horrific and captivating that it would have surely been a blessing to chalk it up entirely to vivid imagination.

There were screams and the sound of rocks crumbling. Bones were cracking and monsters were squealing and shrieking. And be felt his arms burn, and he felt his soul drain, and he looked down to see his skin peeling into dark flakes, his muscles, sludge. And in the distance, a young woman with golden hair laughed at him, but her eyes were hollow and gold. And she laughed and laughed as his body was slowly broken to pieces, bones torn asunder, skin burned to smoldering malice, senses vivid until the final moment when he woke.

But the good thing about nightmares, was that...that was it. There was no where else to go. There was nothing left to offer. No more pain to fear.

It made sense of course. Of course, of course. He never went to the funeral, he never offered his sympathies. There was no longer anything to mourn, as he allowed himself to view the world in its true, disgusting form. The people were doomed, and the dead, well...perhaps they might have deserved it. Yes, that was the only way this all made sense, of course. He even stopped trying to warn other folk after a few too many dozen harsh rejections to his character. No, now in complete isolation and resignation of his path, there was nothing else that could possibly drag him back to—

“How do I die?” Zelda Mallory Hyrule asked, one day.

At first, he was confused, and he turned in his chair. “What?”

She was seven at the time, and it was truly an odd and concerning thing to be coming from a seven year old girl’s mouth. Or perhaps it wasn’t, given the circumstances.

“How do I die?” she said again. She was laying down on his worn carpet, fiddling with the frilled edge.

Was she truly that bored? Already out of other questions? Hmph, he had always warned her to stay away, as a seer’s office wasn’t really meant for childish entertainment. Yet still she always came and asked to hide away from her father, and, well...anything to spite that man...

“Why do you ask?” he finally replied. Had someone said something to her? A threat? He clenched his jaw. I swear, if that fool tried to force her powers by—

“You’re always going on about how I’m wasting my time with praying and stuff...but father says I still gotta to stop the Calamity or else we could all die.” She didn’t look up from the bits of carpet string she was playing with (and contemplating on popping in her mouth), “So I figured if you tell me how I die we can settle the debate for good!”

Astor just sighed. “Well, of course you d—“

He stopped himself, but not for the reasons a more put together person, might. Not because of the generally frowned upon action of telling a child how she dies, no, that was not exactly beyond him. No, Astor cut off his sentence simply because it had crossed his mind that—

“...I’m not entirely sure...” he whispered.

He suddenly stood. Walking towards the other end of his office, carefully stepping over the child. “E-Excuse me a moment.”

Why had he never considered this? Of course, he had seen the signs clearly enough, the visions, the stars. A girl cries over a corpse, a light vanishes in the night. Malice plagued the sky and dooms the day. But did the Calamity actually kill her? Does she drown in rubble and malice like the others? Slain by a demon or monster perhaps? Or if not, then, would that mean...?

The princess soon forgot about the question by the next day, and the next, and the next, and the next, and the next.

Astor spent nearly eight sleepless nights into finding an answer.

But he never truly did.

These things happened more times than one may think, when it came to predictions. Vagueness was commonplace, but specificities and straightforward answers were about as rare as a green sunset. Of course, he knew she would die, goddess blood or not, she lived the life of a mortal. But how? When? While it certainly wasn’t impossible to predict a person’s death, but whatever the circumstances of Mallory’s was made the process was infuriatingly impossible.

It was possible she would die of malice or suffocation under rubble, even circumstances where she dies at the Ganon’s hand himself. But then there were clear visions of her living, walking through a grassy field, ruins in the distance covered in leaves and moss, her turning and calling to a friend to keep up with her pace.

But no, nonono. She would die during the Calamity’s rise, that was the majority of what the futures offered to her were. That was the probable outcome.

But the factors and visions and signs and alignments were so fine and minuscule in difference, that Astor truly couldn’t a true statement, a true prediction, a true answer to the question. What timeline did we live in?

It taunted him.

Maybe it was better if the question was put to rest, did it even matter?

“Mallory?” he asked. “That’s a stupid name.”

“What?! No it’s not!” Elane laughed and shoved his shoulder. “Please, YOU’RE not one to talk.”

“Well as a victim of stupid first names, I think I’m qualified to speak accurately on the subject.”

“Aha! But it’s not technically a first name.” Elane tapped his head. “It’s a middle name, her first name would be ‘Zelda,’ of course.”

“Yes, and that is also a s—“

The queen shoved his shoulder into the wall before he even finished the sentence. “Oh would you shut up...”

He laughed, unconventionally carefree. Her Majesty’s happiness these days truly was contagious. Or perhaps that was a side effect of pregnancy? Did all expecting mother’s give off this aura?

“I think it’s a wonderful name.” Elane said. “Reminds me of a cute little duck, like a mallard!” She tucked her arms and flapped her elbows to imitate as such. “Quack, quack!”

“This is further adding to my argument actually”

“Hmph! Ok then Mr. Overseer of all names” She tapped a finger to his chest. “If it’s such a stupid name, then when she starts getting bullied for it around the castle, I shall expect you to take care of her in full.”

He scoffed. “Oh, I’ll be sure to do so. She’ll definitely need it.”

Elane pecked his head with a kiss.

“Good! I grant you my blessing lovingly tease her, as well. And I expect the best from you, Astor!”

His face suddenly warmed for some reason, and he couldn’t form words.

“What?”

“.....W...”

He was suddenly whack in the head with a rolled up piece of paper. Astor sprang awake from his desk. “...W...What...?”

“Morning, Mr. Astor!!” Princess Zelda-Mallory beamed. “And happy birthday!!! Sorry I woke you up early, but I needed to give this to you before the winter solstice festival later and—“

She continued to ramble on and on, but Astor simply opened the rolled up paper she had handed to him. It was simply filled with dozens and dozens, arguably hundreds, of hand drawn stars. In the corner was written, “You always look at the same stars so here’s some new ones!” in crude purple crayon. At the time, he failed to notice the accompanying note on the back that read “One for each year of how old you are!” Thankfully he was too busy looking through the different stars, with varying degrees of sparkles and smiley faces.

He finally looked back at the princess, who was still rambling on and on about her day, and her father’s day, and her newest stuffy dress, and her latest adventures with her stuffed toys, and—

“Why are you always here, Zelda?” Astor finally said. She stopped talking, looking at him, quizzically. “I mean...” he grumbled, “You know I don’t really like you, right?

“Eh, I don’t care. I think you’re neat!!” She held out her arms as she zoomed around his circular office. “Your room is so cool! And you got fun books!”

“Necromancy isn’t necessarily what I would consider ‘fun’ reading material—“

“Plus your outfits are cool, and you’re super smart, like my mom.”

He blinked.

“Plus, you’re the only one that’s not mean to me about my dumb powers. But really that’s just a chair on the top!”

“Do you mean cherry on top?”

“No! I meant chair! Watch me!! I’m gonna do a backflip off of this—“

“NO.” Astor immediately stood up, and snatched the girl off of the wooden chair. “NO. No backflips.” He set her down on the rug and pointed to a side of the room which held a broken table, stool, and a few old chairs—the victims of the princess’ previous acrobatic attempts.

She crossed her arms and stuck out her tongue. “You’re no fun!”

“I’m running out of furniture, is what I am.”

“But I’ll let this slide since it’s your birthday! Hmph.”

She started pulling at the loose threads of the carpet. “Don’t know why you had to stop my birthday backflip! Who cares if I get a little scratch?”

“I do—“

“YOU DO?!” Mallory was immediately up and clinging to his robes.

Astor sputtered, instinctively waving his arms to free himself from the child’s grip. But then he finally processed her question, and...

“I...” He looked at her starlight eyes. She had that stupid, naive grin that he always remembered from her mother. A stupid, pathetic, horrible, terrible, optimistic smile.

He finally scoffed. “I just can’t have you getting hurt on my watch, as otherwise, I’d probably be a dead man. That’s all.”

The princess lifted her hands in a “hooray!” fashion, and yelled the exclamation, accordingly. She then resumed her zipping and zooming around the room, much to Astor’s unexpected relief.

That night, he visited the question again.

Why? He didn’t really know.

The question wouldn’t offer him anything, it wouldn’t relieve him of anything—in fact it really did just the opposite. If he found that died miserably, it would be another scream in the nightmare, another nail in the comforting coffin of despair. But if he someone found that she lived, that there was a day after the Calamity, where even a child such as her could possibly prosper...

Having hope and seeing it fail anyway would probably be the most torturous of all.

Again, he had a dream, of a world tainted by blood and malice. But this time he was floating. He was floating and watching the end of it all.

Castle Town was nothing but ruins and ash, and no colors existed but red, black, and grey.

He couldn’t hear anything but a shrill hum in his ears, but he knew there was screaming. He looked to his hand, expecting to see malice or blackened skin, but instead found a strange floating device in his palm. It spin slowly, pink constellations drifting across its surface.

The hum in his ears turned into a groan, and then a whisper. It said something familiar, but he was sure he had never heard it before.

It is time.

The next night he had a dream of a girl standing in a green field, calling out to her friends somewhere behind her. She rested under the ruins of a collapsed pillar, and ate a homemade sandwich with a memorable smile.

Astor reached a conclusion.

In most futures, the girl dies horribly. He wrote in his journal. To be expected, I would assume the rise of the Calamity isn’t exactly easy to survive from.

But what I have discovered is a very specific set of circumstances that lead to a more favorable outcome, at least for her.

I have no way of knowing if it accurately depicts the comings of our time, or another. There are too many variables and specifics. Too long I have spent trying to discern our fate, but the probabilities and possibilities for doom are so interchangeable that it really go either way. The only truth I know is that she lives if—

He paused, tapping the dry quill to the desk again in thought. He dipped it once more.

I’ve decided that if I ever find myself in the scenario where I can solidify her a more favorable destiny, I will take it. I can only hope dare to alter my existing nightmare into something different, there’s really nothing left to lose, is there?

Astor leaned in his chair for a moment, savoring the silence of his office. He looked out the window and took in the night. The stars were gorgeous this evening.

Although if it fails I hope it kills me.

Call it arrogance, but I don’t think I can handle being wrong again.

The seer sighed, then suddenly flipped to the next blank page, angrily.

If I had never met her it would have been fine. If I had just minded my own damn business and continued to work in being resigned to our fate, at least then I could have—

There was a soft knock at his door.

He knew who it was.

Astor pinched the bridge of his nose as he opened it. “It’s past 2am, Princess, what could you possibly have to tell me?”

She looked down and shuffled her feet. “I had a nightmare...”

“Yes, people do have those sometimes.” He immediately closed the door.

Another knock.

After a moment, Astor opened it again. “Don’t you have guards outside your room, how did you sneak up here?”

“Secret tunnel!” She grinned, proudly, as she replied with a sort of sing-song tone.

“That’s nice.”

The door slammed shut again.

She knocked once more. There was the longest pause.

“FFFFFFine!” The world was out of his lips before he even fully swung open the door, and Mallory happily scrambled inside. “But no touching anything, I’m working.”

“It’s ok, I just wanna stay up all night and read your books!” She was already scrambling for the necromancy section, again.

Astor sighed, and went to slump back into his desk. The princess was already sprawled across the floor, distracting herself with another stack of wondrous, ill-recommended book. He didn’t really care.

I don’t really care. He wrote once again. I know there are futures where I dedicate myself to the Calamity, and she dies anyway. I know it doesn’t really matter, I know it’s hopeless to care, and that’s why I don’t.

He looked back at Zelda, he saw her slowly blink back her tiredness. He knew in a few hours or so, he’d have to drop her sleepy figure back off to those useless guards, and berate then for letting her wander off again, as it always was.

If I do this and it’s all for nothing, he began, I fear it will be worse than if I had just stood to the side and perished. It’s already doomed, and this pathetic, foolish optimism might cause me to turn this nightmare into something even worse.

He sighed, and the hours passed as he just sat with his thoughts.

Zelda was using and open book as a pillow.

Astor opened the door, and went to pick her up.

I’m not living through another nightmare. He thought, as he descended the stairs from the observatory. The girl’s breathing was steady as she wrapped an arm by his shoulder.

If it fails I hope it kills me before I see it. He repeated again.

I can’t handle being wrong again.

#Didymos Astor #out of character #oc ask game #I’m actually really proud of this I might shove it into canon story one day

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notsowrites · 3 years

Text

the heart i know

Alex misses Michael terribly while he's off on an roadtrip with his siblings.

This idea has been knocking around in my head for a while, and somehow ballooned into 6500 words.

(AO3 Link)

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Despite living in a house with three brothers growing up, Alex had always felt alone. His time in the Air Force had never dissuaded him of that feeling, even as he was constantly surrounded by others. Part of him knew it was the secrets he'd kept, the parts he'd been unable to speak freely about, show the world his whole truth. Buying the house in Roswell after his accident, he'd dedicated time to trying to make it into a home.

But even as he filled it with music and books, and decorated the rooms exactly how he wanted for the first time in his life, he couldn't deny that it felt as though something was missing. An emptiness still lingered through the walls, and though Alex loved this place that was all his own, it wasn't quite home yet.

It wasn't until after - after he'd dated Forrest, after he and Michael had spent months carefully navigating a tentative friendship, after they'd slowly and carefully fallen back together, after Michael had begun to spend more nights sleeping next to Alex than not - that Alex started to truly enjoy the space he'd once carved out for himself.

In his study, against the wall opposite his own desk set up for days when he works from home, is a drafting table covered in sketch paper and notebooks filled with calculations. The sight never fails to make Alex smile, to fill him with a sense of pride for the way Michael's mind works, how he is able to conceptualize and design things, and turn them into a reality. The bookshelves in the room now hold more than just Alex's coding textbooks, and the random literary novels he's acquired when he's had free moments to read, but mathematics and physics, books on environmental science and agriculture that Alex would never have dreamed of owning or reading.

There's a black Stetson that regularly hangs from the hook in the hallway near the front door, a pair of well worn cowboy boots are usually nestled on the floor next to his own work boots. And though he'll never admit it out loud, opening the door to the hallway closet basks him in the familiar and comforting smell of rain that accompanies everything Michael owns.

Before, the most he'd ever left sitting out on the kitchen table had been his laptop, now there are notebooks full of Michael's handwriting that regularly disappear and reappear usually occupying the space at the far end.

In the living room, the blanket he'd kept meticulously folded on the back of the couch rarely ends up that way these days, instead thrown haphazardly after an impromptu nap. Though it's usually Michael who dozes on the couch because he'd been watching and listening to Alex play on the keyboard or trying to work out a new chord progression for a song. He wonders if it should bother him, the way Michael drifts off during those times, but it never does.

The kitchen remains immaculate, save for one new notebook shoved in between the cutting boards that sit neatly against the back splash - Michael's recipe book. Each time he finds some new dish to try, he scribbles the ingredients and the instructions down for reference, though Alex has never seen the notebook open while Michael is cooking. As if he's already committed the entire thing to memory.

But one of the best reminders in the entire house that shows Alex how much this isn't just where he lives and rested his head at night, but is a home he shares with the person he loves, is the modifications to the bathroom. When he'd bought the house, Alex had immediately installed a grab bar and purchased a cheap little bench he could sit on - enough to make do in the shower, but never anything more than functional of their intended purpose. It had been the renovations that Michael had undertaken, designing a more comfortable bench, and a much more accessible grab bar system, that allowed Alex to truly begin to enjoy taking showers, no longer feeling like they were just a necessary, but also something to relax him after a long tiring day on base.

He sits at the dining room table now, setting up the new computer he's purchased for Michael. Of course he'd been unable to stick to a budget, too concerned with making sure Michael had the best for the work he was going to be doing on it. Alex had asked, of course, after realizing that Michael was often just using the browser on his cell phone to search for things, and sticking to pen and paper for everything else. Michael had hemmed and hawed, claimed he didn't need one, and Alex had gotten him one morning, after they'd woken each other up with lazy blow jobs, to admit how much easier his own computer could make things.

Alex misses him terribly.

"I feel pathetic," he'd admitted to Maria three days into Michael's trip with Max, Isobel, and Liz.

"You wanna come over?" She'd asked, taking pity on him. "We can just cozy on the sofa and watch cheesy romcoms and gorge on junk food."

He appreciated the offer, and almost took her up on it. The problem was, the trip Michael had taken didn't have a defined timeline. It all hinged on what they found up in following some clues that led North regarding the UFO crash and it's survivors. Alex had tried to go with him, hadn't wanted to be so far away in case something went wrong, but when his PTO request was denied due to insufficient notice, he'd relented after Michael had convinced him he'd check in every day.

But now it’s been three days since the time they’d spoken, and Alex is starting to worry. He’d resisted during the first twelve hours, convincing himself Michael just hadn’t found a moment alone. The remaining twenty four had been agony, especially when there’s been no answer on anyone’s cell phone - Michael, Isobel, Liz, and Max’s all had gone to voicemail in the end.

"He'll call," Maria had said when he'd told her. "Perhaps there's no signal where they are."

He'd been surprised, given her own ancestral ties to the crash, that she'd elected to stay in Roswell. But Maria had gently reminded him that she was more concerned about Mimi than road trips with no definitive answers, and she had a business to run - sometimes personal trips just had to be sacrificed.

So he occupies himself with setting up the new programs on Michael's computer, making sure it all runs smoothly for when he returns, and buries himself in work projects to pass the time, and tries to not think something went wrong and that's why Michael hasn't gotten in touch.

"We're on our way back," Michael greets him in the first conversation they've had in thirty six hours. "We ran into some problems, so I can't talk long, but we're maybe four-"

"Six!" Alex hears Liz shout in the background.

"-hours away, and there's nothing stopping me from coming right to you."

Alex looks at the clock, and how it's after midnight now, which means it'll be well into the morning hours before Michael is walking through the front door.

"I know you'll probably be tired-"

Michael scoffs, laughing and it's the most wonderful sound Alex has heard in days.

"Tell those bastards you're going to be late."

Alex smiles. "I might not leave at all then."

It's tempting to think about, calling out to spend the entire day with Michael instead. But he has three meetings scheduled, none of which he can get out of short of being on a ventilator. But it will mean that when he gets home in the afternoon, Michael will be there.

He reluctantly falls asleep after that, curled up on Michael's side of the bed, face buried in the pillow that no matter how many times it gets washed, always smells exactly like Michael. It doesn't make Alex miss him any less, but it's been his only comfort these last couple days.

When his alarm goes off several hours later, Alex stubbornly doesn't think about how he woke up alone again. He takes his morning shower on autopilot, wanting to go through the motions enough so that he can just come home to Michael. Breakfast is coffee and cereal, same as it's been every day Michael has been gone, because while Alex is able to cook for himself when he has to - recipes are not that hard to follow - he prefers Michael's cooking. A voice in his head tells him it's just because it means he doesn't have to, but that's not it. He loves watching Michael experiment with things, adding spices or flavors that he never would have dreamed of, and everything still tasting delicious. He'd tried not to be too surprised the first time he’d watched Michael cook for him, curiosity getting the better of him.

"Did you learn from one of the people you lived with?*

Michael had shaken his head, concentrating on the vegetables he'd been chopping up.

"Sanders was the first one who took an interest. After I started working for him, sometimes I'd crash on his couch, and he'd cook me breakfast in the morning. First time someone didn't make me feel like I was an imposition."

Alex's heart always broke hearing about what it had been like for Michael growing up. To not have any memories of happier times, but believing they existed and surviving on that hope. He's often wondered since if there was a way to retrieve the memories that Max, Isobel, and Michael couldn't remember. Particularly after learning about Nora and Louise, and how hard they'd tried to protect their children. His own childhood hadn't always been bad, there had been some good moments, memories from before his mom left when it had felt like they had been something akin to a happy family. It was only after she left when things had changed.

It’s that fear now, of possibly turning into a monster like his father, that keeps Alex from entertaining the possibility of a family. Neither he or Michael have brought it up, and Alex wonders if it’s because they’re both too scared of repeating the unpleasantness of their childhoods. Part of him knows, believes, that he would never turn into the monster that his father was, but fear isn’t always rational, and it doesn’t always make sense, Alex knows that. Maybe one day he’ll believe it too.

Because deep down, he wants it. He wants to marry Michael some day. He's had part of a proposal written since he was seventeen, when he was younger and more naive. There's never been anyone else who made him fell so fast and hard, but Alex doesn't care.

He continues on autopilot as he goes about his day, making the commute to the base, attending his meetings, going over a project that's currently in development for the land the Air Force had purchased from the Foster's several years prior - delayed because of funding and approval issues. He skips lunch, trying to make it through the day faster, and spends most of his last meeting staring at the clock in the corner of his laptop screen.

The drive home is excruciating - it feels longer than it ever has before. There's no new text messages, no missed calls, no voicemails, and Alex tries not to think about how it's probably only because Michael was exhausted. Hopefully he fell asleep the moment he hit the bed, and that's where he's going to find Michael when he gets home.

It's just been two extremely long weeks.

He toes his boots off inside the front door, and drapes his jacket on the hook. There's a black duffel laying near one of the chairs at the dining table, and Alex lets out a sigh of relief. He wastes no time pushing open the bedroom door, greeted by darkness because Michael has all the curtains pulled tight to keep out the sun. He closes the door behind him and pulls his shirt over his head, dropping it in the middle of the floor as he makes his way to the bathroom, flipping on a light. Inside, he partially closes the door and removes his pants, sitting down on the window seat to remove his prosthetic. There's a crutch leaning against the wall, one of the places Michael is always diligent in making sure to place one of his spares. The stress of the past several days has traveled all through his body, and Alex feels it acutely in his hip, and around his stump, which feels extra sensitive to pressure as he removes the liner. He debates the merits of drawing a bath, letting himself relax and let the tension melt away - but it would mean delaying being near, and getting to touch, Michael again for the first time in two weeks, and he decides against it.

Crutch nestled under his elbow, Alex makes his way back into the bedroom, naked except for his boxers, and crawls into bed, letting his crutch fall to the floor. He lets his hands sweep up Michael's legs, past his hips and stomach - a thrill traveling through his body that Michael had fallen asleep naked and ready for him - body following as Alex leans down to place feather light kisses to Michael's skin. He continues upward, pressing his face into Michael's neck, breathing in that familiar and comforting rain smell, his whole body relaxing in response. Alex presses a kiss to somewhere along Michael's jawline, before feeling Michael's arms move, wrapping around him, and pulling their bodies tightly together, indicating he’s awake too.

Without a word, just Michael pushing up to try and find his lips, kisses landing on his cheek, and neck, before finding his lips, Alex feels as he lets go of his hold, and Michael's hand brushes against him. He shifts a bit, so Michael doesn't have to try and squeeze his hand between their bodies, and reaches down, taking Michael in his hand. It's rough, just skin on skin, and Alex knows that friction can't feel good. He pauses, leaning back, and retrieving the bottle of lube from the nightstand where he'd left it during Michael's absence. Carefully he coats his hand, recapping the lid, and reaching back down, fingers wrapped around Michael again as he runs his thumb over the head, which makes Michael moan so so beautifully, and Alex wonders if he'd even touched himself at all during the trip, if he'd been alone long enough to. He jerks Michael off, keeping his face pressed against the side of Michael's neck until Michael is shifting, turning his head and pressing his open mouth against Alex's. He quickens the pace, sensing Michael is close, and pushes his other hand into Michael's curls, pulling at them slightly, but causing the desired effect as Michael thrusts up to meet his hand, and Alex slows his pace, letting him ride it out, pressing kisses to Michael's cheek as he settles back against the pillows.

"Welcome home," Alex whispers, nuzzling against Michael’s cheek, reveling in the contact.

“I told you I’d make it back.”

Alex lets Michael press their lips together, before watching as he slides out from underneath him, pushing up off the bed and heading into the bathroom. Alex only moves as far enough to sit up, his eyes never leaving Michael, watching as he moves around, grabbing a washcloth from the closet, and running it under the hot water.

Finally, thanks to the light of the bathroom, Alex gets a good look at Michael, and immediately sits up in bed, blinking hard at the sight. Michael’s body is covered in bruises -most of them are on his abdomen and back, and Alex is pretty sure there’s a cut on his cheek below his left eye.

“What the fuck happened to you?” Alex yells out, suddenly pissed off that Michael hadn’t said anything, Alex had put his hands on those bruises, they had to have hurt.

Michael pauses, looking down at himself like just realizing the bruises are there, before glancing back at Alex, shrugging his shoulders, and Alex tries to maintain his composure. It’s not going to do him any good to get angry at Michael.

“Turns out the people we were looking for were actually looking for Jones. They saw Max, and wouldn’t believe that he was someone else.”

“And Liz and Isobel-”

“They’re fine - it’s only me and Max who get to look like this. The girls had stayed at the hotel the night this happened - or well, the two days we were missing afterward.”

“Missing?” Alex is seething now, understanding the reasoning behind the fact that he hadn’t been able to get in touch with Michael or anyone else for several days. “Did you forget you have telekinetic powers?”

Michael smiles at him, making his way back into the bedroom, and leaning over to press a kiss to his forehead. It doesn’t do anything to calm Alex down, but he appreciates that Michael knows he needs the physical contact of some kind in this moment.

“They had some sort of serum, something similar I’m guessing to what Helena Ortecho dosed me with when she wanted me to build the atomizer. Rendered me powerless for almost two days. Max too.” Michael slides back onto the bed, and Alex immediately leans forward, hands carefully running across the skin, careful to avoid all the places where Michael has bruises and cuts.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

Michael doesn’t reply, and turns away from him, running a hand through his curls, and Alex watches as they slowly fall back into place.

“I don’t want to hurt you-”

“You didn’t-”

Alex glares at him, and thankfully Michael doesn’t finish his sentence.

“Because you would have stopped touching me, and I didn’t-” Michael sighs, reaching out and taking Alex’s hand. He lets him, adjusting so their fingers are intertwined, and watches as Michael presses a kiss to the back of his hand. “Because it’s been two weeks, and nothing these past two weeks has felt as good as your hands on me.”

“Michael.”

Alex takes a deep breath, and barely lets the idea form in his mind, knowing that he’ll overthink it and talk himself out of it if he does. He pushes himself up, maneuvering on the bed, until he’s straddling Michael’s lap, legs wrapped around his hips. Alex digs his hands into Michael’s hair, and pulls their lips together, foreheads gently knocking against one another. The feeling of them pressing together, only the thin layer of his own boxers in the way makes Alex grind down harder, needing the touch.

Michael flips them, so Alex is underneath him, but his legs still wrapped around Michael’s hips, pulling them close together, and Alex laughs into Michael’s chest as he leans over him and retrieves the bottle of lube from earlier. Alex watches, as patiently as he can, as Michael stands up, pulling his boxers down and squirting some onto his hand, coating his fingers, before reaching down and with one finger pressing into Alex.

It has been too long as he pushes down into the contact, hands gripping into the sheets of the bed as Michael adds another finger, using just the tiniest bit of force to open him up. And Alex can’t look away, can’t stare at anything except Michael’s face, and the focus in his eyes in how he’s touching Alex. He feels Michael press in one more finger, and while he appreciates the care Michael is putting into making sure he’s ready, Alex finds that he doesn’t care, he just needs, needs-

Michael’s fingers slide out, and Alex groans at the loss, before Michael is lining himself up and pushing forward, and Alex wraps his legs around Michael’s hips again, urging him forward, filling him up. For a moment, they stay like that, Michael buried inside him, and Alex reaches up, grabbing hold of Michael’s shoulders, his neck, and finally his face, and pulling him down into a desperate crush of their lips before he feels Michael pull out, almost all the way but still inside him and holding him open, before thrusting back in. When Michael hits that spot inside him that sends him wild, Alex can’t do anything except bury his teeth into the junction where Michael’s neck meets his shoulder, the rain smell that is so very Michael all he can focus on, before he reaches down and takes himself in hand, leaning into the tightness he can feel forming, his orgasm inching closer now.

Michael’s orgasm hits first as he continues to thrust forward, dropping his head to Alex’s chest with a muffled groan, as Alex continues to jerk himself off, feeling his own orgasm grow, but the friction is too much, and it’s wrong, and as he slows down his movements, he feels Michael’s hand cover his own, and Alex pulls back, watching as Michael takes over. It doesn’t take long, Alex has spent too many nights dreaming about Michael’s hands on him, and it’s as Michael thumb brushes across the tip that Alex lets go, moaning out his own climax into the curls on top of Michael’s head, fingertips pressed into the skin of Michael’s back.

He pulls Michael down into him, their bodies pressed tight, and Alex keeps his legs wrapped tight around him, one hand digging into his curls as they both breath deep and heavy, coming down from their highs.

It takes another couple minutes before Michael is pushing himself up, and pulling Alex with him, and Alex realizes too late, Michael is carrying him into the bathroom. He doesn’t protest as Michael carefully sets him down next to the shower, and Alex gracefully falls onto the bench, leaning forward and turning the water on, watching as Michael disappears back into the bedroom, returning moments later with his crutch. Alex uses this opportunity to clean himself up, removing the remaining evidence from his skin, letting his fingers dance across Michael’s skin as he watches him do the same.

They dry off, Michael double checking his crutch is within reach, before pressing their lips together one more time, and disappearing back out into the bedroom. He returns a moment later with boxers, and a t-shirt, leaving them on the sink for Alex to get to, and disappears again back into the bedroom again.

By the time Alex has put on the boxers, and pulled the t-shirt over his head, Michael is standing in the doorway, wearing a pair of black boxers, and his hair is towel dried enough that it’s wet, but not dripping onto the floor.

“Dinner?” Michael asks, and all Alex can focus on is the cut next to Michael’s left eye. It’s already in the healing stages, clearly having been received several days earlier, but it’s entire presence makes Alex angry. “I wasn’t thinking anything too complicated, maybe fajitas? If we have the ingredients, since I’m sure you haven’t cooked anything while I’ve been gone.”

Alex scoffs at him. “I went shopping yesterday.”

He takes his time getting dressed, and fishing out one of Michael’s clean work shirts from the dresser, pushing him arms into the sleeves, pressing his nose into the fabric. He’s always amazed at how well the rain smell persists, but it’s comforting, and it makes him feel like he’s surrounded by Michael even in those moments he’s not. He stands in the middle of the bedroom, debating whether or not to put his prosthetic back on, eventually deciding against it - they’re not going anywhere else tonight, and the idea of wrangling with it when they’re just going to end up going back to bed in a few hours isn’t appealing to him at all.

By the time he makes it out into the main room, standing at the foot of the dining room table, Michael, who has slipped into Alex’s Air Force hoodie so he’s not walking around shirtless, has already spread out the necessary ingredients on the counter in the kitchen. There’s a pan on the stove, and Michael is concentrating on slicing the steak into strips, the vegetables from the crisper waiting to be cut up next. Alex doesn’t pay too much attention to the specifics of the cooking, and glances down at the table, only to notice Michael’s regular notebooks are missing, though the laptop that is his gift is exactly where he left it.

Alex watches, transfixed, as Michael scribbles something into one of those notebooks, and then retrieves his cooking notebook from it’s spot against the wall, writing something down in that as well. The way Michael moves, Alex can’t even begin to imagine what his thought process is like to be able to shift around constantly like he does, one idea after another flowing through his mind, needing to be captured and saved.

As far as he can tell, Michael hasn’t seen him yet. Which is fine, because Alex is more than happy in this moment to enjoy watching him, reveling in how comfortable Michael looks. He thinks of the drafting table in the study, and two vehicles parked in the garage, and Michael’s clothes with their own space in the dressers, and in the closet, and can’t look away from Michael in the kitchen, cooking and looking very much like this is his home. And Alex thinks of every time Michael has told him about not belonging, about not feeling wanted, and about how often he’d been shuffled around the system, and something tightens in Alex’s chest.

Years ago, he’d seen this beautiful, handsome boy who made his heart beat just a little bit faster, and offered him a warm place to sleep at night. A boy who had stood up for him when no one else would, who had without hesitation put himself between Alex and danger time and time again. Who looked at Alex like he was the only person in the world that mattered, and Alex has always wondered if he’s worthy of that love, of that devotion. But Michael has never looked at him any other way, even in their worst moments, during the arguments and the fighting - Alex has never doubted that Michael loved him. Because while Alex knows he’s always had trouble verbalizing his feelings, Michael has always been one to stand tall and declare them in the most beautiful ways.

And Alex knows that, without a doubt, there is nowhere else he would rather be in this moment.

“Michael,” he chokes out, because the words are clawing up his throat, and usually Alex is careful about what he says, and how he says it, and he’s never - at least he doesn’t think he has - truly told Michael how he feels. And standing here now, after being apart for two weeks, and the issues with keeping in touch during that time, and the fucking bruises, and it’s all too much for him to keep in now.

“I was thinking about my workshop, and how we can modify some space in the basement here if that’s-”

Alex doesn’t let him finish, can’t even process what Michael is talking about past agreeing with it because he's talking like he knows this is his space, and Alex can't help but feel happy and so fucking proud to see that Michael knows this is his home too.

“Michael,” he starts again, waiting until Michael is looking back at him. “I am so fucking in love with you.”

He was expecting a reaction of some kind, probably something akin to Michael just crossing the room and kissing him. What he certainly doesn’t expect is to hear the knife clatter to the floor, and Michael swear under his breath, and for him to turn the water in the sink on, shoving his hand underneath it.

It takes Alex’s brain a moment to come back online, wondering what just happened, before he realizes that Michael has sliced his hand open. But before he can move, Michael has grabbed a dishtowel, and wrapped it around his hand, as he rushes toward Alex, good hand reaching out and pulling their bodies together, kissing Alex. And Alex is helpless, he melts into Michael’s touch, his arms wrapping around Michael’s waist and pulling himself closer, and Alex faintly realizes his crutch has fallen to the floor.

“You’re such an idiot,” Alex says against Michael’s lips, but Michael just shakes his head, diving back in and kissing him again.

“I don’t care,” Michael replies against his lips, and Alex feels helpless to stop him. "I'm happy to be your idiot."

“We’re going to have to call Kyle now, and have him look at your hand-”

“It’s really not that bad-”

Alex grabs Michael’s wrist, pulling back far enough to get a better look at it, the towel wrapped tightly enough for now, and Alex knows the only reason he hasn’t immediately settled into worrying about an infection is because of Michael’s alien DNA and it’s resistance to human diseases and ailments.

“What if you need stitches?”

Michael smiles, leaning in again, and Alex doesn’t stop him.

"I'm gonna go put my prosthetic on, and then call Kyle, so please, no more accidents." Alex tugs at the dish towel, and Michael yanks his hand back.

In the bathroom, Alex collapses back on the window seat, and takes a deep breath, cursing the events of tonight. Well, not all of them because he'd never regret Michael - even through the good and bad between them, Alex has learned to take it all in stride. He just can't believe Michael's reaction to what he'd said had been to slice his hand open.

He calls Kyle first, leaning against the wall, and wondering if he should never had said anything at all. They're lucky - Kyle isn't working, and agrees to come over, but Alex can hear the apprehension in his voice and knows he's going to have to figure out a way to repay the favor.

By the time Alex has put his prosthetic back on, Kyle is letting himself in through the front door, backpack slung over his shoulder, looking as though he'd rather be anywhere but here - and Alex can't blame him for that. His status as Alien Doctor means he's the only one who can treat the aliens without fear of discovery.

“Do I even want to know?” Kyle asks, carefully pulling back the dishtowel, and inspecting the wound. Alex watches as Michael ignores the question, his good hand reaching toward the new laptop that's still sitting on the table.

“Guerin’s an idiot,” Alex supplies from where he’s standing in the kitchen heating up leftover pizza, since dinner was ruined, and Alex was done letting Michael near sharp objects for the evening. As Kyle sets about cleaning and bandaging Michael’s cut, including dropping a full bottle of nail polish remover on the table for Michael to drink, Alex moves around the kitchen, cleaning up the ruined dinner that Michael had planned for them, shaking his head at the half cut up meat and vegetables, and putting anything that can be saved back in the fridge.

“Yeah,” Michael adds, not paying attention to Kyle, his gaze firmly settled on watching Alex in between sips of acetone. “But you love me.”

Alex watches Kyle stop what he’s doing, eyes moving up first to Michael’s, and then over to his own, as if asking if he needs to tell Michael to shut up before he starts telling Kyle things he definitely doesn’t need to, or want to, know.

“Did you just figure that out, Guerin?” Kyle replies instead, and Alex wonders if he thought that the safest option. “Cuz the rest of us had bets on how long it would take you two to figure your shit out.”

Alex glares at Kyle, remembering several conversations years ago, where Kyle had tried to nudge him into talking to Michael, insisting that it was the key to everything between them. It hadn’t been bad advice, it had been exactly what Alex had needed to hear. The problem was, like it had always been with them, timing.

Timing had always been their enemy, even from the very beginning. Alex had thought they’d beaten it, after everything they’d been through where they’d all but given up on ever being together. He doesn’t like to dwell on it too much, on their crashing back together in the weeks following the reunion, or how fast he’d pulled away due to the threat of his father still lingering over them, choosing to protect Michael over being with him.

“Who won?” Michael asks, and Alex glances over to see Kyle bent over Michael’s hand, gauze pressed against the wound. He doesn’t want to know how far off their friends were, if he and Michael had spent too much time letting everything else get in the way instead of trying to work things out between them. But he’s already cleaned up the kitchen, and after all of this, Alex really just wants to eat dinner and take Michael to bed, and not wake up until the morning.

“Max.” That’s a surprising answer, Alex thinks. He’d expected it to be Maria or Isobel. Or even Kyle himself, who seemed to have picked up on what Guerin meant to him long before Alex was even willing to admit to himself that it could be obvious to anyone. “And even he was off by about four months. You two really did take forever.”

“I’m surprised Maria didn’t win.”

“She took herself out of the running, said it’d be cheating.”

Alex is thankful when the oven beeps, indicating the pizza is ready, and ignores the remaining conversation between Kyle and Michael. He removes the tray from the oven, and plates two slices each on plates for him and Michael, before wondering if Kyle is hungry. But as he turns around with the intention of asking, Kyle is standing up, backpack in hand, looking ready to leave.

“I don’t want to know what caused that cut, but for my sanity, please don’t do it again.”

And with that, he’s gone, leaving the two of them alone again.

“Alex, what is this?” Michael asks, fingers running across the smooth top of the laptop.

“It’s yours,” he replies, matter of factly. He knows Michael is going to resist, going to insist he doesn’t need or want it.

“I didn’t ask-”

Alex takes a deep breath, because he knew the fight was coming. He knew that Michael would resist it, because that’s how Michael is. He gives and gives and gives, and Alex has watched him reject things people have done for him over and over again, thinking they were debts that needed to be repaid.

“I know you didn’t, but with all your research and your designs - I thought this would make it easier.”

Michael doesn’t say anything to that, and Alex wonders if he’s not going to actually argue against it.Maybe it’s just the events of tonight, maybe Michael is going to save the bickering for another day, another evening.

Instead, Michael shakes his head, eyeing the computer one more time, and pushing up off the chair, and walking into the kitchen. Alex tries to not focus on his injured hand, on the stark white bandage wrapped around reminding him of a different time in their lives, causing him to flinch away, picking up a plate and taking a bite of pizza.

He watches Michael lean against the counter across from him, picking up a slice of pizza and testing if it’s cool enough to eat. It’s shit timing, but Alex needs to know something, needs to ask Michael about tonight.

“Did you not know?”

Michael pauses, pizza poised in front of his mouth, and frowns at him, before dropping the slice back onto the plate, and sliding it back onto the counter.

“Of course I knew.”

“Because I know I’m not good with words, I know that I don’t make those big grand declarations like you do that take my breath away and render me speechless.”

“Alex-”

“I just,” he pauses, leveraging himself across the linoleum until he’s standing in Michael’s space, fingers itching to reach out and make contact. “It felt important to tell you.”

He lets Michael crowd him against the cabinetry, pizza temporarily forgotten. Wraps his arms around Michael's neck, as Michael pulls him on with his hands settled on his hips, and Alex just loves this man. He's infuriating and he's beautiful, and more than anything else, Alex wouldn't trade anything in their past if it meant changing getting here.

"I told you a long time ago, I don't look away from you. I never could." Alex lets Michael lean in, foreheads pressed together, noses bumping, lips pressed together in smiles. "You're my home, Alex. You made me believe, when no one else did, that I didn't have to build a ship and leave. That I could have a family here too."

Alex thinks about home and Michael's plans for moving his workshop into the basement and kisses him again and again and again, feeling like he's that seventeen year old boy again who got nervous around the boy he liked. Except now they're grown up, they're men who have seen more and done more, and changed them. But one thing through it all has remained the same.

"You really want to move your workshop here?" Alex asks, knowing the answer, but needing Michael to understand that he's asking to make sure. He needs to hear it from Michael.

"Do you not-"

"No!" Alex immediately replies, and then catches himself, knowing how this has to sound. "Fuck. No, I want you to. I'm just - I'm making sure it's what you want."

Michael reaches behind him, and Alex twists his head to see it's one of his notebooks, and they pull away from each other just enough so Michael can flip through the pages to find something specific. Be holds it up so Alex can see and-

It's a design for a prosthetic for him.

Alex takes the notebook, staring at the pages, not understanding half the calculations and formulas scribbled in the margins, but not caring because he understands the design schematic.

"I just thought I could try and make you something that was lighter and easier to get on and off-"

Alex lunges forward, cutting Michael off, and wrapping his arms back around him, using Michael and the countertop for balance and leverage to stay upright. He kisses Michael over and over again, and thinks about everything Michael does for him.

"Say it again," Michael says, pulling back so they can look each other in the eye.

Alex buries his face in Michael's shoulder, pressing his lips against the skin of his neck, but he's smiling. He hasn't felt this happy, this excited, this in love since he was seventeen. He knows Michael is waiting for him, the ever patient partner that as a teenager he never dreamed of deserving, much less finding.

"I love you."

#roswell new mexico #malex #alex manes #michael guerin #malex fic #notso writes fanfic #some references to off screen violence and past abuse #but mostly just what it says on the tin

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emersonfreepress · 3 years

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okay so is there content that you had planned for the ROs and story in general but then scrapped cause there wasn’t a good place in the story to stick it in? and if so, can you share what it was? 👀 👀 👀

yes, definitely. *rubs hands together* oh man, you done asked THE question today xD I can't wait to get into this 😁

Academics. I almost decided to have classes and grades be a minor part of gameplay, but the more time I spent designing it the more I realized I wanted nothing to do with it 😂 I haven’t really enjoyed academic gameplay in other interactive fiction because I 1) hate having to choose between studying and interacting with awesome characters, 2) have terrible short term memory, and 3) hate school in general!! So instead I just opted to have the MC be really good at school, point blank period so I could focus on social drama and relationships instead! 😆

Physical skills. I spent literal months crafting the catering scene around setting up stats for stamina/endurance, dexterity, and strength instead of just magnetism, confidence, and persuasion. They had their own backstories with the MC’s parents being overly invested sports parents instead and I think the background choices were like... martial arts, gymnastics, and track? But yeah, I ended up scrapping it all because I was spending hours on research about those individual sports so I could integrate them into the MC’s narrative organically but like... when I tried to think of what use they would be in the actual story, I came up blank. Best decision yet, esp since it means a lot less coding!

Skin tone customization. For one, I noticed that a lot of my favorite IFs don’t offer that customization and it hasn’t impacted my experience at all. For two, I originally realized I might as well not implement it since I am striving real hard not to introduce any customization that won’t actually be mentioned in interesting or meaningful ways in-story. I don’t think it’s really all that common for real life friends (esp in high school?) to comment or compliment each other’s skin and like... when it comes from someone who doesn’t share a similar complexion or ethnic background, that type of commentary gets... d i c e y. So then I wanted to be sensitive to that but what’s the pay-off? An RO mentioning how they love your skin tone once? Awkward sentences with the MC referring to their own skin color? Idk, just wasn’t vibing with it. I’m open to revisiting it in beta or something but for now it’s scrapped.

Singing, Rapping, and Gaming as Hobbies/Talents. I feel bad about scrapping these, honestly 😂 They’re great and I really wanted to incorporate them but it just came down to already having a lot of stuff to code. Plus, I know I can write the Hobbies/Talents I stuck with far better. And for Book 2 purposes, as well!

Leo. as @sourandflightypeaches asked me about a long while ago, I had to scrap an entire RO 😢 His name is Leo, he was the nephew of wealthy west African diplomats residing in Emerson, and I love him dearly! His backstory was largely based on my mother’s childhood and the circumstances she lived through after immigrating to America. and... ok, i’m about to go on one hell of a tangent so buckle up and bear with me if you can 😅

my intention with this story, aside from writing things that I personally enjoy (graphic violence, spooky woods, social drama, romance, conspiracies 😚), is to explore greed, wealth, and how the ways people and families interact with those two things influence young people and who they grow up to be. here i go sounding pretentious af 😝 and here’s where I apply a cut for those who want to preserve a little mystery to the main characters!

With Gabe, we’ve got someone who grew up with very little stability or financial security but who has found unscrupulous methods to gain status and money, with both noble and selfish motivations.

Kile has some of that childhood experience in common with Gabe, having been in the foster care system since infancy, but they lucked out when they were adopted into massive wealth by a caring, loving couple—a couple that uses their wealth and privilege to be far more lenient and protective of Kile than is actually reasonable or responsible.

Jack comes from a prestigious wealthy family on his dad’s side who he loves dearly but there’s no getting around the fact that they love him back as much as they despise his working class mom.

Jessie is a spoiled sweet heiress (being the baby of her family and the only girl) and while she lives blissfully ignorant of the harmful source and impact of her father's income and career, she bears the weight of the expectation to fulfill very traditional gender roles, including her behavior and appearance, but also extending to her career and life plans.

Rain's wealth led to them growing up sheltered and isolated but also extremely accommodated, giving them maximum freedom and opportunity to discover and develop their personal talents and interests. However, they have almost no positive relationship with their parents who have essentially decided to give up on a kid that couldn't be exactly the accessory they tried to mold them to be—both in terms of their identity and personality.

Rupan/Rohan, at their very core, rejects everything about conformity, self-importance, and excessive luxury—which means they have never, ever truly fit in with their peers. Going full non-conformist, however, has resulted in them becoming alienated from much of their family, as well, despite them all loving each other very much. Their history with false friends and betrayals has led them to over-indulge in their vices and reckless behavior to compensate for that isolation. Sometimes, they just get in over their head and many times, they know better. Every time, it's just that the feeling of finally belonging is utterly intoxicating.

Vivian/Vincent has two extremely successful parents who didn't inherit but instead built up their wealth and they aspire to be just like them, to a degree that is well and truly unhealthy. Their mother specifically is an over-achiever and applies mountainous pressure for them to follow in her footsteps, especially academically. Vi is completely capable of achieving what their mom expects of them, but they were already an extremely sensitive perfectionist so this has made them intensely critical of themself. This is a large part of why they are such a rigid, no-nonsense person and that in turn has made them one of the most disliked people among their peers—which is a huge personal failure to them since their father is a very well-liked and socially successful person in town.

And the Emersons are peak privilege: inherent high social status, brains, looks, charisma, athleticism, and massive wealth. They could never have been anything less than extremely popular, just by virtue of their last name and the nature of the town's social dynamics and politics. And they do enjoy that privilege (esp Curt lol). However, it should go without saying that being so high profile, even (or maybe especially) just in the isolated scope of your hometown, isn't always a boon. Their family's and their own perceived failings are widely discussed and privately mocked and/or celebrated. Real friends are scarce while fake ones and snakes are plentiful. Plus their dad is a gigantic dickhead who sees his kids as extensions of his own status and reputation and not much else. Public shortcomings make for an unbearable time at home and the world outside the estate is at once overly accommodating, full of assumptions, and even subtly hostile at times—all unrelated to their own actions or character.

And with the MC, I think the narrative will make it clear there are several ways that story can go. You start off with irresponsible parents that have lost their wealth due to their own mismanagement and material ambitions—how that affects any individual MC should differ based on choices and consequences!

So why bring any of that up when I was supposed to be talking about my cut OC? 😂😂

Leo was going to be the unwelcome recent addition to his uncle’s household, the son of a brother his aunt hates for (petty af) Reasons, and she took that resentment out on him directly by restricting his access to nearly every aspect of the family's wealth. Especially material goods and living conditions. He was basically treated like the help, tasked with playing nanny for his many younger cousins and burdened with doing the homework and providing academic cover for his dumb as rocks cousin in the same grade as you all. To sum it up, he was basically a victim of trafficking at the hands of his own family with his uncle out of town enough to feign ignorance to how bad his wife was treating his nephew and his aunt going out of her way to keep him busy, at home, and isolated. This is sadly a super common form of trafficking in Francophone African cultures (although I don't think most people view it as trafficking. and I’m sure the same is true of other cultures but I don’t want to speak outside of my purview). And like I mentioned above, it’s how my own mom's (and idek how many cousins') child/teenhood went.

It’s a perspective on modern wealth, privilege and greed that I really, really wanted to tell. I am confident in saying it hasn't been explored in interactive fiction yet (though correct me—and direct me 👀—if I'm wrong) and out of all the wealth/greed explorations I came up with, it's the one I have the closest personal ties to and the strongest feelings about. The characters and plans I had for it were detailed and I'm proud of them but at the end of the day... I just couldn't find a place for Leo in the story at large.

Leo was, in fact, the last main character I came up with, when I had already designed and fleshed out the larger story and started crafting the timeline of major events. I think the worst thing I could have done for a story and perspective that I care about this much is shove it into a plot that didn't have room for it at the very base level, regardless of how well the character or his story is written. Shoe-horned characters always stick out. I didn’t want to disservice Leo by having him be the character that did nothing or could be removed from the main plot without affecting it at all, y’know? That’s so much worse than just forgoing the indulgence, imo :((

ugh.... Leooooo 😭 I'm so sorry bb, I failed youuu 😥

#lovely anon #answered #hotmess #ok I am truly so sorry for going on and on like this #writing #ch design #ty for this question it was really nice to revisit this stuff 😃#and a nice reminder to not look back lol #scrapped

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justasparkwritings · 3 years

Text

Illicit Affairs: Beautiful Rooms Pt. 2

Previous: Beautiful Rooms Pt. 1

Pairings: Namjoon & Reader

Genre: Angst, Slice of Life

Ratings: PG15

Word Count: 2.6K

Warnings: Therapy and Swearing, Mentions of Past Abuse

Summary: Namjoon and Jungkook sit down with Dr. Aarons.

Listen: illicit affairs by Taylor Swift

“What did she say?” You ask, Namjoon’s head resting gently in your lap, shoes tossed to the side, spread across the queen-sized mattress of Namjoon’s rental.

“That there’s a difference between Kookie hating me because I lied to him, and JK hating me because I destroyed his life,”

“Interesting, what else?” Your fingers move gently through his locks, recently cut and easy to comb through, the gesture is calming, even if that sensation is only fleeting.

“She said I’m the messenger, and he’s shooting me when he means to be shooting Big Hit,”

“Oo, I like that,” You agree.

“Yeah?”

“Yes, because, it doesn’t absolve you, right? But it explains the torture and torment they put you through too,” Your eyes maneuver over his features, the slope of his nose, the blossom of his cheeks, all honeyed and delicate under the weight of vulnerability.

“I delivered all the messages though,” Namjoon shifts, head digging deeper into the pillow on your thighs.

“Yeah, but can you blame someone when they’ve got a gun to their head?”

He pauses at your words, “I guess not.”

“Right, so maybe, just maybe, you’re not fully culpable.”

“But what I did,” He starts, his mind moving to relegate his actions instead of voicing his contemplations.

“Only Jungkook can forgive you for that,” You remind him.

“I don’t know if he will,”

“Has he ever held a grudge?” You counter, the self-pity beginning to wear on you.

“No,”

“He loves you, and you love him. This is going to be hard, but we knew that, didn’t we?”

He closes his eyes, “Yeah, we did.”

“You’re going to work for your relationship with him. You always have,” You remind him.

“I betrayed him,”

“Yes, you did, but didn’t Bang betray you?”

“How can you, why do you,” Namjoon stutters.

“What?” You ask.

“Why do you love me, when you know all the horrible things I’ve done?”

You pause your ministrations on his scalp, fingers stopping mid rake. He’s never asked, never inquired. Honestly, you wondered if he didn’t ask out of fear. Fear he’d hate your answer. Fear you’d leave him if he pushed too hard. Fear that the only reason you’d stayed together was because you hadn’t asked yourself that very question.

“You don’t have to answer,” He says, sitting up. He tucks his legs underneath himself and glances at you. “You don’t,”

“Joon bug,” You start. “I do have to answer it,”

“Not if you don’t want to, not if you don’t, if you haven’t thought about it,” He shakes his head.

“I have,”

“You have?”

“Of course, I have. I just,” You sigh. “I love you.”

“That’s it?”

“Yes. You’ve always given me the best of you, no matter how insolent I’ve been. No matter how far gone you feel like you are, standing on that ledge, you’ve never hesitated to give me everything. I just feel like, you owe it to yourself to give you the best of you,”

“Did you just quote-

“Yes, okay? Yes, I did, but it’s true, Joon. I love you, I guess, in spite of everything you’ve done because I can tell that it wasn’t your intentions, your decisions, you are not what Bang and Sejin have made you out to be. You aren’t, you aren’t that man at all,” You shift on the bed, kneeling in front of him, hands cradling his moisten cheeks in yours. “I’ve always loved you, every part of you, every secret and lie, every scar, every missed note, every attempt to redeem yourself, every failed apology… they’re all a part of you, Kim Namjoon. I love them all.”

“I’m having a hard time focusing when you just quoted my lyrics to me.”

“Fuck you then,” You laugh before placing your lips on his.

“I love you,” He says, eyes still closed, lips hovering above yours.

“You got me,” You sing softly, lips gently caressing his cheeks, his forehead, his nose.

“Nan neoreul bomyeo sumeul shwieo,” He answers.

“I got you,”

“Chireuk gatdeon bamdeul soge,” He finishes, lips hungrily finding yours again.

~~~~~

“Let’s begin by discussing your first impressions of one another,” Dr. Aarons suggests. She sips quietly on her coffee, freshly brewed to her specifications. The sun is blocked by a tan window covering, an attempt at creating a cohesive design throughout the treatment center but in this lighting, looks more like a hospital than a posh therapists office.

“Namjoon, you can start,” Jungkook says.

“I remember his talent, the fear in his eyes, the joy he had performing. He was so little. I was concerned that he was too young, I thought I was too young. He was just, malleable, willing to please, unsure where his next footing was,” Namjoon says. He’s thought about it a lot, what about Jungkook struck him? Why did he need him on the team?

“When he sang, you could hear the emotion, the raw talent. It was stunning. I took him under my wing early on because he didn’t know if he wanted to stick with it.”

“Jungkook, why did you doubt?” Dr. Aarons inquires.

“They wanted to make me the center, I was just a kid from Busan, and they just, picked me,” Jungkook balls his fists under the weight of his long sleeved shirt, an attempt at making himself as small as possible.

Dr. Aarons surveys Jungkook, noting his change in body language. “Namjoon, do you remember that discussion?”

“Yes, we wanted-

“We?” Dr. Aarons interjects.

“Management and I,”

“Okay, thank you,” She scribbles in her notebook. She’s procured a new notebook for the two men, no longer the purple for Jungkook, but a marbled hard cover book with lined pages and little quotes on the bottom near the page numbers. She’s on the second or third page, scribbling away as the men talk.

“We wanted someone to be the center, not just in the lineup, but someone to guide the music or build our sound from.”

“There are seven of you total, why Jungkook?”

“He’s versatile, his voice hadn’t stopped changing, but it had range, he already could dance any style, he just, he has something special, you know?”

“Not Jimin or Taehyung?”

“Taehyung’s natural tone is so low, Jimin’s voice has this crisp once in a generation reverberation in each note he sings. It’s angelic, but Jungkook can do it all,” Namjoon answers.

“Ah, so out of the seven, he can easily meld into any position,” Dr. Aarons writes furiously, the sound of her pen scraping the page the only sound echoing in the room.

“Yes, even at 14, he could,”

“He became the center, literally and figuratively,”

Namjoon sips his water before answering. “Mm, we could train him to be a leader, train him to be dance captain or vocal leader,”

“Jimin’s the vocal leader,” Jungkook says. “He guides us all, he’s the one, not me.”

“If we’re really being honest, Hoseok holds us together,”

“You, Hobi and Jimin for sure,” Jungkook nods.

“Jungkook, will you share your first impressions of Namjoon?”

“I looked up to him, from the beginning. He’s always been honest, honorable, and just, his talent is greater than anything I’ve seen. All I ever wanted was for him to be proud of me.”

“What’s that Kendrick lyric? Loves gonna get you killed / but pride’s gonna be the death of you and me,” Namjoon says.

“I wanted you to think something of me, to see me, to recognize me as a person worthy of your attention. You made BTS what it is, your leadership. I wanted to prove myself to you, always have,” Jungkook tells him.

“Prove yourself to Namjoon, to Big Hit or to yourself?”

“All three,”

“That must’ve been difficult,”

“It was,”

“Let’s fast forward,” Dr. Aarons says, “Over the next handful of years, you two become quite intertwined, BTS undergoes a lot of challenges, but also triumphs.”

The two men nod.

“Namjoon, when did your conditioning of Jungkook begin?”

He shifts in his chair. He’d spent a lot of time with Dr. Cho working through the timeline. It was messy and complicated, hard to pinpoint exactly when things spiraled, but always easy to note when it started. “When he was sixteen, a little before then.”

“Do you remember the first act management asked you to carry out?”

“It had to do with sending him to training for dance,”

“Jungkook, do you remember?”

“I remember being sent to the states, I didn’t know it was part of conditioning me,”

“That’s something we’ve worked a lot on, right Jungkook?”

“Yes,”

“Namjoon, anything else you want to add?”

“Jungkook’s always been dedicated, he’s grown so much, but it was hard, for a while, to tell where the six of us ended, and he began.”

“Mm, the crisis of identity. What then propelled the drinking?”

“I busted my heel, and turned 21 and just started spinning out of control,”

“It wasn’t one event then; it was a collection?”

“Yes,”

“Namjoon, what were you doing at that time?”

“What was management having me do?”

“Yes,”

“I was pushing him to go to the gym, to bulk up, eating healthier,”

“I was already putting in so much time at the studio,” Jungkook feels the anger building, the heat in his belly, the strain on his throat, anger brewing like a lightning storm, opposing wind temperatures and pressures mounting.

“It wasn’t enough. Bang wanted you in the gym for at least twice as long as everyone else, in the dance studio with Hoseok or Jimin, longer than either of them,”

“They were beating themselves up too. Jimin wasn’t eating!” The first glimmer of lightning.

“I know,” Namjoon hangs his head. Jimin’s demise, wasn’t Namjoon’s fault. He played no role in the maknae’s eating woes, but he couldn’t say he didn’t play into it with his own insecurities.

“But you pushed?”

“I had to,”

“Why?” Dr. Aarons asks. “What did they have over you?”

Jungkook had spent the past few months working through what Big Hit had over Namjoon to push him to this deception. He had made guesses, but truly was curious how dire the situation was for Namjoon to commit such criminal offenses.

“They, they gave out stipends if you went to the gym or stayed at the gym longer than everyone else.”

“They gave you money?” Jungkook questions.

“Incentives… they gave them to you too, slipped into your paycheck or added to your stock options, mine were doubled.” Namjoon keeps his head low, unwilling to look either Dr. Aarons or Jungkook in the eye. He doesn’t deserve their compassion or pity.

“What else?” Dr. Aarons asks.

“It was written in my contract, I wasn’t allowed to talk about it, and I had to do what they told me. I was given the concession a few years ago that I could date, as a means to keep the peace.”

“That’s why you didn’t say anything?” The first clap of thunder, radiating.

Pulling his eyes from his palms, Namjoon squares off with Jungkook. “Yes, I legally couldn’t,”

“What would they take?” Dr. Aarons voice is the only calm in the oncoming storm.

“At first it didn’t matter, but they upped the stakes, saying I couldn’t produce, or they’d put off my mixtape months, put parameters around what percentage I could claim in writing and producing. Eventually, as the years passed, they threatened my relationship. To them it became the queen on the board, the key to making me comply,”

“It was the threat of loss,” Dr. Aarons articulates, “The fear that whatever you were holding onto would disappear if you didn’t follow through.”

“Yes,”

“The whole time they were playing you, too?” Jungkook wonders. “They were holding you hostage?”

“Yes,”

“This entire time, you’ve been hurting, and you didn’t say, anything?”

“I couldn’t,”

“Your stoicism nearly broke you,” Dr. Aarons observes.

Namjoon nods. This isn’t the first time his work has gotten the better of him, manipulating him, pushing him to new extremes. It’s not the first time his own self-preservation has clouded his judgement. His inability to not seek the best in all he does often burns him out, his need to help everyone, especially OT7, at all costs, no matter what, is the reason for so much of his heartache.

“Why did you do it?” Jungkook’s question is simple, as simple as yours had been. Why?

“I wanted everyone to be successful and feel successful. If I could help, in any way, then I was going to. I wanted you to be everything you dreamed of being,”

“The road to hell is paved with good intentions,” Dr. Aarons quips. “You wanted Jungkook to be all these things, did you stop to consider if the ways you were going about it were worth it?”

“Every day, every time he broke down, cried, was insecure, wanted to quit… we all had those moments, but Jungkook is, he’s the best of us,” Namjoon’s honesty has always been one of his strengths, which makes his therapy work that much more potent.

“I am not,” Jungkook counters, blushing amidst the tide.

“You are, even without guidance, you’ve always been the brightest star, I never want you to burn out,”

“You’ve pushed me to,” Jungkook’s tears cascade down his cheeks.

“In trying to give you longevity, yeah, I did,” It’s the break in Namjoon’s voice that pushes each man to new heights.

“You did such unforgivable things,” Jungkook spits.

Steering the ship towards calmer seas, Dr. Aarons speaks. “Of all the things that were done to you, Jungkook, in your mind, what is the one that hurts the most?”

“You created this false sense of security, making me think you were looking out for me but you were tricking me. I have all these insecurities, all these bad habits, for what?” Another lightning strike.

“I’m sorry,” Namjoon sobs.

“I know you are, but it doesn’t feel like it’s enough. You measured my food, forced me to work out more, dosed my drinks… you just, ne juwireul maemdolge / ne gyeote isseo julge / ne bichi doeeo julge,” Jungkook rattles off the lyrics. “All I’ve ever wanted was your support, your guidance, your love. You have been everything to me, and to find out you –

“I had no choice,” Namjoon’s voice rises. “They gave me no options!”

“You drugged me!” Boom. Louder and closer than before, the thunder rattles through Namjoon’s bones.

“I never said I did the right thing!” Namjoon counters.

“You put smaller pants in my closet, so I thought I was gaining weight!”

“It wasn’t my idea!”

Scoffing, Jungkook snipes, “You counted my calories and made me feel so guilty when I didn’t work out!”

“You’re the one who wanted to maintain your six pack!” Namjoon yells in return. This feels like a RUN episode gone wrong.

“What about Jimin?” Jungkook watches the flash of anger in his hyung’s eyes, wasn’t it enough that he was in here with Jungkook? Why bring Jimin in too?

“Don’t bring him into this,” Namjoon warns.

“How do your actions affect him? What about the other members?”

“They’re, fine,” He clenches his jaw.

“Yeah, because you didn’t drug them!” Jungkook strikes again.

“It wasn’t anything serious!”

“Every action has an equal, opposite reaction. This is what you did!”

Namjoon is trying not to be proud that Jungkook’s quoting Newton, but he’s a little proud.

“Management Jungkook! Management made me! Stop shooting me, I didn’t load the gun!” Namjoon yells.

“Fuck you Joon!” Jungkook stands. Hands through his hair, snot wiped against his sleeve.

“Take five,” Dr. Aarons voice is swift, coming down harsh in their ears as the two stare at opposite corners of the room. As her voice ebbs, the only sound that can be heard in the trepid waters are the sounds of this tears.

Next: Beautiful Rooms Pt. 3

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evanonearth · 3 years

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Why it’s okay to not have your life together in your 20′s

A blog piece I recently wrote for The Juice Academy

It’s August 2018 and I’m sat in my bedroom surrounded by my suitcase, hand luggage and a duffle bag still covered in tape with the FedEx customs label wrapped around the handles. What I’m supposed to be doing is unpacking and settling in back at home after landing in the UK 48 hours ago from New York. What I’ve actually been doing for the last hour is scrolling through my phone, revisiting the endless photos and videos that I’ll end up viewing multiple times again and again, over the following year.

I’ve spent the last 12 weeks at a summer camp in America, photographing camp activities 5 days a week before spending the weekend visiting the Lake, our favourite diners, or during one memorable weekend - zip lining over Niagara Falls. When camp finished, I spent the next 4 weeks travelling across America. Feeding crocodiles in the swamps of Louisiana, spending Mardi Gras in New Orleans, and road tripping up the coast of California. I learnt how to line dance at Honky Tonks in Nashville and lived my Elle Woods fantasy in Boston. I’d had the best experience of my life, but all it took was a 9-hour flight to bring me crashing back down to reality.

I was 22, freshly graduated from university and not a clue what I wanted to do with my career. All I knew was that I missed the care-free days of camp life. In fact, I’d had such a great experience that I pressed ‘pause’ on my life and knew that I had to go back for a second summer 10 months later.

It was an easy decision to make because it came from the heart. It was simple; I was choosing what made me happy. But then my brain caught up with the idea and all of a sudden, I was filled with a sense of panic, guilt and all-round helplessness. Why was I spending 10 months of my life working in a supermarket, just to save enough money to go back for 3 months to something I’d already done? How was any of this contributing towards a career? Why wasn’t I doing anything with the degree that took me 4 years to get? Surely, I should be saving for a house? That’s what everyone else was doing, right?

In the lead up to my second summer in the States, these were constant worries. Comparison is a killer, and I was questioning everything, feeling completely out of the loop with my friends who had gone straight from uni into graduate jobs. But I knew that I’d probably never get the opportunity again to travel for this length of time without any attachments.

Fast forward to present day, and I’m so grateful that I made that decision to return for a second summer. Without sounding cliché, it changed my whole perspective on life. I met people who were older than me and just starting uni, people who were in their early 30’s and had taken a career break, and people who - like me, just simply weren’t ready to settle. By the time I got home, all of my friends seemed to have stepped into the ‘real’ world. The world of careers, and serious relationships and finally moving out of your parent’s house.

But this time round, it didn’t bother me. I was creating my own timeline and choosing my own path. I was nearly 24, with no idea what was next, but I was happy with the unknown because I knew that whatever was meant to be, would be. By choosing to change my expected path, I’d opened up a whole new chapter of my life where I was content with doing things at my own pace. After camp, I’d planned to go travelling around Asia with some of the friends I’d made over the last two summers. We didn’t have a plan, just a rough idea of locations and the idea that we’d stay out there until we only had enough money left to buy a plane ticket home. Of course, due to the pandemic hitting, this never happened. Instead, I used lockdown as a chance to think about what I really wanted from the next few years. I realised that travelling and having a career don’t need to be independent books but can be part of multiple chapters in my life. So, I brushed up my CV and got excited about beginning a career in the creative industry, because this time round I felt ready for it.

Society has conditioned us to believe that we have to be constantly hitting these specific milestones at certain ages, and if not then we’re somehow failing at life. We should be going to university, or getting on the property ladder, having children by 30 and choosing one career to stick to until retirement at 60.

But guess what? There is no time limit on any of these things! Only a socially constructed ‘ideal’. And there is more to life than ticking boxes.

It starts when we’re little and we get asked “What do you want to be when you grow up?” and then it’s “What A-Level options are you picking?” How are we supposed to know at 15, what’s going to make us happy at 25? At 50? I’m not even the same person I was a year ago, let alone 10. Even more so as women, we get told that our lives won’t be ‘fulfilled’ until we have children (which, by the way, has to be by a certain time because you don’t want to be an old Mum right?), or that the only reason we’re single is because we ‘just haven’t met the right person yet’ rather than by actual choice.

People talk about using your 20’s to ‘find yourself’, but that’s not really how it works. You’re not lost, you don’t need finding. Your true self is right there, it’s just buried under pressure from society, what you’ve been told is the right thing to do, and other people’s opinions of what you should be doing.

This isn’t to belittle those people who have taken the expected path, because for those people that might be their dream. Some people want to settle down with a family by the time they’re 30, or go straight from university into a job; the same way that I knew it was exactly what I didn't want to do. For them, that’s their own happiness. No one else but you is responsible for your own happiness and deciding what your definition of that is. Your timeline is yours to create, it doesn’t matter what other people your age are doing, focus on building your own happiness and everything else will come in time.

Creating your own path in life isn’t easy. Especially if it feels like you’re somehow not at the same point in life as all of your friends are, it’s hard to break away from the flow and realise that you can do something different. Breaking the ‘rules’ and doing your own thing can feel scary but deciding to live life on your own terms is ultimately the best reward.

A close friend of mine said to me recently “What is meant for you won’t pass you by and what passes you by wasn’t meant for you”.

Trust yourself and trust the universe. You never know where life will take you, and that can be a wonderful thing.

#juiceacademy #apprenticeship #digital marketing #cheshire #north west #manchester #camp america #grad life

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brightbeautifulthings · 4 years

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Infinite Jest by David Foster Wallace

"'What if sometimes there is no choice about what to love? What if the temple comes to Mohammed? What if you just love? without deciding? You just do: you see her and in that instant are lost to sober account-keeping and cannot choose but to love?'"

Year Read: 2014, 2020

Rating: 5/5

Context: It's hard to know where to begin writing a review for this book. I read it for the first time in graduate school in about five weeks (alongside everything else I had to do in grad school, so I don't recommend that), and it basically blew my mind. At the same time, it's hard to imagine tackling it any other way for the first time. Despite its difficulty, there are things obsessive and immersive and, appropriately, even addictive about it. Full immersion might be the only way to read it for the first time, and I obsessed about it for months afterward. Since I'm not on any deadlines, I took it more slowly this time (21 weeks) so I could enjoy the writing and the nuances without the pressure to finish. For my less coherent weekly updates in real time, see my blog posts. Trigger warnings: Everything, everything. Death (on-page), child death, animal death, suicide, suicidal ideation, rape, pedophilia, possible incest, child abuse/abusive households, graphic violence/gore, eye horror, severe injury, drug use, addiction, alcoholism, mental illness, depression, OCD, grief, racism, ableism, transphobia, sexism, inexplicable hostility toward Canadians.

About: If it's difficult to know how to write a review, it's equally hard to describe what Infinite Jest is about. It's about so many things, tennis, addiction, communication (failures), and entertainment among them, but I'll do my best. Beneath all the numerous characters, timelines, and subplots, the main plot is about a film so entertaining that it kills anyone who watches it, robs them of all desire to do anything but watch it until they die, and what a faction of Canadian assassins will do to possess it. The auteur is James Incandenza, a suicide whose son, Hal, is a prodigy at Enfield Tennis Academy. Next door to E.T.A. is Ennet House, a drug rehabilitation center where Don Gately, former thief and Demerol addict, is taking it day by day to stay sober. Though they don't know it, Hal and Gately are connected, and the deadly Entertainment and those who seek it draw their paths closer and closer together.

Thoughts: It's rare to find a book that is actually as smart as it claims to be, but IJ is--certainly much smarter than I am, despite all my attempts to make sense of it. It starts off strong and doesn't let up for several hundred pages, which is a huge achievement all by itself. Wallace excels at writing extremely polished sections that could almost function alone as short stories, and the first chapter is one of my favorites in all fiction. It's reassuring, I think, to start the book off on a strong note, in case we worried we were in for a thousand pages of tedious slog. It can be both, but it's often heartfelt, insightful, and funny as well, and the payoff is well worth the effort. I don’t know how Wallace manages to pack every page with so much meaning. Anybody can put tedious lists in their books or make reading purposely difficult (and I have attitude about writers who do this for no reason), but there’s nothing haphazard about this book, despite its size and varied focus. Everything seems utterly intentional. The conversations are really top-tier; Wallace has a great ear for how people talk, and it's a fascinating look at how communication works and doesn't work.

Thematically, I think the book succeeds on more than any other level, including plot or structure. If we could say this book is "about" anything, we would almost certainly start with the themes and not the plot, which is often secondary to whatever point Wallace is trying to make at the moment. It takes an in-depth looks at things like addiction, depression, loneliness, failed communication, sincerity v. irony, critiques of postmodernism and metafiction (while being very meta itself, at times), and the very specific selfishness of an American culture that insists on freedom even to the point of self-destruction. At times, it feels a little heavy-handed or like it was yanked right out of an intro to philosophy course, but I suppose something in a thousand pages has to be obvious if we're ever going to pick up on it. A lot of these themes resurface in his other work, from "This is Water" and "E Unibus Pluram" to Orin Incandenza's Brief Interview style Q and A (and he would be a perfectly fitting character in that book).

The characters are some of my favorites in literary fiction as well, particularly the Incandenza family and Don Gately, and to a lesser extent Joelle Van Dyne (although Wallace typically doesn’t write female characters very well, and she comes with some issues). Hal and Gately couldn't be more different; Hal excels at everything he's ever done, and Gately has a record that includes accidental homicide on it. Hal is the hero of non-action, since little that happens in the book is engineered by him, while Gately is closer to the more typical hero of action, who defends the undeserving at great cost to himself. Yet their struggles with addiction are similar, and they both manage to be incredibly sympathetic characters. In my opinion, the book is always at its best when we’re with Hal or Gately, but I’m strongly driven by good characters. Despite being dead, James Incandenza's presence is also felt all over the book, from the Entertainment he created to his haunting ETA and sticking beds to the ceiling (probably the weirdest ghost I've ever seen in fiction). He's a tragic character in a book full of tragic characters. The others are too numerous to name, from the other tennis players at ETA and recovering addicts at Enfield, to the various bystanders populating Boston. We get brief glimpses into almost all of them, and while they may not all feel relevant at the time, most are memorable or heart-wrenching or slapstick funny, or all three. It's a book that contains multitudes.

That's not to say it's always on point though, and it isn't. There are a number of very serious problems with representation in this novel, and they're as bad as its detractors claim. A lot of the 90s humor aged very poorly, but that's not an excuse for some of the unabashedly racist depictions of African Americans, the uncharitable descriptions of Steeply's and Poor Tony's cross-dressing, or--however much I love him as a character--the fact that Mario Incandenza’s descriptions are ableist in just about every possible way. Wallace thinks he's capturing "voice" when he's really encouraging harmful stereotypes. The humor of the novel often doesn’t depend at all on these stereotypes and would in fact, be a lot more funny if I wasn’t spending so much energy cringing at it. So many of the little racist and ableist asides could have easily been edited out of the entire novel to make it less offensive. There are also sections where he seems at pains to be as gross as possible for its own sake. There are plenty of things grim or uncomfortable or flat out distasteful about this book, but sometimes the graphic violence kind of jumps out and stabs you in the eye, say, with a railroad spike.

If there are times when I was totally absorbed in the little tragedies of the Incandenza family or Gately's struggles, there are plenty more where it's like pushing something heavy up a hill. No lie, some of it is slogging through tedious minutiae and various experimental writing styles (some more successful and less offensive than others). Wallace has a gift for purposeful tedium; it’s at its peak in The Pale King, but he gives it a nice warm-up round here. The novel is difficult and meant to be, since Wallace maintained that some of the best pleasures are the ones we have to work for, and he's not totally off base. There's something very satisfying about living, for a time, in a book that spans a thousand pages, that demands focus and perseverance, and manages to give back (almost) as much as it takes. The book is always structurally interesting, but it starts to get more complicated toward the end as various characters and plots begin to almost slide into one another. I forgot how frustrating it was to near the end and realize--again--that it wasn't going to wrap up with any kind of satisfaction; the various plots slide, but they don’t meet. I thought if I paid closer attention on a second read that I would pick up more of the plot things I’d missed on my first, but I think the problem is that those answers simply aren’t to be found in the actual text. Of course, they can point us toward various conclusions, and the novel certainly encourages us to speculate and make connections, but I don’t think the actual answers are there.

That brings me to some of my final thoughts, for now. There's no doubt that this is a hugely successful book, and I believe it accomplished exactly what Wallace meant it to do. He jokingly referred to it as a failed entertainment, much the way Jim considered his lethal Entertainment a failure, but I have the sense that Wallace, unlike Jim, failed on purpose. The book purposely pays more attention to structure and theme than it does to plot or character, yet the plot and characters are hugely compelling for what we see of them. Imagine the book it could have been if he had paid equal attention to all of them. Wallace attempted to create a book that people wouldn't want to stop reading. Reaching the end certainly encourages us to begin again, as the first chapter is actually the last in chronology, but that trick only works the first time. By my second read, I realized that starting over wouldn't help me fill in any of those blanks or answer any of my questions, and I was content to let it go. On the one hand, IJ depends upon its structure to tell the story it's telling. On the other, think of the book it could have been if it spent more time telling a story and developing its characters and less time belaboring a point. It's one of the best books I've ever read, and the tragedy is that I think it could have been even better.

#book review #infinite jest #david foster wallace #literary fiction #adult fiction #5/5 #rating: 5/5 #2020 #bookoween

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nanabrainrot · 4 years

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Okayokay,, ive been thinkindg about the things Arthur would write about on his journal and like imagine all the cute shit hed say about his s/o?? And imagine the f r e a k y very nsfw shit hed also say about them there im aksnndd

THE ONLY THING I THINK ABOUT these are now: headcanons

SFW!Journal Headcanons

• He writes about you as soon as he gets home from meeting you, he even tries really hard to draw a picture of you to keep you in his memory, albeit it crude and “does you no justice,” according to himself. He writes about your hair length, the way your hair curled a bit from the rain, your cupid’s bow, the umbrella you were holding, you were borderline ethereal to him. A lot of it had to do with how nice you were to him upon meeting him as a stranger; Gotham was full of unkind people that never failed to harass him daily. You, however, were not only kind but attractive.

• You were naturally a chatterbox, talking to strangers about the weather to individuals who looked generally harmless, opting to say hello to old women and passing youth, and that included Arthur when you met in the elevator in your new building: his building. You noted the rain as you wrapped up a compact umbrella, unlocking your mailbox adjacent to his, which was full of letters from who or wherever while his looked lonely as an empty home. He decides you are the only good person in Gotham. The crush is almost immediate.

• The next few times you meet, you intitiate conversation as usual, unlocking your little mailbox, fidgeting with your gloves forever and clumsily dropping things from your pockets. He grows confident to start intiating conversation with you after some time, saying hello and complimenting your new raincoat. He pinpoints every topic in his journal. He eventually makes a timeline about when you two talked and about what, important things you mentioned about yourself, and what you were wearing, usually next to a strange sketch of you wearing that outfit. Sometimes, he’d write what he imagined you to be wearing underneath it. On many pages, there was your first name with “Fleck” following after it and cut out engagement rings that cost four times his rent (amythyst rings since you mentioned how much you enjoyed the color).

• He has a list of things you mentioned you liked, compiling things into categories like foods, restaurants, hang-out spots, shopping areas, and more. If you, in a faraway fantasy, ever wanted to let him take you on a date, he’d fantasize about reserving a little booth in your favorite sushi restaurant and treating you to something you’d genuinely enjoy. Arthur wants to make you happy. You don’t notice, too busy conversating with the service and clerks, that Arthur sometimes happens to also get coffee at 6am in the café shoppe some ways away from your shared building and even if you did, your kindness would tell you a man with a yellow coat had almost exactly the same schedule and regular spots as you, not farfetched at all.

• When you struggle with some groceries, he helps you and enters your apartment, which you tried very hard to spiffy up despite the cheap, worn building, putting out nice, obviously new matching furniture and the newest TV you won in a sweepstakes recently (“Luvs taking chanzes & oportunatees!!!” He wrote in his “what I like abowt them” category next to a plethora of hearts). He drank in your neatness and the obvious scent of your subtle body mist in the apartment. You invite him to stay for a cup of coffee and a snack as a thank you.

He writes that he thinks he loves you in his journal that night.

• After the two of you make it official, after some time beating around the bush, trying to decipher who would ask the other to make it official first, every single page has a mention of you. Some of the pages are even full of just content of you, some of dreams about you, some stories about a vacation he’d want to go on with you one day, and just thoughts and observations about you. You are his first shot at love and his first shot at genuine happiness; he’s a bit obsessed with you if anything in an odd and endearing way. Out of respect, you don’t inquire about his journal and refuse to sift through it. You think his creative outlet is adorable and gift him with pens and stickers to decorate his Joke Book with and the next day, it’s covered in the silly animal stickers you got him.

NSFW!Journal Headcanons

• The day he meets you fantasizes about you. There are pornographic cutouts from magazines with various sex positions, a number of them accumulated on a page called “what id do with her,” sticky with glue stick remnants and a number of couples making love. He even goes so far as to masturbate to the thought of you the night he met you, driving him further into his desires.

• As you two grew closer as acquaintances, he begins to write stories about you, about him walking into his apartment to find you wanton, pleading for his love and affections, for his eternal devotion. There are pictures of numerous expensive lingerie numbers glued next to it, under various titles such as “our 1st time,” “our weding nite,” and so on. You are a walking trial of lust to him. By this point, he strokes himself to the thought of you nightly, sometimes more than once, just to push the ache away, only for the feeling to come crawling back.

• When the two of you get together as a couple, you don’t inch toward the journal out of respect for him. You recall a diary you had when you were young that your father sifted through, the thought of someone reading your inner workings drove you mad, but, if the journal was open, you’d sometimes read a snippet. When you read one of his fantasies about you, you blushed bright red and did your best not to bring it up. It was endearing he thought of you that way but you weren’t in the right headspace to share your body with him; you were traditional in a sense.

• However, when you two grow intimate, you sneak one of his dirty scenarios in, the one where he imagined you waking him up to the sight of you with a mouthful of his cock, before a particularly lengthy shift, start his morning off right. Still a beginner, as soon he saw it, he came all over your face. He was vaguely embarrassed and smiled shyly as you grinned back cheekily, dressed up for work and chimed a sweet, “Have a good day at work, dear.” When you leave a minute later, after wiping the cum from your face and putting your shoes on, he’s still sitting there, wondering if you’re a figment of his imagination months later, after all, everything you do is almost a dream to him.

#arthur fleck x reader #arthur fleck #arthur fleck x you #Joker (2019)#arthur fleck imagine #arthur fleck scenario #arthur fleck headcanons #nana writes

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animerunner · 3 years

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A Raven's Time

Fandom: The Owl House

Summary: When the rebellion and attempt to overthrow Belos fails. The survivors concoct a new plan. Go back to before it all started and take Belos down before he can come to his full power.

It was supposed to be Eda. Maybe Luz if things didn't go as planned.

Lilith going back had never been in the plans. Yet fate had other plans.

And now Lilith is faced with the monumental task of saving two worlds from a threat they only marginally understand.

Lilith has to travel to the past and becomes saddled with the task of saving two realms. Warnings: Major character death (albeight temporarily) and occasional graphic depictions of violence (nothing too bad here but it will happen) Notes: So here we are with the fic I've been mentioning elsewhere. A poorly equipped Lilith time traveling to stop the apocalypse. This will be interesting and fun to write so I hope y'all enjoy.

Anti Lilith brigade will get blocked and deleted if need be. This is a Lilith centric fic and supposed to be a chance for Lilith to grow into an unexpected hero. Not much else to say.

Ao3 link is here

Otherwise the rest is under the read more. Pleas enjoy and let me know what you think!

Somewhere in Belos’ castle. Lilith shoots up in her bed. Seemingly having been awoken from a nightmare. To anyone that was but her.

Well maybe that wasn't entirely true. She arguably had been having a nightmare. It just had been one that had been her whole life for a while now.

It takes a few minutes for her to calm down and for her heart to stop racing. Though she doesn’t relax.

She’s not entirely sure if she’ll ever be able to relax in the castle again.

Not after everything that has happened.

Lilith looks around after a moment. It’s exactly how she remembered it back when she was in the Coven. It’s exactly how it’s supposed to be. A glance at the calendar backs up what she already knows and she breathes a sigh of relief that she didn't even know she was holding back.

It had worked.

// Four long years had come and gone since the conformutorium incident. Lilith had mostly settled into and accepted her new role as the unwilling wild witch over the years that past.

For a while things had been quiet.

Luz kept going to Hexside. Eda and her had tried to find a way to get the girl back home.

There were some murmurs of a possible rebellion against Belos starting to brew in the aftermath. But at the time that was all they were. Rumors.

Lilith still felt horrible for all of that wasted time. All that time they could have used building something up to stop Belos. All the things they should have done before the Day of Unity ever came knocking.

It's a question that will always haunt her she supposes. Why didn't any of them do anything sooner?

Even if they could never have known what was brewing. Even Belos had never fully explained his plans for his Day of Unity to her.

Possibly because if more people had known the truth. Most likely it would have gone off less smoothly

It was just another day on the Boiling Isles when it happened. By the end of it though no one would be forgetting it in a long time.

Bonesborough had been ground zero for all of it. So many deaths. Lilith felt a chill run down her spine.

Belos had always said he had stopped the savage ages. Lilith wonders just how what he accomplished in one day is any better than those years.

What wasn’t destroyed in the fighting wouldn’t see much occupation afterwards. As those who could, scattered to the wind.

Four years on the run. Fighting off whatever patrols they ran into. Trying to get close enough to take Belos down. Listening to the underground talk.

It was odd. A year before the start of this all Lilith would never have assumed she would be in this kind of position.

There were close calls on both sides. Rumors circulated that some had close to nearly finishing Belos off. But no one had been able to succeed.

And with their numbers dwindling Luz had suggested what seemed like a half baked plan at best. Stop this all before it could even begin.

Lilith thought it was absurd of course. Time travel was supposed to be a lost art. How in the world were they supposed to be able to stop the apocalypse with that of all things?

Yet Luz in a rare stroke of luck had found an old book. It had seemed absurd. Surely if this existed then Belos would have used it before now right? But then again this was glyph magic. And Belos’ own arrogance had kept him from ever studying it.

It was one way, once they got there was no coming back. Even if they did stop the end of the world they would never get to see it take effect in this timeline. There was the possibility that the spell might fail and they might die anyway. But as Lilith had stared at the partially burned out scape that was the Boiling Isles now. If they could stop it, then risks would be worth it.

Besides they were all dead witches walking at this point anyway.

It wouldn’t matter soon anyway.

If they pulled this off. Then this future would soon no longer exist. Soon enough if this worked the way it was supposed too none of them would know that they had ever lived through an apocalypse.

They were almost ready; they just had to wait a little while longer...and hope no one found them before they cast the spell.

It would take hours to reset up the circle. If they even could. They had to act here and within the next hour or two or else they would never get the chance.

It had taken weeks to get this spell ready. Not just because of the nature of it. But because they needed to be in the right time and place. They needed to be where the magic was at its wildest.

They also needed to take advantage of a naturally occurring event. Every several years there was a phenomenon referred to as ‘The Hidden Hour’. Where witches were at their strongest and most powerful.

It was perfect for this type of magic. Of course it also made them sitting ducks for Belos if he managed to find them. They weren’t the only ones at their most powerful after all.

Unfortunately just like everything else it seems. Plans were thrown to the wayside. An attack by a lucky patrol had thrown the whole thing into chaos.

They had managed to drive back Belos’ guard. Through a combination of the natural topography of the Isles where they were and quick thinking. However Luz hadn’t come out unscraped. Having quiet literally taken a boulder to the chest.

“That should buy us some time.” Lilith said as she came back from making sure nothing had gotten further damaged in the scuffle. “Though they’re bound to come back. We need to start casting. Edalyn is-”

Lilith cuts out as she gets a look at Luz. The girl’s awake by some minor miracle. However it’s obviously not good.

Eda still only gets really touchy when she’s worried. And with the way she was gripping Luz this was the equivalent of full on hugging her daughter in all but blood.

It was bad then.

Eda just shakes her head at the unasked question Lilith directs at her.

Lilith fights down the part of her that wants to panic. They need all three of them to activate the glyph. Even if only one of them actually goes back. Now is not the time. If Luz-“How long?”

Eda’s eyes shoot towards the boulder currently pressed into Luz. Lilith puts two and two together. As long as the boulder is there Luz is alive. But the minute they move it...

“We have to cast now.” Luz’s voice breaks into Lilith’s train of thought.

Eda starts to protest. “Kid maybe we should-”

Luz to her credit even in pain isn’t having any of it though. “I’m not a kid anymore Mom. I can tell this isn’t good. We need to cast now.”

Before it’s too late is left hanging in the air.

“I could never really fool you could I?”

“Nope.”

“Hey at least this way we can use Belos’ favorite trick against him.” Luz tries and fails to cheer both of them up. “That way we’re almost sure to work right?”

Eda chokes back a sob. Lilith is the one to answer instead. “Of course. But are you sure you want this?”

Blood magic was tricky but powerful. They hadn’t planned on using it. There should have been more than enough magic between the three of them to power the glyph. Admittedly the extra strength from it wouldn't do any harm admittedly. They just hadn't planned on using it. It could be dangerous to the user. It could kill them. Which Lilith guessed was why Luz was now suggesting it anyway. She was dying whether her or Eda wanted to admit.

It was useful. But at the same time...most likely if they started it...Lilith glanced at the girl's pale expression. They would be speeding up the inevitable.

“Yeah I’m sure. I want this. I want to make sure you make it back. If I'm going to go soon then might as well do one last thing to stick it to Belos."

“So I guess that means you’ll be going back Eda.”Who was going back had been undecided up until now. However Luz was clearly no longer the option.

“I can’t go back.” Lilith is stopped dead in her tracks at Eda’s statement. She opens her mouth to protest. Eda has to be the one to go back. Luz is dying and might not live to see the magic activate. And she is certainly not in a position to be starting a rebellion. However before she can start any of that Eda rolls up a sleeve.

And Lilith feels her stomach drop even further if possible. There sticking out of Eda’s skin is a familiar dark grey feather. “When did it-”

“After our last encounter with Bonehead.”

“Edalyn, that was weeks ago. Why didn’t you say anything?!”

"Because it didn’t seem to matter anymore.” Eda scratches slightly at the spot where one of the feathers is sticking up. “One of us had to go back from the beginning. Just when this started up again. I knew it had to be you or Luz.”

“It can’t be me though.” Lilith protests.

She would just mess everything they had been planning up.

Luz either is too tired or already knew since she barely reacts to it. “She’s right Tía. With the curse in effect and me-” Luz cuts off for a second. “Well anyway, point is your the most likely to succeed in the past.”

Lilith knows they are. That they can’t risk it. They can’t risk the possibility of no one making it back. They’ve put too much into it. She has to be the one to go back.

Yet still Lilith wants to protest. Part of her feels like if she’s the one in the past there is no way this will work. Four years ago she was still coven leader. Four years ago she had ostracized anyone who wasn’t in the coven.

It’s going to be a mountain to climb to convince anyone of her true intentions.

Regardless of her being the only one left who can. She still feels that she is the absolute worst candidate for this.

“I know.” Lilith resigns herself finally.

“Hey don’t be too worried I’m pretty sure you can convince my past self pretty quickly of you being a time traveler.”

“That’s what I’m maybe most concerned about.”

Her and Eda had spent years working through the issues that had been caused by the curse. It had taken a long time to get where they were now.

To go back to how it had been. To have to explain to Eda again what her young dumb teenage self had done. Was going to be difficult to say the least. She justs Eda can find it in herself to forgive her again when its all said and done.

“Hey I’m sure you’ll win her over just like we were able to. In the meantime don’t try to let past me get you down too much okay?”

“I’ll try.” Lilith glances at Luz who is starting to grow paler. They don’t have much time to waste and they’ve sat around talking for far too long really. “I should get going. It’s been a pleasure knowing you Luz, sister.”

There was no way back from this. And even if she did find a way back. Most likely people would still be dead. Luz would still be dead. Her sister would-no best not to think about that right now.

This was goodbye forever. To these versions anyway.

“Try not to be hard on my past self, okay? She’s got a lot to learn.”

Lilith chuckles. Remembering the rambunctious side of Luz that had been tamed over the years. But had been an ever present part of her life after leaving the coven initially.

One last squeeze of the girl’s hand and then Lilith rises. Heading towards the edge of the spell circle. Eda follows her for a moment.

“I still don’t know if I’m the right person for this.”

“Nah you’ll do just fine.” Eda says with a wink and a grin. Though it doesn’t meet her eyes. “I trust you. We’ve come too far to fail at this point.”

They really have come a far way haven’t they?

“What are you going to do after I’m gone.” After she’s gone Lilith silently adds. Neither of them are ready to admit that quiet yet.

“Going to burn this place to the ground. Can’t risk Bonehead finding it and following you.”

Lilith isn’t sure she likes the sound of that. “And what will that exactly entail?”

Eda’s refusal to answer that question is an answer in itself.

“Edalyn-”

“Don’t get started. Everything I care about is gone or soon to be gone. King’s gone, Amity’s gone, you’re about to be gone. Luz is-” Eda cuts herself off there. “And then there’s the curse. If I have to go out. I would rather stick it one last time to Bonehead.”

Lilith wants to argue. But she knows Eda’s right. “I’m sorry.”

There’s a lot of apologies laced in that statement. However the one that still lingers years on is maybe at the forefront. And Eda being Eda of course realizes it. “Hey like I’ve said before Bonehead’s invasion wasn’t your fault.”

“Still I feel like there must have been something I could have done differently.”

“Well now with you going back there you’ll know for sure.”

“That’s true I suppose.”

“Look I need to get back to Luz before-” Eda cuts off again. “I just need to get back. Promise me you’ll take care of yourself?”

“Of course.”

Eda leans forward slightly and Lilith takes the invite. Bumping heads against one another just like they did as children for one last time. They don’t say anything.

The silence is only finally cut by a strained whimper coming from Luz’s direction. That snaps the both of them out of it. Eda goes back to Luz and Lilith moves towards the large spell glyph.

They don’t say anything else and maybe that’s for the best.

As Lilith stepped into the center of the circle. She turned around to face where Eda and Luz were. Watching Eda place Luz’s hand onto the circle. They locked eyes for a moment.

For a brief moment Lilith was worried that it might not work. And then starting over where Eda and Luz she saw a bead of light in the spell circle. Growing and growing until finally it stopped and then started spreading across the outer edge of the circle.

Eda and Luz were pretty much oblivious to it from what Lilith can tell.

Lilith’s eyes keep following for a moment though she looks back at her sister and niece when Luz talks again. “Hey Mom can you sing again for me?”

“Of course kiddo.”

You are my sunshine

Lilith watched the first of the seven circles that made up the larger spell circle light up bright yellow. Before the light turned back to white and began to race towards the second circle.

My only sunshine

The second circle lit up more of an orange color. Before everything had gone to hell.

You make me happy

The third flashed black for a moment. Though it was gone almost as quickly it as came.

When skies are grey

The fourth lit up a bright green. Lilith wondered for a moment if there was some significance to the colors. Though so far it didn’t seem to have much rhyme or reason.

You’ll never know dear

The fifth lit up a blueish color. Though Lilith wasn’t paying much attention at that point.

She was a bit too entranced by her sister’s singing at this point.

How much I love you

The sixth one lit up a magenta color and this did grab her attention for a moment.

For the briefest of moments it made her think of Amity’s magic. But that wasn’t possible. Since Amity was...

Please don’t take my sunshine away

The final remaining conjoining circle flashed blue this time. There is something oddly familiar again but Lilith squashes it. She can’t be figuring out the spell intricacies at the moment. Now isn’t the time.

Lilith turns her attention for a moment back to Eda and Luz. Her sister’s cradling Luz as much as she can. They lock eyes for a moment. Eda just says one sentence.

“Give him hell for us Lily.”

Lilith nods not entirely sure if her own voice work if she tries speaking. Watching her sister and Luz for a moment more. She wants this image burned into her brain.

This is why she is going into the past. To stop all the unneeded pain and death. Even if she doubts how well she can do it. She has to try. For her, for them, and for everyone else that they lost in the years between.

The last thing she sees before the spell circle fully activates blinding her. Is Eda burying her face into Luz’s hair.

And now she was here. Deep in the lair of the beast that had caused so many problems. So much grief. She was back in the Castle that well the last time she was here had been unpleasant. It nearly has her jumping out of her skin wanting to get out.

However getting out is going to be complicated.

She was still head coven leader. She couldn't simply walk away from her position. Not without consequences at least.

Her, Luz, and Eda had made up a lot of plans about things they might do. To prevent their future. To prevent the decimation of two worlds.

So much of it had seemed to rely on Eda and Luz just being themselves.

Something that Lilith knew she couldn’t be. It simply wasn't her strength.

Not without pushing possible allies away at least.

She was going to have to find another way to do this.

At least some of the plans weren't entirely out the window. Some of that would still be useful. However there were going to be issues.

The question now became what was she going to do about the ones that she couldn’t so easily change?

#the owl house #lilith clawthorne #toh au #the owl house fanfiction #time travel fix it #this is set up mostly #pro lilith

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